#its the daddy issues striking again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

saintrvckwell · 1 year

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Lead me to the truth and I will follow you with my whole life (joel miller x platonic!reader)

joel miller x platonic!reader

summary: perhaps now, twenty one years later, joel finally found the courage to face his fears. aka joel finally allows himself to accept the role he has in your life.

warnings: father-figure joel miller (more like an invitation rather than warning), fluff, slight angst at times, father-daughter duo kind of moments.

words count: 9.5k

a/n: joel miller was always the coolest father but pedro's portrayal took that to a whole new level. dedicated to all the daddy issues strugglers out there (myself included). here's the dad you deserved to have.

ps: this is my first work focused solely on joel's character so be patient with me. <3

enjoy!

"and I will go if you ask me to. and I will stay if you dare."

•

You were a mission, something that was supposed to have a beginning and the end. Someone he was supposed to lead to a given location and walk away. It was supposed to be easy—that what Tess promised to Joel when she begged him to take you, fulfilling her dying wish. How easy it was for her to ask, how difficult it was for Joel to keep that promise.

There was a reason as for why was Joel so reluctant to take you—to temporarily care for you. Reason unknown to you. He was cold from the day you met him; made sure you knew all the rules and understood that whatever role you were going to assign him, he was not going to take it. After all, that was what he promised himself.

To keep his distance, to put the walls up and protect himself from the possibility of being hurt again. But you were too determined to tear them all down.

And at a certain point, he didn’t know for whom he was fighting anymore. To protect himself from you or to protect you from him? You’ve encountered things, places, people and tragedies one could only fear.

And with each strike he took, with each throat he slit before they lied their hands on you, Joel fell deeper. Into the sense of protection that was rising within him each time a danger appeared in your sight. Before he knew it, he was in the same spot he was twenty years ago.

That’s when the breaking point came. And he turned around, grabbed your hand and walked back to the only place that could’ve offered you the life you deserved. And deep down hoped Tess would’ve understood. In the end, he kept the promise—he made sure you were safe, more than that. He gave you the opportunity of the best life you could’ve had, given the fungal conditions around.

And you didn’t protest, didn’t utter a single objection. Because you would’ve followed Joel to the edge of the universe and back.

Or at least to Jackson.

You arrived at dawn, holding tightly onto his back, nearly falling asleep on the horse. The last few weeks you’ve spent outside were taking its toll on you. It was deadly cold out there with temperating falling down every second. You heard his voice, calling out your name three times before you opened your eyes. You were standing by the stables with Joel’s younger brother walking towards you.

“We’re here,” Joel whispered.

“Oh,” you yawned. “I’m sorry,” you pulled your hands away and slowly got off the horse with Tommy immediately offering his help.

“Good to see you,” he smiled politely, “both of you,” his eyes landed on his brother.

You waited outside whilst Joel and Tommy stabled the horse.

“So,” Tommy spoke again as soon as the three of you were together, “how long is it this time?”

And your eyes met with Joel. He shrugged his shoulders and briefly looked at you before his eyes met with Tommy’s again.

Joel was never good with words which you learned pretty quickly. It was all about his subtle actions—that’s how the two of you bonded. For all those days on the road and nights under the dark skies, you never led any deep conversations, instead found a comfort in each other’s presence. In your signals.

Being back in Jackson felt strange at first. Accustoming to such world after months in the wildness was odd to say the least. But it felt easier with Joel by your side—or at least, that’s what you were hoping for since he brought you here. Yet, after a few days in, you couldn’t overlook the way he was trying to distance himself from you.

First, it was about the house.

With the previous one being given to a family that recently came to Jackson, Maria and Tommy had to find a new place for you.

“I wanted you to have something of your own,” Joel admitted one night whilst the two of you were sitting in the kitchen, eating leftovers. “But Maria said they’re full right now. As soon as something opens, I will let you know… if you’d like.”

You were caught off guard by that.

There was a part of you that hoped—no, that took this as a foregone conclusion that you and Joel would be living together. You couldn’t even picture yourself being alone considering how accustomed you’ve gotten to Joel’s constant presence. In certain sense, he represented some sort of safety blanket. He was the reason you came to Jackson in the first place.

Perhaps, you thought, now that his job was done, he might have thought that the two of you should go your separate ways. At the end of the day, he wasn’t your family—just someone who was promised to look after you.

Perhaps, you were not as significant to him as he was to you. There were too many scenarios running through your anxious mind. But you never asked.

Then, it was the patrol duty.

When Tommy showed up at your doorstep, three days after your arrival, he mentioned that kids your age were starting to learn how to shoot so they could join the junior patrol groups.

“You should go,” Joel proposed once Tommy left. “Tommy’s good with guns. You’re going to learn from the best.”

He sounded almost uninterested.

You looked up from your bowl of breakfast, hurt glancing in your eyes.

And he quickly became aware of that.

“What?” he asked and you didn’t know whether it was care or rather annoyance that you heard in his voice.

“You promised you were going to teach me how to shoot.”

There it was again in his eyes—the regret.

He thought, with genuine worry in his heart, that giving you space was what you wanted—what you deserved. Without realising he was hurting you both in the process.

Joel didn’t know how to walk in this, how to approach this new situation he found himself in. He wanted you around, he wanted to make sure were alright. But didn’t know how.

That afternoon, when you left the house to join Tommy and the rest of the kids, Joel was already gone. His brother had him signed on old kinds of duty around the settlement—giving him an opportunity to contribute. And as much as Joel complained and growled, he like the idea of being of use—being needed.

You arrived by the Tipsy Bison, joining the group of kids standing around and registered.

A young man, approximately in his early twenties looked upon the list of names he was holding before his eyes met with yours.

“You’re signed on the East Gate, Tommy’s waiting for you there,” he informed you.

You squeezed the straps of your backpack as you walked by the stables, nervously looking around. You were still trying to adjust but it felt so difficult at times, especially when you were alone. Tommy was nice, considering he most likely knew nothing about you, beside what Joel must have told him. But you didn’t felt that kind of safety you had around Joel.

Joel, who was standing three feet away from you, with riffle hanging over his shoulder.

Maybe he joined the patrol group as well, you thought as you headed towards him.

“Do you know where Tommy is?” you asked as you looked around, looking for his brother.

Joel frowned, almost offended.

“Am I not capable enough?” he mumbled playfully.

You couldn’t quite comprehend what was going on.

“What?”

Before you uttered another mumble of confusion, Joel stepped closer and handed you the riffle.

“C’mon kid, it’s gonna be dark soon.”

The gate opened and Joel headed outside the safety, with you following his steps. There was a smile on your lips as you looked up and saw him, already explaining the route you were going to take—the high spots you were searching for. This was his way of apologising—his way of trying to do better.

Of making sure you knew that.

That day, you spent the whole afternoon together. What was supposed to be a regular two hour training that most kids took Joel turned into five, with the two of you coming back shortly after sundown, already past dinner time. It was the first time in a while you saw Joel genuinely laugh as he watched you struggling to reach the target.

You returned to Jackson with an empty magazine and one successful shot. But as you the two of you were walking home, side by side—it didn’t matter to you. It didn’t matter how terrible your aim was, how much of Tommy’s ammo you waisted. What mattered to you was the look in Joel's eyes, the smile on his lips he had as he was watching you.

He let his guard down, even if it was just for a second. And there he was—the Joel that was watching stars with you on the road.

It was about these moments. They meant whole world to you.

“You hungry?” he asked as you passed the dining hall.

You shook your head. “I’m alright. Besides, I think we’re already past the dinner time.”

“Are you sure? I haven’t seen you eat since breakfast,” he commented. “I could make you something at home.”

Home.

It stuck with you.

He didn’t think about it when he said that. Perhaps, that was the revelation you were waiting for. That Joel felt the same way and what you had was, indeed, a home.

Joel’s parental instincts were always there, no matter how determined he was to suppress them. Every night on the road, he stood by your side with gun in his hand, every time you fell asleep without ur blanket, Joel made sure you were tucked in. Each time he promised himself it would be the last. But always failed to do so.

Truth was, without the fear of enemies lurking in every corner and in the safety of Jackson’s settlement, it was easier to slip back into his old, fatherly habits without even realising. Only took a few weeks for Joel to accustom to this life—to having you around every day.

You sat together for breakfast every morning and met by the gates every afternoon after your assignments ended to take you for another shooting lesson.

Month later, you hit three out of six targets. Each time, he stood beside, that proud smirk on his lips. Three weeks after that, you hit five of them. That night, Joel even offered to take you to the movies as a reward for your successful lesson.

You were so excited—you wanted to join the others for so long but didn’t feel like going by yourself so having Joel propose that idea felt quite nice. But after all the training and another two hour long shooting lesson, you started to get weary. Twenty minutes into the movie, your head crashed onto Joel’s shoulder as you slowly fell asleep. His eyes landed on your sleepy face and there it was again—that smile. The one he didn’t have in a while.

Two hours later, you woke up in half empty dining hall.

“Need a hand?” you heard a familiar voice around you, mixed with laughter.

“I got it,” Joel replied.

A few seconds later, Joel’s hand caressed your cheek. “Kid?”

You quickly became aware of your pposition and immediately pulled away, despite the tiredness still wearing off.

“Shit,” you whispered, rubbing your sleepy eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Joel shook his head. “Let’s go get your jacket.”

He got up and you, still not fulling woken up, followed his steps. Joel noticed how somnolent you were, so he walked you to the door, helped you put on the your jacket, wished Maria and Tommy good night before you headed out back to your place.

You were barely seeing above your own feet, tiredness still having power over you as you struggled to keep up with Joel’s pace. Didn’t take long for him to realise that you were two feet behind. He swiftly turned around, rushing towards you.

“I’m so tired,” you yawned. “I just want to lie down.”

“Absolutely not,” Joel mumbled. “Let’s go, we’re two streets away.”

“That’s so far,” you whined. “I could just lie down right here and fall sleep.”

He couldn’t help but laugh over your statement. He stepped closer, threw his hand around your shoulder and pulled you closer to keep you warm. “Two streets and we’re home.”

There it was again.

Being too tired to notice, you paid no mind. This time it was Joel who was caught off guard by his own words. As the two you walked through the quiet streets of his brother’s settlement, it slowly dawned on him. There was no point in denying. It was a home—to you, to him. Even if he wasn’t strong enough to admit it out loud, it was your home.

Three weeks later, Jackson county was covered in snow. Due to an ongoing blizzard, all of Joel’s shooting lessons were postponed until further notice, as Maria prohibited him from taking you outside the settlement in such unpredictable conditions.

That afternoon, she showed up unannounced by the east gate—already figuring out your and Joel’s teaching schedule. To keep the two of you busy, she signed you to decoration duty instead.

As the holiday season was slowly approaching, the whole settlement was getting ready.

Joel’s disgruntlement over her orders couldn’t be more obvious. But he swallowed his need to object and accepted the orders, leaving you in Maria’s hands.

“I’m going to be honest with you, I don’t like those little trips of yours,” Maria admitted whilst the two of you were scavenging the decorations for the Christmas tree Tommy, Joel and other men were putting up.

You shrugged your shoulders, “We’re not going that far. Just around the settlement.”

“Why can’t you just go with the other kids at school?” she asked.

“Don’t you always say that we should only head out there with those we trust?”

She saw the look in your eyes and knew there was no need to say anything more. You knew she meant well—Maria wanted you to adjust to this place, to make friends of your own age. But she was also aware of the fact that separating you from Joel would do more harm than good. She did not agree with most of his actions but still respected that man. After all, he was her family.

That day, you got there late. Joel was already back, sitting in the living room with book in his lap. As interesting as the crime thriller could have been, Joel’s attention was elsewhere. Sitting in an old chair by the window, he was impatiently waiting for your arrival. It was shortly after nine when you came. As soon as he saw you on the porch, he grabbed the book, suddenly finding interest in every line.

You entered the dark hall, seeing the only source of light coming from the living room. That’s when Joel finally looked up, seeing you standing there with snowflakes in your hair.

“Hey, didn’t hear you coming,” he greeted you, closing the book. “How was your decorating duty?”

“How was yours?” you mumbled sarcastically, ready to roll your eyes.

Joel chuckled over your reaction. “Fair enough.”

For a second, the awkward silence crept in until Joel spoke again.

“I grabbed you some food on the way back,” he announced. “Left it in the fridge for you.”

“Oh… thanks,” you whispered, quite taken aback by that gesture. “But uh, Maria took me to dinner…so.”

“It’s okay,” he shook his head.

There was a reassuring smile on his lips—even if it was for a moment.

“By the way…” Joel spoke again, sensing that you wanted to head upstairs. Once he got your attention again, he continued: “Tommy asked me today if we’d want to join him and Maria for Christmas Eve dinner next week.”

We.

You tried to hide that unexpected excitement his words left in you, yet Joel still managed to spot that glimpse of sparks in your eyes.

“It’s not mandatory, so if you don’t want—“

“No!” you interrupted him. “I mean yes… yes, we can go.”

“Oh,” he whispered, surprised by your sudden reaction. “Alright then, I’ll tell Tommy.”

After that, the awkward silence appeared again. You stood there for moment or two before Joel considered that it was time to go—he wished you good night and quietly disappeared upstairs, whilst you stayed there for another second. It was so unusual to see Joel this nervous and you wondered what could’ve been the cause of that.

With the holidays approaching, the thought of the old days was harder to avoid, especially with all those children running around. Everywhere he went, he saw her, saw the memories tied to her. It was easier to avoid those when he lived in Boston. The only haunting things were his nightmares which he usually deadened with a bottle of whisky and sack of pills. But here in Jackson, it was different. There was the glimpse of normal life—as normal as one could get in such world. It was way too easy to look at those luckier than him and wonder what could been.

That could been the root of the problem as for why Joel struggled with the way he felt about you. Each time he grew closer, it frightened him. He was frightened by the idea of encountering the same pain again because he knew that this time—he couldn’t bear through. He couldn’t suffer through the loss of another daughter.

Because that's who you were for Joel.

You were his daughter. Despite the numerous times he tried to fight, despite his inability to express this, deep down, Joel knew it. Even as terrifying as it was to admit it, you were his kid. He never stopped being a dad, he was just now yours.

And when he lied awake that night, he made a decision. Maybe it was time to stop running away from it—to stop running away from you.

When you woke the next morning, something felt different. Dressed up and ready, you ran down the stairs, surprised to see what was in front of you. Lighted and decorated, there was a Christmas tree standing by the fireplace. You couldn’t quite comprehend that sight.

It was barely after eight o’clock. You couldn’t help but wonder when did Joel managed to do this. In the kitchen, you found a message on the table along with a piece of apple pie that he must have brought from the dining hall.

Tommy and I had to leave early, there’s been accident at the power plant. Maria’s going to bring you dinner tonight. We should be back in a few days but if not, Merry Christmas kid.

— Joel

A part of you felt saddened over the thought of Joel possibly missing the Christmas Eve. But at the same time—you couldn’t help but smile over him doing all of this before he left. Putting the Christmas tree, getting you breakfast. He wanted to make sure you would still have good time, despite him missing it.

Later that day, Maria stopped by with dinner. As soon as she entered the hall, she couldn’t overlook the shining Christmas three. You two dined together in silence, washed the dishes and even offered for you to stay at their place until Joel and Tommy return. But as kind as her offer was, you politely declined. That night, you fell asleep on the couch, staring at those lights, hoping Joel was alright.

The blizzard out there wasn’t going away anytime soon. Each morning, whilst walking to your training, you couldn’t stop worrying. You knew he was more than capable of taking care of himself, yet that didn’t stop the ongoing fear that was rising within you each time you came home and he wasn’t there.

The house felt so empty without him there. Even though the two of you spend most of your time in silence or in separate rooms, you both had your comfort in each other’s presence. The idea of Joel being door away from you felt reassuring. Naively, you never thought that could change. In this sense, Jackson has softened you. Those gates around gave you sense of protection.

But he didn’t have that.

Each night, you waited. Sitting in his old chair by the window, you held your switchblade between your fingers and waited until you fell asleep. Fell asleep with a hope and woke with coldness wrapping around your body and disappointment that dawned on you when you found his room empty.

Three days before Christmas, you felt the need to express your anxiousness to Maria.

“The plant is a few of miles away. And with the snowstorm out there, it would be too dangerous to head back in such conditions,” she explained. “They’ll be back soon, you’ll see.”

You knew she was worried as well. But she did much better job at hiding it. She promised you that even if Joel and Tommy didn’t make it in time, you would still celebrate the Christmas Eve, together. And as much as you appreciated that effort—you didn’t care about celebrations of any kind. The only thing you cared about was Joel.

On twenty third of December, the clouds of fog and heavy flakes of snow finally disappeared. Yet there was no sign of Joel nor Tommy. You waited by the East Gate whole afternoon until your fingers felt numb from the coldness. You waited there until the sundown when Maria came to pick you up. You protested, begging her to let you stay up with men from the night watch.

“You’ll wait for him at home,” she insisted. “C’mon, Y/N. You’re freezing.”

But you didn’t care and she knew. But there was no point in fighting with her. You sighed, jumped down from the lookout and with disappointment hidden behind your eyes, you returned to that empty house. That night, you sat in that chair with switchblade in your hand—just like all those previous nights and waited.

On the twenty four of December, Christmas Eve, you were sitting by the kitchen table with Joel’s note in your hand.

“We should be back in a few days but if not, Merry Christmas kid.”

The chances of Joel and Tommy returning before the Christmas dinner were slimmer with each hour that past. At noun, it was decided that small group of patrollers would head to that plant and bring them back. With the weather conditions improving, you knew there must have been a different reason as for why they were still not coming back. And Maria knew it as well, despite her best efforts to keep you calm.

“There’s Christmas dance going on at the hall tonight. We could go if you’d like,” Maria offered when the two of you met at the stables. “Or we could still make the dinner.”

“I think I’ll just stay home,” you whispered, grabbing your backpack from the floor. “I’m quite tired. And I have the kindergarten duty tomorrow, so.”

“Y/N—?”

“Just tired, really,” you interrupted her. “Don’t worry.”

“Alright then,” she sighed, not trying to persuade you. “But tomorrow—dinner at my house. No excuses, six o’clock sharp.”

You felt guilty for declining again. So this time, you agreed to her proposal. After all, you could really use a moment out of your house. Maria meant well, she cared about you and she wasn’t exactly happy with the thought of you being all alone there.

On your way back, you passed the gate again, stayed a second or two and waited. For a moment, you thought you could sneak out tonight and try bribing one of those junior patrols guys at the watch to let you sneak up there. But you knew one of them would tell and you didn’t want to cause any more unnecessary worry for Maria. She already cut you a lot of slack with all those assignments you signed yourself off of.

When the clock stroke eight, you lost all your hope that Joel could make it before midnight. But knew that he wouldn’t want you to stare out of that window forever. So you decided to stop by the Christmas dance to grab a dinner, at least. When you returned, you lit a candle and sat down by the tree. Though as much as you tried, your eyes always landed on that view.

Shortly before midnight, you headed upstairs to his bedroom. His bed has not been made since the day he left. There wasn’t much of sight of him, besides the stuff in the clothes where you were headed. You opened the wooden door and took out his old jacket. Maria forced two of you to get rid of most of your old clothes and gave you new, not ripped and stained ones, but he still kept that one jacket.

You took it off the hanger and put over your sweater. It still had it scent.

With that, you went back and with switchblade in your hand, you sat down on the stairs on the front porch. You heard the celebratory noises coming from the hall but didn’t feel the need to join. Instead, you looked up at the stars.

During one of those night out there, you told Joel how much you loved the constellations and even showed him some of them—which he found profoundly interesting, as much as he tried to tell otherwise.

There you saw it—Big Dipper. The one you showed him, the only one he managed to spot.

That’s when midnight stroke.

And tears rolled down your face. As you looked ahead and saw the darkness.

And a shadow.

Shadow of a man.

For a second, you thought you could blame it on your somnolent mind. But when your name slipped from his lips, twice, it wasn’t your imagination anymore.

It was Joel.

“Joel?” you whispered as you saw him, heading towards you.

You couldn’t quite believe it.

“Joel!” you called out, not waiting another second to rush towards him, meeting him halfway.

He was out of the darkness, standing right there in front of you.

It was him.

But the smile you had on your lips faded away the second you saw a blood seeping through the fabric on his right leg.

“Are you—“ you gasped, eyes landing on his injury.

He immediately realised where your mind went.

“No,” he reassured you, stepping closer. “It’s just an injury, a scratch. Nothing more.”

You noticed the trouble he had whilst walking.

“I still have aid kit in my backpack upstairs,” you mumbled, worried thoughts jumping from one another in your mind. “It’s not much but I can fix it. I could just go and fix it, just let me—“

“Y/N!”

His voice echoed in your ears. Suddenly, he stood right in front of you, his cold hands grabbing both of your puffy cheeks. There was one thing you had in common in that very moment. The fear that rose in both of you, the worry that was put on display when you looked into his eyes. You couldn’t hold it together anymore, despite the efforts.

“I thought,” you gasped between the sobs, “I thought you didn’t come because…”

“No,” Joel reassured you again, this time with a smile on his lips. “See? I didn’t. I’m alright, I’m alright.”

“Joel,” you whimpered, trying to comprehend what was going on.

And as he saw you, standing there in his old jacket, freezing and crying—if there were any remaining walls, they all fell down. In that moment, every single one of his parental instincts kicked the minute he pulled you into his arms.

“I’m alright, kiddo,” he whispered, caressing your hair as you cried out. “I’m alright.”

As soon as you pulled away, Joel threw his hand over your shoulder as you quickly helped him get inside. Sitting him down on the couch, you ran upstairs, throwing the backpack on the bed as you impatiently took out one thing after another until you find the first aid kit. Only then you rushed downstairs, fix Joel’s wounds.

You almost tripped over your own feet.

He was sitting in the same spot, eyes landing on the lightened Christmas tree.

After you sewed his injury, the two of you sat there in silence. Neither of you needed the words in order to embrace the comfort you had in each other’s presence. You sat there, watching the lights until you fell asleep on his shoulder. In that moment—Joel didn’t need anything else. He was home.

“Merry Christmas, kid,” he whispered, looking down on you.

Twenty minutes past midnight, Joel made it.

But then the dawn came.

You woke up, eight hours later, finally without those worries hanging over your head. In the same spot you fell asleep, only with blanket covering your body. It was quiet, peaceful. Until you slowly awakened and your eyes landed on the wall clock above the living room dresser.

Within a second, you were up on your feet.

“Shit!” you yelled out, ignoring the possibility of Joel, still being asleep.

With tiredness wearing off, you tripped over your feet tree times, with each almost landing on your face. You quickly changed your clothes and ran back downstairs.

And there he was.

Leaning against the kitchen desk with cup of coffee in his hand, Joel couldn’t overlook the distress pictured all over you.

“Ever heard of a hairbrush?” he commented your appearance, being in the mood to have a little dig at you.

You didn’t have the time to roll your eyes over his words.

“I’m running late,” you whispered, looking around, trying to find your backpack. “I was supposed be at the kindergarten twenty minutes ago!” you cried out, stressed, trying to find your possessions. “Maria’s going to kill me. And where is that fucking thing?”

“Tried your room?” Joel proposed, visibly being amused by your current state.

“Dammit!” you yelled out, running back upstairs.

Within seconds, you were rushing back down, pushing your switchblade into your back-pocket.

“Gotta go—!” before you managed the disappear outside, Joel’s voice stopped you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he headed towards you.

You turned from the doors, “to my assignment? I already missed most of them this week. Can’t screw this one as well.”

“Where’s your other jacket? The down one that Maria brought the other day?”

You stared at his, utterly confused over that question.

“What?” you shook your head. “What are you talking about?”

“Y/N, it’s freezing out there, you’re not going in this,” he pointed to your windbreaker.

In this moment, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“I don’t have time for this—“

“Y/N, this is not open for discussion,” he stepped closer. “Go and get the other jacket.”

“Joel—!”

“Now, Y/N,” he repeated, admonishing look in his eyes.

He was never more parental than in that moment as he watched you grumpily running upstairs to grab your other jacket.

You came down, clothes changed.

“Now hat, and gloves. Where are your gloves?”

“Seriously?!”

There was something unimaginably funny as he watched you losing your temper when you did a second round of running and came back, redness in your cheeks.

You put it on and looked at Joel, annoyance expressed all over your face.

“Happy?” you mumbled sarcastically, grabbing your backpack from the floor.

“That you’re not going to freeze out there? Yes, I am,” he shrugged his shoulder. “Although,” he stepped closer and pulled the zip of your down jacket up to the top. “Now, I am.”

You rolled your eyes, once again.

He couldn’t help but chuckle over that response.

“You’re warm enough?” he asked.

“I’m sweating like a pig, Joel.”

“Better than freezing, don’t you think?” he couldn’t help but have another dig at you. “If you caught cold, I would be the one running around you.”

“Well, I couldn’t rob you of your favourite I told you moment, could I?” you grinned. “Besides, with this leg… you can barely walk so I don’t know what running you’re talking about, old man.”

He bursted into laughter.

“You're such a stubborn pain the ass, you know that?” he observed between laughs.

But then it happened.

“Okay, dad.”

That one sentence that was supposed to be an innocent joke—a little dig.

Carrying little no meaning.

Until you saw how Joel’s eyes suddenly shifted. And the laughter was no longer there. The spark was gone and he stood there, quiet and frozen. Stiff and numb over your words.

It’s been more than twenty one years since he last heard that.

His heart dropped into his stomach, the world around became too heavy.

There she was, in his mind again. That day, that exact moment. His eyes landed on his watch.

He heard his name coming out of your mouth, three times before he looked up—seeing the genuine worry displayed right in front of him.

“Joel—?“

“Go,” he whispered, so coldly.

You shook your head, confused. “Joel, are you—?”

“Go,” he repeated. “Your assignment is waiting. Leave.”

You stood there for two second, before you heard him again—urging you to leave. All at once, you couldn’t recognise him. You had no idea what caused this strange reaction, but didn’t dare to ask. Instead, you obeyed. You bowed your head and walked out of your house.

Each step you take, the further you were from the house, the more guilt was rising within you. What could you have done to displease him this much?

You’ve experienced Joel’s anger a few times, while the two of you were on the road. To be honest, Joel’s patience was thin and you knew what strings to pull to get him into rage. Him yelling at you became a daily routine at one point. But you’ve never seen him like this. The stare he had, the emptiness in his eyes.

As if you were dead to him. Truth was, you would much rather had him screaming at you than being this eerily quiet.

You arrived to your assignment and quickly got to work, hoping no one would notice your delay. But even with the amount of work you had around, you couldn’t stop thinking about that odd encounter with Joel. What could’ve been that made him so upset?

Could’ve been the joke, you thought. But it was an innocent statement, with not much truth in it. Or was it? Or was it something that accidentally carried more truth that you were willing to let on? Could Joel sense that?

One too many scenarios running through your worried mind.

“Y/N?” Maria’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

You looked up and saw her, standing by the door.

“Hey,” you mumbled, putting the basket with toys on the floor. “What’s going on?”

“Just checking in,” she replied, smile on her lips. “I stopped by your place but forgot your had your duty today. Wanted to take Joel to infirmary but looks like you already took care of that.”

“Oh, yeah. It was nothing,” you whispered, eyes landing on the floor, the desire to avoid every conversation that included his name rising with each second. “I have a lot to finish today, so…”

“I won’t keep you any longer,” Maria laughed. “Just wanted to say that since Tommy and Joel got back in one piece, we thought we could have the Christmas dinner today. After all, the holidays are still on.”

“I don’t think Joel’s in mood for celebration of any kind,” you admitted.

“I already talked to him and he agreed.”

So maybe he managed to cool down, you thought. Or at least, you were hoping for that.

Maria stayed for a few more minutes, asking you to come earlier tonight to help prepare the dinner. She freed you from your afternoon assignments to have enough time to change and get ready. You stayed at the kindergarten until one in the afternoon, then helped for two hours at the stables before you headed back to your house.

You learned from her that both Tommy and Joel had a day off so part of you hoped you would run into him. But when you came, the house was empty. Joel’s backpack and gun were lying by the chair but he was nowhere to be found—as you searched every room around. You tried to not think much of that but there were still those doubts inside you.

Luckily, you were running out of time—which meant you had to hurry up and pull yourself out of your worried mind. You didn’t have any decent clothes to wear, except for the regular ones. So you just grabbed a clean sweater, pants and tied your hair up before you headed to Maria’s.

When you arrived, Maria was already cutting the vegetables in the kitchen. You let yourself in, throwing the jacket on the hanger in the hall as she called you in. It was the first time you were in their home as they mostly came to visit you and Joel. It was much bigger than what the two of you had but all those details displayed around implied that they’ve been here for quite some time. Each corner had a track of them. There were pictures on the walls, books on the coffee table with an empty cup, flower pots on the windowsill.

But what caught your attention was a board, resting on the top of the fireplace.

You didn’t mean to snoop but when you saw those names, you couldn’t look away. There were two of them, along with four dates. Took only few seconds for you to realise what this was supposed to meant.

Shivers went down your spine. Especially once you heard Maria calling you again.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, rushing into the kitchen.

“It’s alright, just finish these carrots,” she handed you the knife. “I need to start preparing the meat.”

You took the orders without any objections.

You wondered. Were they Tommy’s or Maria’s children? Or did each belong to one of them? You wouldn’t guess the two of them to experience such loss since they’ve both seen so well put together.

But you knew yourself how easy it was to put up a believable surface. You did that after Tess’s death, despite how painful it was to lose someone so close. You didn’t have any other option. Maybe they were once in a similar position.

Eventually, every person finds a way to live with their pain. They either face it or suppress that, deep down.

You only now realised how important must have been this child to Tommy and Maria. Get a second chance in a world like this was almost a miracle.

“Tommy’s memorial caught your attention?”

Almost as if she read your mind.

You startled, nearly accidentally cutting yourself.

“I wasn’t… you mumbled, embarrassed. “I didn’t… I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Maria looked up, reassuring smile on her lips.

She was kind, like always.

“I’m sorry about your kids.”

So you felt the need to let her know.

Her eyes locked with yours again, “Thank you. Although, just a kid, Kevin.”

“Oh,” you nodded. “So Sarah was Tommy’s daughter?”

“She was his niece,” Maria replied, still preparing the meet.

In that moment, the world around stopped for a second.

Tommy’s niece.

Meaning?

You had to take a deep breath.

“So, she was…” you swallowed, feeling the frog in your throat growing bigger each second.

“Joel’s daughter,” Maria finished your sentence, paying no mind to your current state.

Joel’s daughter.

Joel had a daughter. A daughter just three years younger than you.

You needed a moment to process this.

He used to be someone’s dad.

Then the last piece of the puzzle was found. And the mystery was solved.

And your shattered heart dropped into your stomach.

He used to be a dad.

Suddenly, it all made sense. Suddenly, you’ve never felt worse. For what you said, for being so cruel. All those days, all those moments, all his words—all at once it made sense. It was the last clue you needed to win the prize. Was it worth though, was the question.

“Y/N?” you heard Maria’s voice calling your name.

Three times before you looked up, still a little spaced out.

“He didn’t…” she whispered, putting two and two together. “Oh…”

“That’s alright,” you shook your head. “It’s not your fault.”

You didn’t know how to approach this newly revealed information, how to solve the problem without causing even more of them. Joel was never the most sharing individual, neither of the two of you was. Though you couldn’t blame him. He was keeping this inside of him for more than twenty years. One could one fear how difficult that must have been.

“How did it happen?” you dared to ask.

Maria looked you. She knew this wasn’t her place to talk but still gave in. “I don’t know the details. Just that it was the day of the outbreak.”

You thought there was no chance this could get any worse.

“Day after Joel’s birthday.”

Somehow it did.

And you felt even more guilty for asking these questions in the first place.

You thought of this afternoon, when you were rushing back to your house, hoping you would find Joel there. Now you were on the verge of praying to every none-existent higher power that he could change his mind and not come. You wanted to do everything you could to avoid him, out of the shame that you were feeling.

That of course, did not happened.

At half past six, Tommy arrived from Tipsy Bison with bottle of scotch and smile on his lips. He had a stitch above his eyebrows, meaning both him and Joel were involved in whatever fight that went down at power plant, probably with those raiders Maria kept mentioning. Greeting both of you, he kissed Maria on the cheek, placed on the bottle on the kitchen desk and disappeared upstairs to change his clothes.

Thirty minutes after him, Joel arrived.

You were in the middle of settling the dinner table when you heard the door slam. You paid no mind, placing the four plates on their spots. Only when you turned to get the cutlery, you saw Joel standing by the coffee table—his eyes immediately landing on you.

The fear in your face was difficult to overlook. For a second, your sight shifted from Joel to the memorial board right next to him.

For a second.

Yet he still managed to catch that.

Without a thought, you turned around and headed towards the kitchen to grab the tray with glasses and cutlery. When you came back, you saw him standing on the same spot. Only now, his full attention was directed towards that board before you caught his attention, again.

It didn’t take much for him to realise the nature of your behaviour—beside what happened this morning.

You stood there, staring at the each other. Your heart was pounding louder with each second, hands were sweating, the tray in your hands shaking. Only when Tommy’s voice called out for Joel, you looked away and went to finish your job.

Feeling even more ashamed than before, if it was still possible.

To say the dinner was awkward would have been an understatement. The four of you sat by the table in silence, with mostly Tommy or Maria leading the conversation. Their words and the conversation in general was revolving mainly around Jackson and things related to that as both of them sensed that none of you were in the mood. Maria kept checking on you—she didn’t miss how determined you were to avoid Joel’s eyes.

It was after dinner when you saw him lighten up a little. Tommy grabbed the bottle of scotch and took Joel into his little office space downstairs, right in the entrance hall. Which you and Maria used as an opportunity to wash the dishes.

You placed the dishes right next to the kitchen sink when you heard Tommy’s laugh.

“…it’s time consuming!”

Shortly, it was followed by Joel’s brief laughter. Still, it was nice to know he was easing up.

“It’s that stupid clock joke Tommy heard this morning,” Maria commented as you handed her the dishes, one by one.

There wasn’t any response coming from you. Your mind was too preoccupied for that.

And as much she didn’t want to cross the boundaries, she was worried about you.

“Joel cares about you, you know,” she spoke, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You looked up at her, handing her the plate.

“I’m not really sure about that right now,” you admitted. “Although, I couldn’t really blame him.”

“You worry too much,” Maria chuckled.

“Can you blame me?” you muttered, looking down.

“I had plenty of evidence to be confident in my previous claim.”

“Like what?” you sighed.

“A, he brought you here—“

“I saw him spare a rabbit once. So not leaving me out in the cold is not a strong argument.”

Maria chuckled again.

“He brought here and asked for the two of you to be placed together.”

Wait a minute.

You looked up once more, confused over Maria’s words.

“No,” you shook your head. “Joel said you just didn’t have any other place for me…”

“We have a few houses specifically for kids of your age. Since I knew your situation and wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to be around your peers. I offered that to Joel. But he insisted that you stay under his roof.”

That sudden new information needed a second to process.

You thought that, perhaps, he thought the two of should take your separate ways—that’s why he mentioned that you should have a place of your own. When in reality, he wanted you around. He asked to have you around.

“What’s B?”

Maria took a deep breath and placed the plate into the sink.

“It’s tough to lose a child, in any kind of world, fungal or not. And it is even harder to allow yourself to care this way again, for somebody else. Which is why you might have felt like he was pushing you away at times, maybe even right now. But despite his actions saying otherwise at times, you mean a whole world for him. You are his whole world.”

You wanted to believe every word of that statement. Because that’s what Joel was to you. After everything you’ve encountered, Joel was the closest thing to a family one could have in this world. And you wanted to believe that you carried that value for him as well.

“You just have to cut him some slack. He might be scared,” she continued.

“Scared of what?”

“Scared of having another chance to be a parent. It’s way too easy to screw that job, in every world.”

Maybe all you needed to understand Joel was one conversation with someone who was once in the same position.

Suddenly, each attribute of Joel’s personality, each strange detail about him pulled together a one, bigger picture. Although the losses in your life might not have been as traumatic as those of Joel’s, you were starting to understand him. And deep down, hoped that you didn’t blow up all your chances to fix what you’ve broken.

That evening, you headed home first. After you helped Maria clean everything, you asked her to tell Joel that you were tired and left early. Even though there was a part of you, wanting to run after him and apologise, you couldn’t do it. Once you heard his laugh, you knew you owed him a moment of peace. Your conversation could wait for another day or two.

It was first time since this morning there was even the slightest amusement on his face. Could’ve been the simple stupidity of that joke, the bizarreness that somehow made him chuckle. He stood there, leaning against the grey wall with scotch in his hand, trying so hard to suppress those laughs.

“You can laugh, it’s funny,” Tommy teased him, finishing the rest of his drink. “It’s a great joke.”

“A really lame one,” Joel commented, squeezing the glass in his hands.

“Well, you never really had a good sense of humour so,” Tommy chuckled.

Joel shrugged his shoulders over that statement, partially agreeing before he drank the rest of his liquid courage.

It was getting late, he wanted to head home and get some rest. He handed Tommy the empty glass, patted his shoulder and gave him a fleeting smile—enough to let him know that he was thankful for the distractions. Only then he went into the living room, looking for you.

He found Maria instead.

She knew the answer he came for in the first place.

“She left a few minutes ago,” Maria answered the implied question. “But she left this in here,” she turned around and grabbed pair of green gloves. “Could you give that to her?”

Joel nodded, bitting his lower lip, slowly immersing into his thoughts.

“Well,” he snapped out his head after a second, squeezing the gloves in his hands, “I should probably go too. Thank you for the dinner, though.”

“My pleasure,” she smiled.

He knew where he was going. Yet before he made a single step, the memorial board caught his sight again. He was aware of not always being the most pleasurable human being to others around, though he always justified that by saying that he was only trying to protect himself. But when he visited today, for the first time, and saw the board—there was regret. For, maybe, being too harsh at times.

Everyone was carrying around their own kind of pain. Some were just too good at hiding it.

So before he left, he turned to Maria.

“Listen,” he cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. “About…”

She knew where he was headed. And wanted to spare him the difficulties.

“I know,” she whispered. “Me too…”

Nothing else needed to be said, they both understood.

With that, Joel grabbed the rest of his stuff and set off.

As he walked through the streets, seeing the lights hanging on the houses and snowflakes falling to the ground, his mind wondered. Towards you, towards this morning. Part of him felt guilty for pushing you away so suddenly. You must have meant it as a joke, he thought. That’s what he’s been trying to tell himself the whole day.

Yet there was a part of him. Part of him that was terrified of you, being serious with that title. Joel came to terms with the way he felt about you, with the amount of care and sense of protection he had for you. But why was the idea of you feeling the same way about him so frightening? Why was it so easy to accept you as daughter but hesitate to become your father? He was in this same position twenty one years ago. And he couldn’t promise to not fail again.

There was guilt. Guilt he was carrying around for more than twenty years. Guilt of failing, for not being the father Sarah deserved to have in that moment. And it felt selfish of him to put another child through that. Maria was right. It was scary to have another chance with something so fragile. Perhaps, he should’ve just walked away, could’ve given up.

But somehow found himself standing in front of your door. With pair of green gloves in his hands and shame in his eyes.

He knocked on the door two times to make sure you were still awake. Only when he heard your voice, he let himself in.

You were standing by your closet, carefully folding your things.

Somehow, in this moment, seeing you so accustomed this place, it made Joel happy.

Then he saw the curiousness in your eyes and panicked. For a second, he panicked, overthinking his actions.

“Maria,” he mumbled, looking for the right words, “Maria… Maria said you left this at their place,” he finished his attempted and stepped closer into the room.

Your eyes landed on the pair of gloves in Joel’s hands.

“Oh…” you raised your eyebrows. “But these… these are not mine. I gave them back to Maria weeks ago because they were too small for me…”

You stopped for a moment and realised she achieved exactly what she wanted with that gesture. And you couldn’t help but chuckle over that.

Joel, on the other hand, couldn’t ignore the embarrassment rising within him.

Quickly, you saw that. Saw him clearing his throat and placing the gloves on the edge of your bed.

He stood there, for a second or two and you wondered if, perhaps, there was more to his visit. You looked into his eyes and saw the struggle—saw how desperately he was trying to find the appropriate approach to this situation and took this as an opportunity to set things right.

“Listen,” you whispered, catching his attention. “I just…”

You both struggled with finding the right words.

Placing the clothes you were holding just a second ago onto the closet shelf, you stepped closer to him.

“I’m sorry for what I've said this morning. I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t know that—“

The shame he had in his eyes was now glancing in yours. And he saw that, saw every bit of that.

That’s why he stopped you.

“No,” he shook his head. “Y/N, please no.”

He followed your lead and stepped closer, sitting down on the edge of your bed as the frustrated sigh left his mouth.

“It’s not your fault. How could you know…”

It was the first time you saw Joel like this. It was the first you spoke of this.

There was hurt in his voice and you knew he must have been trying to suppress that for quite some time.

You quietly joined him, eyes landing on the floor.

“Maria told you?” he asked, filling up the hollow silence.

“I saw the memorial Tommy made… you probably figure the rest,” you whispered.

Joel nodded.

“Don’t be mad at her, please. I swear, if I knew… I wouldn’t—“

He finally looked into your eyes, stopping your words. “Y/N, it’s alright. I am not mad at her.”

There was a sense of relief that flew through your body.

Although, there was also one question remaining.

“What about me?” you dared to ask.

He heard the tone of your voice and saw the worry in your eyes.

There it was, the confrontation he couldn’t keep running away from. For a moment, the hollow silence returned just as your fears. In the same exact moment that Joel finally decided to face his.

“If you think about me this way, if you feel about me this way… then I don’t… I don’t mind if you want to call me that.”

That certainly was not what you were expecting.

But it turned out to be better.

“I’m trying to say that even though I can’t promise you that I’m worthy of that title… if you want me to have that role in your life…” he whispered.

“I thought you already had that,” you admitted.

The shock in his eyes was evident.

“Listen,” you whispered, turning to him. “I was on my own for most of the time before Tess finally found me and brought me to you. I’ve never had anyone like that. So I don’t have much to compare with. But if dad is supposed to be someone who makes you feel safe, who feels like home, then for me, Joel, you are worthy of that title.”

There it was. It was no longer just an assumption but a long lasting wish. He got the truth, got what he wished for and feared at the same time.

“Depends on if you want it.”

In that moment, he wanted to allow himself to want it. But in order to do that. There was one last step remaining.

Joel needed to forgive himself.

He needed to finally put down that baggage of guilt he’s been wearing around for twenty one years. He needed once and for all, stop looking behind him. And look ahead and take the opportunity the universe gave him.

Perhaps, you were what he needed to achieve that. By making sure you were safe, he would able to forgive himself for failing at that twenty one years ago. Deep down, he knew, she would never want him to wear his sadness around his neck. There would always be a part of her in Joel, nothing was going to change that. But maybe now, he was finally able to make space for you, too. To be your dad.

You heard the chuckles and looked up again. And there he was, looking down at his something to fight for. His whole world.

He smiled quietly and replied, “I do, kiddo.”

And when the word left your mouth, calling him that officially for the very first time, he barely managed to hold it together. Every remaining piece of his baggage disappeared, every last piece of the sadness he was wearing around his neck fell down as he finally put his guilt to rest.

And he kept the promise he gave. To both of his daughters.

#writing #the last of us x reader #joel miller x platonic!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller #tlou oneshot #tlou fanfic #tlou imagine #tlou au sort of?#the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #father figure joel

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freshlyrage · 7 months

Text

Running Like Water

Chapter 19

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 5.6k

a/n: Two more New Orleans chapters after this. Don't forget to visit my pinterest board "Running Like Water".

The section labeled "The Trip" has some reference's there. Enjoy lovies.

Masterlist

Abandon the thought. Forget it. A selfish, irresponsible and senseless idea, just like the thought of a family with you. Javi walked ahead of Felipe in silence after the foolish suggestion, hadn't he known Javier would have married you in an instant if the timing was right? If you weren't Frankie’s sister, if he wasn't leaving. He couldn't take you to Colombia, absolutely not. Wasn't safe, he almost told Felipe bringing Gina along wouldn't be a great idea either. But god did Javi’s stomach turn at the thought. Stirring with fear and yearning. He knew you'd never go along with a plan like that, you were fresh out of college figuring out your own career, how selfish would it be for him to expect that you would drop everything, family included, for his career ventures.

Cheeks flush once the night air hits his face as he walks out to the rooftop pool, a bar lining its left side. Irresponsible idea.

Would you pick out the furniture? He’d let you.

Hands digging into his pocket and striking his lighter to smoke. He hears Felipe stopping, he must've found his fiance.

He just called you his girlfriend for the first time today, it doesn't feel like enough. Juvenile, he knows he'd want you to be his wife, eventually. After Colombia, not everyone works out like Gina and Felipe.

You could teach in Colombia. You were so good with kids.

Relaxed when he sees you. Breath catches in his throat. Your back is facing him as you sit at the bar, drink in hand. Lean shoulders exposed, no, entire back exposed with a dip just below your back dimples. Those dimples, his thumb fit there perfectly when he’s driving into you from behind. Hair laying on one shoulder.

An angel alone at the bar. His angel. Its sudden, instantaneous, all anxieties of his talk with Felipe fades at the sight of the soft slope of your nose then lips.

Magenta shines from behind the bar lighting your smile, bright and wide as you nod to whoever is catching your attention. Your exposed back illuminated in a waving cerulean from the reflection of the pool lights. Pet Shop Boys ringing in his ears. You are the most beautiful thing he's ever laid his eyes on. Your brows screw in concern and your smile falls a bit, shoulders slouching.

Javi’s mustache twitches at the change in mood as he walks across the poolside, toward you. His eyes dart to the man next to you, he has that look in his eyes. A lustful look. Javier’s stomach flips at that. A fiery and intense jealousy he thought he was immune to settling bone deep. He remembers attempting to swallow down that biting envy when he found out you had gotten a boyfriend while he was gone in Houston. But this is different, that was juvenile, you're his now.

The second he reaches you he places his hand on your lower back, wedging himself in the space between you and the man. Your eyes go doe as you look up to Javi with relief. A smile growing on your glossy lips, Javi cranes his head to kiss you quick. “Hi baby.” You mutter against his lips and he feels the most primal he’s ever felt. All his, mine, mine. He kisses you again like you two had been apart for years. Your lips tasted fruity from whatever you had to drink tonight. He was always the one to call you all sorts of pet names so you calling him baby in public has him urging to pull you off this bar seat and drag you back to the hotel room.

Fuck it, he kiss you again, “How much have you had to drink?” He asks with genuine curiosity devoid of judgment. You scrunch your nose, giving him a tipsy smile and Javi just chuckles, rubbing his hand on your back, cold. “You cold?” You shake your head a no, Javi nearly melts at how perfect you look tonight. He was forever indebted to whoever made this dress.

From his left the man he long forgotten about clears his throat. Javier’s entire demeanor changes in an instant, you spin in your stool to face the man. “Javi–this is… Drew, he works at LSU, anthropology professor.” You beam, your own hand grabbing at Javi’s suit blazer, giving Drew a line of view. Javier lets you move him but he isn't fond of the man, he saw the way he looked at you.

Drew’s face is slightly bemused, staring at you and back at Javier before he extends his hand. Javier takes it anyway, giving him a firm shake. “Nice to meet you–sorry I’m just a bit confused-”

“Jesus–I’ve gotta pee, I’ll be back.” You jump to your feet unsteadily, Javier catches your elbow to balance you on your heels. You let out a small snort of embarrassment.

“I can come with.” Javi suggests and you frown, waving a drunken hand, no before walking on your own. Your hips swaying with your struts, lower back dangerously giving a sneak peak of whatever set you had under the dress. Javier watches your every move until you're entering the bathroom and closing the door behind you.

Javi shakes his head, no more drinks for you. He sits in your stool, beckoning the bartender over. Whiskey, Jim Beam. Javi smiles at the man next to him before sipping. Drew seems to be itching to say something to him. His brows screwing, hands fidgeting with his beer during the awkward silence. Awkward to him, Javier was on quite the power trip knowing he was making whats-his-face intimidated.

“Look man I mean no disrespect-”

“Good.” Javi cuts, his low tone causing Drew to frown further.

“I just didn't assume she was with someone, she was just dancing with some girl all night and sat at this bar alone, you know looking like that.”

Javi’s nostrils flare, he sips. He wasnt going to get rowdy, he really fucking badly wanted to get rowdy, but this was your trip. Your little vacation, god forbid Javier flips out on some guy for flirting with you. He’d be in jail for life if he loses his shit every time you get hit on. He chooses his battles. Still, he's up for a bit of verbal confrontation. “Looking like what?”

Javi takes in the looks of this man for the first time, his protective bone striking deeper, noticing the aging spots on the man's face. Hair thinning at its sides, age lines at his eyes. This man had to be at least fifty. Javier's chest rises like an animal prepared to assert dominance, he exhales settling himself. Eyes snapping to the bathroom door.

Drew shakes his head, “Call me old fashioned but I would never let my women leave the house in something like, especially if I wasn't there.”

Call me old fashioned, I would just call you old.

Javier bites it back, his cheeks warming with anger but he controls himself, for you. “Good luck with hitting on young women in bars if you still believe women are things to be controlled.” Javi chuckles, his eyes find you swinging the door open, apologizing to the person waiting by it. A smile bright on your face as you dance your way towards the bar, lord you were drunk. Grabbing a martini from a waiter before stopping at the dance floor to dance by yourself. Hair swaying with your little hip movements.

Drew watches you too and shakes his head again. Javi hopes it falls off next time.

“Women these days, no home training and classless. Us men don't have to sit and take it. You seem too far gone though.” He sneers, eliciting an eye roll from Javier. Could the man be more cliche, an old geezer who he couldn't have the pretty young thing at the bar so he resorts to complaining about women as a whole. Javier met a few of these insecure men at the academy, that's when he knew maybe he didn't belong in that environment. A group of hormonal sexually repressed losers who power-tripped with a gun and badge. He thinks of the year he spent as a cop and sees a different person. He can't believe he thinks, thank God for the DEA.

Javier sips his drink and watches you proudly. “Yeah I am far gone.” Not caring to give into the lowlife. The DJ transitions into Lucky Star by Madonna and you squeal with a jump, your martini spilling the slightest on the dance floor and your twirling to the synth beat. Javier wished he had his camcorder to film you losing yourself on the floor. It wasn't like you to be this out there in public, liquid courage was a real concept, Javier thinks.

“She was flirting with me by the way.” Drew says it in a geeky matter of fact tone and Javier can't help but smile. You would never, not in a million years. Javier's jealousy only manifested in protectiveness, never has he ever feared you reciprocating any sort of attention you might receive.

“Andrea!” Javi calls your name, beckoning you from the dance floor. You pause your dancing and grab a fistful of your dress to prevent yourself from tripping over the long fabric while you hurry over. Drew’s face drops slightly when you approach the two men.

You let go of your dress and flick a piece of hair from your face, taking a sip from the martini. Hand on Javier's shoulder to stable yourself. Javier looks down to smile at his lap at your oblivion. “What?” You ask breathlessly, “It better be good, you know how I feel about Madonna.”

Javi glares down Drew’s face which is now devoid of color while his hand holds your bare back. Goosebumps rising against his palm when his fingertips trace the hem where the dress begins again. Javi drives, taking the opportunity to slide his hand right inside the front of your dress, holding your waist with his palm and his large fingers splaying across your pitted belly. His hand strained against the tight fabric. Javi knew he was protective of you, but this was nearly out of his character, holding you so shamelessly. “Drew was telling me you were flirting with him.”

Your smile drops slightly giving a tight browed look at the older man. “I was just being friendly.”

Drew is floored, humiliated. “You asked me what I did for a living?”

Javier almost laughs at the desperation in the man’s voice. You scoff and Javier makes note to brace himself. You’ve been quite fiery today, first with Julian. Now that you’re a bit drunk Javier isn’t sure what to expect from you, regardless he’s a bit excited. Considering your sound of disbelief Javier knows he isn’t getting his hopes up.

He takes a sip of his whiskey as he watches your eyes narrow. “And?” You bite.

Drew adjusts his suit jacket. “Typically when a woman alone at a bar asks a man what he does for a living, he's going to expect sex—“

“Uh-uh. Don’t try to paint this like I’m some lady of the night. You introduced yourself and I just asked what you did for work, small talk? Like how’s the weather?” You take a sip from your martini.

The professor's nostrils flare his cheeks red. “ I offered you a drink—“

“Which I denied, I was trying to tell you I was waiting on my boyfriend and you cut me off to ask my age.” Your cheeks are blazing, maybe you were an angry drunk. Somehow it was the most fitting discovery Javier has made about you.

“Alright, let’s just go back to the room.” Javi whispers into your side and you shoot him an angry glare. Removing his hand from your stomach, Javier is beyond turned on by that. What is it with him getting hard every time you reprimand him?

“No—I’m not done talking.” Javier’s eyebrows shoot up and he bites back a smile before looking at the bartender, pointing to his cup beckoning him for a refill.

Drew combs through his hair, “Listen woman, you come to bar half naked expect to be-“

Your jaw is agape. “Watch your fucking mouth.” Javier snaps, he’s unsure if he can just let you handle this and take the backseat anymore. The bartender grabs Javier’s drink and refills it. He wished he was in Laredo, he would’ve spun this losers jaw minutes ago. But you, you detach from Javier completely.

“Listen—professor fuckface.” You wave a drunken finger in his face, “I don't know who you expect to fuck you but you better start aiming lower… actually how about you leave women alone in general–”

The man's face reddens and Javi decides he needs to prevent a real altercation. If the man lays a hand on you Javi can't promise he wont kill the man with his bare hands. Bad look for the DEA. “Alright it's time to go.” Javi stands and grabs your arm. You let out an annoyed huff, cursing out Javi now.

“Maldito idiota! Javi I swear to god I did not flirt with that man!” You trip over your heels while he pulls you through the thickening crowd. Javier’s brows furrow, had you thought? “Even if I was single I have some standards!”

Javi laughs, pressing the elevator button. “I’m not upset with you baby.” He drops your arm and your glazed eyes soften, your lips cracking into a smile. Moving your hair out of your face from the distant wind on the rooftop.

You snake a hand around his waist when the elevator dings, the two of you walk in sync into the lift. “I just thought when you grabbed me to leave–”

“No-he was getting angry, I was just trying to avoid a real confrontation.” You frown, Javier lets you go to click the 4th floor button. Coming back to you, taking a wanton look at your figure in the dress. Your eyes are half lidded, he knows that look all too well. You take a step closer to him again, laying your hands flat on his jacket. Dusting off whatever you find on the leather. Getting on your tiptoes, he kisses you quick and chaste, parting as quick as it began.

Your eyes narrow, your lips downturned. “I wore this for you.” It came out with a pout, annoyed with his sexless kiss.

Javier chuckles at that, “Beyakka” He mocks you, knowing that sort of slang was unique to you and your family. “How much have you had to drink?”

You let out an aggressive eye roll and groan, “You keep asking me the same questions!”

“I’m just concerned considering you would never admit to wearing anything specifically for me.”

You shot him a glare, “Two martinis and 2 shots. I just feel buzzed if anything. I can handle my liquor.” Stepping apart from him you face forward, eyeing the declining floors. Javi bites away a smirk watching your skin rising with goosebumps. You shrug, “Just wanted to catch your attention is all.”

Javi chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist. Hugging you from behind, holding your lithe form tight to his front. Craning his head into your shoulder, “You’ve got all my attention princesa.” His lips grazing your ear. Teasingly you giggle and wiggle your behind on his crotch, Javi drops his head into your neck. “Andrea–now's not the best…” He warns.

The elevator dings and you’re on your floor, you let out an annoyed groan and strut ahead of him. And it’s the way he could see the small dimples on your back and the tiniest hickey on your shoulder—he gives in. Pacing himself to walk ahead of you down the dimly lit hall, you let out a huff of frustration when he stops at your door. Patting his pocket for the keys, he unlocks the door and pushes you inside in a deft move.

You nearly slip out a giggle but you’re tense the second he lays both hands on the dips of your waist. His broad form pressing against you from behind.

“Get on all fours.” His lips graze your exposed ear, throbbing intensely down below. You weren’t drunk, a bit buzzed, tipsy, loose. Irrelevant, all you knew is whatever was in that martini heightened your senses. You’d wanted to climb into Javi’s lap and make out with for hours like some depraved teen.

Why lie, when Javier slid his hand into your dress in his protective hold you fought the urge to take a sinful seat on his thigh and release some tension in front of the professor.

Horny was an understatement.

Without second thought you drop to your knees. Long brown hair pooling at the sides of your face, arching like a kitten before slightly straightening, Javi lets out a throaty grunt at that. Holy fuck were your cheeks hot, you bite a smile. It’s quiet, like Javi is figuring what he wants to do with you next. Fingers curling on the hotel rug, filthy, you were practically dripping.

“Crawl to the bed. Don’t get on it.”

You smirk, face hidden from him and you comply. A slight head rush developed from the position but you inch your way further into the room, knowing this position has your dress dipping lower almost ruining your lovely surprise.

And he’s inching behind you, the lovely tune of his belt buckle jangling comes from behind and you’re sickeningly close to letting out a whimper. Thankfully you make it to the door of the bed. You experimentally look over your shoulder. You nearly regret the decision because now your stomach is somehow twisting in more anticipation. He’s looking down at you with a hand rubbing himself, you want to release him, put him in your mouth like earlier. You want him to stop being cruel, he’s made you wait enough for him. “You look perfect, arch more, I want to see all of you querida.”

On display for him, only him you dip lower perching your behind up. It seems to do it for him because in a split second he’s bending down and wrapping his forearms on your lower stomach and lifting you weightless onto the bed above you.

Thrown on your back you finally get to see all of him and god if the low look of desire isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen you don’t know what could come next. But oh, his palms push your knees to your chest and your lovely loose dress is pooling in bunches of fabric at your bent waist. Your aching cunt on full display for him, save the panties. And that look—right there. His face of realization, the slight tick of his jaw, twitch of his stache and the crease between his brows deepening—then his glance back up to me.

“Dirty girl.” He grits, squeezing the inside of your thigh and oh he’s so close you couldn’t care to save face. “Dancing around all night with nothing on under your dress.”

“Please fill me up—please just put it in Javi.”

He doesn’t acknowledge your pleas, his eyes are razor focused on your cunt and he drops to your knees. “I’m gonna eat you till you cry alright?” He kisses your inner thigh, hot and wet.

You nod frantically, “O-okay.” It’s rushed and broken. A gasp rips through your chest when a tight slap hits your thigh, the skin rippling.

“Say my name.” He demands. Kissing over the red mark on your thigh.

“Yes Javier.” You whimper through gritted teeth, wanting to abandon the whole dress, just wanting to be nude to feel him completely. No time because his kisses begin to trail closer in approval. A centimeter apart each time until he’s there, you, still a leaky girl in front of him. Forgetting the sweet slow kisses, he goes for the kills. He consumes you.

You jolt almost immediately as his tongue starts off with lapping your clit. You’re wiggling and panting, your view just the top of his head and the grip he has on the top of your thighs. You’d frame it if you could, Javi just making a home for himself between your legs. And he’s moaning writhing too, you pulled to the edge of the bed while his knees stay sunken on the floor. He’s grinding his own hips into the bed and you whimper at the yearning pit you have to have him inside again. How had it been that you allowed your ex to skip over this part, with every suck and lick you were unraveling below him.

“So soft, never getting over it.” He kisses your cunt softly to give himself space to praise.

You smirk, your own hands groping at your clothed breasts. “Softer inside.” You jolt your hips a bit and Javi mumbles against your cunt before sinking his tongue into your tight hole and it shrinks around him, desperate for his cock. You had him twice today but there was something about being here with him that sent your libido on overdrive. It felt like a honeymoon, like the two of you were on a high you could never get down from.

His fingers slide through, taking the place of his tongue and he dips two thick fingers inside of you, watches you squirm. “You’re mine, right querida?” There it is. That sweet desperation. The hand offered for reassurance, the two of you sure enjoyed hearing it as much as you enjoyed asking for it.

Your brows screw, oh you were devastatingly close. God you were his, his, his—“Yours— oh fuck yes baby all yours. Yours, yours,yours.”

Oh Javi likes that, he removes his fingers and they go back to the bottoms of your thighs, pushing your knees as far as they can to your chest. He doesn’t let up, he does as he promises because the stimulation is so much— you’re crying in pure bliss.

His hot heavy tongue licks and flicks at your clit so aggressively— so skilled your stomach pits in jealousy. “Who-who taught you this— how do you do it so—“ Your body decides jealousy has no place here because-“I’m gonna cum—“

It isn’t fair to call it a warning because in an instant you’re dripping in come. His mouth slowing and lowering again to collect from where you release. Leaving you wet kisses and sucks, the same way he kisses you above, he kisses you below. Your hands find his hair, forcing him back up to you. His mustache glistening while he smiles smugly at your withering pants and frantic hands. Hand falling to the back of his neck and tonguing him down. His wide body between your legs. Giving him sloppy drunk kisses, all tongue and teeth. And god you need him inside.

He very obviously does too. His hardness embarrassingly evident through his pants. You slip a little moan—“Use your words, don’t know what you want with all those little noises.” He grits, kissing your cheek then below your ear, down your neck. Your hands roam his chest until you’re right above his unbuttoned pants.

“I want you—I want you to fuck me like this.” You say—no-demand. The two of you hadn’t fucked missionary since the second time. You were feeling awfully depraved, you just wanted to sloppily kiss him while he rocked into you.

He nods into your neck, sucking and nipping. “Anything-anything you want.” He whispers, and despite having him lick you to your climax nothing flips your stomach quite like this, like him leaving you sweet kisses and giving it to you your way. Too eager to strip down, your pull him from his jeans and spread your legs farther to give him access. “Put it in baby.”

You blindly drag his cock between your folds while Javier attempts to lift his head to kiss you but the second you guide himself to prod your aching cunt his head falls. And with eyes pinched you feed him into the mouth. He lets out a groan so deep you feel his throat vibrating on your own shoulder. “Fucking perfect—so tight.”

“Too big–” Warming him, your head is so light you could tell him you loved him and would never think twice. This is dangerously intimate. The words have been on the top of your tongue the entire day, can he tell? Will he taste it when he kisses you again? “Used to touch myself thinking of you.” You admit, what is it about him that makes your shame cease to exist? He moans at that and begins rocking into you.

“Tell me more—“

“My ex never made me come—fuck—would go to the bathroom after and finish within minutes thinking of you.” Javi grumbles, quickening his pace. “Lucky your names were nearly the same, used to moan your name and he never noticed.”

“Jesus you’re killing me.” Javi kisses your neck some more and hits a spot so devastatingly deep from this angle you shriek in pleasure, another confession slipping your lips.

“Had this fantasy—would imagine you coming home to me—our home and letting you fuck me senseless. Whenever—ngh- you wanted.” He stutters into you, filling you so right. You could feel the bulbous head of his hitting right where you needed. “Pictured you taking care of me and would come so hard baby—“

His hand flattens on your lower stomach and he presses down, somehow tightening everything below. You let out a tiny whimper, “No more—gonna make me come too fast.” He whines his hips into you. Keeping himself slow and steady for a moment. It felt so good—so full you couldn’t give time to reel in the pillow talk confessions you so effortlessly spilled. How you would cry in shame when you were alone after the guilt kicked in.

The midst of your pleasure, your eyes search the side of your boyfriend's face. A sudden wash of panic and dread filling your heart.

Why do you have to leave? Why does everyone , take me with you Javi-

“Thought about you the whole time while I was gone, felt like Colombia became too real during that meeting.” He admits, planting a warm kiss to your shoulder, his pace so slow you feel something else swirl at the pit of your stomach. He leans on his elbow and slips his hand between you two. His fingers swirling lazily on your bundle of nerves. Words caught in your throat, please don’t leave me. I can't bare it. “Felipe suggested we just get married and go to Colombia together.”

Your eyes jolt open and you sobered at that. You turn to look him in the eyes and there’s something there, that look you know. Adoration, hope, pleading? All three, you know it’s all three. What are you pleading for Javi, I can give it to you. “Yeah?” You whisper, achingly close to your second orgasm, you play it cool. You kiss his cheek quickly, “What’d you say?” There it is, eyes welling up and throat tight. He doesn’t seem to notice, he continues his lovely strokes and antagonizing traces on your clit.

He’s silent until he isn’t.

“Laughed it off you know—it’s irresponsible—unrealistic. Forget these people don’t know what it’s like back in Laredo.” He says brokenly, he’s close to you too. Your face drops, color drains from your face. You thank the dim lights of the room because you begin to tear. Burying your head into his neck, you whisper harder, to replace that dread that fills you. Oblivious to your reaction he complies with your request. And for a moment it feels so good you nearly forget. He’s removing his fingers from your clit and moving them to grip at your hip bone. Setting a brutal pace into you. And he’s back to kissing you, your eyes screw shut at the reminder that he’s real, he’s with you. That you love him so desperately, so complete, entire and whole you don’t know how you could find anyone else.

I love you in a place where there’s no space or time.

“I lo-“

“I never want to leave you.” He cuts before pressing into you hard and the both of you reach your peak. A head light crashing orgasm, his open mouth kisses drag to your ear where he moans, drawing out your momentary bliss. You squeeze around him so tightly, you could practically feel the spend you’re pulling from him. You’re leaking all over him, right to base and down to his balls. His hand on your hip coming up to your clothed breast with a firm as he slowly goes soft inside you. And you see white, keeping your mouth purely for kisses and whimpers, afraid of saying too much.

Afraid of being too real for him.

“Housekeeping is going to have a field day in this room.” He chuckles, planting a kiss right on the delicate arch of your cheekbone. So exhausted from it all, the car ride, the sex, the drinking—you giggle back. Hiding all the strange yearning you felt seconds ago.

“I’d quit my job.” Javi drops his head in your neck and grumbles there too. His palm still firmly placed on the swell of your breast through the black fabric. You look down at the sight. “So do you like the dress?”

He lifts his head to look at you, face all red and sweaty. You bring your hands up to trace the slopes and curves on him, how you loved his nose. Your nail traces from his temple to its strong arch to the top of nostrils where it’s soft. He gives you a lazy smirk when your finger finds his cupid's bow. “I’m still inside of you, you know that right?” Your brows shoot up and giggle at your own silly question. The two of you are chuckling and intertwined. Your finger turns to a palm as you cup his cheek in a hold. Just taking a look at him. Suddenly he's shy under your gaze, his eyes diverting from your own.

As if being loved was too intimate for him.

“You are the most handsome man I've ever known.” You admit, peering up for a second to kiss him chastly. The timid glance switches and he's back to being cocky ol’ Javi.

“Oh yeah?” He kisses you again, “Hmm… tell me more.”

You thumb his cheek, and he turns his head to the left to kiss his palm. “And I’ve always had this like… really big crush on you.”

His eyes widened in fake shock. “Really?!”

“Oh yeah… too bad you didn't like me back then.” You tease.

Javi shakes his head and removes himself from you. Your cunt makes a sound that warms your cheeks and he plops down next to you. “You love to alter the story–making it seem like it was some one sided thing.”

“Wasn't it?” You challenge. It was a mixture. Part of you still believed that it was only you. That you had crushed a bit too hard and he had just been a good friend, the kiss being a moment between two teenagers who were too horny for their own good. Then there was what was closest to the truth, that you had a devastatingly painful crush and that Javi had it too and couldn't conceptualize it because it developed while he was already with someone else.

“I liked you so much I had to move away.”

You shake your head in annoyance, sitting up in bed. Your dress falling back over your knees and the sight must be funny because Javier lets out a throaty chuckle at the sight of you. You crane your neck to look into the mirror at the corner of the room. You’re met with your blowout tussled and your mascara streaked. “Not funny.” You frown and he reaches his arm up to swipe a thumb under your eye, cleaning whatever makeup you had left over. You in turn grip his wrist. “You liked me so much you pretended I didn't exist for six years.” You bite, and that's all it is, bite. His lips quirk and you're so happy the two of you are in a place to make light of it all.

“I would have been saved from a whole lot of suffering if that were true.”

“You like to suffer.” Shaking your head and placing his hand back down to his chest. You bring your arms over your head to pull the halter of the dress down, stripping yourself nude in one quick pull, tossing the dress to the floor. Mindlessly you tuck yourself under the covers, rolling your neck and tossing your hair over one shoulder. You look back to Javi who has his jaw clenched and an unamused look. “What?”

He clears his throat and shakes his head. “Nothing. If I say what I want to, we'll never get any sleep.”

“We’re on vacation we can afford to lose some.”

He grumbles a noise of disapproval before stripping himself down and tossing his clothes to the side. He settles in next to you, keeping a safe distance considering from what you saw he was getting a hard on already. “We can't. I have the last meeting early in the morning.”

Mid yawn, “Oh please, we can sleep after your meeting.”

Reaching over to shut off the lamp he mumbles something in Spanish about me being worse than a man. “I’ve got a surprise for you tomorrow.”

Lips upturning in the dark, you couldn't care to make space. You scooch into him, laying your head right on his chest. “You got me a surprise.”

“Yes.” He says nonchalantly, almost grumpy and god you loved him.

#javier peña #javier peña x ofc #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier peña smut #ao3 #fanfic #javier peña narcos #javier pena x reader

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scullysexual · 4 months

Text

a continuation of this. @today-in-fic

mentions of emotional/physical abuse.

“No, Mommy!” Emily cries, trying to squirm away from Dana’s hand. They are in the bathroom of a Walmart, a wet paper towel sits in Dana’s hand as she attempts to wash the dirt and grime of the past few days from her daughter’s face. The five year old has none of it.

“I have to clean your face, baby,” Dana says quietly. Truthfully, she doesn’t have the energy to fight with Emily today. She was exhausted; the stresses of her living situation catching with her.

Last night they had camped in the parking lot of the Walmart whose bathroom they were currently using. It was another cold night and Dana had barely slept. Despite the overnight parking sign, Dana had still been worried somebody would come along and throw them out even if she deliberately parked in the corner furthest away. That, however, had also come with its own issues: no streetlights. So while one half of her had worried about getting kicked out, the other half worried about getting her car broken into while they slept.

Emily, thankfully, had had no issues falling asleep. It was the daytime she struggled with. Unsimulated, bored, Emily’s tantrums had been getting worse lately. So far Emily had ripped one of her books apart and the corner of her tablet had a crack in it from when Emily had thrown it onto the parking lot’s tarmac. Dana tried not to get angry at her child, she was probably feeling the stress too now.

“Why can’t I go home and have a proper bath?” Emily asks.

Home. Every day Emily asked to go home. Every day Dana told her they couldn’t.

“Home isn’t safe anymore,” Dana tells her again.

“Daddy puts bubbles in my bath and let’s me play with as many ducks as I want.” Emily’s head lifts, almost challenging Dana to compete with her precious daddy. She hears what Emily doesn’t say. You keep me in a car all day and try to wash my face in stinky toilets.

Dana knows this already. She would listen as Ethan bathed Emily hours after a fight, like nothing had happened, meanwhile Dana would clean up the mess left behind.

She doesn’t tell Emily the other things Ethan does or says like how angry he becomes when he drinks or how she and Emily are the reason his life is so shit.

Well, they were out of his life now, Dana wonders if it was going any better for him.

Dana tosses the paper towel into the trashcan. She brushes her teeth and then disappears into the cubical to pee. She gets Emily to sing a song with her so Dana knows she still there and it’s during this time that something catches her eye. A leaflet sticks halfway out of the sanitary bin. Dana yanks it out as the lyrics to Wheels On The Bus trail off from her lips. Emily stops singing, too.

“Mommy, where did you go?” Emily cries.

“I’m still on the toilet, baby,” Dana answers though she is distracted looking at the leaflet. It’s a job ad; some time of nanny agency. Babysitting, Dana thinks. There’s a number on the bottom. An ideal striking, Dana gets off the toilet. When she opens the cubical, the leaflet still in her hand, Emily looks at her with relief.

“You took too long,” she says accusatory.

“I’m sorry,” Dana apologises. She shoves the leaflet into her bag and washes her hands.

“Can we go home now?” Emily asks.

“Soon.” Dana helps Emily off the counter and she takes hold of her hand, leading her out of the bathroom.

…

Dana listens as the phone rings, Finding Nemo plays in the background, Emily’s little laughter escaping her mouth as she watches. The phone rings five times and Dana is sure nobody is going to pick up. She’s about to give up when the ringing stops, there’s a slight pause, and then a woman’s voice rings through.

“Happy Nest Nurseries, Ellie speaking, how can I help?”

The voice on the other end takes Dana back a bit and she stutters slightly before she speaks.

“Hi, um…I’m Dana Scully. I was wondering if you had any positions available?” She bites her lip with trepidation, watching Emily through the rear-view mirror.

Ellie sighs. “I’m sorry, we don’t have any places, right now.” Dana’s heart sinks. Ellie goes quiet again and Dana hears the hustle of the phone being moved. There’s a conversation happening between Ellie and somebody else but Dana can’t quite catch the words. Finally, Ellie’s voice sounds through again.

“Actually, Monica says she might have something. Could you come in today?”

Dana smiles, happy and wide. “Yes! Yes, I can.”

“Great,” says Ellie. “I will see you then.”

They exchanges goodbyes and Dana starts putting the car into gear. The sound of the engine coming to life causes Emily to look up from her tablet.

“Are we going home now?” she asks.

“Not quite. Mommy has somewhere she needs to be.”

…

It’s only when she gets to the offices- the address listed on the leaflet and confirmed during a quick phone call to Ellie again- that Dana realises her appearance doesn’t exactly scream interview ready. She looks as tired as she feels, has aged about 10 years in three days. When she untangles her hair from the hair tie it falls down mattered and greasy, in need of a good wash, her curls in need of a reset (or a pair of straighteners) She finger combs through the ends, yanks out a giant knot with a wince, then reties her hair, this time into a ponytail. Then she pulls open the glove compartment in the hopes of finding a stray lip gloss tube in there. After rummaging around she finds not only the lip gloss but mascara, too, along with that a broken comb, couple of random receipts, a lighter, half a pack of cigarettes, Ethan’s ‘lost’ driver’s license- the memory of the day he lost that forever burned into her mind- and a teething toy from when Emily was a baby. Suffice to say, just about everything was in this glove compartment.

Dana shoves everything put the lip gloss and mascara away, she’ll deal with that junk another day. The uses the sun shield mirror and applies the products, immediately looking and feeling better about herself. She turns to Emily then.

“Emily?”

Emily remains half engrossed still by her tablet. “Hmm?”

“I’m about to speak to some very important people. I need you to be on your best behaviour, okay?”

“Can I bring my tablet?”

Dana sighs. When she was pregnant with Emily she didn’t want to become that parent who handed their child a phone screen to keep them quiet. In fact, she had been very against the idea, upholding it whenever she could. It was Ethan who ruined that one. When Emily was two years old he handed her his phone and it had been that way ever since. It wasn’t the first time Dana tried to implement rules and restrictions that would get thrown out the window by Ethan a few hours later. Bubble baths and unlimited ducks one of them. There was a reason Daddy was the favoured one because he gave whatever Emily wished, Mommy was just mean.

“Yes but you’ll have to put on your headphones.”

Emily pulls the headphones out of her bag and puts them on, forgetting to plug the wire into the tablet. Dana laughs and climbs out, reaching back into the car to unbuckle Emily and plug the wire in. Dana guiding a screen-hypnotised Emily, they both walk into the office building.

…

She meets Ellie at one of the desks. The girl wearily eyes Dana and Emily before smiling that fake customer facing smile.

“Maria will be in her office. Follow me.” And Dana does, following Ellie to the end of the hall. Two knocks and when a voice on the other side of the door bids them entry, Ellie opens it.

“Dana Scully is here to see you,” says Ellie.

“Send her in,” says the voice.

Ellie opens the door wider and Dana walks into the room.

“You can go now, Ellie.” And Ellie does so, closing the door behind her.

The woman- Monica- does a once over of Dana.

“I’m sorry,” Dana says immediately. Between the looks Ellie gave her and now the looks Monica is giving her, she knows she isn’t making a great first impression appearance wise. “I just didn’t intend on coming here today.”

“That’s okay,” says Monica. “Who is this?” she asks with interest and a big smile at the sight of Emily.

“My daughter, Emily—” Emily is oblivious, her eyes still glued to the screen. Dana looks wearily towards the other woman.

“You know, a lot of our clients don’t like giving screens to children,” Monica says in a tone that is gentle but still conveys a certain amount of warning.

“I know. And I don’t usually like it either but she’s so restless, she’d only be pilfering through your stuff, she’s very curious. The screen gives her something to focus on, it keeps her quiet, it…” Dana trails off. She knows she isn’t making much of an effort to defend herself, coming up with excuses here and there. “I just needed her to be quiet for now,” Dana says honestly. “I try to restrict her screen time.” A half lie, she did try when she lived with Ethan.

“Sit,” says Monica. “Let’s have a little chat.”

The woman guides the two of them over to the chairs at her desk. Dana helps Emily onto her seat before sitting down herself. Monica watches, beady eyed. When everyone is settled, Monica speaks.

“I don’t often do this but we’ve had a client seeking a nanny recently,” explains Monica and Dana hangs on to every word. “She’s desperate, almost, and we’re fully booked. Or we were, until you called. Now, we will have to do background checks, make sure you’re legit, it’ll take about three days but if everything comes back clean, which in most cases it does, the job is yours. Would you like it?”

Dana can barely believe it. She smiles brightly and nods.

“Yes, of course.”

Monica smiles back. “Great. Let me get you a form.” She wanders over to a filing cabinet and pulls the top drawer open. Dana takes her chance.

“Um…I wondered if I could also get a proof of employment in those three days as well. I’m hoping to get onto a housing list.”

Monica pauses and sighs. “Unfortunately Dana, you have to pass your probation before we can give you anything like that.”

Dana’s heart sinks once more. “And how long is the probation?”

“Three months.”

Dana gawks. Three months! She can’t live in her car for three months. She looks away, willing herself not to cry.

“I also have to ask what you intend to do with Emily when you’re at work. We’re you intending on taking her along too or do you have somewhere to put her, someone she can stay with?”

“Would she be allowed to come with me?”

Monica sighs again. “It’s not advised. You’re protected under insurance if anything was to happen to you while at the house. Emily, however, would not be. It is a risk.”

Dana looks at Emily then. Who knows what type of person this client could be. She could be risking Emily’s safety taking her with her. But where else could she go? To go back home would mean seeing Ethan. Family is…tricky. Melissa isn’t cut out for caring for a child- not to mention if she’d be in any state to even do so- she hasn’t spoken to her parents since Emily’s fifth birthday and that ended in an argument between her and her father, Ethan’s mother despises her and while she loves Emily she’ll only accept Emily if Ethan is the one dropping her off. There was one last person, the only one who has actually offered any support for Dana in the five years she’s been a mother but she too comes at a risk.

But, depending on hours, a risk Dana was willing to make.

“Yeah,” she says. “I have someone she can stay with.”

“Brilliant,” says Monica. She hands the form to Dana. “Fill this in as quickly as possible.”

…

Diana Fowley is the name of the woman who’s kids she’ll be looking after. Two boys: William who was the same age as Emily and Arthur who was three. Simple. Easy. She can do this.

Diana is a lawyer and, according to Monica, going through a divorce. It’s messy, the father’s contact with the boys is limited to weekends or whatever reason and originally, he was the stay at home dead while she was the breadwinner. Now this divorce has meant Diana has to look at other options.

Dana can’t help but compare this father to Ethan. She could never imagine Ethan as a stay at home parent- that was relegated to her- for pride mostly but also for controlling reasons. If Dana has no income herself then she can never leave, forever dependant on Ethan for a home, for financial support. She wishes she could see his face now. I got a job, Ethan. Turns out I’m not as stupid as you made me think.

Not that she was ever stupid. She has a quarter of a physics degree, had a direct path into medicine. A doctor she was going to be, a heart surgeon of all things. She was Emily’s age when she decided that that was what her career was going to be. She had it all worked out: married at 30, a kid two years later. Only the marriage never came, the kid nine years too early.

Dana doesn’t regret Emily, she doesn’t blame Emily for how her life has turned out. Emily is her entire world, Dana just wishes she hadn’t been 21.

“What do you want to be when you grow up, Emily?” Dana asks as they drive down a suburb.

The tablet is still on, now playing Ratatouille.

“A chef!”

This would be wonderful news if, when Dana asked her a few days ago, Emily hadn’t replied with dentist because she was watching Finding Nemo. She expects her daughter’s answer would’ve been a superhero if she’d been watching The Incredibles. But whatever path her daughter choices, Dana just hopes she’s able to become whatever she wants.

Her stomach twists as the house looms in front of her. Bill’s house she thinks as her hands squeeze the steering wheel. No, Tara’s, Dana corrects. If she stays it’s Tara’s house then it is a lot less daunting.

“Where are we, Mommy?”

“You’re going to spend the day with Auntie Tara, baby.”

Emily recoils.

“I hate Auntie Tara!”

“Emily!” Dana admonishes, spinning around. “You don’t hate anyone. Auntie Tara loves you. She wants to see you.”

Tears come to Emily’s eyes as she furiously shakes her head.

“I don’t want to!” the child cries. “I don’t like Auntie Tara. I want to go home! I want Daddy! Why won’t you let me see Daddy?!”

Dana sighs preparing herself for another Emily tantrum.

“Take me to Daddy!” Emily’s foot kicks the back of Dana’s chair. “I want to see Daddy!” Kick. Daddy. Kick. Daddy. Kick. Daddy.

Dana closes her eyes, focuses on her breath, breathing in and out, in and out. She reopens her eyes.

“Emily,” she says quietly, not rising to her daughter’s level. “I need Tara to look after you today.”

“Why can’t Daddy?”

“Daddy’s busy.”

“But I haven’t seen him in years!”

She reminds herself that it’s only been a week.

“I know and we will see Daddy soon but for now, I need you to go with Auntie Tara until Mommy gets back, okay?”

“Where are you going?”

“I told you, Mommy has to go to work.”

The concept was baffling to the child.

“But you stay at home…” Emily says with a frown.

Dana smiles. “Not anymore. We need to find a house—”

“We have a house- Daddy’s house.”

Dana unbuckles her seatbelt and climbs out of the car. She opens Emily’s door, unbuckles Emily, and kneels down in front of her.

“I need you to listen to me, Emily. Daddy is a bad person. Do you know what a bad person is?”

Emily nods. “They hurt you.”

Dana nods in return. “They do. That’s what Daddy did- he hurt me. He almost hurt you.” She wipes a stray tear from her child’s face. “So I got us out of there. That is why we can’t go back home, we can’t go back to Daddy. I’m gonna get us a new house where nobody can hurt us but I need you to stay with Tara so I can do that. Do you think you can do that?”

Emily pauses, thinking it over hard as if she had any choice in the matter.

“Daddy was shouting and you were crying.” Emily frowns as if trying to remember. “And something hitted my head.”

Dana nods again, tears now coming to her own eyes. She thought maybe Emily would have forgotten that night. Clearly not. “It was a glass cup, baby. Daddy threw a glass cup and it almost hit you.”

Emily’s eyes widen. “Why? Did I do something wrong? Do I make Daddy angry?”

Dana’s heart breaks a million times over, the gravel currently cutting into her knees didn’t hurt as much as this. She gathers Emily into her embrace.

“No, baby girl…” She breaths in her unique Emily scent. “You don’t make anybody angry. Daddy meant to…” She stops herself. Daddy meant to throw it at me she almost says. “He didn’t mean to throw it at you. But it did get you so that’s why we had to leave.”

“Daddy let’s me have bubbles and ducks in the bath.”

Dana smiles despite having nothing to smile about. How difficult to must be to understand that the Daddy who gives Emily bubbles and ducks is the same Daddy who screamed at Mommy, made her cry, and threw a glass cup.

“I’ll tell you what,” Dana proposes, pulling away and looking at Emily once more. “If you stay with Tara now, when we get our new house, you can have all the bubbles and ducks you want.”

“I want a duck bedroom. Painted yellow. With little ducks like Quacky.”

Dana sniffles, giggling through her tears. “You can have that as well. You can have anything you want.”

Emily smiles, tears and tantrums over. Another tear falls from Dana’s own eyes and Emily reaches forward, wiping one away.

“Don’t cry, Mommy. You can have bubbles and ducks, too.”

In that moment, every single thing Dana has endured feels 100% worth it if it meant Emily got to be here. She pulls Emily back into a hug.

“I love you, baby girl. So, so much.”

“I love you, too, Mommy.”

Dana presses little kisses all over Emily face until the child laughs and squirms away. Then she stands and Emily resumes watching her movie. Dana knocks on Tara’s front door.

#the x-files #the x files #txf fic #xfiles fanfiction #scullysexualwrites

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littleeyesofpallas · 1 year

Text

Bleach’s Issue with Queer characters (2/3)

...

Dordonii might seem like a weird one to point out here, compared to some of the more overt examples, but I think he had a fairly evident queer codedness to him. His more overwhelming quality was his kind of Spanish flair, what with the tap shoes and Flamenco-esque poses and gestures, the devil horns in his greased hair and on his mask shard, and his little Mephistopheles mustache and beard. But the ear ring, and Flamenco adjacent sex appeal mixed with the way he kind of baby talks Ichigo strikes me as contributing to a certain daddy-ish gay character type. Also, I’ve never been 100% sure that it’s not just crosshatching, but I’ve always read it as some chest hair peaking out from his low v-neck. But I feel like that assessment needs some qualifying context...

Western sensibilities tend to read effeminate features on men as a chief indicator of homosexuality, Japan has never been quite as narrowly focused with its own gay stereotypes. There is definitely a particular character type in anime and manga that pins the preening vanity of smooth faced and long haired effeminate men on homosexuality, but it’s not really the go-to. Tracing back to media trends of the 1970s the long haired, smooth chested pretty boy (even the gay ones) very much became the domain of female audiences and creators, where as the prevailing trends of gay portrayals by and for men actually settled more firmly on the hairy and muscular image that bara is associated with now. I'm not about to do a whole big breakdown of the japanese gay subculture behind the bara thing, because that deserves more time and attentio that i can give it here, but you've got a keyword to work with now, so I encourage you to do a little googling yourself.

Also he has his right ear is pierced? I don't know if this was ever a thing in Japan, but in America it became kind of a wide spread myth(?) Originally it actually was a functioning kind of code within the queer community in the 1960s and 70s, but after it became somewhat more generally well known the practice more or less stopped, for pretty obvious practical reasons... but weirdly enough by the sheer power of stupid homophobia, straight people continued to scrutinize and be paranoid of men with pierced ears for decades following. Again, though, I have no idea if either the original intent or the misinformation of that trend was ever anything that had any kind of Japanese presence...

Anyway... What I’m getting at is Dordonii feels very queer coded to me, just not in ways that everyone picks up on. But speaking of muscular hairy gays... Let’s talk about an elephant in the room:

Charlotte Chuhlhourne:

Obviously, Kubo doesn’t quite have the tact to make use of queer identities in a totally respectful way, so it’s hard to tell how much is attributable to Kubo making a character exactly as they appear, and what could be argued to be a character’s theoretical self-identifying terms filtered through Kubo’s limited vernacular. But the word to know here is Okama[オカマ], which has traditionally referred to gay, AMAB transvestites. Obvious stumbling point here is that prior to more widely codified and accepted trans identities this term applied to both transwoman and drag queens.

Granted until fairly recently(by which I mean within the relatively short spand my own lifetime) even the queer community at large didn’t always differentiate the two very well; presentation was presentation, the circumstances for it and the specificities of achieving it were personal choices, not taxonomical crossroads; some moonlit as queens and that was it, others would’ve lived as women and never walked a show in their life if that had been a practical option, others still were happily gender fluid, but the scene had one look and one label. We made due with what we had.

Anyway... point being that Charlotte’s character is specifically a play into an Okama stereotype. That is to say, the archetypal look of Okama in Japanese media for many years has been a middle aged, square jawed, often broad or even muscular, drag queen. Although Charlotte doesn’t actually have one, they are also frequently shown with a muzzle of stubble growing in. Despite what you might think about jabs at the beard as a masculine feature betraying their feminine presentation, it’s actually not (usually) the reason...

The image comes out of Japan’s gay bar scene --in Tokyo, Shinjuku-Nichoume in particular-- which has long been a cultural centerpiece of Japan’s gay culture. The larger Shinjuku ward as as whole is itself a commercial district. So, to the general public who didn’t have any interaction with gay culture itself, the small glimpse they had was from the crossing paths of salarymen commuting into work as straggler okama headed home from the bars the morning after, still in drag and makeup but with unshaven stubble growing in after a long night.

(Also, just a side note on this, but if you’ve ever seen an older (usually bigger) woman with a deep, brassy voice in kind of sultry night attire at a bar referred to as “Mama,” it’s because that’s the owner of a okama bar. She’s not literally anyone’s mother, she’s the defacto den-mother of sorts for the patrons of her bar.)

It’s still definitely not a flattering portrayal, but it’s one with a very specific history that doesn’t communicate to Western audiences at all. But there is a certain strangeness to how the Japanese handle this, comparatively. While Western rhetoric has its hangups with moralist preaching and bitching and moaning about “degeneracy” and “deviancy,” those judgments just aren’t baked into Japanese culture in quite the same way. In fact, while most of these okama caricatures by and for cishetero creators/audiences are definitely not what anyone would call “good” representation, they do lack a certain expected malice. Sure, flamboyant bafoonery is a constant in exploitation of gay culture on either side of the Pacific, but where as the West uses this as a means to disarm gay men --to make them non threatening, or to rationalize not taking them seriously-- anime manga and even videogames tend to fixate on the curiosity of it.

(although one enduring, generally positive case of this that actually seems to fly super under western audience’s radars are the great fairys in Zelda. which have maintained their extremely obvious dragqueen inspired look since OoT)

One of the first encounters with the okama charactertype that I only learned to identify looooong after the fact is the Magypsies (haha oh boy that localized choice of slur...) in Earthbound. On the one hand they were treated as a bizarre spectacle and literally not human, but they were magical and benevolent and a little comical but not in the way where they were relegated to being the punchline of a joke and nothing else. And I've found over the years that that tends to be the tone of these kinds of characters.

Another very similar case of this is Ivankov in One Piece, the Kamabakka kingdom Okama and Newkama, including Bonclay/Mr.2. (His "okama way" gimmick being a play on the hardboiled gritty actionhero cliche of a "man's way.") Where on the one hand, it’s a disgusting, tacky use of the familiar okama cliches, but also their very existence as okama is painted as the basis of their unique form of super power? Really, it’s just so wildly divorced from reality that it’s hard to even call it “representation,” harmful or otherwise... Still, in impossibly poor taste based on optics alone, though.

This all is not to try and sweep under the rug that these are still ultimately problematic stereotypes and caricatures to have to debrief each new generation of viewer on just to avoid the slippery slope of total misinterpretation, but I've noticed that there is a distinct difference in how that tone is read. The overwhelming attitude I see from these creators is that these long standing cliches are how okama look and act, but that it makes them interesting or funny, and yes “other,” but rarely lesser. Obviously that's still rooted deeply in ignorance on part of these non-queer creators, but you can see how it lacks the teeth that the western equivalent has, where such caricatures are explicitly there to defame and demonize, and I think that’s an important distinction to make.

(And let’s not even get into the issue of fake “woke” white people struggling to wrap their tiny brains around the idea of another culture by framing it as that culture’s unique idiosyncrasies as if they’re just failed attempts at conforming to white anglo-centric western values, because THAT is a whole other can of worms...)

To maybe put this into some better perspective here, Tier Harribel has blond hair and tan skin, and given what the Arrancar are and how they live she is presumably naturally dark skinned, and naturally blonde. But her design is clearly based on gyaru/gal (or possibly ganguro) fashion, which makes use of fake tans and bleached hair. She looks the way she does because she's made to look like that aesthetic, but looking the way she doesn't doesn't imply she bleaches and tans(presumably those colors are both natural on her in-world).

That same relationship of image inspiring image while being divorced from meaning is just kind of how Kubo makes these kinds of aesthetic decisions, all across the board, problematic or not. But of course no one really cares about it when it’s a weird recontextualization of the gal aesthetic because no one’s offended on their behalf.

And in general, I think a lot of these things are just so outside the Western perspective that even when they definitely are problematic, some people can’t even begin to grasp what about it is, and end up fabricating just nonsense arguments against it to rationalize a kneejerk kind of discomfort and confusion over the subject...

Anyway... having said all that, the next one actually IS a huge problem...

[1][2][3]

#bleach meta #bleach #KUBO TITE #Dordoni Alessandro Del Socaccio #Charlotte Chuhlhourne #now that its posted #the more i look over this the more i want to edit it #but if i start it'll quickly become just a totally different post #its not even that im looking to correct the basic points being made #so much as i just hate the voice #but then thats always my beef with my own writing #i really hate the way i worded the whole okama bit though #it feels like it doesnt really get the point across #oh well....

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littlespacereader · 5 months

Note

Hii! I love all of your fics, they bring such a comfort to me! Would you be okay with maybe writing something about cg!hotch? It can literally be anything i just love hotch so much hehe, thank you <3

Thank you so much for the compliment! It means the world to me that my fics bring you comfort💞 I LOVE ME A CAREGIVER!HOTCH FIC!! He’s so stern in the show so reading a fic with a soft caring Hotch is *chefs kiss*. I love Hotch so much too😂💞 I hope you enjoy this comfort fic with Hotch!

The Thunder Storm⛈️☔️

Caregiver!Aaron Hotchner & Fem Little! Reader (SFW)

Tags - thunderstorm, noise canceling headphones, bottle/bottle feeding, cuddles, fluff, comfort, forehead kisses

Nicknames - honey, sweet one, little baby, little one, Daddy for Hotch

BOOM!

The thunderstorm roared outside with a powerful thunder to announce its presence. Then came the pouring rain, whipping back and forth against the windows.

Y/N, who was previously happily playing with their little people figures on the carpet in the living room, jumped to their feet in a panic and rushed off to seek the safety of their Caregiver Hotch.

Hotch, who would’ve loved his days off to be actual days off, was sitting at his desk in his office on a zoom call with the team. They were discussing their last case with some evidence that was apparently mislabeled and was now missing.

As the team was wrapping their minds around what happened, thunder struck. At first it did hit Hotch what that meant, but then he knew how much his little one loved the sound of it

“I’ve got to go.” Hotch quickly said, closing his laptop before pushing his desk chair away and quickly going to his office door.

He met a teary eyed Y/N running into his arms. “Daddy thunder!” They cried.

Hotch’s heart broke seeing his little one so afraid and upset by the storm. He immediately lifted them up and into his arms, resting them on his hip.

Then he started to lightly rock them, “It’s okay Y/N. It’s just a bad storm outside. Daddy’s got you. Daddy’s here.”

The rocking plus the reassurance started to help calm Y/N, who rested their head on his shoulder. That was until the next thunder strike made them jump in his arms and start shaking in fear again.

Hotch sighed, not at Y/N but at the relentless storm outside that was scaring his little one. He couldn’t turn the storm off but there was a way to lessen the sound of it.

He carried Y/N into their bedroom. While still holding on tight to them, he dug around in their drawer until he found what he was looking for, noise canceling headphones.

“Here honey, put these over your ears. They’re going to help with the thundering.” Carefully he placed Y/N on their bed and helped them put the headphones on over their ears.

Immediately Y/N heard a change. Everything became a lot less overwhelming and loud. A minute later the thunder roared again outside but this time they didn’t jump. They could still hear it, but it wasn’t loud or scary, just mild background noise.

“There we go,” Hotch said to Y/N, his voice muffled by the headphones, “Much better for my little baby.”

Again he lifted them back into his arms. Y/N snuggled close to him as he continued to rock and soothe them. “Tank u.” They said with a little yawn.

Hotch chucked, “You don’t have to thank me sweet one. I’m happy you’re feeling better.”

He walked them into the kitchen and set them down on the counter top while he began to cook. He pulled a bottle from the cabinet and started to make them some warmed milk.

“Would you like it to taste like strawberries or cinnamon?” Hotch asked. But his little one could not hear as well with the headphones on.

But that was no issue with Hotch. He walked over and stood in front of his little one, careful to get their attention without scaring them. Then he held up strawberries and cinnamon.

Y/N looked confused but only for a moment before it clicked in why he was holding strawberries and cinnamon. They happily chose their favorite and Hotch added it to the pot.

After a moment, the milk was done and poured into the bottle. Then back into Hotch’s arms Y/N went, off to the living room for the two to settle in for the night.

“What was going on here?” Hotch asked gesturing to the Little People on the ground.

“THEY WERE GOING TO SCHOOL BUT THE BUS BROKE DOWN.” Y/N explained, unaware that the headphones were making them sound a lot louder than before.

Rather than embarrass or correct them, Hotch just nodded and continued on as if they had been talking at a normal volume.

“That’s not good! How will they ever go to school now?!” Hotch sounded distressed causing Y/N to giggle.

Y/N sat sideways in Hotch’s lap, their legs spread out on the couch and their head in the crook of his arm. Once the bottle was a good temperature Hotch held it for them to drink. Slowly but steadily they started to drink the bottle, relaxing in Hotch’s arms.

Toward the end of it Hotch could see their eyes starting to flutter close. With a glance to the clock it was late for a Little as young as them, so a night time bottle was just the remedy.

After Y/N finished they were sound asleep in Hotch’s arms, cuddled up close to him for protection. Hotch couldn’t help but smile. Cases with the BAU will always be difficult, but nothing brought him more joy than to come home to Y/N and take care of them.

Speaking of his team…

He carefully fished out his phone from his pocket and sent a text to the BAU group chat explaining his sudden absence with a picture of Y/N sleeping away in his lap.

Garcia - Oh My God!! So sweet!!🥹💞

Morgan - Hotch has a soft side?!😂

Emily - How adorable!! We gotta meet them!🥰

Rossi - We’re definitely going to need to meet them! Too cute! :)

Reid - Smart idea with the headphone! The storm is too much for anyone, let alone someone as little as them. 👍

JJ - I’m happy they’re all settled and happy for the night. You two get some rest. We’ll handle it from here. Give them a hug from us!🥰

Hotch smiled looking over the text from his team. Maybe one day he would bring Y/N in to meet his team. He’s sure his little one would love to meet his team. Plus they would love to play around his office.

But for now he was settling in for the night with them. Rather than wake them up he settled for a nights rest on the couch. He grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around the two of them.

Then he drifted off to sleep himself, with Y/N securely in his arm, he cuddled them close and fell asleep. The storm continued to go crazy outside but inside Hotch and Y/N slept peacefully together.

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c0rpseductor · 27 days

Text

ive had my bagel. coffee is brewing. it is time for me to be mean to jean webster about daddy long legs.

the first thing you should know is that daddy long legs is a book blithely unconcerned with its text, let alone its subtext. i think saying it has any subtext is also really generous and magnanimous of me, because it's certainly all in there by fucking accident. this novel doesn't have time to think. it's too busy being twee.

i liked judy at the beginning. generally i still like the idea of her, but reading daddy long legs is like reading a toothache, and you begin to resent her a little on principle, privately, in a dark mean corner of your heart. i rather suspect the beginning chapters are more organic because jean webster had not quite yet discovered that she'd struck "from the mouths of babes" gold* with this character, and once she figured that out there was no turning back. (it's worth noting that not only is this fucking grating, but most of this bizarre infantilization happens once judy is well past 18.)

the part that sticks with me is this. everything endearing, everything clever, everything judy about judy is what we're shown at the beginning of the novel -- her irreverent humor, her justified disdain for authority figures who don't earn the respect they demand, her stubbornness and mischief, her own idiosyncratic way of thinking and her hand in little private rebellions. this is why (retch) jevis takes any interest in her to begin with. it's really worth noting that, beyond her humor, this is all treated as immaturity to be corrected, especially if it would lead her to question jervis/mr. long legs.

there was the shadow of something good in it, for certain. having jervis' manipulations be so readily fucking apparent to the reader but not judy (who was perfectly oblivious) makes her read as kind of a blithe idiot, really not in keeping with her portrayal as otherwise fairly intelligent, but i think it was at least in part an error in craft since webster locked herself into an epistolary format and that strikes me as like, a very difficult format in which to pull off this particular twist. in part, too, i think any intelligence she grants judy has to be harshly reigned in, because judy is a young woman, and, well, this novel is kind of glaringly misogynist

and like, okay, i should give some slack where it's due, it was 1912. at the same time, though, it's kind of inescapable -- if anything the whole premise is built on it. the first winking reference to Silly Vapid Girls And Their Sartorial Fixations was sarcastic and funny, more a jab at what judy imagined jervis' misogynist thought process must be than anything else, but the continued winking references were less sarcastic and accordingly not very funny at all. again, a lot of her personality traits Mellow Out in a way that directly suggests they ought to be corrected, and i think this is one of the primary expressions of the novel's implicit misogyny: if judy continues to be willful and independent she can't marry and serve a husband, so she needs to learn humility, is more or less the thesis behind this transformation. it's kind of fucked when you consider how deep her self-esteem issues run; granted, she grows out of them once she begins to live a more independent life, but a kinder novel wouldn't have punished her for exercising this newfound confidence and agency when her prospective stalker-husband didn't much like it.

in that regard ive been thinking all morning (well, i just got up, it's morning for me) about a particular letter where judy is lamenting the trouble in writing her novel. with a bit of distance and a good night's sleep it strikes me as very unintentional and very telling Hand Of The Author; judy complains to mr. long-legs that she cannot make her heroine behave as she wants her to. i think this is kind of a twofold telling on oneself moment. on the one hand, it comes directly after a spat over judy disobeying mr. long-legs about where she ought to summer -- given his sort of shadowy manipulations and insistence on controlling her behavior, he's certainly having this issue, and webster may have meant this bit intentionally. i think it's also a problem webster, perhaps, was having -- given this girl who has every reason in the world to want to make her own decisions rather than have them handed down by a stranger, how can i possibly frame her as in the wrong and convince her to obey her love interest slash idealized father figure? the answer the text so helpfully supplies is Because He Is A Man

there's really this undercurrent beyond the "haha look at her she's such a fun liberated ragamuffin!" bent that essentially puts forward that she's allowed to be this way, temporarily, because it is silly. it's such a clever little joke for her to mention wanting the vote! the humor in her implying she might be a valuable citizen is of course that women are barred from civic participation due to their Silliness! she has got such funny ideas! isn't it so hilarious that she has any political thoughts at all? heehee! oh, judy! i found this insufferable

closing out, there's a passage where she mentions that she's found out jervis is a socialist. she thinks she might agree, but she'd like to investigate a little more to make a decision on what type of socialism she finds most compelling. in the end, she says this:

Hooray! I ’m a Fabian. That ’s a Socialist who ’s willing to wait. We don’t want the social revolution to come to-morrow morning; it would be too upsetting. We want it to come very gradually in the distant future, when we shall all be prepared and able to sustain the shock.

i think that is the thesis of this novel more than anything else. perhaps one day women might be given the latitude of independent thought and expression, and not need to revere their husbands as godlike father-authorities. but not here, in 1912, in this novel.

#ummm #incest ment #just to cover my bases. this novel doesnt have like #INCEST incest in it. but the dynamic is still undoubtedly weird

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whatstruthgottodowithit · 9 months

Text

His Bird With The Broken Wing

Fandom: Elvis Presley, American Musician

Pairing: Elvis Presley x Original Female Character

Characters: Elvis Presley, Original Female Character, Vernon Presley

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 5128

Summary: Elvis Presley has never been able to turn down those in need. A couple of bucks here, a new car there, your rent paid till the end of the month – he’s your guy. And yet those people have never made him feel needed, not really. But she does. His little bird with the broken wing, his ray of sunshine. She makes him feel needed more than he has in a while.

Tags/Warnings: Health Issues, On Both Sides, 1970s Elvis, Big Daddy Elvis, Light Flirting, Chronic Illness, Mentions of Pill Taking, Care, Affection, Age-Gap Romance

Notes: This is a sorta semi request. I had a few ideas thrown at me about Big Daddy Elvis but I did them more as one together than separate little fics.

ELVIS MASTERLIST

Monday

She can feel her bones aching, protesting as she puts each foot in front of the other determined to get in through the gate before the clock strikes seven. If she had her bike she would’ve no doubt made it on time but when she stepped out of her house this morning she found it where it should be though it looked distinctly lower in stature, the back tire appearing as if it almost melted into the floor where the weight of the bike was too much for its deflated self to stop. Of course she had known about the puncture, the loud popping noise and trudging home from her evening classes last night had been enough to alert her to that fact, but she had been too tired and aching to even contemplate mentioning it to her father or finding the repair kit herself. Instead she had headed inside, stripped out of her clothes and fell asleep on top of her blankets, where she had awoken to find herself cutting it fine to get to work. If only she had the bike.

Fortunately even without the bike the man on the gate recognises her and allows her to enter through them. As her feet move her forward she checks her watch to find that it’s just gone seven. It’s not ideal but at least she can say she was on the grounds of the property when she was due to be even if she has fallen short of the door. Her target though close feels miles away as her ankles begin to protest every movement. Still, she pushes through hoping that when she’s able to stand still, begging Helen to let her tardiness slide, they’ll ease.

Tuesday

Elvis can hear the argument; well he’d describe it as an argument given that there are two voices but one of them seems not to be fighting back much. He can recognise one of them. Helen, his house manager, a formidable woman who keeps Graceland running smoothly, something he likes as it means he doesn’t have much to do or think about. Yet hearing her speak now is enough to send a shiver down his spine, especially as he hears the other voice answer back, a voice that doesn’t seem any match for his head of house.

‘I really am sorry,’ the voice says, small and regretful, ‘it won’t happen again.’

‘It shouldn’t happen at all,’ Helen says curtly. She’s nearer to him now and he wonders if she might sense him standing on the stairs just around the corner but the way she continues makes him think again, ‘look I know you’re new here and from what I can tell over the last couple of weeks you’ve really done well but now is not the time to start slacking.’

‘I’m not slacking I promise,’ the voice replies.

‘This is your second day late in a row,’ Helen says.

‘I know but-‘

‘But nothing-‘ Helen starts but her words fall short as Elvis rounds the corner. He doesn’t know why he feels compelled to push himself forward, after all, this conversation is certainly not one he wants to deal with himself, but he cannot help himself. He feels the helplessness in her voice calling out to him and his feet shuffle down the last couple of steps into the kitchen.

‘Mr Presley,’ Helen says straightening up and smoothing out her dress as she faces him. He can see the awkwardness in her face as if she had been caught doing something wrong. And when he looks behind her he can see why. Standing behind the kitchen counter watching the older woman is a girl who looks to be on the verge of crying. She looks away as he enters, out of shyness or trying to blink the tears away he’s not sure, but he looks away too, suddenly feeling as though he’s invaded her privacy within his own home. His gaze moves to Helen, who’s smiling at him stiffly before she says, ‘is there something I can do for you?’

‘I just wanted a soda,’ Elvis replies though he quickly realises this is a lie given his bedroom refrigerator is fully stocked so he adds, ‘and a sandwich.’

Helen nods and moves to get him one. As she moves from his eyeline his gaze drifts back to the girl. He doesn’t recognise her, then again given there’s been so many upheavals in staffing these last few months and the fact he’s not felt like leaving upstairs much he’s not surprised. That and he’d sure he’d remember her. She’s young, no older than early twenties, yet as her doe-like eyes flicker towards his he finds them more aged than he anticipated. The tears are gone now, and her face looks more composed than it had been a minute ago. He smiles at her and she returns it though hers is more unsure than his own. Yet it’s warm, enough to radiate his whole body as if he had been sitting in the sun all day, instead of in the darkness of his bedroom.

‘Will that be all?’ Helen says as she stops in front of him, plate and soda in hand. It brings him back to reality, forcing him to look at the older woman as he clears his throat, ‘yeah, uh thanks.’

‘No problem, Mr Presley,’ Helen says placing the impromptu meal into his hands in a manner that makes him uncomfortable. It’s his home, his kitchen, and yet the message is clear. You’re not needed here. It’s a message Elvis feels more and more these days and so with a quick nod he takes the items out of her hands and turns, heading towards the stairs. He’s no more than three steps up before he hears her speak again. It’s curter this time, her irritation evidently increased by his disturbance. And though her voice is quieter this time Elvis can still hear every word, his eyesight may be worsening but there’s nothing wrong with his ears.

‘If you cannot arrive on time tomorrow do not bother coming in at all.’

Wednesday

She’s on time today. Elvis knows this because he’s staring out of his bathroom window, watching as she peddles her bike up the expanse of the driveway towards the side of the house. He doesn’t know why he’s watching her; he doesn’t even know why he’s up at the ass crack of dawn and yet he is. He tells himself that it’s the urge to pee that woke him when he knows full well that the pills he shovelled down his neck in the wee hours should’ve kept him asleep, like they have done before regardless of if his body needed to relieve itself. But he couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning as he glanced at the clock on his nightstand. As it nears seven am he clambers out of bed and pees, yet he peeks out of the window oh so casually wondering if she’s made it in.

And to his surprise he’s relieved that she has. Not that it matters to him, he reassures himself, he’s just over all the changing of staff. If she can keep her job it’d mean he’d have to learn one less name. She looks more put together today, her strawberry blonde locks flowing behind her as she peddles past, unaware he’s watching her. As she disappears around the side of the house he smiles to himself before shuffling back towards his bed. He clambers back under the sheets, his eyes fluttering closed as the effects of the pills finally seem to be doing their job.

Yet as settled as he is as he closes his eyes to sleep he realises something. He hasn’t learned her name yet.

Thursday

She’s on upstairs duty today, something that was forced upon her given that she was late again. For a moment she thought Helen was being lenient, given her arrival on time yesterday and today’s arrival only being delayed by a minute. But as she directs her up the kitchen stairs and she hears the sniggers of the other girls following through the air behind her she realises this is a punishment. It’s not that upstairs duty is bad it’s just that it’s well harder to do the job. There are more rules to cleaning up here.

Don’t make noise.

Don’t be seen.

And do not disturb the boss.

And since it’s something she hasn’t done before that makes her nervous. As she creeps from room to room she’s careful not to make too much noise, vacuuming will have to wait until he’s up, as will cleaning his room. That’s of course if he dares venture out of it today. In the couple of weeks she’s worked here she’s only seen him the once and that was when she was on the brink of tears. He didn’t mention it of course but for fear he might bring it up she hopes he does stay in his room today. The door is closed, signalling she is not to enter and so she pushes on to the door marked Lisa Marie.

The air up here is thick, almost balmy. It doesn’t help that everything in this room is made of thick fabric from the shag pile of the carpet beneath her feet to the white fur of the hand-crafted bed she’s resting against. Still, tropical as it is she can’t deny that it’s a cute little room. She hasn’t met little girl yet, from what she’s heard from others around her she spends most of her time on the West Coast, visiting her father whenever their schedules allow. It means that cleaning this room doesn’t take long, nothing is out of place just dusty, waiting for their owner to return and breathe life into it once more.

It's a thought that makes her sad but since her knees started aching it also makes her feel a little relieved. Relieved because since there’s no one around to notice she can give herself a minute to rest. She slept better last night, the aches wearing off with her medicine meaning she could drift off into a peaceful slumber, but the warmth of the air and the plushness of the bed she's sitting on make her feel as though she hadn’t slept for a year. And as her eyes dip closed she feels as though she could sleep for just as long.

That is of course until she’s awoken by a thunderous racket. As her eyes fly open she finds herself now on the floor, the broom she had been holding now beside her, having swept everything off the nightstand as she toppled off the bed head first. And then the racket isn’t being caused by her, it’s by the sound of the door bouncing off the wall as he appears, looking frantically around the room, a small pistol in his hand until he notices her lying there.

‘Oh,’ he says looking down at her, his concern going to a smile.

‘Oh my god I’m so sorry,’ she says scrambling onto her knees that are still burning from the day of cleaning yet take her weight all the same. Elvis watches as she starts gathering the books and trinkets splayed across his daughter’s bedroom carpet, her voice nervous and frantic as she tries to explain, ‘I didn’t mean to fall asleep. One minute I was sitting on the bed and the next I’m on the floor-‘

‘It’s alright,’ Elvis says hoping his voice conveys reassurance but when she looks up at him doe-eyed and panicked he can see that it’s not.

‘No it isn’t,’ she says shaking her head as if to convince him he’s wrong, ‘I don’t even know how long I was out, oh god don’t tell Helen-‘

‘It’s between you and me,’ he says and it’s only at that point in her ramblings she notices he’s moved closer, kneeling down in front of her as he takes the items she has stacked in her hands out and places them on the bed. If the room felt warm before it’s now practically an oven, his blue eyes making her face feel as though it’s on fire as he watches her, willing her to accept what he’s saying.

‘I woke you up,’ is all she can think to say. It’s true, he’s still in his pyjamas, yet he feels wide awake as he looks at her young face. She’s pretty, prettier than he realised though admittedly he’d only had glimpses of her. Yet the worry on her face makes her age prematurely, frown lines appearing on her forehead as she awaits for him to scold her. If it was anyone else he might have. Hell if it was one of the boys he isn’t convinced he wouldn’t have already popped a shot off from the pistol now pressing coolly into his sweat-slickened back from where it rests in his waistband.

‘You woke yourself first,’ he counters making those frown lines disappear as she smiles, the same warmth-riddled smile she had given him when they had first seen each other. But it’s only there for a second and then she’s gone, putting the items back as he watches her from behind. It’s not a bad view he has to admit and it definitely takes the sting of trying to get up from where he had been kneeling. By the time she turns around he’s fully upright, ignoring the way his bones creak in protest.

‘I really am sorry you know,’ she says chewing on her lip nervously.

‘It’s okay,’ he smiles, ‘honestly…uh…’

‘Robin,’ she replies.

‘Robin,’ he says, enjoying the way it flows off of his tongue. It’s been something that’s been playing on his mind for the past couple of days, wondering what name could suit her and somehow it fits, ‘that’s a pretty name. Makes sense for a pretty thing like you.’

It’s a compliment that takes her off guard and she’s pretty sure that the heat in the room is now no match for the heat in her cheeks, which worsens as his smile deepens, crinkles forming around his eyes at the way he’s got her a flutter. She doesn’t know why it makes her feel that way, after all he’s old enough to be her dad, not to mention it’s probably an insignificant remark, something he probably says to every woman in his life. And yet it makes her stomach squeeze in a nervous way.

‘No it’s not okay,’ she says hoping to breeze past the comment in the hopes it’ll make her face any less warm, ‘I’m an idiot. I bet you’re wanting to fire me right now-‘

‘Why would I want to do that?’ Elvis asks softly, making her look at him.

‘I mean it’s not the best look when I’ve only just started. Is it?’ she implores. Elvis shrugs.

‘We all have off days,’ Elvis says. He knows that more than most, ‘anyway what’s got ya so tired? Late night out on the town?’

‘Hardly,’ she snorts in a manner that takes Elvis off guard. It’s the first time she’s seemed relaxed but that calmness disappears as she notices the clock on the night stand, ‘oh god is it twelve already?’

‘Yeah,’ Elvis replies.

‘Uh, do you want a sandwich or something?’ she asks taking him off guard once more, ‘I can fix you one.’

‘No, I’m good,’ he says watching as she moves to gather her cleaning supplies. He stands up at that, worried she’s going to leave their conversation early, something he doesn’t want to happen. Not now his intrigue is piqued.

‘Or some soda?’ she says. It’s a different angle one she’s hoping he’ll yield to but he doesn’t, instead his smile becomes curious as he says, ‘you got some place to be honey?’

‘No, no,’ Robin protests, cursing herself for being so see-through. It’s not that she wants to leave his company, even if it has had her in a tizz from the moment he came in the room.

‘But?’ Elvis asks making her sigh.

‘But…I gotta eat…I’ve gotta take my pill,’ Robin says.

‘Oh right…o’course. Young thing like you,’ Elvis replies, somewhat bashfully. For a moment his meaning doesn’t register until the dots connect in her brain, her cheeks flushing once more.

‘Not that,’ she blushes dropping her gaze to the carpet. Of course she can see why he might think that, in fact she thinks it’s a little commendable he’s so understanding off the bat given he’s not that much younger than her father and if she mentioned anything to do with birth control around him she’s sure he’d be even redder than she is right now.

But Elvis isn’t embarrassed, in fact he’s damn right confused about why else a sprightly twenty-something might need any form of medicine. Even at forty people raise an eyebrow at the amount of pills he needs to take to keep him feeling in shape which is why he knows he’d be out of line to question her about it. But he’s curious and in his defence she brought it up.

‘What’s a young thing like you taking pills for?�� he asks hoping he doesn’t sound too demanding as the question leaves his lips. She hesitates for a moment. When she got the job her daddy had told her not to say a word about her health. Declaring anything might be wrong with you is just asking for them to turn you down, he warned. But there’s something about Elvis’ sympathetic, understanding expression that makes her want to. In fact in the time that she’s been here she’s wanted to scream about it countless times. To tell Helen she’s trying her best, even if her best one day might not be the same the next. It’s not as if she chooses to be this way. As if she begs for her bones to ache or for every action to make her energy zap from her body. It's not as if she wanted to have to drop out of college, to have to do it in twice the time it takes everyone else because she’s only got time for night school now. It’s not like she even wanted this job, but her folks can't make ends meet as it is, never mind footing whatever hospital bill lands on their doorstep.

‘Well it’s…it’s for my condition. I have to take what feels like a million of them,’ she says, feeling relief pour out of her as she says the words aloud. Even more so as his face doesn’t change. It doesn’t get awkward or squirrely like most people do, in fact it looks curious.

‘What's your condition…if you don’t mind me askin’,’ he replies.

‘Well I say condition but they don’t really know what it is. All the doctors at Baptist can't really agree on anything,’ she says bitterly making his heart flutter.

‘Well that’s no good,’ Elvis says.

‘You’re telling me,’ she says bitterly, her gaze on her shoes as she toes at the carpet. When she looks up he’s still watching her, yet this time his sympathy is bordering on the edge of pity and somehow that’s worse than if he was completely disinterested. It makes her want to run so she says, ‘sorry I shouldn’t be bothering you with all my problems.’

‘Better than thinkin’ of my own,’ he shrugs, offering encouragement as she fails to continue, ‘go on honey.’

‘Well there's not much to tell. About a year ago I got really sick…like drop out of college and move back in with my folks sick. I was in hospital for a while but they couldn’t figure out what it was.’

‘And now?’ Elvis asks feeling that tug on his heartstrings once more.

‘They still don’t really know…so they pumped me full of pills…’ she shrugs. Elvis almost has to choke back a sarcastic laugh. At least they always give him a reason before they add yet another little helper to his never-ending roster. This’ll help with fatigue, that’ll help you sleep, this one will yada yada yada. But for them to not know what the matter was and to do it anyway seems careless to him. After all she’s just a slip of a thing. He still shudders at the memory of Cilla taking more than her share of sleeping pills, knocking herself out flat for nearly two days. He doubts little Robin would be any different. But if she is having issues, if the pills do something maybe it’s not that bad.

‘Do they help?’ he asks, his worries not relieved as she shrugs once more.

‘Yeah, I guess. I mean I mean they probably would if I remembered to take them on time,’ she says.

‘That’s no good darlin’,’ he frowns and for the first time she feels as though she is in front of her actual father. And just as they would with him the excuses flow free.

‘I know. It’s just that they make me feel nauseous but I have to eat to take them…maybe if they made me feel fantastic or whatever but my bones still ache a lot and I’m always tired,’ she grumbles, hoping he’ll see her side of things. If they worked wonders she’d strap an alarm clock to her forehead to remind her to take them the very second they were due. Unfortunately, she’s not that lucky.

‘Part of your condition?’ he asks.

‘I guess…if we knew what that was,’ she jokes making him smile. It’s not been an easy conversation, in fact he’s done nothing but worry about her since she opened her mouth but her soft smile, that radiant one, makes him feel a touch better. And she in turn feels better for getting it all off her chest, it’s not going to make her working life any easier but at least having someone on the inside who knows the truth is something.

What she’s not prepared for is the way his smile makes that flutter return like a fire ripping through her. It’s odd how a man that’s nearly twenty years her senior can make her feel the way he is at this minute in time, or indeed how his smile can resemble that of a young boys, but still it does.

‘I really should get back to work,’ she says gathering her cleaning supplies as a clear signal she’s ending their little soiree. It disappoints Elvis but he can’t help but think that this won't be the last time they’ll speak. There’s something between them, a trust, both of them seem to feel.

‘Yeah you should get goin’,’ he agrees making her smile dim just a touch until he says, ‘you need to get downstairs. To get something to eat before your pills remember?’

‘Oh, yeah thanks Mr Presley,’ Robin replies feeling that flutter amp up inside her.

‘Elvis. Call me Elvis,’ he says watching as she looks at him for a moment before she offers him a nod and then scuttles out of the room, broom and cleaning supplies in hand.

As he heads back to bed his thoughts are plagued by everything she’s told him. It makes sense now. The lateness, the falling asleep, hell the reason her face is so youthful and yet her eyes feel aeons older. She’s bogged down by issues that she shouldn’t be. Unable to live her life because her own body is betraying her. It’s something he understands all too well.

And perhaps something he can fix. After all, who says she needs to rely on the doctors at Baptist, they’re good and all but if she needs better he can pay for whoever that may be. And maybe they can get her fixed up, get her back to school, get her out living her life like a pretty young thing like that should be doing.

His heart swells at the thought of that. She needs him, his little Robin, his bird with the broken wing. He could help her, if anything she needs him to, in a way that no one seems to need him anymore. And it sure would feel good to feel needed.

Friday

One would wonder how a house could be cleaned every day and you could still find dirt. Then again given the amount of people traipsing in and out and the sheer size of the house itself it’s not hard to imagine how the work could never end. That’s how Robin finds herself in the pool room once more, tidying up even though she had only done it a couple of days prior. She can't find it in her today to moan about it though. Whoever has spent the evening down here hasn’t left too much of a mess and given that she’s more than two levels away from Elvis her cleaning can be a little louder than normal. And today that’s what she craves because today her bones don’t feel like that of an eighty-year-old and she hasn’t slept terribly for once.

It's a fact that proves what Elvis had told her the day before, we all have good days and bad days. And today's a good day. So as she vacuums the plush carpet she finds that her hips are swaying to the radio playing in the corner. In fact, she’s so engrossed she doesn’t even hear the soft footfalls of someone in the room with her, or the placement of a plate as it rests on the lip of the pool table awaiting her notice. It’s only when she turns around she clocks it and she moves to it wondering if it'd been there the whole time.

If it had that would mean she isn’t much of a cleaner but as she looks at the sandwich she notices a small note folded in its crease.

So you don’t forget to eat

Saturday

When Elvis went looking for Robin yesterday he found her dancing around his pool room, oblivious to his presence due to the noise of the vacuum. He could’ve disturbed her and yet watching her having fun he couldn’t bring himself to. And he can’t bring himself to do it today either. Yesterday must’ve been a good day but it appears today isn’t. Well, he assumes it’s not given she’s fallen asleep in his bedroom. He’d invited her in, asking if she wouldn’t mind giving his windows a once over since he’s actually got the curtains open for a change and she’d obliged, thanking him kindly for the sandwich and skating over the fact he might have seen her shaking all that the lord had given her in his games room. Besides, that image was something just for him.

As she’d spritzed his windows with cleaner he’d disappeared into the bathroom, continuing their conversation until it had become decidedly one-sided. When he’d come back out he’d found her flopped down on the plush loveseat in the corner, cleaning bottle still in hand. He hadn't the heart to move her and instead he’d grabbed a blanket and draped it over her, leaving her to rest for as long as she needed to.

Sunday

‘Hello?’ Robin says with a frown as the cool plastic of the receiver hits her ear. It’s been a long week and an out-of-the-blue phone call on a Sunday night is the last thing she wants, especially when her family are waiting on her to start dinner.

‘Robin?’ an unfamiliar voice replies.

‘Who is this?’ she asks.

‘Oh, Vernon, Vernon Presley,’ the voice replies making worry take hold of her as she wonders what her boss’s father could possibly want on a Sunday evening, not only a Sunday evening, her day off.

‘I’m just calling to tell you not to come in tomorrow,’ he replies casually.

‘Oh, okay,’ Robin says trying to ignore the lump in her throat. She had thought this week was going too well, that Elvis had been too understanding about her. It made sense now, he was waiting for the right time to cut her loose. It makes sense she supposes, it means she doesn’t have to show up on Monday morning only to be told to go home but still it stings and the words of her father echo in her ears for being so foolish as to be honest.

‘There’s no point given your appointments at ten,’ he replies.

‘Huh?’ Robin asks.

‘Your doctor's appointment?’ he mutters confused, ‘I thought Elvis had explained?’

‘Afraid not,’ Robin answers her worry turning to confusion.

‘He’s arranged for you to see a doctor from California,’ he explains, ‘they’re going to see you at Baptist tomorrow. 10 am sharp.’

‘Mr Presley that’s too much I can't-'

‘With respect Miss once my son’s decided on something there’s not much point standing in his way,’ Vernon says honestly. It makes her heart flip-flop inside her chest. She should be grateful he wants to help but to fly a doctor in, from California no less who she’s sure would’ve cost a pretty penny, it seems too much. Why he'd want to doesn’t make sense either after all she’s only worked there a matter of weeks.

But it seems too good an opportunity to turn down. In fact thinking about the way he’s taken care of her these last couple of days she fears if she did turn it down he might take it to heart, that boyish smile that makes her heart flutter disappearing for a look of disappointment, one she doesn’t want to see on his handsome face ever. As if he needs her to. And after all she’s been through she can't deny it would be nice to have someone help. To feel as though her wings were no longer clipped.

It's an offer she can’t turn down and so she says, ’10 am?’

‘He’ll pick ya up tomorrow,’ Vernon agrees and before she can thank him he’s gone, the line clicking off and leaving a dial tone in its place. With a sigh she places the receiver back where it should be taking a moment to soak it in before she heads back to her parents to tell them the news. She reminds herself not to get her hopes up, this doctor might cost a pretty penny and come up with no more ideas than the ones here in Memphis. Yet she can't help but feel excited because even if they can't fix everything, even if she remains the same, she’s sure there’s something about Elvis Presley that might just make her feel as though she’s flying anyway.

And she can't help but smile at that.

ELVIS TAGS

@girlblogger2002 @sania562 @caitlin1996 @literally-just-elvis-fics@notstefaniepresley @artlesson8892 @18lkpeters @velvetelvis @jaqueline19997 @elvispresleyxoxo @amydarcimarie @presleyenterprise@everythingelvispresley @elvispresleywife@lillypink@richardslady121 @lettersfromvenus @louisejoy86 @ccab

#my writing #elvis #elvis presley #elvis presley x ofc #elvis presley x oc #his bird with the broken wing

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minijenn · 5 months

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Jen Tortures Herself With Every Dreamworks Animated Movie Ever: The Boss Baby: Family Business

So would you believe me if I told you this movie is better than the first Boss Baby? I mean it's not... much better, but still, improvements were made here. Let's talk about them.

We jump foward to a now adult Tim, who has fallen out of touch with his brother Ted (the original Boss Baby) and struggles to connect with his daughter Tabitha. He soon discovers his baby Tina is on assignment from BabyCorp to stop a new villain intent on wiping out all parents. Tina gives both Ted and Tim a formula to make them both young again, recruiting their help on this mission and roping them into all sorts of Mischief ala the first movie but... like I said, marginally better.

So yeah, once again, very silly plot for a very silly movie. And yet... I don't know, it feels more... genuine than the first one did? Like it leans less on the obvious "oh look at funee baby in suit talking like a businessman" (though there is still plenty of that) and leans more on character interactions and I gotta respect that. Especially since it actually gives me a reason to care about Ted and Tim this time around, actually strengthening their bond and reflecting on how they weren't there for each other growing up like they promised they would be, and how they're given a second chance to change that now. Idk, just some pretty nice thematic stuff in there, along with Tim learning to be a better dad to his kids along the way (daddy issues in Dreamworks movies, they never stop, I Swear).

The characters here are... ok. Better than they were in the first movie, I mean fuck, the titual Boss Baby is toned down a lot and is honestly one of the least painful parts of this. Tim is also better, mostly bc he's actually an adult here so he's not your annoying kid stereotype like he was before. Tina is... kind of annoying, being the source of all of the "business baby" jokes and she grates on the nerves every now and then. Tabitha is ok though, getting some good development alongside Tim. Then we have our villain, Armstrong, who is... surprisingly funny? Like he isn't the funniest dreamworks baddie by any means, but he was certainly watchable. Hell, you could kind of say that for this movie as a whole, really.

The humor here is a little better, striking surprisingly a little more mature than last time (featuring an insane joke about agnostics like what the fuck Dreamworks I never would have thought you'd ever reference religion again after Prince of Egypt holy shit). The emotional beats also hit just a touch more, feeling a good degree less forced than the first movie's. And yet for everything this movie does well, I think its biggest problem is it drags on for far too long, just meandering with scenes that don't need to be anywhere near as long as they are, into a movie with a longer runtime than it probably should have had. It gets... tiring, after a while, and you get to the point where you just want the damn thing to end.

The animation here is really nothing special, basically looking identical to the first movie's, though I will say a few of the imagination sequences were sort of eye catching here. The music is also pretty simplistic but there were a few diagetic songs that I thought were... ok enough. Pretty unoffensive in that reguard, though of course, the pop songs just couldn't keep their nose out of this movie either.

Like I said, its far from being anything resembling good, but fuck, I watched Spirit Untamed last night and this was better than that and it was also better than the first movie, so that's gotta count for something. Even then though, it doesn't count for... that much.

Overall Rating: 4/10

Verdict: Pay tribute to the Greatest Dreamworks Character Ever: The Agnostic Kid

Previous Review (Spirit Untamed)

Next Review (The Bad Guys)

#jen watches #dreamworks watch #jen watches every dreamworks animated movie ever #boss baby #boss baby family business #dreamworks

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mirahuyooo · 1 year

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Stranded (I) | jhs

— But, darling, if you hadn’t fallen, you wouldn’t have met him—the one who’ll render you mad and drunk with his love so much that you’ll never want to find sanity again.

word count: 10,458 (PART I) contents: ANGST, fLUff, drAMa, Theseus, stages of grief but its kinda all over the place, rUNAWAY PRINCESS!!! yikes, betrayal yIKES, implied drugging, hEARTBREAK, you have a sucky sucky childhood, daddy issues, a lot of artistic interpretation but I think this is my most favorite one AAAAAA, not necessarily accurate (i mixed up a lot of versions and made up some shit), a bit historical?? idk anymore, Greek Mythology AU pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader Inspired by Dionysus and Ariadne

[masterlist] | check out [Elysian Tales] & [BTS as Greek Myth Icons]!

A/N: HeRE iT ISSS! I HAVE BEEN SO EXCITED TO FINISH THIS LIL SHIT Hobi’s story is an ABSOLUTE favorite 😭💖

P.S. i've divided these into three due to limit issues so stay tune for the next part! ☆⌒(*＾-゜)v

START. | ▷ 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽

A heavy feeling rests in the pit of your stomach, as the ship continues to sail away from the land that birthed and raised you. That island was all you had ever known and yet there it was, having gone much smaller as time progressed—even the grand palace is now barely visible from such a distance, much more the people trying to pursue you.

You have committed treason—something you were well aware of. You had betrayed your father as an accomplice to your monster of a half-brother’s murder and had eloped with the very man who took its life.

A large part of you argues that you had done the right thing. Your half-brother was a vicious monster, who had slaughtered innocents in the maze you were forced to represent. He was an accursed reminder of the atrocity your late mother had done. Before his death, you had witnessed first hand the people being fed into the labyrinth as some sickening game guised as a sacrifice.

You, as your father's daughter, had been made mistress of the labyrinth as soon as you came of age—subjected to all sorts of pleas, cursing, and threats that its victims had thrown at you. Their voices echo hauntingly in your head, as the memory of people walking into that dark pit and never returning constantly mar your mind. It is a nightmare you cannot escape from.

But that, now, has changed.

You, as princess of your people, have done justly to assist a foreigner in ending such pandemonium. The Minotaur is dead and with that, you have greatly helped in ending your father’s cruelty. You are a hero.

So, why does it feel like something’s amiss?

“Princess?”

A voice greets you from behind, startling you into staring away from the kingdom you were leaving behind. Butterflies erupt as you see Theseus before you with the moonlight casting an ethereal glow on his striking features. You smile softly as he lightly bows to you. “Theseus,” your voice radiates adoration as you say his name. “What brings you here?”

The chill wind of early autumn tousles his dark brown locks as he stares towards the fading form of Crete with you. “We will be stopping at the island of Naxos in a few hours,” he tells you with a side glance your way. “The captain and I deemed it best to rest there for a while and replenish any supplies we lost.”

“Of course. That seems sound,” you could only nod, not knowing much of maritime welfare after all. What you do know, however, was that the sea was as fickle as the god that reigned over it. You supposed that it was better to prepare for any catastrophe, than to expect everything to be smooth sailing.

Feeling a hand on the small of your back, you come back to your senses, only to see Theseus waiting for you. Only then did you also realize that on your shoulders was his cloak. It envelops you with warmth. “It’s late, princess,” he nods towards the quarters. “It’s been a long day, too. You must sleep.”

Words coming out a stammer, you clutch the cloak in your hands. “Yes,” you shyly blush as your heart hammers in your chest, “You too.”

The hero beside you smiled kindly, gesturing with his hand this time. “Let us go then,” he invites you, warmly—and for someone so used to the dark, cold walls of Crete, you couldn’t help but swoon.

What a blessed woman you are.

You arrive at Naxos around late in the afternoon, taking a small boat or two with Theseus and a few members of the ship to a secluded part of the island while the rest stay to man the ship at a distance. Docking a great distance away from a small town, the land that greets you and takes you away from the roughhousing of the waves greatly comforts you. There were big rocks surrounding the little beach—something Theseus thought would do well to hide and border the camp.

A group began laying out the tents for the night, many hands trying to make quick work. You did your best to assist them in any way, but you were met either with cold glares or dismissive waves. You then attempted to help a frail boy struggling to carry a crate, but he, too, doesn't seem so fond of you. "I'll be fine in the hands of my people, princess," said the boy, voice calm but eyes failing to hide his contempt, as another fellow came to help him instead.

It was clear to you.

You may have aided their hero in slaying the Minotaur, but your conscience and reputation was still drenched by the blood of their people—the people that you couldn't save any sooner. In their eyes, you were still a princess of Crete—still the mistress of the maze that brought them before the gates of the Underworld.

And so, you endure their unwelcoming gaze, looking for something else to make yourself useful—for something else to prove you worthy of their trust.

While the experienced went to hunt animals for a meal tonight and the journey ahead, there were others that were tasked to retrieve some supplies from the local town. You decide to join them, but, in an instant, you are pulled aside by Theseus, who was already dressed for the hunt. "Where are you going?" he asks, voice hushed but with a little panic.

Furrows form between your brows as his sudden interruption holds you aback. "I want to help," you earnestly declare, but the conviction wasn't quite present, so you clarify yourself further. "I will accompany them to town an—"

"We cannot risk you to be seen in town, (Y/N)," Theseus exasperates, harsh tone taking you aback. "It'll bring us more trouble than we already have."

Your hastening heart seemed to stop altogether. "Ah… right…"

How come you never thought of that, (Y/N)?

He sharply inhales, breathing almost stopping altogether, upon seeing the flash of hurt in your eyes, your determination faltering. Theseus eases a little then, lacing a hand in yours while the other caresses your cheek. "Why don't you…" his mind reels as he thinks of a compromise, "why don't you help gather some wood for the fire later?"

Your eyes lit for a moment, but soon began to contemplate. Wood for the fire—yes. That seems accomplishable.

"Alright," you say, mustering a meek smile as you did.

With that Theseus called forth a young man. Andreas, he addressed him—the same boy that had refused your help with the crate earlier. "Take her with you to fetch some firewood," he tells him, and while the boy nods, you could tell he was hesitant.

Theseus turns back to you with a smile, happy to have settled this. The fabric that embraced your shoulders was moved to shield your face, his careful touch tingling against your skin. "Be careful," Theseus then instructs, urging you to still keep your identity secret, lest your father had sent out soldiers for either of your capture.

"You, too," you attempt to smile, a hand gently squeezing his own before the two of you part, worried but hopeful.

Andreas never spoke a word with you as the both of you gathered what you needed from the forest. In your arms were a bundle of sticks you thought were similar to what you saw him pick up. You couldn't really find it within you to ask, for fear of being seen bothersome by the lad.

"Why help us now?"

You nearly jump at the sudden words that reach you. Looking up, the young boy was standing a few feet ahead of you, his back turned as he did. "I'm sorry?" You stammer, unsure of what he meant. "What do you mean to say?"

You were greeted by a ferocious glare. "You let us suffer for years, but now you helped our people escape," Andreas sneered, "why?"

Tears sting your eyes but you blink them back. "I…" you began, but your mind seemed to run blank. "I needed strength," you say, mustering enough words to express your thoughts, "and a chance to go against my father..."

"Your prince is both," you give the boy a soft smile, hoping it would ease him.

Theseus was your key—not only to freedom, but also for repentance.

Still, the young boy scowls, brows furrowing so deep together that you fear they might never go back to normal. "I know my sins cannot be absolved for doing this," you plead, taking a step forth, "but I swear, I never found any joy in your suffering."

Andreas scoffs, but says nothing. He, instead, goes back to his task of collecting firewood and ignoring your existence. A shaky outbreath escapes you along with a few tears running down your cheeks but you wipe them away and focus on your task, too.

Idly tying the bundle with a rope, you began to think of your future.

Theseus had promised to make you his queen upon returning to Athens, but how easy would that flow, if your history as mistress of the labyrinth remained in their minds? What queen would be welcomed and loved that way?

You sigh and push such thoughts away. You'll deal with it when it comes, you tell yourself. A long journey awaits you, and you haven't even made it to Athens yet. Surely, a time will come for you to show your promising prowess to the people.

With that hope, you were a little more resolved and ready to return to reality, taking more time in indulging yourself with your surroundings.

The island was very much smaller than the kingdom you were accustomed to, but it certainly felt much more welcoming. Nature surrounded you as leaves crunched at each step beneath you. The sky in a blur of warm colors being tainted with the impending night.

It felt oddly serene—more soothing than you have been treated at the camp. A part of you was tempted to stay here instead.

Then, it came to you.

You were alone.

Heart shattering just a little, you stood up from where you were crouching. All around you was darkness. "A-Andreas?" you call out, voice shaking as you look into the expanse of the forest. "Where are you?"

Instead of a response, your ears pick up the sound of music instead—a flute perhaps, being played somewhere, but the direction seemed to lead further into the forest rather than out. Goosebumps littered your skin from the cold and the shiver that ran down your spine. It may be someone from the town, or a group of travellers like your own, you reason, but such news would either be bad for someone in hiding like you.

"Lost, are we?"

There was a sudden voice that filled the air—slurred but mischievous—rendering you to drop a few sticks as you whirl around like a fool looking for the source.

Who was that?

"Up here, dear."

The voice says again, the sound luring your eyes towards a tree nearby. Splayed across a big branch above was a dashing man—ethereal, really—looking down at you through barely opened eyes, as the early autumn wind gently blew on the part of his robe that dangled from the tree. He gives you a lazed grin as he pulls out a small flask from somewhere behind him. "Would you like some?" he then asks as he takes a generous swig of the drink, thin droplets of watery red running down his chin and onto his collarbone.

Is that wine?

Taken aback by his presence, you tear your eyes away from the stranger and gather what had escaped from your grasp moments before. He's inviting—tempting—but you mustn't stray. "No need, sir," you politely tell him, "I'm not thirsty."

No less from a stranger.

The young man nonchalantly shrugs. "Shame," he says, taking another swig as he makes no further comment.

You couldn't bear to dilly dally any further either—no, not with the darkened sky already upon you. Wait… a dark sky?!

With the realization that the night was settling in, panic settled in you. "Oh no," you huff, hurriedly gathering the ends of your dress to ready yourself to bolt back to the camp. "You should get down there before you fall, sir," you give the stranger a hastened smile. "Farewell!"

Not waiting for his response, you ran.

—and run you did.

It was ungraceful—something your late governess would've greatly frowned upon—but you make it back with only a few moments of getting lost. Your chest heaved as sweat ran down your skin, but the proud look you had on your face for coming back soon fell.

There was a bonfire already lit in the center of the camp, bright as could be.

The chatter lessens at your arrival, a few looking at your disheveled state, while Theseus approaches you. "What happened?" he asks, brows furrowed. "Andreas said you walked off on your own."

You glanced at the boy, who immediately avoided your eyes, almost sorry for what he did. Forcing a smile, you turn your attention back to Theseus and give him the bundles you gathered as you went along with the boy’s narrative so he wouldn’t be in trouble. "Yes, well," you cleared your throat, "I thought I saw something, and became distracted. I'm sorry."

Theseus doesn't question you any further, only nodding as he looks at the wood you gave him. "Ah…" he then grins, throwing a stick or two into the already roaring flames. "Thank you for these," he says in an attempt to assure you, "it'll keep the fire alive tonight."

You muster a smile back, nodding as you watch the fire crackle strongly before you. "Ah…" you idly hum, "you're welcome."

A nasty bout of hurt and irk began to bubble within you at how effectively useless your help was. You see the amount of wood Andreas gathered, realizing that, with how many they were, they only made your meager bundle useless. You could've easily not accompanied him and the group would've been fine for the night. Your effort and time was wasted, and yet remembering the weight of the situation is the water that douses your fury.

The people here have been hurt by your kingdom, and Theseus was the one that came to save them from their terrible fate.

Even if you are to have Theseus by your side, it comes to you very well that you are the foreigner amongst them—one against many, with no favors amidst your graces other than Theseus' gratitude and affections. You cannot give them your fury—not fully at the very least.

And so, you sat idly by the fire, listening to their merry chatter in your silence. The fire began to seem like images at some point—people dancing, twinkling stars, a merriment unlike any other—and it coaxes the beginnings of a smile out of you.

"Here."

Knocked out of your stupor, you look up at whoever sat beside you and see Theseus with a bowl of some soup. You gingerly take it from his hands. "Thank you," you meekly say, taking an idle spoonful to your mouth.

All the while, Theseus makes an attempt to salvage the silence between you both. "We caught two boars in the forest," he began, nodding towards the canopy of trees surrounding the camp. "A few of the others took one of the boats back to the ship to give the meat of one boar to the rest there."

You hum, scooping one of the meat chunks in your bowl. "Sounds wonderful," you tell him politely as you chew, "the cook did great work with the soup, as well."

Such words were a bit coated with sugar. No one will like the salt of the thoughts sitting in the back of your mind—not when any of you are in a position to complain when survival is essential. It wasn't the tastiest of meals you've ever had—the flavors clash at some bites—but it should fill the belly just enough.

Next to you, the Athenian hero nods thoughtfully. “Ah, yes, Leda managed to make a meal out of what little we had,” he hums, “I’ll let her know you liked it.”

With nothing more to say, you only nod, not forcing yourself in engaging idle chatter with him. You didn't have it in you to. You suppose that after the journey you feel… tired? despondent?

Either way, your lack of motivation easily lets silence conquer the air between you and Theseus. He didn't seem to mind, spending time conversing with the captain about the boat and the travel ahead—a talk which easily slips past your head as you lose your train of thought in a daze looking at the racking fire ahead.

Your bowl lasts a little under half-filled in your hands by the time you decide on the last spoonful for your fill of dinner. A light chill of the sea breeze comes and goes, making you take your shawl off your head and wrap it around your shoulders once more.

The stretch of standing up bears a light grunt from your lips, catching Theseus' attention. "I think I'd like to go and rest now," you softly declared with a tired, tight-lipped smile—an excuse really but it wasn't a complete lie.

Theseus looks quite surprised by your announcement. "Already?" he says, almost to himself, "but you haven't finished the bowl…"

You fluster, but hand him the bowl nonetheless. "I apologize for wasting, but I really am full," you say. “The day has been… eventful. I think some shut eye would be good."

A furrow forms between Theseus’ brows, but he questions you no further. "Alright…" he sighs, pointing to a tent ahead. “That tent, over there, is yours,” he tells you, watching as you nod and smooth out your dress.

He, too, soon stands up, but he offers you a smile instead of walking you to your tent. "Sleep well, princess.”

Eyelids already growing heavy, you could only hum as you tread through the sand. "Good night."

The dream that Morpheus brings you that night was bizarre for someone who has lived the way you have.

You were in a palace of sorts, though you hadn't any idea where and why.

Around you were drunken bodies who surrendered to the feel of the music that clouded the entire room. The melody of a flute lingers in the air and though you can't quite tell where you've heard it from, it’s somewhat familiar.

You, yourself, were feeling light-headed, swaying to the music. Someone brings a chalice to your lips and you let them.

The wine dances along your tongue—so addicting that you couldn't help but gulp more.

"That’s right, drink," said a soft voice in your head, encouraging you further. "Ease yourself from your worries."

You almost do.

—but someone in the distance catches your eye. Standing in the midst of the sea of people, he stares at you relentlessly, and your heartbeat races and the haze in your head wears itself down. You forget whoever it was that handed you the chalice, forget them as you continue to look in the distance.

He's gone.

Where is he?

The world begins to spin around you—so dizzying that it makes you clutch your head.

Still, you try to reach where your eyes last saw him.

"Theseus?"

Your eyes had trouble fluttering open, but as soon as you did you were stricken with a pounding in your head. Was it possible for a dream to have such an effect? What was the dream even trying to say?

A groan leaves your lips, eyebrows scrunched together at the unpleasant feeling. The pain doesn't ease soon, and you attempt to massage it away, but as you move your hand, you become aware of the emptiness at your side. All of a sudden, it became so easy to forget the dream that you had.

Brows knitting much closer in confusion, you will yourself to get up and look around.

The tent is empty—almost untouched.

Has Theseus and the others gotten up already?

There was an attempt to stand and look around even more, your legs shaking as you do so. The clay pitcher on a nearby crate leads you to become aware of just how much your throat feels parched. Paradoxically, you also have the urge to vomit.

Nonetheless, you made a grab for the pitcher. The water flows down your throat in greedy gulps as you shakily hold it in your hands. Your headache slightly eases, but it's inconvenience is still there to torment you.

What did you eat last night to upset your head and stomach so?

Crawling out of the tent, the striking sun glared down at you so much that another hiss leaves your lips. You were only plunged further into bafflement, shielding your face from the heat. Seeing the sun so high up in the sky could only mean that it's well around noon alre—

Where's everyone?

All too suddenly, you were wide awake. Your hand falls to your side, letting the blistering heat of the sun strike down onto you. The deafening silence around you mirrors your thoughts as you try to take in what was going on.

The fire had long extinguished, leaving only charred wood and ashes.

There were no longer other tents but your own.

Most hauntingly, the ship was no longer at the visible distance as it was before.

At that moment, you couldn't breathe.

It takes everything in you to will yourself to move, carefully walking around what used to be the camp the crew had set up not more than half a day ago. There had been three or four more tents set alongside yours. There had been a large cauldron for the soup over the fire. There had been crates of supplies gathered from their hunt and travel around the nearest town.

All of that, gone.

Your eyes were frantically scanning for answers—anything to make sense of it all. There were marks in the sand—movement, many of them, leading to where the boats used to be. These were the telltale signs that you refused to believe.

Your heart pounded against your chest, and even as the wind blew your hair over your face, you didn't move an inch—couldn't—in your disbelief. "No," the word crawls out of your lips, hoarse from both sleep and hurt. You rub at your teary eyes furiously—even as they hurt.

"Wake up, (Y/N)," you tell yourself, "Wake up."

In the distance, you see the rocks that surround the beach, and an idea immediately comes to you. With barely any hesitation, you run—stumble—towards them, all as pebbles, shells, coarse sand, and force make your feet hurt instantly, but the panic in your veins rendered you reckless and desperate.

The struggle in climbing the harsh terrain was immediate for someone like you, who was taught to never do such rowdy, unladylike activities, but you couldn't bring yourself to give a damn at that moment. It could be the very key to the answer you were looking for.

And, unfortunately, it was.

The sea breeze blew the strands of your (h/c) hair to and fro, as wisps of the sea trickled onto your skin. You looked over towards the horizon, staring at what used to be the ticket to your freedom. The ship has sailed so far away that it was barely the size of the pebbles that stung your feet. It would be a futile attempt to try and swim towards it.

(Gods, with what offense your father had done to Poseidon, you never even learned how to swim.)

You hope it to be a terrible mistake—perhaps, some sorcery from a witch or the exhaustion from yesterday's voyage making their heads weary. You don’t know how any of those could be, but you would take anything other than the dread looming over you.

“Theseus!!!”

You cry out his name, desperate, your hold on the boulder only tightening, hurting your palms and heels. “Theseus!” you sob, your entire body shaking as your head pounds yet again at the volume and force of your yelling. The backlash of your brain sends you faltering—and, eventually, falling off of the rocks.

A voiceless cry and a hiss forces tears to fall from your eyes as you land harshly on your back. It hurts. Everything hurts.

You could feel the sand flitting onto the gashes that undoubtedly would’ve been all over your skin. The sea—that damned sea—nips at your bottom half where it reached you and makes your damned wounds sting even more.

This is just a dream. It can’t possibly be real, can it?

You rack your brain for memories of the warm light that had come in the form of Theseus—he who had come to you for help and promised help in return.

Yes, of course it isn’t. This is just a dream.

Theseus swore he would bring you to Athens with him, where you would be away from the clutches of your father’s wrath. He swore to protect you. He swore to introduce you to Athens as his accomplice and that you would spend a great life together. Together—that’s what he had promised you.

Forcibly, you fluttered your eyes shut.

This is just a dream—a nightmare.

You’ll soon awake to the real world, awake by Theseus' side. You’ll both go on into the ship and the voyage will continue until Athens comes to the horizon. He’ll protect you. He’ll come back. He'll—

You open your eyes again, ribs hurting as you take a greedy intake of air. You weren’t at all back inside the tent next to your hero. No laughter or chatter to be heard around you.

You were still at the shore, helpless and away from a ship that only navigated further from you.

You were alone on an island with a few supplies at your call, but little to no experience of surviving in such a cruel world.

Theseus was gone. He had deserted you.

Your fists clenched at the blurred image of the ship’s massive white mast engraved in your head. It was taunting you.

Relentless tears streamed down the curves of your cheeks, and you found it hard to get yourself up from the grainy ground beneath you. The very man you decided to trust with your life had now left you for death. Was this what you get for betraying your father? Had you not done the right thing after all?

“THESEUS!!!”

His name rips through your throat raw, as if he could hear you—as if it would've mattered.

"Theseus!" You scream again into the sky, your entire body aching from the fall and the heartache all the same. Your hands bury themselves in the sand underneath you, crushing whatever sand they could hold in order to try and satiate some of your anger. "How could you do this to me?!" you wail, bringing your good arm over your face to shield yourself from the blinding sunlight—from the world in general.

You remember seeing his face as that of a stranger—of how you saw him walk in with the new line of sacrifice, of how he told you of your kingdom’s terrifying reputation, of how he emboldened you to join his cause.

I trusted you.

Your heart aches, remembering his smile, his touch, his words—all of which had deceived you in turn. Theseus was the warm light gracing your life—the one that guided you out of that wretched place.

I loved you.

In the end, he was but a flame that scorched you.

You would rather die than bear a torture like this. At the very least with death, the pain ends. Your soul would reach the other side, crossing over to the Underworld where you could drown yourself in the Lethe River and forget.

Forget the humiliation, the betrayal, and the foolish endeavor your life has become.

Forget the kingdom that made you and the kingdom promised to you.

Forget the man you gave your all to—your honor, your heart, your life.

As it seems to you, the gods plan to do nothing—perhaps, it is a punishment in and of itself to forsake you, to let you rot away. You could hardly lift a finger in your state of mind and body—could barely breathe without a sob slipping past your lips.

Eyes fluttering close, you settle for the next best thing to death—sleep.

Maybe then, you will never awake.

However rare such times would be, he would often go looking for places if he wanted to spend some time alone for himself. Naxos, being a land where he is most welcomed to call his domain, seems to have a lot of such places for him, which is why he wanders off around here as often as he does.

This time, the faint sound of waves began to reach his ears as he treaded the forest. Another beach but he doesn’t at all feel like going for a swim out in the open—not when the sea reminds him of the many times sailors have tried to kidnap him and sell him for a price.

However, Agrios, beside him, seems keen on the idea, halting and staring intently towards the direction of the beach. “Do you want to go on a swim?” he asks, nonetheless following him out of the forest line. “Perhaps I should’ve brought your siblings along…”

The beach was relatively peaceful, beautiful for a little gathering too. It'd do well to tell his people of this, but, as of the moment, it was still too open for his liking. He might be seen by someone he doesn't know or someone he does know and ruin his time alone.

Perhaps, he'll instead go to that little cavern he found a fortnight ago. It should be around here, somewhere…

"Oh?"

Something catches his eyes, stopping him from his thoughts—a lone tent sits amongst the sand with a bonfire long dead and out. A curious case, he thinks. Many travel through Naxos in their journey, but what's a camp like this doing so far away from any of the towns?

Just as he came to snoop inside the tent, something from the corner of his eyes caught his attention as well. In the distance, he sees something by the rocks, Agrios already ahead of him and inspecting whatever it was. He walks closer, curiosity getting the best of him—as it always does.

A woman.

As it had turned out, the very same one he faintly recalls meeting in the forest last night. The sunlight grazing the beach certainly makes her beauty much more apparent than the previous night where he had only spared it a glance beneath the darkness of the eve. "Oh my," he clicks his tongue, as his eyes flit over her sorry state and a frown unconsciously settles on his lips.

He wasn’t one to be too nosy, but he feels immensely compelled to look her over. Carefully leaning his ear against her chest, a faint heartbeat confirms that she was still alive. At a closer glance, he sees the tear stains that mar her cheeks and also takes note of how the pesky sun had left her skin a bit dry and sunburnt. Down the line, inspecting the wounds that ran down her arm, the frown upon his lips running deeper. So much pain, he thinks, shaking his head.

Above all, she shouldn't be left out in the open like this. "This is no place to sleep in," he tuts, looking expectantly at Agrios. “Don’t you think?”

The animal merely blinks back, eventually forcing a sigh from his lips. “Fine,” he grumbles, gathering her in his arms as he lifts and heaves with a grunt. He hasn't been doing much else other than drink, dance, and sleep, so this may indeed be an unfortunate downside of his reckless living. (Still, it somehow feels nice to carry her like this.)

Assuming that the tent nearby was hers for the taking, he carries her towards it, and places her onto the haphazardly assembled sheets and pillows. Her hair splays out and over her face and neck, but he soon makes sure she is in a comfortable position. Sleep, after all, is a great pleasure to have just as any.

As he dries the sea-soaken parts of her, the woman still shows no signs of regaining consciousness, her chest softly heaving in a slow and steady pace, and leaving him in silence. He doesn't worry himself just yet, however—after all, why would he?—knowing well he could call upon a certain someone for a little favor if he really needed to.

And so, he looks around the small tent, taking note of the sparse decor and the mere two piles of crates that Agrios has decided to sniff and inspect. Curious, he gets up and opens the top crate, seeing some clothes, blankets, and other trinkets along with a piece of paper.

Take care of yourself.

Another piece of the puzzle lays itself before him, and he doesn't like it one bit. He places it back in and sets the first crate down to gain access to the second one. Were these all that was left for her?

The next crate, as it turns out, were some rations good enough for a week or so. This makes an idea pop in his head, realizing that the young woman will most likely wake up hungry. He smiles softly at Agrios who has taken place near the makeshift bed. “Come on," he ushers the large cat to leave the unconscious woman alone. "Why don't we play chef, hm?”

The moment you came to, you were made aware of the ache in your head, along with the way your eyes could barely open when you will yourself to. All too suddenly, the lack of warmth by your side gives you flashes of what took place, but, for a moment, you think it to be a dream.

Some sort of commotion reaches you as you gain more hold of your consciousness. Incomprehensible mumbling turned into faint bits of a conversation.

"—ow could you be so cruel to me? I raised you!"

You could see a faint form of two shapes outside your tent, and yet the ruckus only seems to come from one voice.

"Don't you dare use that attitude on me, you little brat."

Getting up was a feat in and of itself, your muscles ached as you put all of your strength into just sitting up alone. Biting back a grunt, you do your best to crawl toward the opening—

"AHHHH!"

The scream that ripples from your mouth hurt your throat, but you could hardly think. In fact, you could hardly move.

A beast peers it's spotted head through the opening of the tent, large golden eyes boring a hole through you in alarm as if you, too, had shocked him. You could only stare back, paralyzed in fear with tears stinging your eyes.

"What happened?!"

All of a sudden, the tent opens further, moved by a man who reveals himself to you, not at all alarmed by the beast, but alarmed by you.

A moment of silence passes and it soon comes to you that this man seems to be the same stranger dangling from the tree last night. You crawl away from the tent opening—away from them. "Who are you?" you sneer, "and what is that?"

The man, himself, seems to snap out of his own stupor at the realization that you were talking to him. He scoots himself inside a little, not too close to you, but within the tent nonetheless. "I'm…" he pauses, "Hoseok, and he is my companion, Agrios."

Companion? That beast is his companion?

Another thing from his response soon also confuses you. Oddly enough, he didn’t answer your question readily—as if he had to think of it. "You don't seem certain of your name, sir," you raised your brow at him, defenses still up against the stranger and his companion.

Not at all bothered by the harsh edge of your words, however, he chuckles at the slip up you had pointed out to him. "I'm Hoseok," he repeats with more conviction, but the seriousness your glare bore didn’t impede his lollygagging. "Now," he instead pipes, turning around for a moment—only to reveal a bowl of fruits. "Are you hungry?"

You may have had no intention answering his invitation, but your stomach answers for you—a shamelessly loud grumble that renders your cheeks ablaze in embarrassment. The stranger laughs, but doesn’t tease further, only taking your hand to place the bowl in its care. “Feel free to nibble,” he urges you, “if you want more, you need only to ask. I caught some fish and roasted them outside.”

His excitement and openness truly takes you aback. Does this Hoseok not have suspicions against a stranger like yourself?

You raise the bowl back to him. “No ne—”

Your words fall short, slain by a gasp at the sight of your hands and arms—clean and free of the gashes you could've sworn marred your skin just hours ago. What’s left of them were faint red lines that tingled if you look or think about them too much. "My wounds…" you stammer, as you gawk at them in disbelief. "H-how?"

Hoseok doesn’t at all bother to take the bowl of fruits from you. "I know of a good healer," he simply tells you, getting up but sweeping the tent entrance open and tying them to the side so that your eyes could catch a glimpse of the little bonfire he had brought back to life from the previous night. Fortunately, his companion also follows him outside.

Though hesitant, you shakily push yourself up, cautiously crawling over to stop by the entrance. "Wounds don't heal in an instant," you call out to him, "for how long have I been unconscious?"

The stranger crouches by the bonfire, eyeing the fishes he had over the fire. "For about an hour or so now, and, as I have said," he turns to flash you a grin and a wink. "I know a really good healer."

In spite of your doubt, something else pulls you away from the situation as your stomach begins to churn at the sight of the fish cooking and make you salivate. Tempted, you were, you relent to a grape from the bowl he had given you. Some juice dribbles down your lips, but it quenches some of your hunger and thirst.

Looking back up, you see him and the spotted beast patiently waiting for you by the fire. Hoseok grabs one of the cooked fish skewered with a stick, offering it to you in case you prefer the distance from them.

Eyes flitting from the smoking fish and him, you hold yourself back for yet another question. "What exactly are your intentions with me?"

“None,” he assures you with a shrug, looking around the beach. “I was simply strolling through and saw you,” he then says, “thought you might need the help.”

I didn't need help. Stubborn, you were, but still, you eye the fish that was roasting over the fire.

The stranger seems to take note of this. “There’s nothing funny with it,” he then assures you, chuckling a little as he nods to his companion, who was now chewing on something. “You can eat over there, if you’d like.”

Finally, you idly take hold of the stick—you swear, your stomach let out a cry of relief. “Thank you,” your manners compel you to timidly tell him this as you take a bite out of the fish’s flesh.

Hoseok smiles warmly, the sight and feeling of it making your heart clench. “You’re welcome.”

For the hour that followed, Hoseok and Agrios stayed with you as they ate, and as some subtle form of gratitude, you let them. You kept your distance, stayed by that little tent of yours as Hoseok tells you of the towns he knew around the island and the general path towards them.

Whether he knew your tragic case of abandonment or not, he makes no mention nor pry of it, and you don't tell him of your wanted status either. It would be best to stay away from strangers.

And so, well into the afternoon, you usher them away after falsely promising to remember his guidance, the man and the beast disappearing into the forest with no more than themselves with them. (The fishes he caught but didn't cook, he gave to you for dinner, and this notion guilts you inside for being so cold to them all along.)

Here you were, once again left alone by the sea.

By this point, you have gained some strength—enough to leave the shell that is your tent to finally gaze at the waves you've been hearing ever since you woke. The golden sun sits amidst a sky of oranges and pinks, its light sending the sea glittering as it's readying to leave its throne for the nightfall.

It was a taunting sight—beautiful, but taunting.

Yet, a voice in your head murmurs a treacherous thought to soil the fragile peace you were in.

Have they reached Athens by now?

Your lip trembles but you trample it beneath your teeth, hoping to kill the incoming tears. It's successful—to some degree. Though the pain in your heart hasn't at all gone away, the streams that ran down your cheeks were not as fierce as before.

In the silence, you were left to wonder what had transpired in the hours you were unconscious. You have reason in you to believe the key that had led Theseus to leave you were his people—they were, after all, the very reason he had snuck into Crete in the first place.

Had they convinced Theseus to leave you?

Had he been tricked by them in some way?

Or, had he no problem agreeing with them at all?

Your heart shatters at the thought of the latter, but your mind soon drifts to what Andreas had said in the woods.

You let us suffer for years…

There’s reason and right in his anger—in their anger—this you knew well. They do not owe you forgiveness nor forgetfulness for the cowardice you’ve done to them in the years before.

If you had been a braver person against your father’s harsh reign, would they have found you befitting to take the place next to their hero?

If you had tried a little harder to be of help during the travel, would they have had a change of heart and taken you with them?

If you had—

Nonsense, there’s nothing you can do about the could-have-beens. You've already betrayed your people. You've already left. You've already messed up.

At the end of the day, the bitter truth now is that you’ve been stranded here—already alone and away from Crete and Athens all the same. Mayhaps, that is why you’ve been left like this—your salvation and your price to pay, your escape from Crete and banishment from Athens altogether.

You will belong nowhere else.

With not much left to do nor care for the view, you crawl your way back into the tent where it's a little more quiet. The immediate thought of sleep comes to you as your eyes land on the makeshift cushions, and the same thought as before crosses your mind.

Sleep. Let’s sleep.

It was then your train of thought stops. An animal pelt cloak—one from a dark grey wolf, you think—had been near the bedding, something you vaguely remember taking off of you when you woke earlier. Theseus doesn't have one—you would know—which can only mean that it was another token left by that stranger earlier.

A part of you is irked to be left with this, as it's a reminder of yet another man who entered your life unannounced. Such things aside, you were reasonably grateful too, as it's something you can make use of.

Enough thinking, another part of you insists, reminding you of what you had thought to do in the first place. Sleep.

A sigh leaves you as you lay yourself down, and with no other warmth to encase you, you relent in reaching for the cloak, curling within its hold and fluttering your eyes closed.

A sense of unease blossoms within you, forcing you away from the realm of Morpheus. It's dark, even after you awoke from the abyss of your slumber. It must be nighttime already then. Have you slept for that long?

Another thing registers in your head as you regain more of your consciousness. You become aware of the damp walls of the tent and bedding, of the chill in the air, of the sound of rain.

What on Earth—

The row rumble from the sky sounds like that of a beast, freezing you in an instant with the wolf pelt tightly clutched in your hold. A bright strike of lightning across the sky faintly illuminates the tent, squeezing a screech from your lips at the deafening thunder that follows it.

You could tell that the rain has no plans of surrendering any time soon. The waves themselves are getting angrier by the minute, crashing against the shore and rocks as if to give them a beating.

Zeus and Poseidon must be furious.

A curse leaves your lips as you see more of the rain soaking the tent, droplets already forming to come down at you. The howling winds aren't showing much kindness either. You don't know for much longer your tent can hold. At this rate, you'll be drenched, too.

Gathering your bearings, you sit up and push aside the discomfort of being in slightly damp clothes, and heave the cloak over your head. You give yourself a moment to think of where to get yourself a better shelter from the storm.

The forest might do well to aid you, but it'll also house other creatures—some of which may have the capabilities to kill someone as defenseless as you. Perhaps, you can find a large, pointed stick to us—

"Hey!"

You jolt as you hear a voice outside. Is that…?

The tent flaps pry open under someone's urgent grip, and you see the person you had suspected it to be. As he tries to catch his breath, Hoseok looks you over with a dismayed shake of his head. "I knew you'd still be here."

You look at him with your mouth agape. “What brings you here?” you question over the downpour, brows furrowing together.

The man adjusts an umbrella over his head, promptly leaving your query unanswered. “Come along,” he instead tuts as he urges you out of the tent. "This is no place to be in the middle of a storm."

The tent shakes as yet another thunder booms across the sky, causing the two of you to flinch. “Now,” he says, “will you be stubborn or will you let me help you?"

The umbrella he's carrying struggles against the wind, what with it being made from only wood and leaves. The gentle curls of his black hair cling onto his forehead, forcing him to swipe them back. "I think it’s a great time to accept, hm?” he says, an uneasy chuckle forced past his lips as he tries to secure a better grip on the umbrella.

With a deep intake of air, you push yourself up and come out of the tent. This brings a smile to his face, one that you choose to ignore. “Fantastic,” he muses, as you duck beneath the struggling shade of his umbrella. "Nothing else?"

"None," you curtly tell him. I have nothing left.

The stranger was caught off guard for a moment, but he soon nods and gestures to the dark forest ahead. "Come," he says, "I know a place."

Although the trees keep most of the howling winds at bay, the mud cakes the ends of the worn dress you were wearing, turning the faint pink an ugly brown. The rough ground makes you walk carefully too, lest you step on anything that can make your bare feet hurt any more than it already is. The darkness of the forest terrifies you, and a part of you urges you to cling onto the stranger lest you get lost in the midst of the storm on your own.

Doubt, however, gnaws away at you at the same time, making you keep a little of your distance. You steal glances in between calculating your steps and following his lead. Can I truly trust this man?

The possibility of his betrayal makes you spiral into multiple other possibilities. If he dares to do anything, then I can shove him or hit him with something, and make a run for it.

As this plan for a what-if forms in your head, Hoseok takes note of your wariness—of how you cocooned yourself within his old wolf cloak, of how you gingerly inched away from him, and of how guarded your face is even as you were occupied with your thoughts. Understandable, he thinks, but it won't do her well to be sick because of the rain.

Leaning the umbrella over to your side, he once again thinks of the quickest path to a shelter he knows of. It’s around here somewhere.

Still, that won't seem to make the journey any less difficult. The rain was stubborn—as stubborn and proud as a man he knows—the thunder bellowing every once in a while to scare the daylights out of you. Though the forest was easier to navigate for the likes of him, it definitely doesn’t make it any less pleasant to tread through. He, himself, feels unpleasant walking through the forest in a state like this.

A surprise, however, soon comes to the young man. It appears that, at some point, you have noticed the position of the umbrella, and your conscience couldn't seem to take the unfairness for his side, because you had let your bodies huddle a little closer. Your hand even lightly holds onto his tunic as you look elsewhere.

Hoseok hides a smile at all of this. How sweet of her to care.

It was fortunate for the both of you that it didn't take too long for you to have reached your destination—just as the umbrella was about to give up, too. He steps under the stone roofing, arm gesturing with a welcome. "Here we are," he sings, tossing the umbrella aside and wringing out the rainwater from his clothes.

You gawk at the structure of the building as you step under its shade, the frown and furrow between your brows deepening. It was dark—especially with much of the moon obscured by heavy rain clouds—but you could make some sense of your surroundings. “This is a shrine,” you tell him, matter-of-factly, staying put where you were.

Hoseok stifles a chuckle. “And?”

A frantic trace of panic besets your face at his lack of concern. “We may offend the deity that reigns over this place,” you scold him, crossing your arms across your chest.

This refusal comes across as puzzling for him. He supposed all mortals are devoted in some sense of respect and fear for the gods, but you were walking too carefully on eggshells—driven mostly in fear. Have you or your family offended a god before?

Hoseok doesn't linger on the thought any longer, giving you an assuring smile instead. “It’ll be alright,” he tells you, “Trust me.”

It’s my shrine after all.

Still, doubt mars your expression, your mind being too stubborn to give in to his assurances. "We mean no disrespect here, after all," he attempts to reason, "just shelter from the storm, yes?"

You give it a few seconds, eventually nodding timidly. "Right," you say, almost as if you were still trying to convince yourself that this won't incur divine wrath. You shed the cloak from your shoulders as you take your first steps to follow him into the shrine.

Inside, a few torches persevered, showing a myriad of offerings laid out on an altar. Something else, however, draws Hoseok's attention elsewhere. Prayers and offerings to gods in a shrine were obvious, of course, but one of those in the altar held a prayer stronger than the others.

The young god turned his focus into hearing whatever words were left by whoever made them. Multiple voices echo through his head…

Lord Dionysus, we thank you and this island for becoming a brief respite for our weary travels. As told, to you, we leave a maiden of fair beauty and heart. May she make wonderful company.

His eyes widened, coming to a stop. A maiden? Who—

“Are you a follower?” you ask him out of the blue, having noted his ease in navigating through the premises. “Whose shrine is this?”

Hoseok, knocked out of his stupor, was startled for a moment, looking back at you as you continued to take in your environment. Nonetheless, once he gets a hold of himself, he doesn't answer the first of your questions, simply the "who" of it. “Dionysus,” he tells you, watching as a hint of recognition sparks in your eyes.

“The wine god?”

Hearing this, something warm flutters within his chest. Recognition feels quite nice, he thinks, as he doesn't hold back the grin that comes to his lips. “You know of him,” he muses, quite pleased. “Not many do.”

Hoseok hasn't been here in a while, as he isn't one to be too zealous in his duties in the first place, but this shrine is one of the first ever built for him by his followers—proof that he's made some sort of path to the pantheon. Even then, he has a long way to go. He's a wandering new god, not at all embraced by many, when they view wine, frenzy, and pleasure as things that get in the way of the philosophy and intellect that many Greeks praised.

As he takes off his own rain-sodden cloak, you tuck the fur cloak onto your arm and idly look around. “I’ve heard tales from my brothers’ teachers in passing,” you tell him, gazing at the art carved into the wall of a merry feast. “He brought wine to the world, yes?”

A part of him is tempted to swipe the wine from the offerings and chug it, but decides against it, lest it sends you in a panic over discourtesy to the gods and whatnot. “Mhm,” he instead happily hums, “a marvellous invention, isn’t it?”

My magnum opus.

Fiddling with the fabric of your dress, you purse your lips together at the thought of the wine this stranger seems to be so proud of. You’re not quite sure of how to respond to him. On one hand, you have lived to understand the perils of losing oneself to wine—how they can turn the angry, angrier and the sensible, nonsensical. On the contraire, the notion of losing yourself to wine and forgetting all else tempts you. “I haven’t tasted much of it,” you simply go on to say, “but I suppose it is.”

At this, Hoseok whips his head towards you. “You suppose?” he repeats, eyes starting to glint at the prospect of challenge. “Please do remind me to bring you all the wine in the world to taste.”

You lightly scoff at his musings. “Well it’s certainly not appropriate to do so now,” you gesture to the rain outside and the state of you both. “We’ll wake up with a fever otherwise.”

Those words take a few seconds to register in the man’s head. “Oh, right,” Hoseok quips, fiddling with his ear as he thinks to himself. I forgot about that. Humans and their fickle bodies.

Looking around his shrine for something that could be a change of clothes for you, he soon returns to you with a colorful fabric. “It's not the most fashionable," he chuckles, "but it’s the best I could find."

The gesture seems to have taken you aback. "Oh—You didn't have t—" the words were a scrambled mess on your lips, but ultimately ended with, "Thank you."

Hoseok gingerly places the fabric into your hands, his own brushing against your skin. Her hands are cold. "Most welcome," he hums thoughtfully, “I will leave you to change then, yes?”

With the chill in the air, Hoseok had deemed it good to light a small fire to bring some warmth inside for you as you change. Though raised by satyrs in the wilderness, foraging, unfortunately, truly wasn't his strongest suit—this he knew well as he had struggled to find some decent kindling for the both of you.

Eventually, he had managed to come back to the shrine with the wood, and some fruits for the two of you to nibble on. The fire was born from one of the torches still lit. It crackles before you both, very much alive since he had imbued it with his power to not perish so easily.

Between the both of you was silence, a little bit more comfortable than before—one you, surprisingly, break.

“Why did you come back for me?”

Hoseok stops chewing on a wild berry midway, brows rising for a moment when the sound of your soft voice takes him aback. “Come again?”

Deep in thought, it takes you a while to turn to him, brows furrowed with genuine confusion. “We’re strangers to one another,” you tell him, “and yet you would come for me in the midst of a storm and help me find shelter…”

You ask him the summary of all the inquiries in your head. “Why help me?”

Truthfully, Hoseok doesn’t have an answer to that himself. It had been a spontaneous feat, taking you back to your tent, but something in him told him to take it a step further—to tuck you in with his fur cloak, to fetch you something to eat, and to call upon his half-brother for a favor to tend to your wounds.

When the rain began, he had pushed back the thought of coming to check on you, telling himself that you could’ve found yourself shelter already—that you’d be fine on your own—and yet, here he was.

A shrug of his shoulders was all he could do. “I suppose…” he murmurs, mulling over his words. “You reminded me of myself, in some way or another…”

When Hoseok was born yet another bastard of Zeus, he lived most of his life in the wilderness, constantly having to flee from the wrath of Hera and other such threats to his life. Even before he had discovered his divine potential, he wasn’t quite welcomed in either Earth nor Olympus.

Lost and helpless—that’s what you two are.

“Why not help?” he simply muses in some sense of kindred.

It felt foreign for him to participate in such soft conversation. He had been so used to nonsensical, slurred discussions that lead to nowhere, or recklessly screaming to song and dance alike.

The silence that follows makes him—a god—squirm as you stare into the fire, lost somewhere in your head. You made no rebuttal against his statement, which only makes him even more antsy.

In spite of his impatience, however, he could tell you were hesitating to speak of something, and so, he lets you simmer in your thoughts just a bit more. It takes another moment of silence before you break it yet again. “I committed treason by helping someone escape with their people. I fled with them,” you confess, voice shaking, “but they all left me while I was sleeping.”

His brows knit together, envisioning the gist of the events that had taken place. Though he had spent most of yesterday in a drunken haze, he had heard the nymphs talk of a group of travellers in passing through the—

Wait a minute.

The prayer earlier rings in his head, and he soon gawks at you, who continues to gaze into the fire in solitude. You can't possibly be the maiden, right?

Well, you are of fair beauty, but no, no, no. If you were, surely you would've been left in better conditions.

Either way, Hoseok thinks betrayal is such an ugly thing that neither god nor mortal likes the notion of. He knows not what led you to commit treason, but to have forsaken your people to join others, only to have them forsake you is a terrible thing. “What a load of bastards,” he abhors, before partly jesting. “Shall we ask the gods that their ship sinks?”

A light scoff leaves your lips as you shake your head at him. Hoseok watches as you say nothing more of the tale, and he knew it well not to pry any longer.

The wine god finds it astonishing how similar yet different the two of you are. Both cast aside in some way or another, and yet the two of you walk different paths. While he ventures recklessly, you tread the same, paved path you’ve ever known, too scared to break away lest you get your heart broken again.

You should learn to let go every once in a while.

“My name is (Y/N)...” you tell him, knocking him out of his little reverie. Your voice was quiet and hesitant, but you still willed yourself to look at him properly, eyes carrying sheepish guilt. “I apologize if I was rude to you.”

Hoseok couldn’t help the smile on his face as he realized that he had earned enough of your trust to know your name. “Glad to finally put a name to a face,” he muses, “and, rest assured, I hadn’t taken any offense, at all.”

A soft, grateful smile blooms on your lips, illuminated beautifully by the golden glow of the fire. This hint of happiness instantly makes Hoseok wonder what pure bliss would look like for you. He hardly holds back his mischief, as he tilts his head with a teasing grin.

“Does this mean to say we’ve become friends?”

At this, you roll your eyes. (But you smile all the same.)

START. | ▷ 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽

𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽: @dreamamubarak @unknownwalkingobject @park-jimin-isnt-real

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