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pascalsbby · 8 months

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The Devil & His Brother

Joel x Tommy x You

Prologue / Part I : 6.4K / Part II

Summary: The Devil was begging you to forgive him, and you wanted to. You wanted to bring your palms together and whisper his name through the cracks, hoping he would hear your silent prayer. “Let me stay here, with you.” He would get down on his knees and pray to your altar. He would bless it first, kiss it clean, before he would send two fingers to spread open your love.

Warnings: 18+ mdni, eventual smut. enemies to lovers, slow-burn, angst/comfort/sex, age gap, power imbalance, possessive tendencies, drugs/pills/alcohol, major daddy issues (that’s why you need BOTH miller brother’s instead of 1). talk of death, shit-talking god & the devil himself.

This was a labor of love, please comment, reblog, & let me know what you think <3

I will take a crowbar and pry out the broken pieces of God in me.

- Anne Carson

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Your soul was given to another man before you had even yearned for the rage to scratch it back yourself- have a choice in the matter of your own eternity. Two eyes looking down upon you, gazing into the depth of your skull. Where the fuck was he, when his children were screaming on their knees for his forgiveness, for whatever they had done to deserve this?

You couldn’t remember your own baptism- despite seeing countless bodies pushed underwater, coming back anew. Later in life, not coming back up at all. Drowning sinfully sin-less. You were thankful now, that the hard stuff was done when you weren’t old enough to know it- or deny it. You wouldn’t have washed yourself clean for him, drown for him, now.

You were angry at him- you had every right to be. You were utterly alone in a world that was trying to devour you whole by sinking one tooth into any part of your tender flesh. Your eternal soul was saved (given) to a hand in the sky before you even knew what a God was, what he was capable of, what he would allow, and you had suffered for it during life. But now, when it mattered most, you didn’t have to do a goddamn thing but lay here and die. Yet he wasn’t doing his part. What a fucking surprise.

He never came like all the people said he would, like the Bible said. There was no reckoning. Even he was too scared of what he created.

“I ain’t no God, sweetheart.” The sound reverberated through his throat in a sickly Southern accent. He might as well have been. His thick arms were the ones holding you, warming you against the soft flannel. You haven’t been touched by another human in a long time, and the veins running through his arms were suddenly whispering love stories into your own running blood. His hands were so big.

They refused your pleas. “Please, if you don’t do it just hand me the gun.” Always met with a thickly harsh, “don’t think so,” from the one who shot you. The younger one is somehow quieter than the first. You had been full of anger for years, but it didn't seem as heavy as it normally would, despite barking, “You already tried once and failed, let me do it myself then.” He looked at you, surprised that you wasted your breath in such a manner, it had barely come out of the back of your throat to begin with. He huffed a laugh as he turned his head back to his brother before looking straight into the dark night again, focusing on something that wasn't even there. Focusing on anything that wasn’t you.

You were used to men not following through. Your father was the ‘savior’ (born-again post-outbreak pastor)(liar) of a small group, all now a couple of feet underground, frozen in the decomposing water of themselves- and whoever was lucky enough to be thrown in the dug-up hole on top of them. Baptized over and over as the ground warmed in the spring and froze again in the winter. Perpetually drowning until they become what they were trying to escape all along- food for the earth to devour.

We didn’t burn them, because that would have given us away, invited anyone near to pluck the last of us out, but fire would have been easier. But we don’t do easy, not here. We gather whoever is responsible for your already rotting body and make them throw you into the ground, all in the name of God. You had written a lot into your leather-bound notebook, at first not wanting to fill the pages, because once the paper was gone, there was nowhere else to rip the thoughts out of your head, let them bleed through the pages. You read that specific entry over and over, having memorized it by now, making crinkles in the dusty pages from how many times you turned back to it and prayed to a God that wasn’t there to save them- you.

He was never planning on it.

Your journal was the same color as the Devil’s eyes, darkened honey-brown, alive. You didn’t have many places to look whenever you did have enough spite in you to open your own, body swaying from side to side on a horse that wasn’t yours, in a man's lap that you didn’t know. He looked pretty, even from below, even more so leaning his chin downwards towards your face and gazing up your body. I guess anything safe looks heavenly amidst fire.

Why would they do that? Kill you and then take you along for the ride. They hadn't spoken much for however many days you had been dying, watching as the sun kissed the sky goodnight and welcomed the moon, at least three times. Maybe you were bait for something even bigger- a young woman goes a long way these days. Always has, really.

You had always harbored a deep fear of death. It wasn't exactly the physical suffering that frightened you, but rather the haunting notion of losing loved ones. The consequences of deviating from the life path thrown on you by your parents. There was always this looming presence of the ‘evil’. The Devil… Lucifer, Satan, whatever moniker you choose. In the narrative your parents scripted for you, he was cast as the villain. It was all too funny now, his thighs warming your skin, setting you ablaze.

Lucifer was a beautiful, Southern gentleman- one who spoke quickly and stern. And God sat right next to him, mouth shut, waiting for command. You were so tired of following orders from men but suddenly it’s as if you’ve known all along that his gaze would be the one you melted under. Sludge. Burning flesh. Maybe there was no God. Sure, the other man who sat next to him looked like one, but so does this one. He was an idea, the fear instilled in you, your parents' guilt. But you knew evil more than you knew true good, and the Devil was below you, only cementing that truth further. He was keeping you right here, draped across his lap, and despite your dying, he still caught glimpses of your naked flesh. And you didn’t know if it was eyes burning into you, or the gunshot wound he had so nicely gifted you. You almost wanted to thank him, if that’s what it took for him to wrap himself around you.

Romans 6:4 hung on a carved board in your parent's room after the first wave of death. After your father decided that the group needed someone to lead them, and that your mother wasn’t it, she sat back happily and carved words into worn wood. You had felt safe there, sixteen and under the guise of whatever your parents told you. Young, naive, pure.

‘We were therefore buried with him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life. We’re now dead to the power of sin. Being raised from the water.’ It later hung in the main room of a run-down grocery store turned Church. The church itself was down the street, the rotten door holding in rotten bodies from whoever had come before. Maybe they had sat and awaited the way you all did at first, waiting for their savior. He never rang the doorbell, never knocked. He had just walked right on by, whistling his hymns and being grateful he was above it all.

A new life? If Jesus died for our sins, wouldn’t he be upset with you right now? Laying on your… death horse…. And still not bruising your knees for him? Why can’t he be angry enough to let you slip out of line and take the easier way? I guess suffering wasn’t his go-to, at least outwardly. Fear was more his thing, and fear would eat you alive and cement your veins before true sin ever could. Guilt is what gnaws at your ankles, whispering poetry into your hair. Fear had passed. Anger had too, momentarily. Rage was a common home.

He should have taken you by now, held your hand and kissed your forehead goodnight. But you knew that he wasn’t coming. He never came for your parents either, nor your brother. You waited each time by their bodies, but he never called, never even picked up the goddamn phone.

He promised resurrection to people who needed something to hang on to. Promises made to be broken. God was more comfortable than death. You repeated it over and over as a prayer to those who had lost someone. We all have. Your dads own voice booming through the quiet. Now, you are losing yourself.

But really, there was no more you, not really. Maybe the horse knew too, bucked you off, and laughed as you felt the thud of the ground under your shoulder blades, because suddenly there was no air left in the entire dwindling world. The snow that was kicked up into your face from the weight of your body wasn’t melting as it would have before. You were cold. There was no world. There was just endless pain before a bout of relief. Not even enough to fill your lungs in one breath in or out. Even the horse knew you were dead weight. Every animal fighting for its survival. That’s why you were shot, too.

You scared the Devil and he took it upon himself to punish you.

At least that’s what you convince yourself as you lay dying on the cold, unforgiving ground, the weight of your pain bore down on your frail body- words trying to come out in shallow gasps. He wasn’t coming.

“Please,” you begged.

You heard shuffling, and then a shadow covered the setting moon above you. The all-to-familiar sound of his boots gaining on your still body. You could still smell him, had been able to this entire time you had been on his horse, in his lap. You could feel the pressure of his fingers rapidly squeezing your cheeks, feeling for blood flow, then the burning of his fingers on your neck, looking for signs of life amidst the dark night. Finally, he was touching you again. Maybe now he would kill you, too. His final gift.

“Fuck,” he hissed. That muttered obscenity made you feel more alive. “Get the fuckin’ horse away from her Tommy.” You heard the reins of the animal you were sat upon being pulled, and the hooves cascading further into the night. He returned to you, the coolness of his rings stung against your face, the cool air keeping them cold despite the warmth of his body. The bullseye tattoo, the only indication of who was touching you besides his smell. You had seen it multiple times throughout the rising and falling of the sun. It had cupped your body against his. He holds your face, as he leans into you, bullseye sitting right beneath your chin.

Throw a dart and it would hit you right in the throat- where you wanted him. Where you wanted him to breathe life into you again.

“Please. Help me go home.” Home hasn’t existed in years. You’d been unconscious for days.

“Shhh. No point in talkin' baby. Hurts too much. We’re goin’ home.” You looked up at him and despite the hardness of his exterior, you saw the understanding in his eyes. Just as quickly as it appeared, it disappeared back into his skull.

Almost how a lighter ignites, flickers, warms, almost unbearable but not quite. The wind blows the fire to your fingers, stings, then disappears. As did his burning gaze. The feeling of putting out a cigarette as it shoves its last bit of self out into the world, smoke followed by nothing, simultaneously.

That was him, you would come to find out, as his silhouette and his own warmth flees from your touch. As the brown from his eyes turns to black as your own close. He sighs.

The snow crunches under his weight as he assesses how to pick you back up.

“And you ain’t goin’ anywhere but where I take you. Got it?” A half-attempted nod before a sigh of pain.

You didn’t know where you were going- why, you were still alive… or whatever this in-between was. All you know is that you prayed to the Devil. And he answered.

He was the only one who ever answered.

The return to Jackson was painful, the remnants of a long-ago shattered world marred the landscape. As they neared home, the journey became colder, perhaps another reason why it remained a well-hidden place- not many people made it there alive. Joel and Tommy, ever vigilant, guided the two horses with unwavering resolve, constantly scanning the horizon for any indications of danger. Meanwhile, they carried the injured girl, whose body was only partially present after being thrown from the horse three days ago, blankets thrown atop. It had been five days since she was shot. Since Joel shot her.

The way you looked up at him every once in a while was breathtaking- it was too much of a painful reminder that he’d lost (or will lose) everything he’s ever cared about. He could see it in your eyes, the confusion of who and where you were. Watching life move through someone's body and out of their eyes used to be a victorious occasion. It meant he succeeded, that he was still alive regardless of the mangled bodies he left behind. But this felt different to him. You were so godamn young and he plays the scream ripping through your throat over and over an- he swears he didn’t pull the trigger. Joel's gruff voice broke through the haze of silence that had fallen upon them days ago and never left. He broke through his own circling thoughts. As he spoke to Tommy a mixture of concern and guilt for your being broke through, he felt it in his throat, his chest. He didn't want to be responsible for this death, but he sure as hell didn’t want to know you either. Because knowing someone only meant more pain.

“We've been carryin’ her for days, Tommy. How much longer can she hold on like this? No point in bringin’ a dead girl home.”

Denial was a motherfucker, wasn’t it?

Joel knew of death- he didn’t believe in shit besides such. He used to be a God-fearing man but knew if he ever had the chance to stand in front of him he’d rip him in two and gnaw on the pieces of his holiness.

Tommy knew of death too, even before the outbreak, but the difference was that he also believed in life. He knew exactly why Joel had that scar, even though they’d never talked about it. It was a quiet understanding, one he never pushed or even poked and prodded.

Tommy's response was laced with a fear, for what Joel had done, but empathy for what he knows he sees every single time he looks down upon you. "We're almost there, Joel. She's tough, you know that. She should have died from that wound but she’s still breathin’, that counts f’something. We'll get her to Jackson, n’ she'll have a chance." He kept looking into his brother's eyes before pulling away and looking ahead into the blinding white. If he said what he really wanted, he wouldn’t stop. “You fuckin’ shot her but now you want to save her? Make up your fuckin’ mind.” The least he could do is help him save someone, even if it’s just for Joel’s sake, especially after he couldn't save Sarah. ‘Least he could do is keep his mouth shut.

Joel was the last person he had- the only person. Ellie didn’t even love him like she loved Joel. It’s always the broken, harsh ones that receive the most attention. People spend so much time trying to put broken people back together that they don’t realize the others are teetering with one foot over the edge.

They’d gone outside the walls because funny enough, they thought it would be more safe this time of year, the dead of winter. Ellie had begged for months for the boys to take her out with them and show her this and that. She was getting homesick for a place she never truly loved. She was tired of sitting still inside walls of safety when everyone she had ever loved was buried outside of them. Tess came along too, providing an extra line of safety, ‘just in case’.

Tommy remembers Joel whispering, “There's somethin’ coming.” More so someone, you. A moment later, a gunshot, a thudding body. Joel was normally calm on the trigger, rifle in hand, looking down the barrel of the gun, aimed at his prey. But Ellie was there, Tommy, and Tess. His people. There was no time to fuck around, so he didn’t. Tommy understood. But that didn’t make it right in his head. His brother was never patient in the moments that mattered the most.

One evening, about ten hours from wherever the fuck they were taking you, the sun began to set, setting ablaze a warm glow over the frozen landscape. You had been awake, more so than the past couple of days, looking up at the moving clouds in the sky, watching as his chest moved and released more air into the sky, breathing visible and dancing in the cold. The horse beneath you abruptly stopped and the two men descended their spots atop of them, stretching their legs and gaining more control of their tired bodies.

“You’re awake,” the younger one let out, moving his focus from the soft mumbles he was giving to the other man. “‘Bout time we clean your wound again, see how it’s doing.” You let out a faint, “mm” and attempted to sit up. “No. We’ll get ya off the horse. Be still,” the other said. The Devil grabbed the water and reached up to you, his fingers moved across your face as he gathered your wandering hair and moved it away from your lips. He turned the canister upwards, slowly, letting you drink from it. “Thank you,” you managed. It was the first time he heard your voice not mangled with absolute fear. He stared, eyes roaming the silence, looking ever-so surprised that you had said anything at all, and so clearly at that.

The angel moved closer and reached out his hand, thinking now was a good time to introduce himself to you. “Tommy, Miller. This is my brother, Joel.” he looked toward him. Joel forced an upside-down grin and nodded his head toward you. “You…” pointing towards the one called Joel, “you shot me.” Silence followed, it was heavy, thick. “I didn- Thought you were dangerous, came around that corner too fast.”

“I wasn’t even armed, I-“

“Don’t wanna talk bout’ it.” he huffed, almost angrily. You opened your mouth again, wanting to rattle off one of three hundred questions that you had, but he looked you over once more, and then turned around and walked off. Tommy, with gentle hands, tenderly lifted your body off of the saddle and carried you towards the fire Joel was nursing. The crackling of a campfire and the scent of cooked food filled the air as they set to work, tending to your wounds with diligence that spoke to Tommy's belief that you would be okay (You had to be. He couldn’t fail Joel again. Couldn’t watch as his face fell with the realization that you were completely dead).

His fingers were deft as he cleaned your wounds, his touch sending shivers down your spine. He saw the goosebumps rise, and felt them, as the fire lit your skin. You caught glimpses of concern in his eyes, a silent reassurance that he was determined to see you through this. Joel's presence was a constant anchor, as he spoke into the fire, keeping it lit. They laid out blankets, far too many for just two people to be carrying alone, and sat you atop and below them.

The rest of the night had been filled with your echoing screams, Joel’s palm across your mouth, “Stop screamin’ or someone is gonna find us.” Sure, stop screaming while dirty, whiskey-cleaned fingers are prodding at your open wound. Not even a sorry moved past his lips.

Joel laid down on one side of you, Tommy on the other. “M’ sorry,” he whispered towards you. They both smelled of sweat and whiskey. Their chests rolled and fell at different times, Joel murmuring in his sleep once he finally stopped looking around the parameter. You could tell they were brothers.

It was night when the three of you arrived ‘home’. You heard a young girl's voice above the gathering crowd.

“Joel!” She parted the gathering crowd as the patter of quickening footsteps approached. His head whipped quickly, finding her immediately.

“What the fuck?”

“Ellie,” he warned.

“You can’t fucking do that Joel, I thought you…We made it home three days ago. Tess dragged me by my hair but I-”

“Good,” he huffed back, “Where is she?” Ellie blustered but gave up arguing.

Multiple men gathered around and took the blankets off your body, the air hissing through your torn clothes. You whimpered as they moved your body off of Joel’s horse. He didn’t say anything to you, instead he turned and followed Ellie out of the crowd, carrying the reins with him.

You were carefully carried to a bigger two-story home on the outskirts of the city. As the night turned towards the morning sun, you found yourself gaining strength. The length of the night had been blurry, chattering voices and hands, everywhere. Needles, bliss, whispers. Stripping you from the blood-ridden clothes and water pouring over your lips. Fingers, hands touching you, always caught in a delicate dance between stoic tenderness and warmth

‘Gonna be jus’ fine, baby.” Tommy had assured you, multiple times.

Suddenly it had been a week. They took turns caring for you, someone sleeping in the same room as you at all times in case you needed something. Always talking about “patrol shifts” and how Tommy was expected to be a leader of some sort. You had overheard a lot of conversations booming through the thin walls of the house. One hurting more than the others.

“Shouldn’t have fuckin’ brought her here in the first place. You know the whole town is gossipin’ about it right now. The Miller brothers bringing in another mouth to feed.”

“Stop it. Sh’can hear you Joel. You know that’s not how anyone thinks of it. She could help this place. Give her a chance.”

“She’s been practically fuckin’ unconscious for a week now, Tommy. You think she’s just gonna get right up n’ run the town?”

“Why did you take her in if you don’t even want to be responsible for her survival?” Tommy threw back at him. He regretted saying it immediately, watching as it hit Joel in the face before he closed his eyes and looked away. Joel was more so there to watch you and make sure you didn’t bleed into his wooden floor, while Tommy tried to provide as much comfort as possible. After realizing that this was Joel’s home, it made sense in what little you knew about him. There were few things on the wall, but there were remnants of him everywhere.

Ellie would come home and sit with you, read to you and then tuck you in after Joel carried you up the stairs and into his bed. You missed Tommy’s gentleness when it wasn’t there, but you missed the warmth from Joel's body, his lap, when he wasn’t there. His breathing, his nervous habit of cracking his fingers. Even though you could tell that every nerve ending in his body wanted you anywhere else but wherever he was- there was still a silent curiosity.

About a week and a half after your arrival, someone knocked on the front door of the tattered house and Joel called for Tommy up the stairs. He walked down them quickly, walking out of the front door with Joel.

He returned a few minutes later, looking at you sitting in the seat you hadn’t left in since you’d been there. He gave you a look, slowly looking towards the ground as he spoke up so you could hear him. “Gotta go for a couple of days. Heard there’s a group who probably followed us close to here, saw their smoke, gonna take care of them before they can make it any further.” You hadn’t spoken much, if at all, the past couple of days. You didn’t think you would make it this far, and now you were sitting with two strangers and a teenager in their house, rotting away. They had poked and prodded, trying to get any information out of you that they could, but you didn’t give in.

You stared out the window and answered meekly whenever spoken to, if at all. You should be ecstatic at the thought of finally being housed somewhere ‘safe’, somewhere with electricity and running water. Somewhere where they gathered the children and let them watch movies in the mess hall (all information coming from Tommy, telling you stories as he changed your bandages)- but you weren’t. You felt like you were still teetering on the edge of death. You felt like a burden to Joel.

You didn’t answer Tommy, just nodded. He packed up a few things and promised to ‘be back in no time, then maybe you can tell me your name.’ And then he was gone out of the termite-ridden front door.

You had fallen asleep, and awoken to Joel in another room somewhere, those same goddamn boots thudding against the creaking wooden floors. His presence was constant, every once in a while getting up from a creaking chair to come look at you. You slept, mostly. Ate the dinner he got from the dining hall. Your rage had returned. But baring your teeth in anger took energy you didn’t have.

Joel couldn’t look at you without feeling like he was looking straight through the blood and guts of you(r)(side). Tommy wouldn’t leave him the fuck alone about it before he left. How pretty you were, how there ‘weren’t many pretty faces left n’ you’re tryin’ to kill one?’ He watched as Tommy cooked you with his stare, warming his next meal only to put on his best-dressed suit and bail on the date before he could even pick up the tab. He was glad he was gone for a while, letting him forget about the fact that he had put the bullet in you. He loved his brother, but he knew his games. He knew his inability to stay.

Joel had nursed you back to… alive. At least. He hadn’t really thought about what that entailed after you were stable. He was surprised you were still breathing. He didn’t think about the feeding, changing, and bathing of you. Of hands touching flesh and natural bodily reactions to such.

You could tell he was the older brother. He held the normal stereotypes, sternly telling you what to do. The older one was always more serious, and stoic. The younger, who probably got away with more, but was the loneliest from eyes diverting. But his big brother was always there, begrudgingly present. And he was in this instance too.

Tommy had washed you multiple times before he left, but never your hair or the rest of you. He was more concerned that your stitches didn’t get infected.

Joel probably thought giving you a rag bath was wasting water, but did it anyway, probably tired of your stench in his bed. It’s cold until he heats the towel after noticing you shiver. “Let me draw you an actual bath. Think you can take one now.” He was softer at that moment, more gently with the way he wiped the towel across your chest. Those moments happened least expectedly. But when they did happen, it hurt even deeper. You felt something for him. And that just wouldn’t do. Rather it be lust, loneliness, or your raging fucking daddy issues.

Tommy likes the water cold, and Joel likes it burning to the skin. Of course, he does. He is all or nothing. Hot or cold. Soft or hard. He’s solitude but brings the same warmth of a front door opening to a sea of snow, chimney warm, lights warmer, hot chocolate, and bourbon- he is. In any other world but this one, he would probably be a good man; one to settle down with. One to hold you against himself, despite of raging night.

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a/n: Phew do I have plans for these three…

taglist: @worhols @sarap-77 @mishasminion360 @justagalwhowrites @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @romanarose @milla-frenchy @bandluvr97 @alwaysdjarin @basicoccult @hellfyreroz @northernbluess-blog @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @pr0ximamidnight @bambydxll @morgaussy @n7cje @theywhowriteandknowthings @gracie7209 @pedritoferg @twirl731 @med494 @k-ra @gintheginger @obscurexsorrows @cool-iguana @livingdeadmaria @ours-is-a-strange-fate @megangovier20 @rayslittlekitten @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrotonin @bluetattoos @sscorpiiio

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phantomspiderr · 1 year

Text

New Year

Pairing: Marc Spector x gn!reader

Word Count: 2.5k+

Summary: Layla invites you to her New Year's Eve party where you get the chance to meet her ex-husband

Warnings/Tags: mentions of drinking and partying, kind of want drunk Layla around now, Marc maybe being just a little creepy, he really doesn't know how to act around people sometimes, fireworks are mentioned too, again no real mentions of readers appearance or gender(I tried to use they/them so it's a little more neutral), Steven gets a lil mention, a little swearing too. As always if I've missed anything please let me know!

a/n: Thank you, thank you all so so so much for making this year better. If you're a casual follower of my very infrequent posting or this is the first time you've come across my work, I thank you. Being able to express myself in this way has been freeing, and stressful but I'm glad I could bring any amount of joy to even one person. Thank you for every like and every reblog and every comment. I wish you all the best for this new year, may it come with happiness and joy and hopefully more really good fanfiction to read. Sending you all a little bit of love🤍

･☆: *.☽ .* :☆

Music blares throughout the flat as you weave around the people littered through the hallway. Parties definitely aren’t your favourite place to be but for your friend, you’d do anything she asked, plus it’s New Year's Eve so you thought why not. You may not have recognised a single person since you’d arrived but this is fun, this is what you’re supposed to do at your age right? Before you have any more time to fret a squeal sounds from behind you, your name quickly following, “you came!” When you turn Layla is quickly coming towards you with her arms wide open, a few people looking in your direction now because of the noise. You only manage to squeak out a hi before you’re encompassed by Layla, her arms tight around your shoulders, the force of her body against yours knocking the wind out of you. She pulls back only a little to cup your face in her hands, “I’m really glad you’re here.” You can tell by the tint of red on her cheeks she’s already a few drinks down which apparently makes her a bit more affectionate.

“Layla!” A small group of people enters the room immediately drawing the attention of the beautiful host to them, her hands dropping down to yours and she squeals again. Quickly turning back to you for just a moment, “I’ll come find you later! Have fun! Enjoy!” And just like that, she’s off running to greet more of her friends.

You wander around the decently sized flat for a while after that, finding a drink in the makeshift bar set up in the kitchen along the way, briefly chatting to a few people around, and then of course you find yourself a quiet corner. Looking amongst shelves filled with treasures and memories of Layla’s many adventures, she’d told you stories over casual lunches, even invited you on her next one. Still, even after being friends for very nearly a year, there’s still so much mystery that follows her everywhere she goes. You eventually come across a picture of someone you recognise, Layla’s father, the one person she was more than fond of talking about. She’d told you many, many tales about her father, about all the places he’d been, the things he’d discovered, and about how she wanted to be just like him. You admire the picture in its intricate gold frame, a small pendant hangs on a chain over the top of the frame, something you’re sure is a treasured possession. Your hand moves upward, fingers extending to the pendant just to get a better look at it-

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” your hand retreats to your chest so quickly you almost knock the drink out of your other hand. The person who spoke much too close for your liking, and then the chuckle that follows your gasp is short-lived as you turn to the source of the warning. You’re met with an incredibly good-looking man, his hair loosely slicked back and an amused smirk gracing his really handsome features. If he hadn’t just creepily snuck up on you you’d maybe be interested in talking to him and your expression clearly shows that when you turn back around in hopes he’ll just disappear. He doesn’t. “Sorry, it’s just that she’d be devastated if that went missing.”

“I wasn’t going to steal it.” You snap a little too harshly but then again you think he’s insinuating you’d steal from your friend. You’re increasingly becoming more frustrated the longer he stands over your shoulder, his presence is too much for you.

“I didn’t say you were. I’ve met a lot of thieves, you’re definitely not built for that.” You’re annoyed now, scowling at this complete stranger when you turn back around.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Just as the man opens his mouth to reply Layla appears again, her arm hooking around your waist to pull you closer and your face instantly changes, smiling at your ever-so-happy friend. Your own arm wrapping around her, glad for the interruption, she scrunches her nose as you exchange cute little hi’s.

“Are you having fun?” The people pleaser in you manages to get out an 'mhmm' and force a fake smile, not that Layla would notice right now. You’ve only seen her in this state maybe a handful of times, she’s less observant and much more carefree. Your eyes flicker back to the stranger still lurking across from you, Layla only now registering his presence, “ahh Marc! You met Marc!”

Marc? That’s Marc?!

Layla had told you all about Marc and even tried to set you up with her ex-husband. What kind of friend tries to set you up with their ex-husband? That is exactly what you’d said to her before changing the subject, every time she tried to bring it up. You’d somehow managed to miss every opportunity to meet most of Layla’s other friends, lots of them living in different countries and only coming to visit for short periods of time but you knew Marc had lived here and you’d personally avoided trying to meet him, not wanting to make things awkward. You knew Layla’s type for partners, they were all extremely good-looking and in your opinion way out of your league and you just didn't feel like having another unrequited crush.

“This is the husband?!” You finally manage to get out with confusion etching your features as you look between the pair.

“Ex! Ex-husband!” Marc is a little too quick to correct. You’re sure you hear a ‘smooth’ and when you look at Layla she’s grinning. Marc only gives her a grumpy look before quickly excusing himself from the conversation.

“Soooooooo,” Layla draws out as she turns to face you, her hands slipping into your free one, “what did you think?”

“Of Marc?” Your face scrunches, to which Layla just scoffs, “you didn’t tell me he was a creep.” She scoffs again, this time giggling a little.

Layla leans in as if to whisper, she even has the audacity to lift her hand to the side of her mouth but the alcohol in her system inhibits her from being able to lower her volume, “he’s just nervous to be around you. He gets weird like that around people he likes!”

“Excuse me?!” You go wide-eyed, did you hear her right? But of course, before she gets a chance to reply someone calls her name, and her head whips around, your conversation was completely forgotten to her now.

“Oh, come on they're playing beer pong!” Layla tugs at your hand, a disappointed pout appearing when you shake your head and begin to decline, “please, please, please.” She begs in the way she knows you can’t say no to and so you let her drag you toward the kitchen, still thinking about the short conversation you'd just had.

It’s almost midnight when you stumble out of the kitchen, many games of beer pong down and an even drunker Layla staying behind to do shots. Drunk Layla has exactly no inhibitions and is definitely more affectionate than normal Layla. Now you’re in need of some fresh air, all of the laughter and closeness in the kitchen is proving a bit much for you. Luckily you can see no one has made it out to the little makeshift balcony so you awkwardly climb through the window. Once outside you feel like you’re able to breathe again, you truly hadn’t realised how stuffy it had been inside. You manage to take in a deep breath before the cold hits you hard, and your body immediately reacts. Your arms wrap around your body, hands rubbing along the tops of your arms to create some warmth.

“It's cold out.” You jump again at unexpectedly hearing Marc’s voice, turning on your heels thinking he’s behind you only for no one to be there. “Up here,” you look up to the side when he talks again, there he is perched on top of an old chimney, giving you a shy wave.

“You know you have the whole creepy stalker thing down,” you speak half-heartedly but still he chuckles.

“Hey, you came to me this time.” He raises his eyebrow and shrugs his shoulders.

“You are the one sitting alone like some bird on the rooftop,” your arms fold over your chest now and Marc mumbles something you don’t quite hear before he effortlessly slides off of the chimney and casually walks down the slight incline of the roof like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“I’m not really one for parties,” you watch as he shrugs off his thin jacket, leaving him in just a t-shirt and you wonder how he isn’t freezing out here and why he's even taking his jacket off, to begin with. “Y’know it’s December, you really shouldn’t go out without a jacket,” he holds the material out to you which your confusion-clouded brain takes. Then he turns away to lean his elbows down on the balcony railing, looking out onto the lively streets of London. You feel yourself soften a little, maybe you were a bit quick to judge him and brand him a creep.

“Me too,” you pull the jacket on and join him next to the railing, watching people in nearby streets celebrating.

“So, how come you’re here?” Marc twists his head to the side so he can just look at you.

“Layla,” Marc hums in agreement, “said she’d disown me if I didn’t.” That makes Marc laugh which turns out to be a pleasant sound when you don’t think he’s trying to be some kind of perv.

“Sounds like something she’d do.”

“She didn’t actually say that, it was more like,” you think for a second, preparing yourself for your best Layla impression “‘please you always miss my parties, I want everyone to meet you!’” Your hands had somehow gripped onto his bicep in the process, exactly how you remembered the conversation with Layla going.

It all makes Marc laugh again, “that sounded nothing like her!”

“Eh, close enough,” you lean your elbows against the railing, mirroring Marc’s stance now. The balcony is so small that you have no choice but to stand a little too close to him. There’s a little pause, Marc’s laughter dying out but the sound of the party still flowing through the window. “So, how come you’re here?” You nudge your shoulder against his arm to draw his attention.

“Uh, something similar.” Suddenly he’s acting a little hostile, his body goes more rigid and his expression hardens a little. Then there’s an awkward silence and you just try to focus on some passersby on the street below. “She was a bit more like ‘please! I want you there and you need to leave the house. Plus I know you want to meet a certain person and I promise to make sure they’re there!’” You lock eyes together for a quiet moment before both bursting into laughter.

“That was terrible!” You choke out between laughs and before Marc has time to reply, loud calls draw your attention away. Everyone inside seems to have crowded around all facing the tv and all shouting along with the countdown appearing on the screen.

“Hey look out right over there, between that gap in the buildings.” Marc points out off to the side, stealing your attention back and you look hard for what he’s trying to point out. You can only see the hue of light coming from buildings and street lamps, nothing else.

“There’s nothing-“

“Just wait,” you look at him confused for a moment but his eyes are transfixed on the horizon and you can just hear him whispering along with the loud countdown coming from inside.

3…2…1…

The sky explodes into colour in front of your very eyes. Fireworks light up the night sky, far enough away that the bangs aren’t too loud but the view is still spectacular. You can hear cheers all around, from inside Layla’s flat to the pubs down the street. Marc’s face glows with the colours in the sky and he’s smiling while he watches the fireworks. He almost looks childlike like this, like he’s never experienced it before and he’s captivating.

“Happy New Year then.” Marc straightens suddenly, catching you completely off guard, almost like he’d just snapped back into his body and he just holds his hand out toward you. Slowly you raise your own hand into his, replying with a simple, “happy new year.” You both shake hands, probably the weirdest way someone has ever wished you a happy new year.

“Oh come on!” You both turn to see Layla on the other side of the window, the look on her face one of exasperation, and her eyes lock with Marc’s, “if you don’t kiss them now then I will!” Immediately you snap your head back around to look out at London, trying desperately to hide the flustered look you’re sure is showing on your face right now. Sober Layla definitely isn’t that forward.

Just for a second Marc’s accent changes as he starts spitting out apologises on your friend's behalf, "I-no-we don’t have to-" he pauses for a second as if he’s centering himself, takes a deep breath, and talks in his normal voice again. “I think I’m just going to go sober her up a bit.”

“Yeah good idea,” you try to suppress the laugh at Layla’s disagreement to be sober and the way she runs off to hide as Marc tries and fails to catch her arm before she can disappear. He lets out a big sigh before climbing back in the window, leaving you to your own devices for just a second before his head pops back out the window.

“Don’t- uh, don’t leave yet okay?” His face contorts a little like he doesn’t know what to do with it before he gives you an awkward smile.

“Okay,” you chuckle out, immediately pausing when he smacks his head off of the half-open window, "oh-oh my- are you-"

“‘m fine, it’s fine.” He holds onto the back of his head, eyes shut real tight for just a second and he just awkwardly turns away and back around, lifting his hand almost like to wave before dropping it again, "okay I’m just-" he turns and walks away. You move to stick your head through the window into the flat just to make sure he’s okay and you only just hear him mutter, “for fucks sake Steven.” Steven?

You retreat back out of the window and only then do you realise you’re still wearing his jacket. Quickly you peer back into the flat to try to catch him, “Marc-“ your eyes scan across the room, “and you’re gone.” You sigh before moving away from the window again, surely him asking you not to leave meant he wanted to see you again, or something like that, right?

You pull your focus away from your thoughts, instead looking back out at the night sky. It’s rare to see any stars in the London sky but littered around are little white dots accompanying a beautiful half-moon. Maybe this year wouldn’t be so bad after all.

#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector fanfic #marc spector fic #marc spector #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #moon knight fluff #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marc spector fluff #marc spector fanfiction

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prestonmonterey · 2 months

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intro

!! plz dont send me chain asks !!

(pronouns page is linked on there but also here if you dont wanna look for it:)

ok so uhh basically the gist of it

im preston

uhh for names call me preston or pres or squid or orion or jaxon or actually just whatever you want i dont mind (more on my prounouns page) (if we're friends/moots feel free to gimme a nickname if ya want)

pronouns are it/he/they (the order of preference changes from time to time also neos are alright just anything other than she/her)

fandoms im most active in: varian and the seven kingdoms/tangled the series, camp here and there (will wood too!!), adamandi, the art of pleasing princes, starkid, spies are forever and percy jackson (mostly the musical bc im in a production of it :)

you can always interact with me! apparently im intimidating but i swear im really nice (i think) and id be really happy if you sent an ask at any time :3 i promise i wont get annoyed even if you think youre being annoying i just really like interacting with cool people :3

you can tag me in anything and everything! i promise ill look at it :3 and i try my best to do tag games and stuff (lmk if you dont want me to tag ya) but if i dont uhh, just assume i was like, really tired that day, or ive been tagged by another moot in that game before and im too lazy to dig it up :P sry

uhh im a minor too so like nsfw/18+ blogs dni

i try my best to use tone tags but if i forget and you need them please let me know!! (i also find tone tags helpful for myself) :3

theres more info on my card about like other stuff too

tag key:

#marble musings = original posts

#marble monologues = long posts/reblogs usually about chnt or just like existentialism idk

#marble draws = art/fanart/crafts/cosplay type thing

#marble games = i make games on google forms! hoping to learn to code or get an actual game engine to make full games past like choose your own adventures

#marble music = song covers :3 (yes i have all the filtered instrumentals i used for adamandi, lmk if you want them i can send em over discord or something)

#marble asks = answering stuff in my ask box

i think thats all of them :3 might add more eventually, and sometimes i forget to tag properly so sorry about that :(

i have some sideblogs if you wanna check em out (not super active on them but ill still try to respond if you shoot me an ask)

vent/writing sideblog: @lonelyinkcap (you can interact with my vents i dont really care. i mean. if im talkin about someone please dont fucking go like "but have you considered that theyre going through something" because uhh yes i have and also fuck you stop making my panic attacks worse :P) (if you know me irl. um. you can do whatever ig. i mean i cant exactly stop you. but proceed with caution. some of them might be vagueposts about you. im not gonna fuckin tell ya tho. also if you see anything concerning there. um. no ya dont. and definitely dont bring any of it up in conversation irl.)

hatchetfield rp sideblogs: @thelilcloverpatch @fading-angelic-starlight @marble-man @honey-sparrow @ivy-wreathed-arches and @hatchetfield-bone-thief (not sure why that one isnt properly linking but i swear its there you can search if you want)

#intro

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bearsbeetsbeskar · 11 months

Text

Restoring the Roots (Joel Miller x Therapist! reader)

Chapter 4: Action

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 here | Chapter 3

Pairing: Joel Miller x therapist! reader, post outbreak

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit!”

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

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

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

That warm, slightly raspy, deep baritone voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah. A change of clothes was definitely happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ellie,” he half-heartedly warns her.

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

Damn this kid for calling his bluff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christ.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Save who you can save.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Within his control.

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

Does he want this?

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

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

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

—----------------------------------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gracie, huh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nope. Stop it. Concentrate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Give her a reason to trust you.

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

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

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

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

“Joel? Everything okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

Nope, he doesn’t like it one bit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel inhales sharply.

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

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

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

Yeah he probably deserved that.

Okay. Body language and breath, he reminds himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Think about your breathing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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niffala · 1 year

Text

Love Me Again

Pairing: Jake Jensen & Plus-size OFC (Maisie)

Summary: Jake’s back, but the Loser’s sixth member is still M.I.A.

Warnings: fluff, angst, feels, bad attempt at humor, guns, killings, mention of memory loss, post breakup, enemies to lovers

A/N: This is a sequel to You Loved Me Once. Reader insert version found here. No stealing, no reposts, no translations, no feeding to AIs. Comments, reblogs and likes are always welcome and appreciated.

You Loved Me Once Main Masterlist

Clay’s unit awaited him in a motel parking lot in Adelaide. He secured their post mission rooms and returned keys in hand. "Okay, I got good news and bad news... We can all look forward to hot showers, clean sheets, and a complimentary breakfast. However, there were only three rooms available, so we will have to share.”

The responding groans of protest were expected. “Would you prefer to sleep on the ground for another night? No? So shut your pieholes.” Clay pocketed one of the keycards and set the remaining on the vehicle in front of him. “Aisha will be sharing with me. One room has a king, the other two double beds. Work it out amongst yourselves.”

Wordlessly, Jensen, Cougar and Pooch launched into a game of rock paper scissors. It had been weeks of travel, tents and living on top of one another. The victor cheered, scooping up the keycard to the private room.

“No! Come on, best two out of three.” When his friend shook his head, Jensen changed tactics, “I’ll give you that bitching crossbow I got last op if you switch with me… my watch… a hundred bucks. I’ll even throw in a foot massager, top of the line.”

“No way man. I need a night to myself. The Pooch has earned this.”

Jensen hung his head, accepting defeat. Bunking with his bestie wasn’t so bad, at least there were separate beds. Sharing one with Cougar wasn’t fun, the man was a cover hog. Jake was still grateful Clay reinstated him eight months ago. His teammates were ambivalent about him at first, but eventually everything returned to normal. Well, almost everything.

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

The Loser’s current operation led them to South Australia. They’d been hired by a distraught (and wealthy) father as part of a rescue team. He hadn’t seen nor heard from his daughter, Isla, in two years. She had been kidnapped by an illegal arms dealer who forced her into marriage. All prior attempts to get her back had failed. No amount of negotiation, payment, threats or pleading could sway the nefarious man to return her.

A rendezvous with the rest of the group at their makeshift campsite, plus a thirty minute drive east put the Humvees at the perimeter of the target’s estate. “Alright, you all know the drill,” Clay barked into the comms. “We get our asses in there, extricate the woman, send her back to her daddy, and take down anyone that stands in our way.”

Meanwhile their tech genius had already hacked into the system to disable the security and jam communications. Once the cameras powered down, Pooch floored it, ramming through the gate, the other two vehicles followed close behind.

“Eww... This guy’s got raptors picking at a bunch of bones and sinew on his property, always a good sign. You’d think he'd want to be more inconspicuous.”

Pooch’s face scrunched up at the image, “Pretty sure that's just a dead animal.”

Jake shook his head, pursing his lips in mock disapproval. “There's a lot of places to bury a body in a vineyard, all I’m saying. Keep the place tidy.”

“Thanks for the tip,” Aisha deadpanned.

“What do you call that… carrion, right?”

Clay grumbled from the front, “I'm close to calling it Jensen.”

“Yes, sir. I hear ya loud and clear. Shutting up…” he paused for dramatic effect, “now!”

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

“This whole goddamn thing’s going tits-up!” Clay had thought his team was prepared, ready to engage the moment they entered the property, but the intel their employer provided was crap. The location was more heavily armed than believed. His unit was at a disadvantage despite the extra help. Outmanned and outgunned, a few men were down and one lost within the first ten minutes.

“Well look at the bright side, we're outside enjoying some fresh...” Jensen’s quip went unfinished as he dove for cover. Incoming drones zoomed through the air spraying bullets. They must have been linked to an independent off sight system because the primary and secondary security had been obliterated.

Jake focused the scope of his rifle, aiming at the nearest flying pest. “Here birdie birdie…” ‘Wait. That - that’s.’ Still in disbelief, he shouted, “Guys! Guys, that's one of Maisie’s drones!”

Pooch was skeptical, “How can you be sure?”

“Cause they’re like my step kids. Franny, Freddy, Felix, Frank and Foxy. It’s been painted, but that's Frank,” he insisted before taking off, sprinting toward the assailing device.

Clay eyes widened at the other man’s actions, “Jensen, you realize it's shooting at us! Stand down!” Seeing his order ignored, he screamed at the rest of his group, “Cover his dumb ass.”

Disregarding his boss, Cougar pulled out his cellphone and spoke in hushed tones to the person on the other end.

Aisha grit her teeth at her teammate while continuing to fire at their opponents. “That idiot lost his mind, now our sniper decides to make a phone call mid battle. Are you ordering a pizza?”

“Don't forget the breadsticks,” Pooch chimed in. Laughing at the increasing absurdity of the situation.

Jake removed his helmet and dropped his weapon. Frantically jumping and waving his arms, repeatedly calling out ‘Angel.’ A drone moved in and shot at his feet, before slightly pulling back, continuing to hover above him.

“Understood. Our apologies. Copy that.” Cougar hung up and waited.

The remaining drones collected above Jensen’s head. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. However the moment he dreaded never came. The devices turned and began taking out the guards with quick precision. When only Clay’s men remained, they flew off.

Sticking to the plan, the team continued to the manor. Wary of a possible ambush awaiting beyond the front door, in lieu of breaking it down, Clay instructed Jensen and Cougar to go through the nearest second floor windows, clear the immediate area and let them in.

Cougar nodded, but walked right through the unlocked door instead. To everyone’s shock but his, it was clear. Raising his chin toward the staircase, he proceeded up them.

“Okay, so we're just following him then?”

Clay shrugged, “Good enough for me.” He had the Losers head upstairs, leaving the rest of the group to keep watch at the entrance.

Cougar seemingly knew exactly where to go. Navigating the twists and turns of the large house with ease. Any lingering guards they came across were swiftly handled. Within the master bedroom’s closet, hidden behind sliding shelving they found a 16-point locking, bullet resistant, biometric fingerprint panic room door.

Before Jensen could get his gear out to crack it, Cougar tapped the scanner, confirming it was off. He pulled the heavy door open, immediately shooting the two guards inside as if he was expecting them.

Jensen scratched his head. Not knowing what to make of it. “What is going on?... Are you a T-1000… What's my dog's name?”

Cougar just looked at him and chuckled.

“You laugh, but I'm legitimately concerned.”

Clay took point, announcing his entrance into the room, “Honey, I'm home.”

The occupants sat on a couch, Isla held a crying baby in her arms, wincing from her husband's hand on her thigh, squeezing painfully tight. The baby’s presence gave everyone pause. No one was aware there would be a child involved. There has been one surprise after another today.

“You lost, asshole. Now let them go and come quietly.” Clay slung his rifle over his shoulder and moved toward them, attempting to calmly apprehend the man.

The target pulled out a gun, shoving it into Isla’s side. “Stay where you are.”

“Don't be like that. This doesn't have to get more ugly than it already is.”

Seething, the man turned the gun on Clay, who discharged his sidearm, firing two shots into the arms dealer’s chest before he could blink. The group hurriedly moved Isla and her baby out of the building into one of their vehicles. Assuring the frightened woman that she was safe and going back to her father. Pooch voiced his concern over their lack of carseat.

“Then drive extra carefully.” Clay smiled at the rescuees, “Let's get you both home.”

Riding in the second Humvee, Jake stared down a silent Cougar. He offered no explanation as to why Maisie's drones were on the property or who he had called, but it was pretty easy to connect the dots.

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

Hours later, Isla and her daughter were safely on their way home. At Cougar’s request, and after a stop at the motel for much needed showers, the team waited at a bar in the city. Leaving one chair empty, correctly guessing who they should be expecting.

Jake was a bundle of nerves. The hand gripping his empty glass started to cramp as he watched the door. He wondered if they had Boys II Men on the jukebox to help set the mood. ‘Would that be too presumptuous? She probably moved on by now. Has a new special someone in her life. Somebody else loving her, touching her, making her laugh.’ He wouldn’t blame her. His amnesia may have been temporary, but the damage he caused wasn't.

“You stare at that door any harder and it will burst into flames.” Aisha refilled her teammates' glass, encouraging him to relax and breathe.

“She'll be here soon, won't she? She's still coming, right?”

Maisie took a deep breath before entering the tavern. Her former teammates were easy to spot. Cougar gave her his number when she quit, asking her to keep in touch. It took a few months before she found the strength to do so. Even after learning of her exs' recovery, she couldn't bring herself to return yet. She wanted her Jakey back, but was scared of his rejection. Plus she was on assignment, the timing was off. The weight of this reunion wasn’t lost on her. “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, you losers walk into mine.”

“Well that's unfair, you walked in after us.” Grinning ear to ear, Clay pulled her into a tight hug. “Missed ya, Maise.”

“I had a few things to handle before getting here. So you beat me, but I've been dying to say it." She squeezed Clay tight before facing the rest. "I missed you all too. Sorry about earlier, I didn’t recognize you guys in all that fancy schmancy gear.”

Jake felt unsteady the moment she walked in, his blood roared in his ears. It was really her, his Angel, more gorgeous than ever. He watched her warm greeting with Clay, swallowing a lump in his throat. She was wearing the jacket he bought her. He hoped that was a good sign.

The group stood to welcome and embrace their former member. Jake waited through the exchange of pleasantries for his turn. Longing to throw his arms around his Angel and hold her close. It had been nearly a year since he’d done so. Ten months, three days and seventeen hours since he kissed her goodbye to go on that ill fated mission.

However, he noticed Maisie’s smile falter when their eyes met. Abandoning his desired hug, he forced a smile, awkwardly waved and sat back down.

“Hey Jake.” She crossed her arms, suddenly feeling self-conscious in front of her old love.

As everyone took their seats, Jensen glanced at the entrance then back at his Angel. “So are we um… waiting for anybody else?”

“Like who?”

“No-nobody. Nobody. Just wanted to make sure there was room for everybody. Everybody together again. It’s good to be together.” Jake took a long sip of his beer. His brain screamed with the knowledge that there was no boyfriend in the picture.

Maisie filled them in on her whereabouts since her departure. She’d gotten a job as private security for some rich asshole’s wife. Mostly involved keeping her in and others out. The winery was lovely, but the running of guns and heavier artillery, and the dabbling in human trafficking ruined the ambience. Of course, she knew he was dirty when she accepted the position, so Maisie did all she could to throw wrenches into his operations without being detected. Quietly dispersed his ill gotten gains into several hidden bank accounts, the biggest for Isla. She was helping the wife and baby prepare for a safe and covert escape. Simultaneously gathering evidence against the husband and his associates.

“It was all set to go down in a few days, and you guys just broke in and killed him. All that planning and hard work for nothing.” Maisie shoved Clay’s shoulder.

“Yeah, well it was the quickest way. Can’t argue that.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to let months of work go to complete waste. So I allowed you guys to be the heroes while I tied up some loose ends. That’s why I was late. Had to reroute the latest shipments, funnel the rest of the money to charities, victims and of course, a nice sum for myself. Scrubbed the camera footage and removed any evidence of us or Isla being there. Then I alerted the authorities to handle the rest. They’ll find all they need to take down the whole thing.” She took a deep breath, trilling her lips to exhale. “But I’m still mad at you about it.”

Aisha offered compensation, “I don’t think anyone here will object if you want in on the pallet of wine we rescued."

“Bold of you to assume I didn't take my own,” Maisie laughed.

After a few rounds, the Losers felt they were sufficiently caught up on each others lives. Pooch and Cougar announced they were going to play stripes and solids, inviting Aisha and Clay as their opponents. It was obvious that was an excuse to leave the ex-lovers alone.

Jake wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity. Putting on his most charming smile, he slid over next to Maisie. “G’day mate, fancy meeting you down unda. Maybe I can show you my down unda lata. I promise I'm koala-fied.” He tittered at his themed pickup line, but she didn't react. He desperately wanted to make her laugh. If she laughed, he knew things would be okay.

Trying to shake off the nervousness, he cleared his throat and continued his attempted seduction. “I like your jacket, where’d you get it?” He couldn’t backpedal fast enough seeing the alarmed look on her face. “Joke, really bad joke. Oh my god, I'm sorry. That was… Fuck,” he grimaced.

Maisie remained stiff and unsure. Wanting to give in to his flirting, but waiting for the other shoe to drop. The defeated look on Jake’s face broke her heart, so she attempted to bridge the divide with a safe topic, “How are Stephanie and Hannah?”

“They're good, they're good, um,” he scratched the back of neck, unsure how to proceed. His sister, having seen him at plenty of his worsts, forgave him instantly. His niece took a little bribery, but they were back to their usual shenanigans. “So, uh thanks for clearing the way for us back there, you know, after you shot at me.”

Her mouth dropped open, “Excuse me, I shot near you.”

“Tomato-tomahto.”

Cougar gestured with his eyes over to Jensen and Maisie, knowing he was striking out. Pooch got the hint. He called the man over and handed him his room key. Demanding he take it before he changed his mind. Jake practically ran back to the table to ask Maisie to his room to talk in private. He was amazed she agreed.

Aisha’s lips pursed watching the pair leave. “If he doesn't blow this, we'll have to put up with them being nauseatingly cute with each other again.”

“You don't want them to make up?” Clay rested his hands on her waist.

“I do,” she huffed. “Look, I don't know if I believe in that true love, princess bride, bullshit. But they are the closest I've ever seen to it... They belong together.”

“Agreed.”

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

The entire car ride to the motel passed in uncomfortable silence. Both anxious and unsure about the outcome of this night. Each stealing glances at the other. Jake noticed how hard her hand clenched around the steering wheel. Maisie caught sight of each time his hand reached for the radio before pulling away without turning it on.

Jake felt butterflies in his stomach as they pulled in the lot. Painful butterflies… Vampire butterflies. He drummed on his legs before hopping out of the vehicle. Maisie was quick to follow. They walked to the room without a word shared. Jake kept looking over his shoulder to make sure she was still with him. He swiped the keycard several times without success. The red light and negative beep mocking him. The twisting in his belly intensified. ‘Yep definitely vampire butterflies.’

Finally, the door flashed green and unlocked. He sauntered in, pretending to be calmer than he really was. Turning on the old Jensen charm, he bowed and waved his hand over the large bed. “Have a seat, m'lady. It’s not exactly the Ritz, but I hope it will be to your liking.”

“It's a nice room. We've stayed in much worse.” She spotted the bobblehead chihuahua on the nightstand, smiling coyly as she sat down. “So this is Pooch’s room?”

“Nah, it's mine. At least now it is.” He plopped down beside Maisie. “Sooo, how’ve ya been?”

“Good, until earlier today when I lost my job and residence cause some assholes charged in guns blazing.” Maisie sighed dramatically, “At least I can take solace in knowing Isla and her daughter are home safe. What about you?”

“I - I’m okay… most days. Um, so what's next for you? Seeing as how your life's been upended by a bunch of inconsiderate assholes.”

Maisie hummed, thinking of a response. “Well, I’ll have a lot of time on my hands, plus a bunch of money. So I'll probably make a few brothers and sisters for the F-team. Maybe one with a flamethrower.”

He turned to her with a lopsided grin. “That would be badass, like its maker.”

Maisie’s heart fluttered. He looked at her with such adoration, like she held all life's answers. That, that was her Jakey.

“Looks like the possibilities are endless now that you're homeless and unemployed.” Jake’s eyes squeezed shut, cringing. Not meaning to sound so callous.

She snorted, “I'm sure I'll be fine. I always land on my feet.”

Jake breathed a sigh of relief that she found humor in the situation. “Definitely, definitely… But if you're interested, I know of a job opening. Fast paced, high stakes, danger… romance,” he whispered the last word, blushing. “It’s with a great bunch called the Losers. I could put in a good word for you. In fact, I'm sure the two of us could strong-arm the boss to agree to any demands we want.”

“I'd have to move back to the states.”

“If you need a place to stay, your key still works… I um, kept the house. After you quit, I kinda skipped town. Woke up in Ohio about a month later. At first I completely panicked cause I didn't know where you were or where I was. Then it hit me that I REALLY didn't know where you were… and it was all my fault,” his voice cracked, on the verge of crying.

Her head lowered, unable to hold back her own tears. ‘If I had only waited longer.’ “You must be so disappointed in me for not sticking it out when you weren't yourself. I tried, I swear I did, but it was too much. I should have been stronger and held on until you were you again. I’m so sorry, Jakey.”

“No, Angel no.” he wiped Maisie’s cheeks with his thumb. “There's nothing to forgive. You didn’t abandon me, I drove you away. I don't blame you at all. Hell, I deserved it. I was a total asshole.” Jake took a deep breath, “I was so angry… I was in pain, confused. I felt trapped with no room to breathe. Was sick of everybody telling me things I was supposed to already know. Telling me over and over to relax and let myself recover when I couldn't calm down to save my life. I kept fighting with my sister, was short with my niece, rude and snapped at everyone… And you got the worst of it… When I saw you, there was something there in the back of my mind, just out of reach. I didn’t know what it was, but I knew your presence made my headache worse. So I aimed my frustration at you and chased you off. I can't say how sorry I am.”

Maisie gently touched Jake’s head, running her fingers through his hair and rubbing small circles with her fingers. The urge to comfort him stronger than any apprehension she felt before.

Jake leaned into her touch, “It's all better now. I'm better… I wish this was a cartoon so you could've wacked me in the head again to reset my brain and stop all the bullshit I put everyone through.”

She pulled her hand away too soon. “I'm glad you're better… You really hurt me, Jake, but you have to know I already forgave you.”

His eyebrows shot up, “You have? That fast? Are you certain, I mean…"

“It took some time. Months to push through that pain, but I'd be the bigger jerk if I didn't take into consideration that it wasn't completely your fault. You literally had a doctor's note to prove it.” Maisie smiled at him, brushing away a few more escaped tears.

“So you don't hate me?”

“I could never hate you, Jakey. Do you hate me?”

“Impossible.”

“It's going to continue to sting for a while though.”

He nods in understanding. Jake got on his knees before her, taking her hands in his, his face more serious than she's ever seen him. “I need you to believe me when I say I have NEVER thought those horrible things about you. You didn't deserve any of the awful things I said and I swear I didn't mean them. You’re my perfect Angel and I love everything about you. Every curve, every line, each and every inch of beautiful skin because it’s yours. You are the most incredible person I ever met and I can't stand knowing that I made you feel otherwise for even a minute. Please say you believe me.”

“I do.”

Jake leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have her back.

Maisie returned the brief kiss. This was a good start, but she was exhausted. “It’s been a long day. I don’t know about you, but I’m wiped out. Can we pretend, just for tonight, that we’re good? That everything is back to normal? We can work on us in the morning, and everyday after, but right now I just need you and unconsciousness.”

‘She wants to sleep here, in my bed, with me.’ Jake jumped up, enthusiastically agreeing. His pants down around his ankles in an instant.

Her face became heated at Jake’s sudden nudity. Maisie bit her lips, shyly telling him she was going to change in the bathroom.

Jake realized he was jumping the gun. He pulled up his batman boxers, removed his shoes and remaining clothing. He turned the toy dog around, just in case. “Sorry mini Pooch, no looky loos.”

Maisie walked out in panties and t-shirt, tugging it down in an attempt to hide more of herself as she skittered to the bed and got under the covers. Jake frowned, he needed to mend his Angel's heart, squash the insecurities he created. He scrambled up the bed, took his glasses off and sat them on the nightstand. Hesitating at the edge of the bed.

“You can come closer.”

He didn't need to be told twice, scooting over and joining her under the covers. He sat next to her, tentatively wrapping his arm around her shoulders. Intent on never leaving her side again. “Hey, tomorrow, do you want to check out this awesome mini golf course I found? Just the two of us.” The smile that adorned his face when she agreed fell. His voice lowered to a whisper, “I'm terrified of screwing this up.”

“So am I,” Maisie admitted, lacing her fingers with his.

Jake kissed the top of her head. “I don't think I ever told you.”

“Hmm?”

“The moment I knew this was it for me… Remember our first comic con together, we had that bet going on over how many people we could get to follow us doing the bunny hop around the convention center. I said five, you bet nine, and we ended up having thirty-five people in line behind us.” He chuckled at the memory. “We had Link, predator, three Spidermans, a wookiee in a bikini and just so many others. I was behind you, my hands on your hips having the time of my life. And there was a moment midjump, midlaugh, when you looked back at me, making sure I was having fun too, and I knew with absolute certainty that I was going to love you for the rest of my life. That you were the one for me and there'd never be anyone else. That hasn't changed.”

Maisie’s eyes watered, an unreadable expression on her face. Somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “I knew then too. Slowly throughout the day, then all at once in one defining moment. You were like a squirrel darting around, but you never lost me. You held my hand the whole time, squeezing it when you felt me get nervous. And when we parted for even a minute, you always found me. But the moment that sealed it was when we stopped for refreshments. I couldn't drink my water properly because of my costume and seeing my struggle, without a word, you slid behind the counter, grabbed a straw and placed it in my drink, holding it to my lips. It was something so small but so considerate. I've never had anyone be so sweet to me. I never had anyone look out for me like you did. I knew you were the one for me.”

Not trusting his voice, Jake kissed the hand he held.

“I love you, Jakey.”

His heart skipped a beat. “I love you, my Angel.” The reunited couple shared another kiss before lying down. Maisie snuggled into his chest and closed her eyes. Jake wrapped his arms around her. “Would it be wrong if I copped a feel right now?”

She laughed, “I missed you so much.”

Jake blinked back tears. He thought he'd never hear that sound again. “I missed you more.”

A few peaceful minutes passed, her warm breath ghosting over his chest. He noticed she was trying to stay awake. Each time she began to drift, her eyes popped open to search for him. He rubbed her back to soothe her asleep. “I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere, Angel, I promise.” Jake made sure she was sleeping soundly, before he allowed himself to follow her into slumber.

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

Heading to his original room to get his belongings, Pooch was halted by a hand on his shoulder. Cougar, refusing to let Jensen and Maisie be disturbed, turned his friend around and led him to their shared room.

Pooch glanced back with a frown, “I'll guess I’ll get it in the morning.”

Cougar nodded, smiled and patted his shoulder. Tomorrow was looking like a very good day. The Loser’s would be a full team once more and his best friend would have the love of his life back. He didn’t save his best man’s speech for nothing.

The End

A/N: Thank you to everyone that has read. I appreciate you all. I’d love to know your thoughts.

#niffala fics #jake jensen x ofc #jake jensen angst #jake jensen fluff #jake jensen #jake jensen x oc

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