#ANYWAY... I just have so much to do that I both REALLY want or need to do - so it's perpetually frustrating that I just can't for whatever | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 2 days ago

Text

then send me a son

pairing: joel miller x reader

cws/tags: so much angst (w/ happy ending! i swear), discussion of suicide attempt (the canon one), suicidal ideations, losing a child, losing a parent, survivors guilt, discussions of abortion, unplanned pregnancy, p in v, oral sex, virginity loss (but it's not that big of deal/not a kink), both dealing w grief, ellie is dead, this is set in jackson post tlou pt I

summary: joel is put on suicide watch after he returns to jackson w/o ellie and reader becomes his 'caregiver' of sorts. lowkey enemies to lovers but also not bc it's kinda one-sided 'hatred'

a/n: author is pro-choice! and also understands the complexities of mental health that reader and joel do not at times (just wanted to make it clear that i understand... from personal experience... what depression is like as well as suicidal ideation).

title is from the song 'the suburbs' by arcade fire, but listen to the entirety of the suburbs (album) and funeral (album) if you want to understand my mindframe while writing this

the last sentence is a quote and i've reblogged it before but i'll find the image and post it/reblog it again

wc: 9.4k

masterlist | ko-fi | taglist

Joel is just surprised Tommy has the gall to ask, “Where’s Ellie?” when he arrives in Jackson alone.

In this world, when two people leave and only one comes back, you don’t ask because you already know what happened. You wait for that person to tell you about a miracle, and when they don’t, you know for sure.

“Heaven, if you believe in that sort of thing,” is Joel’s response.

But Joel doesn’t believe in Heaven or Hell, or anything other than ashes and dirt.

“I don’t know what to say,” Tommy says because he’d already said ‘I’m sorry’ when Sarah died, and that didn’t bring her back.

It takes a hefty amount of booze to get Joel to tell the story.

“I just hope she died for something. Then, at least, I’ll know I’m being selfish.”

I didn’t get that with Sarah, he thinks. She didn’t die for a ‘noble cause’. He doubts Ellie did either.

“You’re being put on watch,” Maria tells him the next morning – when he’s sober and asking what his duties are now that he’s back.

Life goes on, which means work goes on, so what’s my job? As long as it’s not burning bodies, I’ll be okay.

“Watch? Like I’m watching, or I’m being watched.”

“Being watched.”

He asks why, though he doesn’t need to. Tommy knows why he’s got that scar on his forehead.

“Fucking authoritarian bullshit,” he mutters, half into his pillow. “Thought you were a communist.”

“I am. And this has nothing to do with that.”

“I bet Tommy put you up to it anyway.”

“He didn’t ‘put me up to anything’.”

“But he told you, didn’t he?”

“He told me a long time ago.”

“Figures. You always knew I was a coward.”

“You say stuff like that, and then act like you don’t need help.”

“I didn’t say I don’t need help. I said I don’t want it.”

She’s silent, letting him continue. “Now let me grieve in peace, will you?”

She hums something akin to agreement, but asks for something that sounds like protest to him. “Where’s your gun?”

“Which one?”

“All of ‘em.”

He tells her because he doesn’t want Tommy or anyone else searching through all his bullshit because that’s what happens if he doesn’t give ‘em up.

“Want my kitchen knives too?” he says, almost wryly.

She takes most of them, but leaves the more blunt ones out of sympathy. He can have butter on his toast. Unless she takes the toaster so he can’t take it with him in the bathtub.

She leaves the toaster, and then, leaves him alone.

Quite frankly, he’s too old to kill himself. Sure, people do it at his age, but he’s so goddamn tired. Moreover, he knows he could get someone else to do it pretty easily. Maybe he could be a martyr. He could save someone from a clicker or a soldier. He could save someone’s life for once. But would that be enough to save his soul? To make it to Heaven and see Ellie and Sarah again?

Maybe, he would, if God really does love people the way some say he does. But if Joel was God, he’d deny himself entry.

He stays in bed for the rest of the day. Aside from the two times he eats. And once in the middle of the night to take a piss because he may be depressed, but the last of his dignity is motivation enough not to wet the bed.

He doesn’t shower or change his clothes. Not like he’s wearing a shirt anyway, just boxers ‘cause it’s too hot outside and he doesn’t want to get up and turn on the fan. Sleep doesn’t come easy, but it comes. It comes because it has to, reluctant as it is.

He wakes up to the voice of an unfamiliar woman. Quieter than Ellie or Sarah, less stern than Maria or Tess. Not like he was expecting to hear from three out of four of those women, not outside of his dreams.

You’ve always cared about people, saving lives and all that. But you’re no good with a gun, so Tommy finds a better job than patrol for you.

“You’re going to be watching my brother, Joel.”

“Like, spying on him?”

“No, like making sure he doesn’t kill himself.”

A suicidal man is nothing new, especially in this world, but Tommy’s bluntness about it is. He acts as if it’s a normal job. Like the ones in office buildings that sound wonderful even though the people who tell you about them assure you it was barely better than life is now. This new watchmen position is the same as patrol, in a way. Terrifying in the gravity it holds. You have to keep someone alive.

You can shoot deer, you can run quickly, you can hide well. You can survive on your own. But, at age 10, your mom bled out as you sat by her side. You were too weak to carry her, to dig a grave and bury her. Your survival feels unearned, but you’re no good with guns. You’d miss if you tried to do it. That’s a rare thought anyway, and surely not one you plan to ever speak aloud. They’d put you on watch too, which sounds suffocating, in all honesty.

You don’t know Joel. You’ve heard his name in passing, but you arrived in Jackson during the period of time he was gone. He was going to take some girl to some hospital for something or other.

“What about that girl?” you ask. “Is she not taking care of him?”

“She’s not around anymore.”

“Oh,” you say.

He just nods. The ‘why’ of the whole arrangement makes sense, but you’re still unclear on the ‘how’. Am I just supposed to stay in his house 24/7? Is he allowed to shower on his own? Do I have to cook or do laundry?

“Just check in on him. He’s not the most… personable, but don’t take anything he says to heart.”

Just check in on him. It sounds simpler than it will be, you know that much. Even keeping a plant alive takes more than ‘checking in on it’.

You arrive at his house around 10 AM. You assume he’ll be awake, but when you look around his living room and kitchen, you can’t find him. Oh God, you think. What if he’s…

He’s asleep in bed. You’re pretty sure. He’s lying there and there’s no evidence that anything’s wrong, but when you say his name from the doorway, he doesn’t move. So, you walk closer to him, just to make sure he’s breathing.

“Joel,” you say softly – because your other option is reaching out to touch him, and you feel that’s a little too personal, especially when he’s not wearing a shirt.

“Who the Hell are you and how did you get into my house?” he says.

“Tommy sent me.”

“Oh, so they’re making you watch me?”

“Yeah.”

You’re glad he knows about the arrangement. Maybe he’ll give you some direction on what to do with him.

“Must hate you if they stuck you with me.”

You can’t tell if he’s being ironic, but you hope so. Still, you don’t know how to respond. You decide on a simple, “I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

Though you’re alone in the room, you sit with perfect posture on Joel’s couch, looking around at the decor – or lack thereof – looking for clues about who this man is.

You think about making him breakfast, but you’d have to raid his cabinets to do so, and you’re terrified to make any missteps when it comes to Joel. You don’t think he’ll kill himself over burnt toast, but there is a persistent need lodged inside your brain to make him like you. It’s a little selfish when you should be focused on just keeping him alive, but maybe if he likes you, he’ll feel better, maybe you’ll feel better too. That’s still nothing but the ever-lingering hope in your heart. But it’s something.

He comes downstairs eventually, in a t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms.

“Good morning,” you say.

“No, it ain’t,” he says, heading in the direction of the kitchen.

“Do you want me to help you with anything? Breakfast or coffee?”

“I can make my own damn coffee, kid.”

And he does. The first shred of kindness you get from him is an offer to pour you a cup.

“I’m alright, but thank you.”

He sits down in a chair across from you and sips his coffee as you watch him awkwardly.

“Are you really gonna do that all day?”

“Do what?”

“Sit there and stare at me.”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“You could leave, for starters.”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

“What? You afraid Tommy’ll get upset with you?”

“A little.”

“He’s a softie. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

You are worried. Sure, you want Tommy to be happy with you, but moreover, you don’t want to leave Joel alone lest something happen to him. You might not know the guy very well, but you’d hate to see someone take their own life.

“Can I just stay here? I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

He shrugs, and you take it as a yes.

He does not need a caregiver or a watchman. He does not need you, but you look like a kicked puppy and there’s no way he’ll force you to leave. Another young girl he’ll reluctantly let stick by his side. It’s almost cruel of Tommy to send someone like you. Someone young and full of life. Someone he has a hard time pushing away.

He should’ve sent Joel a crotchety old bitch or a drill sergeant. Maybe Tommy thinks he’s doing Joel a favor by giving him a nice girl, polite and eager to please. It’s a good thing your chipper attitude irritates him. It’s the first item on the very small list of qualities that Joel dislikes.

At first, he insists on making his own food. You’re still a guest, even if he’s reluctant to have you as one. It doesn’t matter where he lives, he’ll always have been raised in Texas. He’ll always hear his mother calling him out on his lack of manners. His hospitality is force of habit.

Plus, if he lets you do anything for him, he’ll owe you something – at least in his mind. And he doesn’t want to owe anyone anything. He doesn’t want to give or get or build any kind of rapport with you whatsoever, especially since you seem to take all attention as progress, despite the fact that Joel is harsh with you most of the time.

The whole ordeal makes him feel like more of a failure than he did before. He couldn’t save Ellie, or Sarah for that matter, and now he’s being forced into his own retirement or held hostage depending on how you look at it, so he can’t even get the satisfaction that productivity brings.

He also finds himself pretty fucking bored without work. He became so used to being in constant battle, even in his sleep. One wrong move and he was dead. The worst injury he’s gotten in the past few weeks was a paper cut.

Reading was never his biggest hobby, but it’s not bad when you find the right book. Often, you’ll sit across the room from him and read a book of your own, and the silence as he relaxes into the couch is quite peaceful for a change.

No amount of peace and quiet can cure his boredom, though. It makes him antsy, and you notice. You notice a lot when your job is just staring at him, it seems.

“I found a book of crossword puzzles,” you announce.

“Congratulations,” Joel says.

“I thought since you were bored, I’d give them to you, and maybe you could do them…”

By the look on your face, he can guess that you’re regretting your words. Lest he make you cry, he accepts the book.

“Plus, it looks kind of old so I don’t know if I’d know how to do it myself,” you add.

He knows you don’t mean it as an insult, but it sounds like one, and it makes him laugh. The list of qualities Joel likes about you is already long — and buried deep in his subconscious — but he’ll have to add the fact that you can make him laugh.

“Are you calling me old?”

“Not in a bad way. You’re just older than I am.”

He flips through the book and finds that about 80% of them are done.

“Somebody did most of these already.”

“I’m sorry… maybe I could erase that person’s answers and then you could do them?”

“I think I’d still be able to tell.”

You hang your head in defeat.

“Gimme a pencil and I’ll try the ones that aren’t done yet.”

You look through his junk drawer, find a pencil, and hand it to him. He doesn’t expect you to sit on the couch next to him.

“I know you’re supposed to watch me, but you don’t have to watch that closely.”

You move away slightly, no longer looking over his shoulder.

“I was just curious about the answers.”

“I was kidding around,” he says (though, it’s only a half-truth). “Come back here.”

It takes him about a week to finish the book.

“Had to go back and fix some of the others,” he says. “The person who originally filled ‘em out was an idiot.”

“That’s not very nice. Maybe it was a kid.”

“Kid had great handwriting, then.”

You pause, hesitating for a reason he can’t pinpoint.

“What? You want me to say sorry for calling that guy an idiot. ‘Cause I will if it matters that much to you.”

“No, no, fuck that guy, he was an idiot,” you say, clearly taking after him.

“Language, Missy,” he says, jokingly scolding you.

“Sorry. I should stop swearing.”

“It’s okay. You probably picked it up from me anyway.”

“Maybe,” you agree. You’re fidgeting, holding something behind your back, he notices.

“Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” you say, holding it out to him. “I just figured since you finished the crossword book, I should get you more.”

He only did the crosswords for you. He never really cared for them anyway. He just wanted to make you happy — he’d rather have you content than pissy or whiny. The only thing worse than your constant insistence on getting his approval would be if you just sat there and cried all day.

He’d tried to give the book back to you, but you couldn’t do ‘em on your own since you were lacking in 90s pop culture knowledge. So, he did them, with you watching over his shoulder the whole time.

He’s about to admit this to you and hand the new one back over to you when he looks at the pages – white paper, stapled together, all drawn up in pen.

“Did you make these?” he asks, in awe of both your ability to draw perfectly straight lines, and moreover, how much you must care if you’re willing to go to these lengths. Kiss-ass behavior, he tells himself.

You nod, and he gets the sudden urge to hug you, but opts for a thank you with a smile he can’t repress.

“You didn’t have to do all this, but it’s very sweet of you.”

He considers taking back the ‘very sweet’ comment when he finds that 3 down is four letters with the prompt “grumpy old man”. JOEL fits perfectly in the blank spaces.

You go on walks, read endless books, and Joel finally lets you start taking on some of the housework. It should be nice, but you get the feeling he’s not all that happy about this situation. Not that he tells you it outright. He doesn’t tell you much at all. And you’ve tried. It’s not like you’re asking hard-hitting questions.

“How old are you?”

“56.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

He doesn’t even bother to ask the same question back to you. Sometimes, he doesn’t even look up at you when you speak to him. You know it’s the depression of losing someone close to you, you know what that feels like – the problem is, you don’t know how to fix it. You only know how to hide it.

It’s quite simple, in theory. All you have to do is give him the desire to get out of bed every day. But you don’t even know what he likes. All you know is that your presence is not high on his list of favorite things. You try and try until you swear his shitty attitude is rubbing off on you.

Tommy checks in with you periodically, asking you how things are going with Joel, and this would be the perfect opportunity for you to get out of this position, which Joel would probably love, but to spite him, you tell Tommy it’s going well.

And it is, in a way – Joel is not actively mean to you. He doesn’t insult you or argue with you, he just mostly ignores you. So, you figure if you ignore him, maybe he’ll miss your attention. Stupid teenage bullshit mindset, acting like you have a crush on him, playing some sort of push and pull game that he’s not even privy to.

But that’s not like you. That brooding behavior is all Joel, so it lasts no more than a day or so until you go back to trying, and accept the fact that he’s just an asshole. Doesn’t mean you have to be one.

You never expected to win him over with the crossword puzzles but you see the look in his eyes when you give him the homemade ones, and you know there’s something in there besides all that pain. You know that look, can’t put a name to it, all you know is that it’s a good sign, one you had yet to see from Joel.

Joel wouldn’t have thought he’d get tired of hearing someone ask, “can I do anything for you?”, constantly begging to dote on him, to care for him. The last time someone did this for him was on Father’s Day, which is an ancient holiday now, almost mythical.

But it’s been weeks of the same old shit. It has nothing to do with you. In fact, you’re probably the best ‘caregiver’ he could’ve gotten stuck with. Thing is, though, he doesn’t want a caregiver, and he’s tired of said caregiver bombarding him. It’s enough to just have her watching him like a hawk, but yapping in his ear is another thing. Because he enjoys the quiet (and because the way you ask him questions reminds him of Ellie.)

It’s a joke, a stupid joke. It’s his patience wearing thin.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask.

“Sure. A beer, maybe. And a fuckin’ blowjob,” he mutters. Yeah, that’d be the dream but it’s a joke, bordering on a jab at you.

“I don’t think we have any beer,” you say. You both know damn well there’s no alcohol in the house.

“I know.”

“And, as for the other thing- is that something that you’d want… me to do?”

“Hey,” his tone softens. “Sweetheart, it was a joke. I was messing with you.”

“Okay, so you don’t want that, correct?”

“It was a joke. I’m sorry I even said it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, sheepishly. “It’s your house, your rules, right?”

The concept of free speech in his house was one he’d brought up regarding ‘swear words’— It’s his house so he’s allowed to say ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘bitch’, and every other word he could come up with, and he came up with some deep cuts just to make you laugh. Admittedly, it’s a nice sound.

“Yeah.” He thinks for a moment. “I just think that these sorts of topics aren’t appropriate for someone…”

“You know I’m an adult, right, Joel?”

“Yes, I know, but you’re still young and you seem a little innocent. I don’t want to put those types of thoughts in your head.”

“I know what a blowjob is, and I know what sex is. I just haven’t found the right person yet. That doesn’t mean I’ve never thought about it or whatever.”

You rarely snap at him, so he knows that word — innocent — must’ve been more offensive than he’d meant it. Maybe you’re not innocent. Maybe you’re just kind and a hell of a lot younger than him. Maybe it just seems like you should be.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just saying that I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“But do you want it?” You punctuate every word with a newfound annoyance.

“It’s not about that.”

“Yes it is.” You’re quite incredulous for someone who has been presented with the idea only a moment ago.

“Fine. Yes, in theory, if we were just two people who know each other, then, sure, if you offered, I’d say yes.”

“I offered.”

The way he calls you ‘sweetheart’ feels more like an insult than a term of endearment. You’d rather be ‘kid’ or nothing at all, anything less patronizing. It’s worse when he calls you innocent. You’re not innocent, you’re just nice — something that Joel is not. You’re painfully nice. You’ve heard it makes people like you. You’re still waiting on the results, though.

But, if he’d ordered you to suck him off, you’d have kneed him in the balls, and he would’ve thought twice about calling you ‘sweetheart’. The thing is, he doesn’t. Instead, he backs away from the opportunity, tells you it was a joke.

But you see two things behind his eyes: one, he wants this. He might not want to want this, but he does. More importantly, you see his genuine concern for your well-being override this desire and you realize you feel safer around him than you do around most men. That’s one of the reasons that you do give him ‘a fuckin’ blowjob’. The other being that, sometimes, before you go to bed, you can’t sleep, and a certain man comes to mind as your fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties.

When you reiterate that you offered, you exchange a long stare wherein you try to reach into each other’s souls and sort this shit out but when you both realize you can’t, Joel says, “Okay.”

And you say, “Okay.”

A new kind of tension bubbles to the surface as Joel sits down on the couch and you kneel before him.

You fiddle with his belt, eventually managing to get it undone, but Joel does the rest of the work it takes to get his pants down to his ankles, boxers too.

You’d imagined he’d be big, but that’s how fantasies work. Every man’s dick is big in your lewd daydreams, but it’s like you manifested it with Joel. You begin to feel like you’re in over your head, and though you aren’t innocent, you aren’t experienced enough to take him. But who are you to back down from a challenge?

Joel can see hesitation wash over your face for the first time. You pause, study the scene like you’re trying to decide your approach, and then you take his cock in your hand, looking up at him like you’re asking for the green light.

He gives you the go-ahead with the only piece of advice he thinks you’ll need. “Just don’t bite, and you’ll do fine.”

He probably should’ve mentioned another thing: don’t take too much at once or you’ll choke. His head lolls back and his eyes fall closed the moment your lips meet the tip of it. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t want you to feel intimidated by his presence while you’re exploring, so to speak. He lets out a low groan of approval to let you know he’s still with you.

But he’s fading into a beautiful oblivion until he hears you gag, feels you sputter and it shocks him out of that blissful feeling. His eyes snap open and he cradles the back of your head.

“Easy, easy,” he says. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

You pull away briefly and catch your breath.

“That’s good,” he says. “Breathe, baby.”

He can see you looking for instructions, so he takes your hand and helps you get a firm grip on his cock, sliding your hand up and down, and finally letting you do it on your own.

“Doin’ good, baby,” he says. “You gotta give your mouth a break sometimes.”

You’ve never gotten anything close to praise from Joel before. It’d warm your heart like nothing else if it weren’t so goddamn sexy in this context.

You nod, wipe the spit from your chin, and give your mouth a brief break, but you can’t hold yourself back forever. Soon, your lips are back on his cock, kissing from the base to the tip, flicking your tongue over the head, seeing what reactions you can get from him.

When you get into the rhythm of hand and mouth in tandem, you barely register him telling you that he’s gonna come.

You imagine it’s an acquired taste but it’s not awful. You can swallow it. So, you do, and you look up at him with a smile.

He looks like he’s woken up from a dream and he’s still getting his bearings straight, but he’s quick to stand up and take your hand.

“Where are we going?”

“To my bed.”

You’d follow him anywhere but bed does sound good to you right now. It sounds like an adventure. You don’t go into his bedroom unless absolutely necessary. You’d think he was hiding something horrible in there if you didn’t have a mutual feeling regarding your own bedroom.

“Are we going to have sex?” you ask.

“No,” he says.

“Then, what are we going to do?”

“You,” he begins. “Are going to lie back and relax.”

He coaxes you to lie down, and he doesn’t have to try hard.

“I,” he continues. “Am going to make you feel good.”

You’re fairly certain about what he means, so there’s nothing left for you to do but let him do the work. It’s just another part of the job you’ll have to learn from experience.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says.

You nod.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he says, playing with the hem of your t-shirt.

“Wait-” you say, sitting up, and he withdraws. “Can we kiss… first?”

He looks surprised for a moment, and you worry you’ve fucked up.

“I just feel like we should do that,” you say, much quieter.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess that makes sense.”

His hand cups your cheek and he looks you in the eyes like he’s trying to find answers somewhere in there.

“Has anyone ever kissed you before?”

“Not really, not the way I want you to kiss me.”

“Feels a bit rude of me to have put my dick in your mouth before you’d even been kissed.”

Still, he leans in and kisses you, but it’s soft, gentle. It’s not a peck on the lips, though, it’s more. It gradually gains momentum and passion. Eventually, he slips his tongue in your mouth and you take it in stride.

“You’re very good at this,” he says. “If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t think this was your first time.”

“Is that a compliment?” you ask, doubting Joel is capable of such things.

He ignores your question, and sighs. You know it’s not directed at you because you’re fairly sure he’s not listening.

“I know I said I was gonna do some things with you, but I don’t wanna take things too fast, okay?”

“Are you saying you’re just going to kiss me?”

“I think that’d be the right thing to do.”

“That’s not fair,” you whine.

You wish you could sound sexy, or whatever, but you probably come off like a bratty child.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s not fair. You said you’d make me feel good. I thought you were gonna return the favor.”

“I was.”

“Then, why are you backing out?”

You’re shocked that he’s the pussy — pun-intended — in this scenario.

“I thought it might be too much for you.”

You grab his hand and slip it under the flimsy fabric of your shorts.

His eyes go wide.

Fucking hell, you’re wet, is the only thought on Joel’s mind. It makes sense. He’d be offended, maybe even worried if you were dry as a desert down there, but he’s barely touched you. Either you really enjoyed kissing him or you actually liked sucking him off too.

He gently presses the pads of his fingers against the wet spot on your panties.

“You’re right, baby. It’s only fair if I help you out.”

He’s able to get your shorts and your panties down in one swift pull. You look impressed by the action. Just you wait, he thinks. He’s not an expert by any means, but it’s not too hard to learn if you pay attention — and sex is one of the only times Joel does listen — it’s also not a skill you lose over time. It’s muscle memory, or maybe it’s innate.

His thumb rubs your clit lazily as he watches your face scrunch up in pleasure, your eyes fill with need. When the first finger slips inside you, he hears a breathy sigh come from above — it sounds like relief though he knows you haven’t come yet.

He’s never had a woman have such a strong reaction to his lips on her clit. It almost startles him at first. You’re frantic from the moment his lips meet your skin, crying out for him like you’re scared he’ll stop.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m right here. Don’t have to get so worked up. I’m gonna take care of you.”

He can’t say another word because his lips are occupied, so he relies on his hands, his soothing touch, to tell you that everything is alright. He gets the urge to tell you how good you are for him, how good you taste, how pretty you are like this, but he knows it’d be cruel to let up now. He’s callous often, sometimes harsh, but rarely cruel.

His instinct tells him to drag this out, to make your thighs shake, to have tears running down your cheeks, to tease you. To be the asshole that he tends to be when you’re around (and when you’re not). This is a version of Joel you might come to like.

He’s lived long enough to be well-practiced in this field of life. Doesn’t matter if he’s particularly romantic or even sociable, it’s just happened enough times over the course of fifty plus years for him to know the ins and outs. He can get you there quickly and lead you through it slowly.

He’s so used to you saying his name in a tone he considers pestering that he’s begun to hate the word itself. But when it’s drawn out and desperate like this, it sounds wonderful.

You’re at his mercy, he thinks. Which means he’s in control. And, as much as he’d hate to admit it, control does not mean he can kill you, control means he can care for you.

When you come down from your high, Joel is looking up at you from between your thighs with messy hair and kiss-dark lips. His smile looks like one of pride. Your cheeks heat up, only half-remembering what just happened. You could describe the event simply in a cause and effect relationship — he went down on you, so you came. You know what an orgasm feels like, but that was something beyond anything you’d ever experienced before. You fear an addiction may be coming on.

Your voice comes out shaky, which only makes your first words after a long silence sound stupider. “Thank you.”

He looks confused, and it takes him a moment to respond. “My pleasure,” he says, and you swear it might be when you see a semi through his sweatpants.

You’d offer more ‘help’ but you truly don’t think you can manage it. You can feel your body pulling you towards sleep. Your eyes have barely opened and they want to close again.

Joel notices because how could he not, you’re completely naked in every sense of the word.

“Get some rest,” he says before standing up.

He’s leaving.

“Where are you going?” you ask, instinctively.

“Downstairs.”

You do not want to say it. The fear of rejection is too strong, but so is the sudden urge to cry. Holding back tears is a strength of yours, though, so Joel never sees them. Somehow, after doing one of the most adult things, you feel like a baby in the wake of it. You are supposed to be taking care of him, and you are failing.

“What?” is his response to your refusal to meet his eyes.

“I just assumed you were going to stay. That’s all.”

“I can. If that’s what you need me to do.”

You don’t say anything. He climbs into bed anyway after picking up your underwear and handing it to you.

He doesn’t hold you but he doesn’t leave either. What he does do is kiss you on the forehead when he thinks you’re already asleep. It’s a compromise between your fear and your desire.

It isn’t as weird as one might think it would be — acting as if you’ve never done anything remotely sexual with one another. It’s easier because you don’t have to go back to being friends. You never really were. It was always awkward. What’s new? Only your knowledge that at least some of your feelings are mutual. Only the fact that you think about having sex with him every time he’s in front of you. It’s really just out of curiosity sometimes. What would he be like in bed? Does he want it too? How would you even broach the subject?

Sometimes, it’s not just curiosity. Those days are harder to navigate. You have to pretend like every little touch — most of them accidental — fuels the fire. It’s not the sensation itself. It’s just the acute awareness of his body, how close it is to yours, how easily you could reach out and touch him, that enters your mind.

“You’re staring.” Joel says from the other side of the couch.

“Sorry. I zoned out.”

“Got something’ on your mind?”

“Not really.”

“C’mon, what is it?”

“Why do you suddenly care about my thoughts?” About me.

“You think I didn’t care about you before? You’ve been in my house everyday for months now.”

“So?”

“And, I haven’t tried to kick you out yet.”

“You’re not allowed to kick me out. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Okay. How ‘bout this: I’m down here sitting with you because I know you don’t like to be alone.”

“So you pity me?”

“No, if I pitied you, I’d have told Tommy to give you a new job.”

“Okay, so, you expect me to believe you care but you refuse to talk to me half the time.”

“I’m not much of a talker. But, now that I’m trying to talk to you, you’re shutting me out.”

“I’m not— It’s just not a big deal. I don’t even remember what I was thinking about anyway.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“I said, that’s bullshit.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll talk.”

You take a deep breath before speaking, one long enough that he gestures for you to go on.

“I was just thinking about what it would be like if we had sex.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, since we, you know, we did that stuff… it’s not like it’s a totally crazy thought.”

“‘That stuff’? Be more specific, honey.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I do, but you can’t be thinking about having sex with me when you can’t even use big girl words when you’re talking about it.”

“It doesn’t even matter.” Your face is burning. It so, totally, does matter. “I was just curious.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Mm-hmm. Go on thinking, I’ll get back to reading.”

“Wait, what? You just made me tell you that to make me embarrassed? You’re not even gonna—”

“What? Gonna fuck you?”

The word slips out of his mouth so easily.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Truth is: he’s been thinking about you every day since. He only caught you staring because he was doing the same. He tries to restrain himself because it feels like the right thing to do.

But he still, he acquiesces and takes you upstairs to his bedroom.

He lays you down on the bed and undresses you slowly like you’re a gift and he doesn’t want to tear the paper. He places your clothes atop the dresser, but leaves his strewn across the floor.

Wonder fills your eyes as he reveals his naked body. Hesitation and awe wrapped up in one.

“Wow,” you say, breaking the silence, “it’s, um, you know— do you think it’ll fit?”

It’s not the first time he’s heard that. It no longer brings him that bashful pride that it did when he was younger. It’s just a fact. A nuisance sometimes.

“Not if we don’t get you ready first.”

“Do you need to get ready first too?”

He looks down at his cock, rock-hard and eager.

“No, baby, just looking at you is enough to get me ready.”

A thought crosses his mind — one he thought he’d left in his teenage years — what if he comes too quickly?

He lies back on the bed next to you and reaches for you, waits for you to let him maneuver you.

“Come here,” he says.

You sit up and face him, slowly inch towards his arms that beckon you.

You’re fairly sure you know what he wants you to do. Sit on his face. But god, something about it seems awkward in the amount of control you simultaneously give up and are given in turn.

“You trust me, right?” he asks.

“Of course.”

An answer you wouldn’t have ever thought you’d give back when you first met.

“Then, come sit on my face.”

You swing your leg over him and steady yourself above his face.

He grips your thighs to guide you. You grip the headboard to save yourself from passing out the moment Joel’s mouth meets your skin.

Joel wouldn’t be the man you’d have thought would have such a talented tongue based on how little he uses it. You can’t blame him for not talking right now. Your moans echo off his bedroom walls and permeate the balmy summer air. The windows are closed and the curtains shield your naked bodies from the neighbors but even if you’d left them open, you wouldn’t have the sense to care.

You’re an incoherent mess of moans and half-words, trembling thighs and sweat. Your orgasm comes on strong, and if your eyes weren’t screwed shut, maybe you’d see the gates of heaven.

It’s been a while since he’s done this. Tess never liked it like this and the last woman before her was one from another lifetime, pre-outbreak, an inconceivable world despite having once called it home.

He’s not really thinking about that, though, in this moment, all Joel can think of is you. Your skin, your sweat, your heat, and the pretty noises you make. At one point, he swears he hears his name though your thighs are covering his ears. And he doesn’t mind it one bit.

“I’m gonna pass out,” he hears from above him.

“No, you’re not. I’ve got you,” he tries to say, though surely his words are muffled.

“Don’t let me go.”

He doesn’t. He carefully helps you lie back on the bed. When he meets your gaze, he swears he’s never seen adoration like that in anyone’s eyes before. At least, not in a long time.

It terrifies him, but in spite of his hesitation, he holds you close.

A blanket of peaceful silence settles over your bare bodies.

You speak quietly, trying not to awaken Joel’s senses. The ones that pull him away from you. The moment feels like glass in your hands.

“Are we going to have sex?”

“Hm?”

“We were going to, right? You were getting me ready for it.”

“I thought I wore you out.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I want to stop.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’d tell you if you were.”

He hesitates.

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

Those are the words that awaken his arousal. In an instant, you find his body looming above yours. He kisses you until your lips are red and puffy. He doesn’t break your gaze as he positions his cock at your entrance. Your green light is your needy hips begging him to fuck you.

He starts slow, even the head is a stretch. You scrunch up your face and hold back the urge to squirm.

“It’s gonna be a little uncomfortable at first, baby, and that’s why we’re gonna take it slow.”

Slow is an understatement. It takes ages for him to give you another inch — or maybe you’re just antsy. This one makes you whimper, makes you clamp down around him.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be fine.”

Joel’s voice is tender and sweet, and it gives you enough hope to ask for something you think he’d usually deny you.

“Can you hold my hand?”

He interlocks his fingers with yours. It feels oddly natural. He doubts he’s heard someone ask to hold his hand since— not now, he’ll go soft if he thinks about her. He’ll close in on himself and you need him — in more ways than one.

He continues slowly as he promised he would until he hears your moans of pleasure and your pleas for more, more, more. More is a little bit faster, a little bit harder, as deep as you can take it, and most importantly, his thumb tracing circles on your clit.

You squeeze his hand with yours as your inner walls clamp down around him.

“Just let it happen. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

When you come, he does too — the most blissful mistake he’s ever made.

Curses fly out of his mouth through his orgasm, stopping briefly as he catches his breath, and resuming when he pulls out and watches as his come drips out of you.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you insist. “I liked it.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Because I fucking loved it. “But, it’s dangerous. We’ve gotta be more careful.”

In the future — it’s implied. Another time is nothing when the lines have all been crossed and when the other side brings him a warmth the hot summer never could.

You have more power over him than the sun.

It becomes a routine — briefly — and you are more careful. You discreetly buy condoms, but when your next period doesn’t come, you fear it might be too late.

You don’t tell Joel, not at first. Sometimes, they’re irregular, and you don’t want to give the man a heart attack. But then a week passes, another week passes, and eventually you have to — especially when you’re beginning to feel a bit nauseous and have no other explanation for it. It’s better to say something before he asks.

“Joel,” you say, “I haven’t gotten my period yet.”

A look of horror crosses his face before he asks, “How late is it?”

You take a breath before admitting, “A few weeks.”

“How many?”

“Almost three.”

“Fuck.” He sighs in preemptive defeat. “Have you taken a test?”

“No, I thought it would come so I didn’t want to overreact.”

“We’re going to go get one.”

He stands up immediately and turns towards the door.

“Wait,” you say, stopping him in his tracks.

“I should probably get it. It’ll look less suspicious.”

No, it won’t. Those who suspect something is up with you, will have their suspicions, and those who don’t, won’t think to pay attention.

They recommend taking multiple because false negatives are common.

The first one is a clear positive, so clear you think it might be a false positive, so you wait to freak out until you see two lines come up on the second test.

Joel is silent, even when you hand him the test.

But, so are you, because what more is there to say? The tests say it all.

“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he says, and you’re surprised until he clarifies.

“I doubt they’ll make you pay for the pill or the procedure — however they do it, but I’ll take care of you while you’re recovering. I’ll be there through it all. Promise.”

The pill or the procedure. The abortion that he expects you to have. Truth be told, you hadn’t really thought about what you’d do until now. It’s probably the right decision. Do you really want to bring a baby into this world? Can you even take care of one?

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll make an appointment.”

You save your tears for Maria. She approaches you in the clinic. You’d be delighted to see her at any other moment.

“Making an appointment?” she asks.

“Yeah, just a checkup,” you lie.

The woman at the counter clarifies with you. “Just a checkup? Is that what you’d prefer?”

You turn back and forth between her and Maria.

“Um, no,” you say, “keep it as is.”

Maria raises an eyebrow and there is nowhere left to hide. You might be able to outrun her, but she knows where you live and isn’t afraid to confront you at your doorstep.

She saves you some of your dignity when she whispers, “How about a chat at my place? I have some tea that helps with nausea.”

The tea is persuasive but you’d have to go anyway. You don’t speak on the walk to Maria’s. She brews the tea and you sit across from each other in the kitchen before she finally speaks.

“What’s the appointment for?” she asks. “And I’m not here to judge you, I just want the truth.”

You’re not my mom, you could say, but she’s the closest thing you’ve had to one since your own passed.

“An abortion,” you say quietly, looking down at the table, at your hands around the mug.

“Okay,” she says, gently. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You try to reply but all the comes out is a sob.

Eventually, she pries the truth out of you. You explain what happened when you told Joel the news.

“So, he made the decision, and then told you he’d be there for you if he did what you wanted?”

“I guess. But, I think it might be the right choice. I mean, it'd be hard to raise a child in this world…” You cut yourself off when you look at her bump. She’s gonna be a mom, a good mom. And, stupidly, you’re jealous.

Even though it’s not there yet, you swear you can see a high chair in your periphery. You could be holding a warm bottle instead of a hot mug of tea. Maria could be feeding her child his first bite of baby food next to you.

“Let me ask you something, and I want you to really think about it, and be honest with me.”

You nod and wait for her question.

“If Joel had said he’d support you no matter what, even if you wanted to keep the child, if he said he’d step up as a father, would you have made the appointment?”

“I don’t know.” Oh, but you do. Maria waits for you to come to a conclusion, for you to spit it out.

“I like the idea of having a kid. I love kids, and I sometimes think about what it would be like being a mom, but I know that I can’t be one. Not right now.”

If there is one thing Joel can’t be, it’s a father. Not again. He’s too old, too grouchy, too cynical. He’s not the man he used to be. He was never good at it anyway. He couldn’t save his own kid. He’s already a failed father — once, if not, twice.

You’d be a great mother, and that’s the greatest tragedy. He’s failed you already. He’s not good at the kinder things of life. He shouldn’t have indulged in you, in the love you gave him when he cannot give it back. There are a lot of things Joel can’t quite get right — being a lover, a father, a good man.

Every night since the outbreak began, he’s watched Sarah bleed out in his arms. Sometimes he sees Tess, Sam and Henry, Bill, even Tommy which feels like an augury. Ellie is there almost every night, losing consciousness. Only sometimes is she in that hospital bed, often, she’s lying in the show, with blue lips and almost no pulse. Now, you’ve begun to enter his subconscious. You’re always too far out of reach, screaming his name until he’s shot dead, and the last thing he hears is you shriek as you watch him die in front of you.

Another person is another tragedy once they have the misfortune of coming into his life. There cannot be another person, especially not a child.

You should be back by now, he thinks as he splashes water on his face for the umpteenth time, hoping it’ll wash away all the mistakes he’s made.

He can tell it’s Maria by the way her knuckles rap on his front door. He can tell she’s pissed too.

When he opens the door, he sees you in standing behind her, like you’re afraid of him.

“Unless you want to have this discussion on your doorstep, I suggest you let me — us — inside.”

He does, reluctantly.

“Joel Miller, when do you plan on becoming a man?”

“What?”

“You just told her to make an appointment, didn’t even give her a chance to think about it? You managed to run away from your problems while you’re on house arrest. Impressive.”

“I thought that was what we both wanted,” he says, looking past her, to you.

“I guess, maybe,” you shrug.

The one thing he’s grateful for is Maria’s suggestion that you talk privately.

You sit further from him than usual, you refuse to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask what you wanted. I thought I was making the right choice.”

“It’s okay. I don’t even know what I want.”

But the tears suggest otherwise.

“Do you want to keep the baby?”

“Maybe, but I can’t. It’s not a good idea.”

“That’s what I think, but Maria’s right, it’s your choice.”

“But I don’t know how to make that choice.”

“You’ve got a good heart. Follow it.”

You spend a lot of time thinking, remembering, and trying to convince yourself that there is no part of you that wants to be a mother. But, in your bedside drawer, there is a handful of photos — all from before the outbreak. You see your mom as a child on a swing set, and as a teen blowing out candles on her birthday. Her mom is in that one too, sitting next to her, smiling. You wish more than anything to have pictures of you and your mom.

You think about the little girl who pretended a ratty old stuffed bear was her baby. You can hear your mom telling you that you’re doing a good job, how you’ll be good at this one day. Your bedtime stories were never about fairy princesses, but about your family, the ones you didn’t get to meet.

“I wish I could have that,” you’d say.

“One day, you might be able to — the world is scary right now, but that doesn’t mean it’s gonna be like this forever,” she’d insist.

In retrospect, you wonder if she really believed that, if she really believed that teddy bear would one day be a baby that you’d be the one carrying, and she’d be the proud grandmother.

“I told her I wanted to be a mom like her,” you explain to Joel, and he understands.

You know about Ellie, but not about Sarah. Joel never brings either of them up to you. Until now. It’s a fair trade, he tells himself. Photos for photos, info for info. But it’s more than that.

“Hold on for one minute, I’m gonna go get something, and I’ll be right back.”

It’ll only take him a second to grab the pictures, but he’ll need a moment to compose himself.

“This is Sarah,” he says, pointing to the little girl in the photo. “My daughter.”

You’re silent for a moment, gazing at the photo, at a younger Joel you’ve never met.

You’re the first person not to tell him that you’re sorry for his loss, and he is relieved not to hear the empty sympathies once more.

“What was she like?” you ask.

It’s hard to explain, and for that reason, he talks for at least a half hour about Sarah. All her likes and dislikes, all his favorite moments from the day she was born until the day she died. He tells the story of that too.

When you try to tell him that he sounds like he was a good dad, he has to explain why he wasn’t.

“I couldn’t save her,” he says.

“I couldn’t save her either,” you say, pointing to your mother in one of the photos.

“You were just a child,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

“And, you were just a man,” you say. “It’s not your fault.”

“A grown man.”

“Doing the best that you could.”

And you’re right. He did try his best. He stops arguing not because he’ll ever concede but because the weight of the present falls upon him all at once as he meets your eyes and remembers why you’re here.

He can’t have Sarah back, he can’t have Ellie back, but you’re right in front of him — and he loves you. It’s too late to turn back and kick you out on your first day, it’s too late to never speak to you, it’s too late to not love you.

It’s not too late to fail you like he’s failed everyone else. It’s not too late to do the opposite either.

You tell him your decision, and wait for his disagreement, for him to dissuade you. But, he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he says.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try my best.”

You cancel the appointment and make the final decision, but it doesn’t feel real until Joel finishes building the crib in the spare bedroom. The most unexpected part is how excited you feel even when you’re nauseous, even when your feet are bloated, even when your back is killing you.

You’re also terrified, particularly when you hear Maria’s account of her labor and delivery. For someone describing how painful it was, she seems oddly unfazed, happy even. She’s too focused on her baby boy, and you get it — he is pretty cute.

When the day comes, you find that you’ve underestimated the pain entirely. The wounds you’ve gotten in combat are nothing compared to this. Every hour that goes by feels like a full day for you. Every time the doctor checks your dilation it’s still not yet time.

Until it is. And everything becomes a million times more chaotic. You swear the only thing keeping you sane is Joel’s hand in yours. (You have to apologize later for squeezing it so tightly.)

Finally, the telltale cry comes, and it feels like you’ve run a marathon by how exhausted you are and by how proud you are of yourself for doing it. This will go down as the greatest feat of your life and you are more than satisfied with that fact.

The doctor announces that it’s a boy and though he said he’d be fine with either gender, Joel’s smile is wider than you’ve ever seen it. You’re smiling almost as big. It hurts your cheek muscles but you can’t stop, especially when they hand you your baby boy. Though he doesn’t know how to speak, his hand wrapped around your finger tells you that it’s going to be okay.

There is so much pain in this world, but not in this room.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel x reader #tlou fanfiction

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moonymeloncholymoney · 3 days ago

Text

Rid of him🍁

summary: no matter how hard life gets, one thing was for sure. You were never getting rid of Joaquin Torres ;)

Warnings: none, bad grammar ig, cocky joaquin (he is still a softie tho), fluff, reader being emotional

Word count: 2.2k

Author's note: I am so sorry for the late update. I was suffering from the worst writer's block and I have strict parents so😭😭. Anyways tysm for barring with me. This one is for @teamredlvr ik reader isn't exactly grumpy but I tried my best. Hope you guys like it 💗💗

Being a teacher at abbot is hard, heck being a teacher in general can be a catastrophe if you become one without ever having the true calling and love for teaching. When you do what you love, all the difficult things that come with it become a tad bit easier to handle but that still doesn’t take away from the fact that you have your hard days too.

and just like that you found yourself climbing the stairs of your exhaustingly long apartment because the lift wasn’t working, which didn’t really help in your case as your day wasn’t going very well to begin with.

After dealing with indecisive children and uncooperative parents you finally decided to head home, You had an entire class’s test to grade, a banner to make for the upcoming fest happening in your school and a truck load of paperwork from the school district inquiring about the progress of your children. You could deal with all of this but you didn’t want to, not when there were tears running down your face, snot on the shoulder of your favorite cardigan and not when you were carrying a bag full of test papers which were causing a deep burning hole to form in the skin beneath your bra strap. Everything about today felt like an unspoken burden that you had to carry because you made the mistake of doing something you love.

You finally reach your apartment door. You feel your bag dropping directly from your shoulders all the way to your fingertips and then hear it falling to the ground. You close your eyes, resting your head on the cold wooden door of your home. The scent of old linen and new laundry hitting you with a sense of comfort and security, you felt like home already. You decided to take the house keys from the back pocket of your jeans, when you feel yourself fall in front and collide with a warm body. You look up to find Joaquin in front of you, confusion and warmth in his coffee brown eyes.

You hadn’t seen your best friend in about 8 months or so after he came to visit for Christmas last year. He had been deployed at Tunisia and you were swamped with work, the only form of contact between the two of you being, the letters he sent, the cards you wrote and the endless calls you both slept off to.

So, to see him standing there with a spare key in his hand, your favorite movie on the tv and a pair of cup noodles set on the table, does things to you that you can’t even comprehend.

You jump into his arms causing him to stumble a few steps behind him. “Hey hey hey, you okay? Y/n?” he doesn’t hug back right away, trying to get you to face him and tell him what’s wrong but you’re too busy trying to get the most of him as you bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“Shhh…just be here, be here with me.”

He hugs back this time.

He knew you needed that hug but he didn’t realize how much he needed it too until he hugged back. You both poured all the year’s exhaustion into that one hug, easing into each other like two intertwining souls. He sighed into the hug and pulled you closer, making sure he gets enough of you to last at least another 8 months of deployment. It wasn’t until your cat purred at your leg when you both let go of each other.

“I guess someone missed me?” He tried to be cocky but failed miserably due to the fresh tears that had appeared in his eyes.

You let out a teary laugh before continuing to speak, “I thought you weren’t supposed to come back till after next week? how i- oh my god I had a whole thing planned for your welcome party!” You admitted as you flung your hands in your face.

“The mission got over earlier than we expected and then I remembered that I have my beautiful best friend to tend to, now are you gonna tell me why you are crying? And don’t say it’s because you’re happy to see me, I know something’s up” you know arguing with Joaquin was only going to end up in vain. So, you decided to pick your bag up from the floor as he led you through your door.

You knew lying to him wont work, it never had. He was the kind of person who would poke you to death until you revealed what was bothering you. He cared and he would make sure that you knew of it, even if that meant that he had to be a bit annoying at times. Life was good when you both were constantly in each other’s life. You remembered when he took you to McDonalds after your first boyfriend dumped you on prom night.

“One iced mocha coffee for you and one large-large big mac for both you and me cause I don’t want to die eating all of this alone” you wiped your eyes on Joaquin’s blazer which now sat on your shoulders, as you felt him slide down beside you on the floor outside McDonalds.

“hey” He shifted his gaze to you.

“hey” you said looking down, not wanting him to see the mascara stains that ran down your face smearing your cheeks black.

“If there is anyone who should be crying right now, it’s that pathetic fuck of a guy who even thought about leaving a girl like you on prom night, not you”

“He has a name you know?”

“yeah well, I don’t care”

“ Also…Joaquin Torres, did I just hear you curse?”

“Yeah well, you won’t let me kick his face so I might as well curse” he said as he took a big bite of his big mac.

“Yeah well I just wanted to say thank you and that I am sorry..” you admitted quietly ad you hugged your body tightly.

“wait why are you sorry?” Joaquin made a face so atrocious you thought he choked on his food. He turned completely to sit facing you.

“Well, I did ruin your prom night and I mean didn’t you finally ask that cute blonde out…wait what was her name again?”

“Jessca” he said going back to his original position, shoulder to shoulder to you.

“Jessica, yeah”

“no-no, jess-ca like she has no ‘i’ in her name” he laughed.

“Are you for real?”

“I am so for real, she almost had a seizure when I pronounced her name wrong but continued to call me jack the entire time. Now that I think about it, I don’t know why I even wanted to go out with her.”

“Yeah well me too. I should’ve known he was a dick when he said ant-man wasn’t a legit super hero”

you hooked your arm under his elbow, kept your head on his shoulder and opened your mouth for him to give you a bite of the big mac.

“Oh yeah then this one’s definitely on you.” You smacked his arm as he kept his head on top of yours.

there was a moment of silence, comfortable silence. The one where you appreciated each other’s company through unsaid words and through a million little actions that made you question if you two were just good friends.

“Also you never have to thank me or apologize for that matter”

“what?”

“I said you never have to-.” “No, I heard that but why?”

“because then you’ll end up saying thanks way more than you can ever imagine, cause you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon” he said he looked down upon you.

“You’re this big sap aren’t you?”

“Says the person who is going to start crying again” he says with a smile that says all you need to hear.

“Okay shoot. What happened, who made you cry and do I need to kick someone because now I legally can” Joaquin said as he sat on the sofa in front of you. He handed you the takeout he got the both you.

“No you don’t have to kick anyone and I really wouldn’t want you to do that either”

“You’re no fun”

“and you’ve got sauce on your face”

“Y/N” he said while looking at you dead serious.

“Joaquin” you said as you wiped the sauce of his face and ate it of your finger.

“I am serious, tell me what’s wrong.”

You sighed and kept your food on the center-table beside you and sat with your knees to your chest. “i…do you think I am a bad teacher?” your voice went quite, and Joaquin’s throat went dry. How could you be a bad teacher? You, who spent hours teaching him 12th grade mathematics one day before the exam so that he didn’t fail and that too without losing your patience. You, who made an entire batch of cookies for your student book club after they finished reading their first book as a reward. Teaching was not an easy profession and definitely not a financially wise one either but you knew how much a good teacher impacted the kids so you wanted to be the same for your students and try to be bring change in any which way you could.

“Y/N, angel why would you think that?” he shifted close in front of you.

“Because a student’s mom literally said it to my face today, told me that I’d be a better teacher if I focused on teaching them out of textbooks instead of silly little novels” you said as a few tears fell from your eyes.

“but reading books helps increase their vocabulary and not just that it also helps them focus better” Joaquin admitted it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Exactly! Well, I tried telling her that but she lashed out on me and walked out of my class, I felt so stupid…so unwanted. And its not like Barbabra didn’t make me feel better, it’s just… I try my level best to make sure all the kids are learning in a way that expands their horizon. I just don’t want them to by heart the textbook, I want them to understand why the textbooks say what they do. I just wish the parents also looked at it that way instead of trying to make their job easier and getting over with their child’s homework as soon as possible”

Barbara was the senior teacher in the school and even though she did assure you that you were one of the best teacher’s out there, you needed to rant out your feelings to make sure that all your feelings don’t spill like a bottle of wine manhandled.

You were full on crying now, shirt drenched with tear drops and mascara smeared across your face the same way it did all those years ago. Joaquin kept his take out beside him and pulled you towards him through your elbow forcing you to sit with your head on his shoulder and your arm hooked under his elbow.

“Well according to me, someone who can’t even sit with their child and help them do their homework doesn’t get to call you a bad teacher.”

“Joaquin i-.” he shushes you with a finger on your lips, “Let me finish.”

“and you’re not the parent’s teacher, you are your student’s. So don’t you dare let any parent tell you otherwise, when you know damn well how much your students adore you. You are a great teacher and the class’s grade says all it has to. Also, you made Shakespeare interesting for me, do you know astounding that is for someone who barely got through 10th grade English. So, yes I don’t think you’re a bad teacher, I think you’re the best and the most fun teacher these children will ever have.”

He wiped your mascara smudged cheek and pressed his lips to your forehead.

“Thank you, I don’t know what I’d do without you”

“ Yeah well I don’t know what I’d do without me either” he sighed as he picked up his takeout again.

You smacked his arm and opened your mouth to take a bite of the noodles he was having.

“Hey, that was mine!”

“Whatever is yours is mine” you said ad you grabbed the takeout from his hands and left a opened mouthed and a little offended looking Joaquin to stare at you.

“Oh you’re so going down” he said as snatched the takeout from your hands and put it on the table and got on both his knees on the sofa.

“Joaquin what are you- No Oh my god” your laughter echoed through the room as you felt your back touch the soft material of the sofa and Joaquin's fingers dug into the sides of your waist as he continued to tickle you.

You were crying from how much you were laughing, he was laughing from how much you were. And in that moment all was forgotten because you knew that you were not getting rid of him anytime soon and that was all you needed to know.

Taglist: @brittnicki @buckyytorres @halliejaade @joaquinwhores @cruel-seduction @fireinmoonshot @badboysupremelvr @teamredlvr @nathanbatemanfucker @glader13

#joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres #danny ramirez #joaquin torres x you #joaquín torres #joaquín torres x reader #joaquin torres imagine #marvel #The falcon x reader #Captain America brave new world #Falcon imagine #Joaquin torres imagine

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harrywavycurly · 2 days ago

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I still think about how soft Harry turned for his sunshine girl and I imagine all the random voice notes he’d send her during the day when he can’t call her or maybe the voicemails he’d leave and how sweet his little rants would be😩🥹

Hiii babes!! I miss my little lovey dovey HWC Harry so I’m gonna give you some examples of his rant-ish voicemails and voice notes to his sunshine girl! I hope you enjoy!!💖

Find all things Handle With Care here✨

Tag List: @gmikaelson @ell0ra-br3kk3r @tulips4harry @mellamolayla @mads3502 @empathyroad @idk199o @sassamanda77 @maudie-duan @macy-tpwk @namoreno @coralferrio1 @stylesftcher @mema10 @cherryloveshs @umadirectioner @styleswithaseaview @sunflower-tia @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @triski73

Summary: These are some voice notes and voicemails your lovely ex frat daddy boyfriend Harry sends you during the week✨

Monday’s Voice Note: “Good morning sunshine it’s…uhh shit…oh sorry don’t be mad…ah okay it’s seven fifteen in the morning and I’m about to go for a run and then come see you before you go to work. I hope you slept good? How did that weird sleepy tea taste? Did it work?…m’not totally sure all those things are actually good for you but if they help then I’m all for it because my sunshine girl needs her full eight hours or she’s a bit prickly…but I don’t mind when you’re a little grumpy..makes you more cuddly and we both know how I feel about cuddling so-oh bloody hell why is all my coffee gone? m’gonna kill that Irish fuck-I mean I love you baby I’ll see you in a bit…I wonder if you’re dreaming about me right now? Hmmm…you’ll have to tell me what you dreamt about when I see you. Love you!”

Tuesday’s voicemail: “Hey baby I’m just seeing if you’re free for dinner tonight? I forgot you had a meeting during lunch today so just call me back whenever you can…I miss you…oh and I love you…yeah okay that’s it. Love you…I already said that didn’t I? Oh well you can hear it again…I love you…bye sunshine.”

Wednesday’s voicemail: “I am so sorry I couldn’t walk you to work this morning I forgot to set an alarm and when I woke up I saw all your missed calls and…god I’m-shit I’m so late…I’m sorry sweetheart but I hope you have a good day and I’m going to come see you for lunch! I’ll bring your favorite…I love you! I’ll see you soon! Make sure to save a few smiles for me okay? Don’t give them all away…love you.”

Thursday’s Voice Note: “Goodnight my sunshine girl…thank you for letting me pick the movie tonight even though it’s technically your night…I love you and I can’t wait until you finally stop telling me no when I ask you to move in because we both know you want to live with me…or maybe it’s that we both know I really really hate not being able to wake up next to you everyday..two floors of separation is killing me baby and I know one day soon…you’ll just stop fighting it and just accept the fact we are going to be together forever so might as well start forever as soon as we can…and before you say anything yes I stole parts of that from when Harry met Sally but it’s the truth…remember when you said you’d be okay with the wife thing after our first kiss? Well that was almost a year ago…but anyway…I love you…a lot…actually it’s more than just a lot but there’s not a word to describe the amount so…a lot will just have to do for now…I know you’re just now getting out of your bath and putting on all your lotions and potions that make you all soft and uhg…I miss you…fuck this…ohh sorry baby…let me just grab my sweatshirt and—where are my socks? Oh okay here they are…I’ll be there in three minutes and forty five seconds…prepare for a sleepover because I miss you too much. I love you! Don’t fall asleep before I get there!”

Friday’s Voice Note: “Hey sweetheart did you know Niall has a key to your apartment? I didn’t until he walked in while I was in the living room and he scared the shi-crap out of me…when did he get a key? Did he steal it from you?…oh and I’m making pizza for dinner does that sound good? I hope you’re having a good day at work…Miss you and love you like crazy.”

Saturday’s Voicemail: “Hey baby…m’a little drunk but s’all Niall’s fault and god I love you. I’m gonna marry you when you finally let me. But you know that yeah? Yeah…yeah you know that…god hallways are so long and…and ugly? Why are the hallways so hideous? M’gonna come cuddle you is that okay? If it’s not just…kick me off the bed okay? Yeah..yeah I’ll see you soon sunshine…my sunshine..you smell like flowers and sunshine because you’re my sunshine girl…that I love so…so much a lot…m’gonna go now okay? M’at the door! Love you!”

Sunday’s Voice Note: “Baby where are you? You just left me in bed with a bottle of water and some aspirin with a note on my forehead saying…br…feast? That’s…that’s not a real word?…wait oh it says…breakfast…did you go get breakfast? God I’m so lucky that you’re my…my everything…you’re too good to me. I’m gonna go shower because I smell like the floor of a shitty bar…but I love you and miss your cute face so hurry back? Please?”

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mwahbabe · 2 days ago

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loser Chloe being obsessed with her gf big boobs, that's it, that's the ask

a/n: i’m part of the big milkers club but it’s HARD out here for a pimp with no butch lesbian to suck them. i need chloe to worship my tits so bad. anyway.

here’s the one for my small titty girlies<3

. ݁ ❀˖ chloe absolutely LOVES your tits. how they look in those slutty lil tank tops or how they practically spill out of any bikini top. bonus points if you don’t wear bras. she loses her mind seeing the indents of your nipples through the shirt and if it’s a little bit see-through- boy oh boy.

. ݁ ❀˖ she’s a perv. duh, a lot of times her eyes are pointing south and she can’t focus on what you’re saying. if you’re moving around unknowingly or knowingly making them jiggle this girl is not listening.

݁ ❀˖ “chlo? are you listening to me?” “yeahh. uhh..nope.”

. ݁ ❀˖ verrry handsy. i mean they’re right there. if you’re spooning she has a hand on your titty. a lot of times squeezing it like her own personal stress ball. which is what she calls it, says it calms her down. which she’s not lying it kinda does.

. ݁ ❀˖ loves how they bounce when you ride her or even better, when she has your arms pinned above your head and they bounce back and forth when she’s fucking you with the strap. to which she takes the opportunity to lean down and kiss, suck and bite the fuck out of them.

. ݁ ❀˖ to the point your poor nipples are so sore from the amount of assault from her mouth. your tits are always covered in red/purple marks. she can take it too far at times but that’s something you’ve made peace with.

. ݁ ❀˖ this perv will sneak up on you even when you’re busy cooking or doing chores and be like “show me your tits.” and pout and get whiney if you tell her “chloe i’m busy.” or “you’ve already seen them how many times?” “c’monn let me see em again. why are you torturing me?” she whines and grumbles until she gets what she wants.

. ݁ ❀˖ lays her head on them every time you two are cuddling watching tv or in bed pillow talking. (her girl has two built in pillows of her own)

. ݁ ❀˖ if you sleep in a tank top you know how much your tits never want to stay in there. so of course your pervy girlfriend chloe is gonna be very happy when she wakes up next to you while you’re still asleep and obvious to the fact that one or both of your tits is just saying hello to her out of the top you’re wearing.

. ݁ ❀˖ you know that tiktok of that girl that stitched the video of that girl making eggs and her boobies looked nice and smiled the whole time her boobies were on the video until she showed the eggs and her smile fades? yea that’s literally chloe.

. ݁ ❀˖ when you drag her shopping and complain that none of the cute bras in the lingerie store are sold in your size chloe just rolls her eyes grumbling something about “why bother with one?” but once that means she gets to see you try on different lingerie she’s back on board.

. ݁ ❀˖ her hands just slide into your top whenever. you’ve grown used to it, not even blinking as you’re sitting on the couch on your phone/reading and here comes your girlfriend with her cold hands in your shirt.

. ݁ ❀˖ likes to stick her head up your shirt like a cat. “nice view. 10/10.”

. ݁ ❀˖ your boobs swallow hers when you two are kissing or snuggling or just chest to chest, which she really really loves. it makes her giddy.

. ݁ ❀˖ chloe will literally suck on your titties for her own pleasure, just the feel of it in her mouth and the sound of your little moans and giggles gets her so hot, it gets the point you have to tell her “chlo, there’s no milk in there.”

“mmhf.. shut the hell up.”

#sighhhh when will i have this.#my chest pillows are not being used and it’s sad.#chloe price #chloe price smut #chloe price x fem reader #chloe x reader #chloe price x reader #chloe price headcanons #chloe price x you #chloe price x me #lis chloe price #chloe lis #lis chloe #chloe price life is strange #wlw

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kinardsevan · 18 hours ago

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Ngl, I was so optimistic after last episode but the newest OS interview dumped my mood af… do you think there’s still hope for BuckTommy ending up together?

I’m gonna say the same thing I’ve been saying for months: yall gotta stop reading so much into those interviews. Oliver quite literally cannot tell you that a reunion is coming. In terms of storytelling, that would be such a major spoiler that it would defeat the purpose of bothering to tell it at all.

They are so limited on what they can actually say versus what they can’t, and I have also done myself the favor of not reading most of the interviews anyway. The video ones where we can hear context? Sure. Because tone of voice does a LOT for understanding what someone is saying. The only one I watched this week was the one in which Oli stated that Buck has both personal and professional hurdles to overcome in the coming weeks.

Realistically, we’ve just opened the door for bucktommy again. The fight we all so desperately want still needs to happen. They still need to hash things out. They both presented themselves at that bar as having gotten on with their lives just fine, when we know the reality of it (for Buck at least and I’m sure also Tommy) is not the case. Literally one episode previous to this one, he was saying to Eddie that everything was right in his world until he and Tommy broke up.

I will also specify (because I’m assuming this is the interview you’re referring to based on the one quote I’ve seen), where some people are taking his “I don’t know, I don’t think so” as he’s not still in the same place, I read it as, he hasn’t moved on. You can still very much be in the same place emotionally about someone but believe they aren’t coming back to you/that things are over. That doesn’t actually mean that they are.

We know that 814/15 is coming. I know some people are assuming LFJr is only going to be in one of the episodes. I’ve assumed he’s going to be in both, in some form or another. And given the assumption that the story is going to be based on Birds of Prey, my own inclination is to believe that they’re using these episodes as a soft launch of “if we give this character more of a story, will people care?”. We, the bucktommy fandom, have wanted him to stick around for a while now, but from a storytelling standpoint, all TM&Co know is that when they broke up, it upset the fandom and GA alike. In a perfect world with endless money and time, the answer would be just to make more space on the show to tell Tommy’s story. But I think the latter half of this season really has to go to the point of showing their work and being able to go back to the network and say “this is the impact if we give him a bigger role”, regardless of whether RG stays or goes after this season.

Beyond that, I’ve personally questioned if we won’t see some form of (at the very least Maddie) Evan’s people kinda giving Tommy the cold shoulder for how he ended things. I don’t think it’s lost on anyone that Evan isn’t over him, and how much the break up hurt him. But I could very much see the narrative as “you left and hurt him needlessly” without the full context of the fact that while we know they love each other and want a future together, we don’t know that anyone else does because we haven’t seen Evan actually tell anyone about the context of the breakup. I’ve also wondered if we won’t see some version of Maddie seeing Tommy and coming to that conclusion herself, and that softening the edges a little.

Another thing I’ve wondered about, especially as we’re moving into the latter half of the season, is if we aren’t moving towards a version of events where Evan finally tells people he gets to make his own decisions, and maybe even tells the team off a little for checking out on Tommy. They’re all supposed to be his friends, right? And yet we know Eddie stopped calling him. I get the whole “Eddie was busy, had stuff going on” of it all… except we know that Evan wasn’t doing well following the break up and er can infer Tommy wasn’t with his “resisting the urge to call”… and you’re telling me Eddie could send a text? When we know for a fact that even Tommy was thinking about texting Evan, but was likely too scared? It says to me even more that the only time Eddie cares about a friendship is when he can gain something out of it.

Ultimately, I don’t actually know how we get to the reconciliation, but I have zero issue in believing it’s coming. I’ve watched way too many romcoms, procedurals, and second season breakup stories to know how this ends. And it doesn’t end with Tommy walking off our screens single. Yall have to let the story continue to be told. Everyone thought after 806 that these two were dead in the water, and yet Lou was back in 811.

Let it simmer and marinate. We’ll get there.

#bucktommy #tevan #mel's musings #sloth thoughts #anon ask #911 spec #my theories #my spec #911 discourse #oliver stark #Tommy Kinard #evan buckley

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sheerfreesia007 · 21 hours ago

Text

Talk Nerdy To Me

Pairing: Lee Know x Reader

Word count: 3,512

Content warnings: Fluff, verbal fighting, almost physical fighting

Summary: Minho’s the super sharp and intelligent assistant to your father at your family’s company that you’ve always been drawn to. You’ve always tried to keep it professional between the two, but one night at a party that you attend in your father’s stead you finally hit your limit of being a professional with Minho.

A/N: Divider was created by @bernardsbendystraws, thank you for sharing your dividers with tumblr!

You sit in one of the many chairs around the long conference table on the department floor that you’re a manager over while staring out the large floor to ceiling windows in the conference room. This morning is your weekly supervisor meeting with all of the department supervisors that you’re in charge of and you’re trying to stay awake while updating your notes on your tablet. Last night you had gone over the two new contracts that your department had been able to secure for the company, it had taken you many hours to finally get through each contract and you hadn’t gotten much sleep. Raising your hand you quickly hide a large yawn behind your hand while a few of your supervisors snickering and chuckle softly at you.

“Late night?” asked one of the supervisors with a sly grin on her face and you roll your eyes at her implication before huffing softly.

“Yeah, two contracts needed to be reviewed last night before this meeting.” you told her and she grimaced at your words.

“You always work so hard. Why don’t you act like any of the other department managers where they make the supervisors do all the work?” asked one of the male supervisors which caused a few of them to hush him quickly which made you laugh.

“Because they don’t really have anything to prove.” you say sarcastically and he tilted his head to the side at your words. “All the other managers are just that, managers. But this is my family’s company and I intend to inherit it after my father finally retires. Or when my mother finally forces him to retire.” you say causing the table to chuckle softly as they all nod their heads. “Plus I’ve worked my way up from an entry level position to manager in the last ten years. I’m used to working hard for what I want and I’m not going to stop now just because I’m in a manager position and the daughter of the company owner.” you say confidently as some of the supervisors nod their heads with nostalgic looks on their faces.

“I remember when you were just starting as the front desk clerk.” One of them mentions and a few others begin to coo softly while nodding their heads.

“You were so young and cute. It always brightened my day when you greeted me when I came into work.” someone else chimed in and you grinned as you nodded your head at them.

“Anyway let’s start talking about the two contracts I went over last night. They’re going to be two large projects that we will have to split the whole floor into two teams to handle them both.” you began to explain to them all as you stood from your chair to talk in front of the whole room.

When the meeting was finally over and all the details for the two new projects were mapped out you hung back in the conference room to talk to some of the supervisors who hadn’t been able to speak up during the meeting. You stood with them at the front of the conference room listening to their concerns with a contract that was finishing up and the two new contracts that were coming up. They were worried about how it would stretch the employees and tax them as they worked from one contract to the next without much of a break in between.

“Can we schedule vacation time for the employees who finish on the current contracts earlier and then once the new contracts start up the employees who were still working get to take vacation at that time? That way we aren’t completely without personnel to work on the contracts?” you ask as you begin brainstorming with the supervisors.

“That could work but right now both of our units are still all working on the contract.” said one of the supervisors.

“And the other units have already finished?” you asked curiously and they both nodded their heads. “Then starting next week I’ll have the other units schedule vacation time for their employees. I’ll request aide from another floor to use their advisory team to come in and double check the work that’s already done so that your units won’t have to worry about that. And once the units start coming back from their vacations we’ll schedule your units for vacation time.” you explain to them. “If that doesn’t work we can always outsource the last bit of work so that our personnel aren’t burnt out. I don’t want that to happen. But I need you to keep me updated as much as possible so that if I need to outsource the work I can make it happen quickly.” you advise them firmly and they both quickly nod their heads at you.

“Thank you. This will take a lot of load off our employees.” one of them said and you smiled while nodding your head.

“Of course, if there’s a way for me to make it less of a burden for the employees while still getting the work done I’ll make sure it happens.” you tell them. Just then there’s the soft sound of someone clearing their throat and your eyes dart over to the man standing in the conference room doorway. He’s tall and slender while impeccably dressed in a charcoal gray suit and white button up shirt with a crimson tie. His hair is styled perfectly to accentuate his sharp almost austere face while a pair of large black rimmed glasses sit on his face.

“Minho.” you greet him warmly as you smile and nod your head at him. The supervisors both smile at each other before excusing themselves from the room quickly. You frown softly as you notice their wandering eyes staying trained on you and Minho as he steps closer to you and further into the room.

“Your father would like to have a lunch meeting with you today. Are you free?” he informs you before asking softly as he comes to stand in front of you, his pretty dark colored eyes are slightly magnified behind the lenses of his glasses and you find yourself getting lost in them for a moment before you pull back mentally.

“Of course I’m free. Are you joining us?” you ask knowingly and he smirks at you before rolling his eyes playfully at you.

“Of course I’m joining you. You know your father can’t go a day without having me at his side.” Minho says teasingly and you laugh brightly at his words as you nod your head.

“He’d lose his head if it weren’t for you.” you tell him appreciatively as you smile up at him. “Let me just grab my jacket and purse and we can go.” you tell him and he nods his head at you before gesturing for you to lead the way.

Minho had been your father’s assistant for the last six years and ever since he had been hired he had managed to completely turn your father’s work life and home life balance around. He was not only very intelligent and proactive in his work but he was damn good at his job. Minho was the ultimate package as an assistant, he was quick and able to stay a few steps ahead of anything that happened during your father’s day. He was also keen on being discreet in everything that he did and the way he was able to manage a room with an almost iron fist was so impressive to you.

When you had met Minho for the first time you had been a mid level employee and on the fast track for supervisor. You had extended your help to him when he first started and while he didn’t normally take you up on that offer much when he did come to for help it always seemed to bring the two of you closer together. You both had become fast close friends and there was often talk around the office about your relationship, which you knew would most likely happen but you had tried to keep it under wraps so as not to cause any undue attention to the both of you.

You knew you were attracted to Minho ever since meeting him for the first time but because you both worked in your family’s company and the fact that you would eventually be inheriting the company you had pushed your feelings to the side. You didn’t want to mix pleasure with business and you would be damned if anyone had something to say about you because of who you found attractive. But it had been much harder than you had thought it would be to keep this professional with Minho. He was just a magnetizing person and he always brought a teasing side of you that not many people were privy to. It was intoxicating how much your relationship with Minho messed with your emotions and feelings for him and while you knew you should stop it, that was just something you couldn’t see yourself doing yet. You were playing with fire and while you were careful you knew eventually that you would get burned, you just hoped it wouldn’t be too bad of a burn.

“I need you to attend a party as a representative for the company.” your father said, sounding slightly chastised as the clinking of silverware filled the high end restaurant. You sat at a small round table with your father and Minho eating lunch while discussing things about the company. “Your mother has booked us a spa getaway this weekend before we leave for our cruise. And she refuses to let me attend this party. She keeps saying that the party will just stress me out and take all the hard work of the spa staff to relax me.” he says dejectedly and you burst out in bright happy laughter as you nod your head at his words.

“Yeah, that sounds like Mom.” you say while chuckling as your eyes knowingly dart over to Minho who’s smirking softly at you with sparkling eyes. You both knew how much your mother was adamant that your father should slow down and retire soon, it was a daily conversation that they had no matter how much your father tried to push back. “I’ll be more than happy to go in your stead.” you told him as you cut into your chicken. Minho slid his plate over towards you and your eyes darted quickly over to it before grinning widely as you spotted the onions in his dish piled up in a small heap at the edge of his dish. You moved quickly and gathered his onions before moving them onto your plate as his top lip curled slightly in distaste.

“Good, you’ll be going with Minho as your date.” your father said jovially as he laughed at the little display of the two of you sharing food.

“What?!” you asked surprised as your head whipped up to stare at your father. He was grinning at you while leaning his chin in his hand as his elbow rested on the table his eyes sparkling delightedly at your response.

“Mmhmm, Minho will be your date. The party is this Saturday night and it’s so short notice that you won’t be able to keep track of who’s who at the party so he’ll be attending to make sure you know who you’re talking to and who you shouldn’t talk to. He does it for me all the time.” your father explains while waving his hand dismissively. “Plus the two of you always look so good together whenever you both attend a party.” your father adds with a cheeky grin.

You sit there blinking at your father for a few moments. At first his explanation of having Minho there to let you know who was in attendance was fine with you but that last comment made a blush to begin creeping up the back of your neck. Your eyes worriedly darted over to Minho but he was busily cutting into his dish but when you felt your stare he looked and smiled softly trying to reassure you that it’d be fine. You nodded silently before turning back to your father who was watching the both of you in awed silence with a happy glow on his face.

The evening of the party is filled with glamorous gowns and suits, expensive champagne and alcohol, michelin star food and a live band that plays in the corner of the venue. You’re walking along the edge of the room with your arm looped through Minho’s and he leans down towards your ear so that he could be heard over the din of everyone at the party. You’re grateful that he’s at your side because your father wasn’t joking that there would be a lot of people here at the party to talk to and that you wouldn’t have be able to keep up with all of it on your own.

“This is Mr. Goo and his wife, he’s an old business associate who works with the company on the music side.” Minho whispers in your ear and you curb the shiver that wants to race up and down your spine as you nod your head imperceptibly at him before you’re turning to Mr. Goo with a happy smile on your face.

”Mr. Goo, Mrs. Goo; it’s a pleasure to meet you.” You greet the two of them and they both nod their heads at you in greeting. Mr. Goo launches into talk about the contracts that your family’s company has with his company while Mrs. Goo sidles up to Minho’s side with a soft pleasant smile on her face. You try not to pay attention to Mrs. Goo and Minho but suddenly Minho is gently touching your elbow as he leans down towards your ear.

”Mrs. Goo wants to talk to me about scheduling a meeting with your father. I’ll be right back.” He says softly into your ear and you nod your head in response before looking up at him silently. You watch as Minho walks away with an eager Mrs. Goo before you turn back to Mr. Goo to continue your conversation which he is more than happy to do.

”Do you remember the first time we met?” Mr. Goo asks you and you beam up at him happily while nodding your head.

”Of course, it was when my father had first started the company.” You tell him happily. “He had brought me along with him as he walked up and down Main Street in the music district of the city. “Your music store was the second one we visited and you let me play with some of the instruments as you held them. My favorite was the drums though, I really loved when you let me bang the drumsticks on the drum set.” You admitted to him and he chuckled softly at your answer while nodding his head.

”Those were good times.” He said softly.

”What were good times Mr. Goo?” Came a rather loud obnoxious voice that pulled your attention away from Mr. Goo who frowned at the newcomer. There stood a smug young man probably a year or two older than you dressed in a simple gray suit with a dusty rose button up shirt. His smug smirk irks you as his eyes dart up and down your body as he leans in towards you causing you to glare at him darkly while straightening your spine. The man looks at you surprised for a moment before his eye lids fell to half mast and his smirk widened on his face. “And who do we have here? The next Mrs. Goo?” Asked the man lecherously as he leaned closer towards you and you bristled at his words.

”Don’t insult Mr. Goo or Mrs. Goo.” You hissed at him quietly as your eyes sparked with anger.

”And what’s it to you sweetheart?” Asks the man as his eyes linger on the neckline of your dress. “You’re just another vapid hanger on who wants a piece of a man’s business.” He sneers at you and you feel rage fill you consuming you whole as you open your mouth to snap back at him.

But as you open your mouth and begin to respond someone dressed in navy blue suit shifts in front of you effectively cutting off your view of the nasty smug prick and getting in between the two of you. Your head whips up to stare at the back of Minho’s head and you feel your rage start to dissipate.

“You should mind your manners when speaking to a future owner of Levanter Incorporated.” Minho says calmly in a low tone that holds an edge that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. “Not only is she the future owner of the company but she also had worked her way up from the bottom in the company just so she could understand the company from the inside out.” Minho says stoically and you can see the man blanch at his words. “You better think about the next words to leave your mouth because if you think for a second I’m going to let you insult her intelligence and get away with you have another thing coming for you. Namely my fists.” Minho says in a tone that lowers causing everyone to listen in.

You stand there shocked and surprised at how effortlessly Minho had stepped in and shut down the man’s rude behavior. Your hand comes up to rest gently against Minho’s back and he turns his head to look over his shoulder at you for a silent moment.

”He’s not worth it.” You tell him softly and he nods his head in agreement before he turns to you and guides you out of the party to an empty balcony. You move to lean against the railing of the balcony taking in a deep breath before slowly blowing it out.

“I’m sorry that I reacted so ugly around you.” Minho said softly and you turned to look at him with a bewildered look on your face. “I never should’ve left your side so that he could have the chance to insult you like that. I saw red when I heard him call you a vapid hanger on. I nearly swung at him. I was so angry.” Minho began to explain and you quickly shook your head as you stepped closer to him raising your hands to grip his biceps firmly as your eyes connected with his.

”Minho, you stood up for me against an insecure bully of a pathetic man. Never apologize for that. I didn’t need air because of what you said, I was outrageously mad about him calling me stupid that I was ready to rip him to shreds.” You admitted to him and you huffed softly before smiling softly at him. “You kind of stole my shot at standing up for myself.” You tease him gently and he frowns at you softly. “But I do gotta admit it was kind of hot watching you eviscerate him.” You tell him honestly with a soft smirk on your face as your eyes rake up and down his navy blue suit covered body with the white button shirt and his dark framed glasses. Minho smirks down at you as he steps closer to you with his dark brown eyes sparkling teasingly behind his glasses.

”You’re only attracted to me because of my body and looks.” He says teasingly but you raise a hand to press it into his chest as you shake your head at him.

”No, I’ve been attracted to you for quite a long time Minho. Dare I say since you started with the company.” You confess softly and he stares at you in silent shock as his eyes widen slowly at your words. “At first it was your intelligence, your quick wit, that sharp mind of yours in damn sexy.” You say sultrily as you lean in towards him. “Your fit lean body is just an added bonus.” You tell him before winking as a smirk slips onto your face. You watch as his eyes change from sparkling to something heated that makes a pit to form in the bottom of your stomach.

”Want me to talk nerdy to you?” He asks sultrily and you grin wickedly at him as his own smirk matches your grin. You grip the lapel of his suit and pull him close as his smirk widens on his face as his eyes zero in on your lips.

”Maybe after you take me out to dinner first.” You tell him softly as you lean in close to him teasingly before you release him and side step him to start walking to the doors leading back inside. After a moment you hear his hurried footsteps following you and you smirk softly as you silently thank your father for giving you this opportunity with Minho.

SKZ Taglist: @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @inlovewithstraykids, @channiesrightasscheek, @kaiyaba

@bookswillfindyouaway

#my writing #stray kids #skz #skz x reader #lee know #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #lee minho

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kortac-sweetheart · 7 hours ago

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the heart thing makes sense but please elaborate anyways 🙏-simp anon

sure! anything for you sweetie

i think that for those that give you their own beating heart, guys specifically like nikto, ghost and keegan it stems from them lacking something in their lives.

ghost and keegan for the most part had terrible childhoods, with simon having a terribly dysfunctional family and keegan being a child soldier. they didn’t have anyone to really provide for them, so in their eyes, being able to provide anything for you now is how they show their love to you.

they would go to the ends of the earth to make sure that you’re comfortable, to provide for all your wants and needs because they never had their own met in their lives.

simon lives to see you happy and healthy, all soft and comfortable and warm around him. when at the end of the day you two find yourselves wrapped up in each other, under the warm duvet and you lay your head on his chest and look up adoringly at him, he remembers that you’re what he’s fighting for.

you look at him like he’s everything, like he hung every single twinkling star in the inky night sky and he never wants that look in your eyes to fade. so that’s why he’d do anything for you.

you want the shirt off his back? it’s yours.

you want someone else’s still beating heart? it’s delivered directly to you in his still bloodied hands.

you want his own heart?

he’d carve it out of his chest right in front of you.

as for keegan, when he was a part of the ghosts he’s always had that sort of, protective, caring role. it’s especially noticeable when you remember how he interacts with logan. always looking out for the youngest, and in this case that would be you.

he grew up without others really caring about him on a human level, that’s just the way it is when you’re a soldier, let alone a child soldier now doing spec-ops.

he takes care of others because he himself wanted to be taken care of, it’s him in a way projecting what he wanted when he was younger but it also brings him a sense of fulfillment knowing that he’s the one keeping you safe, happy and healthy.

it brings himself a sense of comfort to know that you’re well taken care of, because he cares— incredibly deeply about you, and it’s reassuring to know that he’s the one taking care of you. (just a little bit of a control freak, but it helps the both of you so…)

that’s why, if you asked for it, he would most certainly serve you his own heart. without question. if you needed it, you needed it, simple as. it’s as natural as the sky being blue or how the earth moves around the sun, it’s just how things are.

and as for nikto… do i really need to elaborate? oh might as well. you’re the light of his life and he would do anything to keep you happy. a mangled, beastly and broken man like him has no business being around someone as sweet as you, but you came to him— and he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. after all that’s happened to him, he’ll take any scrap of good fortune he can get, and with you?

he hit the jackpot.

he’ll do anything for you, he’ll sever his own arm and feed you it himself if you so desired it. but you never ask for much from him, instead you give and give and give him your love; spoiling him in it.

he deems it only right to return the favor tenfold.

you make his life feel like the sweetest of dreams, fluffy and warm and soft— and he wants to make it a reality for you. he’ll build the perfect life for you with his own hands, and if you required his beating heart for it then it’s offered to you without a second thought.

in turn, guys like johnny and gary provide because they were very well loved growing up. the spring of their love inside their soul overflowing constantly for you, their love for you fills their entire body and it makes them restless, wanting—no, needing to show you the true depths of their devotion.

the sheer magnitude of their love is overwhelming, little gestures and caresses don’t even scratch the surface of it. it’s not enough, nothing will ever be able to truly represent the magnitude of how much they love you until it’s well and truly beating in the palm of your hand.

(these guys can also veer heavily into the “give you someone else’s heart too” category, some poor sap might just turn into collateral damage when they try to carve their own heart out of their chest for you.)

the other guys, ones that give you other’s hearts like oni, konig, and krueger do it for the same reason.

because they’re being useful to you. their own hearts are tainted in their eyes, one way or another, their hearts don’t deserve to be caressed by your gentle palms, so they offer up others instead to mimic the feeling.

oni does it because he can’t offer up his own, family name tainted and ruined by his father and grandfather. though, the moment they perish and his family name is cleared, then it’s all yours. but until then, whatever it is you desire, it shall be handed to you swiftly, efficiently.

he carves out heart after heart to gift to you to show his devotion, he doesn’t tire of carrying out these missions as long as they’re for you.

but when that day comes that his lineage and name is cleansed, don’t be surprised if you see his own heart offered up to you instead.

konig offers up others because he doesn’t think that his own is worthy enough. he gifts you whatever out of some sort of desperation to make you stay. anything, everything gifted to you at your feet to make you happy. hell, he’ll even wrangle down the heavens if you desired it of him.

why would you ever want his measly heart when there are other countless precious items out there? it just doesn’t make sense that someone like you, an angel incarnate would want something like that from him.

but if you truly, truly wanted such a thing— then he’ll hand you the blade himself.

and krueger… i guess he’s like konig in a way where he feels like his own heart is lackluster. he’s a known schemer and liar, and so the best way to show you that he cares is to follow whatever you ask, happily.

he’ll reinforce the promise that his word is iron, will infallible in getting you whatever it is you desire. he feels like he has to prove himself to you… and to his ego. that yes, he does love you, and he’ll give you heart after heart after heart to show it.

he’s much like a cat in that way, constantly bringing gifts and love as a sign of his care.

but there’s an itch in the back of his mind. the ultimate way for him to show that he’s truthful in his devotion, is for you to have it in your hand. for you to to weigh his love filled heart against a feather, and for you to do to him as you see fit.

for velikan and horangi, it’s an instinctive thing. a primal feeling in their gut that tells them that in order to consider a hunt successful, they have to gift you a… souvenir of sorts from it. a reminder of his capabilities to care for you through actions (the hunt itself) and gifts (self explanatory).

they’re a little more casual about it than the other guys, but don’t let that fool you. they’re just as infatuated as any other man on this list. praise him highly for his devotion through service and gift and suddenly it’ll become a lot less casual, very, very quickly.

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mirainwonderland · 11 hours ago

Text

I’m a Phone Call Away

Tags: fluff, slight angst if you squint, minimal swearing, nothing crazy

Word Count: 1.2k words

A/N: I feel like I didn’t put the effort into this i should have so I’m sorry if it’s a little lackluster 🥲 it might be fine i just wrote the idea i had in my head and here we areee so here have this x

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ───────── · ·

Hey…

I know… you probably don’t want to hear from me right now. Heh… I’m probably the last person you want to hear from. But…

I just need you to know: I worry about you. I love you… so much, sweetheart. You know that right?

…

Long breath.

…I’m givin’ you some space. ‘Know you need it. But you only get so much of it, you hear? Cause whatever we have is gonna work, okay? I’m not letting you get out of this that easy. And no argument is gonna change that, yeah?

…

Okay well… I’ll… try and call you tomorrow night. I… hope you pick up. Uh… I love you. Bye.

Your phone hits the bed as soon as the preverbal click echoes in your ear, ending the voicemail. Rolling over onto your side, you face away from it, heart weighing down into your heels.

You don’t have a justification really. Don’t have a reason to be isolating yourself from him, from the world at large. You try and tell yourself it was a petty conversation that hardly breached into argument territory, but your heart just won’t agree with you.

It hurt.

And it was stupid.

…and you miss him.

Screw you and your sensitive ass.

It wasn’t just that though. You’ve been feeling off lately for weeks. Everything irritates you, your chest feels like you’re carrying around a weight, and you’ve cried too many times to count on both hands. You’re so overstimulated; nothing tastes good anymore. You felt lost and confused, and you didn’t want to drag him down with you any further.

He had enough to worry about anyway.

And it didn’t really help that he hadn’t listened to you the night or the argume— discussion. It was a lively discussion. If you start thinking it’s an argument, you’ll just spiral and freak yourself out with relationship ending fantasies.

Your screen lights up, a gentle ping behind you, but you don’t turn. You know it’s probably a text from him. He’s worried about you. You haven’t talked to him in two days, which is not like you at all. You know the only reason he hasn’t just shown up at your apartment is because he’s been so busy with work lately.

That, and he’s keenly aware of the fact that something is off, and you seem to be pushing him away. He doesn’t like it, but he understands the need to breathe.

Only you don’t want time away from him. Not really. But you don’t know what you do want. You’re a walking dichotomy, and it’s scrambling your own brain. You feel awful. You curl up a little deeper in your sheets, wanting to sleep away the headache that never seems to go away.

But sleep hates you too.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Leon lets out a long, heavy breath. He sets his work bag down on the couch with a heavy hand, yanking open a few extra buttons of his dress shirt. His chest heaves for a couple good breaths, the hair on it peeking out from the open front.

If you’d told him several years ago that he’d find a girl who would stress him out this much by holing herself up in her room for two days, he would have laughed in your face and downed another drink. He didn’t need anybody, or get that close to anybody, even though deep down he knew that was a bold-faced lie.

Now he’s not afraid to admit it. He’s not heard a word from you, and it’s got him pacing the floor, and lying awake in bed all sweaty. His jacket hits the back of the sofa and he rubs a hand over his stubbled jaw.

“Fuck…” he mumbles under his breath. He’d left you the voicemail this morning, and still nothing from you. Not that he necessarily expected you to come running into his arms the moment you heard it (well okay a little bit), but he hoped for at least a text—some acknowledgment— that you’d gotten it.

He understands though. He’d been feeling like something was off with you for awhile. And he’ll admit that he didn’t really listen to you that night in the car. It had just escalated into an argument, and really it was all his fault. You had been trying so hard to call out to him for help in the only way you knew how, and he failed to come to your rescue.

What a jerk.

Boyfriend of the year.

Great job, Leon.

He heaves another tired sigh, his shoulders drooping, as he meanders into his bedroom with his hands shoved into his pockets. He wants nothing more than to get out of these itchy clothes. He’d love even more to have come home to find you hanging out in his apartment like you often did. But of course you weren’t, and Leon didn’t know why he was disappointed.

His shoulders crack as he stretches them, his shirt hitting the floor. He avoids his reflection in the mirror, not really needing to feel any worse than he already does.

He flops down on the couch in front of some shitty television, with a shitty bowl of instant ramen in his hand, letting the TV land on a random shitty channel. He stabs his fork into the noodles, twisting them around the prongs, trying not to turn up his nose at how much he doesn’t want a bachelor dinner tonight.

Not when the ghostly memories of your cooking still haunt his kitchen with their smells.

Not when he can hear the echo of your laugh as you two curl up on his couch to eat and watch Gilmore Girls.

He misses that stupid show.

His discards the noodle cup on the coffee table, hardly touched, when his phone buzzes. He feels tired. It’s probably Hunnigan or someone who can’t conceptualize that work days have endings to them. It was already insanely late, what did they want now? He answers it without looking.

“Yeah, what?” He sighs, not trying to hide the weariness and deadpan beat of his voice.

There’s a long pause on the other end.

“Um…hey.” Comes the extra quiet murmur he recognizes right away.

His heart jumps and sinks all at once when he hears your voice. He instantly feels bad, straightening up on the edge of his couch.

“Baby— hey.” He grabs his phone a little tighter, hating himself already for answering the phone the way he did. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was you.”

Another long pause.

“You okay…?” He prods when he’s greeted with quiet breathing, not wanting to push too much, but eager to bridge that gap you’ve created. He knows your pride always takes an unnecessary beating when you lay down your sword like this and reach out for help. He always told you you didn’t need to be ashamed, but you still got that lump in your throat and the burn in your cheeks.

“I… can’t sleep.” Those familiar words crackle from the other end of the receiver. A sign of surrender, of your walls going down. Of your hand reaching out to him through the phone and wanting him to respond. He’s not gonna fuck it up this time.

“Can you come over?”

He’s already on his feet, slinging on his jacket.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Sit tight. I’m on my way.”

#leon kennedy #why can’t he be real #someone help #find me a man like this #resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfiction #resident evil fanfiction #fanfiction #writer #reading #fanfic #tumblr writer

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userluhna · 2 days ago

Text

UNSPOKEN WORDS

hwang junho x f!reader

first part! | next part!

words: 1.7k

warnings: a bit emotional, junho needs a hug:( english isn’t my first language, grammar mistakes!

a/n: just let me know what you want to this for this fiction or just in general. i can do headcanons, about other characters or this fiction. my requests are open!

enjoy :)

—

it has been two months since you saw junho again. it was mid-may, and your birthday was close. he came by your coffee shop multiple times during the week, often when you closed, so you could go back home together. sometimes, he came by in the early afternoon, with soft rays of sun on his face and that angelic smile of his.

he always accompanied you to your apartment, petting your cat, sitting on the couch with a glass of water or a cup of tea. he always looked so tired but stayed anyway. he wanted to talk to you, he needed to. you did, too. his eyes were so dark, you knew they hid something deeper, something unspoken. he sometimes stayed a bit longer than usual, not necessarily to have deep conversations, but because “it’s so cozy here,” as he often said.

you exchanged silent glances throughout the evening. sometimes, the room was filled with laughter or memories of your days in england. he, however, didn’t have much to say. after inho’s disappearance, he spent the past nine years looking for him. he had few relationships, which didn’t last long because “i wasn’t there enough,” he’d say with a pinch of guilt in his voice. you knew that junho tried to be good, to be better in a relationship. you had seen it.

you shared your worries about your work. your café was doing great, but you needed to repay your loan, which was quite high.

“you know i can help,” he had said to you so many times.

sometimes, you would teach him new words in english or other languages you’d hear on your campus. “come on! you’re cheating, you don’t even have an accent!”

going back to korea made you so afraid. you left your big sister in scotland and had to go back alone. you had promised. “the first time i landed, it felt weird that no one was there for me, waiting,” you admitted one night. but it was your fault. “it also felt weird going back to a place that carries so many memories and traumatic experiences at the same time.” junho grimaced, fully understanding what had happened.

that one night, he stayed a bit longer than usual. it was 12:30 a.m. “you know that i feel guilty for not coming back earlier,” you spoke softly, bringing your cup of tea to your lips.

“knew that,” he said, resting his head on the pillow as he lay down on your sofa. you were sitting across from him in your comfy chair. “you always say sorry.”

“i truly am,” you said, looking at him. “not texting you, not calling you, and not seeing you. it wasn’t cool at all. i thought maybe you were just doing fine.”

junho let out a quiet scoff, his eyes still on the ceiling. “fine? you really thought that?”

“yeah, i mean–” you paused, not sure what to say anyway. “i didn’t call, text, or try to see either. you can’t blame only yourself, you know that, right?”

“i know, but–” you adjusted yourself, sitting up straighter in your chair. “i should’ve checked on you, on inho.”

his name seemed to echo in your apartment. it felt weird, even though you’d said it before. junho’s jaw clenched, and you saw it. he said nothing, resting the back of his hand on his forehead, closing his eyes. “you can sleep here tonight, i’m closed tomorrow so you can sleep in. i won’t wake you up.”

he smiled and looked at you. “i’m okay,” he said, closing his eyes again. “just need to rest these eyes.”

“yeah, sure,” you stood up, placing your cup on the small table between the two of you. you grabbed a blanket and placed it over him. he took your hand once it was close enough to his face. “thank you,” he murmured. “i still think about us, you know.”

“i know, junho. i do too.” you both knew it. you kneeled down next to him, your free hand hesitant but finding his cheek as he held the other in his hand. “you need to rest, i don’t know what you do all day but i’ve never seen you this fatigued.”

“i’m looking for him,” his voice cracked a little. you could feel it, all the pain, the frustration he carried. “i can’t stop, y/n.”

“i know,” you murmured. your thumb tracing soft circles on his cheek. “you’re doing your best, sweetheart.” your words hit him like a punch in the stomach. you felt a single tear leave his eyes, which neither he nor you bothered to wipe away. his eyebrows frowned, holding back more tears. his usually confident, tall frame cracked that night. he couldn’t help it.

you placed a soft kiss on his forehead. the warmth of your kiss almost burned the coldness of his body. “you’re okay, i’m here now, i’m sorry,” you murmured against his skin.

he said nothing, just held your hand tighter.

“i’m so sorry,” you said, your voice cracking. “i should’ve been there.” you pressed your forehead against his, eyes shut. his hand moved to your back, holding you hesitant at first, afraid he might hurt you but still firm as if you would fade away if he didn’t.

the two of you said nothing and just held each other in silence for a moment. you didn’t know how long, but as you pulled away, he sighed.

“sleep here tonight, okay? i want to know that you’re near.”

“okay, i’ll stay here,” he said so quietly that you questioned whether he had just fallen asleep in the seconds that followed. “good,” you said, standing up. you turned off the light and made your way to your bed.

you could still feel the warmth of his skin against yours as you lay down, holding onto your blanket. you could hear the soft hum of the fridge that filled the silence of your small apartment. you didn’t close the door to your bedroom that night, too afraid he might go while you were sleeping, and you wouldn’t be able to reach him.

tonight, junho wanted to say more, but he couldn’t. he tried, but the words didn’t come as easily as they did when you were younger, comforting each other. maybe tonight, it was enough. but it made him afraid — afraid he might not know how to take care of you, how to comfort you.

afraid you might slip away.

again.

#hwang jun ho x reader #hwang junho x reader #hwang junho #hwang jun ho #squid game x reader #squid game #squid game season 2 #squid game headcanons

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havocandcchaos · 22 hours ago

Text

You know what scene in Act Two I'm really excited for?

Elphaba gives Glinda back the cloak.

Because, ok, at the end of defying gravity, we have that beautiful moment between the girls where Glinda decides not to go with Elphaba. The girls are staring at each other, and Glinda says, "You're trembling." then she goes and gets the cloak to wrap around Elphie.

Yes, right, we're following, ok. Genuinely one of the sweetest but also most heartbreaking moments in the film. Like, not a dry eye in the house kind of moment.

Now reverse it.

thanks to this lovely tease at the beginning of part 1 (also sidebar, this is the moment I started crying the first time I watched it bc I immediately knew who it was and lost it and all my friends - who had never seen the show and had no idea what happened - looked at me like I was crazy) we know Glinda ends up with the cloak.

so this so my take on how she gets it

The girls just finished singing For Good. They can hear the witch hunters approaching. They're out of time.

Glinda's trembling.

She's about to watch her best friend die, and they both know it. And there's nothing either of them can do about it. This is the end. A single tear rolls down Glinda's face, reminiscent of Elphie and the Ozdust. And just like Glinda did that night, Elphaba reaches up and wipes it away.

Hand still cradling Glinda's face, eyes full of tears, she whispers, "You're trembling"

Both girls share a sad smile at the memory, and then Elphaba unties her cloak and wraps it around Glinda.

Or better yet, she leads Glinda to the closet, pulls it out to make more room for the girl to hide, and wraps it around her there. Either way, Elphaba wraps it around Glinda just like the younger girl did for her 5 years earlier.

It's a mirror image of that moment. They're once again saying goodbye at the top of a tower. They don't know if they'll ever see each other again. It doesn't matter if they will because either way, this is the end. Either way, they're out of time.

Elphaba finishes tying the knot, and for a moment, the world is still. It's just the two of them, the way it used to be on nights that turned to mornings, sharing secrets and stories in the shared dorm neither of them ever returned to. For a moment, they're ok.

They both move at the same time, pulling each other in for one last, almost painful hug. Then Elphaba pulls away and cups Glinda's face once more.

"Hold out if you can," she murmurs and then kisses her. "Hold out my sweet." Elphaba kisses her for the first and the last time and then pulls away.

There are tears streaming down both girl's faces. Elphaba gives Glinda one last smile and winks, then she pulls the curtain closed.

The shot turns back to Glinda fingers pressed against her lips, and silent tears rolling down her cheeks.

The screaming starts, and we know the rest of the story.

Anyway, please, I'm begging, I NEED this.

Jon M Chu, I will pay you all the money I have, which is admittedly not a lot as I am a broke college student, but it's yours if you just give me this one thing.

I can see it so clearly in my mind, and I need it to exist on screen as well.

Anywho, ask me about the other scenes I wanna see in Wicked Part 2 because they set up SOOOO MANY good parallel options, and I want all of them.

Also, I spend too much of my free time thinking about this show.

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war-in-time · 1 day ago

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you’re so right about people not knowing how to handle conflict and i wish they did, people act like collins can do no wrong but if they could see past that there are some really interesting conversations to be had about this book and what does or doesn’t work from a literary perspective. but they aren’t willing to hear it out in a mature and respectful manner.

anyways what i wanted to say and get your opinion on is that i get collins maybe wanting to make a point about how long rebellion takes and how much trial and error there is but i kind of hate that it came at the cost of haymitch’s story from catching fire, like there are so many other ways to write about themes of propaganda i hate that we had to take a story with really interesting and impactful messages about rebellion and the cruelties of the capitol and say it was actually all propaganda, it doesn’t make sense to me.

haymitch not purposely acting as a part of the rebellion but rather just trying to survive (like katniss and peeta with the berries) makes for such a compelling message too. like i think him outsmarting the capitol using his own intellect rather than because he was following instructions from the rebellion and thus the captiol punishing a kid who wasn’t trying to dismantle them but was just trying to survive and make it back home alive hits so hard why erase that? she could’ve conveyed these themes with a different characters story, why assassinate haymitch like that? i also think there’s something powerful in his catching fire story about how him and maysilee broke the alliance but he still went after her without obligation.

i’m convinced that what we see in catching fire was what she originally intended his story to be and that she came up with the events of this book much later. it just frustrates me that she wrote haymitch’s story with such compelling ideas and messages only to then with this book say the capitol made that all up. like haymitch has always been my favorite character and while i hate that she took away his intellect and edge i actually hate that she took away all the meaning behind how his story in catching fire played out more.

Alright I will go into the propaganda aspect and why none of it works. Let’s start with Haymitch in Catching Fire: everything that we learn about him and the 50th games seems believable to how Haymitch had been characterized up till that point. During his interview: “Haymitch shrugs. “I don’t see that it makes much difference. They’ll still be one hundred percent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same””(CF.197). That way of thinking is shown to align exactly with how Haymitch views others and what he verbally says he thinks of them throughout the original trilogy, remember he was not impressed with Katniss or Peeta. In fact he was completely dismissive of them until they both showed that they had a will to fight, he didn’t exactly respect them after that but he did show a real interest in them. Which is the same thing that Haymitch did in his arena from what we were showing in CF, he went off on his own from the start and only after Maysilee saved his life did he see the benefit of having an ally.

One of the key differences that I think was stripped from Haymitch in sotr is the fact that he cares about people, in his own silent way but he does care. Haymitch and Maysilee splitting up in CF made sense and didn’t need any further explanation; they were nearing the end of the games and almost all of the others were dead, they didn’t want to end up fighting each other. It’s a simple reason and we really didn’t need anything more, but then we’re shown that Haymitch did care about Maysilee more then just a person he had allied up with. He ran to her aid when she started screaming, even though he didn’t have to, they were no longer allies but he still cared about her. Sotr makes it seem like Haymitch only ever cares about the others in the arena because they all agreed to be allies, and not because he actually grew to like a person but knew there was no way they’d both make it back alive. Hie entire ‘Nobel hero’ act towards the end with him genuinely willing to die so a different tribute could live was just so… undeserving? We know nothing about the girl, I can’t even remember her name, and Haymitch knowing that he still has a family back home doesn’t even try winning to get back to them.

The forcefield incident was 100% the reason why Haymitch got punished by Snow, becuase come on lets be so realistic; if he destroyed a part of the arena he would have been killed in seconds for doing so. Why would Snow let Haymitch keep playing the game for another 5~ days after he tried to blow up the arena? And then at the end of sotr Haymitch didn’t have a plan to use the forcefield, it read like a complete accident and his victory is a coincidence instead of a clever use of the arena’s capabilities that he knew were there. I can see Haymitch’s family being executed for using the forcefield, but I can’t see Haymitch not being executed for the water tank.

So the propaganda message doesn’t really get shoved down our throats until the very end when Haymitch rewatches the games with Caesar, and I do mean SHOVED down our throats because it was about as subtle as a brick to the face. Haymitch physically tells us that everything has been altered because Collins forgot that it’s show, not tell, and told us everything. (As a side note this is why I hate Lenore Dove. Everything we ‘know’ about her has been told to us and we never get to see her doing any of the things she supposedly cares about.) Haymitch said while watching the re-run that he doesn’t recognize the person he is seeing on the screen and I for one agree with him, because I did not recognize the Haymitch I knew and loved in the original books once in sotr. So Collins just wanted to use propaganda as an excuse for why Haymitch’s personality is so drastically different in the chapter from CF, but its not that simple. His games in CF line up exactly with who Haymitch has been shown to be as a person for the entire series. I’ve seen people try to blame Haymitch’s alcoholism to explain away why he’s so different between the two books, but how did he somehow build all the brain cells he clearly possesses in the og trilogy that were lacking in sotr from being an alcoholic? Sure his personality could pleasingly have changed but his intellect wouldn’t. There was also no need for a propaganda ‘message’ because it doesn’t convey anything we don’t already know about that games, the capital, or propaganda as a whole.

Messaging in books and movies should never be so heavy handed because it implies that the audience is stupid and isn’t able to pick out hints and clues from the text to figure out the message, it comes across as demeaning and insulting. Especially when the ballad of songbirds and snakes does propaganda surpassingly well. The games were loosing traction and nobody wanted to watch them, so what did Snow do? He propagated it. He sold the tributes and the games as an active participant experience for the people of the capital and it worked, the loved it and bought into it. Propaganda by its definition is information, especially of a biased or misleading nature, used to promote or publicize a particular political cause or point of view. Which is what the hunger games are and have always been about in universe. They are a tool to remind people about the war and to keep everyone divided. Selling the tributes is a form of propaganda and it’s not something new to the series.

What are Katniss and Peeta doing for their entire games? Propagating their relationship because it gets them sponsors. Later in CF they have to keep up the image, spreading more falsehoods about their relationship, just to stay alive. Sotr was not the first hunger games book to feature propaganda but it was actively the worse use of it, because propaganda from real world experiences is usually sublet and plays on peoples emotions to get them to believe the falsehoods. What happened in sotr wasn’t propaganda it was erasure of information, which are two very different concepts that do not correlate together in the way that Collins is trying to portray them.

The games we see for Haymitch in CF were 100% the original vision and it’s very clear to me why she did not stick to it; because we already know what happened in his games and it’s boring to read the same thing twice. So she added a bunch of stuff and rewrote Haymitch (and Snow, because neither the Snow we saw in bosas or the og would be ranting about his high school crush to a tribute or making rookie poisoning mistakes) to make the story feel fuller, but it came at a cost to already established lore. I think sotr could have been exactly the same as what we were showing in CF but it shouldn’t have only been his games. The original concept could have been entertaining and original if she wrote only a portion, literally like six chapters at most about the games, and then everything else about his life afterwards and the next few years of tributes. I know why the book is the way that it is, but it doesn’t make it magically good or excuse it for being poorly written. Personally I never wanted a Haymitch book because I knew something like this could happen, which is the same reason I don’t want a Finnick book, neither of them work because we don’t actually care about the games themselves do we? Sure 48 kids is an interesting concept for a game, but it was barely used to its full potential in sotr. What I think people were actually more curious about was Haymitch’s deterioration, which we got in a half asssed way, because we knew he spent majority of the game itself on his own so we never would have gotten to know the other tributes properly regardless. But let me ask you now, what would you actually want to see: Finnick being in the arena and winning the games, somehow as a 14 year old despite the fact that we know he’s from a career district and it would be unlikely that nobody volunteered for him? Or what happened afterwards with Snow selling him as an escort and Finnick eventually finding love with Annie, maybe seeing how he gets pulled into the rebellion because he has a lot of good reasons to be in one? I know which one I’d pick and it will never be the one we get if it does happen.

As for the rebellion, I think we could have gotten a good buildup and set up for the early rebellion but again I don’t think it could ever be Haymitch, or at least not the way it was portrayed in sotr. The thing with rebellions however is they are unpredictable in their nature. They could take a few days to a few years to start. Katniss and Peeta almost killing themselves and almost leaving the capital without a victor is actually a very believable and frankly powerful spark to start a rebellion, as it was meant to be. I don’t doubt that the victors have all been talking between each other for years before that and contemplating an uprising, but the way it happened in sotr is laughable. Nobodies dies for trying to take down the capital: not Haymitch, not Beetee, not Mags, not Wiress, not Plutarch, and Snow knows about the whole thing. It’s so shrouded in plot armour it feels suffocating as a story, because there were no consequences.

#spoilers #haymitch abernathy #sunrise on the reaping #sunrise on the reaping spoilers #character assassination #hunger games #catching fire

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