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ghoststyles · 8 months

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Fairway to Heaven - Chapter 9

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SO SORRY I WENT MIA LIFE SUCKED FOR A MIN THERE

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When Harry peels his eyes open at the crack of dawn on a Tuesday, he’s not expecting two beady eyes to be staring into his, mere inches from his face.

“Morning, sleepy!” Hattie’s shrill voice rings through the small guest house. She’s dressed and ready for the day, munching on some Percy Pigs.

“Morning, rug rat. Why’re you eating candy at half eight?” He narrows his eyes, slowly lifting his head from the pillow. “Gimme some.”

Hattie hesitantly hands him one, taking notice of the dwindling number of gummy candies left in the bag.

“Mumma left already and Daddy took a phone call,” she reasons.

Harry rolls his eyes as he chews, pushing himself to his feet.

“C’mon, let’s go get you a proper breakfast.”

She perks up at this, following behind her uncle. Harry’s bones crack as he stretches his limbs. He crosses the slightly damp grass and opens the back sliding door to Gemma and Michal’s house, trying not to let any cats out. Hattie stays in the garden, staring at some worms on the stone pathway.

Harry begins making scrambled eggs and conjuring up any fruit he can find. As the eggs cook slowly, his mind begins to wander. It’s been a little over 2 1/2 months since he returned to England and his mind has had very few thoughts that didn’t include Briar.

He misses her on his runs. He misses her on the train. He misses her in the morning. He misses her when he’s alone in a shop buying fuck-all to fill the void.

Grabbing his phone, he sends his daily “ . ” to Briar, just to check if he’s still blocked. As usual, the message sends in a green bubble.

Pushing the eggs around, he makes it just how Briar likes it; mostly cooked, but still runny. Drudging over to the fridge, he spots some cheese to sprinkle on top. With careful hands, he plates the eggs for the two of them to share.

By this point, Hattie is romping around the garden in her school uniform, getting dirt and muck on her shoes and dress. He stalks over to the door, opening it enough to shout out to her.

“Oi! You’re due at school any minute and you’re ruining your clothes! Get in here.”

Hattie’s head whips up at Harry’s tone. He’s never once yelled at her in her 6 years of existence. Usually, she can get away with anything from painting Harry’s nails to stealing his nice clothes for a fashion show. Harry sees her face drop and can sense the tears are about to start. She stands up, her wide eyes looking at him. She meets him at the door and wraps her arms around his legs.

“‘M sorry, uncle H. Didn’t mean to mess up my dress.”

“It’s okay, bug. I didn’t mean to raise my voice. Why don’t you sit and start eating, and I’ll run upstairs to grab a new dress, yeah? Do you need new socks, too?”

She nods sadly, her bottom lip still in a pout. Harry lowers down to kiss the top of her head.

“Alright, love. Be right back.”

It’s not right. The room is silent, apart from the strained puffs of air hitting her face. Soft praises and dirty comments aren’t being whispered in her ear, and the hairs on the back of her neck aren’t standing straight up. Sweat is building up on her lower back and the backs of her knees as his hips snap sloppily into her.

They’ve been in this spot for a while, Spencer and Briar. If she were with Harry, she’d have reached completion twice by now, and explored 3 different positions. He’s barely uttered a word to her, just periodically grunting and saying, “oh yeah.”

Shuddering at the thought of Harry, she finally musters up the courage to look up at Spencer. His eyebrows are furrowed and he’s biting his lip in a manner that would normally be sexy, but to her, it’s repulsive.

They’d been out at a bar with a group of his friends; Briar being the only girl to tag along. They were both drinking and listening intently as his friends told funny stories. He included her when he could, but for the most part, Briar sat quietly to people watch.

“Close, Bri,” he grunts again.

She cringes, again. Only the people she’s closest with call her Bri. Is he asking her if she’s close, or is he telling her he is?

“Mhm,” she squeaks out a lie. He can’t possibly think this is good, right?

“Oh my goddd,” he drags out as he finishes into the condom. His heavy pants continue as he rolls off of her, a little sweat from his chest transferring to hers.

She cringes as he maneuvers his way to lay along side her. When he doesn’t immediately get up to grab a washcloth, she slides herself off the bed, picking up her shorts and throwing her long t-shirt on. She slowly shuffles to the bathroom, willing herself not to cry.

Spencer is nice; he’s respectful, but a little boring. When she looks at him, her heart doesn’t hammer in her chest.

Staring at herself in the mirror, her heart sinks to the floor. Her mascara is smudged, bags more prominent than before.

Briar used to feel enlightened and empowered after sex, a sense of weightlessness hitting her senses. But right now, a pit is formed in her stomach and she can’t wait for him to leave.

Entering the room, she sees Spencer sitting along the edge of the bed in his boxers. He smiles at her before pulling his sweatpants up.

“I have to be at the shop early tomorrow. I’ll text you?”

She inhales sharply, slightly relieved.

“Okay, yeah,” she smiles back as he leans in to peck her on the lips.

“See you later, gorgeous.”

Gus lifts his head as the unfamiliar man makes his way past him before exiting through the front door.

She joins him at his spot on his bed, nuzzling her face into his wide and fluffy neck. She’s a little salty because Spencer didn’t even acknowledge Gus.

“Gus, what did I get us into?”

After 10 weeks in England, the longest period of time he’s spent there since he was 16 years old, Harry is heading back to the U.S.

There were lots of tears from Hattie, sympathetic looks from his sister, and sad waves from his mum.

He’s in his groove as a father to Oliver, balancing work and making time for FaceTime dates and even popping back over to France for a weekend. Camille is bringing Oliver to America in a few days.

His flight was seamless. He opted for business class so he could lay down and sleep. By the time the flight attendant shook him awake, they were just minutes from landing in New York City.

Looking to the escalators, the same ones Briar left him at to go to France over 3 months ago, his heart sinks. Getting broken up with 11 days into a trip is fucking with his head.

Harry’s driver, Paul, is waiting for him, the trunk of the SUV open for his luggage. He’d added an extra bag to carry new clothes and even a new trinket for his collection. Paul gently pats Harry on his back when he approaches.

Sliding into the back seat, Harry doesn’t bother buckling himself in, and lays his long legs over the seats. His eyes are about to close when he gets a text from Niall.

Welcome home, mate. I’ll stop over tomorrow for the meeting?

It’s not that he’s not excited to see Niall, he just can’t stomach acting happy and ignoring the elephant in the room. He wonders if he’s been to Wynnewood recently. He answers Niall with a quick ‘ya’ and shoves his phone in his pocket.

Town is quiet, just a few joggers and dog walkers milling about. It’s early, so the shops are only just opening their doors.

“Hey, Paul, can we stop for a minute? I want to grab a coffee.”

“Sure thing,” Paul says, slowly pulling the car to a stop.

With a cracking of his bones, Harry slides out of the car to stand in the street. He ducks inside the shop to find one guy behind the counter. He’s tall, flowy brown hair with a few tattoos on his arms and hand. He reminds Harry of a younger version of himself.

“Morning, man. Let me know what I can get started for you,” the barista smiles.

“Thanks. I’ll take two large iced cold brews. Black. And a croissant.”

“No problem. I just gotta fire up the oven, so it’ll be a minute," the guy says as Harry taps his credit card.

“Take your time,” Harry waves him off as he tucks himself into a corner booth, pulling out his phone to look at his emails.

A few more people filter into the coffee shop, so the level of chatter increases. Another worker brings over his coffees, and the original worker is pulling the croissant out of the oven.

The bell over the door jingles, signaling someone is entering.

“Hey, Bri!” the barista shouts as he’s pulling two espresso shots.

Harry’s blood runs cold as he wills himself to lift his head. His chest tightens when he’s met with his worst fear.

She’s as breathtakingly gorgeous as the day he left her at the bottom of the airport escalator. Her eyes are still puffy from sleep, but bright and lively as ever. Her skin is perfectly tanned, and her hair pulled into a neat braid that extends down her back. She’s a bit flushed, assuming she is in the middle of a run.

The barista has completely abandoned Harry’s croissant in order to lean over the counter and talk to her. He passes her her favorite drink; a green iced tea, lightly sweetened with lemon.

In his observation of this interaction, Harry forgets to breathe, so he lightly chokes on his own saliva. He’s hidden from their view, so he’s not worried about being caught.

Are they friends? Are they more? Was she in essentially no pain since she ended it?

Peering around, he can’t find an emergency exit. Paul will start to question why he’s been in there so long. The other worker finally brings his croissant to Harry, but there’s no way he can physically stomach it.

More people are entering the coffee shop, so Briar waves shyly to the barista and makes her way out of the shop.

He counts to 30 before pushing himself to his feet. The lock in his jaw is tight and his shoulders are so tense he’s scared he’ll snap a tendon.

He leaves the croissant, grabbing the drinks and stalking out of the shop. He’s moving haphazardly around the small cafe style tables.

“Have a good day, man!” the barista shouts, to which Harry ignores and slams the door with the strength of Thanos, he’s sure the whole building shook.

Paul is stood outside the car, leaning on the hood, his eyes a little wide, “Was that…”

“Yes,” Harry snaps, handing Paul the cup.

He rips the door open returning to his seat. His heart is pounding, and he can’t help but obsess over one detail:

She didn’t fucking pay for her drink.

For the remainder of her run, Briar felt unsettled, but she couldn’t pinpoint why. She never feels this paranoid unless she takes too much of her edible gummies. Even then, she always had Harry with her to make her feel safe.

Things with Spencer are stagnant; they’ve hooked up a few times, and he’s invited her to meet his friends. They have a good time when they’re together, but she isn’t feeling the spark. Since shutting off contact from Harry, she’s grasping for male attention; something she’s worked on since starting therapy.

There’s a networking event at Wynnewood later today, so Briar is anxious to know if Niall will be there. They’ve effectively avoided one another, treading the subject of she and Harry’s relationship lightly.

Her pace picks up when she hits the public garden, stomach twisting in pain when she passes the bench in the little alcove where she and Harry had their first official date. Tears begin to prick in her eyes, making her squeeze them shut to try and stop it from getting worse.

Her relationship grief comes in waves; waves of missing him and fits of anger. Anger at herself, really. Deep down, Briar recognizes she fucked up. She won’t admit it, though. The amount of times she’s wanted to pick up her phone, unblock him and grovel at his feet should have her on some sort of government watchlist. She reaches her apartment complex in record time.

While the shower runs, she foam rolls her legs and starts to lay out her skin care on the counter. Her phone is blasting her calming playlist, and her favorite bergamot candle from Target is lit. She’s not sure what comes over her, but she delicately enters her passcode and scrolls to Harry’s contact.

Her stomach churns and her finger hovers over the unblock button. She’s a split second from unblocking him when she hears Gus bark abruptly in the other room. Slamming her phone back down, she strips her clothes and jumps into the cold shower. That should clear her head a little.

Getting ready and driving to Wynnewood went by in a blur. Her knuckles are white from gripping her steering wheel tightly. She’s certain she’ll see Niall today. He’s the executive sponsor of the networking and charity event on the back course and luncheon in the main dining room. She just hopes his best mate isn’t there to support. She’ll donate an extra buck to make up for that damning thought.

Briar spots her Uncle Patrick in his office squinting at the computer screen as he normally does. She smiles to herself before gently opening the door. Patrick looks up, glasses perched on the end of his nose.

“Hey, Bear,” he smiles brightly.

“Hi,” she sighs, taking her usual spot on the sofa.

“I sent over your itinerary for California. We’ll all be on the same flight, but you’ll be on your own for most of the trip. The boys and I will be playing at Pebble Beach and a few other courses. But, I’m sure you’ll keep busy with your mom.”

Briar inhales through her nose at the mention of her mother. This will be her first time visiting her in her new life in California. Anxiety bubbles in her chest, causing her to feel her pulse at her neck.

“We want you to come over for dinner when you drop Gus off and stay the night so I can take us all to the airport Sunday morning.”

Her jaw locks at that. This is a mandated trip, planned by her uncle so she can’t put it off. She’s the last of her siblings to visit. Seeing her mother start over with a new family seems too much to bear. Her heart hurts thinking about it.

“Okay. Are you sure Aunt Mer is okay watching him? I can have Caroline stay at my apartment.”

“She’s fine. She’ll want a buddy for the week, anyway.”

Briar hums, playing with the hem of her shirt as she musters up the courage to go out on the course. But before she does, she scrolls to Harry’s contact again and finally bites the bullet to unblock him.

Harry finally makes it back to his house. The sun is rising, casting an orange hue over the windows. He sees his annoying neighbor Maureen watering her plants, so he’s sure if she sees him she’ll fill him in on 12 weeks of nonsense he missed.

The lawn is well kept and the windows are clean. Madison did a good job of making sure his house is in order. His heart twinges when he enters the new code on his lock, imagining Briar on this same step, cursing him out and steam blowing out of her ears. He misses the way her nose would scrunch up any time she was cross with him.

Slowly, the door opens and the deafening silence hits him like a bus. No sign of life anywhere. He isn’t tripping over her shoes, and he doesn’t smell the light traces of coconut and citrus from her perfume anymore.

Paul follows behind him, placing his bags down by the entryway. Harry says nothing, but nods at him appreciatively.

“I’ll be back to pick you up for the airport on Sunday, Harry.”

“Thanks, Paul. Have a good day.”

Dreading the walk upstairs, Harry continues on with his carry-on so he can shower and try to sleep off as much jet lag as he can. He has a feeling he’ll have a lot of early mornings this week to get back on track.

He stomps up the stairs, preparing himself to see his bedroom with no traces of Briar left. The door squeaks when he opens it, and a gust of wind escapes his lungs. It feels wrong; almost too sterile. Briar brings a certain level of peace and comfort everywhere she goes, and now his house feels empty and void of color and fun.

Hell, he even wishes his sheets were twisted from Gus rolling around on the bed even though Harry hates it. The three of them just fit. It was easy.

Harry pads into the bathroom, turning the water in his shower on the hottest setting, ignoring the lonely blue toothbrush sitting on the counter, clearly missing its pink companion.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, not expecting to be hit with the grief from something as simple as that.

Just before he strips, he opens his text conversation with Briar to send his daily “ . ” to see if he’s still blocked. This time, the message is blue.

Harry’s heart stops for a split second. A rush of adrenaline shoots up his spine, but he can’t help the smile that’s formed on his face.

Briar finally emerged from Patrick’s office, so she quickly scurries to the garage to start loading up her cart. The bar backs already got a head start on it, so really she is only putting out the fun straws and straightening up.

She spots Joaquin, the stuffed bird Harry got her. She’ll spare him — for now. She thanks the boys for their help before setting off to the back course.

Wynnewood is packed with people, thanks to the networking and fundraising event hosted by Niall and the men’s league he plays in on Wednesday nights. She’s bound to see him, so she’s basking in the moments of no awkwardness.

Zipping past the practice green and driving range, she spots a lot of members who are never at the club at the same time; it’s all of her worlds colliding at once. No sign of Niall.

The shift is going relatively smoothly; Everyone is in great moods, and being even more generous. She’s already decided she’ll donate a portion of her tips to the fundraiser.

Rounding the 14th hole, she sighs as she sees Niall seemingly waiting for her. He’s leaning suavely on his golf club, tan chinos hugging his legs nicely. He smiles at her facial expression, knowing he has her in his trap.

Panicking, Briar slowly approaches him on the path. As Niall begins to speak, Briar punches the gas and plows over the grass, cutting around Niall. In shock, he whips around and begins to shout after her. She smiles to herself smugly as she whips to the 15th hole.

The grounds crew will have to forgive her for fucking up the grass.

Briar makes it through the afternoon without running into Niall again. But at 3pm, she’s in need of a break. She parks the cart and heads to the locker room. Staring down at her phone, her breath hitches when she sees a notification from Harry.

Just as she’s about to swipe to open the message, a pair of hands grabs her and she’s suddenly lifted into the air.

“Oh my God! What the f—”

Niall is laughing hysterically as he drags her into the empty steam room. He covers her mouth so she stops screaming. He places her down on the ground and she starts to smack him on the chest.

“Niall, what the fuck is wrong with you? Grabbing a fucking girl like that!”

“I know, you’ll have to forgive me,” He laughs sitting down on the teak bench. “I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Okay,” he reasons, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sure about that?”

Briar stays put. Niall cocks his head at her, fully assuming if that were the truth, she’d have left by now.

“Fine,” she grumbles. “What?”

“What is going on? You’ve been AWOL, Harry won’t talk to me, and I’m just plain miserable. Why did he fuck off to England?”

Briar is quiet. She had no idea he hasn’t been in the states this entire time. She figured he was avoiding Wynnewood.

“He was in England?”

Niall hums, “There it is. There’s the confirmation.”

“Fucking — Fine, yes, Niall, we broke up. I broke it off.”

Niall sighs again standing up to face her, “I figured as much. It’s been like, two months, and he’s barely had a conversation that’s not about work with me. He worked remotely from his sister’s.”

Her heart hurts knowing Harry fled to England; reminiscent of when Camille ended the engagement. She can’t help but feel like a villain.

“Briar, you’re 24. I think anyone with a good head on their shoulders would have apprehensions if their significant other has a kid. He just needed time.”

Tears prick in her eyes as she hears the one thought she’s been beating herself up over for weeks.

“I know,” she admits quietly.

“There’s plenty of time to fix it, if that’s what you want.”

Niall pulls her to his chest, the most physical touch she’s received in weeks. He leans down to whisper in her ear, “I’m sweating out of my arsehole right now.”

She guffaws and shoves him, turning on her heels to leave the steam room. She pulls her phone back out to deal with the text from Harry. She mentally prepares to read a long text trying to get her back. Instead, she’s met with a single “ . ”

What the fuck?

Friday night comes quicker than Briar likes. She begrudgingly loads her luggage and Gus’s supplies into the Jeep and sets off for her Aunt and Uncle’s house. Her brothers are already there, based on the memes in the “BarlHOES” family group chat.

Her uncle is quick to help her unload and manage Gus, and Cormac grabs her small suitcase and backpack. She gives her youngest brother a big hug. They silently embrace until Cormac pulls away.

She follows the two of them inside and is greeted by her aunt.

“Hi, sweets! I’ve missed you, honey.”

Briar hugs her aunt and gives her her best fake smile. Meredith looks at her knowingly.

Dinner goes by in a blur; Briar only participating if directly spoken to. The boys head to bed early to prepare for their rude wake up call at 3:30 AM. Patrick bids the girls a good night after he takes out the trash.

Briar slowly backs out of the kitchen, hoping her aunt doesn’t notice. Meredith clears her throat and slams two wine glasses down on the kitchen island. She silently reaches down into the wine fridge and pulls out a Cabernet Sauvignon.

“Sit,” Meredith orders.

Briar exhales and gives in. She pulls out the stool and rests her legs on the spare one between them while Meredith pours.

“How long?” Meredith pries.

“How long, what?” Briar plays dumb.

“The break up. The break. Whatever you’re calling it,” She pokes. “The reason you’ve been M.I.A.”

“10 weeks, maybe? I ended it,” Briar replies, stone faced. “I’m hooking up with someone from my program now.”

Meredith sighs, taking a sip of her wine. “What spooked you?"

“Nothing. I just wanted Harry to be able to adjust to being a dad without me in the way. I had the parent who didn’t choose her kids, and it sucked.”

“I think those were two completely different situations, Bri. Your mom had issues and needed to focus on getting better. Harry can easily find a balance with his circumstances.”

Briar rubs her neck, “I’m only 24, I can’t be someone’s step-mom,” Briar replies out of exasperation.

Meredith glares at her and clears her throat, “Um, I was only 27 when I took in FIVE little monsters. Cormac was barely even eating solid foods!”

Briar laughs, and takes a sip. “You’re right. I didn’t think about that.”

“It was the sexiest thing watching Patrick care for all of you. It showed commitment and stability,” Meredith recalls fondly. “And it takes a strong partner to keep it all together. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

Briar inhales deeply, resting her head on her forearms, “I know what we had was good. Amazing, even. I fucked it all up. I told him not to contact me. But obviously I wanted him to. He respects me so fucking much, he listened!”

Meredith laughs, “Briar, he’s 40 years old. He’s not gonna play your game. So, now, you need to figure out what you’re going to do about it. I suggest you do some reflecting and journaling when you’re in California. And smoke a joint. It’ll give you all the clarity you need.”

Briar hums, shaking her head.

“I think you already know what you want. You just have to go get it.”

Harry’s wake up call on Sunday ripped him from a deep sleep; the best night’s sleep he’s had since getting back to the states. He’s usually up by 4:45 AM pacing the kitchen and reorganizing things for the hell of it.

But today, he’s sluggish, and doesn’t even want to move from his bed. Rising to a seated position on the edge, he cracks his neck, followed by several cracks down his vertebra.

He checks his phone to find a text from Camille from 30 minutes ago. She, Oliver, Theo and Amelie are 2 hours from landing. Harry and Oliver are going on a solo trip, so Camille and her family are staying in New York for the next 2 weeks while they bond. Harry has a few stops in mind, and he can’t wait to spend this time alone with him.

Paul texts Harry that he’s downstairs. He unlocks the door from his phone, and sends him a text to let him know where his luggage is. For good measure, Harry checks his messages between himself and Briar. The message is still blue, but no indication that she read it.

He slips down the stairs after getting ready to head to the airport to meet them. Harry and Oliver’s flight is in a few hours, giving them plenty of time to go through customs and get him situated.

The ride is silent; Harry slipping in and out of a light sleep. Paul isn’t talkative in the morning, either. For some odd reason, there’s a traffic jam at the terminal. Harry can’t quite place what’s going on, but spots a family that looks like they’re arguing and some of their bags rolled into the road. Harry shrugs and pulls hood further over his eyes to block out the bright lights of the terminal.

Camille’s plane hasn’t landed yet, so Harry opts to lay in the car until it’s closer to when they’ll hit customs. With time to kill, he slips back into a peaceful sleep.

“Get the fuck out of my face!” Jasper screams at Welles before shoving him out of the way.

“I didn’t even fucking do anything!” Welles screams back.

Before they know it, suitcases are toppling over into the street, and Uncle Patrick jumps out of the driver’s seat to intervene. He shoves Jasper, who’s significantly taller than the rest of the boys, and shoots Welles a glare.

“Knock it off! Callum, Cormac. Pick the suitcases up. Now!”

Cars are honking and swerving to avoid the family’s altercation. All of this is happening at the grand old time of 6:15 AM. The younger boys roll their eyes before listening to their uncle.

Briar is disassociating in the passenger’s seat, not even lifting her head to assess the situation. She woke up with extreme anxiety, so she’s just praying her heart doesn’t jump out of her chest.

“Fucking ridiculous. 30 years old, for Christ’s sake,” Patrick mutters about Welles.

If there’s one thing about the Barlowe boys, they settle everything physically. They’ll even team up on Briar every once in a while, throwing her in a headlock or slamming her down on the sofa.

She finally snaps from her daze and maneuvers to grab her belongings. For all she cares, she’ll head in alone and pretend she doesn’t know them. Once she’s through security and has her Starbucks, she’ll be golden.

They descend toward the escalator, until Briar hears a gasp. She whips her head around to her younger brother, Cormac, looking white as a ghost.

She places her hands on his shoulders, her sisterly instincts kicking in, “Mac? What’s wrong, bubby? Are you gonna be sick?”

He speaks so softly she has to lean in to hear him.

“Bri, I forgot my license. Are they gonna let me on the plane?”

She tries to mask the pain on her face, but fails. She glances over at her stressed uncle, whose blood pressure is probably only just lowering. Cormac turned 18 3 days ago, so she knows their chances of flying without his license is slim to none

“It’s okay, I’ll tell Uncle Patrick,” she pats his head lightly.

They are 25 feet from the security line, so Briar speaks up.

“Uncle Pat, don’t make a scene, please,” she reasons. “Mac doesn’t have his I.D.”

Patrick closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to try and regulate his reaction. Wordlessly, he pulls out his phone to dial American Airlines. Briar watches as he places his phone between his shoulder and ear, and aggressively waves the family to follow him back downstairs.

Needless to say, none of the Barlowes got on that plane.

It was just like the movies when Harry reunited with Oliver. He stood at the bottom of the escalators and waited for his boy to spot him from the top. He immediately bounces on his heels but refrains from running down the escalator when Camille shoots him a look. Amelie is strapped to Camille’s chest while Theo manages the bags.

“Papa!” Oliver shouts as soon as he’s within earshot of Harry.

“Mate! Welcome to America!”

Camille smiles as she makes the final steps off the escalator. She looks down at her excited boy fondly and gives Harry a side hug as to not disturb the baby.

“Customs line long?” Harry asks, breaking up the mild awkward silence. Theo finally joined them, shaking Harry’s hand and pulling him in for a bro hug.

“Not bad today. Packed far too much, though,” Theo grumbles, looking directly at Camille.

“2 1/2 weeks in New York means 2 months worth of clothes,” she smirks.

While Harry takes Oliver to California solo, Theo and Camille are staying in New York. Camille worked out several business deals, so she’ll have in-person meetings the entire time. When Harry and Oliver return, they’ll fly home to Paris together. After that, Harry’s not sure when he’ll see him next.

Camille felt more comfortable being in on the same continent during their first solo trip. Harry is stoked — he planned the whole trip to Montecito, being sure to hit all his old favorite spots and spend plenty of time in the sun. Even though he and Camille aren’t together, he thinks it’s important to tell Oliver about their story. He probably won’t understand, but he’s excited nonetheless.

Oliver stifles a yawn, so Harry takes that as their queue to start their own trip. They have about an hour until their flight. He needs coffee and a good bagel.

Camille leans down to give Oliver a huge hug, whispering in his ear to behave, be kind and have fun. The boy smiles brightly, wiggling his first loose tooth at her.

“That tooth better be gone when I see you next, mister!” She smiles, planting a kiss on his cheek.

“I think we can arrange that. Does the tooth fairy travel?” Harry laughs.

Harry bids the couple farewell, and drags he and Oliver’s bags behind him. He spots a Dunkin’ Donuts, so he decides to treat them to some coffee — hot chocolate for the little guy — and munchkins.

Oliver’s eyes light up at the taste of his first American donut. Harry hopes he isn’t going to regret this later, unsure of how Oliver reacts to loads of sugar. It’s the American way, he supposes.

To pass the time, Oliver colors and the two of them play tic tac toe. He’s grateful he wasn’t raised as an iPad child. They talk about what movies they’re going to watch, fully knowing the boy will probably sleep for most of the flight. He’s a trooper after almost 24 hours of travel.

Harry shows Oliver pictures of their bungalow for the next 2 weeks; a small cottage steps from the beach and a short walk from the Beachwood Cafe, he and Camille’s old stomping grounds.

About 20 minutes before the flight, Harry ushers them over to their gate. As he’s sitting down, he partially tunes out the chatter around him, until he hears an announcement from the desk associate, her accent thick.

“Bare-low party of six, please check in at the desk.”

Harry looks around, in case the love of his life is right under his nose. He can’t be that lucky.

Then again, 10 minutes later.

“Bare-low, party of six, last call to check-in. Standby passengers, please come to the desk.”

Getting Oliver settled, they wait for their boarding call. They board third, a new perk of having a kid.

He places their bags in the overhead bin, sets his boy up with snacks, juice and headphones for a movie, but he can already see his little eyelids fluttering. Painstakingly slow, the plane boards. Harry paid close attention to the passengers coming on, and he knew his luck had run out.

Though, the seat next to him is suspiciously empty as the pilot announces the closing doors.

Thanks to Aunt Meredith leaving pilates to drive an hour to the airport during rush hour, Mac has his license and they’re booked for a later flight. The family swiftly runs through security and heads to their gate. The boys have calmed down, opting to lay in an empty row of chairs. Two are sleeping and two are scrolling their phones.

Patrick is scratching Briar’s head as she leans against him, something they’ve always done since she was little and pretended to be a dog everywhere they went.

Their boarding group is called, so they embark on their journey, leaving Briar to suck it up. She’s decided she’s going to make this trip about her, leaving all distractions behind. Her mother, Harry, Spencer, and school.

Settling into her seat, she turns on the movie she queued up and gets comfortable. She watches about 25 minutes of the movie before dozing off. She hopes Patrick will wake her to get a biscoff biscuit and a ginger ale, but she doesn’t have high expectations.

Patrick nudges Briar awake when there’s 40 minutes left in their flight. She climbs over a sleeping Cormac to use the bathroom and stretch her legs. She spots her other brothers a few rows back, smiling at the way they’re piled on one another. It reminds her of them all as kids, dog piling on a fort of pillows in the basement.

She stretches her arms above her head as she pees, swearing plane bathrooms have gotten smaller. She takes a selfie in the plane bathroom before heading back to her seat. Cormac is still passed out, so she clambers over him to the window seat.

Before she knows it, the plane is descending into Los Angeles. A pit forms in her stomach knowing she is spending the next 2 weeks with her mom while her brothers and uncle golf and surf most of the time.

Patrick rented two cars; so she opts to ride with Welles. It’s not often the two of them are alone. He was 12 when their dad died, so he had a more realistic grasp on what was happening to their family. He was Cormac’s age when their mother sought treatment. His bright, happy demeanor dissipated quickly. It makes Briar’s heart hurt sometimes. Her siblings dealt with these issues differently, and they’ve never had a true heart to heart about it.

They drive for a few miles, Welles fiddling with the Bluetooth and playing his music. They’re in the car for the next few hours, so Briar finally got the courage to speak up.

She clears her throat, “what moment did you realize Mom needed help?”

Welles’ eyebrows scrunch, and he looks over at his sister before looking back at the road.

“Uhm,” he starts, not sure where to begin. “I remember Mom picking me up from the first day of middle school. She was waiting for me in the pick up line, and she was slurring her words. I obviously didn’t know what being high was, so I was scared something was wrong with her health.”

She closes her eyes, remembering that day vividly. Uncle Patrick came storming into the house, yelling at their mother. Welles called him, too scared to get in the car with her.

“I remember that,” Briar replies quietly. “Mine was when she kept missing important things; school events and doctors appointments. It got to the point she didn’t know what day it was.”

“Yeah,” Welles responds solemnly. “Well, that’s in the past now. She’s better. Even though I don’t agree with some of the choices she’s made recently, we have to try to support her.”

“I know,” she starts to sniffle. “It was just fucked up to put that kind of pressure on us.”

Welles reaches over to squeeze her shoulder, “I know, Bear.”

Harry and Oliver’s trip started off smoothly. He collected their bags and got them on the shuttle to the rental car office. Oliver could still barely keep his eyes open, so Harry held him while they stood in line. When it was finally their turn, Harry was ecstatic (first to relieve his back and arms from carrying 55 pounds, and second, because he rented them a convertible coupe).

It’s similar to the car he used to drive around Montecito as golden hour hit the coastline. He and Camille would drive on the Pacific Coast Highway and head to the beach to smoke a joint and watch the stars. He smiles to himself fondly.

He sets Oliver up with a booster seat in the back, and rolls the top down. If he weren’t so tired, he’s sure he’d be smiling ear to ear.

“Papa, je suis fatigué,” Oliver mumbles.

Harry smiles to himself. Even though Oliver can speak English well, his native tongue slips out when he’s exhausted.

“I know, mate. As soon as we’re at the house we can sleep some more.”

“D’accord, Papa.”

They drive for a while, and Harry slows down to stare out at the ocean as he drives through familiar towns. He’s excited to have some decent Mexican food again.

They pull up to the bungalow a little before noon. He lifts Oliver from his booster, laying his head on his shoulder. He unlocks the door based on the AirBnB host’s instructions, and gently lays him down on the sofa in the main room. His face scrunches in protest, and Harry can’t help but feel like he’s looking in the mirror. Even their mannerisms are identical.

Jogging back out to the car, Harry unloads and gets everything inside before locking up. He’s excited to head out back and enjoy the view. He snaps a few photos of the water, and sends his daily “ . ” text to Briar.

The bubble is blue again.

Briar and Welles talked the whole drive to Montecito. They laughed as they covered what seemed like years they’ve missed out on being close. She hopes this is a turning point for them.

Her phone chimes, and her heart stops as she looks down at the notification. Another fucking “ . ” from Harry! What does that even mean?

“What’s wrong?” Welles pipes up. She must’ve made a sound or had a sour face.

“Oh, um. I’m not sure if I told you, but Harry and I broke up.”

“Yeah, Jasper told me. Sorry to hear.”

“Thanks. So, I blocked him like, 2 months ago, and I just unblocked him the other day. I’ve been getting messages that only have a period in them, and I have no idea what that means.”

“It means he’s been testing if he’s still blocked. He’s probably been sending those the entire time.”

Briar ponders this. She kind of thinks it’s funny. And a little sad.

She laughs, “Do you know that from experience?”

“Maybe. Before Imani and I were good together, we were not so good together,” he says, hysterically laughing.

The GPS indicates they’re at their destination. It’s a nice house that overlooks the ocean, and appears to be well kept.

Patrick and the other boys are already inside, so Welles and Briar approach the front door to knock. They’re greeted by a small girl, no older than 8 years old, in a purple princess gown.

“Hi,” Briar smiles.

The girl ignores her and retreats back inside. She and Welles shrug, stepping into the threshold of the house. They follow the loud voices into the main living room. Along the way, she spots photos on the walls of her mother, her new husband, and his kids. Her heart pangs when she realizes there isn’t a trace of her or her brothers.

“Bear! Wellie!” Catherine Barlowe screeches. “All my babies under one roof!”

She hugs both of them and plants strong kisses on their cheeks.

“Did you meet Penelope?”

“Uh, I think so,” Welles responds.

“You remember Dean, right? And these are his two other girls, Daphne and Delaney,” she points to two identical girls. They’re probably 10 years old. Brian remembers seeing photos of them at the wedding.

Dean leans in to give her a hug and shake Welles’ hand.

They all exchange pleasantries until Briar excuses herself outside. Their back deck is gorgeous, and overlooks a picturesque part of the ocean. She snaps a few photos, and fights the urge to send them to Harry.

By the end of day 9, Harry is exhausted. He wasn’t aware of the mental toughness required to occupy a child, feed said child, and and also take care of himself. His heart grows three sizes everytime Oliver smiles during a new activity, making it all worth it.

They’ve already explored the beaches, went shopping, went to the aquarium, explored Big Sur, and even spent a day on the golf course. Harry just had to sneak one day of golf in to keep sane. Oliver reacted well and had fun chasing the golf cart, despite the nasty looks from members.

They start off most of their days by walking to Beachwood for coffee and croissants, and Harry tells Oliver their plans for the day. It’s been nice to reminisce his life with Camille. Almost like exposure therapy.

They check in with Camille frequently, and Harry’s even gone out of his way to vlog their entire trip. Maybe he’ll put together a video at the end. Briar used to love vlogging. She’d take 1 second clips and arrange them with his favorite songs. Some videos were for their eyes only.

Camille is busy with work, but she’s thinking of leasing a New York apartment to make traveling with Oliver easier. Harry’s not sure how to feel about it.

Harry goes to sleep that night with a plan to take Oliver kayaking. They’ll swing by Beachwood before heading off.

Briar’s brothers and uncle have golfed every single day, leaving her to stay with her mother and her new family. It’s interesting seeing her mother in this role; almost like she’s on a TV show. This trip should be healing for Briar, but she feels an overwhelming sense of anxiety.

The moment she woke up, Briar informed her mother that she’d like to spend the day alone. They’d gone shopping one on one and went to lunch, but Briar felt a major disconnect. Her mother took some offense, but understood she’s there for a few more days.

Slipping on her running sneakers and pink trucker hat, Briar set off up the hills of Montecito. She’s explored every coffee shop in the neighborhood and has one left that her mother raves about; the Beachwood Cafe. Her running pace has improved tremendously, so she makes it to the doors of the cafe just after 8. It’s jam packed, but she realizes it’s a Saturday. On vacation, she loses track of the days.

After ordering her iced green tea and a croissant, she spots an open table outside. The sun is shining, but the damning humidity from the east coast is nowhere to be found. She could live in weather like this forever.

Her podcast is playing and she just started the mini crossword when she feels the vibrations of the extra seat at her table being drug away from the table. Startled, Briar looks up to find a young boy, loose chocolate brown curls on his head, freckles, and bright green eyes staring at her. Still a bit stunned, Briar doesn’t react when the boy sits at her table. He has a book of marine animals with him, equipped with a sticker set.

Her heart is beating erratically. It can’t be, can it?

The boy is paying her no mind as she wordlessly starts to pack up her things. She’s cursing herself for bringing so much shit with her on a run. He munches on his croissant with strawberry jam and watches her fumble around.

Finally, she gathers her things and heads to the door, her head down in case this is really happening. She takes 5 stunted steps before running into a rock-solid object. She stares down at the brightly colored Hoka sneakers belonging to the man she’s utterly in love with, but is choosing to torture herself and stay away from.

“Birdie?”

___________________________________________

REUNITED N IT FEELS SO GOOOOOOD :D

Wrapping up the story in part 10 <3 I already know how I want it to go, so hopefully I can get it up soon.

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #harry styles imagine #Harry styles smut #dom!harry #daddy!harry #agegapfic #Harry Styles golf #golfrry #one direction imagine #daddy!h #fth h #fairway to heaven #harry styles x oc

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princess-ibri · 7 months

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Darkside Disney Princesses: Ariel

Ariel’s fall begins after the destruction of her grotto, when in this timeline, Sebastian decides actually go and tell Triton she’s about to head off to seek a deal with Ursula

Still reeling from the discovery of all of Ariel’s human objects, and pushed even further in his paranoia and fear for his daughter’s safety, Triton’s anger explodes again at this reckless act and he has Ariel locked in a tower room in the palace until she finally ‘comes to her senses’

He also takes the step of making sure Ursula never tries to meddle with any of his daughters ever again. The Nautilus necklace protects her from the magic of the Trident just enough that she survives, but is forced to flee far beyond Atlantica’s borders (per the backstory rules I’ve set for my DisneyVerse)

This act only makes Ariel’s anger towards her father that began with the destruction of her treasures grow, and without the wonder of gaining human form and her prince’s love, and the isolation of her punishment, that anger turns into deep burning resentment.

Never one to take things lying down, Ariel attempts again and again to escape her confinement, each time she’s caught stoking Triton’s ire and her own resentment. Both of their hot tempers get the better of them, driving wedges between Ariel and her friends who fail to help her, and Triton and his people, as he takes his frustration out on them.

But something has begun to stir within Ariel, fueled by the darkness and despair growing within her heart. All the royal line has some aptitude for magic, as evidenced by their ability to wield the great Trident without being overcome by it. But in most of them it stays small and unfocused, unneeded in daily life.

But now Ariel has both focus and need. Her singing voice has always been special, even among her sisters lovely voices. There’s always been something about it that people feel drawn towards, and now, now she begins to feel it’s power growing within her, feeding off her anger, her despair, her desires. And she hones it as best she can from a gift into a weapon.

And finally, one night, a guard finds himself succumbing to the beautiful song that begs him to unlock the door, and then sleep so that he does not see the princess escape…. Ariel does not stay long enough to discover that he never wakes again.

The moment she’s free, Ariel takes off into open water, determined to place as much distance between herself and her now hated father—and to find the Prince she saved, three long years ago. The memories of him have been her only real companions, and isolation has fanned what could have become True Love given the chance into an obsession, fueled by her growing Magic, a magic she does not truly know how to control.

She begins stalking the ships that cross the ocean waves, singing out to the sailors who work them, seeking her lost love, calling him to her. She does not mean to cause men to leap overboard for want of her, lured in by her song. But neither can she save all of them. Sometimes she doesn't even notice they’ve lept into the waves, too focused on seeking for the face of her prince to notice that of any other man.

The sailors who survive spread the tale of the siren that haunts the waters around the kingdom, a fiend hair as red as blood and a voice that draws men to their deaths, the ships begin to travel with supplies of cotton to cover their ears, and harpoons to put an end to any mermaid they might see.

Ariel does not care, she barely feels the nicks of the spears as the graze her, thrown by men made too clumsy to kill by her song, powerful enough now to seep in past the cotton. She is seeking Her Prince, and she will not stop until she finds him.

Meanwhile, the prince who is now a King, who was forced two years ago to give up his dreamer’s quest for the girl with the beautiful voice who saved him, and marry a suitable royal bride for the prosperity of his kingdom, now finds that kingdom threatened by the presence of a monster from the deep.

When enough men to man three ships have been lost to the deep trying to subdue it, he decides it’s time he protects his kingdom himself.

He bids farewell to his wife, who he is fond of, even if he does not love her, and their young child, who he does, and sails off into the sea to strike down this foe.

He never returns.

And the Siren who haunts their shores remains, still searching, still singing for the Prince she lost, who in her madness she did not even recognize when he lept into the waves, pulled like all others by her song. The gash on her side from his spear is the closest to a kiss they will ever share in this life…

#Darkside Disney Princesses #Darkside Disney princess #my art #disney #dark Ariel #Ariel #the little mermaid #tlm #prince eric #(yeah this did turn out kinda similar to the Dark Aurora one #but in that Aurora is actively luring people into the woods for Maleficent’s nefarious purposes #and her prince follows more or less willingly #Ariel has just become overcome with her desires and anger to the point of losing herself to her magic #she doesn’t mean to drown anyone #spooky season #halloween #disney villains #darkside disney

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marimoscorner · 1 month

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A Witch’s Hearth: Finding Home in Nature

In our Disconnected, Urban World

Written by Autumn (she/her) 🍁

To most witches, pagans and druids, the nature around us is as much of a home as our own domiciles. It’s healing to go out to an old growth forest, to bathe in the wisdom of beings who lived before you and will likely still stand tall when you are amidst their soil.

However, not everyone has immediate access to the lovely blessing of a deep forest.

I myself recently moved from the deep, lush forests of the PNW to just about as far south as I could go in my car, chasing the light that I need to function. The move has helped with my daily functions and mental health, yes—but I have been left feeling a bit lost without the forests of home.

Join me as I plan some ways in which I can adapt anew to the nature around my new home, how I may incorporate it in my magic, and how I may carve out a new spiritual hearth for myself.

Perhaps this can help inspire folks to tackle their own homesickness with nature, and to reconnect with the world in which they live (whether or not they’ve made a move).

Once again, please take this with a grain of salt—as this is just from my own experiences. I am not a teacher, I am simply recording my thoughts in the hopes to add my voice to the pot. With that, let’s begin! 🌿

A Deep Homesickness

This photo is one my partner took at our engagement up in WA, right before we ran into a bear

The above photo is how I think of home. The deep green of the forest, the blue of the mountains on the horizon. Moss on just about every surface. The rich dirt that sustained it all. Were it not rainy and dark most of the year, I wouldn’t have left.

Now, I find home in a biome all its own. I’m living deeper into a city than I ever have, and I’m feeling isolated from nature. While the beach is close by, any deep woods that remind me of the edges of the wilderness up north are at the very least two to three hours away by car.

Though I have a hard time remembering this, it is not a bad change. Any plant that is uprooted from the earth it’s known its whole life is bound to feel a bit uncomfortable. But perhaps it can flourish if moved to soil better suited for its intrinsic needs.

Though my experience includes a physical move, this can apply to a homesickness you feel due to a simple displacement of nature in this society. Perhaps you aren’t seeing enough nature, or aren’t able to connect with what’s around you.

Let’s forge ahead to tackle this feeling of loneliness head on!

Finding Similarities

This is a photo I took at a hike about 2.5 hrs out of the way down here. Though without as many trees, it felt much more familiar and was beautiful in its own right

In our modern society, we’re left with a longing to return to nature—to our home. You may find yourself longing for a specific kind of view. Perhaps you’re looking for prominence of a particular element—like a roaring river to enact water or plenty of clover to help you feel the earth. The following is a list of steps to tackle this:

Make a list of things you want to see or things that would help you feel at home in nature. Think of your dream location when it comes to the outdoors. What does it look like? What features does it have? How do you feel?

Go online and find trails nearby with as similar to these features as possible. AllTrails has the ability to search for trails with waterfalls, forests, wildflowers, wildlife, etc. for free. Make good use of the wonderful web of resources provided to us.

Make an effort to connect with nature at least once a month, if you can. Be sure to pack for safety—and take a nice hike, or sit under an old tree and journal in your grimoire. Ground yourself and notice the seasons around you

In this way, you’ll help your soul settle and feel comfortable, which will help with our next steps.

Bring a Piece of Nature Home

Here’s one of my cats, Pagan, enjoying our newest garden box arrangement. I’m so proud of how far she’s come since we rescued this tiny baby

Many times, it’s near impossible to find the time in our busy lives during the week to go deep into nature. Thus, we need to take this connection into our own hands, and build our own miniature wild sanctuary.

NOTE: Do not remove plants or creatures from nature. They are there for a reason.

Take inventory of your available space. Is this your entire patio? A shelf? A portion of your altar? A garden box? A whole backyard? Take measurements so you can better plan

Remember your list of natural things you enjoy. Brainstorm some ways to include them in this space. It could be a photo or painting of your dream location. It could also be an actual plant for a tiny breath of fresh air. If you have the space, you could plant a whole garden! It is whatever matters most to you. Try and incorporate your local biome to help enmesh the two worlds, if they are different.

Thrift and shop around to fulfill the needs of this space. The more you can get secondhand or from smaller businesses in your community, the better. You may even be able to ask your neighbors or friends with impressive plants for a cutting to propagate!

Consider the safety of any children or animals in your life. A lot of plants and flowers can be toxic to certain creatures. Utilize the web to determine what is safe for your situation.

Set up your space and enjoy! You may utilize spells or ritual to fully enact the space and help it to feel more magical, but it is really your choice.

For my family, we live in an apartment. We haven’t had a backyard in years. Still, we’ve found way to turn our patio into a spot of natural respite. We utilize a tiered planter in order to make the most of our patio space. Though we’ve included small flowers that remind us of our old home, we’ve embraced the biome we’re currently in and have an entire row of beautiful succulents. Of course, we also added catnip for our babies, and herbs for our kitchen witchcraft. We also put down these outdoor tiles from IKEA that mimic a lawn and wooden patio. On our table, we’ve put a hummingbird feeder to help better support local wildlife, and are discussing an actual bird feeder.

Embracing the Nature Around You

A photo I took of a playful wild crow. He was an excellent little model!

This is a step I still need to complete myself. When biomes don’t match up with how you picture nature in your craft, it can be frustrating! Especially if you’re in a fairly urban area, you may not have much access or choice in which nature you interact with.

Here’s the good thing, though: it’s all nature, regardless of how it shows up in the world.

Start researching your local biomes. Take account of your local parks and community gardens. Study the history of the land that you’re on, and how it played into the lives of the people that it truly belongs to (of course, do not culturally appropriate. This should go without saying). Explore native biodiversity. Find volunteer programs at local organic farms. Visit a farmer’s market. The list of possibilities goes on.

If you’re feeling overwhelmed or don’t know where to start, this is how I’ll be organizing my journey through this step:

Make a list of natural sights in your area that are easily accessible to you. I’m talking within a 30 minute drive or closer level of close. These don’t need to match up perfectly with your perception of nature—you may be pleasantly surprised in what you find when you open yourself up. This could include: parks, hiking trails, state parks, plant nurseries or shops, local/community gardens, farms that allow for visitors, farmer’s markets, local watersheds that allow for visitors, etc.

Visit these locations safely, documenting what you find beautiful and/or spiritual in each one. List aspects of local nature and how that could make an impact if you were to include them in your craft

Create a mini encyclopedia of local spots that you end up loving for days where you’re feeling disconnected and need a quick pick-me-up. You might even create a jar full of folded papers to pick them at random.

Increase the amount of local natural elements that you include in your craft instead of/alongside elements of your idealized natural space. You may find this area around you feeling more like a home or hearth than you ever have before.

Once you start practicing awareness in nature more and more, you’ll start to notice it in more places. This can not only help with your connection to your location, but can help you build your magical hearth in the energy around you.

Giving Back

This is a photo I took at the San Diego Zoo of a weaver finch building its nest

Nature takes care of us, even when we’re detached from it in our cities. We need to take care of it in turn. If you have the means, find some way to give back to the nature around you if you so wish. Here are some ideas:

Give back to the plants with your energy, or make an offering of compost to replenish the soil

Purchase a Membership at a local zoo or aquarium that prioritizes conservation. This way you get to visit, too, while giving back! I love having memberships because I know on each visit I can really take my time and don’t have to rush about.

Volunteer to help reforest, or to help plant at a local garden. This can even be done by donation if you do not have the access or ability to physically participate

Consider giving homegrown herbs/plants to family and friends—or prepare them to help feed those in your community, if you have the means to donate

Teach others in your community how to properly dispose of waste and how they can help keep our natural beauty alive

Simply compost and recycle when the option is available to you

Etc. There is no one right way to do any of this! Just with your intent, you make your community a better place. Thank you for being in it

Thank you for taking the time to read through my little magical journal and ideas. Even if we don’t fully align, I hope that our paths crossing has contributed to even a slight net-positive in your day. I look forward to writing again soon.

#pagan #pagan witch #paganism #witchblr #witchcraft #druidry #druid #nature

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chicgeekgirl89 · 23 days

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Chapter 6 now available on AO3!

He’s going on a date. With Hottie Officer Carlos. Tomorrow. He’s equal parts thrilled and completely freaking out.

They’ve texted daily, mostly inane and sometimes flirty things. T.K. would be lying if he said he wasn’t horny for the guy. Seeing him in uniform, the way his muscles had filled out the sleeves, his thighs…T.K. has woken up more than a few times from dreams where Carlos’ broad hands are caressing their way down his body.

But as he’s told his therapist several times, that is not the point of this date. Carlos seems like a genuinely good guy. The type of guy T.K.’s always hoped to be with, the type of guy he thought Alex was.

Alex. T.K. sighs and wonders how long the specter of his previous boyfriend is going to hang over him. He’d tried to get the guy out of his head when he’d first arrived in Austin. There had been some sex, one-night stands whose names he doesn’t remember, and when that hadn’t worked he’d turned to getting the shit kicked out of him in bars. His dad picking him from jail is not even in the top ten lowest moments of his life, but he still feels kind of shitty about it.

He’s been trying his hardest since then to turn things around. This date with Carlos…it feels like a second chance. A chance to be the kind of guy who deserves someone like Carlos Reyes. And he’s trying really hard not to self sabotage it like he usually does.

Right now he’s having kind of a hard time telling the little voice in his head that reminds he’s not good enough to shut up.

“Why do you look like that?”

Judd settles into a chair across from him, leaning back and kicking his feet up.

T.K.’s hand stills where it’s been combing anxiously through Buttercup’s fur. “Look like what?”

“Look like you just accidentally jumped in the pen with my Uncle Cash’s meanest bull,” Judd says. “Something on your mind?”

T.K. rubs Buttercup’s ear and considers how much to share. His therapist has been pushing him to open up more to the people around him. His team has proven time and again that they’re trustworthy, but it’s still hard to give the darker pieces of himself away.

“I have a date,” he says finally.

“Oh really?” Judd says, an interested look flashing across his face. “With that cop from your phone?”

“Yes,” T.K. says. “We’re getting coffee tomorrow. And I’m…”

“You’re nervous,” Judd says with a nod, like it’s a fact. “Good.”

“Good? How is that good?”

“Means it’s worth something to ya,” Judd tells him. “Means it matters. You want a hook up, you just jump on in without caring. You want something more, you’re gonna feel scared you’ll mess it up.”

That makes far too much sense for T.K.’s nerves. “What if I do mess it up?” he asks. “What if he doesn’t like me? We’ve only met once for like two minutes. What if all this texting and talking works through the phone but we sit there and stare at each other in silence for an hour?”

“T.K.,” Judd shifts and sits forward so he can look him squarely in the eye. “I’ve known you for a year, and not once in all those days have you been able to sit in silence for longer than three and a half seconds. You’ll find something to talk about.”

“Thanks?” T.K. says, unsure whether he should feel grateful or offended.

“You’ll be great,” Judd says. “You’re a catch. He should be grateful he gets to spend time with you.”

The room warms in T.K.’s vision, a rosy hue brightening up the dark thoughts in his mind. “You think so?” he asks tentatively.

“You’re a god damned dual certified firefighter paramedic,” Judd says, his voice strong. “And a member of the 126. That alone makes you a catch.” He points a finger at T.K. “Don’t you forget it.”

T.K. has never in his life thought of himself as a catch. He’s just…a toy to be played with. Something for people to enjoy and then be sent packing when they’re tired of him. Judd’s words do something to him that he can’t quite pinpoint, but it feels like a small part of him heals.

Then the alarm sounds and they’re both on their feet, running to the truck. As T.K. buckles into his seat he realizes that he feels…good. It feels like light is dawning on him for the first time in so long. Like those moments when you can’t really see the sunrise yet, but you can feel that it’s coming soon.

They pull up to the fire within minutes and it looks terrible. Flames shoot from windows and out of the roof, smoke filling the early evening air as people flee from inside into the waiting arms of first responders.

T.K.’s heart does a weird lurch as he spots APD on the scene even though he knows Carlos is off tonight. They haven’t even been on a single date and he’s already getting butterflies over the guy. It’s ridiculous.

“Stay alert,” his dad is telling them all as they pull up to the scene. “Two in, two out. This place is going to be unstable. Stick with your partner and if anything seems off get out first and ask questions later.”

“Yes Cap,” they all chorus before jumping out and donning their tanks and masks.

Inside things are hot and dark. The fire is quickly sucking out any air left in the building and the smoke is billowing in thick, black clouds that make it nearly impossible to see. He’s paired up with Marjan and they’re both struggling to make it even a few feet down the narrow hallways.

They manage one rescue, a guy who’s leg is definitely broken, and it’s a relief when they carry him back outside. T.K. pulls off his mask and takes a couple gulps of clean air after they pass the guy off to medical.

“Ready to go again?” Marjan asks.

T.K. nods, replacing his mask and following her toward the door. But before they can head inside there’s a loud rumble and the earth shakes a little under their feet. “Whoa, what was that?” Marjan asks.

“Mayday mayday! Firefighter down!”

Mateo’s voice comes shouting over their radios and T.K.’s heart plummets into his boots. Marjan turns to him, eyes wide. “Isn’t Mateo with—“

“My dad,” T.K. says. Without a second thought he’s through the door.

“T.K.! T.K. wait!” Marjan yells after him.

He can hear her behind him, trying to keep up. “Mateo where are you?” he asks.

“Southeast side,” Mateo says. “He’s unconscious, I can’t wake him up!”

“We’re on our way,” T.K. says, taking the first left he comes to.

“Us too,” Judd says from wherever he and Paul are.

It’s only minutes but it feels like days before T.K. hears the screaming of a PASS alarm. They take a final turn and find Mateo kneeling on the floor next to his dad’s prone form. “What happened?” T.K. asks.

“Beam came down from the ceiling. Took him down hard,” Mateo says. “He hasn’t woken up since.” He looks like he’s just barely restraining himself from full blown panic.

T.K. can relate.

“Dad,” T.K. shakes his shoulder but gets no response and the fear he’s been keeping at bay comes screaming to the surface. “Dad! Come on! Wake up!”

“Hey!”

Judd and Paul join the group. “We need to get him out of here,” Judd says. “This whole place is gonna come down on top of us any second.”

“He could have a spinal injury,” T.K. protests.

“Better injured than dead,” Paul says. “Come on. Let’s go!”

T.K. reaches under one of his dad’s arms while Judd gets under his other side. The way his dad’s head droops as they move makes T.K. sick to his stomach. He’s so terrified he can hardly breathe, air coming in and out of his lungs in tight bursts.

It feels like forever before they escape the heat and the dark, but finally there it is, the outside world, still waiting for them.

They drop his dad onto a gurney and Nancy and Tim swarm in along with Michael, their acting captain for the day, pulling off his turnouts and helmet. His dad lets out a groan of pain that makes T.K.’s knees go weak with a combination of relief and sympathy.

“What happened?” his dad asks as his eyes blink open, squinting against the fading daylight.

“Beam took you down Cap,” Mateo says. “Hit you right in the head.”

His dad groans again and closes his eyes. “Yep, that’s what it feels like.”

T.K. rides with him in the back of the ambulance and then follows the gurney into the ER. He talks to the doctors, tells them about the medication his dad is on for his cancer treatments, and all of his supplements. He calls his mom in New York then sits with his teammates in the waiting room while his dad is taken for tests and scans.

It’s not the worst trip to the ER he’s ever experienced, but it’s not great either. His anxiety is through the roof. This is the second time in just about a year his dad has said a passing hello to death and it’s doing nothing to help his anxiety. The world has faded out to grey again, black and white, like the scuffed tiles of the hospital floor. His skin is itching with the urge to run away from it all, but the desire to stay is currently winning the fight. Yay therapy.

He chews anxiously on a fingernail, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. He stripped off his turnout coat a while ago, but his pants are still sitting uncomfortably stiff on his legs. There’s a char mark on his left thigh from a stray cinder on some call he doesn’t remember. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at it.

When the doctor finally comes out the news is about as okay as it can be for an injured firefighter. His dad has a concussion and a couple broken ribs. They’re a little extra concerned about the ribs because of the lung cancer and the propensity for pneumonia. They’re keeping him overnight for observation and he’s not happy about it. But overall he’s going to be fine.

Paul drives T.K. home where he falls face first into bed without even showering. He’s exhausted from the stress of everything and it’s only when he wakes up in the morning that he remembers his date with Carlos. Fuck. He has to cancel.

Anxiety curdles in his stomach. Carlos is going to think he’s that guy. The one who claims a family emergency even though they both know he’s really just flaking out on the date. T.K. has been on both sides of that text on more than one occasion, but he doesn’t want to be that guy this time. He’s been trying so hard not to fuck this up, and he can’t stand the thought of it all crashing down because he’s finally choosing to be responsible.

He stares at the ceiling and sighs. There’s no help for it. Even if he gets his dad home in time today, he can’t leave him alone. The guy will be out trying to rescue a kitten from a tree or help a neighbor move a couch less than twenty minutes after T.K. is out the door.

T.K.

[7:32am] Hey I’m so sorry, I have to cancel today.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[7:33am] Everything okay?

T.K.

[7:34am] My dad is in the hospital. Hurt on a call last night.

His phone begins buzzing almost immediately, the sight of Carlos’ pecs lighting up his screen. He’d forgotten that he’d set Carlos’ contact photo like that and he barks out a startled laugh. “Hello?” his voice comes out croaky and he swallows hard to try and clear it.

“Are you okay?” Carlos asks immediately. “Is your dad okay?”

“Yeah.” T.K. pushes himself into a sitting position and rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah we’re both okay. He has a concussion and some broken ribs. They kept him overnight so I have to go pick him up in a little bit.”

“God I’m so sorry,” Carlos says, sounding one hundred percent sympathetic without an ounce of suspicion or annoyance. “Is there anything I can do? Anything you need? My mom makes soup that she swears will heal anything.”

T.K. closes his eyes, surprised that he can feel tears welling up. Carlos’ immediate response is to offer to provide comfort for him and his dad. It’s so wildly surprising and different from any guy he’s ever dated that the words have gone straight to his tear ducts. “No, I think we’re okay. Thanks though,” he manages around the thickness in his throat. “I’m um, I’m really sorry about our date.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Carlos says. “We’ll reschedule. Take care of your dad. And yourself.”

“Thanks,” T.K. says. “I’ll text you, okay?”

“Just worry about your family,” Carlos says. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

They hang up and T.K. takes a long minute to replay the conversation in his mind. Carlos hadn’t sounded mad or annoyed. He hadn’t even sounded disappointed. Just genuinely concerned.

T.K.’s not quite sure what to do with that, so he shelves it to examine later and forces himself into the shower.

His dad is his usual self when T.K. gets to the hospital. All the nurses are in love with him; the Strand charm effect is strong. He’s definitely in pain though and trying to hide it as T.K. helps him into the car and then onto the sofa at home.

“Are you going to sit there all afternoon staring at me?” his dad asks an hour later.

“I’m not staring at you. I’m studying for my EMT recertification exam,” T.K. says, holding up the manual as evidence

“I’m okay son,” Owen says, that soft, dad look on his face; the one that says he’s more concerned about how T.K. is feeling than himself. “I’m glued to this couch. You can go hang out with your friends or take Buttercup for a walk.”

Buttercup lifts his head up at the sound of his name and then drops it glumly back to the floor when it’s clear nobody is actually going to take him outside.

“I’m staying right here,” T.K. tells him. “I know you think you won’t get off that couch and overdo it, but the second you get too bored you’re going to be trying to throw together a soufflé or check the oil in the car.”

Owen blinks at him. “First of all, you don’t ‘throw together’ a soufflé. It’s a delicate process that requires hours of concentration and impeccable timing. And secondly, I had the oil changed on the car last week.”

“Still not leaving,” T.K. says without looking up from the manual.

The doorbell rings and Buttercup heaves himself to his feet, tail wagging as he wanders toward the front door. “Are we expecting anybody?” T.K. asks as he gets up.

“Could be Judd,” his dad says. “He mentioned last night that he and Grace might swing by.”

“Maybe it’s Nurse Judy from the hospital,” T.K. teases. “I saw her eyeing you up this morning.”

“I can’t help it that my shoulders are accentuated by the shape and contour of a hospital gown!” his dad calls after him.

T.K. snorts and shuffles Buttercup out of the way so he can open the door. The person on the other side is not Judd or Grace or Nurse Judy, but rather a redheaded college age kid wearing a black baseball cap. “Hi, I have a delivery for T.J.,” he says, holding out a cardboard coffee carrier.

“Oh.” T.K.’s brow furrows. “I don’t think we ordered anything.”

The kid checks his phone. “You’re T.J. Strand?”

“T.K.”

The kid shrugs. “Close enough. This is for you. Have a good day.”

He practically shoves the carrier into T.K.’s hands and then heads back to his car.

T.K. carries it into the kitchen. “Who was it?” his dad asks, craning his neck to try and see what T.K. is doing.

“Door Dash,” T.K. says.

There’s a green smoothie and a latte in the carrier along with a folded up piece of paper. He unfolds it and his heart stops inside his chest.

Latte is for you. Smoothie is for your dad. Not quite my mom’s soup but hopefully it helps. -Carlos

Carlos remembered his coffee order. Not only that, he remembered that T.K.’s dad prefers green juices and other organic products. That had been one conversation weeks ago while Carlos was on a lunch break in the middle of his shift.

One text and Carlos remembered.

Oh.

The room around him brightens, the weight in his soul that belongs to the last twenty-four hours lifting off and dissipating into nothing.

“T.K.? What’s going on over there?” his dad calls.

T.K. lifts out both drinks, carrying them into the living room and setting them on coasters. “Someone sent us drinks.”

“Someone?” His dad arches and eyebrow and then winces. “Someone like…the hot cop who lives in your phone that you were supposed to go on a date with today?”

T.K. narrows his eyes. “Did Judd rat me out to you? Because that’s really not cool.”

“Judd didn’t rat you out,” Owen says. “Sound carries in the fire station. And also I know you. You’ve been all moony eyed and nervous this week. It’s how you always get before a first date.”

“I do not!”

“Um yeah, you do,” Owen says. “You know, you can still go on your date. I’ll be fine here by myself.”

“Like I said before, I’m not leaving,” T.K. says. “I already cancelled. He was very understanding. As evidenced by the drinks.” He gestures to where he’s placed them on the coffee table.

Something odd and soft passes over his dad’s face. “Good. He should be.” He picks up his drink and takes a sip. “Ooh! Flax seed. Tell the hot cop I said thank you.”

T.K. sips his own as he pulls out his phone.

T.K.

[12:16pm] Thank you for the drinks. You didn’t have to do that.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[12:18pm] You’re welcome. Not quite the coffee date we were hoping for, but hopefully it will do for today.

T.K.

[12:19pm] You’re really sweet. And again, I’m super sorry about the date.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[12:20pm] Stop apologizing. Family comes first. How’s your dad?

T.K.

[12:21pm] Already testing the boundaries of his convalescence. And my patience. But he’s fine. Meds are taking care of the pain.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[12:22pm] Good. Are you doing okay? That must have been scary to see your dad like that.

T.K. looks over at where his dad has drifted off to sleep, his mouth hanging slightly open. The pain and fear of possibly losing him burns brightly in his chest for a moment and he lets it fill him up before breathing it out again. His dad is okay. They’re both okay this time.

His phone buzzes again.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[12:26pm] You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to cross a line.

T.K.

[12:27pm] No, it’s okay. It was scary. He was unconscious for a long time. And after the cancer last year, I’m still kind of panicky about him. But he’ll be all right. He’s been through worse. We both have.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[12:28pm] Feel free to call or text anytime if you need to.

T.K.

[12:29pm] You might regret that. He’s going to be a pain in the ass for the next couple weeks. You may end up having to come investigate his murder because I’m not sure I can handle it.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[12:30pm] Haha aren’t firefighters supposed to be tough as nails? You can run into burning buildings but you can’t handle your dad?

T.K.

[12:31pm] We WALK into burning buildings thank you very much. And you haven’t met my dad. He can whine like a toddler being denied ice cream. It’s unreal. We may need to reschedule our date just so I don’t lose my mind.

Officer Hottie- Carlos

[12:32pm] Tuesday?

T.K. thinks for a second. His dad should be well on the road to recovery by then. And he’s not scheduled to work again until Wednesday.

T.K.

[12:32pm] Tuesday could work.

#911 Lone Star #911lsfic #Tarlos #Tarlos Fic #Thirst Trap Thursday

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suzdin · 9 months

Text

Jackson: Redemption (Part Two)

(Joel Miller x female reader)

Summary: The conclusion to part one here.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, mean Joel, dom Joel, smut, edging, spitting, rough sex, mentions of weapons, unprotected sex, mentions of loss

——

Joel is back to ignoring you. And truth be told, it hurts.

Hurts a lot.

You had a pleasant enough dinner that night, after he’d fucked you, sitting with not only the two of them, but Tommy and Maria as well. It was nice to not sit alone. It was so nice, you looked forward to it again at breakfast the next day.

Only, it didn’t happen.

You sat with Ellie, Tommy and Maria, sure. But Joel wasn’t there. And he hadn’t been to a meal in the mess hall for days.

At least he didn’t seem to hate you any more. He no longer glowered at you when you saw him, didn’t make a point to make you feel uncomfortable in his wake. Didn’t fret over you talking to Ellie anymore, either. In fact, you were almost sure he appeared sad in the off chance you saw him looking at you.

But you wish he would go back to hating your guts because that was at least better than…whatever the fuck this was.

So you go on with your life. Taking care of the horses, feeding them daily, cleaning their stalls, working them so they don’t grow restless when they aren’t being ridden. Helping out in the kitchen a couple days a week.

Patricia, a rugged older widow from Montana whom you admire, shows you how to butcher a deer the day one of the scouting parties drags a massive, 8-point buck back to Jackson. It’s as gross as it is fascinating to you, Patricia’s worn hands expertly breaking down the still-warm animal as she discusses all the parts and techniques. You mentally log everything for later, should you ever need it.

You have venison and cornbread for dinner that night and it’s fantastic. You gab on about town life with everyone, since they’ve finally started to accept you. To trust you. It feels nice, but…

It’s empty without Joel. He has a way of filling a room with his presence alone.

You’re pretty sure Tommy and Maria know. Pretty sure they could tell that night when you’d come to dinner, the way you were both so mussed and flustered, Joel wiping the blood from his face instead of cleaning himself up properly like he normally would have. The way you’d smelled of each other.

Maria has tried to talk to you about it a few times. “Are you okay?” she’d asked. “Is something going on between the two of you?”

“Nothing is going on,” you responded, and it’s the truth. Because nothing is going on. He hasn’t wanted to be near you in days.

It doesn’t surprise you when Ellie also clues in that something is off. She’s too smart not to. She’s the only person who can really read Joel, aside from maybe Tommy. She’s taken up Joel’s place for glaring knives into you, but it’s less intimidating when she does it, because she isn’t a big and burly emotionless wall of muscle.

“You remember what you told me?” she’d asked you. “‘Bout that girl I like? You said, ‘Don’t be afraid to say hi. Just go talk to her.’ But you’re over here pussin’ out about talking to my dad when I know you want to! What the fuck?”

“It’s more complicated than that, kiddo,” you’d told her. But was it?

You start having nightmares about your grandparents again. They had stopped for a while. A stress response to everything you’ve been going through with Joel, no doubt. Not that you’re going through anything…the man has made it obvious he doesn’t want you.

So you whittle down the days, doing the best you can to keep your head up, to keep moving.

Because it’s all you can do.

——

Late night. Most everyone in town is settled in their homes or sleeping, except for you and a few other stragglers, as well as night patrol. You know Joel has been on night duty lately—probably took it up to skirt you as much as possible.

You’re sat at the bar and you’ve been nursing a glass of twenty year old wine for the last half hour, rolling the stem of the glass between your forefinger and thumb. You’ve already finished off half the bottle by yourself so it isn’t as though you aren’t already wasted.

It’s red wine which isn’t really your thing, but it’s the only option available other than whiskey, which most definitely isn’t your thing.

It’s quiet in here and you welcome the silence. There’s a low whine of wind outside and the hum of the ice machine, but everything else is serene. You close your eyes. Your head swims from the alcohol.

That’s when a familiar and haunting sound breaks the otherwise stillness of the bar: boots scraping against earth and then wood, the heaviness of the footfalls an unequivocal tell of who they belong to.

Your blood stills. You don’t turn around, hoping that if you make no sound or movement, he’ll be on his way. Like a T-Rex.

You listen as the boots slow and then stop in the doorway behind you, and you purse your lips into a hard line.

Here we fucking go.

“Hey.” Baritone, dripping with that sweet caramel southern charm.

You turn and press the small of your back against the bar, elbows propped up on the wood. You see Joel standing in the dark, dressed in jeans and a light blue shirt that barely fits his wide shoulders with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark hair disheveled.

He looks fucking good, but you’re still livid with him for ignoring you. You need to steady your resolve—gain the upper hand.

“Hey,” you say in a monotone drawl in response, downing the remainder of your glass of wine in one swallow.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Joel says, taking a few tentative steps toward you.

He stops under the lights, casting him in enough shadow to deepen the lines of his face. His brows are drawn upwards into an empathetic countenance, his eyes large and glossy, lending him a wounded puppy appearance.

It’s almost enough to break you. Almost.

“Why? You think I’m an alcoholic?” you laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

He hesitates. “‘Course not. Just see you here a lot, s’all.” His voice is cool and even. Almost soft.

He gives you a once over that makes you swallow. You’re dressed not dissimilarly to Joel, or to anyone else in town for that matter, since you all share the same work loads. You’re wearing dark blue jeans that hug your curves, a light green scoop neck tee that shows the slightest hint of cleavage, and weathered dark brown cowboy boots.

“I just wanted to say—“ he starts, but you whip a hand up to cut him off. Surprisingly, it works, when he stops and looks at you.

“Don’t,” you clip.

“Look,” he continues after a moment. “I’m—“

“Joel, there’s nothing that needs to be said. Because this…” You waggle a finger between the two of you. “This is nothing.” It sounds a lot meaner than you intend it to, but you’re still hurt and you never handled your alcohol well. Especially when you’ve downed half a bottle of it.

He recoils almost like you’ve injured him. “You think this is nothing?” he asks in an accusatory tone, placing his hands on his hips.

“Isn’t it? I mean, you’ve made that abundantly clear, yeah?” you question. You can feel your cheeks heat, but you feel surprisingly brazen, even under the hungering stare he’s currently pinning you with.

He says nothing, but takes another couple of steps forward. You’re so close to breaking—so close—as you imagine him bending you over and ripping your pants down, taking you here right up against the bar. The alcohol coupled with the sight of the surly man in front of you is enough to make your cunt clench tight at the thought.

But you’re angry and hurt and you want him to hurt too. So you hold up your hand again. You know if he actually reaches you, you’d never be able to control yourself; part of you hopes he won’t listen.

But he does. He stops, his arms swinging pendulously at his sides as he comes to an abrupt halt. His countenance twisting into a sneer.

“Fine,” he tuts in that dark, gravelly drawl. “‘F that’s what ya want, then so be it.” You see something in the lines of his face that resembles pain, and then he turns.

He balls his hands into fists and leaves you there, stalking out of the room like some twisted, angry thing, in so few strides that for a few moments you can’t actually believe that he’s there one instant and gone the next.

“Joel! Wait!” you call out, but it’s too late. He’s already gone—or maybe he’s lost interest.

And then you feel empty. Sad. Full of regret for lashing out, thinking maybe you’ve just ruined the only chance you had with Joel Miller. That maybe you should just leave Jackson and go find an abandoned cabin in the mountains and eke out some kind of existence on your own there, away from him.

You think that maybe that’s the right thing to do since being in such close proximity to Joel but not able to have him is madness and you’ve only made it worse.

You re-cork the wine bottle and leave it behind the bar for someone else to finish off, and you make a vow to never drink again.

——

A few more days go by, and Joel has reverted to his usual angry, sullen self. The Joel that hates you and by the way he looks at you, you guess still wants to kill you.

Yeah, that Joel.

You’re okay with it because at least it brings a sense of normalcy to your life, but the more it drags out, the more you begin to seriously consider leaving Jackson for good.

Would they let you? You hadn’t left the walls since you’d been filtered in, and hadn’t really shown any interest in doing so…until now.

It’s currently early morning. The sun isn’t even above the mountains yet, the air still sharp and chilly. You’re dressed unceremoniously in a black hoodie, light colored blue jeans and the same cowboy boots you always wear, because you’re on your way to start taking care of the horses with the help of Chen today.

You get to the stables and greet Chen, who has already begun shoveling hay into a wheel barrow to distribute around to the herd. Chen is about your age and decidedly handsome, and you think he might like you, but you aren’t too sure.

You’ve flirted casually with him and even thought about asking him out, to get your mind on someone other than Joel, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to actually do it.

“Hey,” he greets back. “Rats got into the grain again—we need to do something about that,” he says.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ll talk to Maria or Tommy about it after we’re done today.”

As if summoned by the mention of her name alone, you hear a familiar voice chime from behind you. You jump.

“I’ll have Tommy put down poison again,” Maria says.

You turn to face Maria, who’s smiling the same bright smile she uses when she expects something of you, causing your skin to creep with worry. She says hello to Chen and then turns back to you.

“You’re needed elsewhere,” she says to you. “Patricia will help Chen out today.”

Your eyebrows lift, but you don’t question it. They normally tell you ahead of time when you aren’t doing stables, so it catches you a bit off guard, but you’re okay with that. Anything that gives you a break from routine.

“Pick out two horses and get them saddled up,” she says. “You’re going on patrol today.”

This time you do question things because you’ve never been sent out on patrol—much less beyond the walls—before. That usually wasn’t your thing.

“Patrol? With who?”

She only smiles. You know exactly who.

“Maria! No!” you protest.

“Chen, can you excuse us for a few minutes? Girl talk,” Maria says. He nods and exits the stables.

Once he’s out of earshot, she turns back to you. “You have to. Tommy’s under the weather today. Flu, I think.”

“Maria, there has to be someone else. Surely there’s someone else?” you question in earnest.

“Maybe. But Tommy and I think you two should spend the day together. You know. To chat.” She smiles innocently. You can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Joel hates my guts. You know that, right?”

“No, actually, because he doesn’t. I don’t know Joel the way Tommy or Ellie does, but I’ve come to know him well enough to see that when he’s angry and broody, it’s because he’s trying not to feel anything at all. And he’s been…weird, since the two of you came to dinner together the other night,” she says. “You’ve been weird, too.”

You laugh. “I’ve been weird?” you ask.

“Yeah. I mean, you’ve been distant. Distracted. Something on your mind?” she accuses.

No. Nope. Only a fifty six year old man who fucked you senseless and you’re pretty sure you already have feelings for. That’s all.

“Not really,” you answer.

“Right,” she replies, completely unconvinced. “Well, you’re still going on patrol today. Final decision.”

The barn suddenly grows a little darker and you look up to see Joel, the whole expansive frame of him blotting out what little bit of light has managed to spill in. He leans one arm on the doorframe and his eyes sweep over you, slowly.

You can’t help the way your heart skips when you see him.

——

Joel seems as nonplussed about the arrangement as you are.

It surprises you when he doesn’t put up much of a fight about it; however, he often tends to cow when it comes to Tommy’s orders, and by extension, Maria’s.

You’ve been riding in complete and utter silence for about an hour. The sun is peaking over the mountains now, warming the morning and you’ve already shucked off your hoodie, draping it across the neck of your horse. Joel’s eyes stare straight ahead, unmoving, as you remove the bothersome article of clothing.

You steal glimpses of him when you think he isn’t paying attention. He’s also discarded his black and gray flannel overshirt, leaving his torso adorned in only a snug fitting, dark gray tee.

Said shirt beautifully accentuates the curve of muscles beneath the threadbare fabric, and his arms…you don’t think you’ve seen them before, but his biceps are enormous and unbelievably toned for a man of his age. You squirm when you imagine them wrapping around you; pinning you.

He’s wearing black jeans that somehow grip the tree trunks he has for thighs like they’re hanging on for dear life, and on his feet are the same dark brown Elk Tracker boots he always has on. His hair is unbrushed as usual.

He had picked Amarillo, a handsome buckskin quarter horse; the same one he always takes on runs. You had to admit the two of them shared a bond, the young gelding often listening to Joel better than anyone else.

It annoyed you that a horse held more of a place in Joel’s heart than you did.

For yourself, you had taken out Dakota, a lovely and gentle appaloosa mare whom you’d ridden around town a few times. She snorts as she takes in the surroundings, her ears flicking this way and that as she listens to the songs of the early morning birds.

You grow sick of the silence after a while, so of course you’re the one to break it first. You’ve never been one to be super chatty, but Joel takes not talking like it’s some kind of religious vow.

He could probably go the rest of his life without speaking. You, on the other hand, need to be assured of things on occasion, so you speak up.

“So, what do we do on these patrols?” you ask him. He shoots you a look like you’re stupid, and you probably are, his eyebrows pinching together and his lips parting slightly.

“We patrol,” he answers flatly.

“That’s it? We just ride around all day?” you ask. He shoots you another look and sighs.

“We look for anythin’ that might be out of the ordinary. Signs’a life or tracks. Shoot anyone who seems like a threat,” he expounds.

“How often does that happen?” you ask.

“How often does what happen?”

“Shooting people.”

“Not often. Usually don’t see anyone ‘t’all.”

You recall the night he had returned to town covered in blood. Someone else’s blood. Your fingers curl into the reins, trying to shake the image—and associated feelings—from your mind. Not the time or the place.

You nod and ‘mmm’ softly in confirmation. His eyes return to the trail and you glance at the rifle slung across his torso.

“I don’t have a gun,” you say, as if it’s some big proclamation.

He looks at you again.

“Ain’t givin’ you a gun,” he says. “Said yourself you’re a shit shot.”

“Then how am I supposed to shoot people?” you ask. You’re just trying to get under his skin at this point.

“I’ll shoot ‘em,” he replies.

You hold a hand up in mock defeat. “Ooookay,” you say.

He glares at you. “You’re a pain in the ass,” he chides. “Should cut you loose.”

You know he’s being facetious—at least you think he is—but it doesn’t prevent the words from stinging deep in your gut when you hear them coming from Joel’s mouth. The same way your words most likely did to him a few nights before.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” you remark. He tilts an eyebrow.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he asks, incredulous.

“Leaving,” you answer, intentionally keeping your response vague. He scoffs.

“You wouldn’t last the first winter on your own,” he replies. “Or even the first month. Can’t shoot, can’t hunt.”

You hate to admit it, but he’s right. You were young when outbreak happened, barely a teenager, and your grandparents coddled you; shielded you from the darkness the world had become.

Your grandfather did all of the hunting and gathering while your grandmother tended the garden, so you learned very little about survival during those formative years in the cabin. You had probably learned more in Jackson than you ever had with them.

Although they weren’t good men, you had been lucky at the time to be taken under the wing of the group who’d found you hapless and wandering the roads in Colorado, half-starved and dehydrated. You didn’t mind that they used your body. You welcomed it, in fact, because it meant you earned their protection, though you always knew they weren’t good people by any stretch of the imagination.

In spite of yourself, you decide to postulate with Joel anyway. “I would be just fine on my own,” you assert.

He smiles—like, actually smiles—to that. The first time you’ve ever seen anything from him that was more than just a sarcastic smirk. “Sure,” he drawls.

You’re trying to think of a good comeback when he pulls back on Amarillo’s reins. “Whoa, boy.” His dark brown eyes fix on a patch of soft, pock-marked mud.

You also stop Dakota, who shakes her head and lowers her muzzle to the earth, munching on the fresh spring grass.

“What?” you ask, oblivious. Joel points to what he’s seeing before dismounting to get a better look.

You dismount as well when you see it. There are three sets of similar tracks, the first being heavy and deep; the other two are barely visible, hardly heavy enough to make an indent in the mud at all. Round and fat, with with four corresponding digits on each track.

“Puma?” you ask. Joel nods.

“Looks that way,” he answers, and there isn’t a hint of snarkiness to his tone this time. “Mama and two babies, by the looks of it.”

“Awww,” you can’t help but say. He looks at you and raises his eyebrows, causing his forehead to crinkle in an endearingly adorable manner.

“Ain’t cute,” he grunts. “This is a problem. This is the closest set of puma tracks we’ve found t’town.” He runs a finger along the inner wall of one of the mother cat’s prints. “Fresh tracks, too. Probably from last night.” He scans the area for any signs you’re being watched, particularly the trees.

“She’s just trying to live, like the rest of us,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“She’s a potential threat. Babies too, when they’re grown. To the horses, the livestock—us,” Joel retorts. “You think those walls can stop a puma?” he asks.

You shrug.

“Well, they can’t. She gets any closer, she’ll need t’be dealt with,” he says.

“That’s kinda fucked,” you say. He smirks—dry and mirthless—and shakes his head.

“I change my mind. You wouldn’t last a week on your own with that kinda mindset,” he says. “Don’t know how you survived this long already.”

Your chest swells with anger, but you have to admit that, once again, he’s right. You had only been on the road three days when those men found you, and you’d been lucky to find a fresh stream to drink from until then, which you’d stumbled upon by happenstance rather than skill.

Though you don’t know it yet, Joel admires your softness—your naïveté—for what it is. It had been a while since he’d known someone like you and it made him miss the old days. He wants to protect you. To teach you. He won’t admit it, but he doesn’t want you to leave, either. He thinks, if you left, he’d probably have to leave with you, if nothing else but to ensure your survival.

He stares down at you with a mixture of longing and annoyance in his eyes. All you happen to notice is the latter.

“Exactly. I have survived all these years. There’s a reason for that,” you say.

Yeah. Your grandparents. Those men. Tommy and Maria.

“‘F you say so,” he responds, rolling his eyes. That lights a fire in your belly and your skin heats at how flippant he’s being.

“Fuck off,” you snarl.

He laughs, pleased with himself that he’s managed to get under your skin finally, and the satisfaction of it goes straight to his cock. He wants to push your buttons a little more to see just how much he can get you worked up.

What he doesn’t know is that you also want to get under his skin even more than you already have. You aren’t sure how, since he’s seemed to trap you with his words, but you’ll figure something out.

He turns to clamber back up his horse and you see your opportunity. It’s childish. It’s stupid. It will most definitely piss him off, which is what you want. But you need to regain control, and swiftly.

He lifts his arms to grab the saddle horn in order to propel himself upwards, and in doing so, exposes about an inch of skin between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his jeans. You need to act fast, before he’s actually on the horse, lest he hurt himself—or you—in the process.

You slip your fingers under his shirt and skate your finger tips up his spine. His skin is surprisingly soft to the touch, and you want to hold them there in reverence of the warm, silken flesh, but he obviously doesn’t give you the opportunity.

He reacts like a spooked animal—which is not too far off once you stop to think about it—startling the horses in the process. He grabs your arm and twists you against him, pulling you close, contorting his lips into a gnarled sneer.

“Just what the hell you think you’re doin’?” he snarls in your face.

You should be satisfied with your victory since this is exactly how you wanted him to react, but you still feel a ripple of fear go through your chest, your breath hitching in your rib cage. His brow furrows into a dark line, his lips stretched thin in a frown.

“Well?” he asks, and his grasp on your arm loosens, but he pulls you closer with his other hand at the small of your back. “Manage t’finally shut you up?”

You shouldn’t be so turned on by this, but your core is rife with heat and your underwear already on the verge of soaking. What you don’t know is that Joel has been half hard in his jeans most of the morning, staring at the back of your head whenever you happen to glance away, thinking about that night.

That one night.

But he’s also been thinking about the night when he found you in the bar, and subsequently the pain you’d caused him by pushing him away. He was there to apologize, and you wouldn’t even give him half a chance.

You maintain eye contact as long as you can, but you’re forced to look away when his dark eyes overwhelm every sense in your body.

He uses his free hand to drag your face back to his. “Asked you a question, pretty girl,” he says, and that’s when you feel the hard line of his cock digging into your thigh. You swallow.

“Just um—just wanted to piss you off,” you answer meekly. “Couldn’t let you win.”

He smirks, keeping your gaze forced in his grip to look at him. “Well, it worked. Now what?” he asks you.

You attempt a shrug, but you’re barely able to hump your shoulders when his mouth is on you, ravenous, starting at the delicate dip of your collarbone and working his way up to your lips, bit by bit, until your mouths collide, teeth and tongues lashing.

You chirp with satisfaction—relief—that he’s finally touching you, kissing you, again, his hand that was at the small of your back moving up to tangle in your hair. He rumbles in his throat, baritone and needy.

He kisses you deeply, deft tongue working the inside of your mouth, latticing his tongue over yours as you suckle back with equal fervor.

Using the hand currently fisted in your hair, he drags your face away from his, your lips parting in a satisfactory smack, to stare into your eyes, while the other hand roves your body.

“This what you want?” he asks you, stopping at the swell of your breast to massage it against his palm, feeling the hard peak of your nipple. He digs his fingers firmly into the pillow soft flesh.

You can’t nod quickly enough, your desperation with which your body moves against his, with his, more than evident.

He sweeps his hand down your body, slow, slow—agonizingly slow—eventually settling between the soft apex of your thighs, hooking his middle finger against the seam of your pants.

“How ‘bout now?”

You nod even more desperately than before, a minuscule whimper sounding in your throat at the contact, even through the layers of material separating you.

“Use your fucking words. Talk to me,” he snaps, your name falling from his tongue.

“Yes, Joel,” you answer, your voice wavering with need. His expression is stoic, unreadable. It’s hard to know exactly what he’s thinking.

Both hands move to your front now, undoing your pants just enough to slip a single hand inside, his middle finger pressing against the sensitive bud between your folds, causing your hips to jerk into his hand at the sudden invasion.

He drags said finger down your seam, gathering your slick on the pad of his finger, and you grind against him, chasing the feel of his rough digit against your skin. Your breathing is erratic now; labored.

“Fuck, baby, already so worked up,” he says. “Bet you’d let me fuck you right here in the woods, wouldn’t you?”

There’s no use denying it. It probably isn’t the wisest choice with a mama lion running around and god knows what else in those woods, but you’d already let him take you in an alley between some buildings in Jackson—the least romantic place you can think of—with a high probability of being caught. There really isn’t much juxtaposition here.

Besides, he can already tell by the way your body bends to his touch that you would salaciously agree to any of his demands.

“Yes, Joel,” you admit, swallowing the lump cresting your throat.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he snarls. “Knew ya’d say yes. What else would you let me do t’you?”

He drags your jeans further down your hips, exposing your cunt to the cool spring air, your arousal so evident that you can actually smell yourself.

He fixes his hand in your hair again, screwing his fingers in deep until they tug at your scalp, jerking your gaze up to meet his glare.

“Asked ya a question, sweetheart.”

You blink, your mind misty as you struggle to recall what he’d just asked you, overburdened by every towering inch of him.

“Any—anything you want, Joel,” you answer when it finally hits you, and it’s the truth. Joel’s lips crook into a lopsided smirk.

“S’what I thought. Little slut, letting me take her an’way I see fit, in the middle of these woods.”

He notches two fingers at your entrance with his other hand, collecting your wetness on the pads of his middle and index fingers. Your eyes slide down to where he’s currently cupping your pussy, and he whips your head back up for the second time.

“Keep your eyes on me. Wanna see you,” he rumbles.

You obey. At least for a moment.

He glides both fingers through your opening, pushing deeper, slowly stretching you around thick, calloused digits. You keen and gyrate against his touch, eyelids fluttering shut.

“What did I just fuckin’ say?” he barks, feeling the heat of his breath on your face. Your eyelids fly back open.

“S-Sorry, Joel,” you reply.

“Sweet girl,” he praises, smirking. “All bark and no bite, ‘specially when I’m full fuckin’ knuckles deep inside of her.”

His words make you moan and you curl your body against him, craving more, more, your cunt clenching to pull his fingers deeper.

He obliges, crooking them against the soft, spongy material deep within your walls, sending you into a shuddering buck, your arm shooting out to steady yourself on his broad chest.

“So needy, baby. Do you think about me when you touch this cunt?” he asks, not giving you a chance to respond. “Or do ya think of your little boyfriend, Chen?”

Your brows knit together, and you shake your head fervently. “Don’t think about him, Joel. On— mmf— only y-you.”

His fingers fuck into you at a gingerly pace, palm brushing your swollen clit on every pass.

“Faster, Joel, please—“ you plead, chasing his fingers with your body. The hand in your hair moves down to your hips, keeping you firmly in place.

“Stop movin’.”

His lips find your neck, teeth biting sharp against your pulse point, causing you to yelp with pleasure at the small amount of pain. He grins against your flesh and soothes the mark with his tongue, nipping roughly up your jaw, uncaring that it’ll most likely leave marks, groaning deep in his chest when he feels you tightening around his fingers with every scrape of teeth on skin.

He finally picks up the pace and you keen, breathing hard in his ear.

“Who’s this pussy belong to?”

“Y-you, J-Joel—only you,” you say.

“S’right, angel. All mine. And you’re not gonna let him have my pussy, are ya?” he growls.

“No, never—just—fuck—just you,” you say.

“Good girl,” he breathes against your skin, snaking his free arm around to encircle your back, keeping you solidly in place against him as he continues his ministrations with his fingers, repeatedly nudging your g-spot. You feel the pressure building deep in the pit of your abdomen.

Your eyes move from Joel’s visage to his bicep, admiring the way it flexes as he’s pumping deep into you with his fingers, and you realize that Joel is still completely clothed, not even palming himself over his pants despite the ever present erection bearing down on your hip.

“Eyes up here, darlin’,” he says quietly, but there’s a hint of edge to it.

You suck in a breath and obediently shift your eyes back to his, unblinking, as your fingers wrap around the prominent outline of his cock through his jeans.

The arm that’s currently holding you in place moves so fast you don’t register the movement at first; not until his hand is already ensnaring your wrist, pulling you away, his dark eyes flashing with something as if he’s annoyed he doesn’t have enough limbs to keep you where he wants you.

“No. Not yet,” he commands lowly.

You swallow back a whimper.

Finally, his pace reaches the crescendo that you were so desperately needing, a single trickle of perspiration rolling down Joel’s forehead, the combined effort of pumping into you with his fingers and holding you in place making him break into a sweat. His lips part and his nose crinkles, dark eyes drilling holes through your skull as his gaze remains fixed on your face.

You’re so close.

The sound is obscene, slicked wet skin slapping against slicked wet skin, both of you nearly out of breath.

You keen, biting your lip, wrapping a hand around Joel’s sweat covered neck to steady yourself. He lets you.

“You ‘bout to come for me, sweet girl?” he asks. You whimper and seek out his mouth with your lips, but he denies you access.

You pout.

“Come on my fingers, darlin’,” he says, a dastardly grin widening his features.

He can feel you clamping around him, that familiar feeling of pleasure building in your core, the dam on the verge of breaking at any moment.

You’re about to come, your chest heaving in tandem with Joel’s, a loud, throaty moan escaping your lips.

You’re about to come and then Joel stops.

“Jo-Joel? What?” you ask, breathlessly, searching his face for answers. Your eyes dart around, thinking something is wrong. Your core throbs, aching for release. You try to move against him, but he stops you.

“W-why?”

He pulls his fingers out of you, bringing them to his lips and actually licking them clean right in front of your face.

“Pull your pants up and get back on the horse, sweetheart,” he commands softly.

“But—“

“Do it,” he says, leaving no room for protest.

You pull your pants up and fasten them as you watch Joel. He has a triumphant look on his face, and that’s when it hits you.

Joel is denying you an orgasm because he is punishing you.

Punishing you for what? For taunting and poking the bear? For touching him? For pushing him away a few nights ago?

Maybe all of the above?

Angry tears threaten to breach the levy, your hands twisting into fists, nails digging so hard into the soft flesh of your palm you break skin.

Fury licks like hot embers at the backs of your eyes. You see red.

“Joel, what the fuck,” you snarl.

“Get back on the horse, or I’m leavin’ you here,” he threatens. “Ain’t gonna ask again.”

Your cheeks heat. You want to punch him. He stares you down, daring you to defy him, jaw clicking to one side as he plants his hands on his hips.

You want to. You want to defy him so badly, but you believe him when he says he’ll leave you behind.

With a deflated snarl, you turn and clamber back up your horse, refusing to look at Joel.

You finish the rest of the patrol in silence.

——

Despite being on a horse most of the day, your legs are surprisingly sore from keeping you balanced in the stirrups for hours. Not to mention your ass is numb and your back hurts like hell.

And Joel. Fucking Joel.

You can’t even look at him without wanting to strangle him.

You think you catch the occasional cocky smirk playing on his lips, but you can’t be sure; the man is so hard to read sometimes. Either way, you somehow maintain composure despite wanting to slam your fist into his jaw, and that alone deserves a medal.

You return to Jackson approximately six hours after you left. The rest of the ride was uneventful—boring even—and Chen is there to greet you at the gate.

“Welcome back,” he says, taking Dakota by the reins as you dismount. Your legs shake with the effort, causing you to groan.

“Hey,” you greet.

“You okay?” Chen asks, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. The way Joel’s eyes clock the movement doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

Joel dismounts next to you, bumping Chen’s arm with his elbow in the process. You know it wasn’t an accident.

“Sorry,” Joel says. “Slipped.”

You glare at Joel. He pretends not to see.

Chen clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable with whatever he just witnessed, reaching for Amarillo’s reins next. “I’ll just take the horses back to the barn, then.”

“Hang on. I’ll help you,” you announce, trailing after him. You’re barely able to make it a few steps before you feel a familiar hand surround your wrist.

Chen turns just in time to see Joel rooting you firmly in place.

“S’okay,” Joel says to you, but his eyes are currently burning holes through Chen. “Think he can handle it.”

You look up at Joel, your brows knitting together. You then turn to Chen, apologetically.

“Is everything alright?” he asks you.

“Everythin’s fine. She’s needed elsewhere,” Joel responds before you can. Chen passes the much larger man an incredulous glance, before sliding his gaze back to you.

“Are you sure everything’s alright?” he asks you again, sensing the tension churning between the two of you.

You swallow, briefly toying with the idea of ripping your arm free of Joel’s grasp and telling him in no uncertain terms to fuck right off.

But you don’t, because you can’t help but feel a small amount of giddiness that Joel Miller is actually touching you in public. The way your body thrums under his spell doesn’t go unnoticed by Joel, either. You swear you see a ghost of a smirk gracing his naturally pouty lips.

You’re also more than a little curious what he could want with you.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Just forgot that…Joel wanted me to help Ellie with her homework today,” you lie, hoping it sounds convincing enough to be be true. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

He nods, casting his gaze where Joel’s large hand still loosely encircles your wrist. His thumb skirts the meat of your palm.

“Yeah. Okay. See you tomorrow,” Chen says.

——

You walk in silence in the direction that you know leads to Joel and Ellie’s small cottage. Joel doesn’t move his hand from your wrist, and you get more than a few stares from the townspeople of Jackson who have probably never seen the two of you together aside from that one dinner several long nights ago. And even then, you had Ellie separating the two of you.

You imagine that from a distance it must look pretty intimate, as if you’re two lovers linked hand in hand. Your fingers brush over his, teasingly, but he doesn’t falter.

He’s a man on a mission, making a beeline straight to his house. You try not to let yourself get your hopes up, but it’s difficult not to. What does he want?

“Joel,” you say, and he looks at you with a frown. “Slow down, please.”

Surprisingly, he does.

“Why are we going to your house?” you ask. You think you know—maybe—based on prior events. But you don’t want to make assumptions.

“To talk,” he answers vaguely.

Well, that clears things right the fuck up.

“That doesn’t tell me anything, Joel,” you retort.

“Jesus,” he says, followed by your name. “Can’t wait five fucking minutes?”

You huff, but don’t press the issue further, falling into yet another palpable silence.

——

You’re standing in Joel’s living room.

You’ve never been in here before, with all the times you’ve seen the outside of the small cottage. It’s cozy. The furniture is a mix of new and old, rustic and mass produced. It’s decorated like a woman lived here once, long ago, the few feminine touches here and there making you smile. Making you remember your grandma.

Joel strides in from the kitchen, clutching a bottle of alcohol by the neck in one hand and two short, clear glasses between his fingers in the other. He perches them on the coffee table and leans into a sit on the couch, pouring the brown liquid into each glass.

“Sit down. Ain’t gonna bite,” he says.

“With you? I’m not so sure about that,” you joke, hesitantly scooting next to him on the couch. You intentionally leave about a foot of space between you.

He smirks.

He slides your glass closer to you on the table. You think by the color that it’s whiskey. Smells like it, too.

“Ellie?” you ask him. You don’t need to elaborate more than that; he knows what you’re getting at.

“Stayin’ over at Tommy and Maria’s place tonight,” he responds.

You swallow.

“Oh,” you say. Oh.

Your cheeks flush. You vowed not to drink alcohol again, but you find yourself reaching for the glass anyway. You definitely fucking need it now.

“Don’t have ice like at the bar. Sorry ‘f it’s warm,” he says.

You down the contents of the glass in one go. The heat blooms hot in your chest all the way up to your throat. You hiss at the way it burns.

Joel shakes his head at you. “Lightweight,” he criticizes, downing his glass without even making a face. He pours two more glasses; you wring your hands nervously, watching him.

The veins in his neck pulse as he leans over the coffee table; his biceps flex as his arms reach. You can already feel yourself starting to sweat.

“So you wanted to talk,” you say, attempting to stay focused.

“When you got here. To town, I mean. I didn’t like you,” he says like it’s some kind of revelation.

You purse your lips and hum lightly. “Yeah. I know. Everyone knows,” you reply. “You still don’t. Right?”

He scowls at you sidelong and rolls his eyes, bringing the whiskey to his lips and sucking down the second glass.

“Thought you were too soft. Didn’t think you’d ever integrate into the community.”

“So you brought me to your house to insult me? Real classy, Joel,” you berate, putting your hands on your knees as you stand to leave. A single hand—broad, thick, warm—wraps one of your legs.

“Sit down,” he says sternly. “Ain’t done.”

You flounder. Eventually, you sit back down, and you notice you’re considerably closer, this time.

“Didn’t think you could do it, but ya proved me wrong. Can’t deny you’re a quick learner and a hard worker,” he admits. You relax…a little.

“The reason I came to the bar the other night…” he begins, raking a hand through his stubble, “…is ‘cause I wanted to apologize for bein’ an asshole to you.” He looks at you directly this time, and you can see the barest hint of warmth in the dark pools of his brown eyes.

You peer back at him. You want to say something, but you aren’t sure what, exactly. You want to trust him, want to kiss him, fall into his arms, but you still have reservations. This isn’t a side of Joel you’ve ever seen before. This isn’t even the Joel from this morning.

“And I forgive you. For Diana. Know it wasn’t…your fault,” he continues. You hear him swallow, watching his adam’s apple make a pass along the line of his throat.

You feel your pulse quicken and you rip your gaze away, reaching for your glass on the table to swallow it in a single gulp. Somehow, it burns even more than the first.

“I’m sorry,” you manage, your voice cracking. “How did you know her?”

You don’t think it could have been a romantic connection; she seemed quite a bit older than Joel. Then again, who knows. It isn’t like Joel doesn’t have about twenty years on you.

“When I first came to Jackson, I was a nobody. Just some angry old man who happened to be related to Tommy. Ellie was having trouble adjustin’, too. People didn’t like us. But Diana took Ellie under her wing, same way Patricia has with you. Little by little, people started accepting us. I was forever grateful to her for that. For helpin’ Ellie.”

You nod slowly, taking in this new bit of information. You aren’t sure what to do with it, if you’re being honest.

Part of you wants to thank him for the booze and flee back to the safety of the barn or the mess hall. You can feel the alcohol working its way through your system already, heating you from the inside out. Your thoughts thrumming high like a fever pitch between your ears.

You want to flee. But an even larger part of you wants to stay.

You settle for placing a hand on his knee, consolingly, because you’re afraid to touch him any other way right now. He tracks the movement like you’ve just dropped a cobra into his lap. And then he’s on you.

The broad expanse of his hand wraps the back of your neck and his lips crash into yours, devouring you like a man starved. His other hand slithers around to the small of your back, tugging you into him.

You let out a moan while his tongue explores your mouth the moment your lips part. You moan a second time and he swallows it down, rumbling in a deep timbre as he tastes you.

Ellie’s stayin’ over at Tommy and Maria’s tonight.

Is that an open invitation for you to stay? You can’t even begin to imagine sharing a bed with Joel for an entire night. You can barely envision a bed at this point, after sleeping on that uncomfortable cot for so long. The idea makes your head swim. You can’t help the way your body begins trembling like a cornered mouse.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Joel. “You alright, darlin’?” he asks. “Shakin’ like a leaf.”

“I’m fine,” you lie. Truthfully, you’re still wrung tighter than a bow string after this morning, and you’re more than a little concerned that history will repeat itself.

You tell him in as many words.

“Won’t happen again if you’re a good girl this time,” he rumbles. It goes straight to your core.

Oh, fuck.

He stands, pulling you up with him in the process. “C’mon, darlin’,” he says. “Bedroom’s this way.”

——

You’re in Joel fucking Miller’s bedroom.

You’re in his room.

It’s sweltering in here. You aren’t sure if it’s because the room is already warm, or the alcohol, or both. You feel a bead of sweat roll down the plane of your back.

Joel’s already shucking off his jeans. You look at his face and that familiar scowl has returned, the distinct line of his visage darkening predatorily.

Won’t happen again if you’re a good girl this time.

His words buzz through you, making you shiver. Making you sweat harder.

“Take off your clothes, sweetheart,” he orders.

It would probably help with cooling you down. At least for a moment. You sit on the edge of the bed and pull off your boots, tossing them to the corner next to an unfolded pile of laundry. You remove your shirt and pants next, joining your boots on the floor.

“Can we open a window?” you ask, fanning yourself lazily.

Your back is still to him. Although you’ve already fucked once, and Joel has been face and fingers deep in your pussy, you’re still mostly afraid to turn around.

You haven’t seen each other fully naked yet.

“Neighbors are gonna hear us,” Joel replies lowly. You hear the window open soon after, and a cool breeze slips over your body. It’s exactly what you need.

“Thanks.”

You turn nervously to face him, heart fluttering like a caged bird in your chest. Your breath hitches when you take in the sight of the man before you—he’s stripped down to his boxer briefs, the long line of his cock straining against the thin fabric.

For his age, he’s fit. You could tell he was muscular before, but you didn’t realize the extent of it since he’s always covering himself up in flannels and jackets.

His shoulders are wide and square, easing down into the corded musculature of his chest and arms, sweeping to a barely pooched stomach marred by a healed over, ugly scar, and hips that are just slightly more narrow than his shoulders. A dark swathe of curly hair disappears into the waistband of his shorts, and you’re impervious to stop your eyes from fixating on the bulge there.

Your breath damn near stops when his gaze rakes over every inch of exposed skin. He looks at you like you’re the only person he’s ever bothered to see.

“Something on your mind, darlin’?” he asks you.

“You, Joel. J-just you.”

“C’mere,” he says with an outstretched hand.

He meets you halfway and snakes an arm around your back, the other hand moving to loosely collar your neck. He bends his face to the hollow of your collarbone, swiping at a line of sweat on your skin with the flat of his tongue. You keen, feeling the vibrations of your throat against his palm.

“Y’gonna be a good girl for me?” he queries. You nod, your heart rate quickening at your pulse points still in his grip.

“Then prove it.” He pushes you into a sit on the edge of the bed in front of him, spreading your legs with one swift motion of his foot, slotting himself between them.

His face is hard and expressionless. He says nothing, but you already know exactly what he expects of you.

Your fingers are shaking. This is ridiculous—it’s not like you’re some wide-eyed, innocent virgin. But as you reach for the waistband of his shorts and pull them down his thick legs, large cock springing free right in front of your face, you can hardly prevent yourself from vibrating with need.

“S’okay, angel. You’re okay,” he soothes, cupping your cheek with a weathered hand.

It’s not like you haven’t seen his cock before. But not like this, inches from your face, the head an angry shade of pink and leaking precum.

You steady your nerves as you fist the base of the shaft in your hand and bring him to your lips, sliding the tip into the heat of your mouth and slowly inching yourself down onto him, your jaw gradually adjusting to the girth. He grips your shoulders and releases a ragged breath.

“That’s it, baby girl. Jus’ like that,” he praises.

You relax your throat muscles as you take him deeper, breathing through your nose, hollowing your cheeks.

“Doin’ so good. Takin’ this cock so well. Not even a single tear.” He moves a hand from your shoulder to your hair, brushing it aside so he can watch you. “So fuckin’ pretty with my cock buried in your face.”

The head of his cock bumps the back of your throat and he moans, hips jerking involuntarily at the sensation, causing you to choke. He pulls out of you, letting you catch your breath.

“Doin’ so well. Know you can take it, though, can’t you?”

You hum in affirmation and take him back into your mouth when you feel you’re ready, better adjusted to his size on this go around, taking him almost all the way to the back of your throat in one go. He rumbles deep in the barrel of his chest and twists his fingers tightly in your hair.

You reach the end of his cock and hold there as long as you can, tasting the salty tang of sweat and precum on your tongue. You pull back off of him when you feel like it’s too much.

“One more time for me, baby. Prove to me what a good little slut you are,” he growls. “Be a good girl f’me.”

You slide him back into your mouth, the vein that runs the length of his cock pulsing against your tongue, the dark curls at his base tickling your nose when you reach the end and he bottoms out again. You take long, even breaths through your nose, holding him in your throat.

He doesn’t give you a chance to break away this time. He grips either side of your head and holds you in place as he begins to slowly fuck into your face.

“Mmmf— fuck yes, baby girl, doin’ so well…”

His pace quickens when you proffer no resistance, rutting at a heedy crescendo into you. Rivulets of drool dribble down your chin.

It doesn’t take long before it becomes too much, your throat tightening and jaw aching something fierce. You make a small sound of surrender as you tap his forearm, and he stops almost immediately, gazing down at you, his lips parted into an arc. He cups a hand under your chin and tilts your head back, eyes shifting from brown to black.

“Open up for me, baby. One more time.”

You oblige, his thumb and forefinger pressing gently into the hollow spaces between your upper and lower jaw. He runs the thumb of his free hand over your bottom lip, dragging it down, and spits directly into your mouth.

You blink up at him in surprise as he gently clasps your lips shut.

“Good girl. Think you’ve earned it now?” he asks you.

“Y-yes, Joel,” you answer as you swallow him down.

He moves away from you, grabbing a pillow from higher up on the bed and positioning it at your back.

He crouches in front of you, wrapping your hips with his muscled arms and dragging you to the edge of the bed, lifting and spreading your legs.

“Fuck, sweet girl. Fuckin’— fuckin’ soaked,” he growls.

If it’s possible, the attention makes you even wetter, causing you to cant your hips and clench around nothing. He chuckles.

“So needy, sweetheart. Get comfortable.”

You lean back onto the pillow and the way it smells like Joel makes you swoon. He pushes your legs together briefly to drag your panties down and off, tossing them onto the dresser pressed to the wall behind him.

“I’m keepin’ those,” he says. You don’t dare to question it.

He lifts himself slightly higher and reaches your breasts, gripping your bra in both hands, and before you can say anything, he rips it free from your body, leaving it in tatters on the bed next to you.

You want to say something. It’s not like bras are common nowadays, having to get them custom made most of the time, or be lucky enough to find one in a derelict store.

But, once again, you don’t question it. Your desperation for the release Joel is about to give you overrides the logical portions of your brain. You can worry about the scrap of fabric later.

He must read what you’re thinking on your face, because he says, “I’ll replace that for you. Panties, too.”

You nod. “Thanks.” You don’t know what else to say, but you forget about thinking soon enough anyway, because his mouth is on you in an instant, tongue parting your seam as he swipes up your slit.

You’re still so sensitive from the orgasm he denied you earlier, your back coming all the way off the bed when his tongue reaches your clit, your hand darting out to grip his hair for purchase; to ground you.

“Fuck!” you cry out.

He drags his teeth with the lightest pressure he can manage over the delicate bundle of nerves, keeping you spread open with his hand. Each pass has you mewling and writhing against him.

“You that desperate to come, sweetheart?” he asks, his lips glistening with your slick as he locks eyes with you.

“Yes, please,” you beg.

“Poor baby,” he jests, burying himself back into the hot apex of your thighs. He takes your clit between his lips, suckling it. You grind against his mouth, shamelessly chasing the high he denied you earlier as retribution.

He slips two fingers between your soaked folds, sinking them all the way to the hilt and crooking them against your g-spot, fucking into you with both fingers as his mouth showers your clit with much needed attention.

He can already feel you bearing down on his fingers, and he can’t help but grin as he fucks into you faster.

“Gonna come for me, angel?” he asks softly.

That’s all it takes; suddenly your orgasm is ripping through you, and you’re falling to pieces beneath him, the flood of your release dripping down and soaking the bed sheets below. He doesn’t pull away immediately, riding out your high as long as he can, murmuring at the taste of you on his tongue, his lips, until you indicate that the stimulation is too much. He stops, lifting his eyes to yours.

You’re a mess. An absolutely wrecked, fucked out mess.

He stands, motioning for you to move back. You do your best to climb up the bed at his behest, but truth be told, you’re absolutely weak from how hard you just came.

“Take your time,” he says, trailing a hand up your spine. It’s almost affectionate.

You eventually make it to the middle of the bed and he places the pillow behind your neck. You settle into it, situating yourself as best you can. He’s on you an instant later, caging you down into the sheets, his massive frame pressing you into the mattress as it groans under your combined weight.

The first time you fucked was not intimate, with you facing away from him in a dark alleyway as he railed into you from behind. You’re almost shy to be face to face with him like this.

He gnashes his teeth over your earlobe, bearing down on the soft flesh. “Gonna make you come again on my cock, darlin’,” he drawls in that sweet southern lilt in your ear. “Think you can take me all at once?”

You nod. “Yes, Joel. Know I can.”

“Know ya can too, sweetheart,” he agrees, shifting his weight on top of you as he lines his hips up with yours, slotting his head at your entrance. “Ready?”

You hardly have time to incline your head in a nod before he’s spearing into you, hips snapping roughly against yours as he enters you in one long, hard thrust. You cry out, arching beneath him at the intrusion.

“Fuck, baby. So goddamn tight,” he groans.

He angles your legs up, tilting them back so he can push himself further into you. He bottoms out, bumping your back wall with the head of his cock.

The stretch is almost too much. He’s almost filling you too much. But you’ve taken all of him before and know you can do it again.

He snaps into you one more time, making you keen. You’re both slippery with sweat, the breeze through the small window hardly providing any relief at all, but it doesn’t matter.

He props himself up on his elbows, hovering over you as he presses the flat of his hips into yours, rutting into you slowly. You shut your eyes and roll your head into the pillow.

“Uh uh. Eyes on me,” he growls. You don’t test him, your eyes flying open and making contact with his a second later, the ridge of his brow pinched in concentration. “Good girl,” he praises.

Every press into you, no matter how languid, is heavenly. No one has ever split you open like this before, made you ache like this before, and you don’t think anyone will compare ever again.

Not like you would ever want to be with anyone else after Joel.

“Joel…” you whimper, skating your fingers up his biceps. “Harder, fuck me harder,” you plead.

He smirks, twin dark eyes sparkling. “Not yet. Goin’ to enjoy you,” he replies, leaning back onto his calves so he can watch the way you swallow him. “Such a needy little cunt.” His words would make you drip if he wasn’t currently stuffing you full of him.

He lowers himself onto you, lips skirting your neck as he peppers the occasional kiss up the line that extends into your jaw. It’s surprisingly soft—for Joel, anyway—until he bears down with a sharp sting of teeth along the curve of your cheek, making you moan. He feels you clamp down on him in reverence to the small hurt.

“Such a dirty little slut,” he rumbles, soothing the area with his lips. “Only for me.”

You nod in agreement, shuddering beneath him, writhing with desire as he continues to pump steadily into you, nudging your clit with his lower belly on each pass. “Yours, only y-yours,” you agree.

He fists a handful of your hair and presses his lips into yours, your mouths merging in a clash of tongues and teeth, pausing on occasion to administer soft nips to your lips, making them puffy and swollen with use.

He’s marking you; claiming you. A stark contrast from only weeks ago.

You match the motions of his hips with your own, desirous to feel more of him, chasing the sensations of his cock driving into you, craving more. He’s still going so slow—agonizingly so.

He places a rough palm into your hip, preventing you from moving. “Tell me what you want,” he says.

“Need you to fuck me harder, Joel,” you beg.

“Only ‘f you ask nicely.”

“Please, please, fuck me harder,” you plead, slinking your fingers into his sweat-soaked hair. “Need to come again.”

“Okay, angel. Since ya asked so nice.” He grabs you just under your thighs, hiking your legs up above his hips, deepening the angle. You keen and buck against him at the added depth.

He begins slamming his hips into yours, your keening moans matching every wet and squelchy smack of his hips into yours, your combined utterances of pleasure filling the small space.

Each thrust threatens to knock every breath, every sense out of you; you feel the familiar pressure starting to flower deep in your core. His name becomes a chant on your tongue, which only spurs him on.

“Gonna come for me, angel?” he asks you, feeling your walls tightening around his length. You barely manage a nod, your head going swimmy at the thought.

His lips contort into a snarl, and he gives you everything he can, railing into you so hard the head board is slamming roughly into the wall. There’s a feral, hungry look in his eyes, seeing you and seeing through you all at the same time.

Suddenly, your vision turns to white stars and your head slumps back, hitting the pillow, crying out as a second orgasm crashes through you like a freight train.

“Fuck, Joel, yes—“

Joel isn’t far behind, his breaths becoming more ragged—more erratic—in the broad barrel of his chest, jaw going slack as he clamps his eyes shut in concentration. His hips stutter into you and stall out for a brief moment and then he’s pulling himself free of your soaked folds, gripping himself in his fist and pumping a few times before he’s spilling thick rivulets of cum across your stomach and mound, your name departing his lips multiple times as he milks out the last few drops.

He stays perched over you for just a moment, admiring his work; you’re both breathless and drenched in sweat, and he falls back onto the sheets next to you, his chest heaving as he sucks in as much oxygen as he can.

“That was—“ he begins, lungs shuddering in his chest. “Fuck, baby. Thank you.”

You smile, propping yourself up on your elbow next to him, leaning down to place a soft kiss to his temple.

“No, Joel. Thank you.”

He looks at you. There’s a gentleness in his eyes, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look this soft and vulnerable before. It makes your heart sing.

You fall back onto the bed next to him, still in the process of catching your breath, a cool breeze spilling through the window just in time to fan over your sweat-slick bodies. And you lie there in silent worship for who knows how long, basking in the afterglow.

——

You shower together to conserve the limited usage of water. As soon as the last of the shampoo is rinsed from your hair, he reaches behind you and cuts it off.

You didn’t expect Joel to let you shower at his place. You had been showering daily at Tommy and Maria’s for so long—practically living there for the most part aside from sleeping arrangements—that you had half expected to do the walk of shame to their house afterward.

You’re relieved when Joel offers to let you use his instead.

You both step out of the shower in tandem, dripping onto the bath mat as you stand shoulder to shoulder in the small en suite. He passes you a towel, and you both dry yourselves in silence.

You aren’t talking as usual—Joel being a man of few words—but it isn’t tense as it usually is. It’s a peaceful, relaxed silence, one that doesn’t make you second guess your every minute gesture.

Together, you go back into his bedroom. When you’re done with the towel, he takes it from you, tossing it onto a second pile of laundry in the opposite corner.

“Classy,” you tease. He smirks, and you think you might hear a faint chuckle.

You don’t expect to take this as anything other than face value—just sex—so you aren’t going to assume that he’ll want you to stay. You wonder how long he’ll ignore you this time before wanting to fuck you again.

You bend to the floor to retrieve your pants and shirt, not exactly thrilled to be slipping back into soiled material that stinks of sweat and horses, but it’s all you have available. Joel stops you the moment your fingers graze your jeans.

“What’re you doin’?” he asks.

You arch a quizzical brow at him. “Getting dressed?”

“Not’n that. You can wear somethin’ of mine to sleep in.”

You lift both brows, this time. “Sleep in?”

“Didn’t figure you’d want to go back to that uncomfortable cot,” he says. You balk.

First he asks you to shower with him and now he’s asking you to stay?

For how long?

“Sure.”

He tosses you one of his shirts—Miller Contracting, Austin, TX, it reads, and you think to yourself that’s an odd coincidence, slipping it over your head and shrugging into it. It swallows you, falling about mid-thigh.

Joel strips off the soiled bedding and replaces it with freshly cleaned linens, which he pulls from the dresser, and to your surprise they’re actually folded neatly. Maria or Ellie must have done that for him.

You fix dinner for the two of you in his kitchen—which doesn’t consist of much—namely some leftover rabbit and root vegetables from the community garden, and some slices of unleavened bread.

You had done the bulk of the cooking at your grandparents’ cabin, and what had once felt like a chore now made your heart feel full as Joel cleans his plate in front of you.

You spend the rest of the evening sharing the bottle of whiskey, laughing and swapping stories, reminiscing about the days before outbreak.

When the night grows long and the inevitability of sleep settles like a fog over both of you, you climb into bed together, but not for sex this time.

The idea of actually getting to sleep in a real bed in as many months fills you with a type of elation you had forgotten exists.

Joel pulls the blanket up over you, kissing you between your eyes before dragging your arm across his torso as he rolls the opposite way, his back now facing your front. You’re confused for a moment until it dawns on you—it’s strategical positioning, placing himself between you and the door, should a need ever arise from it. Hopefully it never will.

It makes your heart thrum happily in your chest. You kiss his exposed shoulder blade, and he damn near purrs.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

“G’night,” he repeats, saying your name sleepily. There’s a short pause. “Hey.”

“What?” you ask.

“Don’t want you to leave Jackson,” he states.

You smile, hugging him tighter, burying your face into the curly strands of hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m not going anywhere,” you say.

#writing #romance #smut #author #fanfic #pedro pascal #pedro fanfic #the last of us #joel x reader #joel fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fic

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daydream-cement · 1 year

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hi!! can I request one where Larissa and r’s anniversary is coming up and reader is planning to propose so they’ve been sneaking around and one day Larissa catches them while they’re on the phone with a florists for a bouquet that’s a part of the surprise and they’re telling them what they want on the card. It’s something really romantic like “I love you so much. I’ve never met anyone like you.” and Larissa hears it thinking r’s cheating so she leaves and prepares to break up with r but then the next day she finally receives the bouquet from the delivery man while r is finishing up everything and reads the card, recognizing the words that r was saying the day before and she rushes to r and kisses them and stuff.

Simple Miscommunication

Larissa Weems x Reader

Authors Note: Here’s my little take on this request <3

“The card can just say something simple for the flowers. ‘I love you’. Yes, that’s fantastic.” You paced around in you office on a call with the local florist.

You had been dating Larissa Weems for 4 years now and with your upcoming anniversary, you felt like it was a great time to propose to her. You loved her endlessly and wanted to spend the rest of your life with her.

Everything was set up perfectly. You were going to get her a coffee in the morning, lunch and the flowers would arrive in the afternoon, and that evening you would propose over dinner. Little did you know that Larissa was listening in on your discussion with the florist. She had also forgotten your anniversary. With the current school year, it had completely slipped her mind and now she thought you had been getting flowers for someone else.

Larissa had been so stressed lately that she had completely jumped to conclusions. Usually she gave you a kiss before she left for work, but this morning you assumed she had been in a rush as she forewent the kiss and left without a word. You thought it was a little strange that she didn’t say anything about your anniversary either, but you were so anxious about your own proposal plans that you didn’t dwell on it.

When Larissa arrived in her office, there was a coffee already on her desk from the Weathervane. Next to it sat a note, I love you. Have a wonderful day.

Larissa rolled her eyes, assuming that the extra attention for her was due to a possible infidelity and you were just feeling guilty. She was ready to confront you when she came home from work, but when a bouquet of flowers arrived to her office, she began to feel a little silly.

There was a note in the center of the bouquet, Happy Anniversary. I love you.

Larissa bit her lip. She had completely forgotten. She checked her watch. There was still a few hours until she would typically come home from work. If she were to hurry, she could get into town and hopefully find you a present and some flowers.

———

When Larissa walked in the door of the house, she seemed to be in a bit of a rush. You cocked your head as she juggled a bouquet of flowers and a paper bag with a bottle of wine in it.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Larissa pressed a kiss you your cheek before pushing the flowers into your hands, “Happy Anniversary.”

“Hey, hon. Happy Anniversary.” You smile, knowing that she received the first parts of your presents for the day, but you knew the final part would be completely unexpected for her. You took the flowers into the kitchen and she began thanking you for the gifts as you cut the flowers and dropped them in a vase of water.

Not after long, you were both back into the common discussions about work and each other’s daily lives. You had dinner prepared for the two of you, serving Larissa at the kitchen table. She smiled up at you as she opened the bottle of wine she purchased.

As you ate, you couldn’t help but staring at her. The time to propose was fast approaching and you were beginning to get nervous. Larissa noticed your off behavior and narrowed her gaze at you, “Are you okay?”

“I-Uh… I need to- I need to ask you something.” You felt your heart pounding in your ears. Your chest and stomach tightened with the sensation of anxiety that coursed through you.

“Okay…” Your nervousness was rubbing off on Larissa and her mind went to worst case scenariosz

“You know I love you… And I was thinking- No, I was going to ask you- Only if you truly wanted-”

“Y/n…” Larissa was growing concerned with your struggling over your words. You typically weren’t this nervous around her.

You bit the inside of your lip, gathering yourself. You rose from your chair and moved to the floor on one knee in front of Larissa. Now she understood your nervousness perfectly.

You reached to your pocket, pulling out the little box, “I love you, Larissa. Will you marry me?”

“Yes. Yes, please. Absolutely.” She didn’t even have to think about her answer. As soon as you were down on one knee she knew her answer. And to think this morning, she was crazy enough to think you didn’t love her anymore.

#larissa weems #fanfic #wednesday netflix #gwendoline christie #larissa weems x reader #oneshot #proposal #larissa weems fluff

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spgothkidsheadcanons · 1 year

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hi:) making a request for a henrietta x goth lesbian reader!! they’re all hanging out and the boys are silently fighting over the reader, but the moment henrietta makes a move, the reader like IMMEDIATELY shows interest.

I LOVE HENRIETTA SO MUCH IF SHE WERE REAL ID MARRY HER

This was so funny. It kinda gives a little more backstory of my headcanons of them and being grown up.

~~~~~

It had been too long since the goths had actually been around each other. Everyone dispersed after highschool, and with the parting of ways came the familiar drifting of friendships. Not that they didn’t speak with each other, but they only spoke once or twice a month, usually to inform each other of how adult life was going and how their careers were. Michael was the lead singer in a band, Henrietta was an indie model/aspiring clothes designer and Pete was a semi-popular painter with a healthy sized following, and each of them hardly had anytime to follow through with their plans on being close until the end. Which was okay, because they’ve settled on monthly meetings back in their hometown just to catch up.

Pete was the first to arrive seeing as he stayed in South Park. He shared a house with his uncle and saw no point in moving away. Too nervous for big cities and too lazy to go to college, he stayed in his quaint little town, going about his daily life as usual and never complaining, happy to stay where he’s comfortable.

Michael was second, seeing as he moved just a few cities away. He ended up in Denver, Colorado, a large but humble town. There is where he found a few people who needed a singer for their band, and he applied and forgot about it. After getting the job and releasing an album or 2, their band, The Velvet Pulse, began to rise up the chart, and Michael was satisfied with his future.

Henrietta was the last to arrive. After graduating, she moved to Los Angeles, California to pursue a career in fashion design. There was never a large variety of gothic clothes that she could wear comfortably, so she decided to start her own brand. She picked up modeling for some indie clothes brand on the side, finally content with her life.

They met at the Benny’s, as they always did. Everything still looked the same, the wall behind their normal booth still stained yellow from their underage smoking habits, remnants of the times they were the closest with each other. The lights were still obnoxiously bright, the menus were sticky, the coffee burnt. It was disgusting to outsiders, but to the Goths who had come back after so many years away, it was home. Michael sat beside Pete, Henrietta in the bench across from them. The trio were happy to finally be back together, even if they only had 5 days to visit.

“And then we went to New York, and kinda traveled down the east coast.” Michael was telling the two others of how his current tour was going. “The only reason I’m here is because after our show in Atlanta, I kind of maybe snuck away and got on a flight over here. The bus is on its way back, but I wanted to go ahead so I could spend a few days back home before it got here.” he finished, taking a swig of his black coffee. Pete and Henrietta smiled, greatful that the tall goth was still humble. “So when you said you were joining a band, did you expect for it to take off?” Pete asked, lifting his own mug to his lips. Michael shook his head, brows furrowed in thought.

“Not really, but I didn’t care for the fame. I was honestly just bored and sent in an application. Don’t get me wrong, I’m appreciative for where we are now, but I do hate not being able to go in public anymore.” Michael lamented, shrugging his shoulders. “That’s the price you pay, though.” he added, looking down at his cup. “Well, I’m very proud of you,” Henrietta said, shooting a smile at the man, “And Pete, I’m proud of you. Your art is amazing. I’ve been keeping up with your posts on instagram and I’m always blown away.” she turned towards the red and black headed goth. Pete grinned shyly, his cheeks turning red over the compliment. “Thanks, Henri. That means a lot. How are things going with your business?” Pete asked in return. “It’s going, that’s for sure. I started selling some of my finished clothing to some boutiques in LA, and that’s really taken off. Overall, I’m pretty happy about how things are going.” the woman replied, tracing patterns on the table infront of her.

The three continued chatting, not stopping even with the bustling of people around them. Every now and then, the old waitress, Betty, would come and refill their mugs. She had become timid in her older years, no longer fussing at the trio and acting cold to them for just drinking coffee anymore. Instead, she welcomed them warmly, seemingly happy to see her once annoying customers. “How are you kids?” she asked, stopping by their table for the 3rd or 4th time. They struck up conversation, reminiscing on how they used to act hostile towards each other, laughing about the good old days. “Well, I’m glad that you’re all back in town again. My niece is coming to work in a few minutes, she just started and I’m still training her. I hope you don’t mind if she stops by with me.” the waitress informed, before walking over to another table.

Michael, Pete and Henrietta dived back into their own conversation, once again not paying mind to anyone around them. They were absorbed in each other’s lives, wanting to know everything that one another was doing. They could have stayed like that for hours, drinking their bean water all day and all night. Well, that is, until they heard a timid voice that pulled them from their conversation. “Would you like some more coffee?”

The voice wasn’t the same as the old lady’s, and they all turned their attention to the person it came from. At the end of the table stood a young woman, no older than 22. Her (h/c) was pulled up away from her face, a few strands of loose hair falling against her forehead. Her eyes, warm and inviting, were a beautiful (e/c) hue, complimenting her (skin tone) skin. She wore the same blue waitress outfit, complete with a pair of white shoes. In her hand, she held a freshly brewed pot of coffee, a soft smile playing on her lips. Michael couldn’t take his eyes from her, and red began to creep over Pete’s cheeks. The pair stared at her, unable to find the words to talk, stricken by her beauty. Henrietta glared at the duo, a silent way of telling them that they looked like idiots and they needed to get it together.

“Yes, please, if you don’t mind.” the woman finally piped up, drawing her friends out of their love dazed states. The new waitress happily refilled their mugs, turning away from them and moving to the next table. Henrietta grabbed her coffee cup, bringing it up to her mouth. “You guys looked like complete idiots.” she noted, taking a sip of her drink. Now boths men were blushing, looking down at the table while mentally beating themselves up. “Dude, she was beautiful.” Michael finally said, coming to his senses. Pete could only nod, not being able to get her eyes out of his mind. Henrietta rolled her eyes, shaking her head at them.

“Would it be weird to ask for her number?” Michael asked, a grin crossing his face. Pete’s head snapped up at that, his eyes casting a glare to his taller friend. “I don’t think you should. She probably wouldn’t be interested in you.” the shorter male noted, drinking from his cup. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Michael asked defensively, his attention turning to Pete. The man shrugged in response, setting his cup down. “Well, you’re out on tour for months on end, you barely answer your phone as it is, I just don’t see how that would work out.” Pete replied, casting a glance to Michael. The curly haired ravenette raised his eyebrows incredulously, scoffing at his friend’s words. “Listen, you can be jealous or whatever, but I think I have a better chance with her than you do.” he noted, playing the same game Pete was. Michael’s retaliation only added fuel to the fire that was already forming, and soon, the two men were bickering quietly with each other, giving reasons as to why they would be better and reasons the other didn’t have the chance.

Henrietta sighed, her eyes rolling once again. While Michael and Pete were distracted with each other, the goth woman scanned the room, looking for the new waitress. Her eyes landed on the young woman behind the bar, washing dishes as she listened to the older waitress training her. Quietly, Henrietta slid out of the booth, not gaining attention of the two men who were still quietly arguing, and made her way to the bar. Perching herself on the seat infront of the two waitresses, she waited until they took notice of her at the bar.

It was only then that Michael and Pete had turned to Henrietta, wanting to see who she thought the waitress would pick, and noticing that the goth woman was gone. They looked to each other, brows furrowed before scanning the room. Hearing the familiar laughter of their friend, they both turned towards to the bar in time to see the young waitress writing something on a napkin, passing it to Henrietta before giving her a shy smile. The goth woman stood from the bar, walking back over to the booth where she was previously sat. The two males attentions were on her, watching as she nonchalantly picked up her cup, raising it to her lips. “The answer is neither of you. She’s a lesbian.” Henrietta smirked behind her cup, flashing the napkin the waitress had given her, a name and a phone number written in pink on the white paper. The men could only gawk, their cheeks turning red in embarrassment at the fact they acted like stray dogs fighting over a piece of meant. At the end of the night, they left, Michael and Pete having apologized to each other and now playfully giving the silent treatment to their female friend, who turned and shot the waitress a wink before leaving the building.

#sp goth kids #south park goth kids #south park headcanons #sp fanfiction #south park michael #sp michael #south park pete #sp pete #south park henrietta #sp henrietta #sp henrietta biggle #sp pete x reader #sp henrietta x reader #sp michael x reader

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dc-sideblog · 3 months

Text

WIP Wednesday

Rules here. Send me an ask with a title in it and I'll write three sentences for that WIP

Fics:

Blood Drinking Dead on Main:

“Danny, do you know what this means?” Sam asked. “It was Lois Lane, oh my God, it was Lois fucking Lane, the woman who revealed aliens were real and named Superman and exposed Lex Luthor and tanked his presidency and—”

“Danny, Lois Lane knows who I am!” Val shrieked. Val was not immune to Lois Lane fangirling. “She wrote about me in the Daily Planet! That shit’s international, Danny, do you know how—”

“Dude, she talked about the rumors of you being dead!” Tucker said.

“Tuck, man, I think everyone knows I’m dead. My name is Phantom and I’m a ghost.”

“No, I mean, about you being faded or whatever. ‘Cuz you haven’t been seen in two years. Everyone’s gonna think your parents killed you.”

“Tucker!” Sam yelled.

“What? She kinda implied it!”

“She so did not!” Val said. “She said Phantom was missing in action. Like a soldier or something.”

“Damn. All I did was move to Gotham. That makes it sound like I got shot.”

“You did get shot. Repeatedly,” Sam said dryly. “And literally that’s what everyone here thinks. It’s weird, Danny. Heroes don’t just disappear for good reasons. They’re always dead.”

“Except for me! I beat the odds.”

“Danny, my man, I get where you’re coming from, but you are very much also dead. Like yes, congrats on retiring, but you did die. I was there and everything,” Tucker said.

Avengers Crossover:

He went back to the main conference room. Everyone was currently on a call with Fury.

“—is a hero on their world. They’ve been giving us pretty mixed messages about him,” Steve said.

“How do you mean?” Fury asked.

“One minute they’re saying their dad shot Batgirl, the next they’re saying he’s a hero and would never hurt Robin. Either way, they’ve been training—and possibly in the field—since they were little kids. Robin’s still a little kid. Sir,” Steve drew himself up, “This sort of back-and-forth, mixed opinions on a parent is common in abuse victims.”

“You think they’re being abused?”

“I do.”

“Where do we stand on getting them back to their universe?”

“Strange will be here in a few hours.”

Fury nodded. “Stall. I’ll contact Strange myself. Those kids don’t go anywhere until we’re sure they’re going somewhere safe. You understand me?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good.”

Fury cut the call.

Caretaker Kara:

Robbing a house was different than robbing a store. The group scouted ahead. They took days doing it. Planning. Watching. And then they broke in at night, with Zach—the leader—doing something to the door that made it open without a keycode.

Though Kara didn’t even see a place to input a keycode. Was it all biometrics? How was Zach doing this?

Anyway, they got in. The group scattered about, seeking out technology and jewelry. Kara was assigned to lift the heaviest things. Big, bulky tech items that made eyes gleam.

And the cold storage unit that was just chock full of food.

She loaded everything into their van and began to eat. Others stared at her. She held out half a food item to offer it to Gavin, who shook his head, a strange look on his face. Kara shrugged and kept eating.

They let her take whatever she didn’t eat back home with her that night.

Assassin Cass:

She didn’t know how to explain. How to make him understand how dehumanizing it was. The worst event in her life had nothing to do with her. Like she was just a pawn in the game between Joker and the law. Only relevant in how hurting her would hurt Commissioner Gordon by proxy.

She was made to suffer, her legs taken away, her ability to walk for the rest of her life just gone… to cause her father mental anguish.

She had dealt with this shit as Batgirl before. People hurting her to hurt Nightwing, because they were dating. People hurting her to hurt Batman, because she was one of his. No one had ever taken it to this level before, but it seemed to be a running theme. Babs’ pain was only relevant so far as it distressed the men in her life. The men in her life who their enemies respected far more.

She didn’t know how to explain it. That that was the worst part. Not losing the use of her legs. But how much it hadn’t mattered. How much she hadn’t mattered.

A pawn in someone else’s game.

Early Adoption:

“Is it true Batman kidnapped you because your dad is the Riddler?” Harper asked. Harper was super cool. She was in the grade above Stephanie and she had dyed her hair blue with Kool-Aid all on her own. She and Steph always claimed two swings right next to each other at recess before anyone else could. They went higher than anybody.

“My dad is Cluemaster,” she corrected. “He’s not smart enough to be the Riddler.”

“Oh,” Harper said. She paused. “Did Batman make you tell him all his plans and stuff?”

“No.” She huffed out a breath. “Batman says I’m too young to fight crime. Which is so unfair, because Robin started when he was my age. I just wanna punch my dad.”

Harper nodded sympathetically. “He should let you.”

“Exactly.”

This was another reason why Harper was the coolest. Plus, she knew how to fix any broken video game, which was basically a superpower.

#wip wednesday #✍🏻

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maxverstepponme · 1 year

Note

this is a really good theory like absolutely plausible. Also maybe Max doesn't want any distractions at the moment we are heading into a busy schedule. After miami theri is only a week of rest, then we have a triple header // original anon here, so wanted to add more of why I think this since we’re all crazy together :))

-the weird hotel getaway, seemed like she was there alone/with P but wanted people to think she was there with him. Him iracing all weekend.

-her selling a lot of her wardrobe, a jelly fanpage said there’s close to 100 pieces up for sale. Why the need for money?? Or getting rid of clothes causing you moving?? An anon earlier mentioned this.

-him flying to Amsterdam to do PR. Kelly no longer in Monaco (in NY) but acting like she is. Posts about getting ready for her trip. Someone on here confirms she’s in Ny before she posts.

-shows she’s in NY with P, has loads of P’s shoes there definitely more than necessary.

-daily mail articles come out (proving she’s been there longer) uses her as max verstappens gf in headline cause that’s the only way she’s relevant. But still mentions her name, trynna get her name out there (I would say this has been happening since Miami this year and Bahrain solidified that)

-max a lot happier apparently in the paddock but seemed off his game. Wasn’t his best weekend. Commentators speculated something was happening in his private life, maybe rumours in the paddock led to that comment.

-Kelly posts a picture of P on some guys shoulders, people wonder who he is. Did she do it for attention??

-Victoria unfollows her and then refollowers.

-max flies back to Monaco, not NY or even Miami.

-addressed the pram worries but not the seatbelt or mystery guy ones.

- stories posted today she’s wearing those ugly pendant charms but only the K&P.

-someone on Twitter spreads the rumour they’ve broken up, people take it seriously. Becomes pretty big. His team don’t deny them (although his team don’t deny rumours unless it’s pregnancy). Neither does Kelly.

-Sophie after weeks now comments to maybe calm people down, or lead people of the trail until they can announce it. Kelly hasn’t commented on Victorias post or vice versa.

-max hasn’t liked her last 2 posts, maybe he told his pr and they’ve locked her out the account or changed the password.

- won’t announce it until it’s not a race week so they’d be a cool-down period of it and he wouldn’t have to answer questions about it. Max on race week is only focused on the race, think he’d tell his pr to wait until not a race week.

-Kelly’s using the last of his name, hence the weird shoot looking rushed maybe wasn’t originally planned for the trip or something.

-promised Yasmin Miami gp tickets (don’t see how else she’s going) and probably organised something with pageboyprojects for Kelly and Yasmin. A pr shoot, clubbing night of them etc.

-Kelly’s got her little meet and greet 🙄 in Miami that’s been planned for months probably so couldn’t cancel.

-I think they’d have to announce a break up whether on ig or through a trusted tabloid, cause of how public it it (thanks to Kelly 🙄). But would wanna do it not on a race week or when Kelly’s promised someone tickets and got a meet and greet in Miami. They’d be more speculation if she was on Miami but not the gp

Again we’ll see what happens this week and thank you all for letting me write my theories :))

No worries ❤️ would you like for me to tag them?

#theories anon

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sky-casino · 1 year

Text

stranger danger: drug lord!kuroo x detective!alisa (kurolisa)

drug lord!kuroo x detective!alisa

genres: fluff, angst, some police/detective stuff (suspense, action), sprinkle of smut word count: 7,300+ a/n: i believe it’s my first time to write something with suspense and action in it omg? so this is quite new for me lol 😅 😂 hope you like it!

alisa haiba is a detective who belongs to a small team tasked to apprehend kuroo tetsurou, the city’s rumored most notorious drug lord.

they need a cold hard proof to arrest him. he has to be caught red-handed. they’ve been investigating and watching him for almost half a year now. they so badly want to put a tracker in his cars but they can’t do it without warrant, and they don’t have enough basis to get one. they’ve tried wiretapping him but it yielded nothing. so all they could do is watch him.

as much as they hate to admit it, he’s really good at hiding his crimes and leading a seemingly normal life.

this seemingly normal life consists of working as an owner of multiple properties rented by companies, bar-hopping and partying hard almost every night, going to the gym, watching and participating in drag races, and being with a different girl every week. he’s your typical hot and rich guy who every girl thirsts for.

except alisa. all she wants is to arrest him and end his drug business, which is the main contributor in the city’s increase of drug use.

it comes to a point wherein alisa volunteers to go undercover herself in order to get close to kuroo and become a part of his circle. she believes that watching from afar is not enough, she needs to go to him.

her team was surprised with her idea, but they’re open to it. however, one of them, osamu, is against this.

alisa explains her plan: she’ll jumpstart the operation at night. she’ll go to the bar where kuroo will be. attract his attention, engage in conversation, and get to know him so that she’ll be his girl of the week or so. she’ll keep the act until he likes and trusts her enough to take her home to his penthouse, even better if he also takes her to his office because that’s where documents pertaining to his drug deals would most likely be located.

as her final argument to get her team’s approval, alisa states the obvious fact that she’s the only female in the team, so she has to be (and is only) the one to do this.

she also mentions how they already know kuroo’s ideal girl, given how much time they invested in watching him and his daily life. getting his attention will be a piece of cake, maintaining it will be a bit more difficult, but ultimately, the goal is to obtain cold hard proof.

osamu is silent for a moment, but given that everyone else has already agreed and alisa very much wants to do this, he relents.

the night of the start of the undercover mission has arrived. a few days ago, the team leader assigned osamu as alisa’s back-up and main point of contact as she goes undercover for the entirety of the operation, since the rest of the small team have other cases to work on.

alisa, clad in a short golden sparkly dress, comes out of her bedroom. osamu is in awe as he has never seen alisa dress like this, not even during their police academy days wherein they studied and graduated together.

“ugh, this is a bit uncomfortable. but i guess i’ll get used to it.”

osamu stammers as he replies, “y-yeah, you will. don’t worry about it.”

“thanks, samu. this dress is the least of my worries. i need kuroo and i to be friends by the end of the night. no matter what.”

one of their teammates has been keeping an eye on kuroo for the whole day and informed them which night club kuroo was heading to.

alisa and osamu drove to said club. before alisa alights the car, osamu reminds her to call him if anything remotely dangerous happens.

alisa enters the crowded and loud club and easily spots kuroo in the VIP section. she walks to the bartender nearest to kuroo to order a drink. as she waits for her order, alisa is unaware that she already caught the guy’s attention, with kuroo staring at her.

“is it your first time here?” kuroo says as he slides next to her at the bar. alisa didn’t expect to catch his eye this quickly. she congratulates herself in her mind, realizing that knowing kuroo’s ideal type after watching him for months is now paying off.

“uhm, yes! you’re right. it’s my first time here. how did you know?” alisa replies, speaking in a more girly tone.

“because this is my favorite club and i’m here almost every night, and it’s my first time to see your gorgeous face here, so i was guessing that you must be new. glad i was right.” kuroo says in a sultry voice with a smirk.

your drink arrives and kuroo tells the bartender, who he seems to be friends with, that he’s paying for your drink.

you thank kuroo and that’s where it all begins. he leaves the other girls he was originally with and focuses on talking to alisa.

“i’m kuroo tetsuro, by the way.” he says as he offers a handshake.

“i’m ali.” alisa smiles and takes the handshake. however, kuroo takes her by surprise as he kisses her hand instead. alisa giggles at this as she thought it’s the reaction kuroo would want.

“what do you do, ali? did you just move here recently and is now a new resident?”

“i’ve always been from tokyo, just not this part of the city. i work as an english teacher.”

“nice, i hope you can teach me one day.” kuroo flirts, earning a chuckle from alisa.

“how about you? you look affluent.”

“oh, not really. i’m just the owner of this building and few of the other buildings in this part of the city.”

“wow. that must be nice. so you just get to go in here anytime for free?”

“i guess so” kuroo smirks before downing a shot of tequila.

they’ve been talking for an hour now. it was nearing 2am and kuroo asks alisa if she wants to go to a hotel with him. alisa is taken aback, she didn’t expect kuroo to want to sleep with her already since it’s just their first meeting.

kuroo senses her hesitation and quickly takes the invitation back, “oh, no problem if you don’t want. it’s fine. i understand.”

alisa, scared that she might lose kuroo’s interest and attention, played hard to get and improvised a response, “it’s not that i don’t want. it’s just that, i wish i could spend more time and know more about you first.” alisa uses the ever-reliable puppy-eyes technique, and it seems to work.

“you want to go on a date?” kuroo asks excitingly

“yep! is that okay with y-”

“sure! i would love that. i don’t wanna scare a lovely girl like you.”

alisa giggles and flirts back, “thanks, kuroo. that’s gentlemanly of you, i guess?”

the two exchange numbers and scheduled a date two days from now.

by the time alisa and kuroo part ways, alisa was extremely emotionally drained. she never liked bad boys who are overly confident and flirty so she always avoided them.

but everything went well and she squealed in excitement before heading to osamu who was waiting outside the car.

first day of the mission: success.

their second encounter takes up the whole day. after having breakfast together at a famous brunch place that kuroo chose for them, they go to see a movie. after they get lunch at a restaurant overlooking the city, kuroo takes alisa to his favorite indoor archery facility to show off how good of an archer he is and also to teach alisa how to do it properly. alisa knew about this hobby of his because of their investigations, but she didn’t expect that he would bring her there and teach her. they ended their date with a dinner in his yacht.

“how was it? did you have fun? i hope you enjoyed.” kuroo said with a smile and a hint of nervousness, which alisa found endearing. she caught herself as soon as she realized that, though.

“yes! didn’t know archery could be so fun and quite easy. i think i just found a new hobby.”

“that’s great to hear, ali. i really prepared for this date, y'know?” he said with a smirk, all nervousness gone with alisa’s positive response.

“and i appreciate it, kuroo. thank you.”

“so, today i’ve showed you some of the things i enjoy because you said you wanted to get to know me better. now, it’s your turn.”

“huh?” alisa stops from eating, confused.

“i mean, i want to you to show me your hobbies, the things you enjoy. i want to try doing them with you for our next date.”

“oh, that’s what you mean.” alisa chuckles. “is he actually serious about getting to know me? but wanting to do my hobbies with me is kinda sweet, tho.” she thought to herself before clearing her throat.

“what makes you think there’ll be a next date?” alisa teases as she goes back to her food.

kuroo goes silent for a tad bit too long and alisa looks at him, amused at his face that reminds her of the surprised pikachu face meme.

“i’m just kidding! sure, i’ll plan the next date. brace yourself, kuroo.”

“oh, i will.”

the next day at the police station, alisa spends much of her morning scouring the internet for activities that couples usually enjoy. she’s having a hard time selecting which ones to do with kuroo and at the back of her mind, alisa is getting a bit sad as she realizes how non-existent her love life has been since she entered the police academy. the moment she got admitted to the school, she told herself to focus on studying and career. no boyfriends. and now she feels like she’s paying the price because how could she have no idea of dating activities at all?

“why don’t you just actually do something that you enjoy?” her boss suggests. alisa looks at him, puzzled.

“even though you’re a workaholic, you do have actual hobbies, right?”

“hmm… i love baking on the weekends where i still have energy left.”

“there you go. go bake some stuff with him or something.” he says before his attention is called by a more important matter.

and with that, alisa signs her and kuroo up for a baking class she found online.

the day of the class comes and alisa is inexplicably antsy as she waits for kuroo outside the building. she’s feeling excited, nervous, and anxious all at the same time and she doesn’t know why.

kuroo calls out to her with a wide smile and for some reason, she suddenly feels at ease.

after the teacher introduces herself and informs the class that they will be baking salted caramel cheesecake together with their partner, kuroo whispers to alisa, “i’m scared that i might fuck this up and you won’t get to enjoy this date.”

“what?”

“i’ve never baked anything in my entire life, ali.” kuroo says in an exasperated tone and a slight pout.

“aww, that’s okay!” alisa laughs as she comforts him. that’s why we have the teacher. she’ll explain the steps and we just have to listen and follow.“

the class takes up the entire afternoon and in that entire time, alisa finds herself genuinely enjoying the activity and kuroo’s presence. she loves how funny he is and it also amuses her to watch a muscular man bake clumsily.

after the cake is ready to eat, kuroo gets a chunk of it and feeds it to alisa. alisa does the same to him and they’re both in awe of how delicious their cake is, especially kuroo. "damn, we made this? i helped in making this fucking delicious cake???”

“yes, kuroo, you did.”

“your smile is as sweet as this cake, ali.”

“shut up.”

just like this, kuroo and alisa spends the next six months dating, alternating which one of them would plan the date. and with every encounter, the more they spend time together and unravel each other’s layers, the more alisa enjoys kuroo’s company.

osamu, despite being told that he doesn’t need to watch and follow alisa anymore as her back-up, watches from afar, and he doesn’t like what he’s seeing. whenever he gets the chance, he always reminds alisa that this is a mission and what kind of man kuroo is. alisa replies with irritation, reminding him that she’s the one who came up with this plan.

another thing that’s been bothering alisa is that she has been trying to avoid sleeping with kuroo as much as she can, but she’s getting the impression that kuroo is starting to get a tiny bit frustrated. he’s been very understanding and patient all this time, but alisa remembers that a man has carnal needs and these needs have to be addressed. then she realizes that she has been feeling these needs lately as well. unbeknownst to anyone, even to kuroo himself, is that he has ignited a fire in her that has been dormant for a while now. she just feels different, lusty, when she’s with him.

and so to keep this whole thing going and to also satisfy each other, she finally obliges. she opens her legs to get him to open up and tell her his secrets.

eventually, kuroo invites alisa to move in to his home, which alisa considers as a milestone for her mission. she has now gained a significant amount of kuroo’s trust.

upon her arrival with her things, kuroo explains that he lives alone and just gets some cleaners to keep the place pristine every other day. as for his family, his parents have passed and he’s an only child. the real estate business he has now is an inheritance. alisa knows all of these already though, but gotta keep the act and pretend that it’s her first time to hear all of it.

days of living with kuroo go by and there are some days wherein alisa can’t help but enjoy the bliss of being with kuroo. there’s just something about the guy. he’s very charming and he makes her happy. but still, she wouldn’t admit it to anyone, not even to her teammates and osamu, and especially kuroo, but she’s nervous about this whole living together thing. she’s aware that this is her plan from the very start, but it still feels surreal to be in a seemingly committed relationship with the man you’re trying to put behind bars. lately, she’s been feeling a bit guilty about what she’s doing to kuroo. but then she repeats what osamu told her like a mantra, “this is a mission, we have a goal, kuroo is a bad guy.”

while kuroo sleeps one afternoon, alisa sneaks into his work room and tries to find any evidence that could help their mission to arrest him, but found nothing.

it’s always been like this recently. all her attempts to uncover a possible evidence from all around his house leads to failure. his phone has no password so she’s able to open it, which excited her at first. but alas, nothing suspicious is in the phone at all. alisa deduces that kuroo has a separate phone for his drug operations, which is expected. but she can’t find another phone nor has she ever seen kuroo using one.

during their team meeting a few days later, they expressed their frustration with the slow progress. seeing alisa disheartened by the poor team morale, the boss assured her that it’s not her fault. he’s a patient man and so he tells alisa to continue her cover in the meantime.

after the meeting, alisa is about to drive to her own apartment to get some more personal stuff to bring to kuroo’s place. but osamu volunteers to drive for her.

osamu has been very quiet and serious the entire trip. alisa notices but dismisses it as osamu being his usual quiet self.

upon arriving at her place, she goes straight to her room to get some clothes and other sanitary items.

“do you want to get dinner?” she asks as she goes out of the room

“you should abort this mission.” osamu said, looking down at the floor.

“samu, you know i can’t do that. this is my mission. i started it-”

“it’s dangerous!” this time, osamu looks her in the eye.

“he’s not dangerous when he’s with me.” alisa says in a soft voice.

“exactly. you’re getting too comfortable with him.” samu could no longer hide the pain in his eyes so he looks away and stands up from the chair. he’s in pain and he’s frustrated that alisa doesn’t understand that the danger he’s warning her about is not the usual life-or-death danger they deal with in their job. it’s the kind of danger where one falls for a person they’re not supposed to fall for.

“i know you’re just worried about me, samu. and i’m truly grateful. but no matter what you say, i will continue. i will see this through to the end. boss gave his approval earlier, you were there.”

osamu is unresponsive as he contemplates whether this is finally the time to tell alisa of his true feelings. maybe if he confesses that he’s worried about her not as a colleague or a friend but as a man who deeply loves her, she would be more understanding and change her mind. but he knows that’s impossible. he’s known all this time that alisa only sees him as a friend, as her best friend, to be precise. he’s aware of this and has been in the process of painfully accepting it.

“fine. just call me if you need anything.” osamu says before leaving, not sparing her a glance.

the next morning, with her revived determination from her boss’ approval and to prove osamu that she can do this, alisa is sharper than ever. she pretends to be asleep as kuroo wakes up at 6am, giving her a morning kiss. kuroo then washes his face and leaves the room.

just last night, kuroo told her that he’s only available in the afternoon today if ever she wants to go out. alisa asked where he’ll be in the morning and kuroo replied that he’ll go to the gym. kuroo does go to the gym regularly, but he’s been complaining about his painful hips just the other day, so his response was already suspicious for alisa. and so she decided to spy on him more closely this morning to see where he will be actually going.

she secretly follows him out of the room and she’s surprised that he goes straight to his work room instead of the kitchen to have breakfast.

she peers into the room and sees him crouch down to the lowest drawer under his desk. he stays there for a while and with the desk blocking her view, alisa is frustrated as she can’t see what exactly he’s doing. it’s been almost a minute when he stands back up and he’s holding a blue notebook that alisa has never seen before. he flips the first few pages and after landing on the one he’s looking for, he then turns to the bookshelf right behind him and pulls out a thick old-looking book. he opens it and retrieves a hidden phone. “so that’s where he’s hiding it.” alisa thinks to herself.

kuroo dials the number written on the notebook and after only one ring, the other person answers and kuroo only says “today, 9am” before hanging up. he doesn’t return the phone to its place and instead puts it in his brief case. seems like he will be using and taking the phone out of the house for the day.

afterwards, he bends down to the bottom drawer to return the blue notebook. when alisa sees that he’s about to exit the room, she quietly runs back to their bedroom.

after having a quick breakfast, kuroo enters the bathroom in their shared room to take a shower. alisa sprints to the work room to check the bottom drawer, but nothing is in it, just like the last time she checked it. she remembers that kuroo had it open for quite a long time earlier, so there must be a hidden compartment in it. she uses a pen to lift the corners and after pulling up the wooden panel, she sees the blue notebook. she quickly scans it to find a list of names, aliases, email addresses, contact numbers, and incomplete addresses. some of the names are familiar to alisa. that’s when she realizes that the names are those of drug pushers that her team is looking into as well. she instantly concludes that kuroo supplies to these elusive pushers and this list is one of the cold hard proofs to solidify his arrest. she also recalls a time wherein kuroo and her were talking about work and he mentioned how he’s scared of storing important or sensitive information digitally, as it might get hacked or lost in one way or another. alisa connects that statement to the fact that he has a physical list of the drug pushers’ contact details. kuroo doesn’t want these details to leak, so he’s keeping the perhaps only copy of it.

she intends to take a photo of every page but she’s scared that kuroo would find her missing from their bed. she quickly returns the notebook to where it was and runs fast to their room, jumping on the bed and pulling the blanket to cover her entirely. she quickly sends a short message to her team’s group chat instructing them to follow kuroo after he leaves the house. osamu, as her only back-up, replies quickly. with the rest of the team soon after.

she hears kuroo get out of the bathroom and quickly hides her phone under her pillow. kuroo then gently slides down her blanket to pepper her face with kisses. strangely, alisa feels a pang in her chest and a sting in her nose. this might just be the last time she feels those kisses. she disregards all of these feelings, though. the finish line is near now.

she eagerly awaits to hear the car engine go off and leave before she heads back to the work room. she finally retrieves the notebook and quickly goes to her own car. she calls her team and asks where kuroo is so she can follow him as well. all of this taking place and she’s still in pajamas.

eventually, alisa and the team concludes that the location where kuroo is heading is the place of his new building’s ongoing construction. that’s why his movements and destinations haven’t been suspicious, he’s blending his professional facade with his criminal life.

alisa parks her car far from where kuroo stopped his so he wouldn’t see her. she prefers to run to her team’s nearby van but she’s afraid that kuroo might see her and ruin the entire operation. instead, she takes her phone and binoculars and carefully got out of her car to go to a spot to hide while also watch kuroo talking to a man around the same age, looking like the usual businessman with his suit and tie.

they only talked for a short while until kuroo signals for a construction worker to approach them. the worker pushes a cart of around ten large sacks of cement. the businessman makes a small cut on top of the sack, feeling some of the powder in his hands and then smelling it. holy shit. some of the “cement” in this construction is actually drugs. with the businessman satisfied, he retrieved a couple of brief cases from his van. kuroo opened them and it’s visible to alisa and her team that it’s tons of cash.

for some reason, alisa felt like crying. this is it. the moment of cold hard proof they’ve been waiting for. but she’s not entirely happy. she has seen kuroo be a sweet, loving, and caring boyfriend for her all this time. this is the first time she actually sees him do something wrong. the rose-tinted glasses finally break, as it should. or to be more precise, these glasses should have never existed in the first place.

after kuroo secures the cases of cash and places them in his car, the sirens from all around start to blast and alisa’s team gets out of the van, pointing their guns at kuroo, his client, and the construction worker. the worker tries to run but was shot in the leg. with the sound of the gun shot, kuroo and his client know they cannot escape this.

alisa suddenly feels unwell, still sitting on the ground and just staring at it. osamu runs to her to comfort her.

alisa urges herself to look at kuroo with handcuffs, getting into the police car.

“don’t worry, he didn’t see you.” osamu tells her.

“there’s another evidence that i need to submit.”

“another?”

osamu helps alisa up and she musters all her strength to walk to her car to retrieve the notebook. “this is kuroo’s list of clients. all their contact details are in there. he hid it so well i wouldn’t have found it if i didn’t observe him this morning.”

“got that. boss is so happy and proud of you. all of us are, alisa. you did an outstanding job.”

alisa just gave a hesitant smile in response.

“my girlfriend… can i see her, please? i need to talk to her. please.” kuroo pleads to alisa’s boss in the interrogation room. it’s the first thing he ever said since his apprehension.

“we reached out to her right away after your arrest. she doesn’t want to see you.” the boss lies.

kuroo is astounded, but he can’t say that it’s unexpected. of course, his beloved ali is shocked and disappointed in him.

all of this unfolds right before alisa’s eyes as she’s in the other side of the interrogation room. osamu told her to just rest, but she refused. as she has said before, she needs to see this through.

kuroo is informed that his case won’t even go to trial because he’s caught in the act of hiding and selling drugs and getting paid for it, and also because of his possession and creation of the address book of drug pushers. he’ll have to serve seven years.

“fine. arrest me or whatever. i don’t care. i deserve it anyway.” he said weakly with a fake smile.

the boss leaves the room to get some papers and kuroo is left alone, with alisa watching him closely.

at this moment, kuroo’s eyes widened as if he realizes something.

the boss comes back with the papers and before he could tell kuroo the next steps, kuroo interrupted him.

“you mentioned about the address book, is it the blue notebook?”

“yes”

“how did you find it? where? when? i still used it just a couple of hours ago.”

the boss, alisa, and osamu are surprised by his questions.

“we found it in your house”

“who found it?”

with each question, kuroo sounds and looks colder

“us, of course”

“you found it too quickly. no one else knows where it was. no one. only me in this entire world. and if you rummaged through my house, my alarms would’ve set off and i’ll be notified in my phone. but i know there was no notification up to the moment you ambushed us. unless you found it in the past twenty minutes, which i know is impossible.” kuroo scoffed at the last statement, as if mocking the boss and the entire police force.

alisa’s boss is taken aback and he doesn’t get the chance to respond as kuroo continues.

“d…don’t tell me…” he covers his face with cuffed hands as he tries to stop his body from shaking, voice trembling.

alisa realizes what’s going on, and tears fell as she keeps her eyes on kuroo.

“if my alarms didn’t go off and you found the notebook this quickly, then the one who found it knew where it was and was inside the house.” kuroo says, showing his face once again.

“don’t tell me that my…. girlfriend is the one who found it, and she submitted it very quickly because she’s actually one of you.”

the boss just looked at him with a poker face, not willing to reveal anything. but his silence itself already did.

kuroo slowly turns his head to the one-way mirror, sensing that alisa might be there.

alisa could no longer hold back her sobs as she sees kuroo’s betrayed face filled with shock, hurt, and anger. she quickly gets out of the room with osamu following her.

“alisa-” “he knows, samu. he knows! but i guess i don’t have to be surprised, he’s actually one of the smartest guys i’ve known, after all.” alisa tries to laugh away her tears. “he feels betrayed. he knows i betrayed him-”

“no, alisa.” osamu replies firmly. “he can think whatever the fuck he wants, but just know that that’s not what you did. you didn’t betray him. it was your job to go undercover and find evidence so we can finally put him in jail. and you’ve done that. you should be happy, you should be proud of yourself. don’t shed tears for that guy.”

alisa is astounded to hear osamu talk like this, he’s full of rage and she’s a bit scared. she calms down and nods her head with a smile. osamu’s stern face is replaced with a smile as he wipes her tears before embracing her. he doesn’t tell alisa but the truth is he’s furious about the fact that a criminal like kuroo is the reason for her tears and that he’s the one she ends up loving.

their boss gets out of the room and tells alisa that kuroo is demanding to speak with her, but he assures her that she absolutely doesn’t have to do it.

after contemplating for a moment, alisa tells her superior, “it’s okay. i’ll talk to him. this will be the last time.”

“alisa, no-” osamu attempts to discourage her.

“samu, i’ll be fine.” she says with a genuine smile that puts his heart at ease.

alisa takes a few minutes to wash her face and put on some make-up in hopes of hiding the fact that she just cried.

when she’s ready, she stands before the door and composes herself before entering. kuroo is stunned to see her in her work uniform, complete with her ID and badge.

“i’m not obliged to speak with you. but i’m here and you can only tell me five things or ask me five questions.”

“fine. five questions, then.” he waits for alisa to say anything but she just looks at him with her poker face.

“who are you?” “alisa haiba, a detective here in the tokyo police station.”

“this might be obvious already, but i just want to confirm my suspicions.” kuroo scoffs. “did you go undercover and seduce me to get whatever evidence or information you needed to arrest me?”

“yes.”

“so it was all planned out from the moment i saw you at the club that night?”

“yes.”

“were you spying on me this morning that’s why you knew where the blue notebook was hidden, then you also instructed your colleagues to follow me?”

“yes.”

“was any of it real?”

there’s a pause before alisa replies, “i don’t understand your question. was any of what real?”

“you know exactly what i’m talking about, ali.” kuroo says with so much pain in his voice, slamming the table with his fists, knuckles turning white, restraining himself from shouting at her.

“sorry, my bad, you’re not my ali. you’re detective alisa haiba from the police station. got it.” kuroo laughs sarcastically to mask all the pain. he looks at her as he waits for her response.

“i’m gonna ask again, was any of it real?” he emphasizes each word.

“no… none of it was real, kuroo tetsurou. goodbye.” alisa says monotonously before standing up and leaving.

seven years later, alisa, now thirty-three, is preparing breakfast and she knows exactly what day it is: the day of kuroo’s release from prison.

she never spoke to him again since their short conversation on the day of his arrest years ago. she gave kuroo a chance to ask her his most burning questions, and she answered them as honestly as she could. she thought that might be enough for him.

that’s why she’s so shocked to see him outside her door in the morning.

“k-”

“hey.” kuroo greets her with a somber smile and an awkward wave.

“what are you doing here?” alisa asks cautiously, unknowingly gripping the doorknob tight.

“would you believe it if i said i wanted you to be the first person i meet after i get back my freedom?”

“there goes his usual charming smirk.” alisa thinks.

“would i believe that? no. get on with it, kuroo. why are you here?”

kuroo sighs, “it’s the truth, ali. don’t be so wary, please? i’m not angry at you or anything. i promise.” he puts up his hand, swearing that he’s telling the truth.

alisa knows that besides hiding his crimes, kuroo is an overall honest person. and in the worst case scenario where he attempts to hurt her, she can defend herself anyway.

“come in.” alisa says and kuroo slowly enters.

“how did you know where i live?”

“uhh…” kuroo can’t form his response properly as his attention is captivated by the modern minimalist interiors of alisa’s apartment. “i asked my lawyer to look it up a few weeks ago.”

“have you eaten? i have extra french toasts here.”

“it’s okay. i’m still full from my last prison breakfast.” he smiles, earning a laugh from alisa.

“my lawyer also told me that,” kuroo says carefully. “you resigned from the police force seven years ago, a few months after my arrest.” he sits across alisa at the dining table. he stares at her as she plays with her food, waiting for her reaction and response.

alisa’s smile from seconds ago slowly disappeared. kuroo knows that he has now entered a sensitive topic.

“yep, that’s right.”

“may i know why?”

“it was exhausting.” alisa’s eyes still fixed on her tattered toast. “and i realized i wanted to try another path.”

“which is?”

“i have a small bakery now. just online though, no physical store yet.”

“wow, that’s nice.” kuroo replies, looking back at the tons of baking materials he noticed earlier.

alisa stands up and goes to the sink.

it’s been two minutes and no one is speaking. the tension and silence become increasingly suffocating. kuroo gazes at alisa’s body as she washes the dishes, with her back facing him. she feels his intense gaze but can’t do or say anything about it.

kuroo stands up and slowly approaches her. alisa feels his presence creeping up behind her.

when kuroo delicately slides his hands on her arms, alisa feels the chills but fights against it by turning around abruptly.

“what do you really want, kuroo? why are you here?” she asks breathily with wide eyes, demanding the absolute truth with her face just a few inches from his.

“don’t be scared, ali. i told you i’m not angry. it’s the truth.” kuroo speaks in a low voice, making him more irresistible than he usually is.

“just answer me.” alisa says in an exasperated tone.

“you’ve been a naughty girl, ali.”

“what?”

“i’ve always told you the truth. i hid my crimes yes, but i’ve always been honest with you. always. you know that. but all you’ve been doing recently is lie to me.” kuroo says in almost a whisper, with his hand creeping up to alisa’s throat to choke her mildly.

“i don’t understand-” alisa says, struggling a bit. she’s not in pain, but all of this feels foreign to her. kuroo has never been this dangerous to her.

“see? you’re lying again. fine. i’ll tell you your lies. do you remember my last question from seven years ago?”

alisa doesn’t reply.

“i asked you if any of what we had was real. do you remember?”

“yes”

“you said, quote unquote, ‘no. none of it was real, kuroo tetsurou. goodbye’. correct?”

“yes”

“those words never left my mind, you know? i kept hearing it in the seven years i was locked up. but i knew you were lying. did you really expect me to believe that? i’m not stupid nor naive, ali. i saw your face and your eyes and despite all the make-up you were wearing, i knew you were crying before we talked. your long pauses in between. you saying that you didn’t understand my question. all of those just to mask the truth and lie to me.” kuroo says with his choking hand getting progressively tighter.

alisa doesn’t know what to reply and tears fell from her eyes.

“and just now you lied again, huh? resigning from the police force because you wanted to be a fucking baker?”

“that’s not exactly unbelievable-” alisa tries to defend herself

“you left the force four months after i got arrested. and you want me to think that my arrest had nothing to do with your resignation? give me a break, ali. tell me the truth!” it’s now kuroo’s turn to demand honesty.

he’s getting impatient and so when alisa doesn’t say anything, he slams her down to the dining table and kisses her hard. he kisses her lips, her face, her neck, her collarbone, and her chest after he rips her shirt apart. he kisses her everywhere. and when alisa doesn’t fight back and kisses him in return, he fucks her then and there.

their synchronized moans the moment he enters her are so loud it feels like it’s reverberating throughout the apartment.

alisa is feeling seven years worth of kuroo’s libido as he hadn’t fucked during that time. she honestly thought that she would never feel him inside of her again since he got arrested. so having him in her now feels so unbelievable she doesn’t want to let him go ever again. she clenches around his hard cock the entire time, making kuroo hiss and grunt.

“can i come in you?”

alisa’s heart swells as she finds it endearing that despite all the animosity kuroo has for her, he’s still polite about this.

“yes. i have pills-”

alisa can’t even finish her statement as kuroo comes in her, urging her to come as well.

as they both ride out their orgasm, kuroo whispers in her ear breathily, “this is the last time you’ll ever see me, alisa haiba.”

“what?”

“i’m leaving in one week. gonna move to the States. leaving everything and everyone here behind. including you.”

alisa, feeling devastated, watches his face as he starts to separate from her. she doesn’t speak as she examines kuroo dressing up. he has made up his mind, and so this is the last time she’ll see him. ever. she wants to appeal his decision, tell him, “but you said you’re not angry with me, so why?”, but she knows that would be futile. and in the back of her mind, she thinks that maybe she deserves this.

kuroo doesn’t spare her a glance, not even when he leaves. “guess it’s my turn to say goodbye. take care of yourself, ali.” he says before opening the door, back facing her.

the silence after the door closes is the worst silence alisa has ever heard and experienced. it feels heavy, empty, and her sobs consume her soon after.

alisa can’t sleep that midnight, her head filled with kuroo and his last words to her.

then her phone suddenly rings and an unknown number is plastered on her screen.

she hesitates picking it up but her time as a detective taught her to stay alert for any danger or important information. the person on the other line probably needs help or will inform her about something important.

“hello?” she inquires, but she’s met with silence from the other end of the line.

“hello? who’s thi-”

“i’m supposed to hate you, y'know?” kuroo blurts out and alisa immediately feels the familiar pain and tightness in her chest, urging her to sit up from her bed.

“kuroo… where are you? are you okay?”

“i’m supposed to despise you for deceiving me, for causing my downfall, for lying to me, but i can’t. i just can’t bring myself to hate you, ali.” kuroo sounds like he’s about to cry, while alisa already is. she tries to do so quietly so kuroo wouldn’t hear, but she’s tired of pretenses and decided to let out her sobs wholeheartedly.

“i thought i meant it when i told you earlier that i’m leaving you behind. but i realized that it just felt so wrong.”

“kuroo-”

“run away with me, ali.” now it’s kuroo’s turn to be met with silence.

“please? run away with me. let’s start anew. no more deceptions, just love, newfound trust, and honesty. i’ll take care of you and i promise i’ll never commit crimes again.”

alisa stops crying as she’s too astounded with what she’s hearing.

“i know that all of this is shocking to hear. but i mean every word, ali. you’ve already hurt me, but here i am, still begging you to be with me. if that’s not pure love and honesty, i don’t fucking know what is.” kuroo says with exasperation in his voice.

alisa is still silent, so he continues, “you don’t have to answer right now. i can delay the scheduled flight for you… if you decide to go with me. so don’t worry about that. just please, think about it carefully. hmm? okay?”

“y-yes. alright. thank you, kuroo. i’ll think about it. good night.”

with that, alisa abandons any attempt to sleep as she lists all the pros and cons of running away with kuroo.

it’s been five days since kuroo’s midnight call to alisa and his scheduled flight is in two days. and yet he hasn’t heard from her ever since.

pacing around in his apartment with phone in hand, kuroo is extremely antsy as he contemplates on whether to call her again or not. he gave her time to think, but he needs to know her answer already.

he’s dialing her number when his doorbell rings.

he opens his door and finds alisa there, smiling shyly as she’s surrounded with several large suitcases.

for the first time since their call, he relaxes and heaves a sigh of relief before hugging alisa tightly.

“you cunning woman, why didn’t you at least give me a call or a text? i’ve been panicking.”

“because i wanted to surprise you? but i guess five days of radio silence was too much, indeed. i just had to make sure everything on my end is okay before i leave.” she caresses his head on her shoulder.

“well, is everything okay now?” kuroo lets go of the embrace to look at her

“yup, i packed only the things that i absolutely needed and wanted to take with me. as for the rest of my things, i left them as is in my apartment and i asked my landlord to buy or sell them. he’ll send me the money once he has it. i also met with my closest friends and family to say goodbye.”

“your friends and family… did they agree with your decision?” kuroo asks cautiously, afraid of her response

“of course not all of them did. but i told them that you’ve already served your time and for that, you deserve a second chance. i also told them how much you love me.” alisa says the last part with a sweet smile.

“thank you, ali. you won’t regret this.”

“i know, i trust you.”

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