#“the rock carvings I'm looking for them all”

[arthursfuckinghat]

Francis Sinclair you fascinating enigma of a man

[hidefdoritos]

[ID: Multicolored sunlight filtering through the stained glass window in a late gothic cathedral.]

[swearimnevergivingup]

so uh i'm thinking about ex-boyfriend!nanami. you broke up with him 3 years ago but he's never been able to move on. he's tried everything. everything under the sun, and none of it has ever worked.

he isn't even sure if forgetting you is what he wants. he thinks he wants to let you live in the spot carved out for you in his heart, whether that hurts him or not.

and when you run into him in the lobby of your apartment building? one thing leads to another and you find yourself splayed out on the couch obscenely, the oversized shirt you were wearing hiked up to your waist as you slowly part your legs for him.

the world blurs around you.

all you can think about is this very moment.

the significance of what you’re doing is entirely palpable to you. you’re inviting him in, not just to your house, but into your heart again. 

breathing heavily, your eyes follow his every movement in anticipation as his fingers dance across your inner thighs.

his hands slip underneath the waistband of your panties, two fingers sliding in between your slick folds. you tense a little at the sensation as he parts them, the rough pads of his fingers prodding the sensitive bud of nerves that makes you shiver and whine.

“god,” he groans. “i’ve fucking missed this pussy.”

you let out a little laugh at the foul language that slips from his tongue. it’s been so long since you’ve heard his voice, and even longer since you’ve felt his touch.

“missed your cock too, kento,” you murmur, eager to show that you’ve been equally longing for him, if not more. you want to hear more of him, so you reach your hand out to palm at his erection. he’s rock hard, and there’s a little wet spot on his pants from the precum.

“fuck,” he mutters, tilting his head back. “it’s been a while.”

you giggle at that, a little woozy from the wine. “it’s been a while for me too.”

“n-no, you don’t understand,” his grip on your hips tightens as he struggles to maintain his composure. “you were the last.”

oh.

your eyes widen at that revelation, stopping your movements to fully look at him. “w-why haven’t you—”

for the second time tonight, you find yourself in complete disbelief. you were the last person he slept with? that had been more than 2 years ago - way more than enough time for things to change, for someone else to come along.

but then again, nanami’s always been a serious man, and by extension, that applied to his love life too. never one to seek out casual hookups, that man dated to marry. 

“i didn’t want anyone else. only you,” he murmurs. “that hasn’t changed.”

your heart is not the only thing that clenches at the raw sincerity in his voice. 

“say it again,” you whisper. “i want— i want to hear you say it again.”

“i only want you.” nanami must have realised how much you needed to hear that, the same way he had needed your confirmation earlier, because his voice is more resolute this time. “and this—” his hand moves to cup yours, guiding your movements as he slowly drags your hand over his cock. “s’all for you, sweetheart.”

one hand reaches for the back of your neck, holding you tenderly as he peppers kisses on your lips and all over your neck.

the other hand, though, moves deviously between your thighs, a singular digit plunging into your soaked cunt. 

nanami relishes the way you gasp into his mouth, back arching off the couch as all sorts of pretty sounds drip from your flushed lips.

i love you.

i still love you, after all this time.

he doesn’t say it out loud - no, it isn’t the right time. 

but he repeats it loudly enough inside his head, hoping that somehow, you might hear it too. 

a/n: this is part of my upcoming work: i never moved from where you left me (nsfw)

there are apologies to be made, lost time to reclaim, and parts of each other waiting to be rediscovered. and yet, you know him like an old song. you know the words, carved into the lining of your skin, you know its melody, a soft hum that echoes in the chambers of your heart. nanami kento is that lingering rhythm, that pained harmony, existing deep within the cracks of memory and longing - an unfading symphony in your soul.

comment if you would like to be tagged! <3

edit: some snippets here! taglist closed :)

[batboysanonymous]

Even the Stars Break for You

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Loving her meant craving a future he could never give her, and every day he watched the light in her eyes fade, Azriel wondered if loving her was enough...or if it would be the thing that finally destroyed them both.

Azriel had learned long ago that the world was cruel to dreamers.

He saw it every time he unsheathed his blades, every time a child cried in the streets of Velaris, every time he closed his eyes and heard the old ghosts whisper. But he had never understood—never felt—the cruelty of the world so keenly until he watched it shatter you.

You, his mate. His light. His everything.

And the one thing you wanted most, he could not give you.

You didn’t say it at first. At first, it was hope, and laughter, and your hands tracing lazy circles over your stomach while you read in the window seat. Dreams spun in starlight. Azriel had tried—Mother, had he tried—to pretend he didn’t see the longing when you smiled at Nyx toddling past, tiny wings flapping, tiny fists grabbing at the world.

You never pushed. Never begged.

You just looked at him with so much trust, so much love, that it cleaved him open.

He was killing you slowly with his silence, and you didn’t even know it.

And now... it was killing him too.

The Healers had been blunt: Your body, as strong as it was, was not built to bear an Illyrian child. The pregnancy could kill you—no would kill you, more likely than not.

Azriel hadn’t told you the whole of it.

He’d sat through the council of stone-faced healers, through Madja’s weary eyes, through Rhys’s hand on his shoulder and Cassian’s grim silence. He’d listened to every statistic, every warning, every horrible possibility.

And he had made a choice.

He would not risk you.

Never you.

Even if it meant carving himself open every day to see the way your smile dimmed, how your laugh got quieter, how you stopped reaching for the window seat books, stopped dreaming aloud.

It killed him.

More than the scars on his hands, more than all the blood he had ever spilled—it killed him.

"Az," you said one night, curled into his chest while the snow fell thick and silent outside, "do you ever think about... them? Little ones?"

His heart seized so violently he almost stopped breathing.

"I think about you," he whispered hoarsely, pressing his lips to your hair. "Always you."

You smiled, small and sad, and he hated himself.

When Feyre’s pregnancy was announced, the whole Inner Circle had celebrated. Tears, laughter, plans for wings and cribs and godparents.

You’d smiled too. Hugged Feyre and cried with her, even helped plan the naming ceremony.

Azriel saw it—the way your hand drifted unconsciously to your stomach, the way you faltered when no one was looking.

That night, you didn’t come to bed.

He found you sitting in the dark kitchen, your forehead pressed to your knees, shoulders trembling. You didn't even try to hide it when he sank to the floor beside you and pulled you into his lap.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed. "I'm so, so sorry, Az."

He buried his face in your hair, breathing you in, breaking silently.

"You have nothing," he rasped, "to be sorry for."

But the words felt hollow even to him.

It only got worse.

You babysat Nyx one afternoon while Feyre and Rhys were summoned to the Court of Nightmares.

Azriel found you later in the nursery, clutching the sleeping boy against your chest, tears slipping soundlessly down your cheeks.

You hadn’t even noticed him.

You just rocked Nyx slowly, murmuring lullabies into the dim light, and something in Azriel broke—something he knew he could never put back together.

When you finally looked up at him, your eyes were full of such raw, aching pain that he staggered back a step.

"I can't—" you gasped, voice shattering, "I can't keep pretending it doesn't hurt."

And Azriel—Azriel, the shadowsinger, the prince of silence—sank to his knees before you.

"Then don't," he said, voice hoarse and broken. "Don't pretend for me."

He took your hand, pressed it over his heart.

"If this pain is yours," he whispered, "then it's mine too."

You crumpled into him, and he held you while you cried, rocking you gently like you had rocked Nyx. He held you like you were the last thing tethering him to the world.

Maybe you were.

Cassian came by the next morning.

Breezing into your house like a summer storm, arms full of pastries and coffee, his smile just slightly too bright.

Azriel knew—Cassian knew. He always knew.

He pulled you into a bear hug, whispered something that made you laugh wetly against his chest, and Azriel silently thanked the Mother for his brother’s stupid, unbreakable heart.

After you went to lie down, Cassian cornered Azriel by the hearth.

"You can’t fix this by pretending it doesn’t hurt," he said, low and fierce.

Azriel’s hands fisted at his sides.

"I know."

Cassian clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Then fight for her. With her."

And Azriel—cold, ruthless, silent Azriel—listened.

For once, he listened.

The days that followed were slow and soft.

Azriel started small. Tiny, clumsy things.

Breakfast in bed. Flowers on your pillow. Long walks through Velaris, hand-in-hand, no destination in mind. Late nights where he just listened, letting you cry or rage or sit in silence.

He fought with everything he had—fought the creeping sadness, the bitterness, the despair.

Fought it with love.

And slowly, slowly, you started to come back to him.

Your laughter—bright and sudden—startled him so badly one morning that he dropped his toast.

You laughed harder.

He stared at you like you were a miracle.

Maybe you were.

Maybe you always had been.

It was months later when Madja called them both in.

Azriel nearly refused.

He would not—could not—watch you suffer another loss of hope.

But you squeezed his hand, eyes steady, and he knew he would follow you anywhere.

Madja sat them down with a thick folder of papers and diagrams and words Azriel barely heard because she said, "There are ways. Risks, yes. But there are ways."

And for the first time in a long time, you smiled at him not with sadness but with fierce, blazing hope.

Azriel squeezed your hand so hard you gasped.

"You are my everything," he whispered, forehead pressed to yours.

You smiled through your tears.

"And you are mine."

Maybe the world was cruel to dreamers.

But maybe—just maybe—their dreams weren’t dead yet.

Maybe they were only sleeping, waiting to be woken by something stronger than sorrow.

Something like love.

Something like hope.

Something like you.

And Azriel—battered, broken, healed by your light—vowed he would find a way to wake them.

Together.

Always, together.

-

a/n: a little bonus scene for you all hehe so sorry this took forever

The snow was falling again.

Soft and thick, muffling the world in a cocoon of white as Azriel sat by the window, cradling you carefully against him.

You were exhausted, hair damp with sweat, face pale but glowing with something fierce and luminous.

And in your arms—so tiny, so impossibly perfect—was everything they had fought for.

Your daughter.

Azriel had thought he knew what love was.

Thought he had touched it in the way you smiled at him across a crowded room, in the way you reached for him without thinking, in the way your laughter filled every hollow place inside him.

But this—this was something else entirely.

It was terrifying and exhilarating and raw, a thousand blades and a thousand sunrises all at once.

He couldn't stop looking at her.

At you.

At the life you had made together.

The birth had nearly undone him.

You had screamed, wept, clawed at him while he whispered promises he wasn't sure he could keep, while Cassian and Feyre and Nesta and the entire Circle had waited outside, tense and silent.

And when the last push had torn a ragged sob from your throat—when the world had gone still and the first furious wail had pierced the silence—

Azriel had fallen to his knees beside the bed, weeping so hard he hadn't been able to see.

You had only laughed, watery and tired, cradling the tiny, furious bundle to your chest.

"She's perfect," you had whispered, voice wrecked.

And Azriel had known it was true.

Because she was you.

She was both of you.

Now, hours later, when the rest of the world slept and only the stars kept vigil, Azriel brushed a trembling hand over your hair.

You stirred, lifting your head to meet his gaze.

"She's beautiful, Az," you whispered, and he realized you were crying again—silent, happy tears slipping down your cheeks.

He kissed them away.

"You are beautiful," he rasped. "You are everything."

You smiled, sleepy and radiant.

"Do you want to hold her?"

Azriel froze.

He had been afraid to ask.

Afraid to break the fragile, perfect moment by daring too much.

But you just lifted the tiny bundle, placing her carefully into his arms.

She fit there like she had been made for him.

Azriel stared down at her, at her impossibly small fists and soft, dark hair and the faint shimmer of wings tucked tight against her back.

A lump formed in his throat so thick he could barely breathe.

"Hello, little one," he whispered, shadows curling protectively around the three of you, soft as silk.

Your daughter yawned, a tiny, kittenish sound, and Azriel swore the whole world shifted under his feet.

He looked up at you, barely able to speak.

"Thank you," he said, voice breaking.

You reached for him, threading your fingers through his.

"Thank you for loving me," you murmured. "For fighting for us."

He pressed his forehead to yours, closing his eyes against the overwhelming tide of feeling.

There were no words big enough for this.

For the way he loved you.

For the way he loved her.

For the way you had carved a place for him in a world that had once held no place at all.

And in that quiet room, under the falling snow and the watching stars, Azriel made a silent promise.

He would love you both with everything he was.

He would shield you from every storm.

He would be your light, your sword, your wings, your home.

Always.

Forever.

Outside, somewhere far above, the stars shifted and burned.

And maybe—just maybe—they smiled down on them.

Because for the first time in a long, hard, beautiful life, Azriel was not alone.

He never would be again.

Taglist: @willowpains, @masbt1218, @antonia002, @bookishcait, @fuckingsimp4azriel, @fanficscuziranout, @buttermilktea11, @lilah-asteria, @lreadsstuff,  @flintthegoodboyo, @saltedcoffeescotch,  @okaytrashpanda, @mariaxliliana, @kksbookstuff, @marina468, @tele86, @raccoonworld, Princesssunderworld, dinosandwaffles

Want to join my tag list? Drop a comment or check out this link to submit a specific series you would like tagged in! (Or if you just don't want to comment, that's okay too)

[yawnderu]

Perfect Life — Dad!Simon "Ghost" Riley x Mom!Reader

The first night the baby is home, Simon is so elated, mind racing 100 miles per hour. He glances at you and the sleeping baby between both of you, afraid he would crush her in his sleep despite knowing he sleeps like a rock.

What if this time is different? What if he has a nightmare and accidentally hurts either of you? What if someone breaks in? He doesn't have nightmares as often anymore, sleeping with you helps keep them at bay and you both have a fancy security system, yet he'd never forgive himself if anything goes wrong... so he does what he does best; be a guard dog for his girls.

"I love you." He whispers to both of you, laying on his side and looking at you both as if he was examining you in a lab, your breathing pattern he memorized years ago is still the same, and now he's memorizing the one of the little girl in front of him, carving it in his brain just in case if anything is wrong, he'll be able to tell.

It's been almost two hours and Simon isn't sleeping, staying up late and having a bad sleeping pattern became a part of him after so many years serving yet this time he isn't watching an enemy or a facility they're targeting, no, he's watching something much more important. He's watching his wife cuddle the baby in her sleep, her touch delicate yet protective, just as he imagined it would be ever since he found out you were pregnant.

He moves carefully around the bed, hand grabbing his phone and turning the brightness all the way down. Simon looks at you again just to make sure you're asleep before unlocking his secure folder, the corners of his mouth tilting up when he sees the contents of the folder.

It's full of pictures and videos of you, starting back in the day the 141 was formed, until you were heavily pregnant. The latest picture was of all three of you, holding the newborn in the hospital room, happy smiles on both of your faces and pure pride in his eyes. A small chuckle escapes him when he remembers how the nurse he approached seemed scared of him until he asked if she could take a picture of him and his girls, looking around one more time to make sure you were still asleep despite being able to hear your soft snores.

I'm so proud of you. His lips curled up into a soft smile, eyes starting to sting as they did every single time he remembers how far you've come. You look so different from the first time he met you—in fact, you both do, yet you're as beautiful as ever; fresh out of the hospital, no makeup, messy hair, and a peaceful look on your sleeping face while you hold the baby.

Thank you so much. In the quietness of his room and in bed with his two girls, Simon allows the tears to escape his eyes for the first time in years. I didn't even know I could cry anymore.

He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead and does the same for his little girl before laying back down, an arm protectively wrapped around your waist and over the baby, setting a safe distance between him and his little girl in fear of crushing her in his sleep. With one final look at his pride and joy he drifts off to sleep, his behemoth frame used as a protective shield for both of you in case something happens. Deep inside, he knows you're all safe.

[vvousmevoyez]

tw: somnophilia.

leader!karina, who misses you after a long day of rehearsals.

“are you tired, puppy?” karina asks, crawling next to you on the bed until she's reached your eye level. you nod, although she doesn't pay you much attention. she's distracted, lost in her world.

you blush, biting your lip. were you that obvious? you've been working hard not to whine or be a pain in the ass; the girls are as stressed and overworked as you, and acting insufferable was of no use.

“a little,” you admit, purring when the leader pulls you in for a slow, sweet kiss. karina tasted sweet, like always. youcould kiss her for hours— getting lost in the paradise of her lips would always be an honor. upon her raised brows, you sigh, adding, “okay, a lot. my entire body hurts from rehearsals. if we don’t do well tomorrow, I—ugh.”

karina's touches offer enough reassurance for your anxious mind. she places light on caresses your arms, brushing her knuckles against your soft skin. her head fits perfectly against the crook of your neck, which warms your heart like nothing else. she's your beloved, your safe harbor.

“you'll do well,” she answers, in a heartbeat. drags the vowels as she pronounces the words as if the mere thought of such thing happening was preposterous. “we all are. don’t worry, puppy. even tired, you’re still a beauty on stage”

no one could ever compare.

“what about you?” you pout, playfully poking her ribs to distract you both from the pointless question. the leader was adamant about not sharing her struggles with anyone, not even you: her girlfriend. her puppy. leader duties, she'd say, then shrug. all bullshit. “how have you been, 'rina? talk to me.”

karina doesn't stare back. instead, she positions herself between your legs, toying with the hem of your set with a dirty smirk. “i'm hungry.” she purrs too, lowering her face to your crotch. “must eat.”

you roll your eyes but still allow the oldest member to strip you from your panties without complaints. karina spreads your pussy lips to expose your perky clit before licking a long stripe that covers your entire sex. the moan that leaves your lips is much different than the cute, reserved idol image you work so hard to maintain.

under karina's glorious mouth, you're nothing but a piece of flesh, a disposable doll for her to use. whatever she has in mind, you'd let her.

“'rina…” you moan, nails carving in the back of her head as your fingers search for the ghost of her hair. karina'shaircut is still new to you, although she looks gorgeous nonetheless.

almost unconsciously, you rock your hips onto her face, looking for the slightest friction her nose provides, in slight bumps against your clit. upon your eagerness, karina backs away. her lips glow in the natural light, covered with your wetness. with dilated pupils and pointy canines, she looks gorgeous… and hungry indeed.

“what is it, puppy?” she murmurs, licking your inner thighs with all the time in the world. only after an infinity, when you're hot, wet, bothered, and coveted in her saliva, is that karina answers, in a sly, condescending tone. “you’re tired, right? you can sleep, baby.. I just want to have some fun for a little while… i'm so tired, y/n. but you cheer me up, as always. you'll let it, right? let unnie use you?”

your body reacts to the leader immediately. your muscles, once sore and rigid, relax under her coaxing. karina's kitten licks make it impossible to form any logical thoughts— all you think of is the way she handles your body like a delicate piece of art.

what you seek is not only pleasure but all of karina. her touches, her mouth, her praises. orgasms were worth nothing if she wasn't the one providing them to you. no one can pleasure you like herself, anyway.

judging from the way karina's hands grope your breasts, twisting and slapping your tits to her liking, she's well aware of how she's ruined you for everyone else.

“mhm.” your groggy answer comes just as karina's tongue invades your slit, searching for your core with all of her mouth. her movements were sloppy as if she were too tired to put much effort into it too. “unnie can use me as she wishes.”

there's no harm in resting for a bit, you decide. closing your eyes, you yawn, holding your arms above your head so you can arch your back and still be comfortable. the leader's warm breath on your cunt was a much-needed lullaby.

eventually, sleep overcame you. it was inevitable, with how karina used your clit as a lollipop, sucking your sensitive bud with lazy movements that made slurpy sounds echo through the quiet room. even unconscious, you jumped when karina gathered a good amount of saliva only to spit on your cunt, smearing on your entrance so you wouldn't hiss when her fingers made a home in your pleading slit.

you were already sore. surely you wouldn't mind if karina added to it.

“prettiest puppy.” she praised to herself, enjoying the way her fingers slid in so easily. the sight of your legs spread open as she thrust inside your cunt. “with the prettiest pussy, too.”

your pussy was irresistible: red, swollen, and begging to be used. karina couldn't help but spank it a bit, giggling at how you stirred.

were you awake, taking three of karina's long, lithe fingers without any gradual adjustment would include a great deal of whining— perhaps maybe a few tears, as you loved to put on a show for the girl. now, though, your body obediently answered to whatever karina wished to.

all hers to play with.

karina's thumb circled your clit, adding to the pleasure you felt even in your slumber, murmuring her name. she loved that; how needy you were at all times. she made sure to lick her fingers clean as soon as you came, watching as your pussy creamed as the aftermath of your orgasm.

how could someone look so angelical? the leader stole a kiss from your pouty lips before turning off the lights, spooning your smaller frame with a smile on her face. she wondered if you'd dream of her, despite the exhaustion etched on your bones.

the leader certainly would.

[scarnatlover]

Run, baby, run

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader (romantic)

Summary: Finding a moment of peace away from the chaos of superhero life isn't easy, but with a little help, you can carve out time for a romantic retreat in a secluded cabin in the woods. What begins as a lighthearted chase soon transforms into an exhilarating game of predator and prey, sparking intense passion and desire between two lovers.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. sexual themes, smut, Reader has a cock, predator x prey, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, edging, name calling, praise, passing out, aftercare.

REQUEST: YES

A/N: I'm sorry if anything is spelled incorrectly, but English is not my first language. I apologize in advance for my grammar and spelling. If you have any request (read this first), I will try and write them.

Taglist

She had been running for what seemed like hours. She didn’t know where she was going, she didn’t know the route she had taken, and she didn’t know where she would end up. The forest she was in seemed endless. There was no stream to orient herself by, and the treetops were too thick to see the stars. She could hear her labored breathing, her quick steps, the owls hooting in the trees. But most of all, she could hear whoever was behind her and chasing her getting closer and closer.

Their footsteps were heavier than hers, but their breathing matched hers. She could tell that whoever was following her was taller and more muscular, but not more agile since she heard them trip over some fallen tree branches. She also knew that they were far behind her and that this gave her an advantage. And so she did the only thing she could think of. She hid behind a massive rock after jumping off its top.

She held her breath, trying to stay as quiet as possible, but she jumped as soon as she saw the figure dart over her head, then rolled on the ground to cushion the jump and immediately resumed running. She was right, actually. Even from a distance they looked about four inches taller than her and decidedly more muscular. She breathed a sigh of relief and, once she was sure they were far enough away, she stood up and began to run at a moderate pace towards where she thought the exit of the maze of trees she was in was.

But after walking a few meters, she started to feel like she was being watched. She turned in every possible direction, but there was no one but her. She started walking again, the feeling of being watched always with her, but she turned again when she heard a twig snap behind her. After not seeing anything or anyone, she prepared to start again but this time, when she turned, she found your muscular figure in front of her. “Boo” you muttered, a smile plastered on your face and your arms that wrapped around her hips.

“Are you running away from me, pretty girl?” you asked, backing her up against a tree trunk. “Why are you running, baby girl? You know I’ll always catch you.”

And with that you kissed her, hard. Her back against the tree made your body pressed against hers, making her feel your hard cock against her belly. Her hands flew into your hair, pulling you closer. You moaned into her mouth, enjoying her hands on your head, and she smiled slightly into the kiss.

Your violent kisses ran down her jaw and neck, pulling her skin with your teeth. She moaned in pleasure and pain, without letting out a gasp first. She could feel her arousal dampening her panties, yet she remembered that this person in front of her was the one who not even ten minutes ago was chasing her through the same woods where she was about to be fucked.

Your hands traveled to her breasts to feel one of her spheres through the shirt she was wearing. Being the impatient person you were, you quickly shrugged off the piece of clothing, ripping it in half. There, you were met with her bare tits, no bra covering them. You smirked, easier access for you.

You lowered your head to take one of her nipples into your mouth, licking it until you felt it harden under your tongue, your other hand still busy groping her other tit. You then switched sides, repeating the same movements and giving the same attention to both of her tits. Her back arched, pleasure coursing through her. Her hands still in your hair to hold you closer to her chest and instigating you not to stop. She laughed briefly feeling you play with her nipples, but immediately moaned when you bit one of them.

You both watched your fingers slide along her skin, down past her belly button, and stop above her pelvis. You looked into her eyes as you slowly knelt in front of her. You pulled down her leggings, but left her panties on. With a smirk, you moved them to the side and slid your hand to her pelvis between her legs. You caressed her folds, parting them slightly so you could see her arousal before sliding your fingers inside her.

She moaned and leaned her head against the tree trunk, completely surrendering to the feeling of your fingers inside her. She let your hands and fingers explore her body, both inside and out and in all the ways you wanted.

“God, you look beautiful even from down here,” you murmured, starting to slowly move your fingers inside her. She groaned at the sound of your voice, so low, husky and sexy, full of your desire for her body. Simultaneously, your mouth began to leave hot kisses everywhere it could reach: her thighs, her belly, her pelvis, until you lightly kissed her clit.

She gripped your hair in her hands as your lips touched her hot clit and whined. Her hips began to move back and forth on your fingers. “That’s it. Ride my fingers like the good girl you are. My good girl.” You pinned her hips against the tree so you could slide your fingers deeper into her. You started slow and gentle until you built up to a force and speed that rivaled – not really – your cock. “Good, just like that. You’re doing great.”

Your tongue laid flat against her clit, her eyes rolled and her mouth made sounds sweeter than honey. Her entire body jolted with pleasure as your tongue flicked at her bundle of nerves. Your fingers slowed, making her whine, but the movements of your tongue made her hips buckle, your hand on them the only reason she didn’t fall to the floor.

Her moans grew louder, louder, her body shaking with pleasure and the need to come, as you brought her closer and closer to the climax. As you continued to tease her, she moaned in frustration and writhed beneath you. With each passing second, her need for release grew stronger and stronger due to denial. You took your time, pleasuring her until she was begging for more.

“Please, let me come. I beg you,” she pleaded, her eyes locked on yours, her green ones filled with desperation.

You quickly removed your tongue from her slit and stood up, now much taller than her, but your fingers never stopped moving inside her. “I’ll tell you what,” you whispered in her ear. “I’m going to let you go now. You’re going to start running in that direction again, until you see a cabin. I’ll give you a twenty-second head start before I start chasing you,” you removed your fingers from inside her, drawing out a whine from her throat. “If I catch you before you get to the cabin, I’ll fuck you until you pass out and it’s up to me whether or not I make you come. If you get to the cabin and I can’t catch you…” you gently kissed up her neck, until you reached her cheek. “…when I fuck you, you can come as many times as you want,” you concluded, placing your sweatshirt on her shoulders and lifting her pants, to cover her nakedness.

As soon as those words left your mouth, she started running again in the direction you indicated, faster than before despite the ache between her legs. She could smell you on her, her pussy clenching around nothing even as she ran, but most of all your voice, which was counting the seconds, growing more and more distant.

The forest seemed endless, she didn’t know how much longer she had to run. There was no sign of the cabin you had told her about. She was starting to doubt its existence. Her legs were burning and with them her muscles, the temperature had dropped slightly, but it was cold enough to notice the air coming out of her mouth every time she was out of breath.

She stopped to rest only when she was sure that your footsteps couldn’t be heard, but she remained alert anyway. She collapsed on the ground, her back against a tree, she caught her breath and looked around, but she couldn’t see anything. Her ears couldn’t pick up any suspicious noise, other than the wind in the branches of the trees and a few night birds here and there. Not even a shadow of you could be seen.

When she was sure she was rested and had enough breath, she started running again, always in the same direction you had told her. She ran and ran and ran, until she could see a light far away from her. She breathed a sigh of relief and increased her pace. Now she could also see inside, with the fire lit in front of the couch and under the TV, thanks to the windows that acted as a wall on the outside of the house.

But just as she was approaching the path that led to the stairs to enter the cabin, out of nowhere she glimpsed your figure staring at her from a tree. Nat returned your gaze for a few seconds, and then sprinted towards the house, but you wrapped your muscular arms around her waist before she could touch the wood of the stairs.

“That means…” you murmured in her ear as she squirmed. “That I won, sugar.” You took her earlobe between your lips and bit it enough for her to feel it.

You slowly brought a hand to her face and turned her towards you, kissing her without hesitation. She immediately found herself returning the kiss that became more and more passionate. Her head was spinning and you pulled her towards you roughly, making her feel your semi-hard member. Your tongues rubbed together. Her hands returned to your neck while yours continued to move down and then back to her breasts and grope them roughly.

You quickly removed the hoodie she was wearing and kissed along the column of her neck, leaving purple marks as you went further down, your hands now massaging her ass. You backed up with her, leading her up the three steps to the wooden patio and setting her down on the cool surface. You ripped a hole in her pants, then did the same to her soaked panties.

“Look at you, sugar,” you turned your gaze to her pussy. “Your swollen, soaked cunt, still clenching around nothing,” she whimpered, the cool night air in direct contact with her wet, exposed sex. You ran two fingers between her folds and brought them to her mouth, letting her taste her essence. “You need it, don’t you? You need to be stretched, ruined, and used like the whore you are for me.”

You pulled down your pants and boxers, letting your cock pop out, pumping it a little to get it fully hard, which didn’t take long given the magnificent sight before you. You leaned over her, your hands on either side of her head, staring into her beautiful green eyes filled with lust.

She kissed you harder than before, nipping at your bottom lip, making you groan into her mouth. She suddenly felt a lot warmer, wondering if she was really about to get fucked on the wooden patio of a cabin by the person who had been chasing her ten minutes ago. But her mind went blank the moment she felt one of your hands spread her thighs, making her wet pussy meet your now painfully hard cock.

You positioned the tip of your cock so that it was prodding at her entrance and at the same time you pulled away from the kiss to watch her facial expressions. She immediately gasped and her back arched towards you. You slowly pushed it in, feeling her warm and tight around you. “Fuck, are you still this tight? After so long?” you asked a rhetorical question.

You took her hands and brought them above her head, pinning her down, and leaned down to kiss her slowly. You started moving, rocking your hips harshly. She gasped first into your mouth, then broke away from the kiss and began teasing the sensitive skin of your neck. You moaned in her ear, increasing the force of your thrusts, the only sounds that could be heard at that moment were your breathing and moans and the wet sound that Nat's pussy was making.

At this point you were ramming into her, whispering in her ear how pathetic and desperate she was. “Look at you, beautiful. Taking everything I’m giving you like the slut you are,” you moaned in her ear, feeling her shivering and whimpering beneath you. You could feel her getting closer to her climax, but you had other plans.

“Please,” she whispered, running her hands under your shirt and digging her nails into your back. “Let me come,” she continued with a few tears rolling down her soft face. You just grinned and continued to rock your hips fast and hard, her walls squeezing you tighter and tighter, making you groan once more.

Immediately, you slowed down and looked down at where her cunt met your cock, which was fully immersed inside her, filling her completely. She sobbed, her orgasm having been denied for the second time that night, and she began to shake even more. After a few minutes of your thrusts being soft and slow, making her feel every inch of your cock, you started moving your hips violently again, her cries of pleasure could probably be heard from miles away. Her body was aching, from the run she had been on and how you had left her in the middle of the woods, and her moans were now coming out uncontrollably. Her legs were shaking, her eyes scrunched shut and you could feel how close she was to cumming.

You continued to do this until she was a blabbering mess, the only things coming out of her mouth were pleas and moans of your name. “Tired, baby? You can’t take it anymore?” you asked, slightly worried. You looked at the expression on her face and it all hit you. You started to ram into her one last time, intertwining your hands with hers above her head and kissing her sensually and softly. “Can I come inside you?” you asked, feeling the knot in your stomach about to break. She just nodded, too tired to even respond.

Your climaxes came at the same time, her coming on your cock with the loudest moan of the evening and you painting her walls white, filling her with your seed. Her pussy contracted around you for the last time, making you groan in her neck, where you were resting your head, which you raised a few seconds later to look into her eyes, but instead you saw her passed out from exhaustion. You smiled gently at her and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

You carefully slid out of her, trying not to hurt her, and got dressed, but first you watched your cum leak out of her gaping hole. You then picked her up bridal style and the two of you entered the cabin, which felt like a sauna compared to the outside. You continued to the stairs and carefully carried her to the bedroom you were in. You laid her on the bed and ran to the bathroom, where you drew a hot bath. You quickly ran to the kitchen to get her a bottle of water and a snack for later.

When you got back to your room, Nat was waking up. You were immediately at her side, stroking her hair. “Hey,” she whispered to you and you smiled, telling her that a bath was ready for her. “Can you carry me?” she then asked and you rolled your eyes playfully and picked her up in your arms, carrying her to the bathroom and placing her in the hot water. You handed her the bottle after opening it and helped her take a few sips.

Nat looked at you puzzled when she noticed that you were not undressing and getting in the tub with her, but instead grabbing the shampoo ready to wash her hair. “Aren’t you coming in?” she asked and you looked at her in disbelief before answering her.

“I don’t know, I don’t want to hurt you,” you started, looking at the water instead of her face. “I think I overdid it a little,” you continued. Nat pulled her hands out of the water and placed them on your face, looking into your eyes.

“I liked everything you did, from the chase in the woods to the fuck on the patio. I’m fine, you didn’t hurt me,” she wiped away the single tear that was sliding down your face with her thumb. “Get undressed and come in. I want you even closer to me,” and with that you took off your clothes and Nat made room for you between her legs, where you stayed until the tub water was cold.

The two of you dried off and got dressed, exchanging a few kisses here and there. Once you were in bed, Nat immediately curled up around you, her head on your chest and one leg bent over your hips. One of your hands slid under her shirt, touching her bare skin, while the other reached for the remote on your nightstand and you scrolled until you found her favorite James Bond movie on the TV.

Nat fell asleep not even halfway through the movie, her breath on your neck, where you could feel her smile as she slowly massaged your abdomen, tracing her fingertips over your abs. You looked up at her softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face like you had done a few hours ago. You fell asleep shortly after her, hoping that Tony hadn't installed cameras on the patio too, otherwise neither of you would ever see the end of it.

[winxanity-ii]

LIKE WHAT YOU SEE?

ship: fashion designer!gojo x fem!model!reader warnings: nsfw 🔞 (fem. receiving hand-job/fingering; overstimualtion; p in v ; creampie, wrap before you tap kiddos) word count: 6.6k (i'm gagged cuz i swear it wasn't that many words as i was typing 😭😭💀) A/N: Hey, bubbly-bear! just wanted to let you know i've moved from my my alt account to my main one, so i'm posting your request here…

Request:Hello! I had a lil gojo x reader idea but if you aren’t vibing with it please dont feel like you have to write it, or change it how you see fit! BUT I feel like Guess (ft. Billie E.) By Charlie xcx is so Gojo coded and I would love to see a fic based off of it if possible :)

p.s. mwaaaaahhhhh, thx you so much for being my first request, hope i did you justice 😩✨

This line from the song just stood out to me and i just had to write it:

I wanna try it, bite it, lick it, spit it Pull it to the side and get all up in it Kiss it, ride it, can I fit it?

★·.·´🇯‌🇺‌🇯‌🇺‌🇹‌🇸‌🇺‌ 🇰‌🇦‌🇮‌🇸‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

"Turn your head like that—yes, perfect! Raise your chin a little more. Hold it!" The head photographer's voice cut through the organized chaos, every word precise and demanding. "Lighting! Can we adjust the back light, it's catching too much glare!" Another barked command as assistants scurried to fix the harsh spotlight casting an overexposed halo on you. "Makeup! Fix the lipstick; it's smudged." The pace had been relentless, as it always was on set. The camera had clicked, capturing each second of your endurance, but all you could focus on was the way your body ached.

Your feet, crammed into designer heels, screamed for relief, and your back burned from holding poses longer than it felt natural. You shifted your weight slightly, hoping no one noticed as the clicks of the camera went on like rapid fire.

"Alright, people, ten-minute break!" Finally, the head photographer clapped his hands, giving everyone the much-needed signal to stop.

A bell rang faintly in the background, and your shoulders slumped as you let out a groan.

You dropped the strained pose you had been holding for what felt like an eternity. You rolled your neck, feeling the tension snap and release in your joints.

The lights dimmed slightly as Kugisaki Nobara and Itadori Yuji sauntered over from the swimwear shoot, and you couldn't help but notice how their outfits screamed for attention—both in completely different ways.

Nobara was in a skimpy two-piece swimsuit, the top barely enough to cover her small bust, accentuating her slim waist. The delicate straps dug into her skin as she pulled at them, clearly annoyed, though the outfit highlighted her toned frame with every step she took.

The bottom piece clung to her hips, just barely covering enough to maintain some modesty, with high-cut sides that emphasized her long legs.

Despite the discomfort written across her face, Nobara moved with confidence, her slender figure not going unnoticed by the photographers still milling around.

She scrunched her nose. "This swimsuit is killing me," she muttered, fingers fidgeting with the ties around her waist. "Honestly, whose idea was it to make swimwear this uncomfortable?"

Yuji, in contrast, had an air of ease about him, rocking a pair of matching swim trunks that coordinated with Nobara's outfit—an intentional design that somehow made their shoot feel like a playful, couples-themed editorial.

His bare chest gleamed under the studio lights, each of his perfectly sculpted abs on display as though carved by a sculptor. His body was toned yet muscular, the kind of physique that didn’t need fancy clothes to stand out.

With sun-kissed skin and that infectious grin, Yuji could have made wearing anything look effortless.

"C'mon, Nobara, we don't have that much longer. Besides, you look great," Yuji said, his voice lighthearted as always.

Nobara rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, says the guy who could wear a trash bag and still smile like it's no big deal."

You let out a quiet chuckle as Yuji gave you a wink before being called away to review some of the shots. He shot you a playful smile over his shoulder as he walked off, his broad back flexing slightly under the pressure of moving around in the hot lights.

"Ugh, I swear, if Yuji keeps this up, I'm going to barf," Nobara muttered, shaking her head as she sidled up next to you, arms crossed over her chest.

The two of you made your way toward the refreshments table, where the scattered models and assistants buzzed like bees around a honey pot.

You could feel the material of your own outfit shift as you moved, the delicate knitted vest you wore slightly hugging your upper body. It was all part of the 'clean girl' aesthetic your stylist had chosen for you—a knitted cream-colored vest over a crisp white blouse, paired with a pleated schoolgirl skirt that swayed with every step.

It was simple, yet chic—the kind of outfit that made you feel both elegant and casual at the same time.

Yet, despite its light, airy look, the long hours standing in the heels were starting to make your feet scream. The snug fit of the vest only heightened the strain on your tired muscles, adding to the sense of exhaustion.

Nobara leaned in closer, her eyes gleaming as if she was about to share the juiciest tidbit of gossip she had yet. "So, did you hear about Kaori and that photographer? Apparently, they got caught in one of the back dressing rooms."

You raised a brow, barely hiding your amusement. "Kaori? The one who's been eyeing everyone since day one?."

"Oh, and you didn't hear this from me," Nobara continued, lowering her voice even more, "but Sumi told me that Yuji's been getting cozy with that new model, Megumi. You know, the quiet one? Well, they—"

You groaned, cutting her off. "Don't you ever get tired of knowing all the messy things?"

Nobara rolled her eyes dramatically, her lips curling into a smirk. "Never~" she said, before nodding toward the side entrance. Her voice took on a mischievous edge as she added, "Just like I know you never get tired of denying that your new stylist wants to fuck you."

You practically choked, your eyes widening as the words hit you. "W-What?" you sputtered, your face heating up. You let out a shaky laugh, then coughed, trying to gather yourself. "Stop saying that…"

Nobara's smirk only grew wider, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "Oh, come on. The man practically undresses you with his eyes every time he's around. You can't tell me you don't notice the way he looks at you. The man's got designs on more than just your clothes, babe."

The heat in your cheeks deepened, and you averted your gaze, unsure how to respond.

It was hard to deny that your stylist's hands lingered just a bit too long during fittings, or that his gaze seemed a little too intense when he adjusted the fabrics on your body.

The clean, tailored looks he designed for you always felt more intimate than the pieces he created for other models. But surely, it was just part of his meticulous nature, right?

"I-It's just professional," you stammered, glancing down at the drink in your hand, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the growing knot in your stomach. "He's focused on the designs, Nobara. That's it."

Nobara snorted, giving you a knowing look. "Yeah, okay. If by ‘designs’ you mean figuring out how to get under your clothes, then sure. But I mean, I'm not complaining. If I were in your shoes, I'd fuck him."

Before you could respond, a shadow fell over you both, and you didn't need to look up to know who it was. You felt his presence before you saw him.

There, leaning casually against the side of the refreshment table, was Gojo Satoru, the man in question.

His signature smirk played on his lips as those piercing, ice-blue eyes of his scanned over you over his shades, and you could practically feel the heat of his gaze as it lingered on your skirt.

"Ladies," Satoru drawled, his voice smooth and dripping with charm. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything too scandalous?"

Nobara raised an eyebrow, giving you a teasing look before stepping back. "Oh no, nothing at all. We were just talking about your... designs," she said with a sly grin before stepping back. "Guess, I'll leave you two to it," she teased, nudging you as she walked away.

And just like that, you were left alone with him, heart racing as you met his eyes. His grin only widened, as if he knew exactly what you were thinking.

"So..." Satoru murmured, his voice low and teasing as he leaned in slightly. "Anything you'd like to confess?"

Your throat went dry, and you could only shake your head, praying that he hadn't overheard Nobara's playful remarks.

But judging by the gleam in his eyes, you had a feeling he probably had.

Your heart raced as you tried to compose yourself, swallowing back the nerves rising in your throat. You forced a smile, though it felt shaky at best. "I don't have anything to confess," you said, attempting to keep your voice light. "Is there anything you need help with?"

Satoru's smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming as he straightened up, his hands casually slipping into the pockets of his perfectly tailored trousers. "As a matter of fact," he drawled, "you could help me with something."

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. Before you could ask what he meant, two of Satoru's assistants appeared at his side, as if on cue, each one wearing the kind of professionalism that didn't quite mask the urgency in their steps.

Without explanation, they began to gently but firmly usher you toward the changing quarters.

"W-Wait—what's going on?" you stammered, glancing over your shoulder at Satoru, who followed behind leisurely, his long strides giving him an air of complete control. "Why am I changing? I thought my shoot was almost over?"

"Oh, nothing much," Satoru sing-songed, his lips pulling into a mischievous grin. "I just had a chat with the higher-ups about pushing up the date for a few of our theme releases. Ya'know, rearranging which models get which looks."

Your confusion only deepened, and you blinked owlishly, trying to make sense of his words as you were guided toward a small room at the end of the hallway. "But—what does that have to do with—"

You trailed off as you stepped into the changing room and saw the mannequin sitting in the center. It was draped in an outfit that made your breath catch in your throat. A short leather miniskirt, sleek and shimmering, paired with a crop bodycon top that clung to the mannequin’s torso like a second skin

The entire ensemble was a bold combination of black and silver, with metallic bangles adorning the arms and a choker embedded with silver and black accents.

But what truly caught your attention was the soft sheen of baby blue that ran through the outfit—a shade that was eerily similar to the blue of Satoru's eyes.

You stared at the outfit for a moment, taking in the platform boots that completed the look, their towering heels intimidating yet alluring. The whole ensemble screamed nightlife, clubbing, a world of flashing lights and pulsing music.

It was striking, to say the least.

The assistants wasted no time, setting down various items on a nearby table while preparing the room for your quick change. But you stood frozen, blinking again as realization slowly dawned.

Satoru leaned against the doorframe, watching you with an almost lazy amusement.

"You're joking," you muttered, half in disbelief.

Satoru raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

You glanced back at the mannequin, the black and silver catching the light in a way that made the outfit seem even more eye-catching.

The baby blue accents shimmered faintly, bringing your thoughts right back to Satoru, his confident smirk and those eyes that seemed to follow your every move.

The outfit looked like it had been designed for you—and only you.

The assistants were already moving around, gesturing for you to start changing, but your mind was still reeling. "You... moved up the schedule?"

"Had a feeling this look was perfect for you," Satoru said casually, pushing off the doorframe and walking further into the room. "Wanted to see it on you sooner rather than later."

You bit your lip, nerves fluttering in your chest as you stared at the mannequin once more.

The way Satoru's gaze lingered on you sent a shiver down your spine.

It was as if this entire thing had been orchestrated just for his amusement, his design, his vision.

The assistants handed you the top, a fitted crop that shimmered in the light, the baby blue accents standing out against the metallic silver.

You reluctantly grabbed it from them as they moved off to remove the other pieces from the mannequin.

The room felt warmer all of a sudden, like the air had thickened, and you couldn’t shake the tension prickling at the back of your neck.

You lifted your gaze only to find Satoru already staring at you, his eyes locked on yours in a way that made your breath hitch. You cleared your throat, your voice shaky as you tried to break the spell. "Shouldn't you leave? I need to change."

Instead of moving, his lips curved into that trademark smirk that always made your stomach flip. "I'll have to stay and oversee things. You know, just to make sure nothing goes wrong. I can swoop in and fix anything if needed."

Your face burned, heat rushing to your cheeks as his words lingered in the air.

You weren't naïve. You'd worked with dozens of stylists before, all of them meticulous, always staying to make sure the fit was perfect. But none of them ever made your skin tingle the way Satoru did.

None of them ever watched you like they were imagining a thousand different things beneath the clothes. And none of them ever made you feel like you were burning alive from the inside out with just a look.

Heart pounding, you turned away, hoping to escape his gaze. You began undressing, slipping out of your current outfit.

Each movement felt amplified, like you could feel the air around you, charged with tension. You reached behind yourself, trying to steady your breathing as you fumbled with the zipper.

You could practically feel his eyes on you, mapping out your body, lingering on every curve as if he could see right through the fabric.

Your skin prickled, the sensation of his gaze making it hard to even think straight. Every breath felt labored, every second stretched too long.

As you reached behind to unclip your bralette, your fingers trembling slightly, you felt a pair of hands cover yours—large, warm, and deliberate.

The shock froze you in place, your breath catching in your throat.

"Allow me to help you with that…" His voice was low, velvety, and it sent a shiver down your spine as he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear.

The world narrowed to that moment, the heat of his presence overwhelming your senses. His fingers gently brushed against yours as he unhooked your bralette, the touch feather-light but filled with an unspoken promise.

You couldn't move, couldn't breathe, the room suddenly too small, too hot, with Satoru towering behind you, his hands so close, too close.

Every nerve in your body screamed in protest, but your heart betrayed you, hammering in your chest as a low pulse of desire curled through your veins.

His hands slid away as he stepped back, giving you room, but the mark of his touch lingered long after he'd let go.

It left you breathless, the space between you charged with something dangerous, something unspoken that hung heavy in the air.

Satoru's smirk never wavered, his eyes still locked onto yours in the reflection of the mirror. "There..." he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. "...All done."

You stuttered out a soft, breathless, "Thank you," barely able to get the words out before Satoru turned on his heel. His presence seemed to consume the room, but as he barked an order to one of his assistants, the pressure finally lifted.

"Adjust the lighting for the next setup! And I want the backdrop changed in five minutes!" Satoru's voice rang out, sharp and authoritative. With one last glance over his shoulder at you, he strode away, leaving the room in a whirlwind of activity.

As soon as he was gone, it felt like you could finally breathe again. The air in the room cooled, the weight of his lingering presence fading, though not entirely.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you pulled the leather skirt up over your hips, the fabric snug against your skin. Satoru's assistant helped you with the bodycon top, tugging it into place, adjusting the hem and smoothing out the fabric as it clung to your curves.

The outfit was bold—almost too bold—but it fit like a second skin, highlighting every line of your body in the way only Satoru's designs could.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of camera clicks, flashing lights, and endless posing. Hours slipped by, the sun gradually lowering as the shoot continued, stretching longer than expected.

Nanami Kento, the photographer overseeing everything, was a perfectionist. His no-nonsense attitude left no room for error, and his eye for detail was unmatched.

He had insisted on waiting for the natural dusk light, arguing that it would complement the metallic sheen of your outfit and bring out the best in the overall composition.

You had worked with Kento before. His bluntness and unwavering pursuit of perfection made him a tough taskmaster, but he was one of the best in the industry.

Shoots paired with him always led to increased success. His images captured not just the clothes, but the mood, the essence of the model wearing them.

He and Satoru were at the top of their game right now, the dynamic power duo behind many successful campaigns, and you couldn't deny how they both pushed you further than anyone else ever had.

"…And… that's a wrap!" Kento's voice finally cut through the endless camera clicks, sharp and definitive. The faint ring of a bell followed, signaling the end of the shoot.

You exhaled a long, relieved breath, feeling the weight of the day lift off your shoulders.

The shoot had taken the remainder of the day, from midday to the last golden rays of dusk.

The combination of Satoru's exacting demands—making you pose in just the right way to show off the outfit—and Kento's insistence on perfect lighting meant you'd spent hours standing, twisting, and holding uncomfortable poses.

The tightness in your back and shoulders made it clear how long you had been at it. Your feet ached in the platform boots, and your muscles screamed for rest.

As the assistants began to pack away the equipment, the space slowly emptied out. The other models and staff had long since finished their own shoots and left, leaving only you and a skeleton crew behind.

The studio, once alive with chaos, was now eerily quiet, the low hum of final tasks being completed the only sound in the background.

You peeled yourself away from the set and made your way back to the dressing room, feeling the tightness of the leather skirt with every step.

The corridors were deserted now, with most of the team having wrapped up hours ago. The silence was almost jarring after the noise and flurry of the day.

You were exhausted, every muscle in your body protesting as you moved.

Finally, you reached your dressing room, the door creaking slightly as you pushed it open. The sight of the empty space—the vanity mirror now bare, clothes and shoes scattered—was a welcome relief.

The day had been long, but now you could unwind.

As you closed the door behind you, the quiet settled over you like a blanket, offering you the peace you desperately needed.

You stumbled into the room, barely keeping yourself upright as exhaustion weighed down your limbs. Practically dead on your feet, you began peeling off the clothes that had felt glued to your body for the last several hours.

The crop top slipped off first, falling to the floor with a soft thud.

You didn't care where it landed as you walked over to the couch in the center of the room, facing a large squared mirror. Each step felt like a weight being lifted from your sore muscles.

A cool draft brushed against your bare torso, making you shiver slightly as it passed over the sheen of sweat from the long day. Your fingers worked at the accessories next, unfastening the bangles around your wrists and dropping them carelessly.

The metal clanked against the floor, loud in the otherwise quiet space. You massaged your sore wrists, the cool air soothing the raw skin where the jewelry had pressed tight against you.

Your fingers then moved to the choker at your neck, tugging it free and letting it fall beside the rest, relieved to feel the soft touch of air against your throat.

Your mind began to drift, wandering somewhere far away from the chaos of the day. You thought about what you'd do when you got home.

Maybe snack on those yogurt bites you found at the grocery store earlier that week. Or maybe you can finally binge-watch that series you'd been meaning to catch up on.

The thought made you feel a little lighter.

Hell, you can even spend tomorrow doing absolutely nothing, you have nothing booked!

You were right in the middle of imagining your lazy day ahead, fingers working the clasp of your bralette, when the door creaked open behind you.

"Hey! I'm—" Your arms instinctively rose to catch your slipping bra before it could fall completely. Your heart raced, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

You looked up at the large mirror in front of you, eyes wide, only to lock gazes with Satoru, lounging casually against the doorway as if he had all the time in the world.

"—undressing," you finished, your voice dropping to a shaky whisper.

Satoru's lips curved into a faint smirk, his gaze shameless as it raked over your disheveled appearance. He tilted his head slightly, looking over his shades at the scattered accessories and top on the floor. "You know," he said, his voice light with a playful edge, "you really shouldn't leave my designs lying around like that. It's almost disrespectful."

For a moment, you thought he'd bend down to pick up the items—his creations, after all. But instead, he strolled right past them, making his way toward you.

Your breath hitched, your body freezing in place as his steps closed the distance between you.

Satoru's eyes, usually filled with playful mischief, were darker now, more intense as they followed the lines of your form.

He moved with the kind of confidence that left no room for doubt. And as he reached your side, standing just behind you, his presence loomed, filling the small space with the heat of his gaze.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the cool draft that had once been a relief now doing little to cool the flush rising across your skin.

Satoru stepped even closer, the heat radiating from him making the cool draft on your bare skin feel like a distant memory. His presence was overwhelming, filling the small room until all you could focus on was the warmth seeping from him and the way his gaze lingered on your reflection in the mirror.

"You know," he began, his voice soft, almost idle, "a lot of my best designs… they're not the ones I spend weeks perfecting." His words drifted through the air like a secret. He raised a hand, his fingertips brushing lightly against the faint indents the choker had left on your neck. The touch was barely there, yet it sent a shiver running down your spine. "No… the ones that really stand out," he continued, "are the ones that light up in my mind every time you fall into my vision."

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as he leaned in closer, his chest now just inches from your back.

The heat from his body wrapped around you like a second skin, and you watched him through the mirror, mesmerized by the intensity in his eyes as he spoke.

His hand, warm and deliberate, trailed slowly down your arm, his fingers brushing your skin with a tenderness that felt both comforting and dangerous.

"You're my muse," he said, almost as if speaking to himself, lost in the thought. "Every second I spend watching you, seeing you wear my designs, it's nothing but inspiration." His hand continued to drift lower, his fingers wrapping gently around your wrist before sliding back up, pulling you just slightly, coaxing your body into his.

Your breath grew heavier, chest rising and falling with each shallow inhale as you were drawn back against him, the solid warmth of his chest pressing into your bare back.

Your gaze flickered to the mirror, watching the scene unfold before you—his hand resting lightly on your waist, his eyes tracing the outline of your form as if committing every curve, every inch of you, to memory.

You could feel his breath, warm and steady, fanning against your ear, and it made your head spin, your thoughts running wild.

"Every touch," he murmured, his lips brushing just above your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "Every glance…" His voice dropped, becoming something darker, heavier. "I can't stop thinking about how perfectly you fit into my designs. Like you were made for them—or maybe… they were made for you."

His hand trailed down your arm, leaving a trail of heat in their wake, and you watched him in the mirror, breath hitching in your throat. Then, his lips ghosted over your ear again, the warmth of his breath making you tremble as he purred, "But you know… I keep thinking about something else…"

Your eyes widened slightly, and you felt him shift closer, his chest now flush against your back. The air between you crackled with tension, thick and almost suffocating, and yet you couldn't pull away—you didn't want to.

His hands pressed against your waist as he lowered his voice to something almost sinful. "…How perfectly you'll fit around me."

The words slipped from his lips, dripping with raw, undeniable desire, every word reverberating through your skin, hitting you like a tidal wave. Your breath stilled in your lungs, heat coursing through your body as your mind raced.

Wait a minute—what's… b-but—

His arms tightened around you as his mouth hovered near your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "Tell me you feel it too," he groaned, his voice low, growling with need as his fingers dug into your hips. "Tell me you want it… just as badly as I do."

Finally, your mouth seemed to catch up with your thoughts. "S-Satoru—"

Your voice once again falls away as Satoru's arms tightened around you, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. You felt his chest rise and fall rapidly, pressing into your back, his grip around your waist possessive, firm.

Then, in a voice so raw, so desperate it sent a shiver down your spine, he whispered, "Can I... have you?"

The words tumbled from his lips in a near whimper, laden with a hunger that bordered on pleading. His breath hitched, his forehead brushing against the back of your neck as if even he was losing control of the space between you.

Your heart hammered in your chest, your mind trying to process everything, yet failing to hold onto any coherent thought. His words, the way they sounded so needy, left you breathless.

You watched him in the mirror, his reflection almost ghostly in the low light of the room. His eyes were half-lidded, clouded with lust as they lingered on your form, and his lips, parted slightly, looked dangerously close to speaking something sinful, something that would push you over the edge.

The room was silent except for his panting breaths in your ear. You could feel his need in the way his arms wrapped around you, in the way his fingers pressed just a little too tightly into your skin.

"Say yes..." he breathed, his voice low and pleading, his lips now trailing down the side of your neck, leaving a trail of heat with every soft, almost teasing touch. "Please... just say yes."

Your breath caught in your throat, your body frozen in place as your mind blocking out everything else but Satoru.

The sound of him, the feel of him, the way his voice came out in that almost whimpering tone—it consumed you, leaving no room for anything else but him.

Finally, a breathless, barely audible "yes" escaped your lips, the word trembling from your mouth like a whimper, your resolve crumbling under the intensity of the moment.

It was as if a switch had been flipped in Satoru. His wicked smirk grew, a gleam in his eyes as he dipped his head lower, pressing a soft kiss to your neck before dragging his tongue in a slow, deliberate stripe up your skin.

The heat of his breath against your neck sent shivers racing down your spine, making your entire body tense.

"Good girl~" he purred softly into your ear, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

Before you could even catch your breath, he pulled you down onto the couch, his movements fluid and effortless. You landed in his lap, your back pressed firmly against his chest, legs bent and pulled up on either side of him, facing the mirror.

our thighs immediately began to burn from the stretch, the leather skirt you wore sliding up all the way, exposing the lace underwear beneath—the same light blue that matched the bralette you'd worn earlier.

The delicate fabric contrasted sharply with the heat of the moment, and your face flushed in embarrassment as your eyes caught the sight of a small wet patch there.

Your heart raced as you tried instinctively to close your legs, but before you could, he gently tapped your thighs with his fingers, his smirk never faltering. "Aht aht," he scolded lightly, his tone playful but firm, making it clear that he was in control.

His arms slid under your legs, lifting them slightly and pulling them farther apart.

The stretch made you gasp, thighs burning as he forced you all the way back against his chest, your body now fully reclined into him.

His grip was strong but not painful, holding you in place as his breath ghosted over the side of your face.

In the mirror, you saw it all—your legs spread wide, your flushed face, and Satoru's darkened gaze fixed on you, his expression one of total control. His was voice, low and teasing, rumbling against your ear. "Look at you... perfect," he murmured, holding you tightly against him, his arms securing you in place, his presence overwhelming.

The reflection showed more than just your vulnerability—it was the power he had over you, and the way he reveled in every second of it.

Satoru's left hand slowly trailed down your body, his touch feather-light at first, but purposeful. The cool air kissed your skin as his fingers slid beneath the waistband of your underwear, his hand pressing firmly against your most sensitive spot without pulling the fabric to the side.

The sensation made your breath hitch, and your entire body tensed as his fingers began to move, rubbing slow, deliberate circles along your slit, teasing and drawing out every bit of tension you’d been holding inside.

His fingers trailed gently up and down, gliding over your skin as if he were mapping you out, testing your every reaction. He found your clit with ease, rubbing small, teasing circles that sent jolts of heat through you, the slow rhythm making it impossible to think straight.

Your thighs twitched, the stretch around him making the sensation even more intense. The heat of embarrassment flooded through you as your body reacted, and when you turned your face away, unable to watch the reflection of what he was doing to you.

Satoru clicked his tongue softly in disapproval. "Uh-uh," he murmured, his voice dark with command. "Eyes on the mirror. Watch what I do to you."

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as your gaze reluctantly shifted back to the mirror.

His hand kept moving, the slow rhythm intensifying, the way he touched you sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. His reflection was smug, pleased, as he watched you fight to keep your eyes open and focused on what he was doing.

It was an order, and disobeying felt impossible.

When his finger slipped inside you, your body jolted slightly, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. His movements were slow, deliberate, each stroke inside you making it harder to think.

One became two, both pumping in and out of your clenching heat with a slow, deep rhythm. He kept his other arm wrapped securely around your waist, holding you in place against his chest as he worked his fingers deeper.

His breath was hot against your ear as his grip on your body tightened, his voice a low groan as he spoke. "You know what I can't wait to do?" His words sent a new rush of heat through you, and he chuckled softly at your reaction. "I can't wait to taste you... spend hours learning every inch of my muse's body. Watching you come undone again and again and again."

The promise in his voice made your mind reel, the intensity of his touch and his words leaving you breathless, your chest heaving as your pulse raced.

A particularly well-angled thrust had your back arching, a breathy moan slipping free. "That's it..." he praised, curling his fingers so they can brush against your G-spot again. "You're so wet for me... So responsive."

His thumb joined the fray, rubbing firmer circles over your clit that had your hips rolling mindlessly to meet his touch. He worked you higher and higher, stoking the flames of your pleasure until you were teetering right on the edge.

And still, he demanded you watch. Compelled you to observe the wanton display you made, his dark gaze devouring you from over your shoulder.

"Come for me," Satoru growled against your lips, his fingers pumping furiously now. "Let go. Now."

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, stealing your breath and whiting out your vision. You shook and shuddered in his hold, a cry of ecstasy torn from your throat as he wrung every last bit of pleasure from your spasming body.

Satoru swallowed the sound with his mouth, kissing you deeply as he continued his ministrations.

Only when you collapsed bonelessly against him did Satoru still his hand, drawing his glistening fingers from your depths. He brought them to his mouth, maintaining eye contact through the mirror as he licked them clean with a shameless moan.

"Delicious~" he purred, voice rough with satisfaction. "My perfect muse."

You felt weightless, the tension from the day—hell, the whole week—melting into nothingness as the lingering echoes of your orgasm left you in a daze. Your body felt loose, relaxed, like all the stress had finally evaporated, and for a moment, you simply existed, floating in the aftermath.

Then, you felt your thighs shift wider, and a small, confused sound escaped you before you even realized it.

Satoru's low chuckle filled the quiet room, dark and amused. "You didn’t think that was it, did you?" His voice dripped with mischief as his hands moved to adjust you in his lap. He shifted beneath you, pulling his pants down slightly as he repositioned you, pulling you higher onto his lap.

The movement pressed you closer to him, allowing you to fully feel him underneath you, hard and insistent. His hand returned to your underwear, the long digits returning to rub away at you.

The sudden pressure made your back arch instinctively, a small whimper escaping your lips from the mix of sensation—equal parts pleasure and the discomfort of being played with beyond your limit.

"Silly girl," he tutted softly into your ear, his breath warm against your skin. His hand returned to your waist, the grip firm yet tender, as he tugged your underwear to the side, filling you in one stroke.

You both froze for different reasons—your legs trembled as you felt the stretch, trying to stay tethered because he had to be the biggest you'd ever had, while Satoru groaned, overwhelmed by the tightness that enveloped him.

"F-Fuck," he groaned, his head falling back against the couch, eyes fluttering closed.

You let out a broken whimper, arms growing weak and giving out beneath you. You collapsed slightly forward, your forehead resting against his thighs as you tried to adjust, to find some relief from the pressure.

Satoru growled softly at the sight, his hands gripping your waist with more purpose. He pulled you fully down onto him, your hips flush against his.

"S-Satoru..." you moaned, your voice shaking, tears welling in your eyes as the sensation became overwhelming.

His hips jerked forward in short, deliberate movements, and your body responded, helpless to the rhythm he set. "T-that's right, baby, say my name..." he groaned, his voice thick with need as his hands guided you, pulling you back down with each upward thrust.

He lifted his hips to speed up the movements. You could only cling to his thighs, breathless and powerless against the force of his desire.

Satoru kept going, your name spilling from his lips like a prayer, filthy words laced with desire. His grip on your waist was tight, almost bruising, as he held you firmly in place.

The sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room—wet, slick noises and the rhythmic squelching with every movement.

The intensity of the moment wrapped around you, heightening every sensation, your body overwhelmed by the pressure building inside you.

Your second orgasm was approaching too quickly, the wave of pleasure rising fast, almost too much to handle. Desperation washed over you, and you tried to scoot forward, to slow things down, but Satoru's response was immediate—he went faster, his thrusts growing erratic.

You let out a choked cry, begging for him to slow down, but he only groaned in response, his pace relentless.

The sensation was overwhelming, and then it hit you, like you were thrown over the edge. Your eyes fluttered closed as the blinding pleasure rocked your entire frame.

Your body shook, every nerve alight as the intensity consumed you. You could hear Satoru cursing under his breath as you trembled in his arms, your body a quivering mess in the aftermath.

And then you felt it—the heat of him filling you, spreading through your lower body in a rush of warmth. Satoru let out a long, drawn-out groan, pressing himself flush against you as he reached his climax. His breathing was ragged, chest heaving as he stayed close, savoring the feeling.

Before you could catch your breath or say anything, Satoru moved again. He pulled you back slightly, and you gasped, the sudden movement sending a mix of pain and pleasure shooting through you.

His hands snaked under your thighs, lifting you carefully from his lap. He groaned softly as he watched his release spilling from you, leaking out as he admired the sight.

Satoru gave a low whistle, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "What a sight to see," he hummed, his voice thick with amusement. One of his hands trailed down to your entrance, his thumb gently grazing over the sensitive skin.

He played with your sticky entrance, his fingers teasing, before pressing back to plug up the fallen release. Your thighs twitched in response, a shiver running through you at the sudden sensation.

You called out his name for what felt like the third time, your voice weak but pleading. "Satoru..."

He let out a tired but satisfied chuckle, his hand pulling away as he finally relented. "Fine, fine," he murmured, lifting you effortlessly in his arms. He settled you down on his lap again, this time pulling you close to his chest, cradling you as his arms wrapped securely around you.

The warmth of his body pressed against yours, his breathing slowing as he rested his chin on the top of your head.

The night grew quiet, the tension fading into a comfortable stillness, but even as you relaxed against him, your mind wandered.

As the night went on, you couldn't help but think: Nobara was fucking right.

A/N: lolol, sorry for the influx of smut guys, promise this won't be like an everyday thinjg.... 👀 anyways, hope this was up to your standards and wasn't too bad bubbly-bear, i tried my best to make it work to the song...😭

[pumkinzee]

LAST FRIDAY NIGHT ˏˏ SURFER!PERCY JACKSON

summary: headcanons of a Percy surfer 'cause...why not?

pairing: Surfer!Percy Jackson x gn!reader

⌑ - English isn't my first language so I'm using a translator and my basic knowledge of the language!

𝐑equest 𝐨pens! + 𝐫ules!

Let's just say Percy stopped going to school and he and Sally found a comfortable place relatively close to Montauk, so Mr. Seaweed Brain had a beach right around the corner. His biggest dream since he found out he was the son of the creator of Veracruz (local joke)

Let's get one thing straight: this guy ALWAYS has energy

He discovered his passion (and talent) for surfing when a man who sold surfboards knocked on his door. He was bored, he had a couple of extra bucks, the thing is, he bought a surfboard

When Sally came home from work she saw a Percy hugging a surfboard with the biggest "look mommy what I bought" smile on his face and waiting for her to come along to use it

So that's how you met him. You were visiting Montauk, maybe as a tourist or on vacation with your family, but that's where you met him, surfing a monstrous wave with natural born talent.

That's if you're mortal, but if you're a demigod, like him, you're probably in the same situation as him: no school.

He's a bit of a dumbass, always has sand in his hair, forgets to put on sunscreen, and sweats. Even in the water, he sweats

He wins you over with his silliness, charisma and incredible surfing skills.

After an ice cream, a piñata colada and several dates, they make it official.

This guy is OBSESSED, he always picks you up from your house and takes you there.

Carved your initials on his board

He loves sunsets

Sally won't let him drink beer, but he manages to get some and cool off after refusing to leave the water all day long

He doesn't like seafood, I don't think he's too happy to eat his own people.

I think he likes milanesa con papas (hello Argentinians)

Whenever you kiss him he tastes like Coke and salt water, he puts his hand on your lower back or waist and giggles against your lips when you tiptoe

He's obsessed with piña coladas and ice cream shop dates, he'll always take you when he feels he has to step on dry land

He'd like to work as a lifeguard, I won't lie, but he realizes he's too boring and would quickly become paranoid, so he's the backup lifeguard. He's friends with the lifeguard

Everyone on the beach knows him, and EVERYONE on the beach knows he's your boyfriend, literally no one messes with you

There's a beautiful rock he always climbs on and makes jokes that he's the Little Mermaid, when canonically they are related

The beach is where he might have the most contact with his father but where he prefers to talk to him the least He hates it with his soul when he sees something he interprets as a sign and just can't help it

Curling up on a towel on the sand because he's too tired to go in the water

The kind of boyfriend who puts sunscreen on your back and leans over to kiss your

He forgets the sunscreen himself

He wears those military dog tags with your initials on them, and he never loses it because the ocean always gives it back to him if he drops it, plus he has an area of the beach with silly pictures of you that he drew with a stick on the sand

All the fish in the area know you guys are dating because they have been watching you making out in an air bubble

He is always wet, even if he hasn't even touched the water all day, he is always wet just to splash some water on you and annoy you

He hardly ever wears a shirt, he's a surfer, don't expect to see him wearing a shirt on the beach, he likes to flirt with you

He hasn't told you, but he would like you to give him hickeys and other kinds of marks so the people on the beach can see that he has a partner from another angle, but his fantasy dies when he remembers that his mother will see it too, and he dies of shame

I just know that this man is jealous, he doesn't like it when people look at you and you are in a bathing suit, whatever bathing suit it is, he feels threatened by tourists, people selling popsicles and shrimp pennants, let him be

His whole back is burned, there have been days where he asks you to apply cream to stop it burning madly

His favorite movie is Teen Beach Movie

He made you a shell necklace

He drops marine biology facts in between kisses

He knows how to open coconuts, don't ask how he figured it out, he just does it out of nowhere when there are some lying under the palms

©pumkinzee

[woso-dreamzzz]

Pup's Halloween

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle x Child!Reader

Summary: The fourteenth of my Halloween-centric fics

Lucy loves her family.

Her parents. Her brother and sister. Her aunts and uncles and grandparents. All her cousins and everything in-between.

But she loves, most of all, this little family in Spain she has.

With Ona tucked under her arm in bed and the baby in their new bedroom just down the hall and the even more excitable child that she shares with Keira and Laura.

She loves Keira too, to an extent. Not that romantic love that surrounded them when you got adopted but still a deep love that comes with being co-parents to an excitable little girl that's up way too early to be healthy.

"Pup," Lucy groans, voice still thick with sleep and unbelievably groggy as she hears the familiar pitter-patter of feet on the carpeted floor," It's too early."

"No," You say," Mummy says when the clock says nine and five-zero. She says that's wakeup time."

"I'm not Mummy, Pup," Lucy reminds you," This isn't Mummy and Mama's house. It's Mum and Mami's house."

"With Baby Sibling, yes, I know. Still, wake up time. Pumpkin day."

Lucy's eyes crack open, lifting her head off the pillow and astounded by the way Ona's still fast asleep throughout this whole exchange.

"Why don't you just get into bed with us?" Lucy asks, weary and still heavy with sleep.

You point to the tv mounted on the wall. "Paw Patrol?"

"Mami's still asleep."

"I wake her."

Lucy fights back a groan. "No, Pup. We can watch Paw Patrol but it has to be low, alright? Mami deserves to sleep."

"Okay."

Lucy helps you into the middle of the bed, letting you drink from her water and turning on your favourite episode of Paw Patrol before you speak again.

"Baby Sibling awake too," You tell Lucy.

She screams into her pillow - her lay in well and truly forgotten.

By the time she gets back to the bedroom with the baby, you've successfully woken Ona who looks a little dazed and confused but happy nonetheless.

"And Mama take me climbing at rock wall with funny thing around my legs," You're telling Ona when Lucy comes back in.

"I told her not to wake you."

Ona laughs, bundling you closer as she raises her arms for the baby. "I have no problem being woken by Pup kisses."

You grin at her, showing off all your pearly whites before clambering over to Lucy to give her kisses too.

"Pumpkins now?"

"Later," Lucy corrects," Let's get through breakfast first."

The idea of pumpkin carving had originally been Keira's idea but it had only been in passing but you'd really taken to the idea, insisting that you actually get to do it with at least one of the couples.

At seeing the slight look of disgust on Laura's face at the idea of rummaging around in pumpkin guts, Ona offered up her and Lucy as the sacrifices.

Which is really the reason why Lucy's sat at her own kitchen table trying to dig a knife through the stubborn pumpkin sat in front of her.

The baby babbles happily in their highchair as Ona stands at the kitchen sink, supervising your hand washing.

"Do you need any help, Luce?" She asks.

"No!" Lucy insists," I've got this!"

She very much doesn't have this but Lucy isn't about to let a stupid pumpkin beat her.

Finally, after several desperate moments, she manages to cut through and breathes a sigh of relief as you come over, dressed in your puppy costume.

"Alright, Pup," Lucy says, hefting you up onto her lap," We're going to take this pen and draw what we want to cut out."

You take the pen, nodding seriously. "I draw puppy."

"No, Pup," Lucy says gently," It's Halloween. Remember those designs I showed you? Something like that."

Ona chuckles from her seat across the table with her own pumpkin.

"No," You say," I want puppy."

"I-"

"If she wants to draw a puppy then let her draw a puppy," Ona laughs," It'll make her happy."

"But I'm the one that has to cut it out."

"Then you'll make her happy," Ona says.

Lucy sighs again and you look up at her.

"Mum?"

"Alright, Pup," Lucy says," Let's find some pictures of a dogs on a pumpkin to get ideas, alright? Let's see if we can copy one down."

Ona, like Lucy predicted, finishes her pumpkin much quicker than you and her and you leave Lucy to cut out the picture in favour of watching Ona place a candle into her pumpkin, showing you the way it lights up the scary face she's cut out of it.

"Do you need any help?" Ona asks.

"No! I've got this!" Lucy insists as she gets through a particularly tricky curved area of your puppy drawing," I'm nearly done."

But it seems Lucy's version of nearly done is different to Ona's definition of nearly done because times passes and your baby sibling gets put to bed and you have your bath time.

"Mum," You call, toddling towards her in a different puppy onesie," Night-night."

"Night, Pup," Lucy says on autopilot, leaning down to drop a soft kiss to your crown," Sweet dreams."

"Sweet dreams!" You says back, slobbering all over Lucy's cheek in your own version of a night time kiss before hurrying back to Ona for your bedtime story and a glass of warm milk.

"Done!" Lucy announces, putting down her tools to triumphantly look around," I did it!"

"That's nice." Ona's head pops around the door frame. "But can you be a bit quieter? The kids are asleep."

[coldilikeit]

Yandere Batfam x Camp half-blood (Neglected reader)

DC x Pjo

Part 6

This had like a huge timeskip

___________________________

It's been 3 months Since you decided to stay at camp

It's been so good, the camp is quiet, since it's school year right now, it's currently October, the weather outside doesn't really affect the camp but it's chilly, the good kind

Percy and Annabeth have been sending you photographs of their schools, since you can't go to school anymore

Because you're "dead"

Still even if you're not studying, no way you're gonna let them get ahead of you, so you spent an entire day carving an Athena statue

You got a bunch of food from the Cornucopia as offerings

Then you pray "Lady Athena, may you please guide me, I need books on grade 6 studies.... Please?"

For good measure you decided to place a drachma on the statue

"I- I want to study... And uhhh, I've never really prayed to a god before- I mean what kind of god would - okay going off topic, I want to learn because I don't want to feel helpless anymore, I've been there, never again, so if- you could help me... I'd appreciate it, but you don't have to if you don't want- sooo... Yeah I guess, do I say amen? Um bye"

"didn't think a child of Aphrodite would ever be interested in learning"

"AH!" You yelp as a voice appears behind you

" 'Thena can you not sneak up on children, that's fucking creepy"

You tilt your head "Mr. D???"

"kid next time you want to study just bother Chiron, there's legal procedures to this kinds of things" he groaned

You were about to apologize but then Athena spoke up for you "Nonsense, if she wants an education is it not reasonable to get it from the best?"

She turns to you "kid, what do you want to know about?"

With great determination you say "I want to know everything I can manage to learn"

"really?" She smirked

"Yes. Whatever you can teach me, how to use an abacus, what body part do you stab someone to kill them in an instant, how to crochet, whatever you can teach"

"yeah while you two are at it can you teach her how to undo my punishment" Mr D opens another new diet coke

______________________________

"Gods- Wait crap" you collapse on the floor

4 fucking hours now, she's been training you for four hours, Mr D had finished 55 diet cokes watching and laughing at you

Out of every fight, she wins, of course she does, out of every train, sparring, archery and everything she made you try

"new rule, all you have to do is make sure this cloth touches me, whether it be a momentary graze or wrap it around me, it just needs to make contact, and I will try to push you out of bounds" she says pulling out a blue cloth and a bunch of rocks and twigs form a square

You didn't think it'd be easy, at all, she'd dodge and dodge and dodge

You lunge at her and change direction to where she's going, but she flies instead

The sun is going down, and Athena flies down and kicks you near the bounds

"AHHH! ow! Shit!" Your form looks disfigured, your arm is under your body and it doesn't look good

You cry, tears coming out as you try to not scream "I fell the wrong way, I-" you sob on the ground

"Shit, Thena what did you do?!?" Mr D stands up

"I'm sorry- I didn't, help please...." You scream in pain

Athena teleports to you and kneels, she turns to Mr D "I'll call on Apollo to heal her arm and-" she stops talking

She stops talking as she feels a silky texture on her cheeck

With wide eyes she looks at you, and your smug smile, that stupid smile

"I finally won against you" you stand up and dust yourself off

You can't beat the goddess of wisdom, but- you can trick her

"huh..." She says

Mr D spikes his diet coke on the ground "(name) go fuck yourself"

___________________________

I'm about to take a test rn, it's mathematics 😀

Anyways enjoy the chapter:3

@delias-stuff @sadslasher13 @ellaprime7 @wpdarlingpan @mountvesuvu @chinxinsomnia @nathaly36 @vanessa-boo @bat1212 @ceramic-raven

[nanamiskentos]

Begging you to write something for Kashimo you're the only writer I've seen that actively writes for him please i will literally suck you off (pretend I just didn't type that, i'm just desperate for fine shyt)

I CAN DO A LOT WITH FIFTEEN MINUTES ❛ hajime kashimo won't ever admit defeat, even if there's a time constraint. he just has to make you finish ❜

cw — afab!reader, MDNI, marking, édging, kashimo doesn't fw gojo, thigh ríding, inappropriate jujutsu usage, gojo cameo, fíngéring

"i kinda' ship them, wouldn't you agree?" you're snapping your glossy mouth, gently gnawing on your lower lip. straddled over a toned, muscular thigh, with your back pressed against a washboard, deliciously carved abdomen, "hakari and kirara, right?"

you hear a clever tongue click absent-mindedly behind the soft shell of your ear, "i do not understand this, i may find them . . insufferable, but are they not friends of yours?" you can hear the strained confusion colouring kashimo's voice, that, and the impatience as he's hissing and sucking a quick draw of breath between teeth as you lean back into him just a little bit more, "why would you send them off on a boat?"

ah, sometimes it's easy to forget that the sharp-tongued, bratty, teal-haired sorcerer ( who spends his days attempting to pick fights with anyone who looks at him 'funny' ) is yet to fully swap out his birth-tongue medieval vernacular for something a bit more up to date.

"it means that i think they'd look cute together, 'jime," you sigh, hearing kashimo sigh, loud and heavy, before opting to bury his face into the crook of your neck. if only to nip at the soft flesh there, awaiting the blooming petals of the pink and violet bruises he so loves to see there.

"that's nice, little dove," kashimo murmurs, and you can tell that he's doing his best to indulge your gossip and conversation, but the thick curve that's straining against the loose drape of his martial pants is making it quite difficult for him to focus, "but we do not have long before everyone is scheduled to meet here. and the last thing i wish for is that irritating, white-haired upstart to kick up a fuss."

"who?" you frown, a soft whine slipping from your lips as kashimo's strong hands find a firm grip on your waist, gently beginning to move you back and forth in a slow rocking motion, "gojo?"

"if i do not like someone, i will not indulge them by speaking their name."

sighhh, frankly what gojo thinks is the last thing on your mind right now. . . for all you can truly think about is the gentle, cloying strands of slick that must be pooling now in your underwear. stimulated by the soft brush of fabric creating an electrifying friction, dampening kashimo's pants with a translucent stain of your arousal.

you're so lost in the addictive sway of your cunt against the contours and muscle of kashimo's thighs, like the subtle pressure of a coiled spring just waiting to break loose, "feels s-so good, 'jime."

a rasp-rough chuckle from kashimo, his hands falling away from your hips and leaving you to rock yourself against his thigh in growing desperation. hands instead curling around your front to slide surreptitiously up your top, breezing past sensitive and pebbled skin to gently cup your breasts, tweaking and flicking, "yeah, yeah? thought so, heh, my fair lady."

but just as you're so, so close to seeing stars shoot across your vision, kashimo bounces his thigh, creating the most delicious jolt that suddenly breaks your rhythm and leaving you to kiss your climax a tearful goodbye, "what the f-fuck, i was gonna' –"

kashimo is so close to you, his face practically glued to the back of your neck that you can feel the flutter of his long, teal lashes as he rolls his eyes, "whaaat? you were gonna cum, was that it, little dove? is that why you're suddenly so –," a bandaged finger reaching around to wipe a stray, frustrated crystalline droplet from your teary eyes, "weak, mm? weak for my touch?"

"y-you're the one who said we didn't have long 'n –"

the same finger that was gently brushing over your weeping eye, gliding away the last remnants of your ruined orgasm, now presses over your lips, firm, "shh."

kashimo quickly spreads his thighs apart, and considering you had just been balancing on one, the action should have toppled your balance. but a veiny arm wraps your waist, keeping you in. . place pressed against his back.

instead, now your legs are spread wide, each ankle hooked around kashimo's calves so you balance precariously.

praying to god, to tengen, to every deity out there and throwing whoever you can quickly of in, that the training room door will remained closed for at least fifteen minutes. but it's hard to think rationally when kashimo is purring, still pressed to your back as he reaches around your waist to gently pull down your waistband.

"how filthy," he teases, "tsk', i've barely even touched you, and you're drippin' allll over my fingers." and while you'd like to keep your dignity intact, there's no denying that every prod of kashimo's padded fingertips against your pussy leaves the bandages soaked in your wetness.

"alright, little dove," kashimo murmurs, "here we go, keep ya' balance for me." and you wonder why he's bothering to give you a warning when your cunt is already spread by his hand, but in hindsight, it makes so much sense because like most things kashimo does, his pace is brutal and aiming to win.

in and out, in and out. the sloppy pshh and pop! of kashimo's fingers driving into your gummy walls has you keening, and it has the old sorcerer loudly moaning before he sucks in a breath, lips pressed together tightly like all he wants to hear right now is you, just you.

"ah, ah, 'jime," you writhe in his gasp, groaning as his fingers prod and curl in all the right places. sharp, pistoning motions that faintly crackle, you swear, heightening every sensation tenfold, "are you, f-fuck, are you seriously using –, oh my god!"

you can feel kashimo smile against your neck, and the soft press of his lips on your skin, "am i using what, love?" waiting for your answer that was never going to arrive, not with how kashimo's pumping his middle finger against that sweet spot, "ah, can't even speak now, 's a damn shame."

what a debauched sight the two of you must make. kashimo, flushed just from watching and hearing you fall apart on his lap, with his teal hair unbound. choppy, slick strands brushing his shoulders. you, with your legs pushed wide open, and wider still as kashimo jolts his own thighs apart further.

you're babbling now, riddled cries of the sorcerer's name, as he never lets up, not even once on the nasty pace. if you turn your head to fall back against kashimo's shoulder, you can taste the trail of salt-tears at the corner of your mouth, "baby, 'j-jime, so close now, baby."

"good, good," kashimo hisses, and you don't miss how he's furiously bucking his hips up, jolting you higher into his lap as he must chase some friction for his own release, "if you jus' hold onn, little dove."

a thumb messily gliding through your glossy mess to flick at your clit, all in conjunction with kashimo melding three fingers into your pussy, well, it's got you hurtling close and the sorcerer knows it, "three." he crooks his fingers inside and towards your groin, "two." sloppily running his thumb alongside the side of your clit, scooping, "one."

a devastating high that leaves you both panting, and your hips clenching and twitching, your arousal so plentiful that it's beginning to froth and pool at the edges of your pushed aside underwear. kashimo hisses, and then sighs, "made a mess, love." and you need not pointedly mention the dark stain on his loose, white pants.

"you look like a mess, 'jime." your legs feel utterly boneless but you make an effort to move, falling back into kashimo's surprisingly gentle, "i've got a hold of you." the sorcerer's laughing as you smooth your skirt down, grimacing at the slap of slick and sweat that's dampening your flesh.

kashimo's snapping his teeth around a loose tie that hangs off his wrist to scrape his cyan hair back up into his recognisable knots, "you know, if we had more time, little dove, i would have –" he makes a quick whistling sound, jerking his wrist over his groin and pointedly looking down to your shaking thighs, "but we had to make do."

it's a surprisingly crude gesture from the prudish sorcerer that makes you laugh, "and right on time, too. because i swear, if anyone had –"

"i swear to fucking god, you two pull that shit again, i'm going to fight sukuna early." yeah, right on time, because gojo's pushing open the training room door with one hand, the most disgusted look over his face that informs you that you didn't account for the sheer magnitude of six eyes.

gojo's bright-blue eyes swivel away from the turquoise-haired sorcerer now, to where you're shuffling sheepishly and avoiding kashimo's proud, fanged grin, "and you, control your boy toy. i don't have time for this shit."

you press your lips together in faint embarrassment in front of one of your oldest friends, all while kashimo is vaguely fiddling with his hands, making you wonder if he's about to pull out some new domain expansion that no one has heard of. but what you end up hearing is a satisfied 'aha!'.

"see, i'm getting the hang of these modern things." kashimo's fingers are curled into a tight fist, all save for the middle one, proudly flipping gojo off ( who just mutters some ominous portent about hoping that december 24 rolls around quicker )

[tsukishimakeiswife]

nsfw below !

just gojo satoru dragging you to the closest restroom after you get a little too handsy with his best friend geto. or was it the other way around? he doesn't care, and neither do you right now. he practically throws you onto the counter while you try not to fall into the sink with a little yelp.

not a word leaves his mouth as he pulls your lace panties and shoves his pretty cock in your perfect cunt, always so wet for him.

"satoru,-shit- please. we were just talki-" your words are cut off by two long, slender fingers being shoved harshly in your mouth. his pace only gets faster- harder as every second passes. not once does he look away from you, making sure you do the same too.

"this is what you wanted- fuck, yeah? to be stuffed like you deserve. well, i'll make sure of it. i'll see how you're able to walk to him after i'm done with you." shivers run down your spine as you held yourself up, seeking help from the mirror behind you for support as he rammed into you without a care- two fingers in your mouth and two on your clit, fucking you in the way you oh-so loved.

your choked cries and 'slow down's reached gojo perfectly, he understood every single word. but all he did was smirk, as you crumbled underneath him.

he could tell you were close from the way you tightened around him, always so perfect for him. he'd carved your insides to make sure no one could ever please you in the way he does. "close already? my poor baby needs to cum, hm?" he mocked you with that sinister look on his face. he was right. tears welled up in your eyes as you tried to let out a little 'please' before he thrusted into you harder than ever.

but why would he let you win? he's gojo satoru after all. all his movements stopped making you blink your tears away. 'no, how could he?' was all you could think of. the two of you were inches away from each other, bodies still pressed against each other's, but devoid of the pleasure you had moments ago. he took his fingers out of your mouth with a pop before proceeding to put them in his, licking them clean of your saliva.

"no- i'm sorry. please let me cum, i promise i'll be good. please, satoru" you held onto his shirt, tugging it and rocking your hips, hoping for something- anything. you drove him crazy. he was gojo satoru. but because of you, he hesitated. he wanted to give you the pleasure you wanted so good. you sat there so prettily in front of him. wet lips and fucked out face. only he could see you like this, he was gonna make sure of that.

"aww, but my girl looks so pretty when she's flustered," he says, as he wipes off the saliva on ur lips and walks away. he grabbed your panties before shoving them into his pocket.

"we're leaving. gotta finish off what you started here."

a/n- this is my first smut pls i hate it

[differenteagletragedy]

AU where Simon moves in across the street from you when you're a kid and then you meet Johnny a few years later (stop me if you've heard it)

The summer you turned eight, the Rileys moved into the house across the street from yours. It was an easy day to remember, partially because it was a rare occasion that anyone new moved into the small little neighborhood, but mostly because that's the day you met your best friend.

Mr. and Mrs. Riley weren't very friendly, and that never changed much, but that was ok -- you weren't all that interested in getting to know them. But you were pretty excited to get to know their little boy, Simon, who your parents had told you was around your age.

That first day, a moving truck parked on the street for hours, and you played in the front yard, watching men move in boxes and furniture and all sorts of boring things. You looked and looked, but there was no sign of the boy.

By mid-afternoon, you set off for a walk through the woods near your house, almost certain that the Riley boy wasn't real. You walked your usual path, a well-worn trek through the trees and towards the little stream, content to play by yourself like you normally did.

But this time, someone was already there.

A child you'd never seen before, so tall you weren't sure how old he was, stood by the water, looking down as it flowed over the smooth rocks you liked to play with. He turned towards you, sensing you there, and you saw his dark brown eyes look down at you, almost accusatory. As if this was his spot, not yours.

"Are you Simon?" you asked.

"Who's asking?"

You rolled your eyes -- obviously you were asking. You'd had hopes of being friends with the new kid in the neighborhood, but if he was this dumb, you might not bother trying.

"I live across the street from you," you told him. "We're neighbors."

He nodded, turning back to look at the water. There was something troubled in his eyes, you saw it even then, and it softened you to him, just a little. Enough that you stepped closer, pointing down to the creek.

"Wanna throw rocks?" you offered.

He smiled, just a little, and you saw the little dimples carved into his freckled cheeks. It was a cute smile, and you decided then that maybe he was worth the effort after all.

Five years later, when you and Simon were 13, you met Johnny.

Simon was, at this point, the most important person in your life, maybe besides your parents. Quiet but dependable, loyal to a fault -- everything you could ever want in a best friend. The two of you were inseparable, but for that summer, your duo became a trio.

Johnny didn't go to your school, he didn't even live in the same town as you and Simon. You met him by chance one day that the two of you had managed to make your way to the big mall the next town over, where the MacTavishes lived. After that, he just sort of wormed his way into the friendship.

He was, in a lot of ways, the complete opposite of Simon. Loud, outgoing, a big flirt -- something you absolutely noticed, especially on the days where Simon couldn't make it to hang out and it was just you and Johnny.

His family was warm too, a definite contrast from Simon. The Rileys only had the one child, one they didn't care for in the way they should, but the Mr. and Mrs. MacTavish, along with Johnny's three older sisters, all doted on him. And in turn, they doted on you whenever you came over.

"It's a bit embarrassing, lass, I'm sorry," he'd tell you when he finally managed to pull you into his room. "You didn't come over here to get teased by that lot, you came to spend time with me."

The smile he gave you then was cocky, much too confident for a typical 13-year-old boy, but Johnny wasn't typical, not in that way. He was too charming for his own good.

The best though, was when all three of you could spend time together, and many days that summer, you were able to do just that.

One day, you and Simon took Johnny to the woods in your neighborhood. The spot inside, down by the stream, had long since become not only your spot, but Simon's too, and you wanted to show it to your new friend. It was a big deal, even if neither of you explicitly said so.

"What, you guys come down here and wade in the creek? That's how you have fun in this town?" Johnny scoffed, but there was no bite in his voice. There never was, not with you and Simon.

Simon knelt down and picked up a stone, turning it over in his hands before trying to skip it down the stream.

"Yeah, that's how we get our rocks off."

You and Johnny groaned in unison at the pun, but Simon just smiled.

With him to one side, tall and familiar, freckles out in full force in the summer sun, and Johnny to the other, bright blue eyes bouncing around the forest, you felt a sense of happy peacefulness.

A little like you were home.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part fifteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3.7k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Pearly sunlight weaves through the trees, casting freckles across the calm current of the creak. Somewhere, a raven bleats loudly, but your ears block out the sound. The skin between your brows wrinkles with concentration as you tightly grip the wooden makeshift spear, its carved point hovering just above the water.

Numerous fish writhe below you, and your eyes dart between them studiously before finally settling on the meatiest one. With a quick stab, your spear pierces the water's surface, but all it hits is the mucky bottom of the creak. The fish startles with a splash and swims off downstream. 

"Fuck me," you huff, standing up from your squatting position on the rock to soothe the growing ache in your thighs.

Fishing shouldn't be much different than hunting, yet, it's been hours and all you have to show for it is a small chub the size of your palm. With a sigh, you decide your craving for fish isn't worth all this effort and leap off the rock, carrying your measly catch in one hand and spear in the other. Maybe the still waters of the pond could be an easier spot to try someday.

You chose the creak over the pond because it's a greater distance from camp. The longer walk allows you to fixate on the emerald green leaves fluttering in the breeze and the soft chatter of swallows that are returning after their winter migration. Everything is starting to turn into Blue's favorite color. For the first time, you departed the cabin without a jacket, opting for only the long-sleeve tee from Ghost. You had the sleeves rolled to your elbows while fishing, but as you trek back through the wild grasses, you push them down and allow the fabric to brush your knuckles. 

There are hardly any flowers left on the Pink Sorrel after all your foraging. It's a shame they taste so good because the petals are a beautiful fuschia. Arriving at camp, you amble over the plucked stems, bound across the trench with ease, and spot Blue on the other side of the gate offering Grim a wad of grass.

The moment you returned yesterday, she had asked how training with Ghost went. That was quick, she'd observed. Weasling past the rules of your friendship, you gave her a half-lie: He went easy on me this first time. She didn't seem fully convinced that Ghost and 'going easy' belonged in the same sentence together.

"Hey," you greet. "Open the gate for me?"

Grim is given a pet across his back before she leaps up to undo the locks. 

“Hey. How’d it go?” She looks at your near-empty hand. "Fucking noodles. That's it? I thought there were lots of fish there."

"There are. I just suck at catching them."

She gives you an apologetic smile. "Oh— Ghost was looking for you, by the way."

It takes you a moment to respond. "He was?"

"Not sure what for." Her brows furrow. "I'm also not sure where he went. He was here, and then—" Her blue eyes glimmer like water in the sunlight as they shift to something in the distance. "Oh, there he is."

The very person you'd spent hours of alone time trying not to think about arrives as a shadow, lugging what appears to be—you squint—a fucking corpse behind him. Upon closer inspection, it is certainly a body, and with how wonky the limbs look as they drag against the ground, it must be a Grey. That's a little more reassuring, and a lot less bothersome, than if it were a human corpse. 

He drops the corpse in front of the trench, rubs his gloved hands together, and then passes through the parted gate. 

"Is that what you wanted Twix for?" Blue asks, nodding to the Grey.

Ghost explains himself in an even more gruff baritone than usual. "Knew I smelled something." He speaks at you. "I wanted you to check south while I checked north."

"Oh. Sorry," you say lamely and hold up the small chub. "I was, uh, fishing. Looks like you found the source, though. Just one?"

He nods. "Only found one. Could be others so we'll keep an eye out."

"Why did you bring it here?" you ask curiously. 

Blue is the one to answer. "To burn it. Sometimes it seems like they attract each other, haven't you noticed?"

"Right," you grimace. "Blood and rot. Their favorites."

Setting down the catch and spear, you help Ghost gather some wood from the modest pyramid stacked beside the cabin. He nudges the Grey with a booted foot, making it tumble limply into the trench. Starting the fire in there should keep the flames contained.

As you silently place the wood and some kindling over the carcass, your mind is in two places at once. With Ghost right next to you, it's impossible to not think about yesterday; how it felt to be grabbed by him, how he questioned you again about the ammo trip, and how you can't help but detest the thought of him looking at you in pity like he once he did. 

You also think about how much you fucking hate Greys. Christ, they are disgusting. Your fingers accidentally brush against the paper-thin skin that hangs off the bones and a shudder travels up your spine.

Ghost starts the fire with a match and the two of you watch the flames catch, quietly at first— then, they roar through the corpse, quickly turning it black. Bitter smoke intermingles with the crisp spring air and the smell has you coughing into your arm.

Blue has taken it upon herself to avoid the fire, making an audible gagging sound before scooping up Grim. In her absence, you shift from foot to foot, stealing a glance at Ghost. He watches the ash build up and the flames tamper down in mild interest. 

Your fingers curl up into balls, fisting the excess fabric. "Are you worried about more?" you ask him.

It's the first thing you've said to him - actually said to him - since cutting your training short. He loosens a breath and slightly shrugs his broad shoulders. "No. I told you. We never see more than a few at a time." You weren't worried, but if you were, his dismissal of the subject would reassure you. "You should be careful until I finish your bow, though. Unless you're good at throwing knives."

"I'm not," you almost snort, voice no louder than it needs to be. "But Blue is quite good at it. She's been killing squirrels for me."

He hums his response, a low sound that gets lost in the crackle of embers, and you wonder if that's him showing a lack of interest in this kind of conversation with you. With a deep inhale, you change the subject to one you can't ignore.

"Ghost— I want to apologize," you turn to face him, straightening your shoulders. "I wasted your time yesterday. It won't happen again. If we could... give it another try, I would like that."

The smoke is starting to fade. Ghost breaks his gaze from it to study you. You try not to shrink away, wondering what he's thinking. If he feels pity, it's impossible to detect in the dark irises set behind his mask, though, you've never been able to find much of anything in them. 

"You didn't waste my time, Twix. I have an interest in your capabilities." 

"What?" 

"If you're going to be staying here," he elaborates, "—then your strength is of value to me. I'd like to know that if I ask you to do something, you can do it. That if shit happens again, I can rely on you."

"You can," you breathe out. "I am... capable."

"You are," he agrees, looking away. "You're good with a bow. You think quick. But you're still weak, and you doubt yourself." The blunt comments make your brows lower, but you can't help but feel satisfied with the glimpses of approval. "Yesterday was my fault. You weren't ready for it and I should've known that."

"I am ready," you protest, lips parting as you shake your head. "Let me try again. I don't want to be coddled."

"I'm not going to coddle you," he replies in a firm drawl. "I want you stronger first. Let's start there."

“Okay.”

A hand.

There's a hand on your shoulder, heavy and firm, offering a slight shake. With a gasp, your eyes fly open to darkness, only the white of a skull visible above you, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight. 

"What the hell?" are the first words you sputter, voice harsh and raw from sleep. You grip your throat to clear it. 

He scans your face. "Get up. Come on."

"What? What... what fucking time is it?"

"Almost dawn. Let's go."

It takes a few deep breaths to calm the rush of adrenaline ignited by his abrupt wake-up call. Go where? you think to ask, but instead, you slick a hand through your hair, warily rubbing your eyes to adjust to the lack of light.

Somehow you end up outside, wading through the sprawled-out fog as you follow behind his silhouette, the morning so early and quiet that it would've felt like a dream if not for your crunching footsteps. You braid your into a single, tight braid along the way. With such shitty sleep, you're too out of it to even scowl at his backside, wondering how getting up at this hour will in any way make you stronger. 

The answer is in the two axes he carries and the towering oak tree he stops in front of, your eyes climbing up the height of it before landing back down on Ghost. Your hands are forced out of your coat pockets when an axe is offered to you, fingers curling around the handle and abs tightening from the surprising weight of it.

Confusion rolls around in your gut. Slowly, you ask, "Um. You... want me to cut this thing down?"

"We need more wood after yesterday." He inclines his head and gives a tap of his own axe to the thick trunk. "Good size for you to start with."

"It's huge," you mutter under your breath. "Why do we have to do this so early?"

If there's any reasoning to it at all, he doesn't bother sharing. Rather, he stalks over to another tree about ten meters away. The calm air is soon shattered by the rough sound of metal biting wood as he starts effortlessly cutting the trunk. A large part of you considers dropping the axe and leaving without a word, but you ignore it.

"Alright then," you whisper to yourself. 

It's not the first time you've chopped down a tree. You used to help Paul with it, and truthfully, you're surprised Ghost has never asked you to do chores like this sooner. It's certainly bigger than the skinny, young trees you used to go for, evident in how little of a dent you make with the first swing.

Either you're as weak as Ghost claims, or this axe of his is heavier than the one Paul had because your biceps feel strained by the third hit.

"Have you never done this before?"

The voice at your back nearly makes you drop the axe. Whirling around, you face the colossal presence of him and wonder how you didn't notice it sooner.

"I have." You rest the thick blade on the ground, grumbling. "Do you have a thing for sneaking up on people?"

"Be more aware of your surroundings." His tone teeters towards admonishing, and he looks you over before ticking up a brow. "And fix your stance before you throw your bloody back out."

He nudges the toe of his boot against yours, forcing you to spread your feet further apart. Your lips roll together as he grunts in approval. "Try again now."

When he takes a step back, you face the tree again, bending your elbows before extending them sharply. The blade cuts deeper this time, if only by a little.

"You're focusing too much on your arms," he remarks behind your shoulder. 

Your eyebrow twitches. "I'm... I'm holding the axe with my arms. Why would I not focus on them?"

"When you're shooting arrows, what muscles do you use the most?"

Thinking back to those lessons from Paul, you answer almost immediately. "My back." It's always the part that gets most sore. "And my... my shoulders, I guess."

"Focus more on those."

His advice helps. The next swing deals considerable damage to the bark. You turn to see his response, but he's already gone back to his tree.

The next few days involve so much chopping and sawing that you think you might be starting to hate wood and all of its forms. After the trees are down, you have to cut them into sizeable logs. The back-and-forth motion leaves your arm numb. You quickly realize why Ghost is making you get up early for this work— once the sun is out, it becomes miserable, cold sweat cascading down your back and temples. 

Blue decides this is not the kind of training she's interested in watching. You don't see much of her except during dinner where she offers to cook the squirrels she's caught for you. You don't object. You pick the meat apart down to the needly bones, wiggle your sore toes of their confinements, and knock out earlier than either of them. Fatigue goes back to claiming you swift and heavy, like a current that pulls you down, down, down. The dreams sit behind a dark wall, blocked for now. 

It goes on like this for a whole week, and somewhere along the way, you stop hating it. The grunts that leave your mouth are laced with exertion and focus. Your arms don't hurt as much. You split the logs apart as your mind fills with thoughts of everything you hate. Greys. Death. Pity. You imagine breaking all those things into a hundred, rotten pieces. It feels... good.

One morning, you awaken to sunlight already bleeding through the plywood, and confusion sits you up. You look around, wondering why Ghost didn't get you up sooner, only to find Blue lying belly-down on the raggedy rug, flipping through one of her new magazines.

"Where's Ghost?" 

"Good morning to you, too," she sings. Her chin inclines from where it rests in her palm. "I decided you need a different kind of training today. He's setting it up."

"You... you decided that, huh?"

She hums. "I made you breakfast. Go eat." She waves her hand. "I'm sure he'll be done soon."

You have no idea what she's talking about, but your stomach guides you to the cooked meat calling your name. She points out things in the magazine, like old celebrities and ridiculous perfume ads, cute boys and yummy sweets she wishes she could try; you nod along as you eat.

When he returns, she perks up. Practically tugs on your arm. You have to remind her that you're still barefoot. She impatiently groans the entire time you are lacing up your boots, taking your sweet time on purpose. 

The pond is where she leads you. That place where you first saw her.

Except today, there is a thin log stretched across one end to the other. A bridge.

"We have got to work on your balance, my student," Blue announces, hands on her hips. A gentle, warm breeze tousles her hair and she swipes it from her face. "We can't have a repeat of you-know-what."

Your brows shoot up and a chuff of breath leaves your nose. "Are you trying to say I have no sense of balance?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. Come on, now."

You almost forgot Ghost followed the two of you out here until he sits on a tree stump with his carving knife and the bow he's making. He's been working on it for a few hours every day. Today, when you steal a glance as Blue clasps your hand and leads you to the homemade bridge, it almost looks like a bow, finally taking on a curved shape. You can't see much of it, though, because soon you are being instructed to cross the log.

"Without falling," Blue adds. 

"Easy," you tease, shrugging. 

"Prove it."

The log is about the width of the metal beam, but much shorter. You cross over it, arms outstretched at your sides and boots hovering a few feet above glistening water that is teeming with fish. When you step down on the other side, you shoot Blue a grin.

She rubs her chin. "Not bad, not bad. Again."

You do it again with ease, even though your muscles are still stiff from your morning workouts. 

"Okay, this time, we're going to make it more realistic." 

By realistic, she means baring her teeth in a growl and sticking her arms out like a Grey. All of a sudden, you are being chased across the log, Blue running behind you. Explicatives leave your lips until your boot misses a step and you fall into the water. This time, the shallow pond offers a comfortable temperature that doesn't send your body into panic mode. You break the surface, able to stand up on the rocky bottom, and throw your wet hair out of your face as laughter bubbles up your throat on its own accord.

You look up at Blue, playfully glaring. She smirks.

"Come here, Grey," you say.

You grab her by the ankle and pull her down into the water with you. She gasps and giggles, thrashing around in her soaked clothes as you splash water in her face. 

"Or," you taunt, "Should I say Amelia?"

Her eyes widen. "How did you—" 

Then, she's leaping at you, pushing your head under the water. "Don't ever call me that."

"Or what?" You tease and swim away, scaly fish brushing against your ankles as the wide legs of your jeans ride up. "You'll kill me?"

"Might have to!"

You're not sure how long the two of you swim in there. Minutes. Maybe an hour. Until your fingertips are pruney like how they used to get when you used to swim in the pool with your sister.

You hoist yourself out of the pond and sit by the water's edge, drenched shirt clinging to your breasts uncomfortably, but you don't care. You've felt far more uncomfortable things. The buttery sunlight kisses your exposed cheeks as you wring out your hair, Blue sitting beside you to do the same thing.

She peels off her wet jeans, probably uncomfortable in them. You would do the same if you were eleven and didn't care. On her thigh, the thick scar from her bullet wound blemishes the soft, pale skin.

"I'm a better teacher than Ghost, huh?" she says.

"So far," you nod, glancing at him. When you do, his eyes meet yours across the short distance. Only for a second. Before they flicker back down to the bow.

"He hates swimming, you know."

You look at her. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. He never really goes in with me." She shrugs and buries her fingers in the grass. "Hey. Look. There are those violets I told you about."

You follow the direction of her eyes and sure enough, a patch of wild violets decorate the ground, gently bent in the breeze. As your clothes dry, the two of you pluck them. They are beautiful. Dark purple petals. You braid them into her hair. She tries to do the same for you, but her braiding skills need some work. It's a nice break from the past week you've had, your sore limbs sprawled against the grass to dry.

It's when the sun starts to lower that Blue puts her jeans back on. Your clothes are still wet, and the wind is starting to pick up, spreading gooseflesh across your skin. 

"Here."

The familiar low voice announces his presence. Tucking your wet hair behind your ears, you look up at Ghost. The two of you haven't exchanged many words except for his occasional correction of your form while cutting wood. 

He stands against the sun. You take the finished bow from him in quiet awe. It's even nicer up close, the smoothed oak caressing your palms as you glide them up and down the length of this new weapon. The first one he gave you was made for a child, but this one is larger, the perfect size for you. Your index finger gives a pluck to the string, feeling the hum of vibrations. He must have just added that. 

"Thank you," you tell him honestly. Whatever uncertainty or irritation you might feel about him doesn't change the swell of gratitude you feel in this moment. It’s a tangible thing that sits in your chest. “It's... great, really."

"Might take some getting used to,” he says gruffly.

You shrug. "That's alright."

You glance to your left where Blue is still changing. With a swallow, you hold the bow tight to your chest. "Do you think I'm ready to try more tomorrow? Not just the wood. I feel like... I feel like I've been getting stronger from it already."

He gives a short nod. "Tomorrow, then."

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

No One Here Is Alone

Elks Chapter 2

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Chapter Rating: T. (Nothing explicit for the first few chapters.) Chapter Summary: Two evenings spent painting, two evenings with Joel Miller cooking dinner for you, two evenings of him gazing at you in that certain way, and one walk home together under a shared umbrella. Chapter Warnings: FIX IT FIC ALERT, pov switching (joel is in bold), soft jackson joel, romance, rumors still spread in the apocalypse, domestic joel miller making dinner, thigh paint, knee pillow, interrupted tender moment, cat on window sill, there was only one umbrella, early 2000’s indie rock, reader has a backstory Words: 6,800

A/N: I'm so happy to be sharing this story again. My fanfic journey started with these two and I'm happy to be adding so much more to their story. Listen, IDK what you're expecting, but this Joel is soft and this whole fic is written like one big, comforting hug. If you're reading it, please line up for your hug. (I am a cold, Scottish lass who does not like touch sooooo if you get a hug from me, you've earned it.) Thank you to @devineconjuring for all of her brilliant beta work.

Elks Masterlist Masterlist Playlist Chapter Song: “Infinite Arms" by Band of Horses

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Joel feels a strange feeling as he straightens up his workshop. He made sure to hide the carving he’s currently working on in the cabinet, as if anybody could even tell what the final product will be. Still, Joel Miller believes in caution.

He brushes his calloused hand across the workbench, sweeping wood shavings to the floor. He still sometimes forgets to grab the dustpan when he sweeps the floor–he still can’t believe he owns one in the apocalypse.

Just last year, he would’ve scoffed at the idea of having a workshop, of creating rather than surviving. Back then, his hands were tools for different work. Weapons. Means to an end. Now, they shape wood into delicate sculptures, finding beauty from a blank canvas.

He grabs the broom and dustpan out of the closet, sweeping up the pile of wood shavings and dust, trying to make the room perfect for you. He dumps the shavings into a small metal bin–they’ll later be used as kindling.

He leans against the workbench, looking around the workshop Tommy helped him build and equip. He still isn’t used to it—this strange semblance of a normal life.

He hears the familiar slam of the front door and walks out of the room, broom and dustpan in hand, finding Ellie kicking her boots off.

“Hey,” she smiles, dropping her backpack to the floor and removing her jacket. “Heard you’ll have company tonight.” She wiggles her eyebrows. “My teacher of all people!” she gasps.

“S’not like that,” Joel responds.

“Whatever,” Ellie says, rolling her eyes with a wide smile. “Then why is your hair slicked back like that? You never slick back your hair.”

He runs a hand through his hair, feeling oddly self-conscious under the teenager’s gaze. "Just… wanted a change.”

"Sure. And I suppose you just felt like sweeping your workshop on a random Monday afternoon?”

Joel lets out a heavy sigh and makes his way to the kitchen. “Pick up your jacket and backpack.”

“Eh, I’m heading to Dina’s soon; I’ll grab them on the way out.”

He pauses mid-stride, turning back to face her. “You didn’t ask if you could go to Dina’s.”

“Nope, but I also don’t think you want my watchful eyes around while Teach is here.”

She’s got a point, and Joel knows it. There's no way he can afford to give Ellie any more reasons to make fun of him, especially not today.

—-

It's a beautiful Monday evening, a light breeze rolling off the mountains as the sun sets behind it. Joel’s house looks like it’s glowing under the aureate sky as you make your way up the path. You’re getting around much better now since your knees have started healing.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself before giving Joel’s front door three quick knocks. You clutch your messenger bag tightly, nervously bouncing back and forth on your heels.

The door swings open, revealing Joel with a warm smile. “Hi, come on in.”

“Hey,” you reply, trying to keep your smile under control.

"Let me show you the room."

Joel leads you into his home to a makeshift studio just off the living room. The space takes your breath away–it’s filled with an array of finished woodworkings, half-carved animals, shelves of tools, and a long worktable. You'd never expect it, but Joel is an artist.

It’s so open and warm, lived in and utilized. You're happy places like this can still exist in other people's homes. 

The sight of a few guitars leaning against the wall surprises you.

“You play guitar?” you ask.

He nods. “Been playing almost my whole life. You?”

“Same, but my guitar broke a few weeks ago,” you say with a hint of sadness. “There’s a big hole in the side now.”

“That’s rough. Your stereo and your guitar?”

It surprises you a bit that Joel’s remembered about your stereo.

“Afraid so,” you admit. “It’s very quiet in my home.”

“Those guitars over there are broken, but I just haven’t gotten around to fixing ‘em. I’m sure I could easily repair one for you,” he offers.

“Joel, you—that’s incredibly kind,” you reply, touched but hesitant. “I couldn’t ask you to do that for me.”

“No, s’okay, I like fixing things,” he insists with a reassuring smile. 

“Wish I could fix things,” you say with a nervous chuckle. “By the time I would be done, it’d be a pile of sawdust.”

A huff of air releases out of Joel’s mouth, his smile making a dimple you’ve never noticed before appear. God, he’s gorgeous. “You’re funny. I can see why Ellie likes you.”

Heat creeps up your chest and settles into your cheeks. The way he looks at you overwhelms you so much you have to glance away. “So, Where would you like me to draw the mural?” you ask, using your question to cut through the nervousness inside you. 

“Was thinking over on this wall with the window. I can see it from my chair in the living room.” 

You turn to examine the large, empty wall. You’re not sure if the cream hue is the original paint color or if it was colored that way from age. Either way, it’s a perfect canvas.

“Good choice,” you say. “Do you want the whole wall?”

“The whole wall.”

“Just bluebells?” you clarify.

“Just bluebells.”

“Perfect.”

You pull the pencil from the chest pocket of your overalls, gently pressing it against the wall to sketch out the first bluebell. You can feel his eyes on you, his large body crowding the space behind you. You try to focus on your drawing, blocking out the sound of his breathing and the heat of his closeness.

Joel clears his throat. “I’ll just be in the kitchen making dinner. Did ya’ eat?”

“No,” you reply, glancing back at him. “But I can eat after I’m done here.”

“Have more than enough here for another person, and Ellie’s at Dina’s tonight. You like pasta?”

“Of course I do,” you say with a smile. “I’d starve if I didn’t. Shelf stable.”

Joel chuckles, “I’ll be in the kitchen cooking. Just holler if you need anything. Help yourself to any of the supplies I have here.”

You nod as Joel turns and strides down the hall.

—-

You’re just down the hall, clad in light blue overalls covered in paint stains. All he has to do is take the twelve small steps to the room, and he’d get to see your pretty face.

He makes himself focus, busying himself in the kitchen, stirring the boiling pasta so he doesn’t just stand silently in the hallway trying to hear the scratch of your pencil against the wall or the occasional approving “yes” under your breath when you’re happy with a line. It’s oddly comforting, having someone else fill the empty spaces of his home.

Boston never felt like a home, no matter the poorly realized strong feelings he had for Tess. It’s hard to make a home out of a dilapidated apartment where his lumpy mattress rested on cinderblocks.

Cooking in a large kitchen–with full cupboards and a fridge–still feels like he’s playing pretend. But he’s trying to get used to it. For Ellie… and maybe for himself.

He can just make out the soft sound of your humming. He doesn't recognize the tune, but it makes him smile nonetheless. He catches himself and straightens his face, feeling foolish.

Dinner will be ready soon, an idea lighting in his mind as he cuts two slices of bread from the loaf he just picked up this morning from the co-op.

—-

“What a beautiful face, I have found in this place, That is circling all ‘round the sun, What a beautiful dream...”

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle as you hear the familiar strum of a guitar, breaking the silence that had settled in the room while you quietly sketched. For the last hour, the only noises were Joel’s movements in the kitchen and the soft sound of your pencil against the wall.

Now, his home is filled with the sound of the first song off of your mixed CD you had left there. Despite being all alone in his studio, you can’t help but grin. You tuck your pencil behind your ear and head to the kitchen.

You almost stop in your tracks at the sight–Joel’s biceps stretch the sleeves of his gray shirt as he lifts the pot and drains the cooked pasta. The steam floats into the air, swirling around him, creating an almost dreamlike scene of domestic bliss. You blink a few times, reaching for your daisy pendant to center yourself, helping yourself realize that this is, in fact, really happening.

It’s almost as if he senses your presence, turning his head to find you resting against the kitchen doorway.

“Neutral Milk Hotel,” you say.

“S’a pretty good song,” he replies, turning, his gaze landing on your pendant. 

“From my CD?” you ask.

“It is.”

“Thanks for playing it,” you smile. “It’s nice to hear it again.”

“Course. When’d your player break?”

“A while ago. I lived without a stereo for close to fifteen years. My CDs sat in a crate next to my bed all those years. I got used to them existing almost like photographs, circular snapshots of memories… silent and incapable of their original use,” you say, your voice trailing off as you remember. “When I got here and walked into my house, the first thing I saw was the small boombox on the shelf. I almost passed out when Maria told me it worked.” Joel stands there, spoon in hand, his eyes fixed on you, not impatient, not bored, but rather a tender fascination as you speak. “It had to be repaired a few times, and Gordon kept warning me that it wasn’t built to last. Took it to him the day after it broke for good, and he let me know nothing could be done,” you sigh. “Sorry, I tend to ramble.”

You can feel the embarrassment creeping up your neck, but Joel just shakes his head.

"Don't apologize," he says gently. "I understand what it's like to lose something that connects you to… before."

“Thanks. I still have other things to fill my time, so it’s not as bad as I’m making it seem. I know it’s a luxury, and I know I can live without it. It’s just… the noise kept me company, you know?” 

“I do,” he responds, tilting his head towards the table. “Dinner’s about ready.”

You sit down at his table by the window, the glow of the sunset streaming through, casting a soft light over everything. Coffee rings cover Joel’s wooden tabletop, a sign he probably never cleans up his mug until after he’s home in the evening. It feels so comfortable and warm here.

His back is turned as he dishes the pasta and sauce into two bowls, allowing you to take him in. You let yourself stare, memorizing the broadness of his shoulders and the bits of curly hair on the back of his neck. There's something so beautifully mundane about watching him move through his kitchen. 

"Thank you," you say as he places one in front of you. "It smells amazing."

"Just pasta," he shrugs, sitting across from you.

“This looks delicious,” you say, picking up your fork.

“Sauce was made by Maria. She takes pity on my kitchen skills and makes sure Ellie and I are well-fed.” 

“She’s great,” you say through a bite. “So is Tommy.”

He nods in agreement, watching you intently as if he’s captivated by your presence. You’d be doing the same if you weren’t so nervous about him noticing. You sense Joel doesn’t care if you notice him watching.

You both settle into a shared silence while you eat, your CD playing in the background.

A slow and haunting song begins to play, and Joel looks up from his meal. “This is my favorite song on your CD.”

“Cheer up, honey. I hope you can, There is something wrong with me, My mind is filled with silvery stars.”

“‘Radio Cure’ by Wilco,” you say. “One of my favorite bands. My only CD of theirs is so scratched it no longer works. This is the only song I have now.” 

You get lost in the music, leaning back and mouthing the lyrics silently. 

“S’beautiful,” he says softly as you open your eyes and find him watching you again. He clears his throat, “... the song’s beautiful.”

Your heart skips a beat at the tenderness in his voice. So soft and deep. You wonder if he talks to anybody else this gently. 

“If you like it, keep my CD,” you offer. “You’ll get more use out of it than I will now.” 

“I’ll borrow it until you get a new CD player,” Joel says as he stands and takes his bowl to the sink. “You’re welcome to come over and listen anytime. You can bring your other CDs over if you want.”

“Really? I appreciate that,” your voice lifts with excitement.

“Glad to help.”

“I’m going to get back to drawing before it gets any darker,” you say, handing him your empty bowl. “I really enjoyed dinner, thank you.”

“‘Course,” he nods, taking the bowl from your hand and depositing it into the soapy water.

You return to the woodworking room, pick up your pencil, and continue delicately sketching flowers on his wall.

—-

Joel’s house is quiet again once your CD has finished playing. You’re too focused on drawing to really miss it.

“Did you want another light in here?” Joel’s voice startles you, making you jolt and turn to find him leaning against the doorway; you don’t know how long he’s been standing there. “S’getting dark in here.”

“Y-yeah, that would be great. I just want to finish up the first outline tonight.” 

Joel nods and heads over to the large cabinet in the corner, retrieving a work light.

“This’ll help,” he says, grunting slightly as he bends over and plugs it in.

The bright light floods the room; now, you can see every delicate line you’ve sketched across the wall.

“Thank you,” you say, blinking your eyes to adjust.

“It’s lookin’ really nice so far.” Joel’s voice dips low, barely audible.

You begin to sketch again, thankful for the extra light. “I love the process of beginning a large piece like this. It makes me so excited to think what it’ll look like when it’s all finished. Breaking it down into small steps, then seeing it all come together.”

“No wonder Ellie’s always so excited about art when you put it all that way.” 

You nod without looking back at him, trying to hide the smile playing on your lips.

“Well, I’ll just be in the living room reading my book. Lemme know if I can help,” he offers.

“Thanks.”

Joel’s footsteps fade as he walks into the living room. You hear him settle into his chair with a sigh. The chair he can sit in and look at your mural from, the chair he can sit in and watch you work from. Your insides twist as you feel like you’re being watched by him. You like it. 

You round each small petal, making every flower perfect for Joel’s eyes, the bluebells taking shape and spreading across the wall.

Sometimes, you hear a page turn, or an occasional sniff, or a throat clear. It feels odd to be this comfortable in Joel’s space. But, somehow, it feels familiar, the nerves dissipating with each bluebell you draw.

You step back from the wall, surveying the outline. You’re very happy with it.

“Okay,” you say, shaking out your overused hand and stretching your tired fingers. 

“Finished for the night?” Joel asks as he stands and steps into the room. “It’s beautiful,” he says, his eyes lingering on the wall.

“Thanks,” you reply, feeling a mix of pride and uncertainty. “There’s still a lot that has to be done, but I’m really happy with how it’s looking so far.” You back up to stand next to him, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. "When do you want me to come back?"

“I’ll be out on patrol with Tommy until Friday night. I know you have the library, but does Saturday work for you?”

“No, it’s okay, Saturday’s good. Same time?”

“Same time,” he confirms with a nod. “I’ll make dinner again.”

“You really don’t have to,” you reply, bending down to grab your bag.

“S’okay, I want to.” 

“Okay,” you reply, stifling a yawn and blinking your tired eyes. 

Joel notices and grins slightly, watching you. “Getting late for you, huh?” 

“Yeah, close to my bedtime,” you admit. 

He walks with you to his door and holds it open. "G’night. I'll see you on Saturday."

“Have a safe patrol,” you say as you step out the door, turning back to him with a small smile. “Goodnight.”

You feel Joel’s quiet, watchful gaze follow you as you leave his yard.  

You crawl into bed that night without bothering to change out of your shirt. It smells like Joel’s home.

—-

He looks up at the sky, trying to get comfortable on the hard ground. He’s far too used to his comfortable mattress in his home now. Tommy’s already asleep, softly snoring across from him as the low campfire crackles between them. Joel shifts, tucking his arm beneath his head as a makeshift pillow. Sleep won’t come easy tonight.

The Pink Moon sits high in the sky tonight, surrounded by innumerable stars. He wonders if you're looking at it right now, too, or if you’re already asleep, dreaming of bluebells.

"Damn," he mutters under his breath, running a hand down his face. When did he start thinking about you like this? Was it when you walked into the community hall the first day he arrived in Jackson? Or when Ellie wouldn't stop talking about her new teacher?

It’s only been three days, and he actually feels like he misses you.

Tommy stirs for a second before settling back into slumber. Joel watches his brother sleep, reminding him of the years they spent together in a far harsher reality.

In a few months, Tommy will be a father. The thought still amazes him. His little brother, the one who always believed in a better existence, is building something Joel never thought possible in this world–a family and a future.

He turns over, staring up at the sky, as he thinks of the wall in his woodworking room, now covered in delicate bluebells you’ll soon paint and bring to life.

—-

“Hey lady,” your friend Helen greets you as she steps into your classroom, interrupting your paper grading. 

You look up and give her a smile. “What’s up?”

“A group of us are getting drinks tomorrow night at the Bison. You in?” 

“Oh,” you pause, putting your pen down. “I can’t. I’m painting something for Joel Miller at his house.” 

Her eyebrows rise. “Joel Miller, Joel Miller?” 

“Yeah…” you nod.

She steps closer, crossing her arms with a smirk. “So, the rumors are true?”

“Rumors?” you ask.

“Grace said she saw you leaving his place late Monday night. Apparently, Joel stood and watched you walk home the whole way.”

You roll your eyes. “God, this place is small, isn’t it?”

Helen laughs, her expression softening as she moves closer. “He nice to you?” Her protective side always shows when it comes to you. 

“I wouldn’t be doing this for him if he wasn’t.”

She nods. “Atta girl, I’ll leave you to it,” she knocks on your desk before leaving. You’ve heard all the rumors about Tommy Miller’s scary older brother. You’ve listened intently as people regaled tales of his violent past and whispered stories of his brutality. You heard the hush amongst the crowd whenever he’d walk into a room when he and Ellie first showed up. He’s supposedly a monster, and yet all you see are deep, soft brown eyes that crinkle at the corners whenever he smiles at you.

—-

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t exhausted after running the library today, and yet there’s still a sense of excitement as you walk down the road towards Joel’s house, shielding yourself and your box of paints beneath an umbrella.

Joel opens the door before you even get to the porch steps, his broad body backlit by the golden glow of his home.

"Hey there," he says with a small smile, stepping aside to let you in. "Nasty weather out there. Was lookin’ for you so you didn’t get stuck in the rain.”

You lose the fight to hide a smile at his sweetness. “Thanks, it’s awful out,” you reply, stepping inside and shrugging off your flannel. “How was patrol?” 

“Same as usual,” he remarks, taking your jacket and hanging it on the hook over his coat.

“Well, that’s a good thing,” you reply, already heading into his woodworking room and placing your paints on the floor.

Joel follows right behind you, watching as you kneel and begin unpacking your supplies.

“That your CD book?” Joel nods to the faded black leather portfolio with tattered corners covered in faded stickers. 

“Yeah, I brought it over.”

“Haven’t seen something like that in years. Can I look at ‘em?” “Go ahead,” you say with a warm smile, handing the album up to him. “Find something to play. It’s your stereo, after all. Don’t tell me what you pick. I want it to be a surprise.”

You love hearing the gentle, rhythmic thump of the pages as Joel flips through the album.

“Don’t recognize most of these names,” he murmurs. “What kind of music do you like?” you ask as you unroll your brush holder and pick out the brushes you’ll need.

“Rock, country… a little bit of blues.”

“Country? Really? How typical Texas of you,” you tease with a playful smile, raising an eyebrow. He chuckles. “Good country. Real country. Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, ’n the like.” “I stand corrected, Texas.”

He grunts in amusement while you begin laying out your paints on the countertop, carefully choosing your colors. 

“Found something,” Joel says.

“Can’t wait to hear what you pick,” you respond, pulling your palette out of your bag as he leaves the room with the unknown CD in hand.

A bluesy rock guitar intro with a steady drumbeat starts as you mix emerald and olive tones together.

“Haven’t heard this one in over 20 years,” Joel comments as he comes back into the room. “I always liked The Rolling Stones.” 

“Me too. I actually got this CD from your brother, believe it or not.”

Joel leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Tommy gave you that?"

"Yeah, last year. He brought it back from patrol. He figured I’d want it, and he was right. Maria and Tommy have both been great to me.”

Joel stands there watching you, a small smile playing on his lips. "Tommy's always had a good heart."

"It runs in the family," you mutter, regretting the words the moment they leave your lips. With a slight shake of your head, you look back down at your palette and dip your brush into the green paint, making a few strokes on the palette before turning to face the wall.

You kneel down on the hardwood floor and begin to trace the slim lines of stems across the wall. Your brush and body move slowly and smoothly in tandem, rising to finish each stem tip. Joel’s steady and attentive gaze follows you the whole time. 

“Never thought I’d see somebody paint like this again,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s my favorite thing to do,” you say, your focus unwavering from the wall. 

“Can tell,” the gentleness of his voice causes a shiver down your spine. “M’excited to see how it’ll look when it’s done.”

“Me too.”

You hear Joel take a deep breath, and his footsteps shift. “I’m gonna go finish cleanin’ my guns,” he says with an exhale. “I’ll be in the dining room if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” you respond, turning to look back at him with a smile. Suddenly, a large glob of green paint falls from the paintbrush in your hand, landing on your thigh. 

Joel’s eyes immediately drop to the spot, widening as you grab your rag and wipe the paint off.

He clears his throat, his cheeks starting to blush a subtle shade of red. “Uh, right. I’ll be in the dining room,” he repeats, turning quickly to stride away.

His hurried footsteps fade as they move into the next room– a small smile tugs at your lips, and a rush of excitement blooms within you. 

You dip your brush back into the paint again, steadying your breath, and begin painting a new stem. —-

Joel has cleaned this Winchester hundreds of times. He could practically do it with his eyes closed, yet tonight, his hands fumble with the bolt carrier.

He's spent twenty minutes on a five-minute job because he can’t stop thinking about you. The way your hands move across his wall, the confidence in your art, the slight furrow in your brow when you're concentrating, the beautiful green paint on your beautiful skin.

He sets down the cleaning rod with a soft sigh, his calloused fingers tapping against the wooden table. If he cranes his neck just right, he can see the edge of you through the doorway. The Rolling Stones still play quietly in the background, and Joel notices how your body sometimes sways slightly along to the song.

Five days on patrol shouldn't have felt so long. It was the same route he'd taken dozens of times with Tommy, the same checkpoints, the same abandoned buildings. But for the first time, he wanted to go back home. To Jackson. To you.

—-

The rain patters steadily against the windows as you work. It almost feels too comfortable being in Joel’s home, painting as the CD softly plays in the other room, the occasional clink of metal coming from down the hall.

"S'pretty dark in here. Do you want that work light again?” Joel asks, interrupting your focus. 

“Yes, please,” you reply, not taking your eyes off the delicate petal you’re working on.

Joel shuffles behind you, pulling the light out. You recognize the same low grunt that left his mouth earlier this week when he bends over to plug it in. The light buzzes on, flooding the room and your painting with a bright white glow.

“You been kneeling on the floor like that for long?” he asks, concern lacing his voice. 

“Yep, it’s not so bad while down here.”

“Ya’ still have the hurt knees, and you’re kneeling on the damn hardwood floor,” he mumbles under his breath as he leaves the room. 

You’ve gotten used to people not being concerned about such simple things as your personal comfort. Joel’s worry for you makes you feel a foreign feeling. 

He returns and holds a pillow out for you. “Here, grabbed ya’ this.”

“Oh, I’m okay, really,” you protest, “I don’t want to accidentally get paint on it.” 

“Don’t care, take it,” he insists.

You hesitate for a second before taking the pillow and slipping it underneath your already aching knees.

“Feels much better, thank you,” you say, settling back and forth on the softness. 

“Welcome.” 

A long sigh escapes his lips, catching your attention. You glance up and meet his eyes—the hazel flecks shine in the light supplied by the work lamp.

His tongue darts out to wet his supple lips, and your eyes move to watch. He reaches a hand out, his thumb resting against your cheek, his fingers gently cradling your chin. 

Your breath hitches, your lips parting as you inhale deeply, and a shiver runs through your entire body. The music from the stereo fades into the background; all that exists now in this moment is Joel’s touch. 

“Thank you again for doin’ this for me,” he says, his voice low and tender. “Been thinkin’ about how nice it’s gonna be to look over and see this once it’s finished… reminding me of home.”

“O-of course,” you stammer, your eyes still lingering on his mouth. 

“Mm,” he grunts, his head dipping with a slight nod. 

“L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L-L–” The music stutters, caught in a loop, cutting through the moment.

“Shit, I forgot this song always does that,” you say as Joel’s hand retreats from your cheek. 

“I got it,” he says, quickly striding out of the room. 

“You just have to skip to the next track, and it should work!” you call after him as your skin still tingles from where his hand had been moments ago, silently cursing your scratched CD.  

The track changes, the interruption long gone, just like Joel’s touch. You return to painting, calming your body and emotions in the aftermath. You exhale slowly, trying to calm the flutter of nerves in your chest, grounding yourself back into the rhythm of painting. You don’t hear from him until well after the CD finishes and the house has fallen silent.

—-

“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” Joel says, tapping softly on the doorframe, snapping you out of your reverie as you paint. “You got a lot done—it’s lookin’ real good.”

You glance over your shoulder at him, surprised by how much time has passed. The shared moment between the two of you now feels long gone and distant.

“Thanks,” you respond. “I just want to finish up on this bluebell.”

“Take your time. Just come to the kitchen when you’re all done in here.” 

—-

He stares at the table, his hands resting against his hips. He doesn’t know why he wants to impress you. He’s never been one for setting a proper table, but tonight, he’s even folded the tattered cloth napkins.

There’s something about you–something that makes him feel like the world isn’t as broken as he knows it to be.

He watches the steam rise from the pot of soup he’s made, almost feeling nervous. He wants you to like it. He wants you to like him.

—-

You stand up, stretching your back to ease the stiffness, rinsing your brush in the jar of water before making your way down the hall to the kitchen. Your steps almost falter at the sight–Joel Miller sitting at his neatly set kitchen table. A soup spoon rests atop a folded napkin, a glass of water lined up next to it. He’s even taken the time to wipe up the coffee stains.

“Hope you like turkey and barley soup,” Joel says as you walk into the kitchen. 

“Any soup makes me happy,” you reply with a smile, taking a seat across from him.

“Good. This one I actually made; Maria didn’t have to take pity on me for this meal,” he says, a small grin lifting his lips.

The care he’s put into a simple dinner doesn’t go unnoticed. You’re touched. The soup looks delicious, steam rising from the ceramic bowl.

You take a bite, the warm soup sliding down your throat. Perfect for a chilly rainy evening, it’s good. “Joel, this is… really good.”

His eyes soften when he sends you a nod.

The two of you eat in comfortable silence, with only the sound of your spoons clinking against the bowls. You should be nervous in this situation, but the way Joel handles himself in front of you–as if he’s perfectly comfortable with you in his home–makes your nerves settle.

"Thanks for dinner," you say, watching Joel finish his last spoonful. "It was exactly what I needed after painting for so long."

You place your spoon down and sit back in your chair. “What was your favorite food before… everything?”

He thinks for a moment. “Don’t really know. Maybe tamales? My mom used to make them every year for the holidays. I could eat six of them in one sitting.” 

“I loved tamales, too. You know, I just remembered margaritas. I used to always see people drink them when we’d go out to eat Mexican food, and I thought that looked so cool. I never got to try one.” 

He watches you with that familiar expression, as if he could listen to you talk for hours, nodding along with a small smile. “What was your favorite food?” he asks.

“Fettuccine Alfredo, one hundred percent. My mom used to make it for me every year for my birthday. If we went to an Italian restaurant, it’s what I’d always order. Definitely Fettuccine Alfredo.”

“Never had it, always just stuck to pouring a jar of Ragu over spaghetti or a frozen lasagna,” he says, a small grin on his face. 

“I miss those too. And cheese. I miss being able to have cheese whenever I wanted so much. The stuff we have now just isn’t the same.”

“Mm,” Joel nods. “Kinda like the ice cream we have. Not the same, but good enough.”

“Isn’t that the motto of these times?” you say with a smirk. “Not the same, but good enough.”

“It’s a good one,” Joel pauses. “You’re funny.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, feeling Joel’s eyes follow your movements as he gets up. 

You stand as well, grabbing your bowl to follow Joel over to the sink. He reaches for it, his fingers brushing against yours as he takes it from your hand. “You seem to be almost finished in there.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I can finish tonight. I think there’s still a couple more hours of work left.” 

“Of course. I don’t want to keep you any longer tonight. I know you had a long day, and I know it’s a lot bein’ down on the floor like that for as long you were.” 

“Yeah, my knees are aching again,” you admit with a shy smile. “When do you want me to come and finish it?”

“Monday at the same time, if you want. Sundays are always reserved for Ellie.”

"Monday works just fine," you reply, smiling at the idea of him reserving an entire day just for Ellie. "I can be here right after work. Is it okay if I leave my things in the room? If not, that’s okay too. I can take them ho–” 

“S’fine,” he interrupts gently. He places his hand against your back. “Don’t mind at all. I’ll walk you home. It’s getting late, and it’s still rainin’ pretty bad.” 

You protest. “No, I’ll be okay. I’ve walked through much worse.” 

“Don’t care,” he cuts you off as he grabs your flannel from the hook. “I’m walking you home, it’s pourin’.”

He holds your flannel open for you and offers a slight nod. You step forward and slip your arms through the sleeves, the closeness sending goosebumps across your skin.

"Thanks," you lowly whisper.

“Course,” Joel breathes out as you step away and grab your backpack.

“You really don’t have to—“

“Now, stop telling me I don’t have to,” he says, mild frustration tinging his voice as he shrugs on his jacket. “I want to.”

He opens the door and motions you to go ahead of him before grabbing your umbrella. 

“Don’t you have one as well?” you ask.

“Never got one.” 

You step out, the rain pouring down in a steady stream. “It’s good for the crops and the water reserves, at least,” you shrug as Joel holds the umbrella above you. 

As you two make your way down the road, you notice the rain pelting Joel, his head and shoulders already damp as he holds the umbrella over you.

“There’s enough room for both of us under here; there’s no sense in you getting soaked,” you say, stepping closer to him.

He mumbles something softly–it sounds like “Y’sweet,” but the rain drowns out his words. You almost think you imagined it. He adjusts the umbrella, moving it so both of you are shielded from the rain.

The two of you walk towards your home, your bodies occasionally tapping against each other as Joel huddles over you. You wish you could slow down, draw out your time next to him, stay under the shelter of the umbrella and his body.

“That’s me, right there,” you say, nodding towards your front door. 

“Y’got a cat?” Joel asks when he sees your cat Penny sitting on your windowsill backlit by your lamp.

“Yeah, two of them. You like cats?”

“Even if I did, couldn’t have ‘em. Allergic.”

“That’s a shame,” you reply with a shrug.

“Hm,” he grunts with a subtle smile.

Escaping the rain underneath the safety of your front porch awning, Joel closes your umbrella and hands it back to you as you tap your wet boots against your frayed welcome mat.

“Well, thanks for walking me home. I’ll see you Monday?” You say as you rest your back against your front door.

“Yeah,” Joel says, his eyes holding your attention for a moment longer than expected. “See you Monday.”

He turns and leaves your little yard, turning back around at your fencepost to give you a nod before continuing down the road in the dark rain. 

Joel Miller just walked you home.

—-

The rain pelts him as he walks home, trying to avoid the large puddles scattered across the ground. The feeling inside his chest is familiar and yet still so foreign. You might just be the sweetest and kindest person he’s ever met.

Kindness, he used to know it. Hell, he used to teach it. 

Telling Sarah to hold doors open for the elderly. Letting Tommy know he needs to drop in to visit their mom more often, not just when he needed to borrow a few bucks. Not charging the overwhelmed father overtime fees for drywall work when a burst pipe destroyed half his kitchen. Helping the short woman grab a bottle of soda off the top shelf at the grocery store. 

But, thousands of miles traversed across a wasteland, killing and pillaging after losing the one reason he had to live, changes a man. 

Then, Tommy. Becoming the grown-up as soon as Sarah took her last breath, keeping a watchful eye on Joel. Running through the door, grabbing the gun after Joel flinched, slapping him across the face and saying he needed him. That someday, someone else would need him. That Joel couldn’t leave him alone—not after they’d already lost so much.

Then, Tess. Exceedingly tough and resourceful. Teaching him that there’s more to getting what you want than violence. That you can lose everything and still believe in something better. 

Then, Ellie. All she’s known is this world he’s called cruel and unforgiving, and yet, she’s tenacious, funny, and excited for every day. Each mile traveled with her, each cheesy joke she giggled at, each time she’d hide behind him, a bit of kindness would wrap around his heart. 

He glances at the garage in his backyard. The lights are out; he’s sure she’s already asleep by now. 

Then, Jackson. How can one care for others when they can’t even care for themselves?  It was always easier to say community no longer exists… until the gates opened to him, and he saw a future for not only himself but for Ellie, too. 

He steps through his door, knocking his wet boots against the rug before slipping them off and putting them on a shoe rack. He never thought he’d have something as ridiculously utilitarian as a shoe rack. Now, he has a warm home to make his own, a comfortable bed to lie in, safety, and protection. Foreign luxuries that now seem normal. 

He slowly learned to believe that there was hope, there was kindness. He didn’t have to lock his heart away. He could have a future while still holding onto the past kindness he once knew. 

He walks into his studio and studies the half-finished mural. Green stems climb across the wall, waiting for you to make the petals bloom. He leans in, his eyes following your delicate brush strokes. His heart is overwhelmed by the time and care you’ve put forth to do this for him. He doesn’t deserve this kindness, and yet, your art tells him otherwise. 

And then, there’s you. Your bright flowers covering dingy walls, leaving the world a little more beautiful. Your joy for teaching your students, especially Ellie. Your little library, giving his fellow residents an escape with each tattered book. People like you shouldn’t exist, so young when the world ended, and yet here you are–restoring kindness into the too-often cruel world. Restoring kindness inside his heart. 

He opens the cabinet in the corner of his studio, pulling out the wooden block just starting to take shape and his carving tools before sitting down on his work stool, facing the mural.

Songs mentioned in this chapter: "In The Aeroplane Over The Sea" by Neutral Milk Hotel "Radio Cure" by Wilco "Miss You" by The Rolling Stones

Divider courtesy of @/saradika-graphics

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