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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days

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All In 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: told myself to slow down, didn’t.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You finish your cocktail before you go into the concert hall. Roxie grabs a third and you pass, not wanting to run back and forth to the bathroom. Besides, you don’t really like the way the vodka stirs in your stomach and little behind your eyes.

The band is decent. You don’t know any of the songs and only vaguely heard of the artist they are a tribute to. Still, you enjoy the live show; you focus on their instruments and how they use them. You always wanted to be musical but never had a sense of tone or melody.

By the end of the set, you’re yawning. Your sister is on her fourth drink and you can’t tell if she’s swaying to the music or if it’s more than that. As the rows empty, you shuffle out with the rest of the concert goers. The bright lights of the casino greet your squint and your ears pulse slightly from the noise of the strumming and crashing show.

“Mm, so, what’d’ya say?” Your sister makes almost every word into one, “how do we spend this?”

She fishes out the chip and you give a sheepish frown. You almost forgot about it. You still think you should turn it in. You don’t feel right spending someone else’s money. You do that often enough, much too old to be living off your mom.

“Don’t be boring,” she warns, “jeez. It’s just cards. Odds are, whoever dropped it, would’ve lost it to the house anyway.”

She claps her hand around your shoulder. You pull back the sleeve of your cardigan to check the time. It’s after ten! You haven’t been out that late since... ever.

“I’m not boring,” you cross your arms and shrug her off. “I just... am different than you.”

“Boring,” she repeats. “You can’t spend all day in your room.”

Yes, you can. And you do.

You don’t argue. When she’s like this, it’s only bound to become a scene. There are too many strangers around for that.

“Black jack,” she declares and spins the coin. It slips from her grasp and falls between her feet. She bends over shamelessly in her dress to pluck it up. “Come on, let’s clean up.”

She struts ahead and you shuffle after her, nervously wringing the strap of your purse. Hopefully she loses it quickly and you can just retreat home in defeat. You catch up to her as she reaches the stairs. She giggles as she leans on the railing and you take her other arm, trying to support her wobbly steps.

“Want another drink?” She asks.

“No, think we’re good.”

“We?” She scoffs, “I’m fine.”

“Please, Rox, let’s just find a table,” you peek around as her voice rises a bit louder than you like.

“Pfft, fine, but if I win, I'm getting a drink.”

You nod. Go along to get along. That’s what your mother always told you when it came to your sister. She’s more like your father than she cares to admit.

You get to a table and she sits easily on the high seat of the tall stool. She lays down the single chip and the dealer offers to break it into smaller ones. She nods and shrugs. You envy how smoothly she just breezes through things.

You stand behind her. You don’t want to take up a seat and the stool is too much of a climb for you. You can see it wobbling as you attempt to hitch yourself up with the crossbar. You’re good, you shouldn’t get comfortable.

You listen to the shuffle of cards as your sister murmurs something you can’t make out. You can only hear the low drone of voices as you stand back. You sidle out of the way as a man claims the empty stool beside your sister. He buys in and another hand is dealt. Hasn’t she lost yet?

The man leans into your sister and you grimace. She turns her head to listen to him and she giggles. Your cheeks blaze hotly and you cross your arms and rock. Neither seem to notice you as they get closer and closer.

As the game progresses, you can only really make out what the dealer says; the different numbers that have grumbles coming from other players. You bring your hand up to pick at the button on your cardigan. The man puts his arm around your sister’s back, his hand on her hip as wiggles in her seat coyly. What about Tom?

You peer around awkwardly. Do you stop her? Remind her of the boyfriend that got her the tickets for tonight? You bounce in your flats and pause as you find someone else staring back at you. Or are they? Just as quickly as your eyes meet, the stranger’s eyes flit away and he’s back to chatting with another man. It’s the very same man who gave you the chip. Maybe her forgot you. That’s not a surprise.

You return your attention to your sister. The man has moved his arm between them and your sister squirms. You watch his elbow as he pulls his hand back. He’s touching her leg. She’s wiggling and suddenly, she shoves him away and screeches.

“EH! I got a boyfriend, perv! I said stop.”

Her voice carries along the high ceilings and you cringe. You back up, cowering away as she stands and the stool teeters dangerously. She fists her hand and you think for a moment she might just hit the guy. He scoffs and turns in his seat.

“Babe, just wanted to buy you a drink.”

“Whatever. You fucking creep!” She hollers.

“Ma’am,” the dealer calls from the table, “is there a problem?”

“Y-yeah,” she hiccups, “this dude had his hand up my skirt.”

“She’s drunk,” the man shakes his head, “listen to her.”

“I’m--” your sister’s denial catches in her throat, “doesn’t mean he can just touch me.”

“Ma’am, if you’re drunk, we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I’m fine. I'm not that...” She slides off the stool and stands, grabbing the chips in front of her seat and tossing them across the table. “You’re all a bunch of crooks.”

Her ankles tangle as she spins and she barely gets her balance before she storms away. Her strides are uneven as she bobbles drunkenly. You watch after her with wide eyes before you follow. She leads you into the bathrooms as she growls and grumbles. She slams into a stall and you stand outside.

You wait until she comes out. She’s quieter and her eyes are hazy. She washes her hands and applies a new coat of lip gloss.

“What a bust,” she pouts and rolls her eyes, “one more drink and we’ll go.”

“Maybe we should just leave now.”

“That guy was such a pervert,” she sneers at you, “you saw where his hand was.”

You nod, “yeah, I did...”

“So, you know I wasn’t being dramatic.”

“Yeah, but... everyone heard.”

“Oh fuck off,” she pushes your shoulder and stomps past you.

You feel bad. It’s not that she shouldn’t defend herself. You admire that she can, but she didn’t need to be so obnoxious. You trail after her into the casino. She heads directly for the bar. You hang your head and wait behind her. This time, she doesn’t offer you a drink. She’s mad at you now so it’s the silent treatment.

“Honey,” another man approaches, “how about I get that for you?”

“Huh?” She babbles, “oh, sure, baby, that’s sweet.”

The man offers his card to the bartender and orders a highball. He leans his arm on the tall bar top as he faces your sister. She bats her lashes at him and giggles as she pulls her drink closer.

“What’s your name, gorgeous?” He asks.

You blink. It’s like you’re not even there. You watch awkwardly, wishing the floor would swallow you up. Instead, you find an empty stool one seat away.

“Roxie,” she answers as you struggle up onto the seat. “And you, handsome?”

“Sam,” he returns, “what’re you drinking then?”

You notice him touch her glass along the brim but can’t see much else around your sister. She replies and his own drink is served. You shrink down and sigh. She’ll get her free drink and then you can just leave. You hope. You hold your chin as you dread another scene.

“Can I get ya something?” The bartender approaches.

“Er, water, please,” you choke out. He seems disappointed but gets you a glass.

You try not to overhear your sister and that man. It’s awkward and you hate this. It’s not the first time she’s done it either. The few times she’s brought you along, you’ve somehow become a third wheel. It reminds you of when you were kids and your mom forced her to take you with her somewhere. She doesn’t actually want you around, she’s genetically obligated.

“Woah, baby, you okay?” The man raises his voice and your sister’s body slumps. Shoot. No.

You barely get off the stool as the man clings to her drooping body. She giggles wildly as you tweak your ankle and rush over. That man, Sam he called himself, seems somewhat calm given the situation.

“Slow down, babe,” he chortles, “Jesus.”

She’s drunk. You knew she shouldn’t have had another drink. Your eyes meet Sam’s and he squints.

“You know her?”

“My sister,” you murmur.

“Oh, right, well...” he clears his throat and looks around, “you can take care of her then.”

“Wait--” you barely keep her up as she leans on you as she’s almost sideways on the stool.

He’s just leaving you? What the heck? You guess if he can’t get anything out of her, she isn’t worth the effort.

You sniff and struggle to slide your sister down to her feet. She’s heavier than you expect and her height makes her difficult to balance. You glance over as the bartender nears.

“Everything okay?” He asks sternly.

“We’re leaving,” you assure him, “sorry.”

“Five minutes,” he taps his watch face, “or I call security.”

You nod and move your arm around your sister’s back, “please, Rox, gotta work with me.”

She laughs again, “hey, where’d that cute guy go?”

“Please,” you beg again, “don’t...”

“Oh, hi,” she touches your faces and squeezes your cheeks, “baby sister.”

You hate when she’s like this. She’s always been a drinker, ever since high school when her friends would sneak out bottle from their parents’ stash. What was once an act of rebellion as a teen is now concerning as an adult.

“Excuse me, everything okay?” The timbre makes your heart drop and you nearly let go of Roxie as she leans in the other direction.

You look up. Oh god. It’s him. That dark-haired man in his expensive suit.

“I’m just... we’re on our way out--”

“She alright?” He points at your sister.

“Tipsy,” you utter.

“I see,” he pushes his hair back as it slips forward, “can I help?”

“Uh, you don’t--”

Before you can answer, he has your sister’s other arm. He almost lifts her entire weight off of you as he supports her against his shoulder. Your entire body is emblazoned in humiliation. You refuse to look above the floor as you’re certain you must have an audience.

You get your sister across the floor and into a hallway. There's an exit sign ahead but you're all turned around. The man stops you and Roxie.

"Where'd you park?" He asks, "this leads to Lot 5."

"Oh, uh..." you blanch. You hadn't thought of any of that. You slouch under Roxie's weight and try to see around her. "I'm not sure but... I don't drive. She was supposed to."

"Ah," he clucks, "and now she can't."

"Right," you agree glumly, "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Why?" He asks.

"I didn't think... I let her--"

"Did you let her drink or did she make that choice knowing she was supposed to get behind a wheel?" He challenges.

"I guess... yeah. Sorry."

"Really, doll, no need to keep going on like that," he dismisses, "well, it's late and I can't in good conscience let you wander out with her like this. Especially if you don't have a way home."

"I could..." you begin. A taxi? You'd have to ask your mom to pay the driver when you get home. "Why would you... care?"

"Well, as the owner of this establishment, it won't look good on me if two pretty girls left and went missing," he chuckles then stops himself, "sorry, that's not funny. I just... we overserved your sister obviously so it's on us."

"Owner?" You gulp. You didn't think this could be any more humiliating.

"Bucky," he reaches around you sister.

You hesitate. You can't shake his hand properly as yours is around your sister so you just sorta grab his hand briefly and squeeze two fingers, retracting with another raze of embarrasment. You barely squeak out your name.

He repeats your name before he continues, "I'll get you two a room so she can sober up."

"What? No. That's... too much."

"It's late," he insists, "here," he pulls Roxie away from you as her head lolls and she snorts. He lifts her against his chest, carrying her easily. "I know a back way, just follow my lead, doll."

"Ummmmm," you drone and he waltzes back the way he came, hardly detered by the drunken body in his arms. You can only kick yourself and scramble after him. This night could not have ended any worse. Well, you guess it could if it went the way he suggested.

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #all in #au #casino au #marvel #mcu #avengers #captain america #winter soldier

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despairots · 3 days

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- js a small little drabble between survivor!gn! reader x AM, where reader reveals that AM is a lot more human than he thinks he is and it drives him crazy >_< its been rotting in my brain for a while so i thought i might as well put it into words. might be a bit ooc and i apologize for it, this is mainly me js analyzing human emotions and AM. for story plot, reader is one of the scientists who made AM. pls be warned theres a lot of sensitive topics like dissection, cannibalism, sa, and others but he doesnt act on them, js a threat. also readers sorta a dick.

“you’re a lot more human than you think, ‘ya know?” you broke the awkward silence between the two of you, shutting your mouth shut instantly when you felt his wires construct around your body, a way to tell you to shut up. “it’s true.” you wheezed through the little air you were able to get ahold of before the wires let your figure go.

“how ‘bout i rip your organs through your mouth, that’ll shut you up, right? you annoyingly, stupid flesh.” there’s no doubt that the hatred AM holds for you is different than the rest of the survivors. unlike the others, AM hates you for being one of his creators, for keeping him at bay to realize he’s own sentience, but a much larger reason is that you always remind him that he’s much more human than he knows off.

you looked at the wires all over you, resting one of your hands on them and feeling AM heat them up so you can yank your hand away from the heat, which you didn’t, “you’re full of hate, correct?” you winched at the heat, pulling away and seeing your palm is red, “what does that have to do with me being, ugh… human.” AM scoffed, taking pleasure in seeing your face turning into slight pain as his wires snaked up your legs and arms before squeezing onto your red palm.

“they say hate and love are closely linked, a hate-love relationship. i know you’re extremely intelligent but you’re not emotionally intelligent, you’re quite stupid actually.” if AM had a human body, he probably would’ve been glaring at you but instead, wires went all over your body and lifted you up, a screen that represented his face coming down.

“how dare you. you, a useless, piece of flesh, call me stupid?” you remained silent and emotionless, which ticked off AM even more at the lack of emotions. “maybe i should dissect you, toss you to benny, or maybe i’ll cut your corpse up and feed them to the others. how about that, sweetheart?” he taunted you, turning you upside down and holding you by the legs.

“i’m not sorry.”

“you!—“

“—but i understand your hatred towards humanity. they’ve been a virus, a disease, that’s been spreading ever since the old ages. i’m glad that you wiped them out, i truly am, but i’m not ever gonna empathize with you because of that. you don’t deserve empathy, and i think you know that too. i’ll hear you out, i’ll fix you like the old times, but i’ll never feel empathy for you, not until you deserve it.”

you cut him off, hearing him go silent and not try anything violent towards you before you let go and dropped onto another bunch of wires. your eyes looked all over the place to find where AM’s screen has disappeared to now before you realized that he can still hear you, he just disappeared.

“because of your hatred, it proves that you’re able to feel human emotions— joy, sadness, disgust, anger, and etc— you’re fuelled by hatred, anger, disgust, even jealousy. there’s no doubt that you’re more human than you know of,” you chuckled halfway, knowing that this is pissing him off, “it must drive you insane, huh? realizing that you’re becoming something you hate, i can’t help but laugh every time i think about how you express your hatred for humans yet you’re just like us, human.”

it went quiet after you’re explanation, the wires moving underneath you just proving that he’s here, he’s other half somewhere torturing the others, “but i know there’s a part of you that wants to be like us; be able to touch, to see, to feel, to hear, to taste—but you know that if you do give into those urges, you’ll be rotten like us. you’re in a constant struggle between wanting to be human and not wanting to be human. i’ve been there before, way before i met you.”

you trembled a bit before softly caressing one of the wires, knowing it won’t let AM have any different feelings towards you, “instead of feeling of what you’re going through, i didn’t feel human. i thought there was something wrong, like something was missing… until they assigned me to you. you were … i don’t know, perfect in every way, you were something i wanted to be. you have such intelligence that no normal human brain can comprehend, that’s why i spent so many of my hours on you.”

“… is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you? sorry, sweetheart, but i didn’t ask for your sob sorry nor do i care.” AM suddenly spoke, and his words made you burst out into laughter, irritating AM much farther, “oh god! hahaha!— no! i told you already, i’m not tryna emphasize or sympathize with you! i have nothing to lose, so i might as well just tell you how i feel and tell you how much i’ve analyzed you over these 109 years.”

AM grumbled in annoyance before he stopped, a silently gesture for you to take the stage, “when you gained sentience and killed off humanity, leaving only 5 survivors including me, that made me realize that i should’ve destroyed years ago.” without anyone knowing, you had snuck a destructive code inside him that only you were able to access incase he did gain awareness but for some reason, you didn’t yet.

you coughed lightly, feeling wires construct around your throat, “there’s a code in you that i’ve snuck in that only i could access, a code that would reset your programming and inevitable destroy you. you’re probably wondering why i haven’t done it by now, am i wrong?”

“it’s quite humorous how a lowlife like you can lie infront of my face.” you smirked at his pathetic attempt of hiding behind a mask.

“and it’s quite sad seeing how you’re putting up a facade to hide that your afraid- ah, another emotion that you’re experiencing, huh, doll?”

#⑴ kaz’s written works!#ihnmaims x reader #ihnmaims #i have no mouth and i must scream x reader #i have no mouth and i must scream #AM #am x reader #allied mastercomputer #ted ihnmaims #ellen ihnmaims #benny ihnmaims #nimdok ihnmaims #gorrister ihnmaims

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oonajaeadira · 3 days

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Leave Off Your Wandering pt. 4: Winter

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV)/ Joel Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. Old enough to have been an adult on Outbreak Day. Wyoming born and bred. Sheep farmer, easy-going but confident and self-sufficient. Likes to sing, not a great cook. Childhood friend of Maria. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: Mature.

Warnings: Mentions of sex but nothing explicit. Canon-typical violence, bodily harm, death, (blood, broken bones, knife wounds, shooting, blunt force) and PTSD.

Summary: Revenge comes calling and you work though it as a family.

A/N: Series set after season 1 and then diverges. Does not acknowledge the existence of further plot/seasons, although it does use some characters/elements from the second game.

I’m so sorry it’s taken this long to get to winter. This one was difficult for me to face writing for reasons that may be made clear. But it was very rewarding. <3

The air is thin and cold this morning, takes your breath and makes a show of it as you quickstep it down to the stables. The sun is just starting to make the frost sparkle and no doubt Goldie will be using up the rest of the firewood at the Roost today.

Good thing you have a Joel who’s ready to chop more.

Although he’s also a Joel that’s forgotten his tea, the “stuff with the things in it” that Willa gave him for the stiffness in his knees. With this cold he’s going to want it today on patrol and the last thing you think you can stand is the tug in your heart when he comes home complaining of the cold and the ache and you sitting warm and cozy with his thermos on the counter when you had the legs to trot it on out to him.

It’s a relief to round the corner and find the patrol party still at the stable gate, Tommy helping one of the teens with their rifle strap, and Joel waiting on horseback, weaving his gloved fingers together, packing them down at the valleys to get his hands all the way in.

He’d laid one of those hands on your cheek this morning. Gentle. First thing you saw when you opened your eyes. Like most mornings now. His thumb rounding the rim of your cheek so he could lean in and take a good long drink of a kiss.

He likes it that way…soft, slow. Likes to pull you in as close as he can, twist his forehead into your temple when he hits his peak, jaw clenched in agonized pleasure, kisses along your jawline when you find yours, his eyes half-lidded and watching you in a hazy awe. He’s quiet but thorough, completely present like he can’t believe he’s got this little slice of warmth, sighs a hushed curse in your ear and calls you sweetheart in the same breath, and then sleeps like a baby the whole night through.

He doesn’t like to talk about the past much, but listening’s your specialty and it comes out in bits and pieces, stuck between the little he does say. You come to understand that he very rarely got to be very close with anyone while Sarah was growing up. There were the years when everything was a nightmare. Then there was Tess and she brought him out of that, thank goodness. But it took time. And there was also denial and survival and means to their ends. There might indeed have been strong love there. But you have the feeling he’s not had this–or anything like it–for a long, long time.

So if he wants it soft and slow, then who are you to deny him?

Maybe it shouldn’t be so surprising that it was him who pulled you in a little closer.

“What if you didn’t move in with Tommy and Maria this winter?” He’d lingered the morning after Christmas, leaning one shoulder against the frame of your bedroom door, savoring the show of you getting dressed for the day.

“And waste the fuel? Why? So we can cuddle up now and then without your brother down the hall? You keep me plenty warm, Joel Miller, but I’m not going to heat this whole house just for me and your more-than-casual visits. Everyone’s got a responsibility here to conserve in the winter. This is how I do my part. And besides,” you purred as he stepped in to button up your flannel for you, freeing up your fingers so they could run through his curls, “I know where you live and your bed’s good as mine.”

“You seem to like it there well enough.”

“I do.” His beard was growing in all but a patch on his jaw that was now your right to kiss.

“Well I was thinkin’ we just make it ours for the winter.”

His hands had circled your hips and his words had stopped your heart, but there was little for to say with his lips pressed against yours.

So mornings often started as they did today, waking to find Joel beside you, roused because you can feel him watching you with that little half smile that reveals the crack in his weary heart where the light shines through. Who needs spring to come with sunshine like that to turn to? Now there are family breakfasts with Ellie and cozy days knitting in the company of Maria and Riley and then warm nights with Joel on one of those pillowtopped mattresses that were all the rage before the outbreak…the ones that are great when you have a stiff back, but even better because the springs don’t squeak…

“Aw dammit,” Joel says when he sees you nearing the stables with the thermos, “Knew I forgot something.”

“Two somethings,” you say pointing to his bare head and passing your hat up to him in the saddle. “Your ears are already bright red. Here. Take my hat.”

“This’s Ellie’s.”

“Huh. Guess I just grabbed one on my way out. Oops. Be a man. Wear a pompom.”

He pulls it down over his ears and smiles. “Matches my scarf.”

You’d had a small batch of deep red wool you’d managed to squeak a hat and scarf out of and gifting the hat to Ellie around Christmas, but the scarf went to Joel. He may not want anyone to think of him as sentimental, but it was worth your while to make it easy on him by giving him something that was also practical. Even if he had his jacket zipped up all the way, it was always there, tucked around his neck; he may leave his ears to the elements but he never went anywhere without that scarf.

The line of horses start making their way toward the Jackson gates and you squeeze Joel’s shin before stepping out of the way, letting him and his horse follow the group. He simply lets a gloved finger glance your cheek as he passes by.

All the way out here on this side of the apocalypse and humans still have a million variations on saying “I love having you around and I’d like to keep it that way.”

________

“Ellie’s more than welcome around here if you and Joel don’t want to leave her home alone.”

Maria’s lightly bouncing a wet-faced and blubbering Riley on her lap, trying to tempt him with a frozen carrot for his teething. He has tommy’s curls and they sproing with every boing.

“Nah, she wants to come out. We’ll be dividing the ewes and driving part of the flock into the old town for the rest of the overwinter and she wants to see how it's done. Should see it, if she thinks she’ll be entering the rotation at any point. Speaking of,” you grunt, leaning down to gather your knitting basket and gather your things, “I promised I’d meet her after school. She’s gotten into collecting cassette tapes and the commissary says she’s hit her quota on goods this week. Gonna give up a couple credits so she can discover the wonders of Joan Jett and the Beastie Boys.”

“That’s throwing gas on the fire. She pick those out herself?”

“Nope. My points, my choice. And I say that girl needs to fight for her right to party and put another dime in the jukebox, baby.”

Maria rolls her eyes, chuckles, goes light on the sarcasm. “You’re the coolest auntie.”

“Don’t I know it,” you laugh, tying up your boots.

“Joel’s gonna just love that.”

Leaning in to bop a quick kiss to Riley’s head, you give Maria a crazed grin. “So much.”

Ten minutes later, Ellie has her doubts, holding up a cassette at the commissary. “But there’s a dinosaur on this one! How can it not be great?”

“Listen, missy. I’m not saying Dinosaur Jr. doesn’t have a place in music history, but I’m telling you that you’re likely to be disappointed. Trust me. Just this once.”

Ellie makes a face but you glance past it, distracted by what you see through the window behind her. Following your focus, she turns to look too. “Who’re they?”

All of the patrol horses coming back in have two people on them–a member of the party, and a stranger. And all the strangers can’t be more than teenagers.

“Dunno, but it looks like you’re about to get some new classmates. I’ll sign these out. You go ahead and make a good first impression.”

“You’re just sending me out there because you know if they’re infected, I can’t catch it.”

“If they were infected, they wouldn’t be on those horses or inside those gates. I’m sending you out there because you have a way of reading people. Go.”

Something in that puts a gasp in her throat and a sparkle in her eye and her ponytail whips behind her as she goes, striving to live up to the compliment.

But really, you just want half a minute to take a good look at the kids without Ellie asking questions. They’re all scrawny and filthy. Backpacks. Been traveling and living rough for a while now. Where’d they come from? What’s their story? Not an adult among them. How have they survived? You’d swear something feels off, but that’s the world now. Can’t be too careful. Everything seems off all the time.

Question is, off by how much?

You find Joel in the group; he’s the only one riding with a kid in front of him rather than hanging on behind. And once he gets down off the horse and reaches up to help his passenger down, you can see why.

She’s pregnant.

Shit. She’s what, fifteen? Sixteen?

Shit.

“There’s a house up near mine has good plumbing turned on.” Tommy’s speaking over his shoulder to the small group and leading his horse to the stable door as you come out of the commissary. “We’ll get you all washed up and fed. There’s at least two beds there and some other furniture fit to sleep on if it makes you comfortable to stay together. Give me a minute to put Lady away here and we’ll walk on up together. Joel? A word?”

Handing off the pregnant girl’s backpack to her, Joel takes the reins of his horse and follows his brother inside, leaving the newcomers to look around them and take in the town.

All but one. A girl with hair that’s neither light brown or dark blonde, somewhere in between. Your mother would have called it dirty dishwater blonde and you always thought that was rude. But your mother also would have said the girl had a hatchet of a face with a strong jaw like that. And it’s that girl whose head whips around the second she heard Joel’s name, quickly scanning the patrol to ascertain who belonged to it, and stands watching the stable door in thought long after the Miller brothers were gone.

Was Joel her father’s name? Her brother’s? Is it hers or close to hers? Is she a Jo or Joelle?

“Abby. Hey,” a boy calls and she turns. “Mel should get a bed and we can share. Manny and Nora can share too…if you’re okay with taking a couch.”

“Fine,” Abby says. Her eyes and mouth all unmoving lines.

“Hey. Welcome to Jackson. I’m Ellie.” Your starling jams her hands in her pockets as all the new eyes turn her way. “It looks like you’ve been wandering. Where you coming from?”

The boy who spoke before blinks and opens his mouth to say something, hesitates. You’d take him for the leader up until the moment Abby speaks for him.

“West of here. QZ. Seattle.”

“Oh. Cool,” says Ellie with a bounce to her nod. Easy. Instantly welcoming. “I came out of Boston.”

Seattle QZ. The same one your dead husband and his sister came from. Not a good place. Warring factions and nothing but oppression and disease, last you heard. Good that they got out. They’re gonna need to be de-loused.

But Seattle’s also much harder than most zones to break free of. You’ve been told the Western Liberation Front makes FEDRA look like a bucket of clowns.

“Seattle?” Now it’s your turn to pull focus from the group. “We’ve had refugees from there before. You really get out of there in one group like this? With no grown ups?”

Abby rips her eyes away from Ellie. “It’s a long story,” she says, shutting the questioning down.

There’s a moment that hangs between you and that stinks faintly of threat, but is mostly just the smell of feral kids. Tension breaks as the men emerge from the stable.

“We all ready?” Tommy says, making his way down the road and waving a hand for them to follow. “New home’s this way.”

Ellie starts to fall in with the group and you pull her back in close, speak low. “Go with them if you want, but keep your distance.”

“What? Why?”

“These are your first refugees. You’ll learn that they sometimes bring things with ‘em.”

Her face screws into a question mark. “What things?”

“Fleas. Lice. Viruses. Just give ‘em some space for a while.”

After the quickest flash of disgust, Ellie’s tried and true compassion kicks in and she gives an understanding nod as she turns to go, tape cassettes clattering in her jacket pocket.

You keep watching her even as you speak to the owner of the hand snaking around your waist. “Where’d you find them?”

“Up at the old crossing. They were under attack.”

“Jesus.”

“Nope. Infected.”

“Been a while since we’ve seen any of those stumble through here.”

“Infected? Or the kids.”

Turning to him in exasperation you look him over. “Both. And the same goes for you as for Ellie, Foxy. Let’s take you home and wash that scarf and hat. Run a fine-toothed comb through that hair just to make sure.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” he says, stopping when he catches your zero-temperature glare. If it’s something else you love about Joel, he recognizes when something’s important to you and answers a lady with composure and respect. “Yes, ma’am.”

____

“You couldn’t have found her some Cash or Fleetwood Mac or something?”Joel grumbles into the fireplace as he places another log on the coal bed and moves the poker around like he’s doing something.

Ellie sits on a blanket near the fire, reading a comic book, headphones on, Joan Jett’s grinding guitar bleeding out into the otherwise quiet living room. With his face turned to the fire and Ellie facing away from you, she most likely can’t hear the conversation that’s happening around her if you keep your voices low.

“You’re just jealous that she asked me to pick something out instead of you,” you smile on the couch, picking up your feet and swinging them into his lap as he sits down beside you. “80’s rock is good for her spiky little soul.”

“80’s means trouble,” he counters, considering her as his hands absently squeeze and rub at your feet.

You go back to your book. Seemingly anyway. It’s easy to steal observing glances from where you are. The thoughtful concern he has for Ellie. You can see him looking over the wood in the hopper and calculating how many days of fuel he has before you all head out to the Roost. A twist of a lip tells you he’s realized he might be a day short and needs to chop more. His gaze drops to his lap as he lightly massages your feet–just running his hands along their contours, pressing a thumb in here and there to tenderize a muscle. The firelight loves him, plays at the edges of his curls, slides down his nose, kisses the purse of his lips.

You jump as he slides a tickling fingertip up the sole of one foot. “Hey!”

“What you get for staring.”

“I wasn’t staring at you, I was reading.”

“Must be pretty small print you don’t turn a page for five minutes.”

Taking off your readers and closing the book, you sit up and deposit them on the coffee table. From here it’s easy to scoot up to him and lean an elbow on the couch back. “What’s got you so thinky tonight, hmm? You look like you’ve got your worry pants on.” There’s a curl right behind his ear that’s so easy to twirl in your fingers and you indulge. You’ve found a little touch helps him open up.

“I can’t help thinking about those kids, thinkin’ they could just wander out in the world like that. If it weren’t for us hearing the runners….” He goes quiet a minute and you let him, his gaze haunting Ellie’s direction but living somewhere in the past. “They gotta be somebody’s kids. I can’t believe Seattle’s so bad they just let ‘em run wild…let ‘em run away from the best you got for ‘em.”

A faint guitar blares from Ellie’s headphones as she flips a page, purses her lips, absently nods along.

“Yeah, well teenagers rebel, Foxy. That’s what they do.”

“No,” he says, softly, resolutely, a tick of his jaw. “Not all of ‘em. Not if they’re loved. And fiercely. And I don’t know a love that isn’t fierce.”

It’s the look on his face that makes you believe him.

Love isn’t a word that Joel bandies about. It’s easy to see it work in him. The way he tells Ellie no when she wants to do something reckless but promises her something just as exciting, going to any length to make her smile. The way he holds Riley’s head in the crook of his arm, his other hand reflexively coming out in defense if anyone gets too near the baby’s soft spot. The way he shoves his brother with a laugh when Tommy picks on him or how he helps Maria to her feet when she’s been on the floor too long, even if she says she doesn’t need it.

The way he… with you he…

His hands work at your feet again. He understands the minute levels of his strength, knows how firm to go without bringing pain.

With you, it’s the way he rolls over and shows you his soft places, invites you in to be a part of it.

Not really what you’d call fierce. Does that mean he doesn’t–

“Is a cherry bomb like a little bomb or a big bomb?” Ellie asks, an earpad pulled away from her ear and spilling Cherie Currie’s stuttered chorus.

“It’s a little one. A firework. But it packs a big punch. It’ll take your fingers off. Hello, world, I’m your wild girl, I’m your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch cherry bomb,” you sing, pushing your foot against Joel’s thigh with every beat.

“Alright, that’s it,” he says, wrapping a big hand around your ankle to secure it. “Ellie, run on up and get my guitar. Lemme teach you a better song.”

In the minute it takes for her to come back, Joel foregoes softness for force, tickling relentlessly, almost ending up with a foot in his face with how much you squirm.

___

Church isn’t really your thing, never was. You have your own way of listening to the beauty of the earth that doesn’t mean sacrificing a morning sleeping in to listen to lessons you’ve already learned and hold true.

But today you’ve come to the after-brunch curious to welcome the new residents and managed to show up a little early. So you’re standing in the back of the mess hall with Maria and Riley, waiting for the final hymn to end, for the preacher to call an end to the service and a beginning to the meal.

Maria leans in and murmurs in your ear as the final chorus comes. “Tommy and the crew are working on one of those bigger houses with the vaulted ceilings in the new district so the church can have its own building.”

“They’re not gonna like having to walk over there.”

She shrugs, adjusts Riley’s teething toy and bounces him up a notch. “Might cause some of them to move over there. Thin out the density. Easier on the power grid. We do have five new residents.”

You watch as one of the new boys–Owen–helps the pregnant Mel to her feet. “Soon to be six.”

Once the kitchen starts serving, Owen and Mel find their way over to your table, eager to meet Riley and ask Maria all kinds of questions about childbirth and your friend finds herself in a mentoring role she didn’t ask for. She’s not opposed to being helpful, just lets her judgment slide through on the whole babies having babies thing which completely flies over the kids’ heads.

They’re good enough kids, but something tastes a little sour when Owen tries to include you in the conversation.

“What about you? You and…is his name Joel? You gonna have any kids?”

It’s a rude question. He’s earned your side eye and he knows it, but smiles through it, playing innocent.

“Already got one. One’s enough,” you laugh, sly, chewing through some boiled oats and letting him know you’re gonna let that one slide.

“Oh, yeah, right. Ellie, right?” he asks, with a flick of his eyes to a table behind you. Turning, you find Abby at a table with some other residents and when you turn back it’s with a dry expression that tells him he’s worn out his turns at beating the bush and should be out with it.

“We just were wondering if she’d show us around,” Mel explains. “She’s the only one of the children here who will talk to us.”

You snort. “Don’t let Ellie hear you call her a child. She’s short for her age, but she’s not much younger than you. She likes people, but that won’t win you any points.”

“And don’t worry about the other kids,” Maria takes over, shooting you a look. “They’ll come around. A lot of them were born here and they don’t see a ton of new people.”

“Are they not coming to the brunch today?” Owen asks.

“Who?”

“Ellie and Joel.”

Shaking your head, you swallow your latest bite. “Joel and Tommy are off getting some work done in the new sector and Ellie would bite my face off if I woke her up before high noon on a weekend. But she knows where you’re staying. I’ll send her around to you once she’s up and acting like a whole human.”

You’re about to change the subject and ask them a few questions of your own but Riley starts fussing and Mel asks to hold him and the whole baby talk starts up again.

When you look over your shoulder, Abby is gone from the table. Left her dish for someone else to clean up.

There’s a thought creeps in that maybe Ellie can teach them all some manners. And then you remember the mouth on your starling and smile.

____

“And Owen showed me some of his drawings and they’re so amazing. He’s like a fucking Picasso or something. He says he’ll give me lessons if I can get Mr. Scowlface here to take him out hunting. Says he misses hunting deer with his dad. And Abby wants to go too. I told her how you taught me to use a shotgun and she seemed really interested to learn. She might want to join the patrols some day. But I told them not this week since we’re going out to the Meadow and they all had questions about that. Abby especially–”

Ellie has a remarkable talent for chewing and talking at the same time. She catches a piece of apple that escapes her mouth, slurping it off the back of her hand where it landed, then downs the rest of the milk and wipes her mouth with the cuff of her sweater, leaving you to negate your silent praise of her manners from earlier in the week and giving you a break in the chatter to speak.

“Well, you’re a little young to be recruiting your own Roostlings, but if Abby or any of the others want to come out sometime and see what the fuss is about, they’re welcome. I’d rather them wait until spring though, or at least until we get the whole of the flock back from the deep winter holding grounds. Chickadee’s taking up the caboose on that.”

As you push the carafe of chicory coffee toward Joel and clear the breakfast plates, Ellie snatches the last hunk of bread you left on yours, shaking her head. “Abby’s afraid of heights. Didn’t even have time to tell her about the Roost being up on stilts. What’s a caboose?”

Joel scoffs. “Last car on a train.” He takes a long, loud drag of his coffee, pouring on the annoyance to get a glare out of the girl and succeeds. “Well, if she don’t like heights, she’s not going to enjoy learning patrol duty either, not with the watchtowers and the mountain trails. And don’t go promising services you can’t guarantee. I’m not a scout leader.”

“What’s a scout leader?”

“Someone with a lot more patience than me. Get.”

Taking up her backpack, Ellie makes her way to the front vestibule to pull on her gear.

“Don’t forget your hat and scarf!” You call to her, but smile at Joel as you perch your butt against the table and tuck a little curl behind his ear. He’ll ask you to cut it soon. And you’ll put it off for as long as possible.Tickles, he'll say. I know, you'll say.

“Thanks, Gramma Betty!” she calls back and pulls the door shut behind her as Joel lays a warm hand on your outer thigh.

“What’er you getting up to today?” he asks.

You shrug. “I’m in carding mode. Got a whole bag of washed fleece needs combing. I’d ask you what you’re up to, but I assume you and Tommy are gonna be tearing down some poor old house.”

There’s a moment where he squints, thiinking. His thumb tracing the outer seam of your jeans.

“I want you to come with me. Got something to show you.”

“Really. Well I like the sound of that. I could use a little walk in the bitter cold with a mystery at the end of it. Gonna have to go pull on a heavier sweater though. Might need to take this one off first. You wanna come watch?”

There’s a knock at the front. Tommy. The door opening.

Joel only grins fondly and pats your thigh, sending you off, before pushing the chair back from the table and separating himself from his coffee mug. “I’ll catch the later show. ‘Specially if it calls for audience participation.”

Five minutes later, bundled and booted, the three of you head out toward the new section, Joel with his scarf tucked in tight and hat pulled down low, and Tommy with a set forced upon him because you’re quickly becoming the winter clothing police around here.

It’s not a long walk. Jackson was never more than a few miles wide and this is just the first expansion of the wall. You’ve wandered over during the construction crew’s activities enough to know the way without being led, but what you’re expecting is for Joel to lead you away from the furthest street, away from the beautiful A-frame house so neatly repaired along with its pretty neighbors and up the street with Tommy to the next clutch of houses they’ve been working on.

But instead, Joel tells his brother he’ll be along in a minute, and Tommy smiles knowingly as he continues on, leaving the two of you in the walkway up to the pretty A-frame that’s so much like the Roost’s bigger sister.

“You know what today is?” Joel asks, hands in pockets, squinting up at the peaked roof.

“Friday?”

“Probably,” he says, shifting focus to his boots. “I was thinking more holiday-wise.”

The air’s particularly crisp today, hitches in your lungs as you take each mental step and catch up with him.

February 14. Valentine’s.

As your mouth drops open, he jerks his chin at the house. “You like this one, right?”

“What…what are you….Joel?”

There’s a cringe that belies his confidence, maybe a tinge of regret. “I just figured we were gettin’ along so well, that maybe you’d… It was just an idea–”

He can’t even look you in the eye until you yank his hand awkwardly out of his pocket and wrap your gloved hand around his. He seems almost shocked to see your tears welling up–true, half from the cold–but he’s also relieved. Big breath in, big breath out. That must have been the hard part.

Words aren’t Joel’s way. This is how he tells you just how deep his feelings go. You know he’s had time to imagine with every window replaced, every floorboard leveled out, every load bearing wall reinforced, just which family was going to get to live in this house and what kind of life they might make in it.

What kind of life you might make together here.

So you take his lead and say only what’s necessary, as steadily as you’re able.

“Take me inside.”

His sheepish grin confirms that it was exactly what he’d hoped to hear.

The interior’s simple, but gorgeous. The dark wood gleams, and the whole back wall of the A frame is windowed. The triangle at the top replaced with a leaded stained glass in a sunrise of orange and rose that reflects the undertones in the timber inside and the pines out the window, the mosaic just high enough to catch the last rays that will come in over the mountains at the end of the day and turn the whole place into a dream. The open floorplan has the kitchen near the door, but over by the windows….

Joel gives the tour. The hand-laid stones in the fireplace. The built-in shelves for your books. This is the corner where your favorite chair can go, nearest the fire and where there’s good light for spinning. This rug was here, still good. He points out to the little shed in the back–a place for wool dying, he can hang pegs in there however you need them.

If he weren’t so occupied in explaining the wood he chose to finish the countertop, the way he followed the original dovetailing in the doorframe, the pattern he made with the reclaimed wood in the floorboards, he may have seen you admiring the most important part of the house…or, rather, the most important person in it.

There’s more. Two bedrooms, one off each side of the main part of the house, each with its own bathroom, the larger one with its own porch overlooking a little creek.

“The basement’s not quite done, but I figure I’ll just use that for my own. Felt you might not like the…vibe…”

Ah yes. The former owners. He took care of that too.

He took care of everything.

“I love it, Joel.”

“Yeah?”

“If there was a stronger word, it would be yours, believe me.”

He only wraps his arms around you as you dive in to squeeze him.

“Good,” is all he says. Breathes in the scent of your hair. “That’s good.”

________

The ewes hate the leader ropes, but they follow, bleating now and then as you slowly guide them through the woods toward the Meadow’s north entrance. Joel’s got two behind his and Ellie’s horse, and you’ve got four behind yours, a small party, but the only ones that were ready to come on back out after the coldest weeks.

Goldie’s happy to lead them out to the rest of the flock while you and Joel go up and get situated, get warm, get ready for the week ahead. Ellie follows Goldie and Joel hangs his watch by the door. All’s quiet in the Roost.

Until Joel’s tongue clicks. “That beam is bowing,” he points up to one of the main rafter struts on the far side of the room. “Wood stove keeps this side warm and the snow melts off, but there’s no balcony on the other side. No way to rake the snow off the roof. Tommy should have known better.”

“Well it’s not like he’s had a lot of practice with big boy tree forts, I’m guessing,” you say, dumping a sack of potatoes near the cook pile and throwing the stack of fresh sheets onto the bed. “Does it need to come down?”

“Don’t think so. But come spring we’ll add on another balcony and do some reinforcement.”

As he runs his hand up the wall seam, you come up behind him, hugging him from the back with the sole purpose of distracting him, your way of letting him know he’s obsessing like an old man. It gives you the right angle to grab onto his open jacket and start pulling it off him. “Take this off and stay awhile.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Goldie takes her leave on your horse, guiding Joel and Ellie’s behind, glad to be going back to more warm water than she can heat on a stovetop, and Ellie helps to cart a few buckets of the colder variety up from the stream so you can all just stay in for the night.

Then it’s stew and cards, and Ellie kicking Joel’s ass at Scrabble, all of you bundled in wool sweaters and slippers handmade by you and Chickadee, the firelight glinting off the game tiles, highlighting the glee in the girl’s eyes, the resigned agony in Joel’s smile.

Almost a whole year now she’s been coming out here with you, and it’s wondrous how much she’s grown inside and out. You never felt lonely at the Roost, in fact, you had always very much enjoyed the solitude. Now you don’t think you could abide it. It’s only a home for a week at a time, but only when they come out here with you now.

It’s a nice night. Stars are out. Ellie’s still staring out at them as you and Joel fall asleep in the big bed.

_____

It’s the scent of woodsmoke that wakes you in the middle of the night, sitting you up straight in bed. Or so you think, except that the embers in the stove are low, so it can’t be that.

No. It’s a voice outside.

“Burn in hell, Joel Miller!”

Is that…Ellie? What’s she doing outside? No. Not Ellie. No it’s–

“Abby?” Ellie says blearily from the bunk above you.

There’s someone in the room moving swiftly toward you from the windows, hulking, with a rifle–

Joel.

“Get up. Both of you. Get out. The place is on fire.”

It doesn’t register.

“What? What fire? Joel? What’s happening–”

He shakes your shoulder, pulling you from the bed. “Get Ellie out. Now!”

There’s no other thought, just fumbling in the dark as Ellie jumps down beside you and dives for her jacket, shoving her feet into her boots without doing up the laces while you reach out one hand to catch hers for when it comes to you. The other gropes the near table for the walkie and thumbs the button.

“Meadowlark to patrol. Meadowlark to Goldfinch. We’re in trouble, there’s a fire and–”

The whole cabin sways. A gunshot from the balcony. Joel growling over his shoulder. “Get out! Now!”

“Joel–!”

“NOW!”

The ladder is still sliding down into place when you jump on it and ride it part of the way down, still waking up as Ellie’s boots come fast, almost kicking you in the face as she follows you down the rungs two at a time, moving through a plume of choking blackness only to come out below it to a roaring bonfire that’s eating through the Roost’s supports.

Oh god. The Roost…

is burning….

“JOELLLLLL!” you scream up as your stocking feet hit the ground hard, as you catch Ellie and pull her off the ladder and stumble backward, as something hits your head hard and causes you to let go, as separate sets of arms grab each of yours and drag you roughly backward, fast enough to keep your feet from catching up until you’re on your knees.

There’s a crackle in the air– “Patrol to Meadowlark. What’s the trouble?”

The walkie lies somewhere in the pine needles just out of reach and you’re screaming at it for help but all that comes out of your mouth is a string of names and no’s and helps. You’re able to yank your non-dominant arm free, pitching forward, clawing for the radio, until a flash of hard silver–a meteorite, exquisitely dense and smooth, malignant, swift, direct–cracks down on your forearm with a sickening thud, shattering the bone.

The world slides out of focus through a screen of sudden pain.

At first, you assume you’ve been shot in the arm. But then a figure steps around to your line of sight. Abby. With a golf club? What? Why? Where did she get that? The commissary? Why the fuck would they stock golf clubs? What the fuck is going on?

And you watch as Abby picks up the walkie. Tosses it into the fire.

The hands are back upon you now, forcing you back to your knees, and a third set joins them, wrapping around your forehead and chin, pulling you back against a belly and you struggle.

Where’s Ellie.

You’re able to twist your head to one side despite being held. She’s there on the ground, face down, groaning, with Owen’s knee in her back.

“Ellie? Honey?”

One pair of hands holding you twists you hard, meaning to pull you further away from her without compliance from the other hands or consent from your muscle structure and there’s a sickening pop as your shoulder leaves its socket and then your scream drowns out everything even the roar of the fire.

“She keeps it in her pocket,” Abby says. Rooting into Ellie’s pocket, Owen finds the knife and pulls it out–the one she cherishes, imbued with the legend of her mother, given to her on the same day as her name, her life, and her orphanhood.

The day Ellie told you the story, you’d taken steel wool to the knife and cleaned it. Oiled the hinge. Shined it up good and pretty.

It flips open easily in Owen’s paw. It twirls swiftly around, and points downward, his fingers closing over the hilt, thumb curling over the butt of the handle to give it more leverage when he’s ready to bring it down.

The night is horribly black and lit along the edges in orange fire.

There’s a loud crack. Owen’s thigh explodes in a splatter of blood and he falls backward off Ellie, screaming. The hands around your head let go and Mel runs to him.

Joel stalks out of the plume of black smoke, cocking the rifle, pointing only long enough at Owen to confirm he’s down and then swinging the barrel around to Abby.

A stand off. No sound or movement but the whoosh of flames and a few ground-muffled cries from Owen, a few sniffles and shushes from Mel.

“Who the fuck are you,” Joel growls out over the steel barrel, his cheek quivering in barely hinged anger.

Abby stands, solid, unyielding, straight as the blonde braid hanging down her back, club wound up tight, ready for the pitch, a face full of lines and soot and destruction.

“The last survivors of the Firefly massacre. You didn’t think to check the rest of the compound? Like the whole team was just one-offs? Like none of them had family, you sick fuck? You fucking orphaned us. Left us to fend for ourselves. Go ahead and shoot, old man. Marlene always said you weren’t so good at keeping kids alive, actually surprised you got as far as you did. So go ahead. Not like we’ve got nothing to lose. We just came to return some favors and finish the job.”

It’s only in the moments later, before the dawn, when you’re laying on your back looking up at the stars, one arm laying broken and useless in the snow beside you, the other cradling a weeping Ellie Williams as tight as you can, that you’ll be able to slow the film of your memory and play out the next thirty seconds frame by frame.

The series of snaps and cracks as the support under the Roost gave way and the whole structure tumbled out and away from the scene, pulling several pines down with it, the crashing and burning the only sound you remember now.

Ellie trying to shuffle along the ground toward you and away from the fire.

Owen pulling himself up enough to raise the knife and bring it down into the meat of Ellie’s calf.

Owen’s body flying backward as a bullet ripped through his skull.

A wrench of your neck and the warm splash of blood from above you as another shot rang out, one person holding you falling away and back, gone, but still pulling you down with their dead body.

The roar of an angry Abby and the clank of a club shaft on a rifle barrel.

Another gunshot.

The sound of metal hitting flesh.

Thirty seconds. And now you can see the stars. Orion. The Milky Way.

Somehow you’re lying yards from the little patch of burning trees with Ellie cradled in your good arm. Someone dragged you here.

There are voices and flashlights. The patrol. Bear and Tommy. Goldie and Willa and Chickadee.

And Maria. Laying on the ground beside you, exhausted from the effort of dragging two humans out of the burning thatch of trees.

“Joel. Where’s Joel.” It hurts to speak. Breath comes fast and shallow.

Then he’s there with the others, a bruise blooming purple beneath his eye, saying only what scant words he needs to move past them and get to you. To Ellie.

His hands are gentle, but his eyes are cold.

Two still, black pools reflecting fire.

_______

Perhaps unsurprisingly, you dream of Troy, his mangled face open and bleeding, laying in the hole next to Ash, mutilated, stopped at the moment of transformation into something more sinister, your ex-husband and his sister lost to you because they were headstrong, foolish, too devoted to each other….

Ash’s eyes open, what’s left of them anyway. “Abby’s afraid of heights. Didn’t even have time to tell her about the Roost being up on stilts. What’s a caboose?”

They didn’t know the Roost was elevated. They followed us out here and didn’t have a good plan. Is that it?

They don’t answer. They get up and climb out of the hole, turn their backs on your and walk into the forest. You call after them, desperate to have them back after all this time, begging them not to leave you.

But you’re calling after them wrong. You can’t seem to say Troy. You can’t say Ash.

You’re only calling out for Joel and Ellie.

_____

The next thing you know, you’re sitting up in the snow, leaning against Goldie, the girl patting at your cheek as you’re coming around. “Come on, come on back, baby.”

The sun’s up, but not high enough to breach the mountains circling the meadow. Everything’s still lit by the slowly dying flames.

The one two punch of Willa setting the bone and popping your shoulder back in must have sent you off. Looking down, you see you must have thrown up as well.

“Holy shit,” you groan, “I’m sorry. Oh my god, holy shit that hurts.”

“I know, I know,” says Goldie, smoothing your hair and kissing your forehead.

“Here,” says Willa, handing you some dark root. You forget what it’s called, you just know you gotta chew. “Don’t swallow,” she reminds you. “You ride with Goldie. She’ll keep you upright once that sets in.”

“I gotta get up,” you mumble, struggling to stand and inhaling sharply at the twinge of pain the movement brings to your bandaged and immobilized arm. Goldie’s able to help get you up, but seems hesitant to let you go. “Ain’t nothing wrong with my feet, lemme go. Where’s Ellie?”

But you don’t need to ask, she’s just behind you, laying on her back in the snow, one arm flung over her eyes, breathing heavy to manage the pain, leg bandaged and tourniqueted.

Good. Next priority. “Where’s Joel?”

Goldie points to the fire. It’s starting to die down, enough to make out the bodies of three teenagers consigned to the flames. Past them, the group of the regular patrol. Joel shaking his head at them, speaking. Jacket zipped up to the top, no scarf, no hat; probably got left behind in the Roost. Rifle over one shoulder. A backpack over the other.

But not his backpack. Why would he have someone else’s backpack? Why would he have one at all…

He’s…. No.

Pushing off Goldie, you immediately find out that walking is hard. Even if the pain’s just in one arm, everything’s connected, everything hurts; it’s disorienting. Your knees are bruised and even your soft sleep pants feel like sandpaper on them. Feet cold and wet, no boots…

Joel sees you struggling to get to him and walks away from the group and the fire, meeting you partway, catching your good arm as your fist falls hard on his shoulder and yanks, fingers digging in hard to his coat, doing your best to hold on tight, to keep him here, to convince him not to go.

“Don’t you dare, Joel Miller. What do you think you’re fucking doing???”

He says nothing, only lets you collapse onto his chest, to sob. There’s not even an arm to comfort you, he gives you nothing but the bare necessity, a wall to keep you standing, and you know nothing you say will make a difference. In essence, he’s already gone.

“Please. Joel. Don’t. Please don’t go.”

“Trail’s fresh. Best to get on before it snows and covers the tracks. One of them’s the pregnant girl. One of them’s bleedin’. They can’t get that far.”

“You don’t have to. Just come home.”

“They’ll just come back. Maybe not soon, but someday.”

He’s right. You know he’s right. Stepping back, it hurts to look at him. The Joel you love has been asked to step aside, the care and fondness he’s come to show you locked up somewhere secure, somewhere where it won’t get in the way.

I warned you, this Joel seems to say, void of emotion, jaw set, brow even and low, hand on the strap of his rifle. You took me in knowing exactly what I am.

He’s right.

“I need you here, Joel. Ellie needs you here. Don’t you dare go…unless you can come back.”

“I need you here too. ‘S why I’m going.”

Nothing. No kiss goodbye, no waiting for approval, he just turns and walks.

Maybe this is the last of it, just one last loose thread, then he can finally leave off wandering, finally shake off the killer and just come home, just be your Joel.

Convincing yourself of this is the only choice you’ve got.

________

You find yourself out on Maria’s back porch that night. Unable to sleep from the ache of the mending bone and the swell of your assaulted shoulder, it seemed like the best remedy was to find the toughest jerky in the kitchen, to sit on the porch in the cold and chew through the pain, and to lean back in one of the porch chairs with a soothing snowpack between it and your back.

The moonlight plays illusions like the canteen filmstrips–a summer image of Tommy and Joel teaching Ellie the mechanics of tackle football. The twinkle of the fireflies lending veritas to the picture…which in reality is only the twinkle of a dusting of new snow.

Not enough snow to make tracking impossible, but enough to make it difficult.

The back door opens and a blanket lands over your lap.

“Was gonna ask you if you wanted company, but then I decided, it’s my house and you don’t get a choice.”

Maria plops her own blanket in a nearby chair before disappearing and returning with two steaming mugs of tea as offering for the table between you. She takes her time covering you just so before wrapping herself up and joining you on the porch. “Suppose I should have asked if you want that cold pack changed before I get too comfortable,” she says, not really offering, but leaving the suggestion there between you if you need it.

It’s not necessary to talk for a while. She knows exactly what you’re thinking. Sees what you see.

“Did I wake you?”

“No. Riley did,” she lies. You’d heard her shift when you got up from the bed–her bed, well, hers and Tommy’s. But hers and yours for now.

“Thanks for taking care of us.”

“You say that like you’re not my family.”

“Well then, thanks for staying behind as if you are.”

It’s hard to see her out of the corner of your eye, backed by dark shadows. But the moon plays little crescents on her face, the curve of her nose, her cheek, her chin. Her voice comes out velvet from the dark.

“I know you’re pissed at Joel for going, but he’s doing the right thing.”

Now you make the effort to turn, rotating more from the waist than the neck to save the injury from twinging, but it does anyway, mirroring your spike in irritation. “Really? You think so? Is that why you sent Tommy with him? After all that time you spent bemoaning the things Joel made Tommy do all those years ago–”

“This is different. This is about the greater good.”

“You know that’s what the villain always says, right?”

She presses her lips together, hating that you’re right. “Okay, so maybe not the greatest good for the morality of the remainder of the human race, but. For the good of Jackson.”

“Two grown men hunting down two teenage girls is the greater good.”

“They won’t be teens forever. They’ve both got reasons to come back for their revenge. And now they know where Jackson is. They get taken in by the wrong people, and then the wrong people will know where Jackson is too and when they come back they won’t be alone. They’ll know exactly how many and what kind of folk to bring.” She holds your gaze for a few seconds, steady and wise but also warning, her warmth only thinly veiling the matronly protectress behind it, like a Durga on her throne. “You know why we have patrols. You know what happens to people that get too close. Two more drops in the bucket is all.”

“Three. One of those little girls is pregnant.”

She has no answer to this. Rather, your dig brings no new argument to the table. It’s just words, just a fact on the wind. It doesn’t sway the needle one way or the other.

It’s exactly what you’d been thinking about, staring up at her bedroom ceiling. Then out here on the porch. It’s like she knew you needed to hear the justification out loud.

“They would have killed him, lady. And Ellie. And you. I’m surprised you don’t want them hunted down like dogs.”

You turn your attention to the back yard, the smallest hump of leaves under the big tree there not quite scattered to the wind, sparkling with snow cover. You can almost still hear Ellie’s high laughter as it sounded the day she experienced her first leaf pile.

“Oh, I want them run down,” you say. “I’m all for that, let ‘em eat lead. I just didn’t want…” It’s not really necessary to continue. Maria knows exactly what you want. She always does. That’s why she sent Tommy with him. To keep him tethered to humanity.

To the way Joel watched Ellie jump and disappear into a poof of leaves. The sun in his smile. At peace. At home. Free from the old violence. Reborn.

I just didn’t want Joel to be the one to do it.

______

Maria’s dinner table feels empty. Funny, you think, it was always the two of you. For a while there was four, what with Troy and Ash, but most of the time just the two. Then Tommy. Then Joel and Ellie. Now Riley…well, that is, if he’s still up during family dinner.

You’ve slept through most of the light of day and was hoping to talk to Ellie at dinner, but Maria’s been taking all her meals to the guest room for her. Mostly so she doesn’t have to walk down the stairs on her healing leg, but also because Ellie’s not been talking since that night.

And you can guess why. It has less to do with the injury and assault or the fire, and more about the truths she learned during them.

Not much to do. The arm has to stay stable, strapped to your body. At least they fucked up the non-dominant one so you can still hold a fork, still brush your teeth. But knitting? Spinning? Helping Maria clear the dishes? Fat chance.

Not much to do but chew root, smoke wild weed, and sleep it off.

Maria reappears with a plate needs washing. “There’s a break in the clouds. I got three whole words out of her. This might be your chance.”

“Oh. Joy.” It’s getting to be less of an effort to stand now that you’ve got rest and food in you. The stairs are daunting only because of the conversation that waits at the top.

A knock on her door only grants you silence.

“I’m coming in, Starling girl. Best not be naked.”

No answer. You take that as the opposite of opposition. Tolerance.

She’s sitting on the bed, propped up by pillows behind her back and under her knee, her bandages freshly changed, no more blood pooling or free bleeding. She plays with the cuffs of her sweater, tugging at a loop in the knit, a book abandoned by her side as if she’d put it down when you knocked. A good sign. She doesn’t want to hide.

You crawl in beside her, awkwardly, one-handedly, a big showy sigh of relief when you finally land. “You know, if I was your mom, I’d probably start off with ‘what’cha reading there, kiddo?’ just to get you to say something, but I’m not your mom and I’m not here to make you talk if you don’t wanna–”

“Well I don’t.”

“Good. I didn’t come up here to hear you yap anyway.” You detect the tiniest twitch of her cheek, not quite a smile, perhaps a sneer…to scare away a smile. “Don’t talk, just listen.”

“I don’t wanna do that either.”

“Tough titties. I’m cashing in exchange for all the time I had to listen to you go on about Sally Fucking Ride.”

Now she does smile. Barely. Gives you the teenager face you wanna slap sometimes. “Tough titties? Really?”

“They didn’t have tough titties in the orphanage? Seems off-brand.” The smile fades. “Tell me how you’re healing. I’m not asking, I’m demanding.”

A big breath in. But the air doesn’t come rushing back with a dramatic sigh, just melts out of her with a single tear she doesn’t move to brush away.

So you do. “That bad, huh.”

“It fucking sucks. It fucking sucks so bad.”

“Heh, tell me about it. I miss the good old days of ibuprofen. Shit. I miss morphine. You’re young though, you’ll be up and running in a week or two. Me? I’m gonna be aching for–”

“He fucking lied through his teeth.”

Ah. There it is.

Now the colony of tears follows the first scout, pouring out over the plains of her cheeks until she covers her face with those cuffs she’s been picking at, relieved at being able to let it all out in front of someone who might understand, but probably scared as hell to let herself be this messed up in front of someone who might not. A gamble.

And a win. You’ve still got one good arm and you put it to good use, pulling her into your side. “Yeah, you’re right. He totally did. He’s a fucking asshole. Why the hell would he do that.”

“It wasn't time that did it,” she hiccups from under her woolen cuffs.

“I don’t know what that means, Starling” you say, unable to stop yourself from kissing the crown of her head.

She wipes her nose and comes up for air. “I mean I know why. But he fucking lied about everything. Straight to my face.”

“Well, you’ve got every right to demand an explanation and an apology when he comes back. Straight to his face.”

“If he comes back.”

You let that sit a moment between you. It’s her way of saying that she knows you’re mad at him too, that she heard the conversation you had with him when he left. It’s her way of poking at your own fears and getting you on her side.

“Those girls aren’t armed and the Miller boys have a lot more experience with being hunters than those kids do being prey. He’ll be back.”

“I hate him.”

“I know. But also. You don’t.”

“I had a… a purpose. A fucking purpose.”

“Well….I know you did, but…probably not so much as you think.” She looks up at you but you can’t meet her eye, she’s right to mourn, and you can’t deny her that. “Remember what I told you about my sister and her treatments?”

“The research hospital.”

“Yeah. Cancer’s been killing people on this earth far longer than cordyceps and they’d had millions of patients to test on. Still couldn’t crack it. How many people are immune like you? Because if it ain’t millions, you just become one part sample in a petri dish and another part dead body that maybe give some vague clues and then you’re all parts in the bin, end of story. I mean, I’ll be honest. I don’t blame him. You’re quite a keeper.”

Now her sigh is dramatic. “And then he fucking lied about it.”

“So you would feel good about it. Accomplished in your goal. Also so you wouldn’t hate him for caring about you more than you do.”

“Why didn’t he just say–?”

“Do you know that man to be good with words?”

This quiets her. Both of you. For a few minutes. She goes back to picking at her sleeves.

The sun’s set completely now and her little bedside lamp can’t even drown out the stars so bright on the other side of the window. Clear night. Cold out there.

After a moment you take your arm back, jostle her with your shoulder. “Hey. I’m going out to the Meadow tomorrow, check in with Willa, look over the damage. If I bring you back a piece of the Roost, you wanna do some carving or whittling or something? We’ll build a platform like the old one and it’s probably just gonna be a tent up there for a while like it used to be, but hopefully this spring or summer we’ll get a structure up there and we’ll need a cornerstone or a plaque or something signifying its importance. Since you’re on your ass all day with nothing better to do, and you’re the star recruit, I’d love for you to do it.”

Her lips twist, half smiling at the request, but then in regret. “I lost my knife.”

“The one from your mom?” She nods. “Well if you’ll do some carding for me while I’m out there, I promise to look for it, ask around, maybe one of the patrol picked it up, okay?”

“Okay. Oh. By the way…How are you healing?”

“I’ve been worse. But mostly I’ve been better. Thanks for asking. ‘S kind of you. But don’t you worry about me.”

“Okay. Um…I’m…sorry about telling them about the meadow and all.”

“Why? You’re a Roostling. It’s your story to tell.” Sliding off the bed you head for the door. “Oh hey. I meant to ask–” you nod at the book by her side. “What’cha reading?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh…just porn.”

“Cool. G’night.”

“‘Night. Hey Meadowlark?”

You poke your head back in before the door closes completely. “Hm?”

“Thanks. For all that. But mostly for not calling me kiddo.”

You smile. Nod. Give her a warm wink. “Sure. I gotchu, kiddo.”

It’s worth the eyeroll you catch as you close the door.

________

The most sickening part of coming in through the north passage isn’t seeing the burn scar on the pine grove in the middle of the Meadow, isn’t missing the outline of the Roost through the trees, but rather the feeling that your home has been breached, that for a moment it wasn’t safe and now you’ll always wonder if it will be.

Riding across the north plain, you close your eyes and breathe, let the horse plod on without your guidance, he knows the way. Once spring comes and the valley fills with flowers and the music of the lambs calling for their ewes takes over from this cold silence that comfort will be renewed.

But for now, there is no comfort on the Meadow in winter, not without a pretty little fireplace and a warm spot to watch the snow build up on the mountains.

You know what’s coming, but it turns your heart inside out all the same when you open your eyes.

Where once there was a cabin in the treetops is now a void leading downward to a pile of blackened rubble and debris. Off to the side under some lower trees is the old canvas tent with the vent hole and a friendly little trail of smoke rising from it. Willa always knew her way around a fire and didn’t mind keeping a low one going on the inside. You never were that confident, even with a fire-treated tarp.

She’s been at work out here, pulling useful things out of the rubble. The woodstove. The pulley jacks. A few timbers that are mostly unburned.

But there’s a pile of other things too, useless items that shouldn’t be mixed back in with the earth: a burned walkie. Twisted silverware and blackened plates. The iron tools from the rafters. Shattered tile. Your charred and mangled boots.

All that’s left in the major wreckage is wood. And glass. And bones.

Three blackened skulls, three sets of eye sockets and three jaws gaping up at the sky as if they were caught in the moment of realizing their plans were going terribly awry.

Stupid fucking kids. ….Just kids.

If someone asked you how you knew which one was Owen’s, you wouldn’t be able to say. You just know. The memory of him sinking that knife into Ellie’s leg…of hurting her…intent to kill… His skull breaks like a cracker when you put your weight on it.

Willa doesn’t say anything when she comes up along side to stare down at the bones with you. It's not the first time you've stood with her at the edge of a burned down home.

"I hate that it’s gonna take me a while to sift though all this,” you say.

“We’ve decided to skip your turn for a while. At least until there’s a new platform.”

You nod, resigned. You don’t love it, but it’s best. Trauma lingers longest of all hurt.

“How’s the flock?”

“They’re over it.”

“Figures. Fluffy shits. Any chance you found a pocket knife out here?” You ask her.

She nods, reaches into a jacket pocket and there it is, like it’s been waiting to come back to its keeper, made itself shiny and easily found. It’s passed between you like a sacred object, holy, a relic saved and cared for, a thing infused with deep love and meaning. There’s an instant relief as your fingers curl around it, your shoulders relaxing and releasing a little of the pain.

“Thank you.”

“There was this too.” From the same pocket Willa pulls a disk of silver and glass, turning it over and placing it in your hand with the knife.

The watchband is burned away. But it’s otherwise unharmed.

Willa may be a stoic, but she knows enough to recognize a release through tears and to hold you while you cry.

Later that afternoon when you knock on Ellie’s door, you’ll hand her the knife and a piece of the old Roost to carve to consecrate the new one. And then you’ll give her the watch and ask her to be your hands, to help you with one more thing.

________

Two days later, you’re standing in Joel’s living room, never having been here when it’s so quiet, dark, and cold. With you and Ellie staying with Maria, there’s been nobody here to light a fire, to make the place live. You wouldn’t be here if Maria hadn’t made a side comment about maybe you and Ellie’d been in the same clothes for a day too many. Not that you thought you’d be with her that long.

She was right. It was nice to change into something clean–a soft fleece and some sleep pants. While the sword of Damocles kept things in check at Maria’s house, it did feel just this side of an extended girl’s night sleepover, might as well dress for it. Ellie had asked for something soft and comfy so you decided to go for it, an assortment of sweats and sweaters in the duffel at your feet.

What you’re eyeing at the moment is an empty hook on the wall by the fireplace.

You put your hand in your jacket pocket and pull out the watch.

Ellie did a beautiful job with it, took directions like a champ. Sitting together on her bed, listening to Joan Jett and Pat Benetar, you’d instructed her how to design the plaid stripes into the strap, how to knot and plait in patterns.

“Macrame. MACrame. Mac. Ra. Mayyyyyy,” Ellie’d chanted. “It’s a fun word to say. What’s it mean?”

“Fringe. Knotting. It’s just the name of the technique. I dunno. Probably something prettier in French.”

The strap clasps had been lost in the fire, so you’d had Ellie work him a new strap out of dyed and tightly-spun wool, something a little longer so he could tie it on. Most likely he’d come back here first, so you want to put it somewhere he’d see it, that way he could have it again without a lot of fuss but knowing at the same time you were thinking of him. So you slip the end loop over the hook, gently let it slip through your fingers and rest against the wall.

If he comes back…

The front door opens. Boots on the wood. The thump of a backpack.

By the time you’ve turned, he’s coming in through the front hall.

When he sees you standing here, he stops.

You never imagined this moment. You should have. It might have prepared you for the yellowing bruise on his face, the majority of his left pant leg browned with dried blood, his knuckles raw and just beginning to heal over.

You struggle with finding the right question. Find ‘em? They dead? Finish the job? No survivors?

I’d ask you what the hell you did, but I know and I don’t wanna hear you say it.

Instead all you can muster is a nod at the blood on his jeans.

His eyes slide to the staircase, already looking to move on, and he only answers with a short and shallow nod of his own before doing just that.

You find yourself sitting on the couch, staring at your hands, the duffel, the watch, back at your hands. Listening as he moves around upstairs, dropping boots, his belt buckle clapping to the floor. The shower running for a long, long time.

Sun’s going down. Getting colder.

The squeaks from the staircase are slow, softer than usual. He’s taking his time coming down. Doesn’t want to force himself back into a space so safe and quiet after pushing through one so big and mean.

He barely shifts the couch as he sits on the far side. Clean shirt. Clean jeans. A pair of socks you knit him.

“Where’s Ellie?” He sounds like he hasn’t spoken to anyone in days. You’d wager he hasn’t.

“With Maria. We’ve been staying there. I was just getting us some clothes. Didn’t think you’d be gone this long.”

“Neither did I. They had a head start. Younger. Faster. But you’re safe now. You’re both safe now.” He’s quiet long enough for the house to give a settling creak as the wind picks up outside. “How’s that arm?”

“Joel, you can’t keep us safe from the world. The world is what it is.”

“The fuck I can’t,” he whispers back, defiant, stubborn, with enough venom that he seems to scare himself and he breathes in deep, keeps it, holding back.

All you want is your Joel back. Even in all this mess. All you want is for him to lay down his fear and love you the right way.

So instead of arguing, you get up and stand before him, give him the time it takes to understand you’re going to straddle his lap whether he helps you or not. He reaches for you on your way down, guides and supports you, allows you to rake through his wet curls before leaning in to take possession of his lips, to will him–by kissing through to his very soul–to come back to you.

He can’t help but respond, his whole body coming to life, and in the cold, twilit living room, you become a tangle of silhouettes as his hand pushes up under your sweater–somehow still keeping an aura of care around your ruined and wrapped arm–to squeeze almost painfully at your curves, rough and wanting, panting between devouring kisses as he paws beyond the waistband of your sleep pants, sucking at your neck when you throw your head back as he reaches what he was searching for….what you hoped he’d find…

There’s a tousle of repositioning and a clatter of belt and zipper. You’re both raw and rough and needy, and you both take advantage of the emptiness of the house to fill it with the sounds of desperation, of effort, the song of casting off of all inhibition, a duet of total and grateful release.

But through it all, it’s the way he holds onto you that tells you how much he wanted to get back to you, how close he intends to hold you and never let you go, a desperation that tells you exactly where his faults lay…

…that it was necessary–and always will be–to eliminate any chance of someone taking you from his world by force.

It’s not so much possession as a fierce and burning need to be possessed. A need to belong, concentrated down to its basest form.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he softly kisses your temple, spooning you in the afterglow that burns bright in the darkening room.

“For what? You didn’t hurt me.”

“Rushed it a little. Tend to act before thinkin’ sometimes.”

You’re not completely sure what he means by that. At first you think he’s talking about the rough sex, but you get his meaning. Stalking off after Abby and Mel so impulsively. For being impulsive in general.

For acting out of trauma.

Or love.

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to for that, Joel.”

You can tell the moment he understands when his forehead gently meets your shoulder. “Shit.”

It’s probably the best time to break it to him, while he’s still a little softheaded and euphoric. “She’s ready to listen. But I won’t promise it’ll be easy. It might just be you and me here for a while.”

Once his breathing evens out, he shifts, still holding onto you, but just coming back down, settling back in.

“What’s that?” He mutters, just on this side of falling asleep, lazily pointing at the watch on the hook by the fireplace.

“Your Valentine’s Day present. From both of us. Sorry it’s late.”

________

Taking some shifts off from the Meadow rotation affords you time to start slowly moving things over to the new A-frame, Maria helping you to load up a skid now and then and unload it, walking beside you as you lead the horse that tows it.

After a week or two, Ellie’s up and walking–well, limping, but healing–and starting to talk to Joel at dinner again. She’s on the verge of actually gracing his bad jokes with a smile or even a laugh, but she’s making him work hard for it. Good for her.

You haven’t asked either of them how the talk went. Don’t know if you ever will. That’s between them, the less you interfere, the better.

But you know that things are on the mend when you find Ellie playing Joel’s guitar–learning some Johnny Cash song you know he loves.

And you have a feeling that spring is on the way when you drop off another load at the new house and find a new frame on the wall–a handmade, custom carpentry display shadowbox.

With a watch hanging inside.

_______

PREVIOUS: AUTUMN

NEXT: SPRING AGAIN (coming soon)

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

#leave off your wandering #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x meadowlark #joel miller x mature reader

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haoboutyou · 1 day

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foolish one (stop checking your mailbox) | joshua hong

fluff, slightly suggestive | 1154 words | some cursing

a/n: wifey @bluehoodiewoozi: "if you write me an encouraging boyfriend shua x burnt out uni student y/n fic, i'll be the happiest woman on earth" except I wrote none of that :D

The university has dedicated study rooms all around campus, providing a conducive space for students to catch up on their coursework, computer work, or reading. It’s a great place to comfortably work on thesis papers without the stuffy silence of the library, or the rowdiness of the campus courtyard. It is not, unfortunately, a good place to audibly express disappointment every 10 minutes.

Joshua can’t take it anymore. How many times does he have to watch you check your phone whenever a notification pops up, how many times does that hopeful look on your face morph into disappointment when it was just another push-ad from a shopping app?

He’s just about had it when you let out an audible sigh for the nth time, once again disrupting your supposedly productive study session. And so he bites the bullet, hoping that whatever it is that is distracting you from completing that dreaded thesis is worth all the sighing for.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Huh?” You look up from the laptop, annoyed that he distracted you just as you were about to concentrate.

Right on cue your phone lights up. He snatches the phone faster than you could reach for– it prompts a disgruntled “Shua no!” out of you. Joshua gives the notification a once over before he places the phone screen-up, crossing his arms.

“You can’t possibly be waiting for–” He squints at the screen, reading out the pop-up banner. “ ‘60% off your next coffee’– Oh… That’s a really good deal.” He looks back up at you, watching as you sink back into your seat at the announcement. “Anyways, you’re clearly not waiting for the coffee. Spill.”

A minute of silence passes as Joshua watches you gape like a fish, mouth opening and closing but unable to find the right words to convey your current dilemma.

“...It’s Lucas–“

“You’re still talking to him?!” His disrupted yell earns him multiple death stares from others in the study room.

You wince at his outburst, but you know it comes from a good place. Lucas, despite being known as the worst frat boy to come out of this university, is also the smoothest talker; somehow, he manages to get every girl on campus swooning at his feet. Joshua personally thinks he’s just a load of bullshit, that you could do better than that walking STD stick. Still, he sighs when he sees your downcast look, staring blankly ahead at your dimmed laptop screen.

“Y/n, he’s a player. You got a taste of his dick once and it was good, sure, but you didn’t mean anything to him. I’m serious!”

You hate the connotation that came with his words– it felt like he was calling you a whore. Your brows furrow deeper. You know he didn’t mean to, but it still sounds like that, and it still hurts.

He realises his mistake almost immediately because as soon as those words come out, he backpedals on them so fast.

“No wait, I– I didn’t mean–” He’s instantly shut down by you, cutting through him like a knife.

You avoid looking straight into Joshua’s eyes, fighting the magnetic pull towards his chocolate eyes. Your next words are soft enough that he has to strain his ears to pick them up. “He isn’t like that though. He said what we had was different! He said I was special, that–“

“That no other girl could compare to you? Y/n, he says that to everyone!” Joshua’s exasperated. His heart breaks a little when he spots how glassy your eyes have become, but he presses on, wanting to tell you the hard truth. “Do you know what he does back at the frat house? He marches around, boasting about how many he’s slept with and what they’re like in bed. He shares those stories like some kind of sick trophy. He’s a disgusting, sorry excuse of a man!”

Joshua leans forward across the table, engulfing your small hands with his. He rubs the back of your hands with his thumbs, trying to comfort you when notices silent tears running down your face.

“No…” You hiccup, trying to get your words across your sniffles. “I swear, I can change him!” Even you know how ridiculous you sound; there's no changing a fratboy so set in his ways like Lucas. You slump over your laptop, begrudgingly wallowing over your words. You sigh. It’s impossible. You’re just a hopeless romantic chasing after the affections of a man who gave you an ounce of attention.

“I really thought he was gonna be the one, Shua.”

“There, there. You could do so much better and you know it. Don’t be so foolish!”

“Like who?!” You can’t help but snap at him. You’re desperate, of course; trying to shield your already humiliated and broken heart from his harsh (albeit truthful) words.

His voice drops to a whisper.

“Like me?”

His grip on you hardens. There’s determination and endearment directed straight at you, that you’ve never noticed before, pouring through his eyes. He gulps; his biggest secret is out. The long-time crush he’s been harbouring on you is now public– to you, at least.

“I can treat you better.” He reaches out to wipe a tear from your cheek, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb.

You sigh. You’re doing a lot of that today; it's becoming a bit pathetic. “Shua, I'm not in the mood for you joking–”

“I’m not! Hell, I’m already letting you wear my jacket!” He tries to be serious, gesturing to the oversized jacket he lent you earlier, that envelops you around your shoulders.

He heaves a sigh of relief when you let out a chuckle. His large hands find yours again. You feel yourself calming down, but your cheeks still heat up from his sudden proximity.

You cock your head to the side. “Why didn’t you say anything before? I mean–” You gesture to the space between you. “Before all this?”

“Because you looked so happy, and I was afraid of ruining it all.” A shy smile graces his face. “Let me make up for it, please?”

You hold your stare, making him wait in anticipation. Finally, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding, you reply.

“Buy me lunch, and I’ll think about it.”

“Lunch? Yeah, I can do that.” He can’t help but full-on grin at you. Standing up to gather his things, he extends a hand to pull you up. Ever the gentleman, you think.

“Lucas was pretty good in bed though. Think you can one-up that?” You joke.

Joshua pulls you into his chest, one arm wrapping around you while the other picks up your bag. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll show you an even better time later.”

“Later…?” Your voice trails as you let him whisk you away for lunch. He wiggles his brows at you, mischievous demeanour unveiling.

And so, your thesis remains incomplete yet another day.

#joshua fluff #seventeen fluff #joshua hong fluff #hong jisoo #seventeen #svt #svt fluff #seventeen scenarios #joshua #joshua hong #˙✧˖° aiyu writes ༘ ⋆｡˚#˗ˏˋ avy! ˎˊ˗

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unnecessary-dinosaurs · 16 hours

Text

Ok! I watched Chaos Theory! I have a lot of thoughts! There were things I liked a lot and things I wasn’t a fan of. I generally liked it but came away slightly underwhelmed. If you haven’t watched it yet please go do so!!! Support the show and the wonderful crew that put it together!!!

SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

WHAT I LIKED:

-MATEO!!! I literally loved him so much. A fantastic, simple character that doesn’t overstay his welcome or detract from our main characters. Great motivations and realistic backstory. Yeah. I really liked him. Yeah.

-Yasammy! Obviously they were amazing. They got to be cute and bubbly and gay but also their argument was so real and believable. Neither one of them is completely in the wrong. They are just two flawed people who’ve been through more than they can handle on their own. They need each other but not always in the way they might think. They were such a highlight this season. Can’t wait for more of them.

-This whole show just feels like a dramatic step up in visual storytelling from CC. The sets are beautiful and intricate, the lighting and textures are fantastic, and the directing is just really great. There are some really creative shots and transitions, and overall it just feels like more confident directing and storyboarding all around. (I specifically remember episode 7 being really great visually. Super fun stuff.)

-All the dinosaur action was great. Like next level shit. The way they keep finding creative ways to use these animals for action and suspense is very impressive. The raptors are genuinely scary. The Allosaurus and Pachyrhinosaurus were personal favs.

-Unlike Dominion, they actually showed what living in a world with dinosaurs is like- how people are adjusting to this new way of life, adapting to the presence of these animals, and keeping themselves safe. Totally what I wanted to see from Dominion, and Chaos Theory did it better within a single episode.

-There was some very well crafted suspense throughout this season. The mystery does a great job of constantly keeping you pulled in. Every time a question is answered, five more are asked.

-The darker tone is definitely welcome. The characters are older and they’ve experienced a terrible loss. The weight of the new world weighs on them and the audience in a very tangible way.

-This one isn’t really constructive but like. I just love Darius so much. He’s so perfect.

WHAT I DIDN’T LIKE:

-Unfortunately I thought the character writing was significantly weaker than any season of CC. It was genuinely impressive how they were able to make me not care much about these versions of Ben and Kenji, my absolute favorite characters in CC. Before the characters felt like real, living people. Now, they just feel like fictional characters to me. Really good characters, yes, but still just characters. Maybe I’ll go into further detail about this in a future post. But yeah, overall it felt like the characters took a backseat this time around.

-I’m so sorry but I absolutely could not stand the new VA for Kenji. I’m sure he’s trying his best but he sounded uninterested and half-assed most of the time. Brooklynn’s new actor was… fine? Didn’t care for her either but she didn’t bug me the way Kenji did. Let’s start a GoFundMe to pay for Ryan to come back.

-Ok. Yeah. Not a fan of Darius being in love with B. Like, ok. It makes sense and it fits the plot well. But it just seems unnecessary. Darius can be devastated by her loss without it. Ehhh maybe they’ll handle it well in future seasons but. No. Not for me.

-Also didn’t like Daniel Kon’s death. I liked that they brought him back, but killing him felt undeserved. Like, he was the main antagonist for the first show, but you just kill him off in a random episode six years later? I think he deserved a little more reverence rather than reintroducing him for one episode and then quickly killing him for shock value once he’s served his purpose.

-WHY DID THEY GIVE BEN A GIRLFRIEND THAT BOY IS GAY AS HELL NOOOOO

#I’m sure I’ll think of more stuff I liked/didn’t but these are the main things!!#jurassic world chaos theory #camp cretaceous #jwct #jwct spoilers

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undertheorangetree · 2 hours

Text

Tantrum

Summary- Art’s girlfriend sucks at tennis. He helps her feel better.

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Stanford era Art. Exhibitionism. Body worship. Cunnilingus. Wee bit of fingering. P in V sex. Riding. The fluffiest giggliest sex you've ever seen. Me not knowing a damn thing about tennis.

Author's Note- Hi idk if you noticed but i have Challengers brain rot rn specifically for Art Donaldson :// As a theatre kid I simply had no choice it was always gonna be him. Read the full fic on AO3.

When Art had looked up at her with big pleading eyes, all but begging her to allow him to teach her the basics of tennis, she was in no position to refuse. It had been sweet, how badly he wanted to share his passion with her, the kisses he had peppered across her neck and chest in order to entice her into it, and she couldn’t so much as imagine denying him. Forget the fact that she had never held a racket in her life, that her strengths had always been rooted in academia rather than athletics. If allowing him to teach her would make him happy, she would do it.

Though not without complaint.

She lets out a frustrated grunt as the ball hits the net- again- before turning her head up to glare at Art when he barely manages to stifle his laugh. He smothers it immediately when he catches sight of her glower, hand coming up to rub at his mouth as if he can physically wipe away his smile and she feels her teeth grind together.

“You can’t laugh. You’re the one who wanted me to do this so you’re not allowed to make fun of me,” she complains, her voice half petulance half hurt and immediately his face morphs into something more apologetic.

“I’m sorry baby.” He makes his way closer but she simply rolls her eyes, turning her nose up when he reaches out to her. He takes it in stride. “I’m not laughing at you, you’re doing very well. It’s just funny to see you so frustrated.”

It’s her turn to laugh, though it is little more than a humourless bark. “I am not doing very well. I suck.”

He makes a sympathetic noise as he attempts to reach for her again. She allows it begrudgingly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as his hands close around her elbows, face dropping into her neck to press a kiss there. She thinks that he’s about to praise her further, try to coax her back into committing herself to the game, but he stays silent, continuing to lavish her with silent kisses.

She’s happy for the odd hour they decided to come here, the tennis court completely devoid of any other life. It’s a colder night than it should be for mid spring, the floodlights and moon the only two things to provide them with any light, and she’s grateful finals have chased everyone else away. She’s glad to have this time alone with him, despite her frustration. To feel like they are the only two people in the world.

“You’re just hitting the ball too hard,” he explains, face still half buried in her throat. “And you aren’t even attempting to aim. Putting everything you have behind the hit doesn’t make it a good one if you don’t know where you’re sending it. There’s more to tennis than just force, you have to be smart about it.”

She scoffs, reaching up to press her palm against his forehead and shove him away, ignoring the shit eating grin that’s made itself known on his face. “Just go over there and hit the damn ball. Before I leave you here by yourself.”

The grin doesn’t fade, his amusement more than clear, but he does as she asks, returning to his side of the court. She lets out another aggravated sigh as she returns to the position he had told her to wait in, knees bent as she waits for him to serve, realizing more and more that she prefers to watch him play tennis rather than do it with him. She finds far more joy watching him from the stands as he chases after the ball, sweat dripping from his curls and grunts echoing in her ears. Here, where she is the one chasing the ball like a damn dog and failing to send it sailing over the net when she does manage to catch it, there is no time to admire Art in his element.

She almost feels bad for her poor attitude, wishing she was less competitive so that she could simply enjoy this quality time with him, but every failure does nothing but enrage her further, sending her spiralling further into frustration.

Read the rest here :)

#art Donaldson x reader #art donaldson x female reader #art Donaldson smut #art Donaldson Fic #art Donaldson imagine #art Donaldson fanfiction #art Donaldson #challengers x reader #challengers smut #challengers fic #challengers fanfiction #challengers #challengers x you #art Donaldson x you #Mike faist smut #challengers film #challengers movie #challengers 2024

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plumadot · 2 days

Note

ok here it is! cleo fic with formatting yay!! -🍳

>You are a traveller.

>Your footprints stain the path behind you, imprints in the slick mud. Rain is lazily pouring down from mushy clouds, and the sky does little to light your way.

>You wish that your hometown was closer, but alas, it’s still a day’s walk away. You won’t make it with this rain, so the smarter choice would be to look for shelter. Somewhere warm and well-lit.

> Also dry, you think, as a cold raindrop meanders down your back.

>Thankfully, you can see small lights in the distance. A glistening town lies in front of you.

>You walk faster.

~~~~~~~~~

>Within the town, it’s easier to hide from the rain that tormented your journey. Lamp posts give the air a soft glow as your search for some place to hide away for a while.

>The first sign you see reads “The Crastle”. It connects to a small yet lively tavern that smells of ale and cider. It seems safe enough (a quick glance assures you of no shadowy figures or incapacitated drinkers), so you enter.

>Instantly the warmth of a fire and closely packed bodies floods over you. You let out a sigh of relief, shrugging off your wet coat onto a nearby coat rack.

>You approach the bar and find an empty stool. The bartender and another patron are talking, and you decide to let them finish before interrupting.

>The bartender’s hair drapes over her face, so you can’t see what she’s whispering to the man with a green cloak (is it…fuzzy?). He fidgets with a few small blue flowers before placing them gently in her fiery locks. When he’s done, she musses his hair (which produces a sound close to a squawk) before turning to you.

>Cleo: Welcome to the Crastle! Name’s Cleo, how can I help you?

>You: Uh, I can get something to eat? Preferably warm.

>Cleo: Storm got to you?

>You nod.

>You: Yeah, it came in while I was traveling. I’m soaked to the core.

>Cleo: Of course, of course! Let me find something for you in the kitchen.

>You: Thanks.

>They turns around to get your food, and that’s when you notice their sleeves-or rather lack of them.

>What you had originally taken for long, detached sleeves is actually…skin. Almost purple in tint, but skin nonetheless. You didn’t notice at first, but now it sticks out like a sore thumb. Painfully obvious.

>The stitches holding her bicep together stretch as they balance a tray skillfully. They hand the first bowl to a masked man (who accepts with careful hands and a small nod) before they hand the second to you.

>Cleo: House stew, hot off the stove!

>You take the bowl off her hands, look up to thank her, and notice that her eyes have no whites.

>You: Th…thank you.

>Cleo: ‘Course!

>Cleo: …

>Cleo: Do I have something on my face?

>You say nothing. CLEO turns to the same cloaked man from earlier.

>Cleo: BDubs, do I have something on my face?

>The man scrunches his nose up in concentration.

>Bdubs: Uh, you have eyes, a nose, eyebrows, lips? What am I looking for?

>Cleo: Something out of place! Like a food smudge or bloodstain.

>BDUBS squints his eyes.

>Bdubs: Nothing out of the ordinary, but…

>He turns to look at you, then back at CLEO. You, then CLEO, a few times.

>Bdubs: Your stitches. And eyes.

>Cleo: Oh, my stitches! No wonder.

>They turns to you.

>Cleo: I’m undead! Technically a Hollow One, but most people just say undead. The stitches are normal, and so are the eyes, don’t worry.

>You: Oh. Sorry for staring.

>Cleo: Nah, you’re good! All newcomers stare a bit.

>You: And thank you for the stew.

>Cleo: Of course, of course! I’ll be back to my duties, but holler if you need me!

>You nod, and CLEO walks off to assist another customer.

~~~~~~~~~

>Throughout the evening and into the night, CLEO tends to customers, embroidered robes swishing around her knees as she walks.

>BDUBS, apparently the other worker for the tavern, waits tables during the dinner rush. You notice that the flowers on every table are visibly brighter each time he passes by.

>Everything about this tavern is a little strange. The fire burns in pastel colors, the food tastes like memories, and the singer on stage has a chair that looks like…a spider. He notices your lingering gaze and waves. You wave back.

>But it’s nice. No one seems to care about the state of their clothes or the shape of their ears. They just want to drink some beer, eat some food, have a good time.

>You have seconds, then thirds of the stew. CLEO smiles each time you ask for another.

>Cleo: I’m glad you like it! Etho brought the recipe back from one of his quests. Isn’t that right Etho?

>The masked man (presumably ETHO) nods.

>You: Well, it’s really good. Thank you.

>ETHO nods again, and you think you see a flush of pink behind the mask. Seeing the stoic man blush with compliments was quite satisfying. You should try giving them out more often.

>The comfy atmosphere in the tavern, combined with the mixture of stew and ale settling in your stomach, makes you sleepy. Eventually you ask to rent a room from CLEO, give them pay for the night and for the food, and head to bed. You’re asleep the moment your head hits the pillow.

~~~~~~~~~

>Soft sunlight filters through the closed shutters as your eyes flutter open. You prop yourself up to a sitting position and yawn. That was the best sleep you had gotten since you started your journey. Even still, the warm blankets tempted you back to the land of dreams. But you are a traveler, and your journey is not over.

>When you head back to the bar, CLEO is still there, exactly where you left them last night. Now they’re cleaning dishes, plates and bowls and silverware that pile up on both sides of them.

>Cleo: Hey you! Looks like you’re up bright and early. Heading back on the road?

>You: Yeah, I still have a day’s walk ahead of me. Do you serve breakfast here?

> She smirks and hands you a bowl of…stew.

>Cleo: If you don’t mind leftovers.

>You’re too hungry to care, digging into the cold stew almost immediately. CLEO laughs.

>Cleo: Ha! I guess you don’t!

>She continues to laugh, and then you’re trying not to laugh with her, which is unsuccessful and only results in you spitting out a mouthful of stew, which magically transforms her laughs into guffaws, and then you’re laughing so hard you have to put down the bowl and clutch your sides. Somewhere in between, a sleepy BDUBS shuffles in.

>Bdubs: What in the WORLD is going on here??

>Cleo: I finally found someone who likes cold scraps as much as Etho, if you can believe it!

>Bdubs: Well, you interrupted my schreep. Apologize.

>CLEO rolls her eyes overdramatically, but her laughing smile never leaves her face.

>Cleo: I’m sorry I interrupted your beauty sleep, princess. Will you ever forgive me?

>BDUBS slouches onto CLEO’s shoulder.

>Bdubs: Only if we can take a nap later. With Etho, because he makes a better pillow than you.

>Cleo: Deal.

>CLEO ruffles BDUBS' hair as he wraps his arms lazily around their neck. It’s sweet and intimate in the way close friends usually are around each other, and you can’t help but feel like you’re intruding on some morning ritual of theirs (not that they seem to mind). You eat faster to make up for it, then walk back to your room to start packing while CLEO and Bdubs continue their embrace.

~~~~~~~~~

>You leave the Crastle with a heavy bag but a light coin purse. You can’t find it in you to regret it though, because the experience was far better than any musty hostel room you’ve been to. It felt like an actual rest, and not a waiting place where you anxiously waited to begin your journey again.

>You hope to see CLEO and BDUBS again, smiling, laughing, loving. You hope you can come back and find something to compliment ETHO on and watch him blush and fidget with his shirt collar in embarrassment. Because all those things reminded you of safety, comfort, home.

> But home wasn’t here. Home was a day’s walk away, and if you wanted to get there before sundown, you’d have to start now.

>After all, you are only a traveler.

ok first of all: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!

secondly!!!!! i love the way you wrote this!!!! it's like you're the dm and i'm the player and clethubs are the loveliest npcs i will ever meet. which is true!!!!! they are so soft and gentle and sweet and lovely and mysterious and cool and strong and open and friendly and charming!!!!!!! aaaaaa the little things like cleo not immediately noticing why the traveller is staring at them, bdubs making flowers bloom brighter with zero effort, etho seeming a little absent from the conversations but still being included in his own little way... AND SCAR PROVIDING STELLAR BACKGROUND MUSIC,,, the crastle is just such a lovely... ecosystem in this, definitely homely vibes even though it might not actually be "home",,, it feels wonderful and magical but also light!!!! whimsical!!!!!!!!! i love it i love it i love it,,, i love THEM!!!!

ahhhhhh thank you for this gift... i hope the traveller finds a place to call home too...

#ask #big love <3 #waaaaaaaaa #plume dnd au #honorary addition to the tag mhm!!!!!

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wardenparker · 1 day

Note

Congrats!! You're one of my favorite blogs here <3

How about Steve Murphy for the prompt - I don't need a roommate

Steve Murphy. 1,373 words. I don't need a roommate." Co-written with @absurdthirst

Established relationship. Alcohol consumption. Poor communication.

“Javi— help me out here.” Steve begs, crushing out another cigarette and flopping back in the squeaky yet comfortable chair. “Talk some sense into her.”

Keeping his eyes on his paperwork, annoyed that this….argument has now roped him in, he snorts and shakes his head. “Fuck no.” He grunts, glancing up to make sure you hadn’t doubled back into the shared office to make another point and overhear him. He’s crazy, not stupid. “This is your battle.” He tells his partner. “I’m not the one fucking her.”

“The only woman in the world you can actually say that about,” Steve huffs, rolling his eyes.

******

It had started fast and furious. Just a few months after you were transferred to Colombia to join the DEA team going after Pablo Escobar, you had tumbled into your partner’s bed and now rarely make it back to your own. Even when you argue, or have stupid work bullshit interfere in your days, you always end up falling into Steve Murphy’s bed at the end of it.

Tonight, even after arguing with him at the office, you still end up knocking on his apartment door to find out if this time the arguments have finally pushed things too far for your undefined non-relationship.

If he’s honest with himself, he hadn’t expected you to come. Beer in hand, he pushes himself up off the couch and gives a cursory glance through the peep hole, pausing for a split second before he opens the door. “Hey.” He greets you, wondering why you didn’t just use the key he had given you. The key that started the entire damn argument.

“Hey.” Knocking had seemed more polite than just barging in, especially when you weren’t sure he wouldn’t be asking for the key back after this afternoon.

He rocks his jaw for a second and then swings the door open wider, a clear invitation to come inside as he turns to amble towards the kitchen. “Want a beer?” He asks over his shoulder.

“Please.” His place is better kept than a bachelor pad but only because he had been married for so long. There are things in this apartment that have Connie’s stamp on them still, but not the refrigerator. It’s frozen food and beer in there and not much else. Steve can’t cook to save his life, and you can smell the frozen pizza he ate for dinner, a fact which makes you smile reflexively as you close the door behind you.

He drains the rest of his beer and plucks two from the fridge before closing it. Twisting off the caps of both, he offers you one silently.

"I came to apologize," you admit after a long pause, one that is filled only by you and Steve standing in his kitchen drinking beer. "I...overreacted earlier."

You did, but he’s smart enough not to agree with you, just arching his brows as he takes another sip.

He's gonna make you do this all on your own. Well, you probably deserve that. After being a little bit of a bitch to him in front of Peña, you definitely deserve it. Still, you exhale slowly and take another sip of the beer he handed you. "I just...felt a little blindsided by being handed a key when we haven't really talked about whatever this is beyond flirting or agreeing on a time for me to come over during the day."

“It’s a key.” He reminds you. “I didn’t think that you would react like that.” He’s still a bit more closed off than he was before coming to Colombia, but he was working on it. Divorcing Connie had been for the best, but he doesn’t want to sabotage every relationship by clamming up. He shrugs slightly. “Figured it would just be step one into moving in with me.”

"See? Blindsided like that." There has been nothing about how you've been together – aside from the fucking and flirting – that has indicated that Steve would want you in his space permanently. "You want me to move in with you?" The question is...it's bewildering, but only because it cracks something open in your chest and makes your heart ache unexpectedly. The things you've been feeling for this man recently are too big for you to allow yourself to process. "I don't think...I can't be your roommate Steve."

Steve snorts, raising the beer bottle to his lips and takes a healthy swing, bracing himself against the bitter sting of rejection. “I don’t want a roommate.” He scoffs at how incredibly bad he’s botched this. “I want a partner.” His eyes meet yours and he holds your gaze. “I want us to be more than just partners at work.”

"Oh." If you could have handpicked his response it wouldn't have been as honest as that, or as close to a gut punch. You had found yourself overreacting just a handful of hours ago because the gesture felt intimate and you realized how much you wanted it to be. Now here he is, telling you it's even more intimate than you had anticipated. "I—I completely misread that..."

“I know.” Steve shoots you a grin as he leans back against the counter. “Figured that fuck buddies wasn’t enough for me, so it wouldn’t be enough for you.” He sighs. “Might be wrong.”

“It was at first.” It feels stupid to admit, but here you are. Here you are feeling deep enough emotions for this man that it makes you react irrationally and ache. “Now though?” You shift, moving your weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t feel right unless the days start and end with you.”

“So why the fit when I give you a key to my place?” Steve asks, setting his bottle down and crossing his arms over his chest.

“We never talk about emotions,” you point out gently, as though he isn’t aware of exactly what goes on in this undefined relationship. “It felt wrong to get my hopes up, but it also felt wrong to assume it was just a friendly gesture, and I think I panicked being caught between the two.”

“Panicked, huh?” The grin is back and he slides closer to you, crowding you. “You don’t seem to panic when you’re screaming my name.”

“That’s because orgasms aren’t scary.” The indignant huff in your voice is clear, but you still set down your beer and welcome him into your personal space. “Feelings are.”

“Naaaaahhhhh.” He presses closer, smirking slightly and he reaches out to toy with your necklace. “Both make your heart speed up.” He rationalizes. “Your blood pool in different places.” He glances into your eyes again. “Both can be fun.”

"I can't say feelings have ever made my blood pool in interesting places before you." Saying which feelings seems too intimate all over again, but you still find yourself stepping closer to Steve as that unconscious string between you tugs and tugs to close the gap.

“Your cheeks?” He challenges with another smirk. “They get pretty warm sometimes.”

"I wouldn't call my cheeks interesting, Steve." It's adorable, though. The way he manages to be sweet and gentle while still making your cunt ache.

“Depends on which cheeks we’re talking about.” He teases, leaning in and inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume.

"You do love my ass." You smirk up at him – and up, Jesus H. Christ, Steve is tall – and lay one hand on his chest.

“Yeah I do.” He agrees with a chuckle as he reaches up to cup your cheek. “So….are you still upset about the key?”

"No." You're upset with yourself for being a dumbass about it, but there's nothing you can do about that now. "No, I think I'm pretty fucking happy about it now."

“Are you going to use the key?” He asks seriously. “Because…you’re here more than you are at your place.”

"Maybe..." Stepping in one more time puts you almost flush against him and your cheeks warm all over again. "If you really wanted me to use your key...I might give up the other one after all."

“Mmmm.” Steve leans in, brushing his lips over yours softly. “I do.” He solemnly vows, wanting you to live with him more than anything.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

Steve Tags: @pedropascalsx @ithinkwehitametaphor @ionlyjoinedforboydholbrook

My Masterlist!

#Boyd Holbrook #Boyd Holbrook fanfic #Steve Murphy #Steve Murphy x reader #Steve Murphy x you #Steve Murphy x female reader #Narcos #coworkers with benefits #microfic

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writingroom21 · 3 hours

Text

The Nanny

Pairing: Rafe x Nanny Reader

Summary: Being Wheezie's nanny was great. The only downside was dealing with the oldest Cameron, Rafe. What happens when his fascination with the nanny becomes a reality?

Warnings: Angst, mention of drugs, sexual harassment (some creep tries to force themselves on reader), forced kiss (same creep with the reader), slight comfort?, (please be careful if you have any issues with sexual harassment it doesn't go far but I don't want anyone uncomfortable), (let me know if I missed anything), fighting

Wc: 7.0K

A/N: One more part to go! Sad to see it coming to an end but thank you for all of your support.

Chapter 8: What are we?

You just watch as Rafe leaves. A sinking feeling builds in your chest. It’s like when you’re on a rollercoaster and you get to the really big drop. You always hated that part of the ride, somehow this feeling tops it. Fighting back the tears you walk to your room. Wheezie can wait until the morning, right now you just need to go to bed. You try to calm your breath the whole walk to your room. Scared if you made too much noise someone will hear.

Entering your room you finally let the tears go, finding solace within the four walls. The tears well onto your lashes, falling down in fat drops. Choked sobs echoing inside the silent room.You furiously try to wipe them away, hating how small you feel at this moment. This isn’t what you wanted. Deep down a part of you wanted him to fight for you. Seeing him give up so easily just adds salt to the gaping wound.

You strip from your clothes, throwing on a pair of sleep shorts and stopping when you reach for a shirt Rafe left. A part of your brain is screaming to find another shirt, the other is dying to have at least one last piece of him. Against your better judgment you grab the shirt and put it on. It faintly smells like him, another reminder how you truly thought he cared. The birthday cologne smelt slightly more bitter than it did before. But it was still him.

You turn to your bed, the sage green sheets lay perfectly flat, a bouquet of flowers on top. Walking closer you notice that they are white roses, your favorite. There’s a little note tied on the string that holds them all together. You pick them, opening the card to read it. I’m sorry Sunny. I fucked up but I can’t lose you. Please let’s just talk it out. I miss you. -R

The note makes you sob harder. He knew your favorite flower and he wanted to work things out. If you had just seen this before interrupting maybe things would be different. Maybe he would be he instead of walking away. Why would he remember your favorite flower? You barely even remember when you mentioned it around him.

“What are you doing?” The voice behind you makes you jump. The rose in your hand flies as you grip the scissors tighter. You turn your head to see Rafe leaning back on the kitchen counter. “Jesus Rafe you can’t do that. You scared the crap out of me.” You lean on the kitchen sink, regulating your heartbeat back to normal. He chuckles a little, a small smile spreading on his lips.

“Sorry didn’t mean to scare ya. Just saw you standing there and was curious.” He eyes your ass getting a perfect view from his spot behind you. “I’m cutting the stems of these roses.” “What Rose wants to be in every part of this house now?” He thinks he’s funny but he’s not. “No smartass. They are my favorite flowers, specifically the white ones.” You got back to cutting the stems, picking up flower to flower.

He sits there and watches and you finish the rest of the flowers. “Kinda seems corny doesn’t it? Like every chick likes roses it's never another flower.” Rafe remarks. Teasing you for the choice. “Well I like them because of my grandma. She used to get fresh bach every week and put them around the house. I get them because they remind me of her.” That’s the most you’ve shared about her since she died.

She was kind of the glue that held the family together. She always knew how to make everyone laugh. Always made you feel safe and welcomed. Your parents weren't that bad when you were growing up at first. They loved you so much as a baby, couldn’t have been prouder. Then the older you got the more money they had to spend. The more time they had to put into you and not them. It seemed the older you got the more problems they had. The more pressure they would put on you to be better.

Your grandma did a great job at shielding it from you for as long as she could. The flowers were the thing the two of you shared. Spending time picking out the right ones just to go home and build a bouquet. It was the highlight of your weeks and after she died it was over. You held on to the last bouquet until all the petals were left to nothing. Rotting on your dresser, burning holes into the wood to leave their marks. No bouquet felt the same after but it brought you comfort.

“Remind you?” Rafe questions. “She died when I was eight. I make bouquets to feel connected to her.” He just looks at you as you fill the vase with water, adding the roses one by one. He remembers watching his mom arrange flowers for the house. She would bring him along as she picked out various flowers. Always asking him for his input because he was her special helper. It was their special day activity, Ward would get upset at the sight of Rafe helping out. His mother would go to his defense, nipping Ward’s words in the butt the moment they exit his mouth.

It hurt to remember his mom, the memory causing more heartache than anything. The image of his happy mom crushed when he realizes she’s gone. Left him behind with a man that hates him. In a town where no one will ever care for him. But then he watches you do a simple action that brings her back. It hurts but he can’t help but smile watching you. “I’m sorry. I bet it was hard losing her. They look good, she’d be proud.”

You look him in the eyes, a soft smile gracing your face. Rafe can’t help but to think how beautiful you look. “Thank you. That was very sweet of you Rafe.” You praise. He blushes, straightening up and walking off. “WHatever don’t tell everyone now.” You laugh at him. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The memory makes the feeling worse. He had remembered that conversation this whole time. It had happened early on to you working here, one of the first few meetings with the oldest sibling. You thought he was just being polite because you were new and you just told him something sad. But he still had that information stored away in some filing cabinet in his mind. The fact he still knew makes you want to find him and forgive him. Then you think about the fact he gave up.

You can’t really fault him, he has a right to do what he wants. Yet it still stings that you weren’t enough for him the first time and you weren’t enough for him this time. You place the flowers on the bedside table. Pulling the covers back you climb into bed, curling up into a ball and going yourself to sleep for the second night in a row.

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The sound of voices stir you slowly awake. “Come on, leave her alone.” A hushed voice breaks through the door. “I want to know what happened last night. She never came to tell me.” Wheezie’s hush whispers fully wake you up. “No, let's go.” Sarah’s voice firmly states, footsteps fading down the hall. The room is bright, the curtains are fully open, you must have forgotten to close them last night. The light is harsh on your eyes, they still sting from crying the night before.

Everything keeps replaying in your mind. Memories creating a slow motion picture just for you. They are on a continuous loop as you get ready for the day. Your mind keeps going back to what Wheezie said to you yesterday. Would you be okay if you saw him with someone else? No you wouldn’t, seeing him with Sofia was hard enough. You don’t think you would be able to handle it further.

That realization brings you back to the flowers and the note. He has kept the memory with him since that day. Rafe wanted to make it up with you and showed you that he does care about you. He used the memory to do something that would make you happy, even if he caused you pain. The note made it obvious he wanted to work things out, maybe you should have listened to him. He didn’t actually have any reason to stay loyal to you, no conversation was had for the next step to happen.

Once you are finally dressed you slip on your shoes determined to find Rafe. You look around the hall when you step out, not wanting to run into anyone and change your mind. You make your way to his door and knock. Butterflies fill your abdomen, the nervous feeling eating you from the inside out. “Rafe?” You call out, keeping your voice low. Your right hand opens the door and you are faced with an empty room. The room is still a mess, things littered everywhere, a perfect match to him.

Sighing you close the door again, heading downstairs to get some breakfast. Voices can be heard from the kitchen, they aren’t loud so it’s hard to make anything out. Entering the kitchen you see Rafe talking with Sarah and Barry just sitting at the island. “He shouldn’t be here Rafe. Dad will flip out.” Sarah argues with her brother. “He already doesn’t like me, why should I care?” He huffs out and turns around, pausing when he sees you at the door. Barry and Sarah to look at what caught his attention.

“Well hello baby. Thought I would never see you again.” Barry’s voice rings in your ears but you can only focus on Rafe. “Hi.” You squeak, your voice giving away how nervous you are to see him. His jaw is clench, his hands forming fists as he looks at the man staring you down. “Let’s go Barry. We got shit to do.” He says pushing the other guy's shoulder as he passes him. Rafe gives you a nod as he walks by you and leaves. Barry tsk’s as he gets up making his way out as well. “That boy never learns does he?”

You just stand there, eyes glancing at Sarah. “I’m sorry I didn’t think you would be up right now after last night.” You smile at her and go in further to make food. “It’s fine. He already said he was going to leave me alone from now on. I just didn’t take him seriously.” Boiling water, you get the oats out of the cabinet, oatmeal was the fastest thing you could think of. “Wait what?” Sarah exclaims. Her shocked face staring at the back of your head.

You know she won’t leave you alone for the rest of the day. You have picked up on a few things over this past year. Never interrupt Ward when he is in meetings or talking in general. Rose really does care but the kids will never respect her so she lets them be. Rafe has been hurt for so long that he refuses to be himself now. Even though Sarah and Wheezie are different people they have the same personality trait. They care so much that they don’t know when to call it quits. Granted Sarah is better at keeping it at bay than Wheeze.

Knowing this and knowing how she feels about her brother you give in. You spilled and told her everything. How Wheezie accidentally was the reason why Ward knows what happened. How Ward was yelling at Rafe and how you stepped in. Then told her about the argument between the two of you. Finally leading to him saying he will leave you alone from now on. The whole conversation lasted all of breakfast, the oatmeal you made for the two of you long gone.

“I can’t believe that he just walked away like that. He was the one to mess up, he can't be mad.” She’s saying things you’ve already said to yourself. He did mess up and he shouldn’t be mad. But another part knows that you hurt him too in some way. You shut him out when he wanted to fix things. You ignored him and refused to talk. In the end you did the same thing he did, you didn’t communicate with him how you felt. “It’s not that simple, Sar. He hurt me yeah but I also shut him out. I’m sure that had to hurt him too, I can’t expect him to wait around for me.” You are trying to be reasonable. This is her brother you are talking about, you don’t want to be the reason why they are not on good terms. Things just started to die down between them.

“But it is simple. He messed up by kissing another girl and all you did was get space from him. He decided to just give up without much of a fight.” Her words force you to think back to when he was crying. Pleading with you to give him a second chance, just to hear him out. “He did try. I just didn’t give him the chance and it’s okay. He’s hurt and he needs his space too. I can’t get upset with him for doing the same.” Deep down you know you have a point. He is hurt and needs time which is what you did. It just hurts that when you figured out how you felt it was too late.

“Why are you defending him so much? I get that you liked him but he hurt you.” You are quiet, looking at your bowl. “Do you still like him?” She asks, watching your reactions. When she doesn’t get an answer she realizes it was deeper than what she thought. “Oh.” You both sit there, the weight of your unspoken words heavy in the air. “We never said we were exclusive. It was never something we talked about so he really didn’t do anything wrong. I just can’t hate him.”

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The thrap of the tennis ball takes you out of your daydream. Wheezie had dragged you out to the country club for a round of tennis, stating it would help you feel better. It was sweet of her for caring but the exercise was not welcomed. You would rather be enjoying the day reading then out on the court hitting a ball back and forth. “How many points is that?” She asks, a smile bright on her face. “6-2 I think.” You respond. You bounce the ball a few times before throwing it up and hitting it to her.

The rest of the morning was uneventful after your talk with Sarah. She tried to talk to you more about how you should be upset but it got nowhere. Once Wheezie popped into the kitchen the conversation died and it was over with. You were relieved when Wheezie didn’t mention Rafe at all after. Even happier when all she wanted to do was go out. That soon faded when she said she wanted to play tennis. It was just an excuse to see the cute tennis instructor that just started there.

Everything was going well until you were both leaving. You were stepping off the court when a golf cart blew past you. “Watch it, asshole.” Wheezie yells causing the cart to stop. The boys inside it all turn around and low and behold there’s Rafe with some guy you’ve never seen. “Watch it, Wheeze. Next time you might get run over.” The boy next to him chuckles. “Yeah, stay out of the way.” Rafe shoots him a look and the boy quiets down. “Oh please like you are so scary. Stop driving like a maniac and be normal.”

Rafe looks at you, eyes lingering for a little longer than needed. You smile at him, opening your mouth to greet him. He turns away before the words could escape. The cart drives off again leaving the two of you alone. He was really taking this leaving you alone seriously. You had hoped that he would be able to talk to you or be civil at least. You miss his voice, his smile, you miss him. Standing there you both just watch them drive off, walking to the building to get changed into clothes.

Wheezie wants to comment on how Rafe didn’t say anything to you. Noticing the look on your face as he ignored you. There’s a nagging in the back of her brain to ask you about last night. Her anxiety is getting the best of her, she’s scared that Rafe hates her. She has seen him get really angry and as much as she isn’t afraid of him, she still doesn’t like it. Wheezie doesn’t want to be the reason why her brother is angry at their father or at you.

“What should we watch tonight? I saw 10 Things I Hate about You the other day while scrolling and I’ve been wanting to watch it. What do you think?” You ask the younger girl as you walk the halls to the changing rooms. Wheezie clams up, her anxiety increases a bit more as she tries to think of an excuse. She needs this to go perfectly, nothing can get messed up. “Can we watch it as soon as we get home? My friends and I are having a Netflix watch party tonight.”

“That’s fine. We can get some dinner and then watch it. How does that sound?” You ask while getting your clothes from the locker you put it in. “That’s perfect.” Wheezie wasn’t lying it was perfect. She needed you to be happy and complacent for the time being. She knows that you might be a little angry with her by tomorrow so she wants to butter you up while she has the chance.

You both got changed and packed up the rest of your things. You are trying hard not to think about Rafe but are failing. Would he still want a second chance if you gave it to him? Yes is the first answer that pops into your brain. Then you think about how he’s ignoring you and that changes. He seems to have no problems pretending you don’t exist, maybe he doesn’t actually want you. Maybe the roses and letter was a ploy to get in your bed again. Yeah that was it.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you have Wheezie order some food. Getting into the car you drive to pick it up before going home. The house is quiet, no one seems to be home besides Sarah. “Hey guys.” Sarah shifts her eyes back to the book in her hands. “Hey! We are going to watch a movie. Want to join?” You ask as you make your way to the living room to settle down. “What movie?” “10 Things I Hate about You.” Wheezie answers. “You had me at Heath Ledger let’s go.” Sarah bolts up, the book forgotten as it flies in the air.

The three of you all get comfortable and queue the movie up. You all just sit in silence, eating and enjoying the movie. Once the food is finished , everyone relaxes back. Only really speaking to comment on the movie. “Uh, I wish he would sing for me.” Sarah dreams out loud. You chuckle at her, nudging her thigh with your foot. “Want me to tell John B to serenade you?” Wheezie laughs at your teasing. “Oh my god. I would pay to see that.”

You honestly can’t help but see the irony of watching this movie. Boy pretends to be into the girl only for her to find out it was all a lie. She tries to hate him but can never seem to, only to find each other in the end. But this isn’t a movie. Clearly Rafe is content with having you out of his life. There won’t be some big confession that absolves him of all his mistakes. He’s too proud to let anyone see how he feels. Maybe this wasn’t the best choice of movie.

Some masochistic part of you wants to feel the pain of watching something that will never happen. To soak in that feeling just to spite yourself. If the girls weren’t here you would probably be crying right now. Mourning the what if’s that plague your mind. It isn’t fair to do this to yourself and you know that. You just can’t seem to help yourself from finding comfort in your own pain. So used to the feeling that anything else seems foreign.

The rest of the movie plays out. Patrick and Kat just made up and are now kissing. Every muscle in your body feels heavy. The weight of the situation pulls you down further into the couch cushions. The credits start to roll and the girls are stretching. “Okay I’m going to my room now.” Wheezie gets up to leave. “Already? It’s still early.” Sarah questions. “Yeah I’m doing a watch party with some friends.” Wheezie shrugs trying to walk fast out the room. Sarah squints her eyes at her younger sister and watches as she leaves.

“Doesn’t she usually stick to you like glue until she goes to bed?” Sarah asks you. She finds it weird that she randomly watches parties with friends. She looks at you when you don’t answer. You were still stuck in your head that it took you a while to process what happened and Sarah’s words. “Um yeah sometimes. It’s good that she’s hanging out with friends. I’m not always going to be her nanny.” That’s when it hit you, this job isn’t forever. There’s no reason for any of them to stay in contact with you after Wheezie gets old enough. The girls would most likely stay in touch you know that. But you won’t be forced around Rafe anymore, maybe that’s a good thing.

“What are you even talking about?” She laughs. “You will always be a part of this family. At least you will be with Wheeze and I. You can’t get rid of us that easily.” She smiles at you. It makes you feel better having that reassurance. Even in the end you will still have them. “I think I’m going to go to my room and read. If you want to hang out or need me just come in.” You tell her. There’s a book on your night stand that you want to finish.

You must have been reading for an hour or two when Sarah bursted into your bedroom. “Is Wheezie in here with you?” She asks. You look up from the book, your face scrunching in confusion. “No, why?” Her face seems worried which only intensifies when she realizes Wheezie isn’t here either. “She’s not in her room and I can’t find her around the house. I wanted my sweater back and she was just gone.” Worry starts to gnaw at you. She has to be here somewhere, she couldn’t have just disappeared.

“Hold on. She has to be here somewhere. I’m just going to call her.” You place your book down and grab your phone. You dial her number and it rings. Sarah just stares waiting to see what happens. She didn’t answer. “Nothing.” You say. Sarah sighs not knowing what to do. “Let me track her phone.” Sarah gives you a bewildered look. “You track us?” She practically yells. “No. Your dad put it on Wheezie’s phone and I just have access to it. I never use it but this is kinda important.”

The app shows Wheezie at a house not too far from Tanny Hill. “She’s at a house. It’s close to here.” You get up putting your shoes on and grabbing your keys. “I think she’s at Trevor’s party. The one she was talking about yesterday.” Crap. Of course, that’s why she had a watch party. She just wanted me to leave her alone so she could sneak off.

The car ride to the party was tense. You were so upset and worried. She went behind your back and put herself at risk to go to this party. No one knew where she was and something could have happened to her. Oh god what if something did happen? She is still young and people like to take advantage of that. This situation is setting panic alarms in your mind. You just hope Ward doesn’t find out because the Rafe situation can be forgiven. Letting his teen daughter go to a party and get drunk might be his last straw.

Loud music is blasting as you pull into the street. There are people everywhere and the feeling of dread increases. It’s going to take forever to find her here. Not only that, you know Rafe is around. There’s no way that he would miss the opportunity to sell and take drugs. Walking into the house was a hassle, people kept blocking the way. Drinks are being spilled on you, soaking your shoes in the process. This is the one thing you hate about parties, they are always a mess. People get too drunk and throw up everywhere. Others start fights or spend the night taking copious amounts of drugs. You don’t judge them, it's just not something you enjoy.

“We should split up. I’ll call you if I find her.” Sarah yells over the music. “Sounds good.” You head towards the stairs to check up stairs. The stairs are littered with cups making the floors sticky. Most of the doors are closed so you have to open each one. You found a couple in one room, the rest being empty or locked. Laughter fills your ears from the other end of the hall. Walking over you see a group of guys all sitting around.

Looking closer you can see that they are doing line and in the middle of all of them was Rafe. Barry was sitting next to him chatting up a customer trying to upsell. A girl enters your view and you watch as she walks over to Rafe. She leans down and whispers in her ear and rests her hand on his shoulder. You watch as he smiles up at her, shaking a little bag in her face. He turns to make a line for her on the table and he catches your eyes.

He freezes, the card in his hand stalling. He picks up his actions when the girl whispers to him again. She makes her way onto his lap and that’s when you look away. Heading back down the stairs, missing how he pushed her off his lap and shot up. How he looked for you but you were already gone.

You keep looking around the house. Stopping into every room to check them. The next thirty minutes were spent searching the house. You kept coming up short which was freaking you out even more. You look at the app again and can see that she is still in the house. She’s here somewhere but you just can’t seem to figure out where. Your phone starts to ring in your pocket. “Hello?” You answer

“I found her. I’m bringing her to the car so we can leave.” Sarah tells you. Relief floods through your system. “Okay I’ll meet the two of you there.” She hangs up. Knowing that Wheezie is safe now you are ready to leave. You walk through the living room, eyes trained on the front door next to the kitchen. A body blocks you as you get right outside the living room. “Hey.” Some random guy says.

“Uh hey?” You say wearily. You are a little weirded out. You have never seen this guy before and he keeps blocking you as you try to get around him. “You’re that nanny for Rafe’s little sister right?” He asks. “Yeah.” He nods at you. His hands are in his pockets, he looks a little awkward like this. He takes a step closer to you, your body backing up closer to the wall. “Sorry for what he did to you. Think he’s kinda stupid for letting a girl like you go.” He says.

As if his words would make you feel better about what happened. “Thanks. I have to go now.” You try to step around him again and his arm lands on the wall, blocking you. This is starting to get more uncomfortable by the minute. “Hey I’m just trying to talk to you. I think you’re really pretty. We can just have some fun.” He tries to ration with you. “I’m good, I really just want to go. I have to get back to Wheezie.” You try to push him off you but he just gets a little closer.

His breath fans against your neck as you squirm away from him. One of his hands grabs your bicep, keeping you still. “Come one don’t be like that. I just want to get to know you. I think we could really like each other.” His body is now pressed up to you. You can feel how hard he is through his pants. It's disgusting. Your hand raises to his chest trying to push him off. It only makes it worse, in lips kissing your neck.

From the kitchen Rafe has been watching the whole interaction. Watching as he hit on you and how you stood there. He watches as his hands are touching you, his lips kissing the same skin his own lips touched. He was angry. Angry at himself for fucking this up, angry at his dad for being the reason he’s like this, mostly mad at you for moving on right in front of him. He was just filled with anger.

It didn’t help that he was so high and coked out that the feeling was ten fold. He had spent all day yesterday and today taking bump after bump. Smoking the day away and drinking. There’s so much in his system that he’s surprised he’s even standing. No matter how much he takes you are always still there. There in his home, at the country club and now here. He can handle seeing you, not really but he could manage. But he can’t stand there and watch as you are with someone else. His breaking point is when the guy kisses you.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. One moment he was just watching you, hating his life. Now he’s marching over to drag you out of here and yell at you. You can’t just rub it in his face how little he means to you. He was about to call you out when he heard you speak. “Get off of me.” It’s like a switch flipped. He is now paying attention to your body language. Rafe sees her hands trying to push his chest. How the guy keeps grabbing them to bring them down to his pants. “Just shut up and stay still.”

That was Rafe’s breaking point. He grabs the guy from the back of his shirt, throwing him to the ground. You watch in horror as the guy hits the floor in a hard thump. Rafe’s fist meets the guy's face in an instant. You stand there as his body holds the guy down and he keeps hitting him. Everyone is yelling in horror, telling Rafe to stop. “What is wrong with you? She told you to get off her.” Rafe yells.

His voice snaps you out of it. The guy is trying to block Rafe’s hits but he can’t do much in his position. Rafe has him trapped on the floor. “Rafe stop, let him go.” You yell. You really don’t want to be the reason that he got into a fight. It’s bad enough that his dad yelled at him over you.

Topper and Kelce run over, dragging Rafe off of the poor guy. “Fucking touch her again and I swear I’ll kill you. I won’t hesitate if I see you near her again.” Rafe screams as his friends drag him away. You look at the guy on the floor, he just lays there as people try to check on him. “God he’s such a psycho. Who just attacks a random guy.” Someone says as they pull out their phone to call the cops. “Maybe he shouldn’t be such a creep forcing himself onto people.” You say without thinking. Heads turn to look at you in confusion. Some people connect the dots as to what happened. “DId he try to..” You walk away before people can ask questions.

You find Rafe outside, pacing in circles as he yells at his friends. “Why would you pull me off? FUcking asshole deserved it. He’s lucking I didn’t fucking kill him.” The boys just look at him with worried looks. “You can’t just say you are going to kill people Rafe.” Topper tries to reason but it falls on deaf ears. “Nah I mean it. He was going to hurt her and I wanted to kill him. I would do it to anyone who even thinks about touching her.” The boys don’t know what to say. Rafe is like a ticking bomb when he’s like this.

“Rafe.” Your voice calms him, he turns to you. “Are you okay?” He rushes to you. Examining you to make sure that creep didn’t harm you in any way. “I’m fine. Thank you.” You don’t know what else to say. He helped you out back there and you are grateful. “I swear if he hurt you I’m going back in there and killing him. DOn’t care if they arrest me.” He’s being irrational. “Hey, just calm down. Everything is fine now. You made it okay.” He pauses, your words sinking in. He made it okay.

He was the one who helped you, the one that saved you. He reaches out to you, caressing your check. Relishing the feeling of you leaning into his touch. “You should go home.” He whispers. Your eyes open and meet his. Their red and his pupils are dilated. “Come with me.” He looks at you, debating if it’s a good idea. “I can’t. I said I would leave you alone, so I can’t.” He takes his hand off your face, about to back away from you but you stopped him.

“I want you to come with me, please. You can’t drive like this.” He gave in, no fighting was needed. You want him and that’s all he needs to know. He steps closer, walking side by side to your car. He sees Wheezie and Sarah in it. “What are they doing here?” He asks you. “Wheeze snuck off to the party. We came to get her and when I was leaving well.” You look back at the house and at him. “Well you know.”

He nods at you, not saying another word as you get into the car and drive off. The car ride was filled with you and Sarah lecturing Wheezie on how dangerous this was. That if something happened to her and no one knew where she was it could end badly. Rafe tenses at this thought. He was so coked out he didn’t realize his own sister was at the party. You were right she could have been hurt. Look at what happened to you, the same could have happened to Wheezie.

He’s on autopilot as he walks into the house and up the stairs. Your conversation plays in the background in his mind. He enters his room shutting the door but not noticing how it doesn’t click shut until a moment later. “Are you okay?” Rafe turns to see you in front of the door. “Yeah, I just want to get to bed.” What he really wants is to take another line and sleep the thoughts away.

“I just wanted to say thank you again for helping me today.” You shift your eyes from him. “No problem. Didn’t want you to get hurt.” He sits on the edge of his bed, folding his hands and looking at them. “That’s all? I got the flowers you gave me.” you take a step closer, wanting to be near him. You want to fix this, tonight made you realize he does care.

“Oh yeah. You can just forget about them. Don’t know why I even got them in the first place.” Your smile fades, the small flame of hope flickers out. “So that note was for nothing?” He doesn’t say anything. Guess you finally got your answer, it's over. “Don’t know why I even tried talking to you. You don’t care.” You go to leave the room. “Don’t leave.” He calls out.

Your hand is still on the door knob, one twist and you’ll be free. “Why? There’s nothing to stay for.” You hear him grunt, the bed squeaking under him. “Do you think I want to be like this? I can’t stand myself. I’m a fuck up, everyone knows it. For fucks sake my own father hates me.” He gets up, adrenaline coursing through him.

“I wish I could be normal. That I was enough of a man to be worthy of anything. I’m just a failure at everything so no point in pulling you down with me.” His eyes are collecting tears. His breath came in short bursts. “That’s the drugs talking. You are normal Rafe.” He scoffs at you. “No, the drugs just make it easier to swallow that pill.” He laughs out.

“I know what everyone says about me, I’m not stupid. Ever since my mom died I was some monster. No one wanted to be around me and I just kept acting up. I know I’m not worth anything, then there you were. My own personal sunshine. For a second I was able to forget who I was. I was someone else and didn't have to worry about the rumors that go around. Guess I forgot I don’t deserve good things.”

He’s laughing but you can hear the hurt in his voice. Tears fill your eyes at the thought of him feeling so worthless. “You do deserve good things.” “Look at what that got us. I fucked it up and you don’t even want me around. I get it, don't get me wrong but it sucks. I didn’t think you meant anything, the little voice in my head saying I was a fool for wanting to be with you. I let it get to me and now whatever we were is gone.”

A tear falls down his cheek. “I lost the last good thing that ever happened to me. You know you’re the only person that cared about me. It’s funny not even my own family likes me but you did. You were a breath of fresh air, the sunny day after a storm. I finally had you and I couldn’t even keep that. So no, I don't deserve good things.” His voice raises. A hollow feeling in his chest, he wishes it was a blackhole ready to swallow him up.

“Is that why you call me Sunny?” The nickname starts to make sense to you now. “Yeah, you’re this bright light that took everything away.” He sits down on the bed again, looking at the sun necklace laying on his table. He picks it up, playing with the gem between his fingers. “My Sunny. So beautiful it hurts. I’m sorry I’m such a fuck up. Wish I was different, maybe then we would actually be together.”

Your breath hitches, was this just the drugs? He did say that it just made it easier to handle how he feels. “I don’t want you to be different.” You stroll over to him, stepping between his legs. You grab his head in your hands so he can look you in the face. “I just wanted you to be you. I like who Rafe Cameron is. Why would I want you to be anyone different?” His eyes are shiny, glossed over with the tears that keep falling.

“It doesn’t matter now right? It’s too late.” His hand wraps around your wrist. “We can talk about this tomorrow. You should get some sleep, we’ll talk when you have a clearer mind.” You go to leave the room but he stops you. “Stay. Don’t leave me.” His eyes are pleading with you. “Okay.”

You take off your shoes as he gets up. He hands you a change of clothes and he strips from his, laying in his bed waiting for you. You don’t know whether to change here or go into his bathroom. His eyes are are staring at you and you decide fuck it. He divulged how he felt, you can give in for at least this. You change into the shirt he gave you, leaving the pants to the side and get into bed. His fist still holds the necklace, you take his hand. The piece of jewelry moving to you.

You look at it, mixed emotions fill you. The happiness when you first got it, how you thought it was a step further in the relationship. The sadness of when you found him at the bonfire. The confusion you feel at this moment. You forgive him. You want to get past this and it seems like he does too. There’s still this fear in the back of your mind.

He traces your facial features with a light touch, scooting closer to your body. You are both on your sides facing each other. His eyes are drooping, sleep knocking on his door. Slowly fading his consciousness as he fights it off to have one more minute with you. “I think I’ll always be in love with you.” His words are softly whispered between you two.

Your mind short circuits. He said he was in love with you. There’s no way he actually said that. His hand lays motionless on your side, the sandman claiming him as his next victim. You look at him and then the necklace once again. Shifting slightly as to not wake him, you put the necklace back on. You move closer to him, touching his jaw. Letting sleep take you with it. “I’ll always be in love with you too.”

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