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#like just. its not that hes mean or anything its just somehow i keep hoping for literally anything but like

sunderwight · 2 days

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SV Malevolent AU where, due to a system error (Shen Jiu not actually dying from the qi deviation? Mu Qingfang being present and resuscitating him in time maybe?) Shen Yuan ends up only half-possessing SJ by gaining control of his eyes.

SJ, of course, fully believes that he's been possessed by a demon and wants to evict the creature in question as soon as possible. However, he's still a paranoid bastard before anything else, so his first attempt is to just quietly do it himself after chasing Yue Qingyuan and anyone else away from his house. He doesn't want either a reputation for being weak and susceptible to possession, or one for having ties to demonic influence. There's enough grime on his reputation and the ONE thing he has confidently never been at risk of adding to it was consorting with demons, and he'd like to keep it that way.

Except, of course, Shen Yuan's not a demonic spirit, so none of the efforts to "evict" him actually work. Much to Shen Yuan's relief. A blind cultivator is still plenty formidable, but after a few days of deadlock over the issue, and with Shen Yuan fully in control of Shen Jiu's eyesight but otherwise unable to do much, Shen Yuan negotiates with the system (which SJ cannot perceive at all) to be able to tell Shen Jiu some things. Enough to get him to do something other than crack and run out of his house to let the other peak lords try their hands at ousting SY.

He tells Shen Jiu that he's not a demon (not for the first time, not that SJ believed him) but that he IS a spirit from another realm, and that he got turned around somehow on his way to try and warn this world about an impending catastrophe. SJ is naturally still suspicious, but after SY provides him with enough tidbits of information to verify that he's not completely lying, he decides to at least entertain the idea that SY isn't a demon and that a more nuanced approach is called for (also this route is appealing for him because it means he can still avoid telling anyone else that there's anything wrong with him).

Thus, uneasily, the two Shens reach a truce. Shen Yuan offers to help SJ navigate the world by describing things to him (within the privacy of their now-shared mind, of course), and SJ just sort of gives up on destroying him. For now.

Shen Yuan also, of course, tries to stop SJ from abusing Luo Binghe. Both because he would do that regardless, but also because he's now co-piloting SJ's body, which means he has a vested interest in making sure it retains all of its limbs. This has varying degrees of success.

But mainly I think this would be hilarious because Shen Jiu would essentially be held hostage to Shen Yuan's descriptions of things. Flowery, detailed and fascinated descriptions of monsters (at least these are useful because SY also has encyclopedic knowledge of their weak points). Largely vibes-based descriptions of scenery and women. Glowing assessments of Luo Binghe. Constantly bringing up Liu Qingge's beauty. Shen Jiu doesn't need his own shidi described! He knows what the asshole looks like! Go possess his body instead if you like it so much! (SJ was maybe kind of hoping that would happen when the spirit did something during the debacle in Lingxi Caves -- but no, SY just saved Liu Qingge's life, like some kind of not-evil creature. Infuriating!)

#svsss #scum villain's self saving system #scum villain #shen qingqiu #shen jiu #shen yuan

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rosewaterandivy · 2 days

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rack 'em up!

Summary: in hustling, ya gotta keep the score real simple. count your money at the end of the game, and walk away.

Pairing: s.h. x fem! reader

WC: 1.6k

Warnings: NSFW 18+, drinking, cursing, & pool shark steve

A/N: A continuation of our Modern Love series featuring Steve 🥰 Reblogs, likes & feedback are appreciated - reposting is not. Enjoy! 💜

The first time you’d met Steve Harrington, you hadn’t been yourself. It was Halloween night and one of your best friends had somehow convinced you to go out with her to a local bar. You were in your Audrey Horne finest — pink sweater, plaid skirt, Mary Janes and all — while your bestie had settled for the Log Lady, classic Twin Peaks.

Thighs sticking to the cracked vinyl seat, you nursed a beer only half-listening to your friend’s bitching about her grad school class. Sitting at the bar, you felt exposed. And sure, she was there and had been supportive throughout this ordeal. But still — it was the first time you’d been out since the break-up.

Shaking your head, you tried to rid yourself of the incessant thoughts which were proving less than helpful. She quickly noticed your discomfort, she worried her lips and tried to get the bartender’s attention. “We can go if it’s too much babe,” she murmurs softly, “Or at least head up to Paschal’s where it won’t be as crowded.”

“No, this is fine,” you insist, taking a sip from your beer, condensation gathering on the glass. “I’m just getting used to it is all.”

She gives you a small smile, “Okay, but let me know when you want to bounce.”

The bar fills up rather quickly from there. The breaking of racks sounds out from the pool tables in loud cracks, quickly followed by loud whoops and hollers. The pair of you were occasionally jostled by patrons opening their tabs and ordering food or drinks. Coming to the end of your beer, you nod to her and she signals for the check.

Someone slides in behind you, sending your pint glass tumbling to the bar top the remnants of lukewarm beer readily making its way toward your lap. You quickly stand to avoid the spill and back up.

Large, warm hands lightly grasp your arms, causing you to jump, “Oh shit,” he says, voice apologetic, “That was my bad, I’m so sorry!”

Turning in the stranger’s grasp, you catch Liz’s wide-eyed gaze, “No harm, no foul,” you insist, “Quick reflexes and all.”

The sight of him makes you want to drop dead. A furrow in his brow and lip worried between his teeth — too handsome for his own good.

“Let me make it up to you.” His thumbs graze over the fabric of your sweater as you nod. He turns to the bartender and leans over the bar top to say, “Hey man, can I get two IPAs, a stout, and whatever else the lady would like?”

He glances back to you, waiting.

“She had a saison!” Your friend helpfully pipes up from behind you.

“Thanks,” he smiles at her, “Can I get you anything?”

She flushes under his attention and places her order before pulling you to the side out of earshot. Her eyes gleam in mischief when she says, “Ooh girl, he is fine.”

You can’t argue, he is objectively attractive. All coiffed hair and tan limbs, definitely out of your league. Involuntarily, you curl in on yourself.

“Hey,” she scolds, “Don’t do that.”

As if she could read your thoughts.

“Yeah, under Harrington man. Thanks!”

Schooling your expression into a semblance of cool, you smile when he leans back hands you the drink, your fingers brushing briefly.

“I am really sorry about that, by the way.” He says, eyes clouding over with worry. “Hope it didn’t ruin your night.”

“Not at all,” you say after taking a sip, “We were about to head out anyway.”

She elbows you something fierce and narrows her eyes.

“What she means to say, is that we were about to head upstairs.”

The stranger nods, “That’s cool.”

It’s only then that you notice the three other beers in his hands in a triangle formation, condensation growing steadily on each glass. You meet his gaze, “D’you need help with those?”

When he smiles, it’s slow and saccharine. “Don’t worry about it, honey.” He nods toward the pool tables, “But you can come along, if you’d like?”

Your best friend all but yanks your arm out as he walks toward a group of people surrounding the pool table. He hands the respective drinks to the man and woman arguing over stripes and solids.

“I broke, so I get to call Rob!” The man with long hair pulled up into a bun insists. “It’s like, common courtesy.”

The woman, Rob, takes a brief sip of her beer, top lip coming away covered in foam. “But polite society dictates that you should offer the choice to me, Eddie.”

Eddie rolls his eyes before noticing the new additions to the group. “Harrington,” he says with a smile, “Care to introduce us?”

The man’s eyebrows raise, “Oh, um,” he begins before faltering. “This is—“

Your bestie swiftly butts in to introduce you both. “Nearly ruined her night,” she jokes, “Beer stained skirt is a sure-fire ticket home.”

Eddie laughs along with her and turns back to the game of pool. “Whaddya think then?” His eyes meet yours, “Solids or stripes?”

Robin scoffs indignantly and chalks her pool cue.

His attention catches you off-guard, “Oh, um,” you echo Harrington, “Stipes, I guess?”

Eddie smiles and leans down to take his shot, “Excellent choice.” He sinks two stripes in the corner pocket and rises lazily to sip his beer.

Your friend, meanwhile, made herself scarce, socializing with Rob across the pool table. Harrington, first name unknown, eyed the game briefly.

“Take over for me?”

He glances across the table and takes the outstretched cue. “Sure thing Rob.” He brushes past you with a cautionary hand to the small of your back, “Sorry.”

Your friend and Robin continue their conversation at a nearby high-top table, while Harrington lines up his shot. Left alone with your beer, Eddie makes his way to your side. “This game is about to become distinctly unfair,” he grouses.

“How so?”

“Steve’s a pool shark,” he shrugs, “Good thing Rob and I didn’t bet on this game, he’d take me to the cleaners.”

You laugh at that, “Well, considering that she abandoned the game, I think that makes any bets null and void.”

“Maybe so.”

You sip your beer, conversation with Eddie coming easily. “I could give him a run for his money,” You say off-handedly, “If you wanted to make it interesting.”

The cue ball cracks against the remnants form the rack, two solids falling into the side pocket. Eddie gives you a wicked smile, “That so, sweetheart?” He chuckles and takes a drink, “Bit of a hustler yourself?”

You shrug casually, “Had a shit dad,” you supply, “Learned a thing or two in the bars he frequented.”

“Fair enough,” he says before turning to Steve, “Harrington!”

Steve stops his perusal of the pool table. Eddie chalks up the cue and passes it to you. “Care to make this game a little more interesting?”

Bets are taken — 3 to 1 with odds in your favor; you had graciously elected to abstain from betting. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for your best friend.

(“Oh my God, this is the greatest,” she crows, “The last time she played, she made a dude cry.”)

Steve, it had to be said, was indeed a shark; the game was evenly matched. Before long, a group had gathered around you to watch. Eddie kept the drinks coming while Robin insisted you both eat something.

Steve lined up to take his turn; it was a long shot, “Eight ball, left corner pocket.”

As he leans over, his shirt rode up slightly along his back revealing tan skin and toned muscles. You feel yourself begin to get hot under the collar. Eddie thrusts a cold can of beer into your palm, “Steve, make yourself decent, for fuck’s sake.”

He blushes at that, shot falling just shy of his call. The eight ball rolling to a stop on the precipice of the pocket. You let out a low whistle, holding the can against your forehead for relief.

“Wouldn’t be taking it easy on the lady, would you Harrington?”

Hazel eyes meet yours for a brief moment. He winks at you as you open the can to take a sip. “Not at all, Ed.”

You sip slowly, the cool beer alleviating your parched throat. Swallowing, you wipe a hand across your mouth and set the can aside. “That’s a shame,” you say approaching the table with a sway in your hips. “Get ready to pay up, pretty boy.”

Eddie cackles at that, Robin and your bestie howling in laughter. The patrons watching the game unfold let out whoops and whistles. It would be easy enough to simply tap the eight ball in the corner pocket, ending the game handedly.

You instead opt to ricochet the cue ball along the sideboards with enough force to propel it into the corner pocket with an audible crack. A wave of cheers erupts around you as Steve’s head dramatically drops in defeat. Eddie, Robin, and your friend bumrush and crowd you against the pool table.

“To the victor, go the spoils!” Robin hollers, turning you toward Steve.

You extend your hand, palm outstretched awaiting the payout. “Cough it up, pretty boy.”

With a huff, he digs his wallet from his back pocket and counts out the twenties. His fingers are warm against yours, you give him a small smile. “No hard feelings?”

He smiles in return, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Clasping the bills in your hand, you eye him up and down. Insecurity and shyness from earlier in the night alleviated from the progression of beers over the evening. “Tell you what,” you say, scrambling for a pen and paper, “If you ever feel like getting your ass handed to you again,” you jot down your number, “I’m available.”

He takes the scrap of paper from you with a slow smile, “Good to know.”

And if someone airdrops you a new contact before you leave, then so much the better.

Pretty Boy Steve: soooo, rematch?

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #Spotify

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kentopedia · 3 months

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I loooveee the way u write nanami 🥺🥺 was wondering if u could do a mini fic on nanami x reader but when they were in high school :O I feel reader would constantly flirt with him but he stays unbothered until she stops 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 thank uuuu

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEARTS — nanami kento

omg thank u so so much, you're very sweet <3 i think i was taking requests when you asked this, so im so so so sorry i took forever to answer :( this isn't exactly what you said but i hope it's close to what you had in mind <3

contents: sfw, high school nanami & reader, mutual pining, silly teenage emotions, fluff, it's not even really romantic but they're best friends that won't admit they have a crush on each other, reader is shorter than him, gn!reader — 1.2k

“you can’t stay mad at me forever, kento.”

your best friend — or so you thought — stayed silent as you walked through the abandoned warehouse, searching for the curses that needed exorcising. so far, they’d evaded you, just as kento had all of your questions.

he glanced over at you, mouth drawn into its usual line. “i can if i want.”

“oh really?” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you continued forward, following him through the building. “are you fifteen or five? you’re supposed to be the mature one!”

kento rolled his eyes, but didn’t dignify that with a verbal response, letting his blade dangle loosely at his side. an odd sound echoed through the hallways, but it wasn’t quite menacing enough to be a curse.

you groaned. “don’t you know everyone will just keep pairing us up on missions until we work this out?” if kento was going to continue to be a pain, you wouldn’t allow him the silence he wanted so desperately. he’d been ignoring you for over a week. “haibara’s lucky. he gets to go with the second years.”

nanami glanced over his shoulder, raising his eyebrow, before looking ahead once more. “you mean he’s lucky he gets to go with gojo.”

though you weren’t sure if it was supposed to be an insult to you or not, you laughed. “maybe.”

“yeah,” kento scoffed. “i thought so.”

the tone was flatter than usual, even for someone like kento, and you raised your eyebrows, letting the words settle between you.

“you’re being so sour. you know, you never even told me what i did wrong. you’re so mad at me, kento, and i don’t even really know why.”

kento watched his feet take one step, then another, the opposite ones moving ahead. he’d grown a lot over the summer — a fact you’d somehow only realized. since when had he been that much taller than you?

“i’m not mad,” he finally settled on. a weak argument as to why he’d been ignoring you for the duration of your mission, and the week before.

you frowned, chewing the inside of your mouth. although kento had a kind heart, you knew how nasty he could be to people he didn’t like. you didn’t want to be one of those on the list. “kento… i really am sorry. if i’ve done something wrong.”

the tension drained from his shoulders. he sighed. “you haven’t.”

despite wanting to push the issue further, you let it die, deciding to listen to the silence in case of any curses. though, it had been nearly half an hour, and you hadn’t found any yet. you were beginning to think that maybe your teacher had led you astray.

“can i ask you something?” kento, after ten minutes, finally interrupted the quiet again. and though that sort of phrase was never a good sign, you would’ve taken anything to get him talking to you again.

“of course, kento.”

he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, seeming shy, almost. had it not been so dark, you would have seen the slight tint of pink on his cheeks, that you only assumed was there to begin with.

“what is it about gojo that you like so much?”

you blinked. “what do you mean?”

“you’re… interested in him, aren’t you? like that?” kento shifted awkwardly, holding his body as if it wasn’t quite his own. “i mean, i just assumed…”

all over, you great hot, your cheeks burning with embarrassment, a wave of dread heaping onto your stomach. “you think i have a crush on gojo?”

“don’t you?”

you thought about it for a moment, staring at the ceiling. “i don’t know. maybe.”

“maybe?” kento pinched his eyebrows together. “what the hell kind of answer is that? you either do or you don’t.”

“i think he’s...” you stumbled over the words, not really sure when you’d started talking to nanami kento about these sorts of things. the words tasted sour in your mouth. “well, i suppose he’s attractive, isn’t he? he’s certainly charming. he makes me laugh.”

“you’re always flirting with him," kento said skeptically.

you shrugged. "i'm just teasing. if you consider that flirting, then i guess i am."

“hm. you sound like you think you’re supposed to be interested in him, just because he’s gojo.”

that raised a small laugh out of you. “maybe you’re right. i think i might just be interested in people i know won’t ever like me back.” kento’s eyes flashed, and before he could say anything, lips parted, you continued. “but what do i know about anything, anyway? teenagers are supposed to be dumb like that, aren’t they?”

kento frowned, brown eyes softer than you’d seen in awhile. “i don’t think you’re dumb.”

“thanks.” for some reason, that made you bashful, darting your eyes away as you smiled at the ground. “have you ever had a crush on anyone, kento?”

he gave you a tiny little smile, poking you in the temple, before repeating your words from earlier. “i don’t know. maybe.”

“you’re so stupid.”

kento laughed, then, a light noise that was more familiar to you than it was to a lot of others. “you know, if it makes you feel better, i think gojo likes you. really, i do. he thinks you’re pretty. he likes when you laugh at his jokes. geto told us. he talks about you to him all the time.”

and though you’d expected the words to send a wave of glee over you, the sort of silly emotion that came with a teenage crush, you didn’t feel excited as you should've. perhaps because satoru had never been the one you wanted.

“gojo just likes to be admired. besides, everyone likes when people laugh at their jokes. that's not special.” you kicked at the floor. “anyway, geto’s probably just telling you all that so you’ll tell me and i’ll make a fool of myself in front of them. that would really make them laugh.”

kento frowned, contemplative. “i don’t think he would do that.”

he wouldn’t. it just seemed the only good way to diverge the conversation.

you threw your hands up, expelling a loud sigh. “well… whatever. honestly, it doesn't matter. i don’t think i even want a boyfriend.”

kento gawked at you for a moment, lips slightly parted, before he shook his head, another snort of a laugh leaving him. “you’re so confusing.”

“you should be relieved. wouldn’t you be miserable if i started dating gojo?” you were only teasing him, bumping his shoulder with your own, a playful grin on your face.

but kento’s voice was gentle when he returned his answer, and the relief was evident on his face. “i would.”

whether you knew it then, or not, that little confession had changed the course of your life. you brushed it off easily, gripping your cursed tool tightly as you turned the corner again.

“hey kento?”

“what? the curses are going to sneak up on us if—”

“you’re my best friend, by the way. even if i was dating gojo, you’d still be my best friend. you’ll always be my best friend.” you stopped him, serious now. “no matter what happens.”

kento smiled softly, barely there at all. he squeezed your hand in return. “i hope so.”

#kento nanami x reader #jjk x reader #nanami fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #kento nanami x you #nanami x reader #jjk x fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #xoxo rylie 💌 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

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darthannie · 7 months

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Hi! Can I request Tommy Shelby who loves to spoil his gf and she has a hard time accepting it all but he reassures her in a very loving and protective way (hope you get what I mean lol) thank you! :')

a/n: This is short but I hope I did your idea justice! I just want to see him smile 😭

grand gestures

Thomas Shelby x f!reader

Warnings: Tommy being happy and in love, Tommy’s love language is gift-giving I don’t make the rules, kissing

You had been seeing Thomas Shelby for a while now and he was absolutely smitten. You have never met a man who doted on you as much as he did. Under his hardened exterior was a man longing to love and be loved.

On a particularly cold evening, you arrived home to a surprise. On your bed lay a beautiful new coat you had seen in the shops while out with Tommy. You must have stared at it in the window a little too long. He took that as a sign that you wanted it. You hadn’t even thought to go in and check the price tag, let alone purchase it.��

Tommy knew you weren’t used to receiving many gifts so he made it his personal mission to make you comfortable with it. He’d started with a gold bracelet.

You had gasped when he took it out of the small box. “Tommy, you can’t. This is too much.”

“It’s not. Nothing is too much when it comes to you.” It was almost threatening. It sounded like a warning when he said it. It was foolish to underestimate how much you meant to him.

After the bracelet, he began giving you gifts periodically, even things you didn’t need or want. It was difficult for you to understand why he even bothered to give you all those things. Any other woman would welcome new dresses and jewels with open arms. Instead, you just felt like you didn’t deserve it.

You stared at the coat on your bed. Its fur collar was sure to keep you warm, you thought. The gold buttons going down one side shone in the dim light of your bedroom. You held it up and gawked at it. You rubbed your face into the fur and smiled. You didn’t notice, but Tommy was standing in the doorway.

“Why don’t you try it on?” His voice made you jump and you dropped the coat, putting your hands over your heart.

“Jesus, Tommy!” You sighed and laughed. He had been making a habit of being at your home before you were. He usually made himself known somehow, but tonight he decided to be a bit of a prankster.

“Sorry, love, couldn’t help it.” He chuckled, walked towards you, and pulled you in for a kiss. He always kissed you like it was the last time he would be able to.

He pulled away, “Do you like it?”

“I love it, Tommy, but” you looked down at the item of clothing, “you really didn’t have to. Really, you never have to.” You looked back at him and his arms were crossed, his head cocked to the right. He sighed and put his hands on your arms, caressing them.

Looking into your eyes he asked, “Do you love me?”

You replied slightly irritated “I’ve never loved a man more, Tommy, and you know that. I just- I’m not used to you spoiling me like this.”

“If you’re gonna be my girl, you gonna have to get used to it, love. Now, are you my girl?” He was deadly serious. He was never controlling, but you were his and his alone. He wanted to make sure you understood that.

You looked him in the eye. “Yes. I am.”

His hands held your waist as he pulled you in closer. He kissed you passionately. A small moan escaped. It was intoxicating. After a few moments, you pulled away for air. He put his forehead against yours and gave you a chaste kiss.

“You are worth more than anything I could ever give you. I wish I could give you the world,” he smirked, “the coat is the best I can do for now.”

You smiled softly at him. It would take some more work on your part but you knew that he did it because he cared.

“Thank you, Tommy. I love you.” You gave him a quick kiss.

He pulled away with a smile and said, “I love you, too.”

He reached over to your bed and grabbed the new coat, holding it up for you. You quickly took off your old one and he helped you put your arms through the sleeves of the new one. The inside of the coat felt just as luxurious as the exterior. The fur brushing your neck was comforting and warmed your skin. You stood in front of a full-length mirror and took in your reflection. Tommy stood behind you and wrapped his arms around your body, holding you flush against him. You turned your head to make eye contact with him.

He whispered, “You look beautiful, my love.”

You had hearts in your eyes, “You make me beautiful, Tommy.”

#annie’s asks #i proofread this but no one is perfect #annie writes #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby fluff #tommy shelby #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby x reader #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #cillian murphy fic #peaky blinder fanfic #cillian x reader

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saerins · 10 months

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𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖…

+ itoshi sae x f!reader | wc 2.5k | content: fluff, pining, mentions of fake dating, jealousy, reader is kind of an idiot, sae loves to tease, best friend otoya, cussing

notes: hello hello i’m on board the sae love train once more , are you guys still with me ^_^

summary: what do you do when your best friend kind of sort of forces you to confess your two-year long crush when you’re not ready to? pray and hope for the best.

“i could just tell him for you.”

“eita, fuck no,” you throw him a warning glare as you chop the vegetables up with scary precision despite not having an eye on them. only because you know if you don’t explicitly tell him not to, that he’d think it’s no big deal and do it anyway.

and let’s say, you’d rather die than let that happen.

sure, you and sae had been closer back in high school; he sat behind you and entertained the secret notes you passed to him, he used to ruffle the top of your head whenever you pouted, he used to buy food for you during breaks.

but that’s all in the past and somehow, the both of you had drifted since then.

otoya deadpans, an unamused pair of eyes looking back at you from their spot across the island. “it’s been what, four fucking years since you graduated? grow a pair,” he retorts, attempting to steal a carrot but getting a slap on the back of his hand instead.

“bold of you to say that to a girl with a knife,” you snap at him, pointing the blade at his face.

to which he merely rolls his eyes, using two fingers to push it aside. “not like you’re that good at using it.” but he sighs when you silently turn your attention back to chopping vegetables. “does that mean i have to put up with your miserable face even longer?”

you and otoya continue to bicker, and you’re beginning to wonder how you’ve tolerated being best friends with him for the past four years. he’s a real piece of work.

“fine, fine,” otoya grumbles after you’re done with lunch, bangs over his eyes. “i promise i won’t tell sae anything, okay?”

that’s after you threatened not to let him hijack your house anymore for food. for someone who’s earning big bucks being a famous soccer player, you can’t make sense of why he won’t just get food delivered. maybe he just likes to annoy you.

“good. or else i’ll kill you.”

your crush on itoshi sae has been somewhat dormant for the past few years. and by dormant you mean that you haven’t tried making any moves because you’re too scared.

itoshi sae. one of the most famous international breakout stars in soccer. one of the most talented playmakers the world has ever seen. that comes with its own sets of pros and cons.

pros? he definitely doesn’t seem like he has much trouble doing anything he wants. he gets paid for every game. he gets paid for gigs. he gets sponsorships all over the place. which basically means that financially, he doesn’t need to give a shit.

cons? the media can be brutal. sae does something that’s remotely questionable and they’re all over it. he doesn’t thank a waiter that one time? automatically labeled as a rude brat by the paparazzi. and not to mention—the amount of girls he’s forced to fake date just for the sake of publicity.

you’re mostly pressed on that last part though, because they’re all supermodels or olympic stars or rich socialites. and compared to them, well, you’re just someone who happens to be in the same friend group and hang out together every once in a while when he’s back in japan. sae doesn’t even hang out much with the group, to your dismay.

it’s a pain, or so he says.

you wonder how you drifted in the first place. maybe it’s just the fame. you wonder if he thinks of you too sometimes.

must be your wishful thinking.

kind of makes you wonder whether he does have a secret girlfriend that he’s keeping from everyone. you wouldn’t really put it past him. it’s not like he has any super deep emotional bonds with any of you (that you know of). eita says he’s definitely single, but you think he’s just saying that to appease you. he already has his hands full having to watch you mope whenever you see news of sae and another girl and yet another dating rumor.

just as well. you think sae could do better than you, spending your friday nights at home, washing dishes at the sink and looking out at the tokyo skyline instead of out partying and living life with countless friends.

you don’t think you’re too shabby though. you’re a fresh graduate with a job at one of the most prestigious companies in tokyo you can think of. it’s not bad. but you can’t help but feel it’s worlds away from the one sae lives in.

the doorbell rings, snapping you out of your thoughts, nearly dropping the white marble plate you’re washing. your eyes snap to the clock in the living room. it’s almost 9pm—right about the time when eita usually comes knocking and asking you for supper.

groaning, you wash whatever’s left of the dish soap away from your hands and sloppily dry them against the bottom of your shirt, grumbling out loud about how you really should stop coming here whenever the fuck you want, eita while you stomp over to the front door.

you open the door, messy hair and bare face and baggy clothes, fully expecting to smack some sense into otoya eita when you feel yourself freeze up at the pair of eyes looking back at you.

they’re teal and framed by pretty long lashes and definitely don’t belong to your best friend.

what the fuck is he doing here?

this is one of the rare times that you’d actually prefer to see eita at your front door instead.

sae raises a brow, giving you a once-over. of course, he’s never seen you in this state—hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled, not a trace of makeup on your face. you’d made sure that whenever there was a possibility that sae would see you that you dressed yourself up as nice as possible. if you’d known he was coming over, you’d have at least dressed decently. definitely not baggy shirt and pants that you can barely see.

“uh… w-what are you doing here?” stupid, but the best you can manage.

he has his hands in his gray sweat pockets, and fuck him for wearing a black compression top. you can just make out the outline of his abs under there, the muscles on his arms already much too obvious with those short sleeves.

“dunno, eita said there was an emergency and i needed to get here,” sae says, wholly unbothered, monotonous as usual. he lets himself in, toeing his shoes off at the entryway, positioning them neatly beside your everyday sneakers.

fucking eita.

judging by what you know, sae was probably on his way for an evening jog when otoya called him. he still has his wireless earbuds in. you wonder if anything’s even playing.

sae takes it off once he catches you staring.

he’s not carrying anything. it’s just him. you wonder if anyone managed to catch him coming over. is his most recent pr stunt already over? won’t do either of you any good if he’s labeled as a cheater.

“so? what is it?” sae asks you, again, while he walks himself inside, curious eyes looking around your apartment, and suddenly you’re hyper aware. you hope to god you didn’t leave any of your inner wear lying around at random places.

in a panic, you rush over to him, blocking his path inside, both hands on his chest as you attempt to push him back to the front door. unfortunately for you, sae’s much stronger than you are, his body not budging an inch.

“it’s nothing, he made a mistake,” you sigh, giving up when you figure that sae’s only going to move of his own accord. “he’s probably just playing a prank on you, that’s all.”

you’re hoping, praying, wishing that sae will just take your word for it and go. because that’s what he does; he doesn’t hover much, doesn’t care about anything much at all. you don’t even know the last time he’s asked about how any of your lives are doing.

the world must hate you though, because sae only offers a grunt in response before looking towards your kitchen (you’re internally sighing in relief, glad that you cleaned your kitchen up before this). “i’m thirsty, you have anything to drink?”

you blink at him, stumped that sae is wasting his precious time in your apartment, but who are you to say no to sae, of all people?

“yeah, sure, juice?”

sae shrugs, “whatever.”

you turn your back on him, slowly taking your carton of apple juice and finding the nicest glass that exists in your cupboard, cursing yourself internally for not preparing for unexpected guests enough. you do this slowly partly because you’re trying to calm your stupid heart down, still not fathoming why on earth sae’s wasting his time with you.

carefully, you rehearse yourself in your head, where you’re going to step, how you’re going to walk over to him—you really are just hopeless. count it your bad luck that the moment you turn around, you nearly drop the glass because you’re forgetting a really fundamental issue here: your merch.

“no no no, uh—” you leave the glass on the countertop, scurrying over to where sae’s staring and thumbing at something on your coffee table.

sae looks at your flustered reaction, giving you way to grab your things off the table and stuff them in the drawer where they’re out of sight. he blinks at you, a slight amusement bubbling inside him.

“wow, big fan, huh?”

you don’t know what’s worse: you being your most unpresentable self right now or that sae just caught you having some of his merch.

“so you have some of eita’s merch lying around too or is it just mine?”

you could die of embarrassment right now.

back still turned to sae, you desperately search your brain for answers. thinking on the spot doesn’t seem like your strong suit right now.

“it… was a gift.” believable, right?

sae hums, as though he’s contemplating. “why just mine then? why not oliver’s or my brother’s?”

fuck.

“i don’t know, maybe yours was the only one that wasn’t sold out.”

“ouch.”

you didn’t mean to indirectly insult him but what’s a drowning girl to do?

sae sighs when you keep quiet, still staying out where you are, trembling too much to move. “didn’t know you were in love with me.”

this time, you whip your head around to face him—that same stoic expression of his unchanging on his face. “am not!”

his brows shoot up. “but you bought some of my merch.”

“i told you, it was a gift.”

you need to get paid for still standing up on your own two feet right now. your head’s way too giddy from the interaction, considering.

“even that figurine over there?” sae’s finger points to a small toy just barely visible behind the nooks of the bookshelf. it’s a small figurine; something sold a few years back when sae was just first starting out. you’d bought it because, well, you’d thought chibi sae looked cuter than actual sae. (especially now when he’s just staring blankly at you.)

“that was…”

“a gift?”

you think he’s making fun of you now at this point.

“anyway, we’ve established that there’s no emergency here so why don’t you just go?” you’re pretty sure sae won’t ever talk to you again—not after coming across what he did tonight. he probably thinks you’re a freak, probably questions why he even considers you his friend (to which you’re now wondering if that’s even true at all).

you make a mental reminder to yourself to kill otoya eita tomorrow.

sae lets you push him towards the entryway, apple juice long forgotten on the countertop, collecting condensation with water pooling below the glass.

“you must like me a lot, huh?” he ponders out loud as you continue pushing him towards the door. you see a hint of cockiness in his stare now, the slightest tug of a smirk on the corner of his lips.

“i do n—”

“be careful what you say,” sae cuts you off, toeing his shoes back on, looking glamorous as ever and you nearly forget that he looks straight out of a magazine even in his sportswear. “‘cause i’ll believe you.”

part of you wants him to just go already so your knees can buckle under, but part of you wants to ask him what he means. what’s he insinuating? isn’t the answer clear enough.

but now it’s way past nine and he’s all ready to go yet he’s still standing at your doorway, waiting for your answer. you want to scream no, you want to keep your secret safe, you don’t want him to know about the crush you’d been harbouring. but he told you to be careful what you say because he’ll believe you.

“s-so what if i do?” you stutter, failing to look him in the eyes, your stare focused on the air in between you.

sae’s features soften ever so slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to give in so quickly, but it isn’t one of disgust. it’s more like one of pleasant surprise.

after what seems like an eternity, sae finally opens his mouth.

“you must’ve gotten jealous a lot with all those girls i’d gone out with.”

your fist instinctively connect with his arm, his stoic finally giving way to a grimace, palm rubbing his triceps in pain. out of all the things to say, he chooses to say that? you think he deserves it.

“you know what, sae? you can go back to your fake girlfriends, i could care less,” you snap at him, pouting. you hate that despite how ignorant his words are that you can’t find it in yourself to hate him.

sae exhales sharply, chuckling softly when he sees your pout, and you feel as though it’s the first time you’ve seen him like this even though it’s not. his hand comes up to ruffle the top of your head gently, and you’re reminded of when he did this to you back in high school.

“can’t do that, can i?” he tells you, that soft disposition gone and the stoic mischief coming right back. “not when i’m in front of who could be my real girlfriend.”

your heart might’ve forgotten how to beat.

sae leaves you standing there, left to your own devices as he exits your apartment, fully aware of his effect on you.

not long after he leaves (while you’re still standing in the doorway), your phone buzzes in your pocket. you fish it out and see his name there for the first time in a long time.

you smile to yourself as you read his message. okay, so maybe you’ll spare eita’s life for now.

3K notes · View notes

lnfours · 16 days

Note

currently thinking about how lando would comfort the reader after he finds her crying on her birthday (totally not self indulgent or bc ive been crying about my birthday and how my mom called me to get upset at me and not to tell me happy birthday or anything)

:( i’m so sorry anon, i hope your day got better! also, happy birthday!! my dms are always open if you need anything!! i hope you enjoy this! ❤️❤️

cleaning out my inbox

you sat on the back deck of the house party, wiping away the tears with the back of your hand. you tried to forget what had happened, tried to not let it ruin your special day, but it was all you could think about. a sentence burned into your brain that just so happened to ruin your whole entire mood.

lando had gone around the party asking all your mutual friends where you had slipped off to. he was normally good at keeping an eye on you when you weren’t attached to the hip, but one conversation with alex and george and you had magically disappeared.

“think she’s outside, mate,” ethan said, “said something about getting a call from her mum earlier. haven’t seen her since, so good chance she’s still out there.”

lando sucked in a breath before smiling softly to his friend, “cheers, mate.”

he made his way through the sea of bodies that had somehow managed to pack themselves into max’s home. he reached the back door, heart resuming its normal rhythm as he saw you sitting on the steps. you spun to look at who was behind the door opening, letting out a sigh of relief at the sight of your curly haired boyfriend.

“baby, you okay?”

you shook your head as he joined you on the step, digging the heels of your palms into your eye sockets to keep yourself from crying even harder. he felt his heart drop, sinking to the lower step to be face to face with you.

“hey, hey, hey,” he said, pulling your hands from your face, “what’s wrong baby? what happened?”

you shook your head, “she didn’t even tell me happy birthday,” you let out a soft sob, “she just yelled, about anything she could think of.”

he frowned, reaching up and wiping the tears from your face, “i’m sorry, love.”

you were used to it by now, and lando knew how things were with your family. a rocky relationship was an understatement.

"hey," he said softly, "how about we ditch this place and go get some food?"

your eyebrows raised in question, "you mean, like... leave the party?"

he placed his cup down, smiling as he offered you his hands, "only if you want to, we don't have to."

you twisted your lips in thought, knowing that if you went back inside you'd just be putting on a fake smile to all your friends, "can we go to that place with the fancy candles?"

"we can go wherever you want, baby. it's your birthday."

and that was that, you were placing your hands in his. he helped you up from off the step and led you through the backyard, slipping out through the gate and away from the booming music in the house.

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 9 months

Text

IV ║ Notch

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Part III: Edgestitch | Behind the Seams: Part IV | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E, but not that explicit

Summary: While Ellie works her first shift at the Outfitters, Joel drops by yours to return the blouse you left behind at the baby shower. Turns out, there's plenty around the house to keep him occupied until the teenager clocks off.

Warnings: Sexual tension, body insecurity, some language, inaccurate descriptions of gardening, gratuitous descriptions of the male body, undervest supremacy, flirting, dry humping, shy!reader, reader has a nickname related to her job, soft!domestic!Joel, no use of Y/N

Word count: 8.9k

Notes: Once I started writing this chapter in earnest, it came together a bit more quickly than I expected! It's extremely self-indulgent, with plenty of white undervest and belly action because you guys deserve all of that goodness for being the most patient, loving readers a writer could hope for 🥹 Thank you, I love you all! ❤️

Notch – diamond shaped marks that stick out beyond the edge of the pattern to line up all the pieces when sewing the garment. They come in pairs to be matched up.

Joel is sleeping - which is not something that could be said until a couple of months ago.

After the outbreak, sleep as a concept ceased to exist. What took its place is literal ‘shuteye’, either engineered by pills knocked back with moonshine, or a preventative shutdown by his body to avoid total failure, having pushed his physical form to the living limit.

It’s the kind of sleep that is destitute and provides no relief. It keeps the cogs turning just enough that he doesn’t expire, standing in his boots - which, on most days, are not the only things held together by duct tape.

But after the hospital, even that turned out to be too much to ask for. Some nights, the itch for chemical-induced relief got so bad that Joel entertained the thought of asking Tommy for illicit pills, ready to crawl on all fours to his brother’s house two streets down because he was shaking so hard he couldn’t lock his knees. But he didn’t trust him not to tell Maria, and with Ellie in the picture, he wasn’t about to tempt fate.

So instead, he asked Maria to assign him to night patrols. She hmmm’d at his request like she knew something he didn’t, but she humoured him, letting him take the graveyard shift for a couple of weeks straight. She didn’t have to tell him that she could see the way he tripped over his own feet and hear the slur in his voice. She’s too sharp not to notice.

But she didn’t say anything.

What she did do though, was not so subtly wean him off the late-night patrols. It started with a couple of random, last-minute changes, and then the next thing he knew, he was working morning shifts exclusively. When he tried covertly swapping stints with another guy, he showed up at the guard tower at midnight to find his sister-in-law standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her pregnant belly.

As he trudged home begrudgingly with his head down and her stern reprimand in his ears, he couldn’t help a chuckle. Gotta hand it to her.

Banished back to his bed, Joel went back to staring owlishly at the ceiling, watching the moonlight slide across the plaster until he knew all the cracks in it with his eyes closed (metaphorically). He’d listen to Ellie snoring away two doors down and marvel at the fact that she somehow still slept like the dead, even after… all that.

And then, one night, it happened for him too.

Admittedly, he ate a bit too much at Tommy and Maria’s - on top of running the town like a well-oiled machine, she makes a mean chicken fried steak - and Ellie had not so subtly plonked a second helping on his plate without asking. He was lying in bed, steeling himself for another long night, when his eyes drooped. The motion was so alien that it jolted him wide awake, but he couldn’t shake the weight that clung to the seams of his lashes. The next time he opened his eyes, it was morning.

Turns out you can teach an old dog new tricks.

It’s nowhere near consistent, and more often than not he wakes up in a cold sweat in the small hours, but in between, he’s sleeping. For once, he’s feeling rested. And it’s a nice fucking break from the relentless exhaustion that he’s convinced is fused into his bones.

He always wakes up earlier than Ellie though. She never stomps down the stairs until he’s already had breakfast, and hers has gone cold.

So on the Saturday morning following the baby shower, with his face plastered into the mattress, body curled around a pillow - old habits die hard - Joel nearly falls out of bed at the banging on his door.

‘Joel! Get the fuck up!’

For one disconcerting moment between sleep and wake, he’s in his bedroom back in Texas. He half expects to look up to see the posters on the wall and the perpetually overflowing laundry basket at the foot of his bed.

Blinking through the urge to close his eyes, the colours fade and he stares blearily at the digital clock on his bedside table.

7:30.

What the fuck? More often than not he has to drag the teenager out of bed by the ankles, kicking and swearing, at 7:50 to get to school at 8:00.

His knees groan as he staggers onto his feet, grabbing yesterday’s jeans from the floor and pulling them on. He finds a passably clean shirt about five deep on a chair, which he shrugs on over his white undervest. With a grunt, he yanks open the door and heads downstairs on bare feet, frowning at unfamiliar sounds coming from the kitchen.

Joel pauses in the doorway, hands on hips. ‘What do you think you’re doin’?’

Deeming his question unworthy of a response, Ellie tosses him a roll of her eyes over her shoulder and resolutely ignores him.

Shuffling closer, he asks, ‘Are you - cookin’?’

Brandishing the spatula at him, she snarls, ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’

He goads her with a smirk. ‘To be honest, it looks like you threw up in the pan.’

Ellie elbows him hard in the stomach. ‘Fuck you, man!’

He grins. There’s nothing like winding her up first thing in the morning. Grabbing the pan, he bins the ruined eggs, scraping off the burnt bits stuck to the bottom. ‘Crack some more eggs, I’ll make ‘em.’

Ten minutes later, in their usual seats at the kitchen table, they tuck into scrambled eggs and buttered toast.

‘Slow down,’ warns Joel as Ellie wolfs down hers. ‘You’re gonna choke.’

‘You hurry up! Can’t be late for my first day,’ she garbles through a mouthful of food.

‘Why can’t you be like this about school?’ he grumbles, then he winces as his teeth catch something crunchy. Picking it out, he gives her a pointed look. ‘Eggshell.’

‘Calcium,’ she shoots back without even looking up, too busy shoving the rest of her breakfast into her mouth, stuffing her cheeks like a chipmunk.

That one word stops Joel in his tracks and hurls him twenty years back in time.

But then Ellie is jumping up and practically throwing her empty plate into the sink, sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor as she dashes out of the kitchen. ‘C’mon, old man!’

Joel smiles, the memory warm like sun on his face.

He shakes his head, slowly finishing his breakfast - like he wishes he did that day.

They turn out to be fifteen minutes early.

To his chagrin, Ellie admits freely that she lied about the time so they wouldn’t be late. He’s a punctual guy, thank you very much. He certainly doesn’t need to be schooled by the little brat.

Joel sits on the stairs, while Ellie has her face squished up against the door, unabashedly leaving smudges on the glass panels as she keeps up an uninterrupted running commentary on every last piece of clothing she can see.

He tunes her out easily, shifting in his seat so that his right ear is to the door. In his hands is the blouse that you left behind at Tommy and Maria’s at the baby shower. He’s been meaning to return it to you, but the week got away from him, and there’s no time like the present.

Considering the state of his knees, he impresses himself with the speed at which he stands at the sound of footsteps on the otherwise quiet main street. Squaring his shoulders, he discreetly pulls on his shirt, suddenly seeing wrinkles everywhere in the fabric, and runs his fingers through his hair, wishing he’d taken another look in the mirror before he left the house -

But it’s Lucy who appears at the bottom of the stairs with her unfailingly sunny smile.

‘Hi, you must be Ellie,’ she chirps.

She eyes Lucy cautiously, lips pinched to one side. ‘Where’s Pin?’

Joel growls. ‘Manners.’

Ellie puts her hands up in surrender. ‘Sorry. I meant - nice to meet you, where’s Pin?’

Lucy beams good-naturedly and fiddles with the lock. ‘She’s off today, and it’s all my fault because I made her work three weekends in a row. You’ll be helping me in the front anyway, so I’ll show you the ropes.’ Stepping aside and swinging the door open, she prompts, ‘In you go now, hon.’

Ellie doesn’t even look back at him, rushing into the shop like a thoroughbred fresh out of the starting gates.

Pocketing the keys, Lucy smiles. ‘Hi Joel.’

‘Hey,’ he nods back. ‘Sorry about Ellie.’

‘Don’t be, I was exactly like her when I was younger. Still am sometimes,’ she jokes. Then with a sly side eye, she remarks, ‘And honestly, you look more disappointed that I showed up than she does.’

He splutters, ‘Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.’

She smirks knowingly, gesturing at the blouse clutched tightly in his left fist. ‘I can pass that to Pin for ya.’

Joel hesitates for just a second, and Lucy bursts into laughter, elbowing him teasingly. ‘The way your face fell! I’m joking, Miller. Relax.’

He shakes his head. ‘It’s fine, guess I’ll give it to her next time she’s ‘round.’

Just then, from the depths of the shop, Ellie gasps dramatically and yells at the top of her lungs, ‘I want thissssssss one!’

Meeting Lucy’s eyes, Joel asks, ‘Sure you gonna be ok left alone with her?’

She shrugs. ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

He flashes her a thumbs up. ‘I’ll pick her up at three then.’

He’s about to walk away from the Outfitters when Lucy’s voice stops him. ‘Hey, Joel!’

Looking up at the wraparound porch, he raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

‘She lives in the yellow cottage on the same street as the shoe shop. Keep going north, you can’t miss it,’ she says with a two-finger salute and a parting line that he’s heard before. ‘Say hi to Pin for me!’

You’ve always had a soft spot for the turn of the season, when late spring blooms graciously give way to summer buds. The grass smells greener, and the air is pregnant with pollen and nectar. It’s not overly warm yet, but you can feel the intensity in the sunlight, muted only by the early hour. Good thing you’re starting early.

It’s unseasonably warm for June, and the vegetable patch on the far end of your garden has suddenly burst into life. The cauliflower has finally come through after two failed crops in a row, and both the tomato vines and pepper plants are thriving. Closer to the ground, the onion and garlic shoots are patiently waiting to be pulled, and asparagus shoots spear through the earth in tidy lines one after another.

Pulling on a hat and gloves, you get to work.

You’re halfway through the second row of onions when there’s a faint knock on the front door. Even though you’ve only been in the sun for a little while, the coolness inside the house feels like a balm to your skin as you pad inside, peeling off your gloves before reaching for the door.

Swinging it open, you’re stumped by the sight of Joel Miller on your doorstep.

You haven’t seen him since the party, where you’d agreed on a start date and time for Ellie’s first shift, and -

Since the kiss.

You’ve felt his absence keenly. You’ve caught yourself loitering on street corners, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, knowing you’ll be able to spot him just by the way his shoulders swing with his long strides. You’ve kept an ear out for the southern lilt that has chased goosebumps across your skin, or any mention of his name, but all in vain.

Jackson has a habit of growing in size, usually in direct proportion to one’s desperation.

Now that he’s somehow here, you’re aware you’re gaping at him, so broad that his shoulders are blocking out the daylight. Too many years out of practice to count, you have no idea what the protocol is when you next see the man who literally made your knees buckle with just his lips and nothing else.

‘Mornin’, he finally says with a small smile.

You stammer. ‘H-hello. What, um, I mean, how -’

‘I dropped off Ellie at the shop and Lucy told me where you live,’ he explains, shaking out the blouse in his hands. ‘Thought I’d come ‘round and return this.’

Your palm twitches with the urge to smack yourself on the forehead. Of course that’s why he’s here.

Taking the top from him, you smile back gratefully. ‘Thank you. And of course, it’s Ellie’s first day. I’m sorry I can’t be there, but I’ve been subbing for Lucy on the weekends for a month straight and I needed a break.’

He waves away your apology. ‘Count yourself lucky. She was just ‘bout bouncin’ off the walls.’

‘Bless her heart,’ you chuckle, breaking off when his eyes flicker over you, as if he’s just registered your very minimalist ensemble of a white cotton tank top and denim cut-offs. Your skin prickles under his scrutiny, flattery winning out against self-consciousness at the deliberate drag of his gaze over you, a thoughtful weight behind it.

That is until something catches his attention, and you flinch when he peers under the brim of your hat. ‘What -’

Before you can even articulate your question, he’s taken one step towards you, his work boots heavy on your creaky wooden porch. His voice is low but rough around the edges, just the way you like it.

‘You got some dirt -’ he swipes his index finger firmly on the end of your nose. ‘Right here.’

Your jaw hangs open, then clamps shut, in quick succession, the shell of your ears burning hot at his fleeting touch. Throat suddenly dry, you barely manage to squeak, ‘Thanks.’

One day, you will at least try and keep your cool around this man. But alas, it is not this day.

Rearranging himself, Joel leans on the doorframe with his arms crossed and remarks conversationally, ‘You look outdoorsy this mornin’.’

Flashing the soil-stained gloves at him, you try to keep your voice steady. ‘I’m just doing some gardening out back. The vegetable patch needs harvesting.’

He purses his lips at that. ‘Didn’t peg you as the gardenin’ type.’

You don’t know where the bravado comes from, but you swat him on the arm with the gloves and quip, ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me.’

‘You got me there,’ he huffs a laugh and gestures towards the back of the house. ‘Anythin’ I can do to help?’

The refusal is on the tip of your tongue. You don’t say yes to a whole lot nowadays, other than when Lucy makes you. But then you hear yourself ask, a challenge in your voice that you didn’t know you had. ‘I don’t know. Are you any good with your hands, Joel Miller?’

At the boldness in your words, which you don’t take back, Joel’s eyebrows reach for his hairline. Biting your lip but standing your ground, you watch him grind his jaw as he considers his response.

‘Why don’t you try me, sweetheart?’

‘Like this?’

‘Wait - slow down.’

A shuffle of hands. ‘How about now?’

‘That’s it. Yes, that’s good. Keep going.’

A raspy grunt. ‘I think I’m almost there.’

‘Yeah, that’s right, don’t stop -’

‘Alright, you ready?’

‘Come on, Joel -’

With one last flick, the knife slices clean through the base of the stalk, and Joel plucks the cauliflower head out of its leafy cradle with a triumphant grin.

‘How’s that for good hands, huh?’ he crows.

‘I’ll get back to you in the fall when we see if the cauliflower grows back,’ you tease.

He huffs, squinting up at you through the sun. ‘You’re hard to please, sweetheart.’

You preen at the playful turn of the conversation. If you were a little braver, you’d give him a mischievous wink - but for now, you gesture at the patch. ‘Can you handle the rest? I’ll get started on the peppers.’

He nods. ‘Leave ‘em with me.’

The pepper plants are having a great season, standing at four feet tall and heaving with fruits. You’ve left them alone on the vine for the last three weeks to sweeten, and they have dutifully ripened into a beautiful red. Settling onto your knees, you methodologically comb through the peppers from top to bottom, cutting off each one by the stalks.

It’s a big harvest, half of which you plan on giving away to your neighbours in exchange for their berries and lemons. Some you will cook. Lucy is due to come over for dinner, and she loves your stuffed pepper recipe. The rest you’ll have to find time to roast, skin, deseed and preserve in oil, which will last the rest of the year -

A shadow falls over you, stilling your hands and drawing your eyes upwards.

The sight is familiar - feet planted shoulder-wide by your knees, chin tucked in as he stares down at you, your nose level with the front of the jeans that you picked out for him - you’ve seen it all before, except for one small detail.

Joel is sweating. A lot.

His thin plaid shirt - you’re not sure if you’ve seen him in anything else yet - is sticking to him like a second skin, clinging to the solid outline of his biceps as he holds onto the basket full of cauliflower heads. The sunlight glances off the perspiration dotting his hairline, and the wispy grays that normally curl away from his face have wilted in the humidity.

There’s a flush under his skin as he swipes at his forehead with his shirt sleeve, and your gaze follows a bead of sweat dripping down the prominent vein on the side of his neck, and into the deep V of his shirt - wait, is that the outline of an undervest that you can just make out underneath -

‘Should I take the cauliflower in?’

‘Um -’ you stammer to a halt, eyes still plastered to the front of his chest, just like his shirt.

He clearly mistakes your gawking for something else, flashing you an apologetic smile at his state. ‘Sorry, I work up a sweat real easy.’

Oh, come on. Now all you’re thinking about is how else he works up a sweat -

Seized by the sudden need to get out of the heat in more than one sense of the word, you rip the basket from his grasp and turn on your heels to sprint into the house with a choked, ‘I’ll be right back!’

You nearly trip over your own feet running into the kitchen, your heart thumping so loudly in its ribcage it feels like the whole house is shaking to the beat.

And all that man has done is sweat in front of you.

‘Pull yourself together, Pin,’ you mutter to yourself as you tip the cauliflower heads onto the kitchen table. Grabbing a jug from the cupboard, you put it in the sink and turn on the faucet. Watching the trickle of water, you make yourself take three deep breaths.

Joel’s kind enough to do you a favour, you could at least have the courtesy to not perv on him while he helps you out.

Nodding determinedly to yourself, you pluck two glasses from the drying rack, putting them inside the empty basket that you hook on your elbow, and march back outside -

Only to almost swallow your tongue and drop the full jug of water right at your feet.

Joel’s sweat-soaked shirt is now hanging on your washing line like a white flag, having surrendered to the heat. And just like that, the very image that has been inconveniently seared into the back of your eyes since the party is suddenly before you in all its glory, in the morning sun, out in the open air.

The white undervest stretches over the breadth of him, and if he didn’t look so good in it, you would’ve laughed at the comical way the flimsy straps are clinging onto his shoulders for dear life. Then he bends over to inspect the tomato vines, the bottom of his vest riding up with the movement, teasing a flash of skin above the waistline of the jeans pulled tight over his behind. One big hand reaches out, the outline of his arm flexing as he does, and he palms the bottom of one tomato, testing if it’s ripe for the picking.

Except in your head, it’s something else he’s cupping with such rapturous attention.

He doesn’t notice you until he stands up with a low grunt of effort. Pointing an apologetic finger at his shirt, he says, ‘I hope you don’t mind, I’m sweatin’ right through it like nobody’s business.’

You make a noise in your throat that you pass off as an answer, and with shaky hands, pour him a full glass of water which you shove in his direction.

‘Appreciate it, sweetheart.’ He salutes you and takes a long drag, tipping his head back. You watch, transfixed, as the sunlight bounces off the lines of sweat criss-crossing down the strong column of his neck, and the hard bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows.

Suddenly, you’re parched. But you don’t trust yourself to stay upright, let alone pour yourself a drink.

‘It’s hot today,’ Joel breaks the loaded silence, though it’s possible that it’s unilaterally so on your side.

‘Uh-huh,’ you croak, still holding onto the water jug like a shield.

He peers at you with a touch of mischief. ‘You ain’t gonna swoon or anythin’ are you?’

Probably. And definitely not for the reason he has in mind.

You attempt a weak smile that may have come off as a grimace. ‘I’ll try not to.’

Reassured, he nods towards the garlic patch. ‘C’mon. Let’s get our hands dirty, sweetheart.’

By the time the vegetable patch has been thoroughly picked and the baskets crammed full, the sun is high in the sky, the morning clouds burned off with the heat.

Joel isn’t the only one who’s sweating through his clothes - your light cotton top is now clinging uncomfortably to your skin, sweat dripping down your sternum and dampening the cups of your bra. You heave a sigh of relief when he helps you move the haul to a shaded corner near the porch where you have an outdoor sink and wheel hose installed.

Emptying the root vegetables into the sink, Joel steps back and casts a critical eye over the rain gutters that line the eaves of your house. Fingers spread over one jutting hip, he leans his weight on his right leg, the stance creating all kinds of angles that are completely unnecessary in this kind of heat.

He points at the leaves and branches that are clearly sticking out from the channels, but you’re only really interested in studying his large hands. The bumps and veins on the back of them, the watch with the broken face on his left wrist, the dirt coating his thick fingers, pushed under tidily trimmed nails. The logical thought that follows is how he would leave dark streaks on your white top when he pulls you in by the waist -

‘Looks like the gutters need cleanin’,’ Joel declares.

Well, the gutter your head is currently dunked in can certainly do with a good scrub.

‘Rainy season doesn’t start for another few months, they can wait.’

He uh-uh's sternly. ‘I’ve heard that before. Do you have a ladder?’

‘You really don’t have to -’ you protest, but he won’t hear it.

‘It’s no big deal, I’m sweaty anyway,’ he replies. ‘Besides, you’ll be doing me a favour keepin’ me occupied. I don’t pick Ellie up till three.’

You bite your lip. ‘But I feel bad working you so hard.’

Without skipping a beat, he winks. ‘Don’t worry your pretty head, sweetheart - I like workin’ for it.’

Jesus Christ. This man needs to be locked up and the key thrown to a colony of clickers.

The inner contractor in Joel comes out to play as he climbs deftly up the extension ladder propped up against the eaves, gloves on and a tarp bag tied to the top rung for collecting the debris. Discreetly, you shuffle around the freestanding sink so that you have a clear view of him as you turn on the water and start washing the dirt off the onions.

He’s starting close by, just a couple of feet away from you, patiently scooping out the dead leaves and twigs by the handful. Up on the ladder with his side to you, you’re eye level with the swell of his belly, which stretches the seams of the vest, and the underside of it peeks out every time he reaches up for the gutters. Your cheeks warm with the memory of how the soft folds felt against you, so warm and solid that you ache to reach out, push the flimsy vest up and nuzzle the tender skin with your nose -

It takes you a couple of minutes to realise that you’re not even pretending to be washing the onions anymore, the hose running in your idle grasp as you stare, head cocked to one side.

You don’t hear him when he turns to you. ‘Can pass me the hose?’

You stare dumbly back at him. ‘Huh?’

‘The hose, Pin,’ he repeats, a playful condescension in his smirk, like he knows exactly what you’ve been looking at. ‘That onion looks sparkly clean.’

You’re not sure what happened. One second you’re holding onto the hose with the intention of turning off the water before passing it to Joel, but your brain skips that crucial first step, and the next thing you know, you’re pointing it straight at him, spraying him in water from face to chest.

As he splutters, you shove the hose into the sink and screech, mortified. ‘Oh my god! I’m so sorry!’

You watch in horror as the water trickles from his hair, down his stubbled chin and onto his chest - okay, that’s a lie. It’s definitely not horror that’s twisting in your tummy and then much, much lower between your thighs.

And if you thought this man looked good sweaty, well - you’ve seen nothing yet.

He might as well put you out of your misery and take off his undervest right about now. It’s completely see-through, pebbled nipples and the firm ridges of his pecs showing through the wet fabric, rounded out by the endearing soft pouch of his belly.

He wears the early summer tan so well, and for the first time since the outbreak, you think about the swim club in your old neighbourhood. Watching the water drip off his skin, it’s not a stretch to imagine this man pulling himself out of the pool after a quick dip to cool down, before stretching out on a sunlounger to dry in the sun - all in slow motion, set to the track of a corny sax riff.

‘I’m sorry,’ you say on reflex, but the apology rings hollow with the way your gaze lingers over his chest, and he notices.

He chuckles, carding one hand through his wet hair to slick it back, standing taller under your eyes. ‘As I said - never a dull moment with you, sweetheart.’

Joel takes his time, clearing out all the blockages and hosing the gutters clean so that you don’t have to worry about them for another six months. He dumps the leaves and sticks in the compost post, rinses the soiled gloves and his hands clean, before taking his shirt off the washing line and heading into the blessed shade.

He finds you in the kitchen, back to the door, putting away clean plates and cutlery from the drying rack, porcelain knocking together and metal clanging.

This is the most he’s seen of you, in a tank top and shorts, bathed in light spilling in from the large windows that open out into the backyard. He sees touches of your workshop right here in the kitchen - dried herbs and seasoning in mismatched but tidy boxes on the shelves, knives organised by size on a magnetic knife block, plates and bowls arranged in neat stacks behind glass cabinets.

Not wanting to alarm you, he deliberately scrapes his shoe on the tiled floor to make his presence known.

Whipping around - and just a touch startled - you smile with a quiet hey, and Joel’s not sure if he’ll ever get over how the sweet shyness still clings to the curve of your lips despite the fact that he’s kissed you right there.

He stays by the door for now and says, ‘I put the ladder back, and the gutters are all done, but I spotted some shingles missing on the roof while I was up there. I’ll come back to fix ‘em some other time.’

‘Thank you so much Joel, but really, don’t worry about the roof. You’ve done enough.’

‘You basically got Ellie outta my hair every Saturday for the next few months, so I’ll have plenty of time to kill,’ he half-jokes.

A comfortable lull sets in, and he looks up at the ticking clock, surprised that it’s almost noon. Shifting his feet, he opens his mouth and is about to excuse himself when you blurt out, ‘I’m sorry I soaked you.’

The jury's out on who's more taken aback by your phrasing. Exasperated, you groan, ‘I did not mean to say that.’

Joel’s kept a respectful distance since he arrived at the house, the pliant weight of you in his arms and your taste on his tongue kept firmly at bay in the back of his mind, not wanting to bring up anything that would make you uncomfortable in the light of day. But now, he pushes himself off the threshold of the door and crosses the cosy kitchen, pleased that you stay put when he plants himself in front of you, toe to toe.

Brushing a finger under your chin so that you’re staring up at him, he deliberately pitches his voice low and gruff, the double entendre almost crude in its delivery. ‘Just so we’re clear, you can soak me any time, sweetheart, in any way you want.’

Your lips part and your gaze darkens, and he feels his body instinctively react, invisible threads reeling him bodily into you. When you speak, your voice quivers, his name at once a single-worded reprimand and a needy whine that takes him right back to his brother’s spare bedroom. ‘Joel -’

‘Yes, Pin?’ he baits you playfully, just like he did that night, taking one last step so that you’re crowded against the countertop, bookending you with his palms planted on the wooden surface.

Finally shedding that last bit of shyness holding you back, you retort with no real bite, ‘You’re such a tease, Miller.’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it,’ he quips easily, his attention on your mouth. He hears your shaky intake of air, the whole moment suspended on tenterhooks as you skirt each other on the brink -

Just then, a breeze drifts in from the open window above the sink, providing instant relief from the humidity that hangs heavy in the air. All of a sudden, he’s acutely aware of the fact that he’s sweaty all over, so much so that he might actually smell.

Self-conscious, he clears his throat and murmurs ‘I should probably go, I need a shower and a change of clothes -’

‘You can shower here,’ you interrupt, stumbling over your words in your haste. ‘I have a spare shirt somewhere.’

You don’t need to ask him twice.

He smiles. ‘Sounds good, sweetheart.’

Your ensuite bathroom, like what he has seen of your house, is clean and organised. There’s a neat stockpile of soap bars in the cupboard, and he spots the familiar bottles of regulation shampoo and toothpaste that the town mass produces.

The water is plenty hot as he efficiently lathers himself top to bottom and front to back, but the pressure is a bit weak for his liking and can be easily fixed. Something else to add to the list.

The towel you left on the rack is soft and smells like the sun. Patting himself dry and rubbing it through his hair, he wipes away the condensation off the mirror above the sink. He peers at his reflection, ruminating that it’s time for a shave, and pushes back his wet hair so the strands don’t get in his eyes.

Out of his clothes, only his jeans are passably dry, so he forgoes his boxers and pulls them on, carefully doing up the zipper. Using his shirt as a sling, he bundles up all the dirty clothes and opens the bathroom door.

He catches you coming into the bedroom as he steps out, and your jaw drops at the sight of him in just his jeans before you slap your palms dramatically over your eyes, the tshirt you’re holding onto covering your whole face and muffling your voice. ‘I’m so sorry! I should’ve knocked!’

Joel chuckles at your reaction. ‘Sweetheart, it's your house. And I’m not exactly naked.’

Lowering your hands sheepishly, you still clutch the tshirt to your chest like a security blanket, admitting, ‘Sorry, I just - I just realised I’ve never had a man in here before.’

Something wraps itself around his stomach and pulls, and it takes him a beat to put a name to it because it’s been so long. It’s possessiveness that rushes through his veins and goes straight to his head, and he has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep his voice from wavering. He demands, ‘Never?’

‘Never.’

He lets the word wash over him, appeasing the beast in him for now. With a slow nod, he takes three measured steps towards you, stopping just an arm’s length away. Gently coaxing you to let go of the purple tshirt, he snorts at the huge Lakers logo blazoned across the front.

He quips, ‘I’m more of a Longhorns fan myself, actually.’

The tension cracks, and you grin back, ‘Well, not anymore.’

After your confession, it’s probably redundant, but he wants to hear you say it. Flashing the tshirt at you, he asks, ‘Old boyfriend’s?’

It’s the most personal question that’s been exchanged between you so far by a mile, and it’s probably none of his business, but you can’t explain why your pulse spikes at the way his normally warm gaze hardens with something unfamiliar.

‘No,’ you answer. ‘I keep some of the stock here when there’s not enough room at the shop, that’s all.’

Joel rasps, ‘Good.’

With that one syllable, his shoulders visibly relax, suddenly drawing your attention to his topless form, which you’ve been too mortified to actually look at. It’s a lot to take in, and even though you’ve seen most of him already, there is one conspicuous part that you haven’t yet -

But before your eyes can trail that low, Joel turns. ‘Thanks, I appreciate it. I’ll just -’

You’re slow to catch onto why he trails off in the middle of the sentence, still far too distracted by his general state of undress to notice until he’s already made his way to the top of your neatly made bed. And then you see it…

The flannel peeking out from underneath the duvet.

Oh. Fuck.

With an almost flippant flick of his wrist, Joel peels back the corner of the bedspread. Wordlessly, he stares down at the red plaid shirt he lent you at the baby shower, tucked snugly in your bed, buried half under your pillow.

He stares at it for so long that you interrupt the silence for once.

‘I’ve been meaning to return it,’ you squeak, hands flailing awkwardly, desperately wanting something to hold onto. ‘I just - forgot.’

Joel half-turns to you, arching an eyebrow. ‘You’ve been keepin’ it in your bed?’

Backed into a corner - and you’re not proud of it - you lie. Outrageously. ‘I don’t know how it got in there.'

He picks up the shirt by the collar. It’s wrinkled all over and obviously worn in. He smirks, ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

You’re this close to swivelling around and making a break for it, but as soon as your axis of balance tilts backwards, Joel grabs you by the wrist and pulls you in, hauling you firmly into his bare chest.

‘You’ve been wearin’ it to sleep, haven’t you?’ he asks in a tone that brooks no argument.

Your fingers curl into his chest, his skin blazing warm under your palms. There’s no point fibbing anymore, and you admit, ‘Yes.’

His voice is hoarse when he asks, ‘You wear anythin’ underneath it, sweetheart?’

You hold your breath for one long moment, the tension in the room swelling so quickly that your ears pop. Eventually, under his patient yet heated stare, you shake your head, lips sealed.

His pupils dilate and his nostrils flare, and you feel his grip on your hips tighten.

‘No bra?’ he prompts.

‘No bra,’ you parrot back.

His jaw clenches so tightly that you’re surprised he manages to articulate his next question. ‘No panties?’

‘No panties -’

You barely get the word out before Joel is kissing you, pushing the syllables right back into your mouth until you swallow them with a whimper.

And then he’s pulling back, growling against yours, ‘And what do you do naked in my shirt, hmm?’

You stutter, ‘I - I think about you -’

An undignified squeal escapes you when he suddenly spins you around, your back hitting the bed, denying you the chance to catch your breath. The ceiling fan turns directly above you, but it does nothing to quell the heat between your bodies as Joel clambers over you on his hands and knees, sliding his mouth over yours again in a hard kiss.

You always thought your bed was a decent size, but now, with the bulk of this man hovering over you, you’re not so sure anymore. His ridiculously wide shoulders fill your entire field of vision, and even though he’s holding himself up with his forearms by your ears, you can almost feel the full weight of him through sheer anticipation of his touch.

His heated words brush by your ear, making you shudder. ‘Tell me what you think about, sweetheart.’

‘Your arms, your shoulders -’ you hesitate, dropping your voice shyly. ‘Your belly.’

Joel looks taken aback. ‘My belly?’

You duck your head almost guiltily. ‘Yes.’

His brows draw together in an endearingly confused frown. ‘Why?’

‘That time in the workshop, when we met, you were sucking it in so hard you could hardly breathe - but you don’t anymore.’

The dots connect, and his lips part in an oh. ‘I didn’t even realise.’

‘I know. That’s why it’s sexy,’ you point out.

He looks at you incredulously, as if you’ve lost your mind. ‘My belly is sexy?’

You grin. ‘Yes, and your confidence. You walk differently now, you know.’

He makes a noise at the back of his throat, a self-satisfied smirk tilting his lips upwards. ‘You been watchin’ me?’

‘Maybe,’ you tease.

You exhale long and heavy through your nose when he sucks delicately on your bottom lip, opening you up so that he can dip inside, stealing a taste of your tongue with his.

‘Been thinkin’ about you all week, sweetheart,’ he whispers, trailing fire across your cheek and the hollow behind your ear.

‘I haven’t seen you around at all,’ you whine, tipping your head back as he nudges the tip of his proud nose down your throat.

‘I know, it took three fuckin’ days to clean up after the party,’ he complains, his disgruntled tone prompting a giggle from you. ‘Never again.’

‘I’m not so sure about that. There will be plenty of birthday parties to look forward to, Uncle Joel -’

An open-mouthed kiss on the side of your neck catches you off guard, the unfamiliar texture of the wet suction and scrape of his teeth jolts you clean off the mattress, sending you body slamming into his ribcage.

Joel hums, pleased at your reaction. ‘So sensitive. I’ve barely touched you yet, sweetheart.’

It’s immediate, the shame that burns under your skin at his remark despite knowing he doesn’t mean anything by it, and Joel frowns at the way you stiffen under him. Regret colours his words as he cups your cheek. ‘Pin, I’m sorry, that came out wrong -’

‘No, that’s the thing. You’re not wrong,’ you interrupt with a shake of your head. There’s no point denying it - you’re a grown woman, and there’s something fundamentally embarrassing about losing touch with that part of yourself over the years. ‘I - it’s been so long, I don’t even know my own body anymore.’

His eyes dip downwards and slowly, over the curve of your breasts and the arch of your back. With an encouraging smile, he argues, ‘I’m not sure about that. Looks like your body’s reactin’ perfectly to me.’

Your lips twitch despite yourself. ‘You’re just saying that to get into my pants.’

He takes the unexpected turn in the conversation in stride and runs with it. ‘Trust me, sweetheart, if I were tryin’, I’d already be in them.’

‘You’re such an ass, Joel Miller.’

His roguish grin has you squirming and fisting the sheets underneath you. ‘I dunno. Somethin’ tells me you like it.’

Wrapping one palm on the back of his neck, you drag him into you again, relishing in the weight of him as he pins you to the bed with the broad frame of his shoulders. He moans into your mouth, claiming it with deep strokes of his tongue, while his calloused palms sneak under the hem of your shirt and pull you into him by the small of your back.

Even as your hips buck, begging for friction, Joel holds back, propping himself up on his knees to keep a tenuous grip on his self-control. Pulling back from your lips with a wet pop, he assures you through heavy breaths, ‘We can stop any time, sweetheart. Just say the word.’

Your response comes fast and sure, but he can read the hesitance between the lines, ‘I - I don’t want to stop.’

He presses a patient kiss to your lips, but backs away before you can deepen it. ‘How about this - we’ll flip you over so that you’re on top, and you decide what you want to do. Is that ok?’

You pause to consider his proposal, sliding your tongue over your bottom lip - he’s this close to kissing you right there and then. You ask shyly, ‘And it’s ok if we - you know, just make out?’

He smiles. ‘I can do with some good old-fashioned neckin’.’

‘Ok then -’

You yelp when Joel turns you over without warning, the sudden movement making your head spin. Sitting up against the headboard, he drags you in his lap and asks, ‘Alright?’

You nod with a nervous smile. It’s intimidating, being so close to him that there’s nowhere else to look but into his thoughtful eyes that are watching you for any signs of discomfort. Catching your breath, you settle into the moment and realise that you’re straddling him, hands clinging onto his shoulders, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. His belly is warm and soft where he’s pressed up against you, but lower, nudging insistently between your legs -

Joel is hard.

The revelation robs you of air, want and need rushing like blood to your head, and you stiffen, not knowing what to do.

Joel catches on - you’re beginning to think that nothing ever escapes him - and he reminds you, ‘Just kissin’, ok, sweetheart?’

Snapping out of your freeze frame, you nod, ‘Yes. Ok.’

Giving you somewhere to start, he prompts, ‘Where do you want my hands?’

Tugging on his wrists, you watch his jaw go slack when you place his palms squarely on your ass, where your denim shorts hardly cover the top of your thighs. He lets out a lewd moan at the way your soft curves fill his hands, fingers squeezing and kneading greedily, and you push your hips back into his contact.

‘Not so shy after all, hmm?’ he rasps.

You preen at his praise, and riding the wave of boldness, you tip forward and press your lips to Joel’s before you could overthink it. Over the roar of blood in your ears, you hear him suck in a shaky breath, and you feel the deep groan in his throat taper into a whimper when you swipe your tongue into his mouth.

You’re completely unprepared for the power the sound unleashes in you.

Somewhere in your consciousness, a door is cracked open, and memory crackles at the edges of your mind. Each shuddered breath shared, every slide of skin on skin, brings to the surface what you thought you’d forgotten.

Your fingers burrow into the still wet locks at his nape, earning a loud moan from Joel when you pull on the grays that have distracted you on more than one occasion. He nips his way sloppily down your neck, trailing spit and beard burn as he goes, while your palms skate over his chest and down, down, down until your fingernails drag over the pliant folds of his tummy, hanging over the waistband of his jeans.

‘Sweetheart,’ he groans brokenly at the contact, forehead knocking into yours.

Spreading your fingers over soft flesh, you choke on an inhale when he bodily rocks into your palms. Your thumb catches the hollow of his belly button, fingers tenderly squeezing the creases and dimples of his belly. His eyes crack open under tightly knitted eyebrows, vulnerability etched in every line on his face.

Something shifts - something that neither of you can take back. And suddenly, it’s not just kissing anymore.

Caught somewhere between writhing instinctively under his touch and a deliberate pursuit of friction, your hips find a rhythm that has the seat of your panties quickly twisting and dampening as you grind on the erection straining against the zipper of his jeans.

Blunt nails bite into your thighs as Joel growls, ‘Shit, sweetheart. That’s it.’

You want to bury your face in his neck, feeling too wanton in the way you’re panting in needy whimpers, but he preempts that on no uncertain terms. ‘I want to see everythin’. Look at me.’

You do just that - you can’t deny this man even if you tried - watching him watch you with his pupils blown wide and wild, wetting his bottom lip the same time his eyes drop to your tits, as if he can see right through the thin fabric. He doesn’t touch you anywhere else though, his hands staying where you put them. You can feel his grip dig harder and harder into the swell of your ass, but he doesn’t try to change your rhythm, giving you free rein to ride him any way you need.

When your peripheral vision starts to go, you know it’s not a coincidence that your thoroughly soaked panties shift and strain against your clit, pinching it just so that you cry out, hips faltering.

Joel bares his teeth, and you feel his hips rut upwards into you, his restraint slipping. ‘There you go. You’re close, aren’t you?’

You can only nod, frantically grinding into him now, your whole mind narrowing until the only thought that remains is chasing that high that you can almost taste. Everything swells, electricity fills the air, his name a sacred chant on your tongue as you claw at his back, teetering precariously on the brink of something that promises to devastate you.

‘Joel, Joel, Joel -’

He catches you when you break - you fling yourself at him, knocking into him so hard that the back of his head hits the wall, but he doesn’t even flinch. Tucked safely into the crook of his neck, you whine and wail as you thrash in his hold, and his nostrils flare at your scent. He can smell you, he can smell the slick leaking from your pussy, humid and heady in the air between you, making his mouth water as he aches to taste you - all of you.

One day.

Right now, the hinge of his jaw almost cracks as you milk the last remnants of your orgasm with a needy swivel of your hips, rubbing against his cock at an angle that makes his vision swim, and he knows he’s too far gone. His control slips like shifting sands, and a primal instinct takes over as he bucks roughly into you, fingertips leaving imprints in your skin that you will feel for days after.

‘Oh fuck, sweetheart, wait, I’m - shit, I’m gonna -’

When it hits him, it’s fucking relentless - he cums and cums until his voice goes hoarse with your name, until it feels like his abdomen would cave in and collapse, spurting and spilling until it feels like he’s turned inside out. It goes everywhere, thick, milky strands filling the gaps in his jeans and sliding down his legs in a sticky mess, and he slumps bonelessly into the headboard, panting against your lips as he catches his breath.

Sweetly, gently, he tilts his chin up just enough to kiss you, his nose nudging your cheek intimately when he pulls away, his lungs too deprived of air to keep going. He winces when you shift above him, knowing that you can feel the wet spot pooling under your bare thighs.

Joel breaks the sluggish silence first, cracking a grin. ‘So much for just makin’ out.’

You clumsily climb off his lap and crash land sideways onto the mattress. ‘Is that a complaint, Joel Miller?’

He drapes a heavy arm over you and pulls back you flush into him. ‘Well, these jeans are fuckin’ ruined. I want a refund.’

‘I’m afraid we don’t accept cum-stained returns. Store policy.’

He pffts. ‘Damnit. Should’ve read the fine print.’

You grin. ‘Well, at least there's something deeply poetic about cumming in the jeans that I picked out for you.’

‘Touché, sweetheart,’ he grunts and presses a kiss to your forehead. Glancing down at the unmistakable wet patch on the denim, he asks hopefully, ‘Any chance you got some pants I can borrow?’

Ellie bounces her leg irritably, hunched over on the stairs exactly where Joel was sitting this morning. Where the fuck is he? He’s twenty minutes late, and he had the nerve to get all huffy when she lied about the start time today. Unbelievable.

Moodily looking left and right, there’s still no sign of him. She’s about to give up and wait for him at home when something conspicuously purple comes to a stop in front of her.

Her jaw hits the floor.

‘Oh. My. God.’

She’s never been high before, but she’s pretty sure this is the stuff hallucinations are made of.

This being Joel Miller in a purple tshirt with a tacky logo she doesn’t recognise printed on the front and khaki cargo shorts that cut off at the knees, holding a basket of vegetables that she’s pretty sure he doesn’t eat.

With a roll of his eyes, he snaps, ‘Shut your mouth, you’re trappin’ flies.’

Pasting on the most obnoxious grin she can muster, Ellie croons, ‘Man, don’t you look pretty.’

Turning on his heel, Joel starts walking without looking back. ‘Shut up.’

Jogging to keep up, she cackles, ‘Hey, did you fall into a wormhole and went shopping at a farmer’s market in 1999?’

‘Shut up.’

‘You really should wear shorts more often, y’know, show off those knees. And purple really is your colour, Barney!’

Joel frowns, shooting her a sidelong glare. ‘How the hell do you know who Barney is?’

Ellie shrugs. ‘What do you think they teach us at school?’

He’s the one who starts it. The quake in his shoulders would have been imperceptible to anyone else, but nowadays, there’s not much that he can hide from her. As usual, she giggles first, which trails into a squeal when Joel gives her a shove on the back, sending her stumbling over her shoes.

‘Fuck you, man!’ she snickers and basically rugby tackles him, but he barely budges, lips pulling back into a toothy grin.

Across the street, unbeknownst to the pair, Tommy smiles to himself as he watches his big brother laugh, really laugh - the kind that has him doubling over and gasping for air through watery eyes. For the first time since the world ended, he looks up at the sky with a reassuring nod, and he knows deep down - Joel will be just fine.

Notes: You guys continue to blow me away with your support - I cannot be more grateful for all the reblogs, asks and interaction with my silly Behind the Seams posts and random updates. Thank you so so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I can't wait to hear what you think ❤️

I will be having a think over the next few weeks about where Seams will go from here. This chapter wraps up the first mini story arc, and I'll be dedicating August to wrapping up my Palomino series, so it will give me some time and distance to mull over what's next for Joel and Pin. I'm also a few followers away from a big milestone, so I might have something fun planned! 🥰

#fuckyeahseams #seams iv #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine

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thatanimeramenchick · 2 months

Text

Yandere Vox x Secretary Reader Part One

No one asked for this, but whatever. Bite me. I’ll get to the asks, I swear

3,516 words

Part Two - Part Three

–-

The last thing you wanted was to draw attention to yourself. In a place like hell, where the worst of society sunk together and only somehow seemed to get worse, it was a good idea to not catch other people’s eyes. If their eyes were on you, it was almost never for a good reason.

So when you decided to start working, it made sense you would do something quiet and in the background like data filing for a large media company. While there were many more unsavory jobs that paid more, you wanted to avoid the obvious and dangerous crime life of hell as much as possible in your daily life. You had had enough of being unwillingly tied up in that kind of stuff when you were alive. You might as well spend your eternity in some type of peace, or at least as much as someone in hell can get.

So, you made sure you were presentable as you walked into Voxtekk on your first day to work, dressed simple business attire and keeping a quiet demeanor.

“There you are!” said who you presumed was your new boss, a short man with glasses and a blue hair dye, “Was wondering if you were going to show up!”

“Sorry,” you said, “The traffic was bad.”

“Well, you better get used to leaving early,” he said, “Traffic is always a bitch in this part of Pentagram City.”

He continued to speak as he led you to the elevator.

“So, I’ve been told you have a lot of experience with this sort of thing on earth,” he said.

“Yes, I did library work while I was alive,” you said.

And some smuggling. Especially with weapons.

You didn’t think it would be necessary to tell him that though. The job had come in handy though by giving you a knack for remembering where things were.

“Good, good,” he said, “I expect you’ll be able to figure out how to do this on your own then.”

He led you to a room that was filled with file drawers as well as a large computer off to the side.

“There’s thousands, if not millions, of files in here, both physically and digitally. It’ll be your responsibility to make sure that everything new brought in gets put in its proper place, as well as that anything that is requested can be easily found,” he said, “As the biggest media company in hell, it’s important that we know at all times where every piece of information or media can be located.”

It was overwhelming, like the world’s largest and most complicated library. It made your head spin a little looking at it all, but you always liked a challenge.

“You think you can handle it?” he asked.

You nod with some confidence, though you don’t quite feel it. This was going to take some getting used to.

“I hope for both our sakes you’re right,” he said, “Last filer I hired couldn’t tell left from right and Vox fried me to a crisp. Took me a good week before I was able to regenerate properly.”

Crap, that sounded bad. Note to self, don’t let that happen to you.

“I think I’ll be all right,” you said.

---

It was a bit overwhelming the first few weeks. You were competent enough to keep things in order though. Your experience was paying off, and you weren’t hearing any complaints or news about any assistants getting fried, so you supposed you were doing your job well enough.

Within two months of starting your job, you finally met the rumored big man himself. He had come in one day, visibly in a bad mood as he walked over to your desk, a man trailing behind him.

“I don’t know why I even pay you morons,” he said, “I have to hear important information secondhand from fucking Valentino because you can’t be bothered to keep up with what’s happening in hell.”

“Look, sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to not tell you,” he said, “I just didn’t think you’d care.”

Vox had stormed over to your desk.

“So you KNEW and thought it would be a good idea to just not tell me at all?” he said.

“T-that’s not it! I just-”

Vox held up a hand to interrupt him before turning to you.

“I want the file we have in here on Alastor,” he said, a static buzz of irritation on the last word, “Now.”

“Of course, sir,” you said.

You hurried over to the file cabinet and quickly located it.

“See, not everyone around here is as useless as you are,” Vox said to his other employee.

You saw the hapless employee mutter something under his breath out of the corner of your eye, and before you knew it a chain had appeared and Vox yanked him closer.

“What was that?” he said

“N-nothing, sir!” said the now visibly sweating employee.

A shock went through the poor guy before Vox released him.

“Useless,” he said, “You know what? I think you need some time learning exactly who is in charge around here.”

Vox pointed a clawed finger at you.

“You,” he said, “It’s your lucky day, kid. You wanna promotion?”

“Um… yes?” you said.

“Great. Samuel, have fun in janitorial work for the next decade,” he said, “You’re being replaced. What’s your name?”

“F/N,” you said.

“Hope you have customer service experience as well as filing,” he said, “You’re moving up to my office. Need someone with a functioning brain to run the front desk. Pack up!”

You hesitated for a minute before grabbing the stuff under your desk. You figured the last thing you wanted to do was piss this guy off more than he already looked.

---

Despite him being in such a bad mood that first day, you soon found that most of the time Vox was relatively calm, at least compared to what you heard about the other employers in this building. While he at times could get pretty irritated with things, especially if a certain never-to-be-named demon was brought up by an idiot intern, he rarely took it out on you. He usually took the daily bothers of running the company in stride.

Besides that, running a front desk of an office wasn’t too different than running the front desk at the library. You didn’t have to do near as much organizing in terms of files, but you still did spend a lot of time making sure that everything in Vox’s life was organized from his meetings to when he had lunch.

He didn’t talk much with you outside of work related stuff, which is why you were so surprised when you found out what he was doing one day.

It was a nice enough morning, at least as much as a nice morning can be in hell. You took a sip of your coffee briefly as you stretched and looked out your office window. While you missed the blue sky of earth, the red sky of hell had its own sort of charm you supposed. You glanced down, looking at the people walking back and forth, small as ants. Running around willy nilly. Someone was moving into the building that afternoon, a common occurrence here, as you had heard talk that Valentino liked to keep his employees in close quarters. Seems like they had a similar taste in furniture to your own. Almost frighteningly so.

Except… wait. Was that your sofa? And your dresser? Your bookshelves? You lowered your coffee to the windowsill as you squinted down at your entire catalog of furniture being moved into the building. Something wasn’t right.

You knocked on your boss’s door and entered in a bit of a rush as you heard him say to come in.

“Vox, what on earth is going on?” you asked, trying not to sound panicked.

“F/N, that could be ten different things. I need you to be more specific,” he asked, his tone nonchalant as he didn’t even look up from his phone.

“I just saw what I’m pretty sure was all my belongings being moved into the building,” you said.

“Oh yes, that. Well, I had wanted to surprise you, but I guess it’s too late for that,” he said, somewhat absently, “I hate that you have to take such a long commute to the other side of town. And I know all the apartments there are so run down, I figured I’d just move you into the studio like a lot of our other valued staff.”

What? While it was true your apartment was kind of rinky dinky, it was yours. And you liked the privacy and soft solitude it offered after work. Besides, you didn’t like the idea of your boss just moving you willy nilly without your permission. Still, you didn’t want to show him you were upset.

“Vox, you don’t have to do this,” you said, “I’m ok with where I’m at. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble at all. Think of it as a courtesy as my secretary,” he said.

You could feel your entire face tighten as you got more frustrated. Some of it was probably starting to show, despite your best efforts.

“I never asked for this though,” you said, trying to tread carefully, “and I like my old apartment. I… I don’t really want this...”

“But you do want this,” he said, finally looking up at you, “You want to be in a nicer apartment, closer to work, safer, don’t you? You always want to be here.”

That… You supposed that was true. Something about his tone soothed you, sent a pleasant lull through your skull and made your body relax as he looked in your eyes. Your protests now seemed a bit foolish and childish. In all honesty, you supposed it just made sense that you move in to the studio. Everything you needed was here, truly, why would you want to live away from here? You did want a nicer apartment without the stressful commute.

“O-ok,” you said, a small uncomfortable feeling of doubt still in your stomach, “Yeah. That’s true. I do want to be here more… closer to the office...”

He smiled at that and walked over to you. He placed an arm around you, guiding you back to your own office.

“Of course you do! And besides I already had them move everything here, so why don’t you just go back to work, and they’ll have finished moving everything in by the time your shift is done,” Vox said, “I guarantee once you’ve had time to think it through you’ll be glad we did it.”

“If you say so,” you said.

As he walked you back to your desk, he continued his calming chatter.

“That’s a good girl. You and I both have a lot of work today, anyway, so I think we can agree that you should just focus on that for now,” he said as he nudged over to your desk.

You sat down and turned to the planner on your desk as you heard your boss walk into his personal office and closed the door. You just stare blankly for a good minute, feeling a little light, like you were on Zoloft before shaking your head back and forth. Might as well just go back to work. You could think more about this later.

---

It had been happening so slowly. One day, week, month at a time, Vox was implementing himself into your life inch by inch, despite the fact that the two of you weren’t bound on paper. He had moved you into the building, where you knew that you were almost constantly on camera. He kept you so loaded down with work you barely had a social life anymore, with no time to hang out with friends or date. The pay was ok, you supposed, but it felt minuscule compared to the amount of work he was expecting you to do on a daily basis.

And then there was the… weirder things that had been happening. Whenever you tried to talk to him, he had a way of getting you to forget about whatever it was you were upset about, at least for a little while. But it would always come back eventually, and as you thought about it more, it irritating you that he was dismissing your concerns.

You hadn’t really noticed it until he had gone on vacation for a week with the other Vees. You had been quite busy with work, but without him there to calm you down whenever your “concerns” came up, you realized that maybe you had let your priorities get a little askew. You needed a career change.

So, perhaps against your better judgment, a few days after he had returned, you had left a two weeks notice on his desk before he came in. It only took about fifteen minutes after he came in for him to summon you to his office.

“F/N? What is this?” he asked, holding out the letter.

“It’s my resignation,” you said, trying to sound steady and confident.

“I’m sorry… your what?” he said

“I-I regret to inform you that I will be moving out and relocating to the Doomsday Sector in two weeks,” you said, “I appreciate all that you’ve done here for me as I worked here, but I am making a career change.”

He looked baffled for a second, like he couldn’t believe what you were saying before chuckling a little.

“No, you’re not,” he said, “You don’t want to leave he-”

“Stop!” you yelled out with more force than you intended.

As soon as he had started speaking that familiar fuzzy feeling had entered your mind, and you had closed your eyes, shaking your head. You didn’t want him talking you out of this.

“I-I’m sorry,” you said, as you reopened your eyes, but didn’t really look at him, “But I don’t want to talk about this.”

It was awkwardly silent for a minute.

“Is it a pay thing?” he finally asked, “Because that can be adjusted. You do good work. I certainly wouldn’t mind paying you more.”

“It’s not a pay thing,” you said, “It’s not anything. I-I don’t want to talk about this, so I’m going to go-”

“You’re not leaving!” he said, slamming his fist on his desk.

You jumped, a little surprised at his reaction. While you knew he wouldn’t be thrilled, you hadn’t expected him to be so volatile. He was always so calm and collected that this kind of reaction to something so minuscule confused you.

“Vox, I know you like my work, but I think you’re overreacting a little bit,” you said.

“Overreacting?” he said, looking pissed, “Overreacting?!”

He grasped at the air, a look of surprise entering his face when no chain appeared. You look at him bewildered. Had he really just tried to…?

“Vox, we don’t have a contract?” you said, “Did you forget that?”

Had he really gotten so comfy with you that he thought that you were another one of his little pets? To hell with the two week notice, you were going today.

“I think I should go back to work,” you said.

He didn’t say anything as you went back to your desk. You finished filing information extra fast that day, doing a bit of a sloppy job. As soon as it was noon, you left for what appeared to be a lunch break, but you had decided was actually going to be your escape.

This situation was getting uncomfortable. You hurried to your room and haphazardly threw clothes and necessities into your suitcase. Anything you left behind on accident you would just have to replace. On a final note, you shoved your wallet into your back pocket and walked over to the door.

Except it didn’t open. The nob didn’t even turn when you yanked on it. You tried it a few times, to no avail.

“Dammit,” you murmured under your breath, and you pounded your fist on the door.

You were about ready to start kicking it when you heard a burst of static behind you. You turned to see your boss coming in through the camera system. While it had always been an eerie feature to your arrangements, it was a million more times so to see Vox using it to his full advantage.

“What the hell is going on?” you asked.

“I should be the one asking that,” he said, “Just where do you think you’re going?”

“None of your damn business!” you said, “I don’t know what security you have on this door, but you better take it off now or-”

“Or?” he asked.

Now it was your turn to look tense as he gave you a self-satisfied smirk. You could feel your face flushing in a quiet rage as he spoke. Though you were hiding them behind your back, you could feel your fists clenching, as well as the shape of you mouth hardening.

“Vox, you are being ridiculous! We don’t even have a contract! I’m not bound to you, so you can’t keep me here,” you said.

He cocked his head at you, raising an eyebrow, “Oh really now?”

Something about the nonchalance in his tone only pissed you off more.

“Yes, really!” you yelled, “I’m not staying here. I’m leaving whether you want me to or not.”

“And just how do you expect to do that?” asked Vox, “Jump out the window? I mean you could splatter yourself on the ground, but it’d be a bit rude considering I’ll have to send some unlucky interns to scrape you off the pavement and put you back in your room until you regenerate.”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in and clenching and unclenching your hands with an unnecessary amount of force. You tried to calm your voice down.

“Vox, I understand that you like the work I do for you, but you’re being ridiculous,” you said.

“You think this about work?” he said, “F/N, don’t act stupid. I can get a new secretary anytime I want, ten secretaries. You and I both know that’s not what this is about.”

You looked at him confused. It wasn’t?

“For someone who is so smart with data, you are being so unbelievably slow right now.”

He advanced on you, causing you to shrink against the frame of the door as he leaned over you. He pushed you against the wall and gripped your chin in his hand, forcing you to look him in the eye. It all happened in a flash, too fast to register, and before you could realize it, he was pulling you into a rough kiss.

It wasn’t what you had expected, though it wasn’t as if you had thought a lot about what kissing your boss would feel like. On the rare occasions when you had wondered about it, you had assumed kissing Vox would be like kissing the screen of a laptop. Apparently though, he had a literal working mouth as you could clearly tell from the sensation of his tongue and even teeth connecting with your own. Your chin ached in his firm grip, which could have been more tender if it didn’t feel like he was keeping you from turning your face away. You tried to do so, but he didn’t even seem to notice it, he was so preoccupied.

He held you like this for a good two or three minutes, his saliva coating your mouth. Though it was barely there, you could feel a slight buzz to it, as if some of his electricity was in his fluids. He finally released you though, some of his spit getting on your lips as he removed himself. A sigh filled the air as your lips parted.

“Even better than I thought it would be,” he murmured

He shifted a bit and was leaning in for another kiss when you kicked him in the shins.

“Ow!” he said, releasing you and giving you time to dart away.

You had moved in a burst to the other side of the room, glaring at him with what you hoped was resentment. There was also something else though. A feeling of deep rooted anxiety and fear was stirring in full force, despite the fact that over the past few months you had been pushing it down as much as possible. You hoped he couldn’t see the weakness in you.

Whether he did or not though, you could tell he was visibly pissed for a minute. He finally got his features under control, but as he spoke his tone held all of the avarice that had left his face.

“Whatever,” he said, “Contract or not, you’re still mine, and you’re not going anywhere until you accept that. Throw a tantrum if you want to, but you’re stuck here.”

You watched as he went back into the camera system as easily as he had come. You curled up on the floor, burying your face in your arms.

#yandere x reader #hazbin hotel #vox #yandere vox #vox x reader

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mrsrookhunt · 10 months

Note

hi, hi! could I ask for pt 2 of the twst "what to expect when your lab experiment drinks formula," I just thought it was rlly cute!☺ you can do any sort of characters, I don't mind!

What to Expect When your Lab Experiment Drinks Formula Pt. 2

Hihi! Actually, I wrote that scenario for all the characters in twst I'm writing for right now (I'm new to the fandom), so I've gone ahead and made this into a followup on how they're doing as parents, hope you don't mind! Thanks the ask!

Warnings: Mild Chap 7 spoiler (Lilia), Rook & Floyd want so many kids your house is going to look like the 100 baby sims challenge.

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Part one! Rook Hunt! Part Two (here), Part Three!

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Malleus Draconia

Malleus is running wild with the new heir. As much as he loves you, so much of his time is occupied by playing with his baby that you don't even see him around as often as you used to.

Your new baby is named Ormr, an ancient name directly meaning 'dragon'. Malleus pouted for a bit that it didn't start with 'Mal' but you assured him that it could be a great fresh start before the Draconia family ran out of names.

While you were still a bit disoriented by the strange circumstances, you were adjusting just fine to being a parent. Your little one kept you on your toes, breathing fire onto your homework when you weren't giving them enough attention and flying away with your food when Malleus taught them how to fly short distances.

Get out the broom. There's a dragon baby with a pb&j on the ceiling.

Malleus' love of your child surprised you a bit. Though you had known that he had technically set up the entire creation of the child, you never expected for Malleus to take so strongly to the little dragon fae.

To be fair, the entirety of Briar Valley seemed to rejoice at the news of your little one, so you supposed that your child was more important than it would be to a normal family. This was the continuation of his bloodline, without posing any risk of losing you, his favorite Child of man.

It was perfect, a blissful life together.

Malleus is constantly supportive of you and works hard to be both a father and a partner. He never fails to make your family feel loved and connected, even in trying times.

Rook Hunt

Rook's baby is... Rook's baby.

The little creature is mischievous, even for its young age.

It may not be able to crawl, but provided anything of importance is in its general vicinity, it will be swiped, hidden, or destroyed with an innocent giggle.

Rook manages the child much better than you. Although you love your child to death, they seem to have inherited Rook's predatory mind in their entirety, and it makes Rook far more equipped to handle the baby's demeanor.

When you look away, you'll most certainly be hit with the first thing in reach of your little one. You blame Rook for this, who reveled in showing them documentaries on hunting through the ages from birth.

Soon, it's more complex weapons. Sharp rocks from your trip outside to play have somehow become entrapped in a very deliberately tangled slinky and thrown at the back of your head.

You know it's all in good fun between Rook & your little one, but your baby will be as skilled a hunter as Rook someday. He was not wrong to call your child his little hunter from the moment it fell into your arms.

Rook wants a large family, so you'd better be prepared for lots of little predators running around the house. Good luck trying to keep them from attempting to murder each other.

Extra: Rook is the type to remember that recipe to a tee. If you so much as mention having another child, ten more are going to show up the next day. Honestly he's waiting for you to slip up and mention it. He's absolutely in love with your family, and would be overjoyed to expand it. Best of luck to you.

Floyd Leech

As soon as you were asleep that night, little child snug in a makeshift bassinet next to you, Floyd was already sneaking out to create more children.

You woke up to six more on the bed with you, one of which woke you up directly by biting you for attention.

Overall you've had much trouble managing all the little literal ankle biters. If it weren't for the liberal help from Jade, Grim and Ace, you would not be able to manage all seven.

However, this does not stop you from loving them entirely. The babies love you to death, and you're extremely bonded to them as well. When you and Floyd fight, there's suddenly seven growling creatures lined up behind you, at the ready to attack.

Despite being 110% like Floyd, they are very certain in their favoritism. Two of your children refuse to have him nearby at all.

He claims it breaks his heart, but you catch him praising your little ones with frozen grapes and soda to reinforce their bond with you.

Definitely not what a baby should be fed but when you said they couldn't eat seafood he switched gears to 'land food', and would take no further criticisms.

The best times are cuddle nights. Twice a week, all of you cuddle up in your Ramshackle dorm room and cozy up to a movie and snacks. This continues until well into their childhoods let's be honest. It becomes a Leech family tradition.

Sebek Zigvolt

"Human! Get it! GET IT!!!"

Your baby is very adventurous.... or something close to it.

Always tumbling off furniture and rolling off changing tables, or falling down for some reason or other.

You can have ten sets of eyes on this child and it does not matter, this baby will stubbornly look into your eyes and throw itself off the couch.

There's so much chaos, constantly, when it comes to little baby Zigvolt.

Sebek's excellent training is the only reason that your child has not been hospitalized for concussions.

But his excellent training has not saved him from the baby's love of biting their father. So, so many times. Every time Sebek catches it.

Chomp.

Every time he bathes it.

Chomp.

Everytime he changes a diaper.

Chomp.

Sebek is covered in tiny little baby bites.

But oh, how your baby adores you. In between bouts of defiance and finger-snacking moods, your baby loves to lie in your arms and cuddle.

It's arguably the most comfortable time you get with Sebek and your baby.

And I do mean arguably, because Sebek swears up and down that the baby is happiest in the presence of Malleus, and it's a hill he's willing to die on. But you know he really just wants an excuse to show off your baby to Silver.

Silver is not impressed.

Your baby is the very definition of a headache to Sebek. They cry everytime they see Malleus, they hate any sort of regimen, they love to play and play and... play more. All day long. No work or training to be seen here, baby Zigvolt will NOT be having it unless you want 4 hours of ear-splitting tantrums. And the baby still won't do the work when they're done.

But still, you see Sebek in every aspect of your baby. The strength, the way your child loves you unconditionally, but treats everyone else cautiously, and overall, the refusal to do anything that doesn't align with their little baby whims.

You've lovingly termed your baby 'Stubborn Ziggy the Second'. Sebek is not a fan, but he allowed it after you let go of 'Swamp dog & Swamp puppy'.

Lilia Vanrouge

screaming.

And more screaming.

It is not the baby. It is you trying to find the baby.

"OH MY GOD I LOST IT, I LOST OUR BABY OH MY GOD---"

And then--

"Weh!" The baby pops its head out of a cabinet with its hands up the way Lilia does to scare them.

The baby giggles and coos at its own joke, making grabby hands while it waits for you to come get it.

You're just dumbfounded. You're going to have to scold Lilia, because now your little one is picking up on yet another one of his pranks.

Your baby is a lot like you, with one exception-- your baby is so playful and teasing that it honestly gives The Great Lilia Himself a run for his money.

Last week, you were frantically searching for an expensive piece of jewelry, when it dropped down on your head from the spot where little baby Vanrouge was apparently levitating it from.

Oh yes, your child's magic is coming in strong. Though Lilia's is fading, you tease that perhaps the little one is just absorbing it from him outright, showing him videos of your child's most recent magical displays of strength.

Your family bonds through jokes and playful faces, entirely. Lilia is probably a candidate for The Worst Parent on Earth, so you do most of the housework. It's not like Lilia's never offered, it's that you promised Silver not to let Lilia traumatize his little sibling. All of your best moments are spent by making space in your schedule for your family time.

Lil Vanrouge needs all your love, and Lilia Vanrouge does too. It's a fine balance between upsetting either of them, though dealing with hours of screaming and petty annoyance is not a hard decision.

Just make sure both are getting enough cuddles, and maybe don't judge growing-up lil Vanrouge when they decide they love gaming...

Azul Ashengrotto

Don't forget about Azul, please.

Your baby has the chubbiest cheeks and the cutest smile, but is it as cute as Azul? Cuter, probably. But don't tell him that.

Azul loves your child with all his heart, but he's a bit miffed that it requires so much of your love and attention.

You and baby Ashengrotto are very bonded, so it's rare to see you apart for a moment. And in that moment... Azul is putting on Full-Drama Mode. Cuddles, cuddles. More cuddles. Give him a kiss. Could you please take a bath with him? He's just so tired, he doesn't think he can take a bath by himself. Would you mind giving him a massage? You're too tired? That's ok, you scratch his back and he'll scratch yours. He's not too tired after all. He'll give you a massage.

Your little one is so much like their father, wanting all the attention and love in the world, but getting the priority treatment. Little baby Ashengrotto is Octavinelle's favorite thing ever. Everyone just wants to love on them and see their cuteness.

Azul was going to charge people to see them until you put your foot down and said no.

Azul knows how precious his child is. Secretly, he does want another. Two, just for a healthy statistical number's sake. But he won't tell you that. He's trying to come to terms with the shift in attention with one tiny octomer right now, maybe waiting a couple of years would be more optimal. He will never admit that he's jealous of your child, but claims that he's 'working through his issues when you bring it up.

But Azul will always prioritize his baby as well, even if unintentionally. In the end, the wellbeing of his family comes first and foremost.

And maybe showing off mini-mer to the Mostro lounge staff.

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rosepascal · 3 months

Text

Blossom (Hanahaki AU) || Joel Miller x Reader

summary: Hanahaki- is a disease in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love.

warnings: Hanahaki disease, angst, happy ending, hurt/comfort, not so one sided love, blood, mentions of death/dying, Joel is bad at feelings.

a/n: I've been meaning to write a hanahaki fic for so long and its finally here! I hope you enjoy, I might write more with the other pedro boys with different endings >:)

You can't do this anymore. Everything's become too painful. Walking, talking, breathing. You've been shot, stabbed, punched, but somehow this was the worst pain you've ever felt. Maybe because it's coupled with heartbreak and a sense of unending loneliness.

Not to be morbid but you often thought how you were going to die. Sickness maybe. Lots of people in the QZ got sick. Maybe you'd push it too far with a FEDRA soldier one day. Or maybe a clicker would get you.

After all the times you've come close you're surprised it hasn't happened yet. Or raiders. You and Joel have come across them before and they aren't friendly. Even on your trek to Jackson you faced death multiple times and still made it out alive.

So who would have thought it was from an incurable bullshit disease that you've reached your end. It's funny if you really think about it. Survive a world ending apocalypse to get taken out by unrequited love.

You've hid it well honestly. No one has really suspected anything except for Maria. She's a smart woman and clocked something was wrong immediately. You denied it over and over but when she caught you bleeding from the mouth with flower petals around your feet, well you couldn't lie your way out of that one.

You swore her to secrecy and though reluctant she agreed. She's been helping you with pain medication. Keeping it under the table so no one else found out.

Sadly, it seems your time has run out. The bathroom door is locked and though you feel a sense of guilt for dying so suddenly like this, there's not much you can do now. You can barely lift your arms so getting up to go find help is out of the question. Not that anyone could help you anyways. The ground is bloody and littered with petals that have been growing inside of you for so long.

Hanahaki was rare but deadly. The only cure at this point was for your feelings to be returned. The surgery is out of the question with the state of Jacksons medical facilities. You'd given up hope long ago of Joel ever loving you the way you love him. Even as you sit against the cold lonely walls, dying, you manage to smile at the thought of the man. He was the cause of all your pain but he's worth every second.

You know that love and relationships aren't as easy as they used to be. With Joel he won't even think about the idea of feeling that way about someone. He doesn't have time. It's pointless. It's weakness. That's what he's always believed and though you've seen the cracks of that logic with Ellie. It's different. With her Joel sees a daughter. He doesn't have room for romance anymore. You desperately wish you were enough to change his mind. Not just because you're dying, but because you know he's worthy of love. He's fiercely protective, loyal, and perhaps that is his way of loving. Or maybe it's just his nature.

Even knowing all that about him, you still fell in love with him. Mostly you fell in love with his eyes. Those sad brown eyes that carry so much burden. So much sadness and rage. The eyes truly reveal all to you and deep inside he's just a broken man who's lost so much. His touches can be gentle and though he can't always express his feelings, he tries with you. Tries is the key word but hey, that's still something.

You wonder what will happen when you're gone. If Joel will be sad or if he'll move on and accept it. Will he care? You shake those thoughts from your head. Now isn't the time for that. It's becoming harder and harder to breathe. The energy in your body is draining slowly and you just don't have it in you to keep fighting.

Closing your eyes you imagine a world where Joel did love you. Where maybe the world wasn't horrible and the two of you could just, live. Maybe you'd move in to his house in Jackson with Ellie. He would make coffee in the morning and you'd make him a lunch. You could enjoy life together. Go see a movie, go on patrol. Go on dates where he gives you his jacket to keep you warm and where he kisses you whenever you ask. As you fade into darkness it becomes so real. A soft smile on your face as the pain floats away.

BANG

Your sweet daydreams are interrupted by a terribly annoying sound.

"Open this damn door now!" His voice is warbled as you aren't completely conscious anymore but you think it's Joel. Maybe you're hallucinating more than you thought.

"Fuck!" You hear him shout and suddenly the door swings open.

Joel is breathing raggedly as he breaks down the bathroom door. His eyes wide with panic as he takes in the horror scene in front of him. He drops to his knees and cups your face in his hands. Your eyes flutter closed and Joel panics more.

"Hey! Keep 'em open okay." He shakes your head until you open them. Letting out a groan of pain.

"You're fuckin' stupid you know that." He's angry, upset, terrified. How could you do this to him? To Ellie? How could you hide this from them? Your life on the fucking line and you refuse to tell him. He has to hear it from a rushed and apologetic confession from Maria.

"J..Joel?" You croak out. The pain gets worse as you try and sit up.

"Don't move." He commands as he scrambles for something, anything to help. He doesn't know what to do. What can he do? Blood drips from your mouth and he wipes it away.

"Tell me how to fix this." He tilts your head up and your eyes barely focus.

You frown as you see those brown eyes so distressed. There's nothing he can do. He knows that, he has to know that. You hate seeing him so upset. With all your strength you raise your hand and rest it on his. Shaking your head softly and trying your best to comfort him. Joel is completely and utterly helpless. It's a horrible feeling. Your eyes close and he starts to panic.

"Hey! Come on! There has to be somethin'" Joel lightly slaps your face but your eyes stay closed. He can feel your pulse slowing and he wants to puke.

"Don't leave me, please you can't do this to me!" He shouts. It's not fair. He's lost so much he can't lose you too. Not after everything you've been through together.

"Please..." Joel begs quietly as your hand starts to go limp.

You're still breathing but barely. He squeezes his eyes shut as rests his forehead against yours. Too fucking late. Too slow. If he had gotten here quicker, noticed something sooner, then maybe he could have done something. Rage builds inside of him as he silently begs for you to wake up.

"Please, I'm sorry baby. You can't leave me. I..." He thinks and thinks. Of what you mean to him, putting aside his fears, his doubt. You're his most trusted ally, a confidant, a partner, a friend. You're so much more.

"I love you." It's barely above a whisper as he admits it to himself for the first time and to you.

His rough hands tilt your head up as he kisses you. Every missed I love you, all the lost time, everything the two of you could have had, it's packed into his passionate kiss. He's sorry, he loves you. As he pulls back he waits, was he too late? Suddenly your eyes open and he tenses up. Slowly the pain fades and it feels like you can breathe again.

"Do that again, please." You ask.

Joel nearly cries as you smile at him. Without hesitation he smashes his lips onto yours. He's not gentle anymore as he mentally needs to know that you're truly okay. He feels your hands weave into his hair, pulling on him to be closer. He hears the small noises you make and your heart beating in your chest. You're alive.

"Took you long enough." He gently caresses your face and kisses your forehead. Too relieved that you're still here to care about anything else. He loves you.

He loves you.

And he won't ever let you forget it.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller angst

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amberlynnmurdock · 4 months

Text

Neighbor Pt. 6

Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: On a random midnight, she comes to Matt's apartment to feel less lonely. Matt lets her in.

Words: just under 3k!

Genres: FLUFF with a dash of angst because of course... they are just two lost souls confiding in the other <3

A/N: I sort of had trouble with this chapter but she's finally here lol. This picks up from Pt. 5... hope you like it!!!

Part 5

Matt felt rejuvenated the next morning.

Maybe it wasn’t stress he had been feeling the past few weeks… maybe it was something else, something he hadn’t felt in a while. Something that made him need sweet relief that throwing punches and taking hits couldn’t provide. He needed something more sensual—intimate. Something else to get his anxiety and frustration out. Even if it was a brush of contact. Something as simple as a touch.

Yeah, it had been a while since he’d felt that. And it felt so good to listen to her like that… despite how wrong it was. That was until she said his name out loud. Matt pondered the question all morning as he lay in bed waiting for his alarm to go off. What did it mean? Did she like him like that? What should he do next?

Nothing, he decided. It was wrong he knew she felt that way about him… it was wrong he continued to listen to her. It was wrong of him to think he could ever make her happy when he leads the life he leads. But God, did it feel so good to think that for a moment—just a moment—it might be possible.

He rolls out of bed as soon as he hears his automated alarm go off. Wake up, wake up! Matt slams the alarm with his fist, harder than he intended to. He sits for a moment on the edge of his bed, feeling achy all over. Other people in the apartment are waking up right now, too. Downstairs, someone turns their stove on and begins to cook bacon. Another apartment opens its windows to the cool winter air. And her—she’s awake now, too. She turned her TV on to the news.

“Daredevil took down an armed robbery and saved an old woman at the corner bodega…“

Matt tunes it out immediately.

It was strange to hear news about himself playing in her apartment. It made him uncomfortable. There he was, imagining a future with her and playing with the idea of being intimate with her, all the while having one of the biggest secrets ever.

After a hot shower and brewing coffee, Matt was just about to be on his way out. He heard her shuffling behind her door, slipping her boots on, and zipping up her coat. They always walked out at the same time, an unspoken ritual. Maybe it was safer to keep it like this, Matt thought. Maybe this was as far as they’d ever go.

Matt took a deep breath as he stepped out, unsurprisingly at the same time as she did. Matt heard her heart rate quicken as she saw him.

“G’morning, Matt,” she said softly, as casually as she could.

“Morning,” he smiled. Act natural. “Sleep well?”

She paused, ever so slightly, and locked her door. “I did, better than I normally do. You?”

“Same,” Matt answered, picking up on her hesitation. Maybe he should leave the conversation at this, not push anything further. From the way she was speaking quietly to her slight quiver, Matt knew she was nervous. He didn’t want to make her feel that way.

“I hope you have a good day, Matt,” she smiled, walking ahead of him down the stairs. Before Matt could give a response, she was already out the door. Matt slowly followed behind, somehow feeling guilty about it all over again.

She weighed heavy on his mind all day—did he do something wrong unknowingly? All of this was confusing—he heard her say his name at her most intimate, and this morning she seemed to want to avoid him altogether. What happened?

Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe there wasn’t anything wrong.

***

Matt walked up the steps to his apartment slowly, one hand using his cane to guide himself, the other holding onto the rail. He passed the floors of the other apartments. They were all so loud to him. Fran had the TV on a bit higher than usual. Someone’s dog was barking begging to be fed. Another was on the phone having a heated conversation with an in-law. All day, Matt was consumed by conversations he wished not to be part of. Sounds he wished he could drown out and turn off.

Finally, he reached the floor of his apartment—and hers. He liked that he shared this floor with only her. He paused at the top of the steps and pressed his fingertips against the wall. She was inside, home already from work. From the sound of her soft breathing and very still movement, Matt knew she was sleeping. A part of him melted inside. Tired from a long day of work himself, he walked as quietly as he could to his apartment and opened the door slowly to avoid making any sound.

He wasted no time changing into his Daredevil gear and waiting on his roof.

***

Matt felt accomplished when he arrived back on his rooftop after a night out as Daredevil. He stopped another robbery and saved an old couple’s bodega. He saved an old man from being mugged. He saved a young girl and her mother from an abusive ex-boyfriend.

Entering his apartment, he stripped himself of his Daredevil gear and locked it away in his old trunk. He paused, hand still on the locked trunk that held his most detrimental secret. This trunk used to belong to his father. He pushed it inside the closet and closed the door. He made a sign of the cross and stalked off to the bathroom.

It was shortly past midnight. After washing off in the shower, Matt changed into sweatpants. He lay in bed and shut his eyes. His thoughts always drifted to the same thing: was there more to this life, than just keeping a secret?

After reciting a prayer and just as he was about to fall asleep, he heard a gentle knocking on his door. His eyes shot open and his senses were fully engaged in the source of the sound. More knocks came. It was her. She shivered under her cardigan and shifted in her slippers from foot to foot, anxiously. Was something wrong? Why was she at his door so late?

Matt threw on a shirt quickly and walked over to open his door. Just as she was about to turn around and retreat to her apartment, thinking this is stupid, Matt opened his door. She stood there with her arms tucked around her frame and shivered from the cold in the hallway.

“Hi,” she said in a tired voice, “I’m sorry, Matt. I know it’s late. But I heard your shower go off and assumed you were awake and—God, I realize how creepy that sounds that I heard your water running so I knew you were awake—never mind. I’ve spoken too much,” she rambled nervously, shivering from the cold in the hallway. Matt was surprised by her presence; he wasn’t upset at all. He welcomed her sudden appearance but couldn’t help but wonder why she was there.

Not to mention her apologizing for hearing his water running, and assuming he was awake. After all the things he’s heard her do through her apartment… Matt was in no place to judge (not that he would, anyway).

“It's okay,” Matt whispered her name. “I was awake. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, and Matt didn’t have to listen to her heartbeat to know she was lying. It was in her voice, her mannerisms. The way she answered quickly without really considering his question. “I just—“ and she was shivering so much.

“You can come in,” Matt opened the door wider. “It’s cold in the hall.”

“Okay,” she stepped inside his apartment and away from him as he shut his large, old door. Matt locked it and turned around to smile at her. It was then Matt realized he forgot to put his glasses on.

“I’m sorry, let me get my glasses on,” Matt said sheepishly, reaching for them on the side table.

“It’s okay,” she said, “you don’t have to put them on.” She paused, looking at his handsome face in the low glow of his apartment. He wasn’t hard to look at at all—from his warm hazel eyes to his plump lips.

“Are you sure you won’t be uncomfortable?” He asked.

“Yeah,” she answered. “I’m barging in on your place—you don’t have to sacrifice your comfort for mine.”

He smiled at that and then offered her to take a seat on his couch. He allowed her a moment to get a sense of her surroundings—she’d never been in his apartment before. Her heartbeat was steady. She looked around his living room and squinted at the windows when the large screen across the street flashed bright purple and pink lights.

“Wow,” she said, looking back at his dark apartment. “Those are bright.”

“So I’ve heard,” Matt said lightly with a warm smile. “Do you want any water?”

“I’m okay. Thank you.”

She curled up on the corner of his brown leather couch, tucking her feet in underneath her legs. She was still shivering. Matt offered her the blanket that lay on it and she took it gracefully.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said sheepishly wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, “truthfully, I couldn’t sleep and I could use a friend to talk to.”

A friend? Matt’s heart jumped at this. She considered him a friend.

“I’m glad you came,” Matt replied.

“On Christmas, you told me that any time I felt lonely, I could come by. So… this is one of those times.”

“Yeah,” Matt nodded. “Felt lonely tonight?”

“Not anymore,” she sighed, pleasantly, like his presence alone was enough to cure whatever it was she was feeling. “I took a long nap after work to avoid it and woke up feeling worse than I did before. Like a harrowing, deep hole in my chest.”

Matt knew that feeling all too well—a hole he’d been trying to fill since he was 11. It occurred to him in that moment Matt hardly knew anything about her. Where she came from, what her story was. She knew bits and pieces of him but he didn’t know anything more than that she lived alone and worked at a bookstore.

“I understand,” Matt said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe another time,” she said, pushing the matter away. “I just wanted to get my mind off it.”

Matt was happy she was comfortable enough to come to him this late at night for nothing more than just another person to talk to. He could be that person for her—he wanted to be that person for her.

“I didn’t know you had hazel eyes,” she said softly. “You shouldn’t hide them as much as you do behind those red glasses.”

Matt blushed—unfamiliar with this feeling in his chest, like a bubbling warmth spread over that harrowing hole she was talking about just moments ago. “Oh,” he said. “People can get uncomfortable when they see my eyes.”

“Then screw them,” she said defiantly. “Like I said…you shouldn’t sacrifice your comfort for theirs.”

“Thank you,” Matt replied. “For understanding that part.”

“Were you—“

“Born blind?” Matt had finished this question so many times, that it became a habit to interject whenever anyone began to ask it. “No. It was an accident when I was a kid.”

“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind,” Matt shrugged. He wanted to open up to her, as much as he could—without revealing his biggest secret of all. “I saw an old man crossing the street. A large truck with chemical containers was coming down the block at the same time. I pushed the old man out of the way. The truck lost control, and swerved to avoid hitting us. Well, it did bump me a little, and all the chemicals fell over, leaking everywhere. Some of it got in my eyes and—“

“That was it,” she finished his sentence. “Wow.”

“That was it,” Matt repeated. His gaze fell on the carpet. He sat at the opposite end of the couch.

“So, little Matt was a hero?” He could hear the smile in her voice when she said this. Matt chuckled.

“I did what anyone else would have.”

“How many adults were there, do you remember?”

“It was on a random corner in Hell’s Kitchen. Plenty of people were walking around.”

“So, you did what anyone else would have avoided.”

Matt blushed, looked away from the general direction he was looking in. It felt different to be called a hero when it was coming from her lips.

“Sure,” he finally said. “We can go with that.”

“Do you…” her voice trailed off, unsure how to phrase her next question without sounding offensive.

“You can ask me anything,” Matt assured her. “You know a lot about me that some of my closest friends don’t know. Nothing’s off the table.”

“Do you miss having sight? That’s probably a silly question. Do you remember the last thing you saw?”

“The sky,” Matt answered, a flash of blue appearing in his mind. “That was the last thing I saw. And I do miss having sight,” Matt took a deep breath. “But there are other ways to see.”

“Absolutely,” she agreed. “How do you see in other ways?”

What a loaded question, he thought.

“Touch, for one. I can get a sense of something when I touch it. Smell—easy to distinguish what’s on my plate. I still know what a majority of things look like.”

“But not people,” she stated.

“Not people,” Matt affirmed. “But there’s a way for me to paint a picture in my mind.”

“How? A person describes what they look like?”

“Descriptions help,” Matt answered, “but touching their face helps a hell of a lot more.”

She was silent for a moment, understanding his answers and pondering them. She wondered what he would think of her if he could see. Matt felt as if she was wondering that very thought.

“Do you want to touch my face?” She asked in a hesitant voice. “Or I can describe to you what I look like.”

Matt felt his heart grow in his chest. How could he answer that question, without revealing his true feelings for her right then and there? It had been months of being her neighbor that he hoped and prayed he could cross that threshold with her. Hell, it was a miracle she was in his apartment at that moment.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” Matt finally said, shifting in his seat.

“I am,” she whispered, leaning forward. “Come here.”

Matt moved closer to her on his couch until his left knee was touching her right. When he sat close enough to her, she grabbed his hand and wrapped her fingers around his wrist to guide him.

Starting with her hair, she gently brushed his fingers through it. It was soft. Every thread of her hair felt like water slipping gently through his fingers. Matt held his breath as his fingers grazed her neck. He had to close his eyes for this part. Matt gently placed his hand on the side of her neck, feeling how soft her skin felt on his fingertips. Like Braille, he ran his fingers ever so lightly on her skin, goosebumps following his touch.

He moved his hand to the side of her face, cupping her cheek in the palm of his hand. He gently ran his thumb over her brow bone, smoothing it out. Then he traced his thumb under her eye in a sweeping motion. His gaze fell on her chin. He traced the pad of his thumb down the bridge of her nose, stopping at her cupid’s bow. She gently let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. Matt gently let out a breath too. He took his other hand and cupped the other side of her face in his palm, feeling her cheeks heat against him. Her heart was pounding in her chest, a steady boom boom, boom boom, he had come to memorize to help him fall asleep. He caressed her chin with his thumb and traced her jawline before slowly running his hand down the length of her neck, retreating to his thigh.

“Beautiful,” Matt whispered. It was all he could say.

“Matt…” she uttered his name, trailing off, losing her words. Her heart felt like a cement block in her chest. He swallowed hard, resisting the urge to touch her again. She reached for his hand and placed it on her face, desperate to feel how gently he held her again, something she hadn’t felt in a long time.

She turns her head into his hand and kisses his palm. Matt moves his fingers to the back of her head and guides her lips to his, a kiss that should’ve happened a long time ago. Her lips molded to his, the taste of her bringing him back to life, filling that empty hole in his chest again. He hoped it had the same effect on her. Her hand moved to hold his face, a plan to not break the kiss. A plan that didn’t matter if it worked or not, because Matt wasn’t going to let go anytime soon. He wasn’t going to let go of her.

When she eventually did pull back, he only wanted more.

“Thank you,” she whispered breathlessly, “for letting me in.”

Letting her into his apartment, or letting her into his heart—both answers were suitable.

Eventually, she did go back to her apartment, for reasons they didn’t need to say out loud. But it would be a while until they brought up this night again.

______________________________________________________________

TAGS: @mattmurdocksstarlight @yentroucnagol @danzer8705 @allllium @i-marvel-bitch @babygrlmurdock @writtenbyred @uncle-eggy @marvelcinematiquniverse @sweetbee0108

#matt murdock #daredevil #charlie cox #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #charlie cox x reader #neighbor

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the-californicationist · 3 months

Text

He Paints a Picture (Price/Reader)

WARNING: PERIOD BLOOD KINK

You have been warned!

“Wait,” Price narrowed his eyes at you, “why not? Is everything alright?”

You hated to break the news to him. Ever since you’d had to be off your birth control, your periods had returned with a vengeance. You’d always had rough monthlies, but it almost seemed like your body was getting its revenge. The elevator scene from The Shining came to mind as you considered confessing why you’d been dodging Price’s advances.

Your ex had been so disgusted with you when it was “that week,” that you’d been conditioned to think you had to hide it. Unfortunately for you, that week was also when you were the most sensitive, craving a delicious pounding to relieve the cramps and satisfy your sexual cravings.

You didn’t think John would be so cruel, but even just imagining a negative reaction from him truly upset you, so you’d evaded his attempts to fondle you for three whole days. He’d dip a finger into the side of your panties, and you’d scoot away, playing dumb. You’d given him so many blowjobs this week that he started to get suspicious. Now, he was asking you flat out why you were denying him his favorite midnight snack: your pussy.

“We just…can’t,” you shrugged, hoping he would drop it.

Fat chance. His brow furrowed, growing concerned,

“Love, did I do something wrong? I thought you were enjoying the back rub. Did I hurt you?”

He was so large that, when he pouted, it looked like you were comforting an disgruntled wildebeest in your bedroom. His big, sad eyes and his frowning, bearded face broke your damn heart. You bit the bullet, realizing you couldn’t go one more minute with him thinking this was somehow his fault,

“It’s that week.”

“What week, love? Did I miss an anniversary? I know I’ve been away last week. Maybe I accidentally had the wrong calendar…” he was frantically flipping through his smart watch, confused and distressed.

“John,” you grabbed his forearm, shaking your head, “my time of the month, you know?”

You could see the realization wash over him, softening his features before returning immediately to confusion,

“And?”

“What do you mean by that?” You didn’t understand what he was asking.

“So, the painters are in. What about it?” He looked so lost. You decided to be very upfront, the clarity burning in your throat,

“You don’t care that I’m bleeding?”

Still, no reaction. He shrugged, shaking his head,

“Why would I? I mean, if you don’t feel up to it, I’m happy to fetch the hot water bottle and neapolitan out of the fridge,” he grabbed you around your shoulders, “but a bit of blood isn’t going to scare me off, love. In fact, I bet you’re wet and ready for me right now. Hot.”

He kissed your neck, sucking into your skin, licking your throat, and pulling at the flimsy straps of your tank top. He exposed your breasts, and with how high your hormones were, they felt swollen and hypersensitive. As he rubbed them, kissing your nipples and laving his tongue over them, you moaned from the strong tingles he created in your nerves.

“Are you sure?” You panted, still nervous about his perception.

“Mm,” he tugged a nipple into his mouth before looking up at you, darkness shrouding his gaze, “very sure. Lay down. I’ll grab a towel.”

He yanked your top off, throwing your clothes on the floor and dipped into the bathroom to grab a towel. He came back with a big beach towel that he’d had for years. Big palm trees swayed against a perfect blue background. You hoped you wouldn’t ruin it.

Price signaled for you to raise your hips, and he put the cloth underneath you, protecting the bed. Roughly, he stripped you of your bottoms, making you naked when he was still fully clothed. Then, to your horror, he assumed his usual position with his head between his legs, licking his chops like a hungry wolf.

“John!”

Mid-lick, he looked up at you, frozen in place,

“What?”

You didn’t have a chance to say anything. Keeping his eyes on you, he continued toward his destination, licking and sucking on your folds, ignoring your worried throat noises.

“You can’t! It’s…it’s gross, right?”

He mumbled, his mouth full of pussy between phrases,

“No, sweet girl, mmph, ‘s good. Gets my blood up. Cock’s gonna be achin’ in a moment.”

You tried to relax, even getting close to coming since you were so sensitive, but as he licked you, your shame became too much. You thought he was just appeasing you,

“John, please. You don’t have to pretend…”

He was on you in a flash. His hand slipped around your neck, crushing your jawbone, forcing you to look at him in the face, snarling at you like a hound,

“Are you really trying to keep this pussy from me? I don’t care if you bleed every day for the rest of your goddamn life. This is my cunt, and I’m starving for it. You know your safe word. Use it!”

His sudden aggression stunned you. Price waited, patiently, knowing you needed time to think. He was already covered in red smears, his mouth and beard caked in your blood and sparkling with your slick.

You looked up at him, eyes worried and full of past pains,

“Are you sure?”

The captain smiled maliciously,

“Does this feel sure to you?”

Your heart almost stopped when you felt him slap his cock on your thigh, letting you feel the heaviness of his impossibly hard erection. Your face must have worn your shock all over it because he chuckled darkly, obviously feeling vindicated.

“That’s what I thought, love. Now, can I get back to my mission, or do you need to stop?”

You stared at him for a while, searching for any deception. Finding none, you shook your head, giving him free reign to proceed as he saw fit.

Price was such a grizzly when he needed to be, roaring to stand his ground, but you knew that, with just one word from you, he’d release you, forfeiting his claim at your whim. You couldn’t believe that he wasn’t repulsed. If anything, he was turned on.

He ate you like a man possessed, sucking at you and covering his cheeks and lips and nose in red, sticky blood, not giving a shit about the mess. Your thighs were covered. You could feel every bit of effort he put into making you come, and he seemed to be celebrating each and every moment you moaned or jolted your hips up towards his waiting mouth.

Then, he reached his hand up toward your hole, sinking two of his fingers into you as deep as they would go, massaging your walls in slow circles as he pushed inside. You groaned in a deep, guttural voice, feeling like your whole body was quivering for his touch. Watching as he pulled his hand out to thrust into you again, you saw the dark burgundy fluid that had fallen from your womb.

Price paid it no mind. He was too busy humping his cock into his other hand to care, readying himself for your shared pleasure. He began fucking you on his hand in earnest, his knuckles hitting that space between, sending shocks of pleasure through your body, the wet, milking sounds echoing in the room with both of your ragged moans.

“Oh, fuck, love,” he grunted, “you’re damn well flooded.”

He licked his lips, smearing your blood with his tongue. Then, he bent to suck your clit again, groaning as he did, making it vibrate with his low voice. Even when he made you come from his lurid efforts, he didn’t let up. If anything, it made him wilder to see your redness staining his hand.

Finally, he pulled away from you, and he used his dripping hand to stain his cockhead, lubing himself up for his entry. There was little resistance to him as he pushed forward into you. That was very abnormal for your coupling. He was heavy and thick, and it usually took quite a bit of grinding to reach your warm middle. Not tonight.

Tonight, his head sank all the way to your womb, pressing against the soft, sensitive flesh like a wet kiss, and he was beside himself,

“Fuuuuuckin’ hell…” he growled, “That’s good. So. Damn. Wet.”

Each word was a struggle, punctuated by his rough thrusts. As he fucked you, you felt your blood and come coating the skin between you, making a mess of your thighs and ass cheeks, dripping down onto the towel and onto his balls and legs. His face was still covered in blood, as were his hands. He was rubbing his hand on his chest, enjoying the slippery feeling over his nipple, taking turns rubbing your breasts as well. Your skin had red streaks all over it, painted like a Pollock.

He didn’t last long, and just when he was ready to come, he pulled his cock out to explode all over your belly, rubbing his dick on you and smearing your fluids across your skin.

The aftermath looked like a war zone. He didn’t help you to the shower until he had repeated his sanguine worship twice again, each time more feral, almost animalistic. It was as if it made him hungrier, watching your blood dry sticky and dark on your body. When you finally walked to the bathroom with him, he made you stand with him in front of the mirror, dipping his finger into you like an ink well, painting more lines and shapes across his ruined face and body, eating it, marking himself with your blood.

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #cod #john price #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #captain john price smut #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #only the bravest will reblog #i salute you #omg what have i done #afab reader #Female reader #x female reader

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ddejavvu · 10 months

Text

Love to Lie - Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader (Part 3) / Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 4 (Final Part)

Summary: Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

Contents/Warnings: fem!reader, Mitchell!reader, angst, angst with a fluffy/happy ending, amnesia trope, hospitals and their subsequent medical details, memory loss, goose and carole are still alive because i say so

WC: 16.1K (again...? somehow?) / navigation / inbox

A/N: ...surpriiiise! this is not the end 😭 i'm sorry to deviate from my original plan, but life got in the way a lot, so now there will be four parts to this series, this is the second-to-last. I'm sorry to keep you waiting, it just didn't work out the way I wanted it to. The real final part to this series will be posted one week from today. I hope you all understand, and I hope you enjoy this part and all of the drama that comes with it!

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

Your eyes blink open far too early. It’s due to your side, there’s a draft that’s worked its way over your skin and raised tiny goosebumps over your thigh. You’ve woken up differently than how you’d fallen asleep ,and you suspect that you’d wormed your way into Bradley’s chest again in your slumber. You can’t blame yourself, it’s a comfortable place to be.

You push against his abdomen to wriggle your way out of his embrace and reclaim the blanket that’s fallen, but his hands tug you closer in an instant. Too fast, you decide, as you peer through the darkness of your bedroom, eyes adjusting groggily to the light.

“Brad?” You whisper, “Are you awake?”

He takes a moment to answer, and you think he might be pretending to be asleep. But eventually you feel him nod against his pillow, “Yeah.”

“Oh, honey,” You strain to reach the bedside lamp from your spot in his grip, especially considering any distance you create between the two of you, he closes. Once you finally click the light on you see his bloodshot eyes, red and rosy from their lack of sleep.

“What’s the matter?” You croon, your voice still thick with sleep as you cup his cheek in your palm, “Why are you awake, did you have a nightmare?”

“No,” He rasps, something desperately sad in his voice, “I never slept.”

“What-” You whirl your glance around to the bedside clock that reads 2:30, “Brad, you’ve been awake the whole time?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” He defends, his fingers curling around your waist, “I- I don’t know how anymore.”

“Baby,” You feel a thick wave of nausea rising in your belly at his state of distress, feeling nothing but anguish for the broken boy; your broken boy, “It’s okay. You’re okay, you’re safe now, you’re home. You don’t- uh, do you remember anything new?”

“No,” He shakes his head, eyes downcast as he swallows tightly in his throat, “No, but my brain is coming up with a thousand different ways it could have gone, and I can’t stop.”

You hope his brain hasn’t conjured the correct possibility. That he’d gone down truly alone.

“Poor baby,” You whimper, somehow more choked up than he is, “Come here.”

As he settles in your embrace, his head against your chest now, you reconsider: maybe you were made for holding him, and he was made to be held by you. Or maybe your roles are the same, each made to hold and be held by each other. Whatever the universe designed for you, it’s working, as his face presses into your collarbones like a puzzle piece snapping into place. He fits perfectly, and you feel the prickle of his mustache as he sniffles, once.

“You’re okay,” You hum, hoping that the vibrations of your voice through your throat sing him to sleep. Your nails scrape through his hair, long-since dried from his shower, though still smelling strongly of shampoo. You can feel him breathing, shakily so, against your skin, and the breeze fans through the neckline of your top, warm and soft in its rhythm.

In, out. He’s alive. In, out. He’s here. In, out. He loves you. In, out. He wants you to stay.

In, out. He doesn’t know. In, out. He could remember at any second. In, out. He could hate you.

In, out. He won’t hate you. In, out. He’ll want to work things out. In, out. He’ll want you to stay. In, out. He loves you.

“Baby,” You croak, your throat thick with tears that are part anxiety, and part anguish for your poor boy, “I love you.”

His hands tighten around your waist after a split second of silence, then he murmurs against your collarbone, “I love you, too.”

“Sleep,” You insist, resuming your soft strokes through his hair, “Sleep, Brad. You’re safe, you’re home.”

“You’re home, too.” He adds, and you realize it’s an affirmation on its own. That you're together; that he didn't die alone in a cockpit.

You nod, swallowing a sob, “Yeah, baby, I’m home too. And I’m not leaving, I’m gonna park my ass right here until you get eight hours of sleep, at least. Got it?”

He laughs weakly into your skin, “Got it, babe.”

“Good,” You whisper, keeping up a steady rhythm through his hair, “Good, honey, now sleep.”

You can’t seem to close your eyes until Bradley closes his own. You feel the flutter of his lashes against your skin, Then they cease their motions and the upper strands settle over the lower ones, brushing your chest in tandem. The longer you go without feeling them twitch, the better, and you don’t stop combing through his hair until his breathing has been soft and even for ten minutes minimum. Then exhaustion creeps back over you, and the knowledge that Bradley’s finally sleeping eases you into another few hours of your own slumber.

What wakes you up for the second time isn’t the series of knocks on the front door, but, yet again, a phone call. It's seemingly a pattern of late. This time your phone rings in the kitchen though, where you’d left it last night while eating. You’re surprised it hasn’t died, but you hear the ringing fade out while you lay in Bradley’s embrace. Your brain struggles to process the past 48 hours, but you know enough about the situation to know that it’s probably Carole knocking at the door, as well as calling you when you don’t answer.

Bradley’s still sleeping, thank god, serene when his eyes aren’t open to showcase the deep anxiety they hold. You can’t imagine how he feels, clueless and terrified, like a little kid. You’re glad he’s getting at least a few restful hours, even if you’re sure his dad and yours’ voices will boom far too loud through the house the second they step through the door.

Rushing to answer the door is hard to do silently, but when your face pops into the window panes set in the wood, you hold a finger over your lips.

Shush, you warn, then with a jerk of your thumb backwards towards the bedroom, he’s sleeping.

Carole, the one who needs your warning the least, nods jovially, a pretty smile already set on her face for the day. She’s a ray of sunshine, and you’re lucky to have her at this moment especially. Nick and your dad salute you, and you’ve never let out a more exasperated sigh than the one you greet them with.

“Mornin’, Sleeping Beauty,” Nick grins, barging in like he owns the place (which he did, for a while), “Brad still conked out?”

“Yeah,” You nod, opening the door wider to let everyone through. Carole’s carrying an insulated bag, your dad has a few totes of groceries, and Nick's got a heavy cooler strapped over his shoulder like a purse.

“My god,” You marvel, “Did you raid a Trader Joe’s?”

“You said there was nothin’ in the fridge,” Carole grins, “We brought stuff for breakfast, and whatever else you need, we can run out for later.”

“Thanks,” You gush, taking the bag from her despite her protests, “Is there milk in here?”

“And eggs,” Your dad nods, holding up his own bags, “And bread, and fruit, and-”

“And I wanna put this thing down,” Nick groans, heading for the kitchen with the cooler, “You talk too much, Mav.”

“Me- I talk too much?” His voice raises a hair as he heads for the kitchen in tow, and you and Carole shoot him the necessary disapproving looks, “This, from the guy who missed his flight to Hawaii because he was too busy telling the gate attendant that his son won student of the week in preschool.”

The two conveniently bicker, leaving you and Carole alone in the entryway. She sends you a questioning glance, no words needed.

“Not yet,” You mutter, and her eyes dim in disappointment, “I just- I wanted one night. One night to pretend like nothing happened at all, but I promised him we’d do it today. I told him,” You sigh shakily, pinching at the bridge of your nose, “I told him I wasn’t trying to hide from him, or anything like that, but- but that I just wanted a normal night. He said it was fine, he agreed. I wouldn’t have just gone to sleep if he pushed.”

“Honey!” She scolds, like there’s not a thought in your head, “Since when has he ever pushed you? Of course he said it was fine, you asked him for it! He'd let you run him over with a train if you asked to. You have got to stop this,” She narrows her eyes at you, the expression accompanied by various only-slightly-muffled banging sounds from the kitchen “I know it’s scary. I know it could go a lotta different ways. But you owe this to him now. Now that he knows, now that he’s askin’ questions, you’ve gotta answer ‘em. You’re the only one that can, you’re the only one that knows!”

Neither of you have noticed your dad standing in the kitchen doorway. But he’s not stealthy, and his broad frame catches your eye. You turn, panicked, but his face reads confusion.

“You’re the only one that knows what?” He queries, one thick brow raised. Carole waits for you to answer, and you build the courage in your chest.

“Nothing, dad. I’ll- I’ll talk to you about it later. In private.”

He remains concerned, his light eyes darkened in worry, but he trusts you, and Carole doesn’t fight back against your solution. He nods once, then clears his throat, “Nick can’t figure out how to work your stove. He wants to make pancakes.”

“Ooh, that man,” Carole huffs, more exasperated than upset, as she storms into the kitchen, “Honey, it’s the dial in the back!”

Technically, you’re in private now. Your dad seems to realize the same, shifting towards you, but before he can ask, there’s a thud from the bedroom.

Fear stabs your heart like a sword, blade sharp and venomous as you imagine an injured Bradley unable to get himself off of the floor. But you aren’t able to take two steps towards the bedroom before Bradley comes stumbling down the hall, nearly tripping over the too-long pajama pants you’re still matching in.

When he sees you and your dad, he freezes for a moment, posture tight. You hope he’s not embarrassed to be caught in his holiday pajamas, but you’re more concerned about why he was sprinting in the first place.

“Baby,” You call worriedly, making your way over to him across the carpet of the hallway, “Baby, what’s wrong? DId you fall? I heard a thud.”

“No, I-” He shakes his head, blinking hard for a moment, “I heard someone in the house. I don’t- I thought someone had broken in. Sweetheart, I- I didn't even realize you weren't in bed," He chuckles sheepishly, "I thought I was protecting you.”

You squeeze his arm with a fond smile, though you're still worried about him, adoration swelling in your chest alongside concern, "Poor baby."

“Sorry, Brad,” Your dad laughs softly, heading back towards the doorway to rejoin the others once he realizes you won’t be sharing just yet, “Your dad can’t find his way around a kitchen.”

“Should have known,” Bradley huffs, curling an arm around your waist, “If my mom ever left him he’d never eat again.”

You welcome the privacy that this gives you and Bradley, and your hands find the broad expanse of his chest as you stare worriedly up at him.

“Brad,” You hum, lifting one of your hands as his settle on your waist. You lay it over his cheek and he leans into the contact like a touch-starved puppy, “Are you sure you’re okay? You seemed really freaked out. And- and your ribs are still broken, don’t they hurt? I think you should get back in bed. We can-”

“Hey,” Bradley murmurs, mustache tickling your palm as he lays a kiss to the heel of your hand, “It’s alright. You’re spiraling, babe. I’m okay.”

You like that about him, the way he kisses you anywhere. It doesn’t seem to matter if he catches your lips, your hand, your elbow; it’s all there for him to love on.

“I am not spiraling,” You defend weakly, “I just want to make sure you’re alright. Did you hurt yourself?”

“No,” He shakes his head, and when you move to pull your hand away from his face, one of his own flies to catch it. His hand fits just as well against the back of yours as it does the front, and you let him cradle your palm to his cheek.

“I’m okay,” He repeats, a promise that reassures the deep ache of worry in your chest, “Thanks for helping me sleep last night, honey. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You swallow the weight of his words, feeling them settle like boulders in your stomach. They’ve tangled strings around your heart, tugging and yanking at the organ until it sinks low in your body. Today’s the last day you can pretend you’d never walked away.

“You’ll have me forever,” You hum, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips that you hope distracts from the tears in your eyes. You sigh shakily against his mouth, relishing the feeling of his lips against your own. It’s comforting, and he keeps it chaste but meaningful, humming sweetly into you. When you break away only your lips part, foreheads and noses still flush like snapped-in puzzle pieces.

There’s some inexplicable force sticking you together, blood magnetized to each other’s from how long your hearts have beat as one. You let your eyes slip shut in his hold, hoping with everything in you that today isn’t the last time you’ll get to hold him like this. There’s a countdown ticking away in your brain, one that makes your blood run cold and your stomach churn, but the smell of pancake batter tears you away from watching the numbers run out.

“Pancakes,” You whisper softly against his lips, “You wanna eat?”

“Yeah,” He nods, but he makes no move towards the kitchen. He’s standing still, like you’re a cat that’s decided to snooze on his lap and he’s afraid of spooking you. His hands are still holding your waist, dragging you into him and supporting your weight against his own. It’s comfortable there, serene as you breathe in tandem, drinking each other in after a rough night. You’re glad Bradley’s gotten even a little bit of sleep, and with a nap later, you’re sure he’ll be well-rested enough to talk, even though you wish you didn’t have to. This is a fantasy you want to get lost in, one that you wish wasn’t starting to crack and splinter under his discerning gaze. It’s endearing that he knows you well enough to know that you’re lying to him, but not now that you want them to be the truth.

“You still haven’t remembered anything?” You ask, grateful to be cupping his cheek where his hand holds your own.

“Nope,” He shakes his head as much as he can with it pressed to your own, kissing at your top lip. It doesn’t require reciprocation, it’s barely-there and fleeting, “Doctor said it could be weeks.”

“He also said it could be minutes,” You mumble, voice hazy with worry, “Let’s go eat, Brad. Our parents brought along a buffet.”

It’s only now that either of you finally move, hands sliding across each others’ skin to join together. You walk as your fingers intertwine, and he holds back to let you step into the kitchen first.

“There he is!” Nick cheers at his son’s dramatic entrance, “Hey, Brad, watch this!”

He yanks the pan off of the stove, standing with his shoulders squared and his knees bent, like he’s preparing to bat at a softball. He jerks the pan up and out, dislodging the pancake from its resting place and sending it into the air when he pulls the pan back down again. It flips gracefully, but Nick catches it less so, half of the gooey side of the pancake landing on the rim of the pan and splattering onto his hand.

“Shit,” He hisses, and Carole buries her face in her hands with a sigh, “Mav, get me a paper towel.”

“Nice one, dad,” Bradley drawls, letting you stifle your laugh into his shoulder, “You could go pro with that.”

“If you make fun of me I’ll spit in the batter,” Nick grumbles as your dad swipes away the batter dripping inches away from his watch, “Thanks, Mav.”

The paper towel and pancake mishap are forgotten as you chat in the kitchen, standing around like a proper family. You’ve always been one, and you hope you always will be. You find an easy home tucked into Bradley’s side, feeling his thumb stroke at your waist and his lips press to your hair every few minutes. The pancakes go surprisingly fast, and Carole refuses to let anyone help her slice fruit, which is probably a good idea, at least for your dad, who’s fond of showing off knife tricks he hasn’t yet mastered.

Bradley’s perfectly capable of dressing his own pancakes up, but you feel the need to. Maybe it’s girlfriend duty, maybe it’s the fact that his ribs are still achy, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re trying to overcompensate, but whatever it is has your hand delving into the bowl of freshly washed blueberries, grabbing a handful and sprinkling them over Bradley’s buttered stack of pancakes. Then you take a banana, leaving Carole three more to slice up into the salad.

You slice the fruit towards your thumb, the blade pressing gently to your skin as it cuts through the banana. It doesn’t hurt, but Bradley reaches for your hands, pulling the knife away and holding the affected thumb.

“Don’t do it like that,” He explains, raising your thumb to his lips. He kisses it once, his lips pressing to the smooth pad of your finger, mustache tickling your skin, “I don’t want you to cut yourself.”

“I was careful,” You insist, but the last thing you want to do is pull away from Bradley, so you let him curl his fingers around your own, interlocking them as he holds your hand.

“I’ll cut it,” He squeezes your hand, leaning in to peck softly at your lips, “You’ve done a ton for me these past few days, babe. I can cut my own banana.”

You worry you’re coming off as smothering, that you’ve suffocated him with care. But the thought of never being able to do it again, and being deprived of the option to for weeks, has made you more of a helicopter girlfriend than anything.

You let him cut his own banana, just in case he’s feeling resentment towards you for being so overbearing. But you don’t think he’s angry, not as he slices the banana down onto the cutting board and takes it between his thumb and forefinger. He holds it out for you, right up to your lips like you shouldn’t even be asked the effort of leaning forwards to eat it. You take it carefully from his hand, and you lament the fact that you’ll get banana mush on his thumb if you try kissing it.

The fruit is flavorful on your tongue, but it’s a small slice, and you finish it quickly. You let the aftertaste linger in your mouth as you head for Bradley at the counter, pushing your face into his back and slinging your arms around his waist. You’re careful to keep pressure off of his aching ribs, and he leans into your touch instead of flinching away.

You settle your cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt, head turned so that you’re facing your houseguests. They’re all smiling at you, Carole most of all, and you offer them a sleepy one back.

“So, Brad,” Nick muses, plating the final pancake with a flourish that, thankfully, doesn’t send the stack toppling to the ground, “What are you gonna do today?”

“Nap,” Bradley blurts, and he uses the time that your family chuckles in unison to slip you another banana slice. It’s an awkward angle that his arm has to achieve, but you take it from him happily, jaw working to munch on the fruit while you nestle against his back once more.

“I dunno,” He hums, nearly through chopping the banana, “Maybe a movie or something. Hey, we could finish season 5 of The Office.”

“Mm,” You nod with a mouthful of banana against his back, “Yeah.”

You’ve been watching the series together, having finished Friends already. It’s a good show to watch before bed, because it gives you something to snuggle up together and giggle at. You’ve only got a few episodes left in the season, so you should be able to finish it in no time with Bradley’s extensive bedrest.

“Alright, my loves,” Carole croons, dropping the last two pieces of watermelon she’d been cutting into the bowl, “That’s the fruit! Are we ready to eat?”

A round of excitement circles the kitchen, and you cling to Bradley for as long as you can. He lets you, doesn’t try to shake you off as he drizzles syrup over his pancakes.

“You wanna split ‘em?” He offers, and you nod. He can’t see you, but he feels the movement against his back, and even if he wasn’t able to, he knows you well enough to know you’ll want bites of the food. You reluctantly let go of his waist when he picks the plate up, and you trail behind him to the dining room. He’s finally able to see the decorations you’d hung, and he stops to admire them in the doorway.

“Welcome home,” You coo, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Carole stands proud beneath the banner, “Do you like it, baby?”

“Guys-,” Bradley chuckles sheepishly, setting the pancakes down at his place just beside yours, “I love it. Thank you, even though I was only gone for two days.”

“It was the longest two days of my life,” You gripe, but you suppose your days have been unpleasantly long for weeks now, “That’s what I was referring to, by the way, when I said your mom was scarily agile. I came out from the bedroom to find her standing on both the couch and the table.”

“Jesus,” Bradley huffs, bewildered. Nick looks a little concerned, Carole bashful, and your dad impressed.

Eating around the table together reminds you of when you were younger, dinners and breakfasts and lunches alike being shared around the table. It didn’t matter who’s, you could turn a Denny’s booth into your home with a few plates of food and the laughter that’s never in short supply within your family.

Bradley cuts his pancakes himself, probably happy to have something to do with his hands. He’s eager to return the favor of feeding you, grabbing chunks of pancake on the end of his fork and guiding them into your mouth. You’re reminded of a picture you’d passed up in the photo album yesterday, of Bradley spoon-feeding you as a baby. His utensil-airplane impression was probably scarily accurate thanks to his dad; you wish you could remember it. Maybe, if you don't break up tonight, you'll see him feed your own kid that way.

You’re happy to sit and be fed, even letting him wipe syrup off of your chin like you’d done for him. You’re sure the only reason he doesn’t kiss it off of you is because your dad is there, and his, too. They have a tendency to make fun of you, even if it’s all good-natured.

“D’you need more groceries, baby?” Carole points her fork in your direction, pointedly swallowing her mouthful of watermelon before speaking.

Her husband doesn’t offer you the same courtesy, speaking through a messy mouthful of eggs, “Pro’lly not. We damn near bought out the store.”

Before Carole can reprimand him for his less-than-perfect etiquette, you nod, “We need produce. We might be okay on fruit if there’s any of this left,” You gesture to the bowl of fruit salad, “But we need vegetables. And eggs, we probably used them all. I’ll make a list later, once I clean up.”

“Once we clean up,” Bradley corrects you, “I’ve been in bed for two days straight, I need to do something.”

“You’re gonna need to be in bed for a lot longer than two days,” You narrow your eyes at him, “You need rest, baby,”

“I’m rested! And I’m gonna rest later when we watch our show,” He pleads, “Just let me help?”

“Why doesn’t he help me with the dishes?” Your dad intervenes, scraping his last bite of pancake through a sticky puddle of syrup on his plate. It’s boysenberry, and a drop nearly falls to your tablecloth as he brings it to his mouth.

“You wash, I’ll dry and put away. That way you can keep your arms down. Deal?”

“Fine by me,” Bradley nods, and you shoot your dad a thankful glance.

“I’ll sort through the fridge then,” You decide, “Nick, Carole, you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

“We’re gonna keep bummin’ ‘round here ‘til you stop feeding us,” Nick decides, “Whaddya say honey, ‘think we can move into the guest room?”

“Oh I’m sure they’d love that,” Carole plays along, a wry drawl in her voice, “They’d have to hear your snoring all night.”

“He snores, too,” You jerk an accusatory thumb at Bradley who doesn’t even try to deny the allegation, “Like father, like son. It must come with the mustache.”

“Speaking of my mustache,” Bradley’s hand flies to his lip, feeling cautiously at the patch of hair atop it, “Did they- shave part of my mustache?”

A guilty look is shared around the table. You speak up in a meek voice, “Yeah, baby. To get the breathing tube in there.”

He groans, “Next time, just let me die.”

“Don’t say that,” You hiss, stomping on his foot beneath the table. The yelp that he lets out is almost comical, but Carole’s face is still scrunched in a disapproving frown at her son.

“I’m sorry!” Bradley cries, “I’m sorry, jesus, are you wearing steel-toed boots under there?”

“No, but if you keep making jokes like that, I’ll put some on and kick you in the balls.” You threaten, and Bradley thinks it might be a promise.

“It’s not funny,” Carole insists, voice weaker than yours, “Brad, you- you almost did die.”

“Mom-” He sighs weakly, posture deflating, “I’m sorry. Really, it was a bad joke. I won’t do it again. Are you okay?”

She takes a minute to think, blinking at her plate instead of meeting anyone’s eyes. Then she stands, nodding hastily, “I’m alright. I just need a minute.”

Bradley tries to follow after her but Nick stands at the same moment, waving him back down into his seat.

“She’s okay,” He promises, smiling sadly at his son, “But she really was scared. I’ll handle it, you finish eating.”

Bradley slumps back into his seat, the sinking feeling in his gut at making his mom cry probably similar to the one in yours from lying to him. You’ve become scarily fond of this temporary life of yours, where you’re still dating Bradley, and you’ve got a family again. Lying comes easy now, and if you don’t think about it, you’ll forget you’re even doing it. You’re the actor most dedicated to their craft, believing even your own performance because it means you get Bradley back.

Lying is much easier when you love doing it.

You hear a rogue sniffle from Carole down the hall, and you clatter your fork against your plate to cover it up. It probably doesn’t work, as Bradley stares forlornly at his own almost-empty plate, and you don’t think he has the appetite to finish it.

“Are you done?” You nudge his knee, and he glances up dazedly at you.

“Yeah,” His throat is dry and his voice is weary, “You want the rest?”

“I’m okay,” You shake your head, turning to your dad, “Dad? You all finished?”

“Yeah,” He smiles weakly, trying to break the awkward silence, “Ready to clean up the kitchen, Brad?”

“Alright,” He hums, standing from his chair. His movements are slow and sluggish, and you don’t think he’ll be at his best until his mom comes out with dry cheeks and a smile. In the meantime, you dig in the cupboards for a tupperware to put the fruit salad in.

Cleaning is tense, even if you and your dad try acting like nothing is wrong. Bradley’s not talkative anymore, and you resort to going about your business silently, packing the fridge with what little leftovers there are and making sure Bradley isn’t straining himself at the sink.

When Nick and Carole emerge from the bathroom, peering tentatively into the kitchen, Bradley nearly drops the last plate he’s washing into the sink. He hastily dries his hands, moving in for a hug from his mother while she smiles sheepishly at him.

“I’m sorry,” He repeats, and Nick smiles on. You try not to stare, not to ruin their moment, but you can’t help it; you and your dad share a happy grin.

“I know, baby,” She promises, combing a hand through the back of his hair, “I know, I just- I just get worried about you, s’all. ‘Specially when you land yourself in the hospital.”

“No more jokes,” Bradley promises, and she gratefully parrots him, adding 'and no more crashes,'.

“Alright,” You hum, when it’s appropriate to speak, “I’m gonna run to the store. Brad, you should get back in bed, but- uh, again, you’re all welcome to stay for longer, if you’d like.”

“I’ll go with you,” Your dad steps in, almost too close to be casual. You realize why, and that sinking feeling you’d been trying to ignore the entire morning comes back; He wants to know your secret.

“Okay,” You nod, trying to keep your composure even if your hands suddenly feel sweaty, “We won’t be gone long. Babe, get some rest, I mean it.”

You narrow your eyes at Bradley, then turn to Nick and Carole, “If you stick around, will you be on babysitting duty? Don’t let him wander around too much.”

“Will do,” Nick nods once, firmly, “Come on, Lieutenant, you heard your orders.”

“Alright, alright,” He gripes, rolling his eyes exasperatedly as Nick pats his back. He moves towards you, stepping across the kitchen tile to kiss you goodbye.

“Get me some cheetos,” He pleads, face only inches away from your own. He leans in and his mouth moves against yours as he speaks, “The jalapeno ones?”

“Okay,” You giggle, dragging out the last syllable. You use his lips to chase away your nerves, letting his sweet touch drown out the thoughts in your head. You kiss him briefly once, then twice, and send him off to bed with a quick nudge of your nose against his own.

“Bye,” Your dad flashes one hand in a quick wave as you call, ‘Be back soon!’.”

He doesn’t make his move the second the door shuts, he waits until you get going down the road in Bradley’s Bronco before opening his mouth.

“So,” He tries coming off as casual but you wouldn’t buy it in a million years, “What was Carole talking about earlier?”

“I didn’t want to tell you,” You confess, suddenly very invested in checking your blind spot even though it’s clear, “I wanted to keep it private. I didn’t even want her to know.”

“Well, she knows everything,” Your dad shrugs, discerning eyes glancing at your own guarded ones through the mirror, “And I’m usually out of the loop. Can we change that just this once?”

“Dad-” You scoff at his persistence, running a hand over your face and slapping it back onto the wheel, “Something happened between Bradley and I before the crash.”

“Something happened,” Your dad muses, brain trekking heartbreakingly positive routes, “You… paid off the cars? You bought a pet? You- oh god, don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”

“No!” You gush, but it’s not for a lack of sex, merely your use of contraceptives, “I- um, he asked me to marry him.”

You feel cruel when you see his face light up. It’s like the inflation of a balloon, features rising in joy until his eyes shine like the sun, “Oh, honey, that’s amazing. Congratulations! Have you set a date, or- or a venue, or-”

“I said no.”

The balloon deflates slightly. A tiny puff of air escapes it, like you’ve released your fingers around its spout for only a second. His eyes dull slightly, and his smile is cautiously still stretching his cheeks.

“What?”

“I said no, dad.” You repeat, voice aching in your throat, “I said no, and I left him.”

“You left him?” Your dad’s voice mirrors your own, bordering on shaky as his brain reprograms its image of you two, “You- you said no and you left him?”

“Yeah,” You whimper, the word coming out far weaker than you wish it did. Your mouth turns down so that you can bite the inside of your bottom lip, desperately withholding a sob.

“Why?”

That’s the million dollar question. The one you know the answer to, but don’t want to admit to anyone. You left because you were scared of getting hurt, and now you’re lying to everyone because you’re scared they’ll see you as a coward. You’re scared they’ll think you’re scared.

You’re scared they’ll know you’re scared.

You want to tell your dad that you don’t know. You want to tell him that it had been a fit of insanity, that you’d been cured with a walk around the block and that you’d kissed and made up just that night. But you swallow your nerves, squaring your shoulders as you make a right turn, “I was scared.”

You’d admitted it to Carole in the hospital, but she’d seen right through you, she’d forced your confession. Doing it now, by choice, makes you feel like you’re taking a step forward. It’s like you’re actually cracking down on the promise you’d made to yourself days ago, that you’d stop running just to self-destruct. You’re not facing your dad in the seat but it feels like you’re facing off with some sort of formless, panic-driven entity that encapsulates him, and slowly you’re chipping away at it.

“I was scared because marriage seems so much more than dating does. We’ve been dating- forever. The only thing marriage would have changed was that we’d have a paper telling us we loved each other. I mean,” You laugh, but the sound is reminiscent of a sob, “-we always joked about being too lazy to get married. That we didn’t do it for 20 years because we already practically were, and we didn’t wanna waste gas money for some preacher to tell us we were. But- but anyways, after Javy’s crash, I was remembering Nick’s, and I started worrying about Bradley. I was sad and scared for Nick and Javy, I couldn’t imagine being in that situation with Bradley. So when he asked me to marry him, it felt like if I said yes I’d be signing onto that. I- I know that’s dumb, and that’s not what saying yes meant. But I had this awful panic running through my head; that he could crash at any point in time, and if I didn’t get out soon, I’d be heartbroken and terrified like everyone else was, and I didn’t wanna go through that again. So I- I said no, and I told him I couldn’t love him anymore, and I left, because I thought that I’d be okay if I just didn’t marry him. Like I could have- moved on in the two days I wasn’t living with him, or something. Like if I just wasn’t formally dating him, or married to him, I wouldn’t be hurt if he was.”

“And-” You break away, voice trembling and nose running, “It didn’t even work. I walked out, and he still crashed, and I still got hurt. I didn’t solve anything, I- I made it worse. I made it so much worse, dad.”

You’ve turned into the grocery store parking lot, and a terrible, stiff, heavy silence hangs over the car while you park it. You wait until you shut it off, engine puttering out and body no longer humming, to look at him.

He’s staring at his lap, crystal-clear tears sliding down his cheeks. He isn’t looking at you, but you’re sure he knows you’re looking at him, and it turns your stomach in a nauseous whirl.

You stare for five seconds before he speaks. Five agonizing, soul-crushing, terrifying seconds where you think you might be on the verge of being disowned.

“I was never good at commitment,” His small voice breaks the silence, and the breath that he drags in to push the words out is shaky, “And- neither was your mom. Obviously. So I shouldn’t be surprised that it runs in the family. But- but Y/N, you left? You have been in love with Bradley since before you could say the word, I mean he- he was the only one that could get you to stop crying before your naps as a kid! You wouldn’t sleep unless he was in the room, I’m surprised Nick and Carole didn’t move him in with us.”

“I know,” You croak, but he’s not finished.

“I- I understand your thought process.” He assures you, “It’s flawed, but I understand how your brain conjured it up. You were trying to save yourself, and I understand that instinct. I just can’t believe it happened between you two. I mean, you were fated, I thought you two would set the world record for longest relationship. You were gonna go gray together, you were gonna have a thousand kids, and-”

“Dad!’ You cry, a sob shaking your chest, “I know. I get it. You’re making this worse.”

“How could I possibly make this worse?” He laughs incredulously, but there’s not a shred of humor in his voice, “Y/N, I-” He lowers his voice, cutting some of the exasperation out of his tone, “I don’t even understand, why is he- oh.. my god.”

“He doesn’t know,” Your dad concludes, head knocked back against the headrest, “He doesn’t know you left him because he has amnesia.”

“Yeah,” You confirm, voice meek and shameful, “I- I was gonna leave after I knew he was okay. But then- then Carole figured us out, and she said it would be better if I pretended for now, because he was probably scared and he needed my comfort in the moment. She said to just let him remember on his own time and then address it, to- to not overwhelm him with a plane crash and a breakup.”

“But I- I thought he’d have his memory back by now,” You sniffle, wiping your nose with your hand, caring little about the mess, “The doctor said minutes, I didn’t think it’d go on for days. And now I’m starting to get worried, will- will he ever remember? Am I supposed to lie to him for the rest of my life? Or am I supposed to leave again, to confess and break his heart a second time? I don’t know what to do, dad!” You feel like a little girl, sobbing in her father’s lap, “Please, I- I don’t know what to do.”

You’re immensely relieved when he reaches over to take your hand. You’ve spent the last two weeks disgusted with yourself, and for your dad to react the way he did, you were afraid he felt the same. But he squeezes your hand tight, and you’d complain about how it squished your fingers together if it were any other situation.

“Honey,” His voice trembles, and you recall the only times you’ve ever seen him cry. After Goose’s accident, of course, when you’d broken your arm at the park when you were twelve, when the dog he’d gotten for you as a birthday present passed on. He’s a man of very little tears, so seeing them now moves you.

“I love you,” He promises, and you’re glad that hasn’t changed, “And I’m always going to, even if you do the wrong thing. And this was wrong, that- that was the wrong thing. But I think you can make it right again, and if you need my help doing that, it’s yours.”

“Thanks, dad,” You gush through a faceful of tears, a wet mess sliding down your chin and soaking through the neckline of your shirt, “I- I want to make it right. Carole thinks he’ll take me back if I apologize. And I want to, I want to apologize.”

“Yeah,” Your dad’s brows raise and he sniffles, wiping a tear from his face, “Yeah, that’s a good start. I think he’d forgive you for just about anything, I- I don’t know that you could ever drive him away.”

“That’s what Carole said," You recall, and you feel guilty for the hope it gives you.

“But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt him.” Your dad reminds you, and you nod.

“I’m gonna grovel.” You decide, “Like, hardcore, begging on my knees, ‘I’ll-do-anything-for-you-to-forgive-me’ groveling.”

“I think that’s your best bet,” Your dad lets out a huff of laughter, smearing away another tear, “I think you can do it. But I can’t promise it’ll be easy.”

“I know,” You lament, “But- but I don’t care. I’ll do it even if it's hard. He’s worth fighting for.”

“That’s my girl,” Your dad grins, squeezing your hand. It feels like you’re back on the peewee soccer field at age four after scoring a goal. You squeeze back, and have a sudden hankering for orange slices.

“Okay, let’s stop fucking crying,” He breathes, wiping at his eyes overzealously and sniffling hard. You should have known he’d pump up the dramatics, even in serious situations.

“Alright,” You laugh wetly, the sound infused with hope you wouldn’t feel if it weren’t for your dad, “Do you think they’ll be able to tell we were crying?”

You share a quick once-over with your dad, clocking his red eyes, puffy towards the bottom, and equally rosy nose. You’re sure your face is just as swollen, and he cracks a grin.

“Nah,” He shakes his head, “Definitely not.”

The next thing you share is a laugh, cranking the car’s AC on high so that your tears dry up quicker. Maybe they’ll even freeze right on your cheeks, so that you can save them and defrost the memory later to feel your dad’s love again.

“You heard the lady,” Nick calls to Bradley when he reaches for the dish he’d abandoned in the sink, “Head to bed, Brad. I’ll finish the dishes.”

“It’s one plate!” Bradley gripes, but Carole’s dangerous glances towards him works just as effectively as it had when he was younger, and he grumbles, “Fine.”

“Sweet dreams,” Nick jeers after him as he shuffles back to your shared bedroom, but Carole nudges him towards the sink with a scoff.

“Stop teasin’ him, and get to work, busboy. I expect the counters wiped, too!”

“Call me goddamn Cinderella,” Goose grumbles, but he’d wipe down the floor before every step she took if she asked him to. He gets to work with no protest.

Carole treads carefully down the hallway, hoping her son is dressed sufficiently for her presence in the room. She finds him swapping out his pillow for yours, and she lingers in the doorway with a careful smile.

“Hey, babycakes. Gonna nap?”

“Maybe,” Bradley nods, hair already mussed from the pillow, “Thanks for staying, mom.”

“Of course, baby,” Her heart aches for her son, being on the brink of death and not even remembering it. Being so close to losing his life and not knowing how it felt. Just knowing that it happened; knowing that it didn’t happen.

“You told me when you were twelve that you were too old for me to tuck you in,” She pushes off of where she’s leaning against the doorway, coming around the bed to Bradley’s side to fuss with the blankets, “But you’re probably still weak from the crash, and you couldn’t push me away if you tried.”

He lets out a laugh, one that’s rife with exhaustion but genuine all the same, as she digs her hands beneath his sides, tucking the comforter beneath him. She braces her hands on the mattress to lean down and kiss his forehead, and when she does, the tips of her fingers are pricked by the sharp corner of something she can’t see under the pillow beside him.

“Ouch! What-” She hisses, nearly face-planting over Bradley’s shoulder as she lifts the pillow. She stiffens when she realizes it’s a picture of you, framed in black wood and probably missing from his nightstand.

“I- I’m sorry.” She mumbles as he lays frozen and awkward in place, “I didn’t mean to pry. It just- it was sharp, and I was confused. If I'd known-”

“It’s alright, mom.” Bradley promises weakly, clearly embarrassed by her discovery, “Don’t worry about it.”

Carole is worried. She moves in again for the forehead kiss, letting it linger against Bradley’s forehead for a second longer than she needs to. She fights back tears when she pulls away, barely able to muster a smile.

“She’s just goin’ to the store,” She teases sweetly, “She’s not shippin’ off to war. That’s your job.”

“Yeah,” He laughs weakly, “I know. I just miss her.”

She agrees as she combs through his caramel-colored hair with one hand, “Yeah? Tell me about it, baby. What’s going on?”

She wants to hear it from him. She wants to know exactly what he’s thought of your careful deception, and see if she can offer him even miniscule relief towards your possibly suspicious behavior. It’s hard playing a double agent, but she loves you both too much to pick a side.

“Mom,” He takes a long pause before speaking, gnawing on the inside of his cheek like it’s gristle he’s working through, “I lied.”

She racks her brain, were the pancakes not good? Did he not want her to tuck him in? Does he wish they’d gone home so that he could have a moment of silence?

“Oh, yeah? About what, baby?”

“I…” Bradley starts, looking like the words are making him nauseous, rolling his stomach as they crawl out of his mouth, “I remember everything.”

Carole’s the one that’s going to be sick. Her stomach has only dropped so fast twice in her life, receiving the news of both of her boys’ crashes. It’s the hardest thing in the world to keep a straight face, but she allows it to drop slightly so that it looks like she’s just shocked by the news.

“What?" Perhaps her voice is louder than it should be, but she can't control it, "Your memories are back?’

“Yeah. I- I remember it all. And Mom-”

“Brad,” Nick calls from down the hallway, barreling into the room in his typical dramatic , “You- she said your memories are back?”

They freeze like he’s torn an irreparable hole in the delicate conversation. He’s always had a habit of bringing life into a room, but the subject matter had been killing them both, and his energy is the opposite of what they both need to finish it.

“Yeah, dad.” Bradley breathes, a sheen of uncontrollable tears glazing over his eyes that he prays no one sees, “I remember everything.”

“That’s great!” Nick cheers, giddy demeanor slowly dying as no one else smiles, “...Isn’t it? What’s- why are you crying, Brad?”

Carole turns to see for herself, and swallows a sob as she reaches over to wipe the single tear away that had managed to escape down his left cheek. At her touch his face crumples, and what must be a million more tears flood his face.

“Woah, hey,” Nick sits at the end of the bed, face finally drained of all happiness, “What’s the matter, Brad?”

“S’okay baby,” Carole promises, her own voice shaky, “You’re okay, Bradley. You can talk to us, you can tell us anything. What’s the trouble?”

“She left.” Bradley whimpers, overhead light illuminating every single crystalline tear that rushes in a waterfall down his face. He gasps for breath, choking on a cry when he tries to speak over it, “She- she left me!”

“Bradley,” Carole rushes to soothe him, smoothing her hands over his cheeks and slipping one behind his neck, “Sit up baby. Come here, sit up, talk to us.”

He lets Nick help her tug him off of the mattress, and he slumps forward into Carole’s embrace when she pulls him into a hug. He doesn’t even turn his head to bury his face into her shoulder, he just cries against her, limp like a ragdoll.

She presses rapidfire kisses to his temple, tears flowing down her own cheeks. She heard your side of the story first, she knows you had your reasons and your fears and your regrets, but watching Bradley fall apart is planting an ugly seed of anger towards you within her chest. She hates it because she loves you, but she wants her son to be okay again.

“Brad-man,” Nick splutters warily, “Y/N? Bud, she just went to the store. She’ll be back in, like, an hour, tops. No need for tears, son.”

“Nick,” Carole hisses, wishing she wasn’t so angry with him for not knowing the truth. She shouldn’t either, so she pets Bradley’s hair down to distract herself from giving anything away, “Baby, what do you mean?”

“She left,” Bradley repeats, crying defeatedly, his posture slumped and his tears thick and plentiful, “I asked her to- to marry me, and she left.”

Nick is finally silent. His spine stiffens, and Carole guesses a shiver ran up it. He looks at her bewilderedly, bordering on horrified, and she stares back, wishing for the third time in her life that she could turn back time.

“Brad,” Nick starts carefully, voice weak, “Do you- do you think you might be misremembering things, bud? I trust you, and- and obviously this means a lot to you. But that- maybe your concussion’s messin’ with your head. Are you sure that happened?”

“I’m sure, dad.” Bradley had the option to respond with a lot more malice than he chooses to, the words coming out miserable instead, “She left me, and now she’s pretending she never did, because she thinks I don’t remember.”

“She left you,” NIck repeats, still skeptical, “And she’s- she’s lying? Why would she-”

“I hope she never stops,” Bradley croaks, throat raw from sobs, “I hope she lies to me forever.”

Carole’s breath is knocked out of her chest. She manages a soft, teary, ‘What?’, and Bradley straightens up from where he’d been lying in her embrace.

“She left two weeks ago,” Bradley recalls, a stray sob bouncin his chest, “And- and it was hell. I lived in hell for two weeks. I thought she’d stay with Phoenix or something, but I- I checked, and her location was always some cheap motel. At first I thought- well, I was worried she was seeing someone else, or something. Y’know, motels have,” He sniffles, “-bad reputations. So I didn’t go see her. I thought she was over me or something. But she’s- that’s not her. That’s not my girl. So I was going to show up on Friday, give her until the end of the week to cool off, and bring her flowers. Chocolates, ice cream, movies-” He rambles, “Whatever. I wanted to make her fall in love with me again. But- I mean, that didn’t fucking work, did it?”

Carole’s too distraught to scold him for his language. He deserves it, he deserves to climb onto the roof and shout ‘fuck!’ as loud as he wants. The situation is truly fucked, there’s no other word for it.

Her chest ripples with a sob, and Nick’s hand comes to rub her back. Up and down, in soft, soothing motions that remind her why she fell for him.

“And- and then I woke up in the hospital, and my head was fuzzy, and my memories were gone. And the doctor told me I had amnesia, and she- she freaked. She ran off, she made that shitty bathroom excuse. I thought she was just going to cry, and- and didn’t want anyone seeing her. But everything came back to me while you two were outside,” Bradley glances guiltily at Carole, “-and- and I was gonna beg her to stay when she came back. But then- she asked to kiss me,” He whimpers, face held tight in a twisted grimace as he tries not to sob again, “-and I had a choice. I realized she was pretending, that- that it never happened. And I could choose to confess to remembering the truth, and lose her all over again, or-” Bradley shuts his eyes, squeezing a tear out of the left one, “Or pretend I didn’t know. And I wanted her- I needed her, so I pretended. I let her kiss me, and I let her-” He sniffles hard, “I let her hold my hand, and I let her feed me, and I let her lie to me. I loved it,” He cries, shoulders shaking with sobs, “I loved it when she lied to me. And I don’t want her to stop. At- at first, I thought she’d confess. That she’d tell me so that we could forgive and forget, or- or at least move forward. Because I want to, I want to forgive her, I already have, but she just won’t tell me anything happened. She was so-” He considers, voice heavy with despair, “So sweet in the hospital. It felt like nothing had happened at all, and I thought we could go back to that. We got so damn close,” He recalls, “We were- we were in the hospital room, alone, and she was just starting to tell me, and a fucking nurse walked in. We were this close!” Bradley sobs, fingers held a few tantalizing centimeters apart, “But now- now she keeps dodging the questions, and I started realizing that she-” He sniffles roughly, “-she might not want me back. She might leave if she knows I know. She’s doing it out of pity,” He chokes on his words, “So now I can’t tell her. Now I have to lie unless I want to lose her.”

Nick looks sick to his stomach, and Carole feels the same. They’re sharing horrified glances, but neither wants to berate him for lying to them. Nick reaches out to hold Bradley’s hand, and he squeezes it reassuringly.

“I get it, Brad. I do. I- if you don’t mind me asking, why did she leave? I thought-” He trails off, picking back up with even less confidence, “I thought you were soulmates, or something.”

“Yeah.” Bradley breathes, nodding, “I did, too. But she- she told me she couldn’t love me anymore. And I didn’t want to make her.”

“She told you she couldn’t love you anymore?” Nick rears back to stare questioningly at Carole, “What does that mean?”

“She’d been weird lately,” Bradley admits, “Sort of withdrawn. She wasn’t as enthusiastic in the mornings, when I’d go to work. But she always seemed fine when I came back- great, even. And I just figured she wasn’t sleeping right. But- but since Coyote crashed, I've been... scared. I had this sort of epiphany, that I could die any day and she’d be left all alone. I could die before we got married, I could die before we had kids, I could die before I got to grow old with her. I mean, I knew it was a risk,” He reasons, “But that was real. I watched that happen, and I watched his girlfriend sob in the waiting room, and I realized that could be Y/N. And I didn’t want my girlfriend terrified outside my hospital room, I wanted to say goodbye to my wife. So I thought-” He wipes a tear from his cheek, rough enough to leave it stained red, “I thought if I married her, things would be better. More secure. And she’d know that even if I died, I’d love her forever. Because that’s what marriage is, that’s- that’s what we were.”

“So I ignored the way she was acting,” Bradley laments, “I- I pushed it aside as sleep deprivation, and I pulled out a ring, and I asked her if she’d marry me. And she- she just flipped. Her eyes got all wide, and I kept waiting for her to say ‘yes’, but- but she stood up instead, and she said no. She said she wasn’t ready, that- that she couldn’t do this. That she couldn’t marry me, that she couldn’t love me anymore. And I was-” He breaks into a sob, “I was so confused. I was so hurt, because- because what? What- where did that come from? I thought she loved me,” He cries, “I thought she’d love me forever. And all of a sudden, she just can’t anymore? What happened, did- did she not want to be with me forever? Was twenty years not enough? To convince her that I was enough? I was so terrified, and I had this disgusting, sinking feeling as she was rambling about it, and she headed for the door, and I- I panicked.”

Bradley pants between sentences, breathing heavy and labored as tears spill down his cheeks. “I followed her, and I caught her by the door, and I- I begged her not to go, I told her that we could work it out, that we didn’t have to get married, that I’d make everything okay again. But she still left,” Bradley cries, “She still left me, and she didn’t come back.”

“Bradley,” Nick breathes, a hand on his knee, “Shit, Brad. I’m sorry.”

“Baby,” Carole croons, leaning in to brace her forehead against his temple, “Baby, I’m so sorry. She’s- I wish she hadn’t done that.”

“Me too,” Bradley laughs, a humorless huff after he’s gotten enough control of himself to where he doesn’t sob, “But- but she’s pretending now. And if I confess to remembering, she’ll stop. And she’ll leave. She’s- she’s doing it out of pity,” Bradley drearily repeats, “Because she doesn’t want to drop a bomb on me after I fell out of the sky. And I know it’s not right to take advantage of it, to- to lie, but if it’s what I have to do to keep her with me-”

“No,” Nick shakes his head, “Brad, you can’t lie forever.”

“I can,” Bradley insists, “Dad, I have to.”

“You can’t,” Nick urges, “Brad, think about it. You really think she’d be kissin’ you if she didn’t love you? You think she’d have slept in here with you last night if she didn’t want to? You listen to me, boy. I don’t know why she left. I don’t know why she ‘couldn’t’ love you all of a sudden. But I know it’s bullshit, ‘cause she does. Something happened, and you need to talk about it with her. But spending your entire life living a lie isn’t right. That ain’t fair, to you or her. Tell her, Brad. Tell her you know.”

“I can’t! Not yet. I’ll- I’ll make her fall in love with me again. I know I can do it, I know I can convince her I’m worth it. That she can keep loving me. I’m not going to hold her captive, I just- I just want enough time to make her fall for me again, and then she won’t be lying about the love, then it’ll be real love, and that’s what I want. I can’t tell her yet, not until she really loves me again.”

“You have to tell her now, baby,” Carole concludes softly, gentle with her son’s broken heart and panicked brain, “Wouldn’t it be better if she knew? Then you could talk, and- and kiss and make up, that sort of thing. This is- a lie, Bradley, even if it's only temporary in your mind. You’re both lying to each other, and that’s not love."

“It’s all I’ve got,” Bradley breathes, tilting his tear-stained, blotchy face towards the light overhead. His eyes are shut, delicately so, and his lashes are clumped with tears. He sniffles, nose scrunching, and takes a deep breath before looking back at his parents.

“I know she said she can’t love me anymore, whatever that means. But like I said, I’m gonna win her over again, mom. I need her to love me, and if my options are letting her lie to me, or losing her, then I’m gonna let her lie to me until she doesn’t have to anymore. Until it’s real.”

Carole wants to scream at her son. She wants to sit you down beside him and scream something along the lines of ‘Would you confess already? Tell each other the truth, and get married!’. But she chooses a gentler approach, leaning in to wipe away what she hopes is the last of Bradley’s tears.

“I don’t think you should avoid it, baby,” She hums, keeping her voice soft and sweet so that Bradley takes it as friendly advice, and not a mother’s nagging, “I think you should tell her that you remember it all, and ask her what went wrong. Ask her why she felt like she couldn’t love you anymore, figure out what the problem was. Because if you know what the problem was, you can fix it.”

“But what if I can't-?” Bradley hums, and Carole snaps.

“Oh, of course you can fix it.” A residual dry sob splits her thought in half, “You two could fix world hunger if you did it together. Your dad’s right. She still loves you, even if she thinks she can’t. You might have to help her see that she still can, Brad. That she still does.”

“But I could lose her.” Bradley concludes glumly, “And I can’t lose her. So I can’t tell her the truth. I- I thought I lost her today." His shoulders tighten as he remembers, "I was trying to stay awake the whole night, just in case she tried slipping out before morning. But she caught me, and she-” He lets out a sob that hurts his throat, “She held me, and she lulled me to sleep, and I’ve never felt safer. But then I woke up, and she was gone, and the bed was empty, and- and I ran out to see if I could find her, and she was just in the hall. Talking to Mav. But I thought-” He can’t finish his sentence, shaking his head instead and starting over, “I can’t tell her the truth yet. I’ll lose her.”

They’re all running in circles, and it’s making Carole insane. She bites her lip to stop from confessing, then rises to her feet, Nick following after her.

“Sleep on it,” She suggests, smoothing out the bedsheets where she’d sat, “And she’ll be back by the time you wake up. I think you should tell her,” She repeats, “She loves you, Brad. Goodnight.”

Nick takes his leave as well, nodding at his wife’s words. Bradley slumps back against his- your pillow, one hand already snaking beneath the opposite one to retrieve your picture.

Nick barely waits until Carole’s shut the door behind her before turning on her, “What the fuck?”

“Move,” She urges in a hissing whisper. She grabs his bicep, dragging him away from the door. She doesn’t feel safe talking anywhere in the house, paranoid that Bradley could hear, but she pushes NIck down into a seat at the table, and huddles close to him to murmur, “I knew.”

“You- you what?” Nick’s voice goes up in volume, and Carole is sure she spits a little bit when she shushes him.

“I knew,” She repeats, “I knew she left him. She told me at the hospital.”

“Why am I never in the loop?” NIck groans, looking thoroughly confused, “Wait, so you knew the entire time? Like, from day 1?”

“Day one of the hospital,” She nods, “She didn’t tell me when it happened, she waited until I asked where her ring was after his crash. I knew he was gonna ask her, but he told me to keep it a secret ‘cause he wanted to do a big reveal. But I noticed she didn’t have it on in the hospital, and I asked, and she burst into tears. Started ramblin’ about how she was freaked out, and how she fled, and wasn’t ever brave enough to come back.”

“Why,” Nick presses, “Why was she freaking out? What’s the ‘can’t love you anymore’ bullshit?”

“She got scared after Javy went down,” Carole recalls, “She said it took her back to your crash, and she realized all of a sudden that it could happen to Brad, too. And she didn’t wanna do that again, 'didn’t wanna sit in a hospital chair and wait to see if someone she loved had stopped breathing. So she’d been freakin’ out since Javy crashed, then all of a sudden Bradley proposes, and- bam,” She sighs, “Everything fell apart. I mean it was a recipe for disaster, the crash made her pull away, and it made him want to be closer than ever, and they never addressed it, so when they clashed, it just-” She rubs her temples, staring up at Nick through her lashes, “Unraveled. But this is good. This is- this is really good, Nick. He wants her back, he wants another shot. And so does she. We’ve been talkin’, and she wishes she’d never left in the first place. I told her she should confess later tonight, now- that was before I knew he already knows, of course. But- but they’ll talk tonight, and she’ll tell him what happened, and she’ll ask to fix things, and he’ll want that, too. It’s gonna be okay, Nick, they’re gonna be okay. They’ll be fine by the end of the night, I guarantee it.”

“My head is spinning,” Nick scoffs, dragging a hand down his mustache and tugging lightly on the ends, “So- so they both know, they just don’t know they know, but we know that they know, and we know that they don’t know they know, and-” He gives up, “I don’t know.”

“That’s about right,” Carole nods, eyes bugging for a moment before she heaves another sigh, “I think she’s tellin’ Mav about it now. He overheard us talking about a secret, that secret. So when he volunteered to go shopping with her I figured he was gonna ask. And I don’t think she’d lie to him, I don’t think she could if she tried.”

“This is all so goddamn complicated,” Nick laments, clearing a crumb off of the table, but ultimately just flicking it onto the floor, “We were easy, babe. I mean, we locked eyes and I was having visions of you in a white dress.”

“Stop,” Carole gushes, but a smile is growing on her face, “Love is complicated sometimes! Doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

“I’m just glad none of this shit happens to us,” Nick grins, holding out a hand, “You and me, honey, we’re easy love.”

“Don’t say it like that!” Carole gushes, though she gives him her hand willingly, “What are we, hippies?”

“I said easy, not free,” Nick laughs, “Nothin’ about our wedding was free, baby.”

“But you’d pay it all again, for me, wouldn’t you?” She narrows her eyes unamused at him, and he squeezes her hand.

“Honey, I’d spend every cent to my name just to be able to marry you over again.” Nick swears, and it’s the truth, they both know it. Carole gives him one of her sweet smiles, the one he’d fallen in love with, and each has renewed hope for you and Bradley. You’re in love just the same as them, and if they’ve got it worked out, so will you.

Grocery shopping with your dad is harder than you’d remembered, because now you’re the adult paying with your own money, and he’s the child throwing cookies and chips galore into the cart. You’re surprised you have any money left when you exit the supermarket, but you’re sure to pack 3 bags of Bradley’s cheetos into your stash. You wonder how he’s doing; if he’s asleep, if he’s fighting his parents to stay upright while they try to get him to rest, if he’s suddenly remembered everything he’d forgotten and now they’re helping him pack his things.

The thought of him leaving you makes your stomach burn white hot with fear, and you consider speeding home. But the load of groceries you’d gotten might have depleted any money you’d be able to pay the fine with, and you’re not keen on going to prison. So you and your dad drive home within the speed limit, and he helps you carry the bulging bags inside.

You’re simultaneously desperate to see Bradley, and hoping that you don’t when you walk in. On one hand, you hope he’s resting, napping in your bed like you’d asked him to. But on the other, if you don’t see him when you walk in, that means he might not even be in the house, and maybe you were right to catastrophize, maybe he’s gone, maybe he’s left you and asked his parents to drive him to the airport, and maybe he’s blocked you and told his teammates how awful you are, and-

And his parents are sitting on the couch. They turn back to smile at you when you come in, and both stand to help you with your bags. Your dad insists that he can manage all five that he’d lifted out of the car, but you’re eager to let Nick steal two of yours, and Carole takes the last one even though you tell her you can manage.

You busy yourself with putting the groceries away, and your dad busies himself with raiding the bags for the snacks he’d picked out. You’re sure he’ll slip a $20 into your purse later, he’s never let you pay for him, but he loves teasing you like he’ll dine and dash.

“Alright,” He announces, with hands full of junk food, “I’m outta here. I’m gonna head back home, I need to stock my pantry, then make dinner.”

“And that dinner wouldn’t be mint chip oreos, would it?” Carole raises an unimpressed brow at him and his junk food stash, and he rolls his eyes fondly at the woman.

“No. Penny has requested a very complicated pasta dish for tonight that I need at least three hours to make in case I mess up the first batch and need to restock ingredients to try it again. I think she’s testing me.”

“Good luck, buddy.” Nick claps your dad on the back, “Hope you pass.”

“Yeah,” Your dad’s eyes go wide, a sigh escaping him, “Me too. Y/N, uh-”

“Tell him.” Carole cuts in, eyes as intense as you’ve ever seen them despite the smile on her face. You know she means business, and you don’t blame her.

Nick doesn't look confused by her cryptic, vague statement, and you assume she’s filled him in. You suppose it’s only fair, because your dad knows now, too, but you hadn’t planned on making it a public affair. Nick doesn’t seem to despise you, though, in fact he sends you a reassuring smile as he herds Carole to the door.

“We’re going, too. He’s asleep,” He nods toward your bedroom, “Tell him, honey.”

Your suspicions are confirmed; he knows. You nod hesitantly, watching them pile into the entryway and take their empty grocery bags with them. All except for your dad, of course, who packs his snacks into one. You’re hit with an overwhelming sense of being blessed, not necessarily with divine miracles, but with people who just might be them. They’ve come, they’ve given you food, love, and encouragement, and they’re leaving so that you can have a chance at fixing up the best part of your life.

If they notice your teary eyes when you wave goodbye, they don’t mention it.

The groceries are put away, and you have no desire to take down the decorations. Not when you’re aching with fatigue, not when your emotions have gotten the best of you for two weeks. You don’t have much energy for anything anymore, and you haven’t since you’d left Bradley. You wonder, if the worst happens, and he doesn’t forgive you, will you ever stop being tired? Is it Bradley that energizes you, is it the love that he’s so ready and willing to give you that keeps you going?

You’d like to think you’d be able to pick yourself back up, dust yourself off, and move on with your life, but after twenty years of loving Bradley and being loved back by him, you know this is the only life worth living.

You drag your exhausted limbs down the hallway, cracking open the door to find that Nick was telling the truth - he’s fast asleep.

He’s on his stomach, his cheek squished sideways against the pillow. He’s snoring lightly, a sound that you should despise, but that prompts a grin over your face. You feel nothing but soft, sweet love for him in this moment, your snoozy boy.

You’re more than happy to crawl in beside him, barely remembering to take your shoes off before getting beneath the sheets. It’s warm beneath the blanket, the safe kind of warmth that draws you in with the promise of drowsy cuddles and whispered proclamations of love. You do just that as you snuggle up to Bradley’s side, adoring the way that he moves in his sleep to curl around you even if he doesn’t know you’re there.

“I love you, Brad,” You whisper against his temple, kissing his hairline and the prickly whisps that sit at its border. He’s roused from his sleep from how close you’d spoken to his ear, and it looks physically painful for him to open his eyes. He does, though, lifting his face so that his chin perches on your chest. He blinks blearily at you, once, twice, probably drowsy out of his mind.

“Hm?”

His voice is groggy, thick with sleep. It’s the most endearing sound you’ve ever heard, and you crane your neck forwards to bump your nose into his as you repeat it: “I love you, Brad.”

His typical puppyish aura becomes more cat-like as he smushes his face into your own, nose smearing against your skin and forehead bumping into yours. He hums deep in his throat, happy to have you beside him as his hands wind tightly around your waist.

“Love you too, babe.” He rasps, “Gonna sleep w’me?”

“Yeah,” You whisper, smoothing his hair out of his face, “Lay down, baby, I’ll rub your back.”

His only reply is plopping his face back down into your chest, cheek chubbed up where it rests on your shirt. He’s out like a light almost as soon as you start raking your fingers up and down his back, ghosting them over his skin like you’re trying to do it without him knowing.

You know he’s sleeping by now, you know he doesn’t need you to keep doing it, but the fact that you get to feels like a gift, and you occupy yourself with the task of scrawling random designs over his back for a few minutes longer. Swirls and waves turn into a curve down his spine, and then you connect it with an identical one over his other side; a heart. One heart becomes two, then three, and all of a sudden he’s covered in them. You’re carving paths into his skin, digging heart-shaped trenches down his back like you’re walking the same path in a dirt road every single day. You wonder if he’d look good with them tattooed, an expansive mural of your love on his back for only you to see.

All of a sudden hearts aren’t enough.

LOVE

YOU

You trace letters into his back, your nail scraping slightly on every curve of your finger. He shivers slightly at the bottom half of the ‘y’, and you bite back a giggle as he nestles further into you.

You don’t stop there.

YOU

ARE

CUTE

It seems only appropriate with the way he’s snuggled up to you like a sleepy puppy, desperate to press every inch of his body against your own.

LOVE

YOU

Again, then- your breath catches in your throat as you remember.

I’M

SORRY

Tears prick at your eyes when his arms tighten infinitesimally around your waist, a sleepy hum oozing from his throat like sweet honey, slow and sugary. You’re worried he’s awake, that he’s caught onto what you’re doing, and wants to talk. You know you have to tell him, you just don’t want to.

But he settles without so much as the blink of an eye, and you wait only a quick second to start using his back as your diary once more.

I’M

SORRY

WISH

I’D

STAYED

LOVE

YOU

You feel absolutely pathetic. Tears have leaked down your face, sideways into the bases of your ears, creating an uncomfortable wet sensation that you’d rather there not be. You’re trying to hold in a sob so that you don’t wake him, but it hurts. Your throat aches from holding in your anguish, and your chest aches with the knowledge that everything you’ve done with Bradley over the past few days could be your last time doing it with him. This morning could have been your last morning with him, this nap could be your last nap with him, the kiss you strain to press to his forehead could be the last kiss you ever give him. It’s all too much, and your finger tapers off in its pursuit of tracing your love letters onto his back.

You wrap your arms around him instead, a difficult position to maintain while simultaneously trying to sleep, but all you want is to drift off in his embrace, just in case this is the last time you’ll ever do it.

Between your exhaustion and your despair, the former wins out. You finally drift off into a dreamless sleep, burdened by the ever-present threat of this being the last day you can pretend like this. You’re talking tonight, whether you like it or not, and the thought plagues what could have been a very relaxing, rejuvenating nap with your lover.

Instead you wake up possibly less refreshed than before, bleary eyes blinking despite a pounding headache behind your eyes. The sun has shifted over the blankets you’re under, and Bradley isn’t on top of you anymore, he’s by your side. You’ve swapped positions, and you don’t know how he’d managed to maneuver you onto his chest without waking you, but he’s always exceptionally careful with you, so you’re sure you’d slept like a baby the entire time.

He’s still in his fuzzy pajamas, and you wish you were, too. He’s holding his phone above your head, presumably scrolling through social media, or news headlines he’s forgotten about since his accident, and his eyes are fixed on the phone screen. You have a quick second to admire him before he realizes you’re up, and your eyes rove over his features. His lips are quirked up delicately in the corners, his mustache dipping down ever-so-slightly over his bottom lip. His eyes hold a fond look that reminds you of honey, paired excellently with his caramel-colored bedhead.

His color has returned completely; if you didn’t get the call that he’d been an inch from death, you wouldn’t know now. But you know his injuries are more internal, and you’re worried about how he’s laid you over his chest.

You’re in no rush to let him know you’re awake, so you ogle him some more. He swipes left a few times at the screen, and you think he might be looking between pictures. Of what, you’re not sure, maybe a tiktok slideshow of cute cats or of Hangman’s nieces at the playground. You’ve never met them, but the amount of pictures he sends of them makes it feel like you yourself gave birth to them.

He gets a notification and glances at it, but when his eyes drop back to the subject on the screen, they go lower than he’d intended, and he sees your open eyes blinking owlishly at him. In a second he’s forgotten about his phone, but he keeps it in his hand to avoid dropping it on your head.

His face doesn’t light up, it blooms. There’s no jarring explosion of happiness, no sudden firework show of joy, but his grin widens smooth and steady, like a vine crawling a garden wall. His eyes ooze with adoration, and you’d kiss them if that wouldn’t hurt him. His free hand tightens where it had been thrown around your waist, and he looks residually sleepy as he smiles down at you. He must not have woken very long ago.

“Hi, angel,” He hums, and you feel his slightly raspy voice vibrate through his chest. He leans forward to nudge his nose against yours, and you reciprocate like a cat in need of affection. You wriggle up by his side, peering at his screen while simultaneously nestling yourself against him.

It’s a picture of the two of you together.

You’re at the zoo, and there’s a giraffe behind you, eager to see if Bradley’s phone contained any lettuce. It didn’t, but after the animal had tested its theory Bradley’s right speaker wouldn’t work until he got it replaced. It was a very pricey snack. He gives you a moment to admire it, then swipes to the right, back to one of the pictures he’d been looking at before. It’s you pressed up against the glass at the penguin exhibit, one of the little birds curiously following your finger against the glass. He swipes rapidly now, all through photos of you, most containing him as well.

You realize he’s looking only at pictures of you, and your heart just about stops in your chest. It doesn’t know whether to swell with love for the boy, or shrivel at the knowledge that he might delete them when he knows the truth.

“Oh, Brad,” You breathe, “You’re looking at pictures of us?”

“Mostly us. A lot of just you, though,” He admits, “I’m trying to jog my memory.”

Oh.

��Oh.” You nod, “Is it-” You break off with a yawn, “Is it working?”

“No,” His smile dims, “Uh, not really. I don’t know. It’s like- I want them back, so this chunk of my life isn’t just missing. But I almost died- and,” He stops, eyes no longer focused on the screen, merely staring through it, “I don’t think I want to remember that.”

“I’m sorry, Brad.’ You tell hum, because you are. You’re sorry he can’t remember anything, you’re sorry he will remember everything, and you’re sorry you remember everything. “I’d swap with you in a second,” You promise, but it means more than you let on. You yearn for amnesia, you wish you didn’t have to remember making the stupidest mistake of your life and losing your love. You’d fall out of the sky if it meant you could forget what you’d done to him that night.

“I wouldn’t want you to,” He smiles sadly at you, kissing the crown of your head. “I’ll get through it. Whatever happens, s’long as I’ve got you.”

You hope he doesn't hear your voice tremble when you reply, “Yeah. You've got me.”

Bradley resumes scrolling through pictures, and his lips quirk up more at each image he sees.

“Remember this?” He angles the phone further towards you, “When Mav almost fell off of that fishing boat, and my dad almost fell in trying to stop him?”

“And your mom almost fell in laughing,” You grin, tucking the expression into his neck, “We should go fishing again, sometime.”

Hope blooms in his chest at your suggestion. He’s being extra endearing today, intent on reminding you just how much you used to love him. He wants to make himself worth it for you, he wants you to want to love him again, and the fact that you’ve suggested a future outing gives him hope that you might share that future together.

“We should,” He agrees, swiping to see a photo of you in his baseball cap, holding up a fish you’d caught with a giddy grin.

“Good catch,” He praises you, rubbing his arm up and down your side, “He looks surprised.”

“I would be too, if I ate a worm and it dragged me to some giants in a boat,” You shrug, “Plus, I let him go after. He was fine.”

“You’re a very ethical fisherman,” Bradley muses, “My dad only let his go because it flopped out of his hand.”

“He’s accidentally ethical,” You giggle, “The tail almost slapped him in the face.”

“I would have paid a fortune to see that,” Bradley gushes, his fingers digging ticklishly into your side, “Let’s hope he fishes up an old boot or something this time.”

“Like in a cartoon?” You rear back to laugh incredulously at Bradley, “I don’t think people really fish up boots, Brad.”

“I’ll chuck a boot in the lake just to see his face,” Bradley promises, and the giggles you two share harmonize the twang of your heartstrings.

The next photo Bradley swipes to is a New Year’s Eve one, your traditional pose with a much more confident kiss, this time around. It’s from this past year, and you marvel at how much you’ve both grown since the awkward teens you’d seen earlier.

“Oh, that reminds me,” You gush, almost kneeing him in the already-cracked ribs as you scramble for the photo album on the bookshelf, “Let’s look at these, Brad, they’re so cute.”

He almost points out the failure in your logic, even if he does want to see the pictures. He nearly asks you why you’d look at incredibly old pictures to jog recent memories, but then all of a sudden he’s hit with the thought that those might help his case, and he shuts up. He wants you to remember how much you used to love him, or, if you still do, how it was once worth it for you to do so. How once upon a time, you could love him, and maybe if you see enough baby pictures of the two of you together, loving each other since you’d opened your eyes for the first time, that maybe you’d decide you could love him again.

You rush back to the bed with the cover already cracked, though you show it off with a gooey grin, “You were enamored with me from the moment you saw me, Brad.”

“Of course I was,” He laughs, ringing his arm around your neck to hug you tight to his side while you flip to the first page. He peers at your scrunched-up baby face, vague memories of kissing your nose flashing through his mind from when you were younger, and it was the only thing that could get you to stop crying.

“You’ve always been the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen,” He swipes a finger over a photo of you together, stroking it along your cheek where he was feeding you mushed-up green beans. “See? I was so entranced I didn’t even notice you were about to kick me.”

He points to your tiny foot, clothed in a onesie with dogs on it, and poised ready to fire. You’d bet money that right after the photo had been taken, you had launched your foot into his knee, and you hope little Bradley wasn’t brought to tears over it.

“Sorry, baby,” You hum, voice just as sticky-sweet as your kiss is against his cheek. He leans into it, but you’re not expecting it, so you smear a bit more spit over his face than you’d intended to. However, when you laugh incredulously and try to wipe it off, he wriggles away from your shirtsleeve, insisting on keeping the mark.

“No! I fell out of the sky three days ago,” Bradley gripes, head held high, “I get to keep all of the gross kisses you give me.”

“I’d launch a gross kiss attack if I wasn’t worried about hurting your ribs,” You lament, settling back into his side, “Oh, Brad, look at this one!”

It was your first Halloween together. Bradley’s sporting a yellow hat in the picture, with bear ears on top, and a red shirt over his chubby baby belly. His pants are the same shade as his hat, and you’re the Piglet to his Winnie the Pooh as you sit in a pink onesie and matching ear-hat in his little lap.

You tug the photo out of its sleeve, reading Carole’s neat inscription on the back: Bradley cried just a few minutes after we took this, because we looked away for a second and when we turned back he was feeding Y/N a snickers bar. We didn’t mean to yell, but we freaked out and spooked him, and he wouldn’t stop crying unless we told him he could finish the rest of the bar. Winnie the Pooh does NOT like raised voices.

“Crybaby,” You tease, and Bradley groans.

“I was a kid! They yelled at me! Of course I cried!”

“Poor baby, you just wanted to feed me chocolate,” You croon, turning sympathetic at the sight of his exasperated brown eyes, “You’ve always been good to me, Brad.”

“Always,” He promises, squeezing you tighter, then pointing at the next page over, “Aw, look at this one. They dressed you up as the turkey for thanksgiving.”

“We fell asleep in front of the fire,” You recall, not from memory but from the stories you’ve been told, and the pictures you’d seen, “We were both milk drunk and stuffed from dinner.”

“Still nappin’ together all these years later,” Bradley grins, leaning in to brush his nose against yours.

“Let’s nap together forever,” You sigh as you nestle your cheek back against his arm. His confidence builds the more you suggest a future together, and he thinks that what his dad had been telling him might have been right; maybe you do still love him, maybe it’s not a lie. Maybe you do just need a little convincing, and he’s happy to show you how great he can be for you.

“Here’s my first snowman,” Bradley hums, pointing to a picture that’s exactly as it was described. You’re on vacation together and he’s the snowman, bundled in a thousand layers of winter gear and still shivering from the cold as Nick piles snow around him in three tiers. You're sitting off to his left, eating a chunk out of his icy side.

“Your little nose is so red!” You croon, nearly melting in fondness for baby Bradley, “He was so mean!”

“I’m surprised I didn’t get frostbite. I bet my mom gave him the lecture of a lifetime for that one.” Bradley snickers, “Mav probably had to take us both into the other room so she could swear.”

“She swore at me the other day,” You recall, and Bradley’s eyes nearly bug out of his head.

“What? Why?”

You realize too late that you can’t really tell him the reason, but you shake your head dismissively, “It was when we were at the hospital. She was just stressed, ‘s all.”

Bradley’s half worried about his mom, and half worried about you. He’s concerned that his accident had stressed her out enough to swear, something she never did, but he’s concerned that it had been at the wrong time for you, that she’d only made your secret situation worse by snapping at you for something unrelated.

You just hope he never finds out that she’d known from the start.

“Look,” You prompt, “There’s another picture of us napping in here, right-” You flip through a substantial amount of pages, “Here.”

Your finger lands on a photo of you and Bradley at fifteen, harboring crushes on each other almost too big to hide. It seems like everyone but yourselves had known you were going to get together, and you flash your dad’s inscription on the back at him with an exasperated smile.

Next time, I’m making them leave the door open when they study.

You’re definitely not doing anything scandalous, but years in the navy had taught your father to be hypervigilant around men. He’d rather you be with Bradley than absolutely anyone else in the world, of course, he knew the boy was kind-hearted, but he was still a boy, and it was difficult for him to be one-hundred percent on board with the situation while you were still teenagers.

You’re slumped against each other on the bed, being held up only by the other’s opposite weight. You’re balanced precariously, and if either of you had shifted slightly, you’d both have toppled. But it seems you’d dozed off while reading a Physics textbook, and you don’t blame yourself at all.

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt the phrase ‘walking down memory lane’ to be more accurate. Each turn of the page, each rectangular piece of photo paper tucked beneath its cellophane sleeve really does transport you back in time, and you feel like you’re holding Bradley’s hand while strolling through your memories. You want to steer clear of the dark, gaping hole on his own lane, and to do so, you flip to his twenty-first birthday photo.

It’s not one that your parents had taken; they don’t know it exists. Bradley’s crouched beneath you as you spit a shot into his mouth, probably spilling some onto the gray fabric of his t-shirt. You had still technically been twenty at the time, and you’d had his birthday party at your mutual friends’ apartment, with much less strict of a bouncer than the one at the bar. You’d both gotten hammered that night, and he doesn’t remember much, but Bradley can confidently say no one else got their shots by drinking them out of your mouth.

“That was hot,” Bradley informs you, “We should do that again soon.”

“Yeah, I don’t think concussions and alcohol mix,” You scoff, knocking your head against his own, “Ease up on the booze, Brad.”

“Oh, you’re such a worrier,” He teases, knowing full well you’re correct, “Look, there’s graduation.”

The college photo of you two is printed smaller here, and if you were an artist, you could draw it from memory. Every detail, the sprig of grass stuck to Bradley’s left sleeve, the slight squint to your eyes from the sun, everything is memorable because you’ve stared at it so many times.

“This is the one I keep under your pillow when you’re deployed,” You admit in a soft murmur, “It’s my favorite.”

Bradley means to respond to that, he really does. But there’s nothing he can think of saying that would be sufficient, nothing that could possibly convey the love and adoration he feels for you. Nothing that could tell you how lucky he is to love you, and to have been loved by you for all these years. And how terrified he is to lose you. The word deployment strikes a sour chord in his chest, and all of a sudden he’s wondering how he ever left you in the first place. Being at home while you were at the grocery store sent him into a spiral, he doesn’t know how he ever made it months without seeing you, hearing you, holding you.

“You gave up the Naval Academy for me,” You recall when he doesn’t respond, your voice quivering like a thin rope stretched tight, “I told you I was scared to go by myself, that I'd miss you, and you withheld your application from the academy. For me. Brad, you gave up your dream for me.”

It doesn’t take him any time at all to respond this time around, because the answer is easy and honest: “That’s not true. You were my dream, angel. You still are.”

“Brad,” Your face crumples, and you have to bury your face in his shoulder to withhold a sob. You clutch at the fabric of his shirt sleeve, heaving a heavy sigh once you’ve collected yourself, “I love you, Bradley. I- I want to fill out the rest of this book with you,” You reach for the pages, sticking your thumb into the spot between them where the album goes thin. You flip to the empty pages, “I want to sit in a home with you and stuff this book full with pictures of us all old and gray.” You sniffle, “I want to be with you forever, I- I want our grandchildren- no, our great-grandchildren to take the last pictures in this book,” You blubber, “I- I just love you so much.”

I love you.

I want to fill out the rest of this book with you.

I want to be with you forever.

I love you so much.

He hadn’t planned on rushing it. He wanted to draw it out, spend the next few days, weeks even, showing you how loved you are, and hoping you crawl out of your shell again, reciprocate the way you used to. But he can’t wait anymore, not now that you’ve told him you’re in this for life.

“Sweetheart,” Bradley gropes for the first drawer of his dresser with a blind, frantic hand. He locates the ring in no time flat, his other arm nearly crushing you into his side as he yanks the jewelry free of the sock it had been hidden under. He shoves it towards you, unceremonious, rushed, and messy, but with all the tender sweetness in his heart: “Y/N- Marry me?”

just a reminder in case you didn't read my author's note: life got in the way and I wasn't able to include their big talk in this part, but i've just extended it to a fourth part that will be posted next week! i'm sorry to keep you waiting longer, some very heavy stuff has gone on in my life lately and it was very hard to work on this. i hope you enjoyed, and i hope you understand! i'm sorry again for not finishing it when i said i would </3 buttt did you see the plot twist coming? i'm eager to hear what you think >:))))

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

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lazyneonrabbitt · 2 months

Text

Beef

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Requested : "Could you do a Daryl x reader where at first he doesn’t like her, and she tries to get to know why hes so mean to her? Maybe he yells at her and then some comfort after?" EDIT: I saw this same request being written by another writer and I want to say, don't send multiple writers the same exact request. I find this super disrespectful.

This one took some turns of its own while writing, I hope it's to your liking!!

When his group first came to the community you were excited. Finally you'd have a real huntsman around to share experiences with, you had missed it so bad.

Before the fall your family owned a shop, your father a butcher and your mother a taxidermist. You and your siblings learned every skill from hunting to skinning, prepping and using each part of the animal so none would go to waste. You hadn't hunted in so long, you weren't sure if you still could hunt succesfully. Even now you'd donate large, strong antlers and bones to the blacksmith in Hilltop to use in weaponmaking. You donated the furs you didn't fashion into items yourself to the seamstresses and prepped each type of meat for meals.

But somehow the new hunter didn't take the shared interests as something positive.

He brought you animals, yes. But never without throwing a judgy look around your workplace. Even when he came in with someone else who'd compliment your clean work he'd only scoff, dump his kills and head back out.

"Sheesh, what crawled up his ass?" The large moustached man laughed. You only shrugged as you lugged the deer behind your counter. "Hell if I know. Ain't digging it out tho. He seems to be doing okay with everyone except for me.." You returned the laugh while the man who's name slipped your mind helped you put the deer on your workbench, only to quickly drop the fake smile and leaning against your workbench.

You thanked him with a sigh and he gave you that look that told you to spill your thoughts.

"Fine. It sucks he's so weird. It'd be awesome to have a partner to do all of this with and to go hunt with." You busied yourself sharpening yuour knives, clearly still annoyed by the whole ordeal. "And..?" The long winded drawl made you roll your eyes at the man's persistance.

"And he's drop dead gorgeous, okay? There. I said it. I have a crush on the man. Happy no-- Ah fuck!" Your knife hit the floor with a clatter as you grabbed at your bleeding hand.

"Alright, up and out withya. To the doc we go." You were led to the infirmary and passed the source of your annoyance on the way.

Not that you were listening, but you still caught his voice in passing. "Damn folk 'ere don't know how ta do shit." You caught his glance in your direction and if you weren't busy keeping yourself from bleeding out you'd confront him.

It was a clear message that you weren't allowed to use the injured hand for your work and risk pulling the stitches, and honestly it just hurt too much to do anything with it. It sucked even more than having to leave your old home behind. There were people counting on your work so they'd have food.

It didn't stop you from going to work and doing as much as you could one-handed. You got there extra early to make up for the extra rime everything would take now, and by the time you'd normally open you found Deanna on your steps, greeting you with her usual smile. "I knew you'd be here stil working, but I brought someone to help until your hand is better. You shouldn't be overworking yourself."

As quick as she had entered she had left again as well, leaving you with your new work companion.

The hunter.

"Good morning." You gave him the kindest smile you could, but were only given a grunt in return as he tossed a bundle of tied up small game on your desk, rounded the corner and fished for a knife to start taking them apart.

Besides you explaining where to put all the different parts of the animal you two barely spoke, until the snap of bone pulled you away from your focused work of skinning yesterday's deer. "The hell?" You turned around to go see what he was up to.

"What are you breaking bones for?" His station was a mess, he pointed at the difficult point he was cuting along. "Easier ta reach without the bone in the way." Without even looking he continued. "Ya should know tha'. Damn city girl doin' mah work."

Again with his snarky comments. You shrugged it off and went back to your own station. Yiur bkood bloiled but you weren't gonna let him get to you, you had work to get done. "Try not to do that, we can still use the bones if you keep them whole."

You tried so hard to focus on your work, skinning the deer with only one functional hand was so difficult and even though you were having extremely conflicted feelings about it you still had to ask him for help.

"Can I borrow your hands for a minute? Can't do this on my own."

You held the large deer up and moved it as Daryl cut away the skin in the most choppy manner, creating a clear line where you stopped and he started. "Can you please work a bit mote delicate? That's gonna take me ages to clean up." You huffed from keeping the deer in place, but also annoyance. Why didn't he work like a hunter? He must know the code, right?

"Why're ya so on mah ass 'bout how I work? Gon' toss it out anyways. Just need the meat, tha's it." He got snappy at the end and you just stared at him, anger clear in your eyes. "Seriously?"

You let go of the deer and stepped away from the counter. "You're sent to MY shop. To help me because I happen to fuck up my hand for the first time ever since I got here years ago and all you can do is talk shit about me?" The knife that laid on the desk before now in your good hand and pointed at his chest. "God I can't believe I even fell for your hunting woodsman charms. You're just an asshole who doesn't give a shit about these animals or the hunter's code." With a clatter the knife hit the floor as you tossed it to the side with shaking hands.

"Get the fuck out of my shop and go find me someone who cares." With angry steps you turned around and headed out of the room, needing a break to gather yourself first if you wanted to get anything else done.

Now alone in the workstation, Daryl snatched up his catch from this morning and headed out.

"You did what? Pookie you gotta listen to the girl." Carol sat down next to him and snatched the cigarette from his fingers. "You know you disrespected her life's work by now following her rules in her own shop, right?"

"I'on get why tha's even important anymore. We gotta eat, tha's all." Daryl's annoyed grumbles did nothing good it seemed as Carol continued to scold him like he was a child. "Did you for one second maybe think this work is all she has left to hold onto her old world self?"

"Cept this ain't the old world no more. She's waistin' time doin' all tha extra shit."

Carol was up and at the front door by now, putting out the cigarette in one of many ashtrays there. "Alright, up with you. You're apologizing with me right now."

The two took off to your shop but found no one there. Daryl's half finished rabbit still out in the open on the table while the deer was gone. "Ain't here. I'll head back tomorro--"

"No we're not. I know where she lives, come on." Carol practically pulled him along on the way to your place despite Daryl's protests.

You were working in your basement area when you heard a knock on the front door. "Come in!" Everyone who came to your place knew the door was unlocked and was free to come and find you, seeing you were either cooking, working on lounging when you kept the front door open.

"Hey, it's Carol! Heard about your hand, need some help around the house?" She needed an excuse to get an answer and find out where you were, so when you called back she knew to head downstairs.

Meanwhile Daryl just stared around to keep his mind busy. He found rabbit skins from prey he brought in wrapped around a pair of boots. He recognized the fur seeing it was a rare color. Further into your livingroom there was a deer pelt draped over the back of your couch. Also caught by him. The white spots over the back had one small flaw from where his bolt had struck right on a white dot. He remembered being proud of his aim for a minute that day.

"Daryl, come on." Carol's whisper-yell had him roll his eyes and as he passed your coatrack he noticed the hooks were all antler parts and the knives laying in the basket on the hallway table had bone handles.

So that's why you were so angry when he snapped the rabbit's leg and skinned the deer so carelessly. You did really use everything.

The two walked down the stairs to your workshop, Carol up front with Daryl following.

"Oh wow," Carol's exclaimation had you laugh. "Yeah, I get that a lot." You stood with your back turned, struggling to hang a piece of skin.

"Here, lemme help ya." Daryl's gruff voice was suddenly right behind you and you spooked, letting go of the pelt but Daryl caught it just in time, draping it over the wire. "Like tha?" His hands stayed up there and adjusted it to your liking, having stepped back to watch him and give Carol a questioning look. She just shrugged and gestured at the man who was again staring around the room. "What brings you here?"

Daryl looked at everything except you, he knew he'd lose all ability to speak if he did. Hell, he already had a difficulty getting his words out now seeing how wrong he was for not listening to you. "Came ta say sorry." He stared at the basket of furs labeled 'Donate'. "Shoulda known better than ta get angry. 'N I get why ya work thr way ya do now." Next to the basket sat a crate filled with thick, sturdy bones labeled 'blacksmith'.

You nodded and gave him an option. "Come back to the shop tomorrow. I'll have tou clean up that deer skin you almost ruined and you're following my teachings. I'll forgive you for wasting the rabbit."

Daryl chewed at his thumb, the other hand stuffed in his pocket and fidgeting with the fabric inside. "Yeah, alright." He nodded and looked over at Carol who had the brightest smile on her face. One that screamed victory.

"We'll get out of your hair, I'll bring by some lunch tomorrow at your shop." Carol waved on her way up, and just as Daryl was about to follow her you quickly spun around to grab something. "Oh, here." You held out a thin knife wrapped in leather, a small engraving of Hilltop's blacksmith on the handle. "I saw you took the rabbits, so if you haven't prepped them yet you can try this one. They're great for smaller animals."

He stumbled over his thanks as he accepted the knife and quickly headed out after Carol.

You were back at work early the next morning, painkillers and a small breakfast in your system already and hoping to finish that damn deer. It still proved a challenge to get it from the cooler onto the workbench but you managed eventually, just before Daryl came in.

"Mornin'." Hid gruff voice sounded through the workplace as he rounded the corner and placed the knife from yesterday on the table. "Thanks fer lettin' me borrow it. Worked like a charm."

You picked up the knife and held it out to him again, only to recieve a questioning grunt in return. "It was a gift. To keep."

Daryl never got gifts. Everything he had was scavenged and well taken care of for longer use these days. It felt weird to keep it but he thanked you again and pocketed it.

Meanwhile you had grabbed the deer skin and laid it out where he'd be working. "Look here, I'll show you how to clean this up and you'll go fix the rest, okay? It'll take a while but it'll be worth it." Daryl stepped up to you and observed the way you took the knife to the uneven spots of skin and carefully smoothed it all out. The precision in your work was impressive to say the least. "How long've ya been doin' this?"

You dropped a cut off piece of meat into a plastic container and thought back to the old world. "I guess ever since my parents thought I was old enough to handle knives." You held the tool out to the hunter and watched him take it from you. "Your turn. I'll be hopefully finishing that deer so just ask whatever, whenever."

You were lucky a lot of the cutting could be done onehanded, and holding back pieces was okay enough to do with your wrist or hold something down with your elbow. But now that you had all the easy access meats off and seperated you ran into a problem.

"Fuck.." You needed help. The same kind of help that had you kick him out yesterday.

"Sup? Need hands?" He was at your side in a second, waiting for your instructions.

"I need to take off the ribs but I can't." You leaned aside to point around the carcass. "If you can press down here, and there." Daryl followed your instructions and put pressure on the spots you pointed out. "Then I can take this here apart." Your movements were followed and suddenly it was way too hot in your always cold workplace. Yesterday you'd be happy if he decided thr Kingdom was a better home for him but now that he apologized and proved to better himself after your misunderstanding you were back to being the lovesick puppy Abraham had made you out to be when he brought you home after the infirmary visit.

With how Daryl held the spot clear and open you had to get close to chop through the bone and separate it all in workable bits.

"Can I take one a'those later? Michonne asked ta cook fer her kids cuz she's out 'n Carol's off ta Kingdom--" "Throw the kids an old world barbeque! I'll come help. I'm sure you're skilled in roasting over an open fire with how much you traveled." The excitement was clear in your voice, and the sudden compliments and offers of gifts and assistance had him nervously fidgeting. But thinking about having a fun experience with the kids instead of just cooking and having dinner sounded way better than his original plan, so he agreed.

"Ya got supplies ta fix tha' in half a day?"

The two of you cleaned up after finishing thr needed work and while you carried the prepped meats, Daryl had the bowl firepit on a kart together with the metal rack to hang over it. Yeah, he lived in a community now but he never guessed he'd be carrying around a whole barbeque setup like he was getting ready to throw a party in the old world. "Gotta drop by tha' house fer a sec, get Jude 'n RJ."

After he got the kids and you had everything set up Daryl got the fire started while you made a quick pantry run and dug through Daryl's kitchen for anything to add to the meals.

You brought whatever you found and set it on the side of the porch steps, keeping a path to the house cleared and sat yourself down in the front lawn as you watched uncle Daryl in action, letting the kids toss wood onto the fire and poke at it with a stick but making sure they kept their distance and wouldn't touch the hot metal.

It was heartwarming to see him laugh and have fun with them and watched him speak quetly to the kids with a finger pointed your way before the two came running towards you.

"Daryl says the fire's good for food! Can we put some on the thing?" Two pairs of big, begging eyes stared at you and saying no would be the worst so of course you allowed them, under surveillance and with an assisting hand. "Alright, pick something you wanna eat first and put it on a plate, Daryl will take it to the fire and I'l helf you put it on the rack, okay?"

A chime of "Okay!" baely left them before they were at the collection of prepared meats where you and Daryl joined them in picking.

While Daryl roasted the food over the fire you were tasked go keep the kids busy, but wirh hoe much they loved chatting about everything and anything it was an easy task.

The whole evening was fun and food and family and it reminded you of everything you missed in this new world.

Everything was good in this moment, especially when you heard a little exchange between uncle and niece.

"Uncle Daryl? Can we have more dinners with her? But also mom and aunt Carol next time." You watched Daryl look towards you for a moment before turning back to Judith. "'Course, she's teachin' me ta prepare food so we can do this with e'ryone if ya want. But!" He raised his hand and pointed at RJ, who came over to him too now. "Yer gonna be the ones askin' folk ta bring food too, so e'ryone has somethin' ta eat, 'kay?"

The two happily nodding kids proved that your time in the community just got a lot more fun.

Now, after the kids were long brought to bed you and Daryl stayed around the fire. Having taken the meat rack off and set asidr you were just relaxing and picking away at the leftovers.

"So," you started, watching the flames in front of you. "That community barbeque plan of yours, it sounded amazing especially how you brought it over to the kids. But, aren't you afraid it'll drain recources too quick?"

Daryl shrugged it off. "Maybe. But those kids'll make folks keep stuff aside fer it." The idea of those two running around the place collecting people brought a smile to his face. "'Sides, I ain't wastin' meat no more with yer lessons tha' I hope ya will keep givin' me."

Oh. He wanted to stay? At the shop? With you? You were pleasantly shocked with that news. "What? Ofcourse I'll teach you. But only of you promise to take me out hunting when my hand's okay again."

He let out a breathy laugh and nodded. "Yeah, I'd love ta have ya around."

You stretched and laid down in the grass, looking up at the night sky.

"S'gonna be fun."

#sometimes i write #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd daryl #twd #the walking dead #twd x reader #daryl x reader

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lonely-cowboy · 4 months

Text

beautifully human

pairing: connor (rk800) x f!reader

summary: after noticing the way connor looks at other androids, you worry that you may never have a chance with him. but what you don't know is that he has only ever had eyes for you.

word count: 2.9k

warnings: insecure reader, mentions of death (they literally talk about dying in an elevator) (spoiler alert: it doesn't happen), probably ooc connor, west coast dialect went a little too hard in the dialogue, some very specific physical descriptions that i also tried to keep as general as possible? you'll see what i mean ig

author's note: glad to report that this account is lowkey helping me get over my writer's block, so that's amazing for me. anyway. as usual, feel free to leave any critiques on how i can improve my writing, characterization, etc.! :)

masterlist ⟡ requests

You hated that your investigation brought you to the Eden Club. You didn’t necessarily hate the Eden Club or its workers, but you hated that you had to go with Connor and Hank. It would’ve been embarrassing enough to go with just Hank, but adding Connor to the mix made you want to collapse to the ground and never move again. But you were a professional, so if you had to go with Connor and Hank then you could suck it up for a night. Hopefully.

The moment you stepped inside the club, you were filled with unease. Your stomach churned and your shoulders scrunched up high as if you were trying to hide from the world. To handle your discomfort, you turned cold and distant, observing everything and everyone with an icy glare. You trailed behind Hank and Connor as you scanned your surroundings, doing your very best to look at everything but Connor.

You couldn’t look at Connor in this place without being filled with a displaced sense of anger. You couldn’t help but wonder if he looked at these androids with infatuation or desire. Did he find them beautiful? Did he want them in the same way you wanted him? You knew they were stupid thoughts, but you couldn’t control them. Somehow, Connor had weaseled his way into your heart and refused to leave no matter how hard you tried.

Distracted by your foggy mind, you almost bumped right into Connor when he stopped to admire a Traci, his soft gaze exploring her body through the glass barrier. You watched as the Traci smiled gently at him, her hand reaching forward to touch the glass like she was trying to caress his cheek. Connor didn’t move to reciprocate her action, but he still appeared to be in awe. It only made your scowl deepen.

You hated that you were consumed by jealousy because you knew– deep down– that it stemmed from insecurity. This Traci was made to be beautiful. She was made to be desired and worshipped. In her limited clothing, there wasn’t much left to the imagination. Her body was the epitome of perfect with its soft curves and smooth skin. She was a perfect balance of sweet and charismatic. She was everything that you assumed a man wanted, and androids were no exception. From the way Connor looked at her, you were sure she was everything he wanted too.

You sighed in frustration before marching away as Hank called to Connor. You refused to let your jealousy– or anything you felt for Connor– get in the way of your investigation. But no matter how hard you tried, your mind was still drawn to him.

Maybe you had been too hopeful, but you really had thought that maybe– just maybe– Connor had felt something for you. Apparently, you were just far more delusional than you thought.

While Hank discussed the crime scene with Officer Miller, you stood to the side looking uncharacteristically cold. With your arms folded over your chest and a hard, almost bored look in your eye, it was clear that you weren’t particularly interested in talking to anyone. You assumed that would be obvious to everyone, androids included. And it seemed that it had been obvious, but that certainly didn’t stop Connor.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Connor watching you with a confused glint. His LED flashed yellow as he analyzed your body language, working to only make your blood boil. You knew there was no reason to be angry with him, so why did your anger persist? Why did you feel so unreasonably jealous? He was just a man, after all, nothing more.

Connor approached you with his hands clasped behind his back, standing beside you and following your cold gaze. He was silent for a moment, pleased to simply be in your presence even when you were acting so stony.

“You’re unusually quiet, Detective,” Connor observed. “This is not within your typical behavioral patterns. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” you answered dismissively. “Don’t you have a body to analyze?”

Connor paused again, pursing his lips in a way that was so oddly human. In a gentle tone, he said, “Well… yes. But that’s usually something we do together.”

“Why?” you hissed, feeling suddenly riled now that Connor was talking to you. Why was he giving you this attention? Why was he acting like he cared about you? You knew he didn’t. At least, your clouded mind let you think he didn’t. “It’s not like you need my help. You can do everything on your own, I’m useless to you.”

Connor turned his body towards you fully, a deep crease settling between his brows. His LED continued to circle yellow as he studied you once again. That made you roll your eyes which seemed to be enough of a hint for Connor. With his LED still glowing yellow, he turned away without another word, allowing you to resume your wallowing in misery.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You were still fuming as Hank drove you home. With Connor in the front seat, you were stuck in the back, glaring daggers into his back. How had such a clueless android managed to lure you in and make you jealous purely because he wasn’t interested in you?

As Connor jabbered on about something or other, you stared out the car window absentmindedly. You couldn’t help but imagine the Traci on the other side of the window, reaching out and smiling that perfect smile that made you never want to smile again.

You glanced at Connor as he fell silent. He turned to look out the window, making you cringe at the idea that he truly was thinking of the Traci. But you failed to notice his eyes transfixed on you through the side mirror, his gaze gentle and curious as he admired your stubborn look. He stared at you dreamily the rest of the car ride.

When you finally reached your apartment building, Hank had barely stopped the car before you were clambering out and slamming the door behind you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you grumbled, having enough decency to give Hank a small wave.

As you trudged towards your apartment building, you froze at the sound of another car door opening and closing. You cursed under your breath, hesitant to turn for fear of whom you might find. As you glanced over your shoulder, you cursed again as your fear came true. Connor approached you with long strides, leaving behind a very confused-looking Hank.

“I’ll walk you to your apartment,” Connor offered innocently.

You stared at him blankly and muttered, “Connor, my building is right here. I just need to go up a few floors. I know how to use an elevator, I’ll manage just fine on my own.”

You turned and continued towards your building, not surprised when you heard Connor follow.

“The chances of an elevator-related death are one in 10.5 million,” Connor continued in that matter-of-fact tone that you usually found so endearing.

When Connor didn’t elaborate, you stopped and turned to him again with a raised brow. You waited for more, but it still didn’t come. Connor just stared at you pleasantly, drinking in your charmingly confused face.

“Okay…,” you said. “So like I said, I’ll be fine on my own.”

“But the chance of it happening is still possible, so it’s best if I escort you,” Connor continued. His grin widened as you rolled your eyes in acceptance. As an afterthought, he added, “Just in case.”

In silence, the two of you made your way up the elevator (where you did not, in fact, die) and to your apartment. You stood outside the door and turned to Connor, ready to send him away in the hopes that if you couldn’t see him then you wouldn’t be overwhelmed by images of him and that Traci. But you knew that wasn’t the case because even when he was long gone you would still think about how you couldn’t be enough for him. You weren’t pretty enough for such an angelic being like him, not when other beautifully crafted androids existed.

“May I come in?” Connor inquired before you could even open your mouth.

No.

You wanted to say no so desperately. You wanted him to leave. You wanted to bury yourself under your bed sheets and never see him again.

But he was still your friend, and you were still a decent enough person. It would be rude to reject him.

“Sure,” you replied softly, opening the door to allow the two of you in.

The moment you closed the door, Connor was already asking questions that you were not at all prepared for.

“You were upset today,” he noted. “Do you want to talk about how you feel?”

“I… what?” you stammered. “Since when are you a therapist android?”

“I’m not a therapist android, but as your companion, I care about your well-being,” Connor answered far too casually for your liking.

Companion? Well-being?

“Yeah, I doubt that,” you mumbled without thinking.

You were stupid to think Connor wouldn’t have heard you. With his sensitive hearing, he heard you loud and clear. Your comment made him tilt his head curiously and narrow his eyes.

“Why would I not care about you?” he asked, the genuine confusion in his voice making your resolve melt.

“That’s not… it’s just…,” you blabbered, throwing your hands up in exasperation as you struggled to find the right words. “I wouldn’t expect you to care about me the same way–”

You stopped abruptly, eyes wide as your mind finally caught up to your yapping mouth. You could not finish that sentence.

Connor’s eyes narrowed further at your sudden pause. He took a cautious step forward, then another. You knew that he had already noticed the way your heartbeat accelerated, your breath suddenly caught in your throat. “The same way… what?” he repeated, urging you to finish your sentence.

“It’s nothing, it’s stupid,” you dismissed.

Connor murmured your name as if he were scolding a child, raising a brow as a sign of encouragement to finish.

“Well… I wouldn’t expect you to care about me… the same way… the same way I care about you,” you said, the last part coming out far too hurried.

Maybe if you had just finished your sentence the first time you wouldn’t be in this situation. That was a perfectly normal thing to say to a friend, wasn’t it? Absolutely. Absolutely… But the way you had paused only made you look more suspicious. You knew Connor was smart enough to understand the suggestion of romantic feelings.

“How is it you feel about me?” Connor questioned.

“It doesn’t matter, you wouldn’t feel the same anyway,” you muttered, pushing past him to be anywhere that wasn’t near him.

Before you could get too far, Connor’s iron grip wrapped around your wrist and held you in place. You looked at him with offense, but he knew you meant nothing by it.

“It does matter, Detective,” he whispered lowly. “It matters to me.”

There was no going back now. Connor already got the hint that you cared for him more than you probably should. You might as well say it outright. That was better than being embarrassed and pretending nothing happened. Right?

“I like you, Connor,” you admitted, the words sounding childish in your mouth. “God, this is so embarrassing…”

Connor was silent for a long moment, making you wonder if he actually had figured it out. If he hadn’t… God, you would be mortified. Did he really not know, and you just willingly outed yourself to him?

You risked a peek at Connor to find him already looking at you with a small smile. His hand was still holding your wrist tightly, his skin comfortingly warm against your burning skin. The glint in his eyes made your brows furrow as heat rose to your cheeks.

“Why would you think I don’t care about you?” Connor asked, the quirk of his lips telling you that he found all of this somewhat amusing.

“I mean… yeah, I would think that you care about me. On some level. I’d assume…,” you prattled. “But as a friend, obviously. Connor, I’m not sure you understand what I mean when I say I like–”

“I understand perfectly well, Detective,” Connor interrupted. “So I’ll pose the question once again: why would you think I don’t care about you?”

The confusion was clear on your face. Tilting your head to the side, you turned your body to face Connor slightly, giving him the opportunity to lightly pull your wrist until you were completely facing him. Even when he had you standing where he wanted, he still didn’t let go of your wrist, though he loosened his grasp and held you lightly. You could feel his thumb rubbing along your inner wrist soothingly. Your knees felt weak, and you were sure you were going to collapse against him at any second. His touch was so loving that you almost believed he could feel the same way.

You nearly forgot Connor had asked you a question until he gave your arm a light squeeze that snapped you back to attention. He arched both eyebrows, watching you with that humorous glint.

“I just… Well…,” you faltered. You inhaled sharply, gathering your thoughts before you continued. “I just can’t understand how or why someone like you would be interested in someone like me when there are so many better options. Yeah, I guess… I guess that’s it. I don’t know…”

“Better options?” Connor repeated. The obvious confusion in his voice warmed your heart. It was as if he had never even considered that there could be better options.

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged. “I’m no android, Connor. I’m not… I’m not perfect. I’m not beautiful or stunning or gorgeous. I’m not like that girl you were looking at.”

There was another long pause as Connor struggled to process your words. His LED spiraled yellow as he questioned, “What girl?”

“The Traci,” you explained in exasperation, “at the Eden Club. It looked like you were practically in love with her, and I don’t blame you. She’s the definition of perfect. Not a single flaw in sight.”

“You think you’re flawed?” Connor asked immediately. That was his biggest takeaway?

“Yes, obviously, Connor! I am! And I just find it very hard to believe that someone as beautiful as you could be attracted to someone as… average as me,” you snapped, sounding harsher than you intended.

Connor released your wrist, and for a moment you worried that you scared him off. But then his warm hands were holding your cheeks, his thumbs now slowly running along your cheekbones. He stepped forward until his body was pressed against yours, leaning down until his forehead was nearly touching yours. His eyes latched onto yours, and for a moment, he just held your gaze in silence. He was reveling in the sight of you, so close to him that he could feel your sweet breath against his lips.

“It seems you don’t realize how beautiful you are,” he murmured. “Perhaps I’ll have to explain it to you.”

Connor paused again, searching your eyes for any effort to argue. But you were still so stunned by his sudden proximity that you had nothing to give. When he heard no contradiction, Connor smiled and continued on.

“Maybe you don’t think you’re perfect,” he started, “but I do. Everything you see as a flaw, I see as beautiful. It makes you you. It makes you so… human. And maybe you can’t understand because of it, but there’s something so pure about being human. Just being human makes you beautiful. But you… you’re different. You’re above them all.”

There was a strangely desperate look in Connor’s eyes like he was pleading with you to understand. Exhaling slowly, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against your own. He closed his eyes, his LED shifting from yellow to blue and back again as he tried to sift through the swarm of emotions.

“I don’t know why it’s you, but it is,” he whispered, his voice nearly too quiet for you to hear. “I just can’t help but notice everything about you. I love the wrinkles on your forehead when you’re confused to the point of frustration. I love when only one side of your hair is brushed because you’re too lazy to brush the other. I love when your lip bleeds because you’re biting it while you’re thinking and you don’t even notice. I love…”

Connor stopped and pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your cheeks. His LED circled red once, the worry on his face far too obvious to your keen eyes. When you didn’t say anything, Connor tried to pull away, but you didn’t let him.

Your hands quickly moved to rest over top his, holding him in place. You looked up at him with eyes full of admiration and wonder as if an angel had come and graced the earth. Maybe that’s what he was, an angel. You would believe it. With that pretty face and those sweet words, you could easily be fooled.

As you eyed Connor’s face, the corners of your lips quirked into a smile. Maybe you could be enough for him. He seemed to think so. It was that thought alone that drove you to lean forward and press the faintest of kisses to Connor’s lips. It was barely a peck, and as you pulled away, Connor leaned forward to chase after your warmth. The gesture made you laugh as you whispered against his lips.

“I love how human you are.”

#detroit become human #connor x reader #dbh connor x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh connor #connor rk800

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