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mead-iocre · 4 months ago

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La Castanyada | Alexia Putellas x Reader

synopsis: alexia invites you to meet her extended family

warnings: it's a longgggg one

wc: 7.2k words

The late autumn sunlight filters through the mildly tinted windows, casting shadows that danced across your face. You welcome it, deciding to savour whatever little warmth is left before the arrival of the cold in the upcoming months. The only sound coming from inside the car was the mild buzz of the engine, and the low hum of Alexia’s favourite radio station reporting the latest sports news. The car smells of herbarium berries thanks to the overpriced car perfume you purchased a few months ago. Cool notes of fresh-picked blackcurrant berries mingle with flowery rose accents prick your nose. You mentally remind yourself to buy another car diffuser, but maybe not one tagged with a fancy label like this one.

You gaze out the window to a serene scene of fallen leaves and autumnal charm. You had never been so far away from the city before. The journey was worth it though, full of new sights and sounds; with patchwork of amber and rust-coloured trees, charming villages, and vineyards against backdrops of evergreen pines. As you drive further, you past towns surrounded by vibrant landscape of rolling hills and dense forest. Living in the city for so long made you realise just how you missed being around the natural wonders of the world. The car stops at a red light and you glance over at the rusted cobbled pavement, watching as a gust of wind sends a pile of leaves to swirl and dance in the air.

The realisation that you were nearing your destination made your palms sweat and your heart race. Alexia was taking you to meet the rest of her clan. Today, you will officially be meeting her extended family. Alexia’s grandparents had invited everyone to stay at their estate, a home that Alexia had told you countless of stories about. Stories of mornings that start with churros on the breakfast table; Sunday lunches on a long oak table, beautifully set with fine china and crystal glasses; and playing hide and seek with her cousins around the family vineyard until the sun set.

A warm palm clasping your knee startles you out of your daydreams. When you turn your head, warm hazel eyes meet yours. “Cómo te sientes? You okay, amor?”

You hum, nodding your head, placing your hand above hers. She slows down as the car approaches traffic, using the opportunity to focus her attention back to you. You watch the way her eyes study your face, probably looking for any sign that you might be holding back from saying what you were really feeling. She entwines your fingers together before tugging it towards her lips to place a kiss on the back of your hand.

“Are you…ansioso?-- nervous?” She asks, focusing her attention back on the road now that the stoplight has turned green. She keeps one hand on the steering wheel, her other hand entwined with your own.

“Maybe a little bit” You admit. You had met Alexia’s mother and her younger sister, Alba before and that went well. In fact, it went so well it turned into regular visits from her mother and weekly brunches with her sister. But this time it was different, not only was Alexia's mother and sister not due to arrive until tomorrow, you were going to be meeting her grandparents. She spoke so highly about them all the time. Her voice would soften and her eyes would glimmer every time she recalled stories about her childhood growing up in her grandparent’s home. If they didn’t like you, you fear Alexia might just leave you.

“Meeting your whole family, it’s a lot. What if they don't like me?”

Alexia shot you an incredulous look, as if the mere thought was unfathomable. “Impossible.” She proclaimed, so confident, so assured. “They’re going to love you. Besides, mi abuela has already seen your picture a hundred times. She thinks you're ‘muy guapa’.”

Your cheeks flushed. “Yeah, but a picture is different from meeting in person.”

She lifted your entwined hands, giving the back of your hand another kiss. “Mi amor, pictures do not do you justice. They’re not expecting perfection. Just be yourself. They are not scary, I promise.”

That helped, slightly. You sighed, looking out the window as the olive trees and vineyards passed by. “I just hope my Spanish doesn’t embarrass me…”

“Your Spanish is great!” Alexia exclaimed, squeezing your hand. Along with weekly Spanish online classes with a tutor, you encouraged Alexia to speak to you in spanish regularly so you can pick up the language quicker. “But if you want to speak English, that is fine too. I will help you. No te preocupes”

You wrap your other hand around her arm, picking at the soft cashmere coat she was wearing with your fingers. You had bought her this coat, convinced she would look really good in it as soon as you saw it in the store. You were right.

"What if I mess it up?"

“You cannot ‘mess it up’” The last bit was said accompanied by finger quotations. She briefly detangles her fingers from yours to make finger quotes in the air, before promptly entwining them again. Alexia’s voice was soft, but full of conviction. Her hazel eyes were earnest, almost pleading with you to trust her word. “Just be yourself. You will be fine.”

You wanted to believe her. You really did. But the nerves didn’t go away. Instead, they settled deeper, twisting into a tight ball in your stomach. You had never met your partner’s family before, not like this. This wasn’t just dinner with their parents. This was Alexia’s whole extended family, in a different country, in a language that you weren't fluent in.

Looking out of the window, you tried to focus on anything but your growing anxiety. You caught a glimpse of an older couple seated outside a cafe, a group of children chasing a ball down the narrow street and a man leaning against his bicycle, deep in conversation with a shopkeeper outside of a flower store. The scene was peaceful, unhurried, like time itself had slowed down for everyone else but you.

“I’m just… worried,” You finally admitted, your voice small and slightly shaky. You hated feeling this way, not being in control, not knowing what could happen next. “I don’t want to let you down.”

All of a sudden, Alexia swerved and pulled the car to a stop by a street lined with rows of charming little shops. She turned fully to face you, her eyes soft and understanding. “Amor, look at me.”

Rather reluctantly, you met her gaze.

“You could never let me down. Eres mi todo and my family knows, ” Alexia's words were steady, filled with the kind of reassurance that you desperately needed. “And if anyone has a problem with that, they will have to fight me.”

You chuckled weakly, the tension in her chest loosening just a little. “I hope you’re right.”

“I am.” She smiled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “Te quiero mucho. And that’s all that matters.”

Her eyes scan your face, probably sensing your lingering doubts. She cups your face, her palm warm against your cheek. She brings your face closer to hers. “Eres perfecta,”

Pretty hazel eyes meet yours, all love and affection. She leans in to kiss you, her lips soft and plump against yours. Pulling away slightly, just a breath of distance between the two of you, before she murmurs. Her voice low and hushed , “You know what that means, Si?”

You hum, your eyes fluttering closed, still partly consumed by her kiss. Of course you knew what that phrase means, it was one of the first Spanish phrases she ever translated for you. You tilt your head towards her, leaning into her space, greedy for another kiss.

“Mmhmm. Perfect.” She mumbles in english, her tone is teasing, enunciating the word with perfect pronunciation. Although it is slightly jumbled by your lips being pressed against hers again. She smiles against your lips, no doubt feeling your desperation. Your yearning.

Her hand tilts your face to the side, fingers pressingly lightly against your neck, urging you to succumb to her lead completely. Like all she wants you to do is just close your eyes, kiss her back, and she will handle the rest.

Eventually she starts to pull away, but not before she leaves a teasing bite to your bottom lip, a cocky smile perched on her lips at the sight of the dazed look on your face. You open your eyes half heartedly, your gaze immediately zeroing in on her plump bottom lip still wet from your kiss. “Later” She promises.

And Alexia always keeps her promises.

She tucks your hair behind your ear and squeezes your knee as she leans back into her seat. Both of her hands back on the wheel. “Vale. We’ve still have some driving to do.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The countryside was a picturesque scene of rolling hills, vineyards that span miles and miles, and tall, slender cypress trees. The leaves had begun their slow descent, carpeting the roads and pavements in hues of amber, crimson, and goldenrod, creating a soft crunch beneath the tires. The scent of earth and woodsmoke wafts in through the slightly cracked window. You noticed it earlier, but it’s a lot stronger now. As the car navigates the winding roads, you catch glimpses of traditional stone houses, with their windows framed with charming flower pots that still hold the last few blooms of summer.

As you wound deeper into the heart of Catalonia, the landscape became more secluded. The occasional farmhouse dotted the hillsides, their red-tiled roofs peeking through the autumn foliage, and their silhouettes softened by the setting sun.

And then, as the car rounded the final bend, the mediaeval town of Peratallada came into view. Peratallada with its ancient stone walls and narrow cobblestone streets. The town was full of charm, its streets flanked by ivy-clad beige and gold stone, the weathered facades only adding to it's history.

Eventually, Alexia slowed the car down, allowing you to take in the new surroundings. You take out your phone, snapping a few pictures of the pretty sights. The cobblestone streets were narrow, twisting through archways and past old stone fountains. Vines clung to the walls, leaves now tinged with the colours of autumn, while small terracotta pots with trailing ivy and late-blooming flowers adorned the windowsills of homeowners. Every corner and alley seemed to hold a secret passage—a hidden courtyard, a glimpse of a garden, and even a cosy café where a few villagers sat outside, sipping wine and chatting quietly.

The smell of roasting chestnuts filled the air, carried by the breeze from vendors setting up stalls in the main square for the evening’s festivities. The town was quiet, peaceful, but you can see preparations are being made for the upcoming La Castanyada festival.

As you leave the narrow streets behind, the road opens up, leading you deeper into the countryside. The car continues to meander through the occasional quaint shop-fronts and cobblestone paths until the road begins to slope upward. You sit straighter in your seat.

The soft crunch of gravel under the tires announced your approach to Alexia's family estate, hidden behind tall stone walls and ancient oaks. Gradually, the estate came into view, as the road curved around a hillside, revealing tall gates surrounding the property. You had never seen anything like it.

Your eyebrows rose in surprise as the large dark, wooden gates swung open automatically just as the car pulled up. The car drives through and you spot what looks to be some sort of wooden sign announcing the estate's name, beautifully carved in dark wood. It was like Disneyland.

You knew Alexia came from a well off family, but you were definitely not expecting a family-that-has-a-fancy-sign-outside-of-their-gated-estate kind of rich.

Alexia turns to you, biting her bottom lip. Her eyes were bright with excitement, she was practically buzzing in her seat. This was the most excited and awake you have seen her in the last hour of the drive.

She points to your window. “This is my family's vineyard”

You lean forward and sure enough there was a vineyard. The estate was perched high on a hill, offering a panormaic view of the property. The vineyard itself looked like something out of a painting, the grapevines, heavy with the last of the season’s fruit, stood in neat rows, aligned against the backdrop of rolling hills. Beyond the vineyards, the estate was flanked by tall trees offering privacy from the rest of the world.

“Wow, this place is beautiful,” You were in complete awe at the scenery.

Alexia's cheeks flushed with warmth. She quickly removed her green cap, brushing out her hair. “My grandparents have lived here for years."

The car continued to drive on. Soon enough an impressive structure came into view. The house--mansion(?) itself was breathtaking— a lavish stone manor with its ivy-covered walls, grand arched windows, and terracotta roofs. Even though Alexia had prepared you for her grandparents’ “big house”, nothing compared to the real thing.

“We’re here,” Alexia said softly, pulling the car to a stop at the front of the estate. She shut off the engine and unbuckled her seatbelt. She then turned to you and did the same, unbuckling your seatbelt for you out of habit.

As you both stepped out of the car, the cool autumn air enveloped you completely, crisp but not biting. You just stared for a moment, your breath catching as you took it all in. The courtyard was paved with smooth stones, lined with tall, iron lanterns leading towards the grand entrance of the house. The doors, massive and intricately carved, stood closed. Almost intimidatingly.

“This is your grandparents' place?” You asked, still in awe. Who did you know had multiple 2ft tall cast stone vases lined up by the entrance of their homes. No one-- at least until now.

“It’s home.” She took your hand, guiding you toward the entrance.

You felt a flutter of nerves in your belly. You had been excited about the trip initially, but now that they were here, the reality of it all weighed on her.

Would they like you? Would they understand your broken Spanish?

Before Alexia could reach for the doorbell, one of the doors opened.

Alexia’s grandmother, Abuela Carmen, was the first to greet you at the door, her face lighting up with a warm smile. Her silver hair was pulled into a loose bun, and her dark eyes twinkled as she wrapped her granddaughter in a tight embrace before turning to you.

“And you must be Alexia's girl,” she said in English, her accent thick yet soft. She took your hands in hers, giving them a gentle squeeze. You introduced yourself and she repeated your name back to you with such fondness, as if she had known you your whole life. “Welcome to our home.”

“Thank you. Gracias" You replied, your nerves easing as Alexia's grandmother pulled you in for a hug. Alexia was about to say something about the luggage in the trunk, but her grandmother just flapped her hands away dismissively, instead ushering you both further inside her home.

The house was as grand inside as it was outside. The foyer welcomed you inside, its walls lined with decor and tall paintings. Towards the end of the foyer you could see an expansive living room that you swear is bigger than your entire apartment. A large fireplace dominated the room, its flames reflecting against dark wood beams. Terracotta tiles stretched across the floor, complemented nicely by the intricately patterned rugs.

The walls were painted in soft, creamy tones, adorned with vibrant mosaic tiles. Large arched windows lined the walls, with the wooden shutters thrown open to let in the last rays of the setting sun, bathing the room in a golden glow. The windows framed picturesque views of the vineyard and rolling hills beyond. You were still in awe.

Exposed wooden beams crisscrossed the high ceilings, while wrought-iron chandeliers hung gracefully, the warm light casting shadows across the room. Plush sofas and armchairs upholstered in rich fabrics, blend with the dark wooden tables and cabinets. The sofas were lightly dented and the rugs weren't perfectly brushed out. You could tell that each piece in this room was meticulously chosen with the purpose of making this house a home.

"Show our guest around the sala, Alexia. Then come to the kitchen for some merienda after" Abuela Carmela practically orders her granddaughter. With you, she just sends you a quick wink before nudging the both of you away as she saunters over to where you assume the kitchen is. It’s hard to tell with a house as big as this.

Alexia leads you through the main hall, where a large stone fireplace crackled with a burning fire. Above the mantel, an intricately carved wooden mantelpiece held an array of family photos, a reflection of the generations that had lived and loved in this house.

“We gather in this house every year,” Alexia said, her voice filled with affection. "It's my favourite time of year. It's the only time I get to see all of my family in one place".

Alexia waves you over, closer. You stand on your tiptoes as she points out herself and her sister in the photos, whispering stories of her childhood for every single one. The smile that lights up her face as she tells her stories is infectious, like she was experiencing every happy memory all over again. Stories of bike rides around the town, muddy boots around the vineyard, and summers spent sunbathing at Poseidon Calella beach.

She leads you into the next room, your hand in hers the entire time. The dining room was an expansive room with a long, polished wooden table perfectly set for the occasion.

"Wow. This is the fanciest table setting I have ever seen..." The table was adorned with what looked like hand-painted ceramic plates and bowls, surrounded by intricate silver cutlery and crystal glasses that sparkled in the candlelight. The centrepiece was a beautiful arrangement of autumn leaves, chestnuts, and candles.

"Oh no, this is not where we will be eating," Alexia tugs your hand, leading you around the fancy dinner table and towards a set of French glass doors framed by lush cerulean curtains. She points outside.

"There is where we will be eating"

An expansive terrace has been transformed into a breathtaking outdoor dining space. Under the pergola draped with twinkling lights, a long wooden table stood as the focal point of the evening’s festivities. From where you were standing, you could see hints of colourful glassware, candles, ornate table centrepieces, and neatly folded napkins.

You turn to face Alexia, playfully mouthing a "holy shit" -- one of the first English phrases she picked up quickly-- to which she just rolls her eyes at you. But you can see the corner of her mouth tugging upwards.

"Vale. Let's go to the kitchen. My abuela is probably waiting"

As Alexia led you into the kitchen, you marvelled at the sights before you. The kitchen was any chef’s dream. The floor was laid with terracotta tiles which were noticeably worn smooth by generations of footsteps. You could tell the family spent a lot of time inside this part of their home.

Stone countertops, big windows, wooden cabinets, and a large farmhouse sink. Stainless steel pots and pans hung from a wrought-iron rack above the island, and the glass cabinets were filled with an array of colourful ceramics. Alexia’s stories of how her grandma would cook her infamous Gazpacho whenever she was sick filled your head at the sight of a large, stone fireplace by the corner.

There was a smaller table, placed near the fireplace, looking to be made from reclaimed barn wood. It was surrounded by mismatched chairs, their cushions upholstered in colourful, patterned fabrics. The table was set with a simpler table setting compared to the one in the dining room and the terrace. You could imagine the family using this smaller table whenever they are rushing in the morning and only need to stop for a quick breakfast before school or work.

Alexia's grandmother was busy at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled divine. She greeted you both with a warm smile. “Ah, there you are! Just in time to help,” she said, clapping her hands.

Alexia's grandfather, Abuelo Miguel, appeared carrying a tray piled high with steaming chestnuts. His face, weathered with age, split into a grin as he saw Alexia. “Ah, mi nieta,” he said, his deep voice warm with affection. He set the tray down before giving Alexia a big hug. The kind of hug only a beloved grandfather can give.

Then, turning to you, he gave you a welcoming nod and extended his hand. “And you must be the woman we have all heard so much about.”

Taking his welcome, you smiled back– albeit a bit awkwardly, but the wrinkles around his eyes as he smiled at you put your nerves at ease.

"Vale. Keep doing what you were doing" He gestured playfully to the controlled mess around the kitchen, making you all laugh. There were dishes and casseroles everywhere, stuff cooking on the stove and oven. No counter space was left unused.

“Chestnuts are always the centrepiece,” Alexia whispered to you, pointing about the growing pile on the kitchen island. “Traditions say they were eaten back in the day to keep warm during the colder months. These days, we eat them to remember the souls of the departed.”

You watched as Alexia's grandparents moved with an easy grace, tending to the chestnuts roasting in the open hearth. Abuela Carmen was masterful, her wrinkled hands moving deftly as she placed a fresh batch of chestnuts into the iron skillet over the flames. She gave them a gentle toss, and the warm, nutty scent wafted through the air. You swear your stomach grumbled at the smells alone.

You and Alexia got stuck in, plating dishes and gathering the cutlery. Abuela Carmen called you over to watch and observe her roast the chestnuts and Abuelo Miguel showed you how to make authentic Sangria. As the final preparations were completed, you and Alexia helped carry the food out to the terrace. After a few back and fourths, you make your last trip to the terrace carrying a pitcher of the Sangria that you had made. You place it in the corner of the table, stepping back to admire the setting.

The table was made from rich, dark wood. It was long enough to accommodate the entire extended family, with matching sturdy chairs situated on each side. The natural grain of the wood is complemented by a table runner that runs down its length—a delicate fabric adorned with intricate patterns in shades of gold, dark blue, and deep red.

"Barcelona colours. You see?" Alexia points out with a wink as she passes you to put down a platter of cured meats. You roll your eyes at her. You can take the woman out of Barcelona, but you can’t take Barcelona out of the woman.

Each place setting thoughtfully arranged, with ceramic plates, polished silver cutlery, and neatly folded deep burgundy linen napkins held together with rustic twine and a sprig of fresh rosemary. Above each plate were crystal glasses ready to be filled with the finest wines-- to which Alexia pointed out to you that there were separate glasses for red and white wine. You did not know that beforehand.

An arrangement of autumn leaves in hues of gold, orange, and crimson was interspersed with clusters of chestnuts, pomegranates, and small gourds. Among the foliage, candles in glass holders flickered softly, their flames bouncing off of wine glasses. Along the table were small bowls filled with olives, marinated in garlic and herbs, and plates of freshly baked bread, still warm from the oven. Ceramic bowls filled with olive oil and balsamic vinegar sat within easy reach.

Personalised name cards, handwritten on small pieces of parchment, were placed at each setting. You round the table, eyeing each name card, and pausing when you see one addressed to you. Yours was next to Alexia's, handwritten in beautiful calligraphy just like the rest of the family.

Soon your ears pick up on the muted sound of gravel crunching under tires. One by one, cars pulled up to the grand estate, and the echoes of greetings pierced through the silence. You take a deep breath, looking down at your outfit to make sure you didn't have any balsamic stains on your cardigan or any suspicious crumbs on your trousers.

The first to arrive were Alexia's uncle Javier and his wife, Elena, along with their three children. Javier, a tall man with a warm smile, embraced you with a hug. Maria, a graceful woman with kind eyes, kissed you on both cheeks, her greeting rolling off her tongue easily. She had a nice voice, you thought to yourself, but that could just be the nerves forcing you to focus on anything but your growing anxiety.

The children, two boys and a girl, darted past their parents, racing each other to check out the table and all the colourful decorations.

“Alexia, it’s been too long!” Javier exclaimed, shrugging off his blazer and draping it over his chair. He turns to you. “And I'm glad you finally brought your girl home. Welcome to the family, hija.”

Next came Tia Isabel, Elena’s great-aunt, a sprightly woman in her seventies. She arrived with her husband, Roberto, and their son, Carlos. Isabel, wearing a vibrant yellow shawl greeted everyone with enthusiastic hugs and kisses-- including you. In fact, you swear she gave you an extra tight squeeze when she came to hug you.

Soon after a car pulled up with Alexia's cousins, Maritza and Sofia. Their partners trail behind them with their bags and bottles of wine. Maritza comes strutting onto the terrace, her high-heel shoes click clacking, announcing her arrival. She greets you, complimenting your cardigan, and practically steals you away from Alexia to chat. She leads you to the table, sneakily swapping the name card to your left with her own so you can sit together and talk more.

Meanwhile Sofia, who Alexia mentioned is an artist, carried a canvas bag filled with small gifts she had made for the family. After yelling her greetings to everyone, she goes straight to the table and starts picking out wrapped objects from her bag, placing them by the corresponding name card. Everyone immediately goes to open their presents, revealing handmade pottery. There were mugs, bowls, and small plates, each glazed in vibrant colours and decorated with unique patterns and designs. She takes out the last one and walks over to you, holding it out. "This one's for you. Alexia said you love the colour pink and anything with cherries on it"

You stand up, thanking her and unwrap your present. You start to apologise for not having brought anything for her in exchange, but she just waves your apologies away, urging you to focus on unwrapping your gift instead. Underneath the wrapping paper revealed a ceramic white mug with red cherries all over, sweet and dainty. Perfect for your daily cups of coffee. "Wow. This is beautiful. Thank you, Sofia"

Sofia smiles proudly, accepting the shouts of praise directed at her from the rest of the family as well. She bows exaggeratedly before she threatens everyone that they must use their gifts or else.

As the last few family members continued to arrive, the atmosphere grew even more festive. From your view from above, the courtyard was abuzz with activity—children playing tag around the lanterns, and adults catching up, their hands already occupied with their beverage of choice or nibbling on some tapas.

Soon enough Abuela Carmen called everyone to come to the table. It was time to eat. Everyone gathered around, their faces lit by the warm, golden light. The terrace offered a breathtaking view of the vineyard below, the rows of vines now bathed in the silvery light of the moon.

“Come, come, sit,” Abuela Carmen urged, gesturing for you to take your seat. You take your place, feeling Alexia slide into her seat right next to you. She takes her napkin, unfolds it, and lays it across her lap. You follow suit. “I hope this is enough food for your first La Castanyada.”

Alexia chuckles from beside you. She gestures at the feast before you. "It's more than enough, Abuela. Te lo juro"

"Muy bien. Good. I want your first La Castanyada to be perfect" Aubela Carmen looks down at you fondly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear when a light breeze blows by. She gives your shoulder one last squeeze before she walks over to her own place by the head of the table.

You had heard of the Catalan tradition before. Alexia had not only explained it to you countless times before, but you also took the liberty in doing some research before coming. According to your research, La Castanyada is a celebration held in late autumn to honour the dead. The tradition is rooted in the whole family coming together to enjoy seasonal treats like roasted chestnuts and tiny almond cakes.

Between courses, music filled the air. Abuelo Miguel strummed his guitar, leading the family in traditional Catalan songs. Alexia's cousins joined in with their singing, encouraging everyone else to clap and sing. Even the children took turns dancing and performing.

The table was a feast for the gods. At the center of the table, a large platter showcased roasted vegetables fresh from the estate’s garden. Beside it sat a carved wooden bowl overflowing with mixed greens—arugula, radicchio, and delicate frisée—tossed lightly in a vinaigrette of lemon, olive oil, and herbs.

A large paella pan sat ready at one end of the table, brimming with golden saffron-infused rice. It was piled on with prawns, mussels, and pieces of chicken, with slices of chorizo nestled among the rice. Fresh sprigs of parsley were scattered over the top, and lemon wedges lined the edges. Next to the paella, a warm loaf of crusty artisan bread sat on a wooden board. Nearby was a selection of spreads and dips; including a rich, roasted red pepper romesco, and creamy whipped feta with herbs.

Right in front of your plate sat a dish of patatas bravas. The fried potato cubes were smothered in a spicy tomato sauce and drizzled with a swirl of garlicky aioli. Plates of jamón ibérico were carefully fanned out beside it, the thin, ruby-red slices almost translucent. The seafood continued with grilled octopus, charred lightly at the edges and served on a bed of roasted chickpeas and fennel, dressed in a lemon and caper sauce.

Abuela Carmela lifted her glass, her eyes sparkling with affection as she looked around at her family. “To La Castanyada,” she began, her voice warm and steady. “To our loved ones, present and remembered, and to the blessings of family.”

Everyone echoed her toast, glasses clinking, blending with the crackle of the fire nearby. With that, the meal began. You picked up one of the roasted chestnuts, still warm from the cazuela. You took a tentative bite, and immediately, a soft sweetness spread over your tongue. The texture was velvety, almost creamy. You did not know chestnuts could taste like this.

Alexia watched you chew, your face screwed up in thought. When you turned to her with a big smile on your face, she subconsciously released the breath she was holding. While you were busy scooping another mouthful of the chestnuts, Alexia secretly raised a thumbs up at her abuela. Abuela Carmen replied back with a quick wink and a satisfied smile.

When the large pan of paella, Alexia used the serving spoon to scoop a generous serving of the rice, with prawns and chorizo, and placed it on your plate for you. She then served herself before passing it down the table.

You pile your fork with the paella, bringing the fork to your mouth. Immediately, the layers of flavour bloomed in your mouth: the smoky paprika from the chorizo, the sweetness of the prawn, and the aromatic saffron that tinted the rice. You chew some more before tucking into your plate again. Gathering another spoonful of paella into your mouth, you were practically dancing in your sea. In the middle of chewing, you turn to Alexia with wide eyes.

She thumbs away the little bit of sauce on the corner of your lip, patiently waiting for you to finish chewing.

You swallow, licking your lips afterwards. “Delicioso”

“Si?” Alexia asks, with raised eyebrows, as if she can’t see the pure elation painted all over your face.

You hum in reply, nodding– practically humming a melody as you eat another forkful. “Si!”

Alexia laughs at you, endearingly, unable to resist the urge to love on you. She wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to her, and starts raining kisses on your cheek. You blush profusely at her blatant display of affection in front of her family but everyone just continuous on eating, but you can see a few secret smiles on their faces.

“Oye, Carlos! pass the paella, por favor” Alexia calls out. When the plate reaches her, she scoops a serving directly onto your plate.

“We cook this every year,” She says, leaning close to your ear. “It’s part of the tradition. You’ll have to learn the recipe if you want to stick around.”

You look at her and smile, your heart swelling at the thought of being part of these yearly rituals. Glancing around the table, you tried to take in the sight of the rest of Alexia's family and their happy faces. Everyone sat around this large table, passing around dishes and stories. The evening air was filled with the sounds of laughter, clinking glasses, and the low crackle of the fire. Not a bad deal at all.

From the distance, just across the vineyard, you could see a faint warm glow illuminating, perhaps from where other houses were participating in the celebrations as well.

The evening slipped into a comfortable rhythm. The conversation flowed, mostly in Spanish with Alexia translating when needed, but even when you didn’t understand every word, you never felt left out. Everyone made sure to try and speak English, especially when they were referring to you. Your heart warmed at their efforts.

Javier, ever the storyteller, was in the middle of recounting a story from his travels. His hands moved expressively as he spoke, his voice booming with laughter. You listened intently as you followed his tale.

All of a sudden a hand gently tapped yours that was resting on top of the table.

“So,” Tia Isabel, who was sitting in front of you, asked. She eagerly leaned forward in her seat, her plate pushed aside and she was nursing her glass of red wine. “Tell us, how did you and Alexia meet?”

You smiled, glancing over at the woman with the pretty hazel eyes sitting right next to you. “We met through the club,” You explained. “I work for the club doing all the social media stuff."

Maritza pipes up from beside you. "Oh. Are you the one--uhh how do you say-- filming the videos?"

You turn to her and nod. Maritza looked a lot like Alexia's sister, Alba. If you did not know any better, you would've assumed Alexia had been hiding a third sister from you. "Si. I make and create content for the team's social media."

You catch from your peripheral as your girlfriend suddenly seems very interested in your conversation. She stretches an arm, resting it on the back of your chair.

"So the blindfolded pizza challenge was your idea?"

You nod, feeling your cheeks heat up. That video was one of your favourite pieces of content you had ever created, and it was an instant hit with the fans. On the other hand, it was Alexia’s least favourite.

Sofia clasps her hands together, practically bouncing in her chair. "I love that video!"

Alexia interjects. "I still can't believe she made me eat olives. I hate olives"

Chuckling at the visible shudder she let out, you smile when you recall the shock on everyone's faces when Alexia blindly picked out the one paper that had olives on it. The rules of the game state that the players must take turns blindly pulling out little slips of paper with a food item on it. They must then put the food item onto their pizza, and bake it. To make it fun, aside from the typical pizza toppings, food options include gummy worms, mustard, anchovies and– unfortunately for Alexia– olives.

So Alexia had no choice but to begrudgingly place a couple olives on her pizza. You will never get over the sight of the Barcelona captain with tears welling in her eyes at the end of the video. Afterwards, she gave you the silent treatment the entire evening.

As the conversation continued to flow, Abuela Carmen stood up, her chair scraping against the tiled floor, catching everyone’s attention. “I hope everyone has room for postres-- dessert,?” she announced with a smile. She motioned for Elena and Sofia, who brought out trays of panellets and sweet potatoes.

Everyone ooooh'd and ahhh'd' as the trays were placed on the table. You watched in awe as the beautifully arranged treats were revealed. Panellets, the traditional marzipan sweets, were decorated with pine nuts, coconut, and almonds. Their sweet aroma mingled with the scent of the roasted sweet potatoes.

Abuela Carmen handed you a small dessert plate. “You must try these, preciosa. Quickly. Before the rest of the family eats them all.”

You graciously took a piece of the panellet, its delicate sweetness melting in your mouth. “Esto es delicioso, Abuela Carmen!”

Abuela Carmen beamed, patting your hand. The crinkles by her eyes deepened until her eyes smiled like crescent moons. “I’m glad you like them”

She turns to the table, quickly grabbing the last bit of the panellets, much to the apparent surprise of the entire family. She places the last piece on your plate. “This is for you.”

The table is stunned for a moment, but they all nod in agreement. That is until Maritza breaks the silence by calling for another toast– this time, to you. You wave your hand around, covering your face in embarrassment but it only fuels everyone to continue teasing you out of affection. Alexia is beaming by your side. It’s sort of a known thing in their culture that people usually offer the last piece of any cake or desert to the people they care about. Her Abuela offering the last piece to you is already a sign of fondness.

Despite your embarrassment over the attention, you gladly accept the last piece of desert and enjoyed every last bite.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Eventually, the family gathered their drinks and began to move from the terrace to the courtyard. The space was softly illuminated by string lights and a large stone fireplace. Vintage wrought-iron lanterns hung at intervals along the pergola’s length. Arranged in clusters around the fireplace, there were plush, low-slung lounge chairs and sofas, upholstered in fabrics of earthy tones.

The warmth from the fire pit mingled with the cool autumn breeze. You were almost tempted to excuse yourself to fetch your coat, so when Alexia silently handed you a big wool throw for you to share, you practically let out a big sigh in relief. "no puedo imaginar la vida sin ti, mi corazon. i love you so much"

Your lover just laughs, throwing her head back freely, before bending down to meet your lips for a kiss. You feel her smiling against your lips as she whispers "stop picking up your Spanish from telenovelas, amor"

She kisses you once more before asking you to scoot over.

She took her seat beside you, your shoulders touching, legs cocooned under the throw blanket. There was something magical about this moment right now. Something comforting about the way the stars seemed to glow brighter, the way the fire crackled in the distance, and the warmth of Alexia's hand in yours.

“I am really happy you are here,” she leaned in to whisper, pressing a soft kiss to your temple afterwards.

You smiled, your heart swelling with a deep sense of contentment and belly full of the hearty meal. “Me too, baby.”

As everyone continued to sip their beverage of choice, Abuelo Miguel began to tell stories—tales from his childhood, stories of La Castanyada celebrations that stretched back generations. His voice carried the weight of the years. You could see the flicker of memories in his eyes as he recounted how, when he was a young boy, they would light bonfires in the town square, gathering with chestnuts and special wine specially reserved for the occasion.

Alexia nudge you with her shoulder, her eyes doing that thing where she studies your face intently, silently trying to read your mind. When she likes what she sees, she smiles. “It’s beautiful, si?”

You gaze right back at her, appreciating the way the glow of the fire highlights her face; the sharpness of her jawline, the twinkle in her eyes, and the slight wetness on her plump bottom lip. “Very beautiful,” you whispered back to her.

As the evening wore on, more chestnuts were passed around. Everyone ate them with sticky fingers and washed them down with small glasses of sweet moscatel wine. Talks shifted to quieter conversations as the night settled, the stars brighter against the dark sky.

At one point, Abuela Carmen stood and began to sing a melodic song, her voice warm, the notes hanging in the cool air like a lullaby. Abuelo Miguel joined in, his deep baritone harmonising with hers, creating a moment so tender that you almost felt as if you were intruding on something too intimate.

Alexia shifted closer to you, tugging the blanket higher so it covers you from the neck down. The air was slightly chilly now. She throws an arm around your shoulder, tucking you to her side, letting you rest against her. “I grew up with these songs,” she said softly against your ear. “Every year, we sing them.”

You laid your her head on her shoulder, taking a good look around the courtyard, taking in the scene—the glow of the lanterns, the warmth of the fire, the faces of the people who had welcomed you so easily, and the sound of Alexia's steady heartbeat beneath your ear.

“I think I could get used to this,” You whispered to the woman beside you, surprising even yourself with the hint of emotion in your voice.

Alexia smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from your eyes. She cupped your chin, tilting it up slightly, and leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. “Qué bien, because you are part of it from now on.”

fall is such a romantic season.

i hope your autumn has started off as beautifully as mine. think of me whenever you see leaves dancing in the wind x

・❥・- kisses, butter

read more of the Butter's Meadio-cre Mayhem (the Spooky Season collection) here

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas fanfic #woso x reader #woso #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas imagine #barca femeni #fc barca femeni #my fics

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dinosaurwithablog · 6 months ago

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The Cascade Mountains!!

#cascade mountains #trees #Washington state #the evergreen state #gorgeous #beautiful #lake #river #love #happiness #thank you #sharing #joy #i love living here #beauty #serene #peaceful #nature

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shesimsplayer · 4 months ago

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My savefile ♡ FIRST PART

Playable worlds

♡ Brindleton Bay ♡ Britechester ♡ Chestnut Ridge ♡

♡ Del Sol Valley ♡ Henford-on-Bagley ♡ Magnolia Promenade ♡

♡ Mt. Komorebi ♡ Oasis Springs ♡ San Myshuno ♡

♡ San Sequoia ♡ Sulani ♡ Tartosa ♡ Windenburg ♡

Henford-on-Bagley Finchwick

♡ Casa Del Rosario Restaurant by @rheya28 (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Scandi family house by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 20 x 20)

♡ Cantina Winery & Estate by baelaisa (lot size 30 x 20)

Old New Henford

♡ Snowfalls Tree Farm by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 64 x 64)

♡ Comeback Hideaway by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Hilltop Vineyard by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 50 x 40)

♡ Christmas trees farm by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 50 x 40)

The Bramblewood

♡ Farmhouse-Villa Arniano by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 50 x 40)

♡ Small Scandi home by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Glass, Steel and Stone house by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Henford House Hotel & Spa by @bbygyal123 (lot size 30 x 20)

Oasis Springs Skyward Palms

♡ Rock Steady Restaraunt by @kimorasimz (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Club Tropics by @rheya28 (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Oasis Springs Villa by @farfallasims (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Springscape house by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 30 x 20)

Acquisition Butte

♡ Amonfara Resort & Spa by @plantyl-m (lot size 50 x 50)

♡ School of Fashion by @rheya28 (lot size 40 x 30)

Mirage Canyon

♡ The Evergreen Thrift and Bubble Tea Store by @rheya28 (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ The Oasis Restaraunt by @rheya28(lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Elysian Wellness Studio by @bougiechloe(lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Red Mirage Nightclub by @rheya28 (lot size 30 x 20)

Parched Prospect

♡ The Oasis Apartments by @farfallasims (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Pearly Pavilion by @plantyl-m (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Paradise Palm Villa by @farfallasims (lot size 20 x 15)

♡ The Palm Restaraunt by @simstorian-blog (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Oasis Bowling and Restaraunt by @annasiims (lot size 40 x 30)

Bedrock Strait

♡ Golden Gate Apartments by @farfallasims (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Midcentury modernish villa @kasakokos ( lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Serene Studios by @farfallasims (lot size 20 x 15)

♡ Ink Heart tatto shop by @rheya28 (lot size 30 x 20)

Desert Bloom Park

♡ Langraab mansion by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 50 x 50)

San Sequoia Anchorpoint Wharf

♡ Ice Skating Rink by cokicreative (lot size 50 x 40)

♡ Cafe Nola by @rheya28 (lot size 30 x 30)

♡ ION* Apartments by @pixelglam (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ San Sequoia Restaurant by @amanda-plays (lot size 30 x 20)

Gilbert Gardens

♡ SBA Stadium by @beulahsdaisy (lot size 64 x 64)

♡ Smytten Restaurant by @plantyl-m (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Matcha&Co Boba Shop & The Urbz Thrift Store by @bbygyal123 (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ NO.5 Fixler house by @jakkkuu (lot size 40 x 20)

Hopewell Hills

♡ San Sequoia family restaurant by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Le Petit Parc by @simsphonysims (lot size 50 x 40)

♡ Le Cafe Vert by @bougiechloe (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ HARRIELIGHT store by @jakkkuu (lot size 30 x 30)

Sulani Mua Pel'am

♡ Lua Pele Villa by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Resting Ruins by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Minimalistic cliff house by @simsphonysims (lot size 50 x 50)

Ohan'ali Town

♡ Black Pearl by baelaisa (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Rockbound Rebirth by baelaisa (lot size 20 x 20)

♡ Ocean View Cafe by @vixonspixels (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Gallery summer house by @simsphonysims (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ The Beaufort Boil | Restaurant by @vixonspixels (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Traditional Malay house by @simsphonysims (lot size 30 x 30)

Lani St. Taz

♡ Sulani Reef Villa by @kekeyw (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Sulani Spa and Resort by @bojanastarcevic & baelaisa (lot size 50 x 50)

♡ Sunplay Retreat by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Modern Beach House by evarotky (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Modern Luxury House by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 40 x 30)

Tartosa Porto Luminoso

♡ Tartosa Grand Hotel by @rheya28 (lot size 50 x 50)

♡ The Abandoned Chapel (Wedding Venue) by @honeybellabuilds(lot size 20 x 20)

♡ Tartosa Wellness and Spa by @simsphonysims (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Florence Motel by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 50 x 40)

♡ Baia Dell'Amore Restaurant by @kekeyw (lot size 40 x 20)

Terra Amorosa

♡ Mediterranean house by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 30x20)

♡ Mediterranean beach house by @simsphonysims (lot size 50 x 40)

♡ Via Romanza Restaurant by @simsphonysims (lot size 30 x 30)

♡ Mediterranean house by @simsphonysims (lot size 40 x 30)

Windenburg Windslar

♡ Balançoire Cottage by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ 14 Nettle Lane Mansion by @bojanastarcevic (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ The Hunting Pavilion by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 20 x 20)

♡ English Cottage by @farfallasims (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Scoop Ice Cream Parlour by @bbygyal123 (lot size 20 x 20)

♡ The Orangery Bar and Lounge by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 64 x 64)

♡ Windenburg* Museum by @simsjii (lot size 40 x 30)

The Crumbling Isle

♡ Bloom Garden & Cafe by @rheya28 (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ Solo House by @comfys (lot size 20 x 20)

♡ Driftwood Summer Home by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Widenburg Family Home by @diawhims (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Villa am Bergsee by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 64 x 64)

Olde Platz

♡ Mayfair Residences by @farfallasims (lot size 20 x 20)

♡ Classic Townhouses by @pixelglam (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Heritage Square Townhomes by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ The Coignet by @honeybellabuilds (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Sanctus Dominus Church by @simsjii (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ L'Avventura Restaraunt by @aashwarr (lot size 20 x 20)

♡ Classic Townhouses by @biancml (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Grace Dance Studio by @rheya28 (lot size 30 x 20)

Lykke Centre

♡ Bay Coast Tennis Club by @biancml (lot size 40 x 30)

♡ BLUSH Beauty Salon by @aashwarr (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Musee du Louvre by @vylewa (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ Royal Opera House by @lizourisims (lot size 30 x 20)

♡ The Crown "Gentlemen's Club" by @rheya288 (lot size 30 x 30)

The Bluffs

♡ Mountatin Peak Retreat by @simsphonysims (lot size 30 x 30)

Map replacement by 20thcenturyplumbob

last update 26/01/2025

#sims world #save file #sims 4 save file #my save file #builds #tartosa #windenburg #oasis springs #san sequoia

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awkwardwhims · 1 year ago

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Fern’s Evergreen Harbor Fits

*reuploaded to sfs

tysm to all the cc creators! @sforzcc @its-adrienpastel @clumsyalienn @literalite @serenity-cc @arethabee @trillyke @nolan-sims @dogsill

#the sims 4 #ts4 #ts4 lookbook #s4 lookbook #sims lookbook #sims 4 cas #ts4 cas

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zazter-den · 1 year ago

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Sweet Tooth

Minors Do Not Interact

Common Scents Series: Cat Bath, Sweet Tooth.

Synopsis- Izuku likes the freedom of being a very private business owner when he has dual lives to run. After all it allows him to "hire" himself as a new worker to get close to Barista!Reader- Wait, why do you smell burnt?

Warnings- Yandere, Dubcon, Stalking, Drugging, Overstim, Size Diff, Mindbreak.

Tags-Aged up(obviously), Hybrid AU, Rabbit!Izuku, Dom!Izuku, Afab!reader, Sub!Reader. Kitchen sex, Scentmarking, Creampie, Excessive seed, Undercover boss, Oral!receiving.

Word Count- 8.1K, because apparently I missed the coziness of Autumn

Izuku sat in the manager's office, the soft glow of the moon filtered through the skylight, casting a gentle radiance upon his features. Short, curly forest green hair, slightly disheveled from his earlier preparations, framed his face in an endearing manner as he sat back in the cushy chair. His emerald green eyes, filled with anticipation, seemed to glimmer and reflect the moonlight, adding a glow to his gaze.

Sitting up, he carefully removed his silver rings with practiced ease, each etched with swirling thorned vines and placed them into a velvet-lined box before making his way to the safe hidden in the wooden paneling of the small room.

Next, Izuku's attention turned to his hunting knife, a weapon as beautiful as it is deadly. He gripped the handle, his hand steady and sure, and twirled it effortlessly in the air. The moonlight danced along the metal, illuminating the intricate green thorn designs that ran down the blade. With a measured flick of his wrist, Izuku sheathed the blade, and it disappeared into the hidden safe. The compartment closed with a soft click, concealed behind an intricately designed wooden panel once again. Sealing away his secrets until they are needed once more.

Leaving the manager's office behind, Izuku made his way through the empty cafe, his steps light and silent as he headed toward the kitchen to prepare for the day ahead. The 'Lunar Rabbit' cafe's pristine jade green walls, soft lighting, and delicate hanging glass terrariums created a serene atmosphere, inviting its inhabitants to relax and escape the chaos of the outside world. Izuku being no exception.

In the quiet solitude of the kitchen, the signature evergreen scent of the café mingled with the aroma of matcha and lime. Izuku's tall figure gracefully moved around the kitchen, his large rabbit ears twitching with every soft sound. Like second nature, he set up the kitchen before taking the bright green citrus butter out of the fridge.

When it came to rabbit hybrids, most people weren't used to seeing Flemish Giants. Clad in a light green t-shirt, tightly hugging his well-defined muscles, Izuku's towering physique was more reminiscent of a predator hybrid, his strength barely hidden beneath a veneer of dorky charm and wit.

With precise movements, Izuku began preparing the perfectly striped, two-toned croissants that the 'Lunar Rabbit' cafe is known for. He measured the ingredients meticulously, his attention to detail reflected in every step. There is a comfort and tranquility in the act of creating, a stress reliever that he cherished amidst his dual lives.

The rhythmic sound of his palm hitting the dough, gently flattening it, filled the dark kitchen. Izuku's movements are methodical and precise, almost hypnotizing, as he continued to work on the matcha-lime croissant dough. His thoughts drifted to his upcoming shift with you, and he couldn't help but feel a wave of excitement wash over him.

Izuku was under your spell from your very first shift at one of his cafes. He had watched you on the security cameras for months, studying every little detail. Your moves, your smile, the way you interacted with customers. Izuku was drawn to you like a moth to flame, captivated by charm and spirit.

Izuku imagined you standing there, your lovely form illuminated by the soft café lights, under the delicate swaying terrarium spheres. He could already see himself making your favorite flavored latte, as he's seen you make it countless times on the security feed. How many times did he tweak that syrup to get it just to your liking? The thought of serving you a cup he made himself brought a smile to his face, his green eyes glowing with anticipation.

Lost in his fantasies, Izuku accidentally spilled some flour onto his t-shirt. Chuckling softly to himself, he brushed off the white powder and ran his fingers between his ears and through his short curly forest green hair, basking in the thrill of the upcoming shift.

He focused his attention on the task at hand, skillfully wrapping the mix in plastic wrap and placing it in the fridge to rest until tomorrow. Drumming a brawny calloused hand against the fridge door, he grabbed a sheet of pre-chilled blueberry-lemon dough before closing the door with his heel.

At the kitchen island counter, Izuku's hands worked the dough skillfully, his fingers deftly shaping it into perfect croissants. The dough was soft and pliable, and Izuku liked the feel of the texture against his fingertips. It was smooth and velvety, the aroma of smashed berries and lemon rind wafted through the air as he worked. Izuku appreciated scents that complimented his own. Citrus, teas, your jasmine-like signature.

Shaping the pastry mix, his mind briefly wandered to thoughts of what it would be like to touch you, to feel your curves beneath his hands. Lost again in daydreams, Izuku envisioned the feel of your silky skin against his callouses and scars, his mind conjuring images of your usual flowery fragrance intertwining with his yuzu and evergreen scent. The thought of your lips, soft and inviting, added to his desires, and his thoughts wandered to the taste of you, the way your lips would feel against his own.

Izuku's mind is completely consumed by the thought, and he could feel the heat pooling rapidly within him. He desperately wanted to trace the contours of your body, his fingertips exploring every inch, as his desire continued to build. His breath grew heavy. With a raspy whimper escaping his lips, Izuku momentarily lost himself in his fantasies, feeling bead of pre-cum line the tip of his straining erection. The excitement building within him became overpowering, overwhelming his senses.

As his arousal grew, Izuku's scent turned musky, blending with his natural citrus evergreen aroma. Izuku's eager slit continued to weep the viscous fluid, the sticky patch of his boxers trapped against the thick head of his dick. As he continued his task, every so often the precum slick fabric would slide forcefully against his tip, eliciting another deep groan from his lips. His need for you at this point was overwhelming, almost unbearable, and his foot tapped on the floor in rabbit-like frustrated anticipation.

It was a struggle for Izuku to maintain focused on his work, his mind overloaded with longing and the intense desire to fulfill every single one of his fantasies with you. He took a moment to compose himself, releasing a pent-up growl of frustration under his breath. He couldn't afford to lose his shit on day one and scare you off, he wasn't some amateur.

Knowing he must regain control, Izuku attempted to once again throw himself into getting the shop ready for the morning rush. With a reluctant sigh, Izuku carefully took out the raspberry two-toned croissants that he had prepped the day before, placing them on the kitchen island counter to be baked for today's morning rush.

Izuku looked at the clock hanging on the wall, he just needed to be patient.

⊰⋆∘☽༓☾∘⋆⊱⊰⋆∘☽༓☾∘⋆⊱⊰⋆∘☽༓☾∘⋆⊱⊰⋆∘☽༓☾∘⋆⊱⊰⋆∘☽༓☾∘⋆⊱⊰⋆∘☽༓☾∘⋆⊱

When you first stirred from slumber, your first instinct was to dive back under the blankets in the pre-dawn darkness. Slowly peeling back the covers of your cozy bed, the moon cast a dim glow through the window, barely highlighting your room.

As you slid your feet out from under the quilts and sat up in the chilly room, your sleep blurred gaze fell on the neatly arranged uniform laid out on the dresser. The tan and jade green dress holds an air of cute professionalism and elegance, perfectly suited for your role at one of the 'Lunar Rabbit' cafes.

As you took off your pajamas, your gaze wanders downward, landing upon the growing bruises and scratches that marred your sore hips. You shook your head softly, a mix of emotions flooding rational thoughts. Last night with Katsuki, the tiger you shared your apartment with, had been...intense to say the least, at times his territorial nature could cross bounds. It seemed his bestial inclinations towards you often manifested in these marks and an aching pussy full of the feral feline's load. It had been necessary to join him in the bath, to wash away any traces of other scents but his own, before he was satisfied last night.

Tossing your head in frustrated resignation, you took a deep breath, attempting to push the memory of those bruises aside. You adjusted your uniform in the mirror, determination to face the day with your usual brand of professionalism. With each careful movement, you purposefully shed the weight of hectic apartment life, transforming into the dedicated and fun-loving barista that your colleagues and patrons know you to be.

The early morning air carried an invigorating crispness as you stepped out of your apartment, the pitch darkness of the night slowly yielding to a beautiful, dark purple sky. The stars twinkled above, casting a gentle luminescence upon the world below. The beauty of the early morning took your breath away.

Walking through the quiet streets, you took in the sights of the autumn morning. Vibrant hues of orange and red adorned the foliage, casting a mystical fall atmosphere all around. The gentle crunching of leaves under your feet became a soothing background melody, heightening your anticipation for the day to come. It's a picturesque scene that brings a smile to your face as you take in the beauty around you.

The short walk to the 'Lunar Rabbit' café is refreshing, the cool breeze gently caresses your skin, and you can't help but lift your face towards the sky, embracing the tranquility of the morning. The scent of dew-kissed grass and the earthy fragrance of autumn fills the air, creating a calming atmosphere.

Unlocking the door, you entered the cozy café intricately designed with a charming lunar forest theme. Most of the walls were adorned in a relaxing jade green color, with glistening glass sphere terrariums hanging gracefully from the ceiling. Creating a sense of tranquility whenever the light caught the floating gardens just right.

But it's the back wall mural that always draws the attention of customers—a breathtaking depiction of ethereal rabbits, crafted from swirling shadows, engaged in a graceful dance beneath a moonlit sky adorned with countless stars.

The careful brush strokes bring the scene to life, immersing you in a mysterious and whimsical world. The rabbits are beautifully painted, their whirling silhouettes seem to come alive under the gentle glow of dawn and fairy lights, creating an otherworldly ambiance. It's a mesmerizing sight in the early morning, one that never failed to captivate you in the dark hours.

You stepped into the dim kitchen, a sense of familiarity washing over. The soft glow of the moon outside cast a gentle illumination, highlighting the edges of the counter tops and appliances. You began gathering the necessary ingredients to create the delectable quiches that will soon grace the cafe's display case.

The movement is sudden. You only caught the shifting of shadows on the opposite side of the kitchen out of the corner of your eye. Your heart thumped rapidly against your chest as your attention was drawn to the mysterious figure standing upright near the ovens, rising to full height in a fluid motion. The towering silhouette seemed to materialize out of nowhere from the depths of the dark kitchen. For a split second, you could swear you saw his eyes glimmer in the shadows, as if they were momentarily aglow with a vivid emerald light.

The initial shock sends a jolt of adrenaline coursing through your previously fatigued body. Startled by the unexpected sight, your muscles tensed, ready to defend yourself if necessary. Eyes narrowed, trying to make sense of the hulking man's presence, you ran through your options.

Then Izuku shifted forward, the illumination from the skylight instantly brightening his features. The ethereal glow revealed his forest green ears nestled in curly hair, and vivid green eyes, capturing the essence of mischief and charm that so often accompanies his presence. A genial grin tugged at the corners of his lips, “Mornin'!” he chirped, closing the oven behind him, the raspberry croissants settled on the racks. His soft rabbit ears entirely too perky for this pre-dawn hour.

Recognition immediately dawned on you, and a mix of relief and frenzied amusement flooded your features. A little laugh escaped your lips, laced with a touch of underlying nervousness, as your eyes met Izuku's. "Midoriya! Damn, you scared me." you exclaimed, the words tumbling out with a hint of manic energy. Izuku's grin widened as you stammered, the sound of his name on your lips seemingly delighting him. Your laughter lingered in the air, relief palpable. All you could do is laugh off the initial fright, glad to see a familiar face in the dimly lit tranquility of the kitchen.

Wait.

Your brow furrowed as confusion washed over. The gears in your exhaustion-addled mind began to turn, piecing together the inconsistency of Izuku's presence in the closed cafe at such an early hour. As a new employee, Izuku shouldn't have the keys to the establishment. "How did you get in?" You blurted out, voice equal parts curiosity and suspicion. You looked at him, searching for an explanation.

Attempting to quell any rising doubts, Izuku quickly weaved a web of deception, words slipping off his silver tongue with practiced ease. His response was laced with an air of authority, as if the decision had been handed down by corporate in a moment of desperation. "Ms.Usagiyama gave me a key," he stated, his voice confident and unwavering. "They needed someone to fill in as an overnight baker, and it seems I was their best option."

When was the last time he had called her anything but Mirko?

Your surprise was blatantly displayed across your face as you registered the information. You didn't expect management, especially Rumi, to be handing out keys so freely and enlist new employees for overnight baking duties. Then again... given the rather unexpected departure of one of the bakers, you supposed the situation must be dire enough to warrant such desperate measures given the shop's popularity.

“...It'll be nice to have help in the mornings” With a shrug, you dismissed your initial doubts, content to accept Izuku's explanation. After all, you're just a team lead, not really the position to harp on the decisions made by upper management when you'll only get a headache for your trouble. As the manager of your location, Rumi can deal with that nonsense. The fact that you're just honestly grateful for the extra hands during the morning rush seems to override any lingering uncertainties.

You stretched your arms out wide, movements fluid and graceful, as a yawn escaped your lips. Fatigue lingered beneath the surface, evident in the slight droop of your eyelids and the darkened circles barely visible beneath your eyes. A testament to your restless night of sleep, body aching from the intensity of the “bath” you shared with Katsuki.

You offered Izuku a small, tired smile as you spoke, voice carrying a soft, lingering weariness. "I'm going to get the quiches ready in the other oven," you said with sleepy determination.

A moment later, as you set about your task, Izuku's acute senses detected a faint scent of burning sugar, tickling the edges of his nostrils. His eyes immediately darted towards the ovens, but upon closer inspection, he realized that the raspberry croissants had only just begun baking, their doughy forms barely touched by the heat. He dismissed the fleeting scent, assuring himself that it must have been a mere figment of his imagination.

Silently observing you moved past him, Izuku's gaze lingered on the circles under your eyes, a telltale sign of exhaustion and a restless sleep. Concern flickered in his emerald gaze, a twinge of protectiveness already tugging at his chest. He silently resolved to ensure that in time you understood that he was there for your well-being, even if you remained blissfully unaware of his true intentions.

Taking it upon himself to ease your tiredness, Izuku moved with a flurry of efficiency at the tea counter. His fingers gracefully danced across the array of tea leaves, their aroma filling the air, selecting his own special blend to help ease your weary spirit. His movements were precise and purposeful, a silent gesture of care for the woman who stood just a few feet away. You vaguely heard the clink of one of the kettles, as he prepared a cup colored with your favorite hue.

You carefully closed the door of the oven, the final quiche now tucked away to bake to golden perfection. You wiped your hands on your apron, turning around just as Izuku walked over, cradling a cup of tea in his large hands. Leaning against the kitchen island, your tired eyes blinked back the haze of exhaustion, momentarily jolted back to alertness as Izuku approached.

“This the seasonal energy tea blend?” Your gaze drifted down to the cup, its colorful pattern a perfect match to your favorite shade. You paused for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossing your features, but quickly brushed off the coincidence. After all, how could the new guy know such a personal detail? Thanking Izuku with a sweet smile, you accepted the cup and immediately felt the relaxing warmth it radiated.

The steam rose in ethereal tendrils, almost imperceptible in the dim light that filtered through the skylight overhead. Your eyes followed the wisps up towards the still dark pink sunrise through the window, their graceful dance capturing your attention briefly before you brought the cup to your lips.

With each passing second, Izuku's senses were assailed by that same faint smell that evoked a sense of ...smoke? His brows furrowed ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing in confusion. It lingered in the air, a faint odor that didn't align with the barely warm food in the oven. Izuku couldn't have known it was due to Katsuki, your territorial roommate, his pheromones carrying a note of smoldering embers. The scent itself evoked a strong dislike within Izuku, as his attention to detail in the pastry-making artistry made even the slightest indication of burning a source of disdain. Izuku swept over the kitchen, muttering to himself, trying to locate the source of the offensive smell.

As your finished the last sip of the steaming tea, a wave of warmth washed over you, permeating your body from the inside out. The autumn morning chill retreated, replaced by a comforting sensation that wrapped around you like a cozy blanket. The embrace of the herbal infusion wove its soothing spell, making you feel pleasantly drowsy in the brisk kitchen.

"I'm thinking this new morning tea is a miss" you muttered as you glared half-heartedly at the leaf dregs of the delicious brew. The aching fatigue that had clung to you began to dissipate, replaced by a gentle drowsiness that weighed down your eyelids. A yawn escaped your lips, body responding to the tea's intended purpose. Izuku stepped close, closer than necessary, as he reached out to take the empty tea cup from your hand.

You held out the cup, your hand hovering in the air as Izuku moved closer. But it's in that moment, as Izuku inhaled the lingering scent, nose giving a small twitch, that his gaze narrowed with a sudden intensity. Your drowsy mind failed to register the glare of his emerald eyes, an indication of something more than casual curiosity.

"Why...do you smell like you fell in a damn bonfire?" Izuku's words carried a sharpness, a demand rather than mere inquiry. They sliced through the air, hanging there with a weight that is impossible to ignore. His voice had cut through the air with an uncharacteristic edge, void of the easygoing nature she had come to associate with the coworker facade he portrayed.

Your heart skipped a beat, embarrassment flooding your features as Izuku's question settled in. You were stunned for a moment, the truth of the situation hanging heavily on your heart. Of course, you realized, Izuku's hybrid senses would pick up the scent left behind by Katsuki last night. How could you forget?

Scratches, cum, and pheromones laid on you the night before when Katsuki sensed Izuku's touch from when he thanked you during training. His possessiveness in the bath had been clear, his words a promise of violence should Izuku dare to lay a hand on you again.

A knot formed in the pit of your stomach as embarrassment filled your voice, intertwining with a shard of defiance. "I...uh...had a bit of a disagreement with my room mate last night," you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "But it's nothing to worry about, really."

Your admission threatened to tip the scales of the delicate equilibrium. Whether or not you were fully aware, the territorial boundaries have already been drawn between the territorial tiger and the love-mad hare. The situation a powder keg waiting to ignite, and Izuku the bastard he is, was going to make sure it blew up in the face of this “room mate” of yours.

Izuku's large hands swiftly found their place on your hips, his touch firm yet careful. In one fluid motion, he effortlessly lifted you clean off your feet and placed you onto the island counter. The contrast in your heights is stark, you find yourself still having to tilt your chin to look up in shock at Izuku. His long ears twitched with barely restrained irritation.

As Izuku's nose scrunched involuntarily, a mix of emotions surged within him. The scent of Katsuki, with its notes of cayenne, brown caramel, and smoldering embers, emanated from you like a provocative challenge even without a claim on your neck. To Izuku, it reeked like burnt sugar, an acrid aroma that didn't deserve a place within the confines of his shops.

His possessive instincts kicked into overdrive, an unwavering determination surging through his veins. He leaned down, his breath warm against the soft skin of your neck, his voice dropping to a low, firm tone. "You know," he began, his voice carrying a velvety cadence. "we can't have you smelling like that. It doesn't suit you, and it definitely doesn't suit this cafe."

“After all, who wants to eat in a smoky bakery?” Izuku finished as he knelt with calculated grace, his strong, muscular frame shifting closer to your exposed thighs. As he positioned himself between your parted legs, Izuku's eyes lock onto yours. In the short time you've known him, Izuku's eyes have never seemed this intense, brimming with an unwavering determination to claim you as his, to erase any trace of Katsuki's scent and replace it with his own. Your breath hitched softly, eyes widening at the audacity of Izuku's actions. Looking down at the fierce Flemish Giant between your thighs, you weren't sure you really wanted him to stop, consequences be damned.

Leaning back against the cold counter top, you let out a soft gasp as Izuku's lips met the inside of your knee. The contrast between the cool stone and the warmth of his mouth adds to the growing pleasure that courses through your body.

As Izuku's lips continued their path up your thigh, he deftly moved your cute underwear down your trembling legs. a shiver ran down your spine as the cold morning air kissed your exposed folds. The delicate material glided lower, clinging momentarily to your thighs before slipping over your uniform shoes.

Izuku's emerald eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he took a moment to appreciate the shade of green of the fabric. You're already wearing his color, he couldn't have planned it better himself. With a small grin against your soft skin, he quickly tucked your panties into his pocket, claiming another piece of you for himself while he distracted you with kisses and nips along your thigh.

Izuku's chuckle had a dark edge to it, tinged with an unmistakable sense of triumph as Katsuki's scent gradually began to dissipate. Your slick hole starting to carry the familiar fragrance of your usual jasmine, proof of Izuku's determined assertion of dominance over any traces of his new rival's presence.

With a deliberate and confident movement, Izuku pushed the bottom of your thighs up, hooking your ankles over his broad shoulders and positioning himself between your legs. His biceps barely flexed as his large tan hands gently scooted your hips closer to the edge of the counter, granting him better access to your tantalizingly wet pussy. The shadowy figures of your bodies blended together in the dark kitchen, the only source of light being the faint glow of the dark pink sunrise streaming through the skylight above. The faint rays of the sunrise dance across Izuku's face, highlighting his handsome features and the determination in his emerald green eyes.

Izuku's lips found their way to your tender slit, his tongue gently flicking and teasing your hooded pearl. The expert motions and the expert blend of pleasure and pressure elicited from his mouth heightened the sensations coursing through your body, intensifying your pleasure with each passing moment. Your taste was intoxicating to him, driving his desire further, as if he can't get enough.

Then again, he always did have a sweet tooth.

As his tongue hungrily slipped inside your aching cunt, suddenly the weight of Izuku's actions broke through the sleepy haze. Your mind flashed back to the conversation you had with Katsuki the night before, a warning that now echoed in your head. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, "My room mate is gonna be pissed.” You groaned into your hands. The memory of Katsuki's threat looms in the back of your mind, a promise of violence should Izuku dare to lay a hand on you again.

Izuku lifted his gaze, a mischievous grin spreading across slick lips, as he locked eyes with you. His rabbit ears moved, playfully expressing his amusement. "Oh? And what is your room mate gonna do?" he retorted, a playful challenge in his voice. Without a hint of hesitation, he dives back down, his lips and tongue resuming their intoxicating dance against your sensitive folds and clit . He seemed completely unfazed by the threat, his confidence unyielding, a trait born of his secret life.

Even though the haze of pleasure, you hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether you should reveal the full extent of Katsuki's threat. Reluctantly, you gave in, letting the words slip out before your pleasure-addled brain could catch up. "He said he was gonna 'put you in the ground'," you admitted, lust thick voice tinged with a hint of unease.

Izuku's grip on your hips tightened, his possessive desire flaring again within him. The threat of violence from Katsuki barely registers as a deterrent. With a sinister glimmer in his eyes, Izuku responded, his voice laced with barely-contained excitement. "Is that so?" he murmured darkly, relishing the challenge "Let him try, I don't see a claim on your pretty neck." Without wasting another moment, Izuku went back to work, his mouth and tongue working diligently to replace any remnant of Katsuki's presence.

Feeling a sudden surge of mixed emotions—fear, excitement, desire—your hands had a mind of their own as they reached down lightly grazing over the soft, velvety texture of Izuku's rabbit ears. They quivered beneath your touch, responding to your exploration with an almost eager sensitivity.

As your fingers tangled in his forest green locks, you felt the warmth of Izuku's growl vibrating against your sensitive pussy, an intimate sound that resonated deep within you. The way his growl reverberated against your heated core sent shivers down your spine, making your swollen clit ache with need.

Izuku's mouth continued its relentless assault on your dripping cunt, his agile tongue expertly explored every hidden crevice, every secret fold, as if he was committing your every contour to memory. Each breathless moan that escaped your lips fueled Izuku's frenzy further.

For a moment, the tension in the air feels electric, a heightened awareness of the forbidden nature of your encounter. Despite the threat hanging over Izuku's head, he had explosive pleasure coursing through your body, casting an intoxicating spell over both of you. It's a dangerous game you've walked into, driven by the irresistible magnetism that seems to resonate between you and the hybrids in your life. The world around you seemed to fade away, the though of any brewing storm quickly silenced by the chorus of your erratic breaths and the wet sounds of Izuku's devouring lips.

With each passing moment, Izuku's own arousal became more apparent, his throbbing erection pressing insistently against the fabric of his pants, boxers already growing slippery with precum. The sheer desire in his eyes lit up the dim space, reflecting the hunger growing inside, as his tongue continued its wicked exploration.

As the sensations kept building, Izuku's nibbles along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs grew insistent, his teeth grazing your tender folds with just the right amount of pressure to send waves of tingling pleasure coursing through your veins. Each nip sends surges of electricity shooting up your spine, heightening your already stimulated state.

With a final, gentle nip, Izuku's attention returned to your swollen clit, his talented mouth engulfing it entirely, his tongue milking the pleasure from your body with a hunger born of his obsessive adoration.

The cold surface of the kitchen counter beneath you contrasted sharply with the scorching heat that consumed your being. It further intensified the sensations, making your body arch uncontrollably, craving more of Izuku's skilled tongue and the delicious friction against your dripping slit. As Izuku continued his tantalizing assault, a whirlwind of pleasure tore through you. Every touch, every lick, is electrifying, driving you to the edge of sanity and euphoria.

Your body responded instinctively to Izuku's ministrations, muscles tightening, drawing you closer to the precipice of your first orgasm. The familiar coil of ecstasy grew within, winding tighter with each flick of his tongue and gentle suction against your throbbing clit.

And then it happened—your climax hit you with an intensity that knocked the air out of your lungs. It crashed over you like a tidal wave, shattering any composure you still had and leaving you breathless and trembling. Your body quaked, as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, drowning out rational thought.

As the echoes of your orgasm still shook you, Izuku didn't let up. His mouth continued to work its magic, prolonging the throes of your pleasure, drawing out every last drop of intoxication from your trembling body. The sensations are almost too much to bear, your mind spiraling in a haze of ecstasy as he licked you dry.

“Do I still reek?” Voice trembling, as you questioned whether the lingering scent of burnt caramel still clung to the air. But Izuku, always perceptive, noted the shift in your aroma, the return of your usual sweet jasmine-like scent. A return that happened a little too quickly for his oral fixation, to be quite honest.

A devious gleam danced in Izuku's emerald eyes as he listened to your words. He leaned back slightly on his knees, his chest rising and falling with his own ragged breaths. "Oh. Sorry, you still smell burnt," he lied with ease, a feigned apologetic smile playing at the corners of his lips. In this moment, he reveled in the idea of indulging his sweet tooth on the object of his obsession- You.

What was another white lie in the grand scheme of things?

Before you could respond, overcome with desire, Izuku plunged back down between your trembling thighs. The sudden latch to your swollen bead caused you to buck against the cold counter, your fingers instinctively tightening around the curls at the base of Izuku's rabbit ears, holding on for dear life. A sharp twinge of over-sensitivity mingles with the persistent pleasure, adding another layer to the overwhelming sensations.

Nose pressed against your mound, Izuku's tongue delved deep, searching for every trace of their intoxicating cum. His mouth moved with a fevered rhythm, his ministrations calculated and purposeful. His tongue speared through your slick folds, flicking and teasing as if he planned to consume every intimate drop. He couldn't get enough of your taste.

Meanwhile, your body danced on the edge of ecstasy once again. The contrasting sensations of pleasure and sensitivity, sent electric currents shooting through every nerve. With each movement of Izuku's skilled tongue, your hips involuntarily bucked and writhed, seeking more of that delicious contact.

As you came a second time, a loud cry escaped your lips, reverberating through the dimly lit space. The intensity of the sensation threatened to overwhelm you, nerves tingling with each tantalizing touch of his skilled tongue.

Izuku's own desire burned hot within him, waiting to be unleashed. Amidst your writhing against his face, Izuku's hips involuntarily jerked forward, another surge of precum staining his boxers. The feeling of the slick fabric against the head of his dick only served to increase his hunger for you.

As your thighs instinctively attempted to clamp shut around Izuku's head in a desperate bid to shield your oversensitive clit, his arms flexed, exerting a near herculean strength to keep them in place. With your back arched and thighs trembling in his hands, you were entirely at Izuku's mercy. It was just easier to surrender to the Flemish Giant's powerful hold rather than fight his iron grip.

Izuku's movements remained unyielding, a relentless pace that threatened to push you past the limits of pleasure and into the realm of cumdrunk ecstasy. In all honesty however, Izuku's own need fueled his actions, his tongue dancing deftly, exploring every hidden crevice with fervor. Maybe he was the cumdrunk one at this point.

“T-too sensitive 'Zuku” your plea for him to let up fell on deaf ears as Izuku wickedly ignored your words, except for the cute way you whimpered his name. Izuku could listen to you stuttering his first name in pleasure for the rest of his life. He took pleasure in pushing you to your limits, eager to indulge in his own selfish desires without hesitation. He had waited so long for this moment, he was going to get his fill. Or at least enough to satiate him while he made his claim.

"You can handle cumming for me again," Izuku insisted, his voice filled with dark adoration as he denied you mercy, before plunging back between your folds. Fuck, he loved you clamping down on his tongue like this, he only hoped you could handle all of him.

Your body quivered in response, overwhelmed by the heightened sensitivity of the onslaught on your swollen clit. Izuku's unwavering focus and iron grip left no room for escape or mercy. His tongue pressed skillfully, teasing and taunting your most sensitive spots, delving in with fervor and purpose. The taste of you, the intoxicating flavor that mingled with your heavenly musk, is like a drug to him, an addiction that drove him deeper into his feral desires.

Your body squirmed uncontrollably, overcome by the unbearable pleasure Izuku exerted on you. Every gentle nip and forceful suck sends you writhing. In desperation, your hands find solace in reaching the base of Izuku's rabbit ears, gently tugging with an almost desperate plea. Too much..!

But far from slowing down Izuku, the sensations of your tender grip on his ears only served to fuel his primal instincts. It's as if the touch of your shaky hands ignited a feral fire within him, intensifying the frenzied pace of his ministrations. His own need reached a fever pitch, his tongue dancing with an even more voracious appetite, ravishing every inch of your cunt.

Your body reacted uncontrollably to the overwhelming sensations, saliva escaping your lips as you moaned and whimpered in a haze of pleasure. Your legs twitching and trembling, but Izuku's firm grip prevented you from dislodging him, keeping you at his mercy.

The sound of Izuku eating out your soaked cunt echoed within the otherwise empty café kitchen, the lewd noises amplified by the decorated tiles. Your grip on the base of Izuku's furry ears tightened, desperation evident as you sought an anchor to ground herself amidst the waves of pleasure forced on you.

Driven by his feral determination, Izuku continued to devour you with a relentless pace. His imposing length now popping up and over the band of his slick boxers, yearned for release. As your squirms and whimpers grew more unrestrained, your body teetered on the edge of a precipice, ready to crash to a blinding climax.

As Izuku forced a third orgasm from your bullied clit, your vision faded into a hazy whiteness, the sheer intensity of the pleasure causing your consciousness to spiral into a realm of overwhelming ecstasy. Your mind became consumed by a kaleidoscope of sensations, blurring the boundaries of pleasure and reality. Your entire being is overwhelmed by the whiteout, a surge of ecstasy that drowns out all other thoughts and sensations.

You remained lost in your own world of ecstasy, mind blissfully blank by the overwhelming pleasure that coursed through your veins. In the midst of the pleasure-induced haze, you barely registered Izuku standing to his full height pushing 7 feet, his uniform khakis and boxers shifted low on his chiseled hips. His imposing figure cast a shadow over your flushed form. He reveled in the sight of your face caught in the throes of your cumdrunk daze, body trembling and clearly craving further gratification.

Who was he to deny you?

With another shift of fabric, Izuku's thick cock sprung forth, liberated from its confines, hardened and throbbing. His erection stood tall despite it's weight, demanding attention, the embodiment of Izuku's primal nature. Flemish Giants are big in, well, every way. If your mind wasn't completely blank right now, you'd probably be worried about how the monstrous girth could fit in you. A concern Izuku clearly didn't have.

With an unquenchable desire driving him, Izuku moved between your quivering thighs, positioning himself to align with your sopping entrance still twitching from your last orgasm. The immense size of his swollen cock head presented a challenge for your tight and unprepared opening. Your poor pussy's struggle to accommodate Izuku's massive girth sent shockwaves through both of your bodies, setting the stage for the battle between resistance and persistence. Don't worry, he'll make sure he fits.

The first few frantic and desperate tries by Izuku only drew a frustrated growl from the large hybrid. Your body strained to accommodate the overwhelming size of Izuku's cock, your senses overloaded with both pleasure and over sensitivity. But with a slick pop, the tip of Izuku's engorged member finally breached your entrance, forcing its way inside.

You remained blissfully lost in a euphoric haze, your body intertwined with Izuku's as he leaned over you. The cafe's dim lighting from the sunrise cast gentle shadows across the kitchen, highlighting Izuku's disheveled green curls and the captivating glow of his emerald eyes, resembling one of the rabbits forged from swirling shadows on the mural that adorns the wall.

Leaning over you, Izuku's dominant side asserts itself, swiftly pressing your knees up towards your shoulders. Applying pressure to open them wider, he exposed every inch of your quivering slit spread tight around the head of his dick. With a growl of determination, Izuku bullied his way further inside your depths, his larger size causing a twinge of pain as he stretched you to your limit to accommodate him. Your body struggled with the difference between him and Katsuki.

The sheer size of Izuku's cock, larger than even your room mate's, brings a mixture of pleasure and ache to your sensitized cunt. While Katsuki's barbs had their own unique sting, the contrast in size between him and the rabbit currently using you like a fucktoy induced new levels of soreness and bliss.

Izuku thinks he may have found heaven when he finally breaks in your pussy enough for his monstrous dick to bottom out against your cervix. Undeterred by your cunt's struggle, Izuku sets a rapid rabbit pace, his thrusts forceful and demanding.

The sound of their intertwining bodies filled the room, the wet slapping of Izuku's balls against your ass creating a rhythm that added to the sound of their escalating pleasure. Despite the stinging stretch, you remained freely vocal, too lost in your bliss to be concerned about anything else. Izuku's moans and your cries filled the air, adding to the sinful symphony.

As Izuku's large muscles flexed, his grip on the counter edge on either side of your head tightened, seeking leverage to thrust even more deeply. His forearms came to rest on the cold surface. Your knees were pinned again Izuku's chest, as each of his motions rocked your body forcefully against the stone counter of the kitchen island.

As Izuku continued his relentless pace, his large muscles flexing with each powerful thrust, his emerald eyes shone with feral bliss. Soft forest green ears were pinned back against his curls, a clear sign of his animalistic desire taking hold. Noticing your slightly pained fucked-out expression, Izuku found a sort of sadistic glee in your reactions. He couldn't help but revel in the sense of superiority it gave him.

No fucking way that crispy room mate of yours has ever filled you like this before.

"Aw, am I too big? Does it sting?" Izuku crooned huskily in your ear, voice filled with a twisted sense of satisfaction. "Fuck..! Taking me like such a good little pet- I knew you could handle it.” Even if his love is tainted by selfish obsession, he takes genuine pride in your resilience. Not everyone could take his bitch breaking girth the first time. Or at all.

You could only offer a weak nod in response to what little you catch of his words. Your walls clung to his thick length, the stretch more than you've ever experienced before. Yet, your blissed-out state allowed you to push through the discomfort of having your guts rearranged, exchanging it for a facet of ecstasy that only Izuku could provide. You were intoxicated.

The grip of your walls around his pulsing member further fueled his desire, his relentless pace never faltering. Your pussy clung desperately to his too thick cock, the force of each slam eliciting a a ragged gasp as he bottomed out against your cervix. His intense gaze locks onto your dilated eyes, drinking in every nuance of your cumdrunk expressions as you submitted to him completely.

For Izuku, this moment is the culmination of his desires since the moment you were hired at one of his coffee shops. His obsessive desire for you have driven him to go to great lengths, even "hiring" himself as a barista to get close to you. Now, his darkest desires are being fulfilled, the mate he craves finally within his grasp.

Fuck, he wasn't going to last much longer with you looking past him all fucked-out like that.

Intense pleasure coursing through your veins, you were overcome by the sensory overload of cumming again. Saliva escaped your parted lips, a shiny trail down the side of your chin. Your moans and whimpers intermingled with the wet, lewd sounds of your boss' thrusts into you, heavy balls accentuating squelches with quick slaps against your ass. Your gushing cunt walls attempted to tighten around Izuku's massive member with some success as you reached one last mind shattering orgasm. Your trembling pussy clamped down as best it could, Izuku thrusting all the while.

As he reached his own tipping point, Izuku's rabbit ears stood straight up, a visible sign of his peaking pleasure. “S-shit” He whined, your tight cunt was strangling his cock, causing his foot to bounce uncontrollably as he thrust as fast as possible. Each slam was met with the rhythmic spasming of your walls, clenching onto his too thick length with a desperate intensity. The sensation of your pussy clinging to his dick on every exiting pull, and the feel of his mushroom tip slamming against your cervix, was too much for Izuku. Driven by his unbridled desire, Izuku maintained his rabbit-like pace until the end, unable to resist the sweet agony of the tight vice that surrounded him.

With a deep groan of satisfaction, Izuku succumbed to the milking motion of your tight ring of muscles. The tip of his cock became engorged and sensitive, the pressure pushing him over the edge, the slit gushing forth with his warm cum. Pumping spurt after spurt, Izuku filled your womb with his seed, the pulsing sensation mixing with the raw pleasure that coursed through you both. One of his fuzzy ears cocked to the side, a visual display of the euphoria that engulfed him.

As with most rabbit hybrids, Izuku momentarily leaned all his weight on your pinned legs and his forearms, his body collapsing with the intensity of his climax. Your cunt walls stretched tight around his member still milked and clenched, coaxing every drop of his essence from within him. Overwhelmed by the influx of cum you could only moan brokenly in bliss, your consciousness long faded away during your last orgasm.

In the aftermath of your shared climax, Izuku remained trembling and breathless over your spent body, his emerald eyes still gleaming with a primal intensity, as he nuzzled your hair. The cafe was filled with the scent of your combined arousal, a poignant reminder of the powerful connection. A perfect mix of pine needles, yuzu zest and jasmine blossoms in the smug Izuku's opinion.

Much better than that burnt sugar bastard's stench.

Izuku needs a few tries to withdraw from your clasping cunt, before the head of his dick pops free of your pubic ridge with a final jerk of his hips. He hissed in oversensitive pleasure at the sensation of pulling free of your quim. Geez, were all humans this small on the inside? He wondered as his cum began to gush out of you. Izuku's viscous seed quickly flowed down your folds, trailing onto the cold counter top before beginning to drip onto the floor. He could definitely get used to that image. “You should get some rest” Izuku smugly beamed down at you before planting a soft kiss on your forehead, your lids heavy with fatigue. You could hardly fight the chemicals, both natural and otherwise at this point, from pulling you into slumber, and soon you lost the battle. He smiled as he heard your breathing even out, asleep.

Izuku's tea, and it's added ingredient, had taken longer to take effect than he expected. When he saw how exhausted you were, he had just intended for you to nap through your shift. Cuddle with your unconscious form under a cozy blanket in the autumn afternoon during his lunch hour, maybe. Izuku was so glad he'd been given enough time make you cry his name so prettily before you slipped into sleep.

In comparison to this morning, you looked so serene and relaxed, even after your intense encounter. Izuku leaned over you, his forearms resting on the cold stone, nuzzling your hair tenderly. His nose twitched, catching your mingled scents again, making his rabbit ears flick with delight. Izuku, hidden behind his gentle facade once again, wished he had “hired” himself sooner. He could have felt you shuddering around him months ago, but he vowed to make up for lost time now that you were already spreading yourself for him on his kitchen counter.

With gentle care, Izuku's muscular frame picked up your sleeping body from the kitchen counter. He cradled in his arms with a protective tenderness, mindful not to jostle you from slumber. He carried down the hall to the employee room across from the office, where a comfy jade couch awaited, a place for you to rest while he tended to the café.

As Izuku lay you down on the couch, your sleepy form stirred and before turning over with a yawn. Izuku would have stayed there, with his forehead against yours, all day. However, as the sunrise streamed through the kitchen skylight, Izuku became aware of just how late in the morning it was. With the sun coming up, he only had a few minutes until the coffee shop opened. He watched over you for a moment more, ensuring you were comfortably tucked into a cushy blanket, before he turned his attention to the café.

After all, as the owner of the 'Lunar Rabbit' chain, Izuku had responsibilities to fulfill.

Izuku is gonna be mad when he realizes he left the pastries in the oven, but raspberry croutons are a small price to pay in the long run.

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merxcywritesthings · 2 months ago

Text

𝐴 𝐷𝑖𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤

A/N: This thought popped into my head after my boyfriend and I looked at engagement rings today, which has been stuck in my head for hours. I couldn’t help but write about the Poly!Task Force 141 with reader! I hope you guys enjoy.

Word Count: 2.0k

The glow of twinkling holiday lights reflected off the fresh blanket of snow that adorned the base of the towering evergreens, casting a magical ambiance over the secluded safehouse. Each individual light shimmered like a tiny star, illuminating the crisp winter night in soft, ethereal hues. The snow itself was pristine, untouched except for the faintest traces of footprints leading to the door—evidence of a quiet arrival long past. The air carried a profound stillness, broken only by the occasional whisper of wind through the branches, rustling the needles and adding a gentle symphony to the night. Somewhere in the distance, a lone owl hooted, its call echoing through the frosted forest.

The safehouse stood as a haven amid the wilderness, its rustic exterior adorned with garlands of fresh pine interwoven with crimson ribbons. Candles glimmered in the windows, their flickering light hinting at the warmth and life within. The faint scent of burning wood mingled with the crisp winter air, creating an intoxicating blend that spoke of comfort and serenity. Icicles clung to the edges of the roof, catching the light and refracting it into shimmering rainbows that danced with every movement of the breeze. It was a scene that could have been lifted from the pages of a holiday storybook, yet it carried an unspoken depth that transcended its picturesque beauty.

Inside, the transformation was even more profound. The safehouse had always been a place of refuge, a temporary escape from the chaos of missions and battles. But tonight, it had taken on a life of its own. Strings of lights were draped along the walls, their soft glow accentuating the wooden beams and casting a golden hue over the room. The fireplace roared with life, its flames crackling and sending warmth radiating outward. Stockings hung from the mantle, their cheerful designs a stark contrast to the tactical gear piled neatly in the corner. The scent of freshly baked cookies mingled with the aroma of mulled cider simmering on the stove, creating a sensory tapestry that was both comforting and nostalgic.

The living room was the heart of the transformation. A towering evergreen stood proudly in one corner, its branches laden with ornaments that glimmered in the firelight. Each decoration told a story—a tiny snow globe with a miniature reindeer inside, a silver bell with a faintly tarnished surface, a handmade star crafted from bits of foil. Some were new additions, while others bore the marks of years gone by, their significance known only to those who had placed them there. At the very top of the tree, a delicate angel gazed down with an expression of serene joy, her gown of spun glass catching the light and casting it into tiny prisms that danced across the walls.

Seated on the couch, Price leaned back with a rare look of contentment softening his features. A glass of whisky rested in his hand, and his usual air of command was replaced by a quiet ease. Nearby, Soap and Gaz were engaged in a lighthearted argument over a board game, their laughter filling the space and blending seamlessly with the holiday music playing softly in the background. Ghost sat in the armchair closest to the fire, his posture relaxed in a way that spoke of trust and comfort, though his sharp eyes never strayed far from the room's occupants. It was a moment of peace, fleeting but cherished—a sanctuary carved out of the tumult of their lives.

In the kitchen, you stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up and hair loosely tied back, focused intently on icing a batch of sugar cookies. The cookies were shaped like snowflakes, their intricate patterns reflecting the meticulous care you had put into each one. Flour dusted your hands and cheeks, a testament to the hours you had spent baking and decorating. The task was both a labor of love and a welcome distraction, a way to channel your energy into something tangible and uplifting. The soft strains of holiday music played from a small speaker, the familiar melodies weaving through the air and adding to the sense of warmth and tranquility.

As you set the icing bag down to stretch your arms, a sudden thought struck you: the boys had been unusually quiet for some time. Normally, the living room was alive with their banter—Soap’s boisterous laughter, Gaz’s sharp wit, Ghost’s dry humor, and Price’s steady interjections to maintain some semblance of order. Yet now, the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the faint hum of the music.

“They’re up to something,” you murmured with a wry smile, wiping your hands on a dish towel.

Curiosity piqued, you left the cookies behind and made your way toward the living room. The warmth of the fire grew stronger with each step, and the soft glow of the holiday lights beckoned you forward. As you approached, the faint sound of muffled movement gave you pause. “Alright, what are you lot scheming this time?” you called out playfully, your voice tinged with amusement.

No response.

Frowning, you stepped into the doorway—and froze.

The living room, bathed in the soft glow of the fire and twinkling holiday lights, held a scene you could never have anticipated. Soap, Gaz, and Ghost stood shoulder to shoulder near the tree, each holding a bouquet of vibrant red roses. Their expressions were a mix of anticipation and warmth, with just a hint of nervousness. At the center of it all was Price, standing tall and steady. In his hands was a small velvet box, its lid open to reveal a breathtaking ring.

The diamond was unlike anything you’d ever seen. It was an oval cut, its elongated shape elegantly reflecting the firelight in brilliant, kaleidoscopic flashes. The facets seemed to dance, catching every flicker of the room's glow and transforming it into a dazzling display of light. The band was crafted from platinum, its silvery sheen perfectly complementing the icy brilliance of the stone. Intricate filigree detailing traced along the band, forming delicate, swirling patterns reminiscent of frost on a windowpane. Small, round-cut diamonds were embedded into the filigree, creating a subtle shimmer that added depth and elegance without overpowering the centerpiece stone.

Your breath caught as your gaze fixed on the ring, its beauty almost surreal. It looked like it had been plucked straight from the winter landscape outside, its design as timeless and magical as the snow-covered world beyond the windows.

Soap broke the silence, stepping forward with a grin that was unusually tender. “We were tryin’ to be subtle, lass,” he teased, his Scottish brogue soft. “Guess we’re not as sneaky as we thought.”

Gaz chuckled, stepping up next to him. “We figured if we’re going to do this, we had to make it perfect. You deserve nothing less.”

Ghost shifted slightly, his gloved hands gripping the bouquet tightly. “You’ve been through hell with us,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. “You stayed. That means everything.”

Finally, Price’s deep, steady voice filled the space. “You’ve given us something we never thought we’d have,” he said, his blue eyes holding yours with a quiet intensity. “A home. A family. Let us show you how much that means—for the rest of our lives.”

Your heart thundered in your chest, tears welling in your eyes as the weight of their words sank in. This wasn’t just a proposal—it was a declaration of love, unity, and the unbreakable bond you shared.

“Marry us, bonnie,” Soap said, his grin widening but his voice soft, almost hesitant.

Tears welled in your eyes as you took in the sight of them—these men who had faced countless dangers and carried the weight of the world on their shoulders—now offering their hearts to you. Your hands trembled, and a sob escaped your lips as the overwhelming emotion spilled over.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice thick with tears. Then louder, with uncontainable joy, “Yes! Yes, of course, I’ll marry you!”

The tension broke as the room erupted with cheers. Soap was the first to reach you, scooping you up into a giddy embrace that made you laugh through your tears. Gaz followed, his hug warm and grounding, while Ghost’s was firm but careful, his whispered “Thank you” carrying a weight that made your chest ache with affection. Price took your hand last, sliding the ring onto your finger with reverent care before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

As you looked at the ring now adorning your finger, you marveled at how perfectly it captured the moment—brilliant, timeless, and irreplaceably yours. It wasn’t just a symbol of love; it was a promise, forged from the resilience, loyalty, and devotion that bound you all together.

⋆⁺₊❅.

That night, the safehouse was filled with more than holiday cheer—it was filled with love. The bond you shared with these men was unshakable, a light brighter than any star on the tree. And as you curled up on the couch with them later, watching the fire crackle and feeling the weight of the ring on your finger, you realized this wasn’t just a safehouse. It was home.

The celebration carried on well into the evening, the living room transformed into a space filled with laughter, warmth, and joy. Soap’s mischievous streak resurfaced as he popped open a bottle of champagne, the cork flying across the room with a loud “pop” that made Gaz duck and Ghost roll his eyes. “Watch it, MacTavish,” Ghost muttered, though there was no mistaking the faint smirk beneath his balaclava.

“Just addin’ some excitement to the night!” Soap retorted with a wink, pouring champagne into mismatched glasses that had been hastily gathered from the kitchen. Price handed you a glass first, his hand brushing yours in a gesture that felt both grounding and electric.

“To family,” he said, raising his glass. His voice was steady, but the emotion behind his words was unmistakable. The others joined in, their glasses clinking together in a toast that felt as binding as any vow.

The night unfolded in a tapestry of moments that would linger in your memory forever. Gaz took over the music, switching the playlist to a mix of holiday classics and upbeat tracks that had everyone—even Ghost—tapping their feet. At one point, Soap coaxed you into an impromptu dance, spinning you around the room until you were both breathless with laughter. Ghost, ever the observer, eventually joined in, his stiff movements earning playful jeers from Soap and Gaz but making you smile all the same.

Price, true to his nature, stayed close, watching over the group with a quiet contentment that seemed to soften his usual commanding presence. When the dancing subsided, he pulled you aside, wrapping a warm blanket around your shoulders and guiding you to the couch by the fire. The others followed, settling in around you like pieces of a puzzle falling perfectly into place.

Stories flowed freely, each tale punctuated by laughter and the occasional teasing remark. They spoke of missions gone awry, moments of triumph, and the camaraderie that had carried them through the darkest times. When it was your turn, you shared memories of quieter moments—the times you’d patched them up after missions, the late-night conversations over cups of tea, the small gestures that had solidified your bond.

As the night stretched on, the safehouse seemed to embrace you all in its warmth. The fire crackled softly, casting a golden glow over the room, and the snow continued to fall outside, muffling the world beyond. You leaned against Price, your head resting on his shoulder, while Soap and Gaz argued over the last cookie, their voices a playful counterpoint to the serenity of the moment. Ghost sat nearby, his posture relaxed, though his sharp eyes never strayed far from the group.

The ring on your finger caught the firelight, its brilliance a constant reminder of the promise you had made. It was more than a symbol; it was a testament to the love, trust, and unwavering loyalty that bound you to these men. Together, you had faced the unthinkable and emerged stronger, your bond forged in the crucible of shared trials and triumphs.

That night, as you drifted to sleep surrounded by the people who meant the world to you, a profound sense of belonging settled over you. This was more than a safehouse, more than a temporary refuge. It was your home, your family, and your future—a future as bright and enduring as the diamond on your finger.

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢! ❄️

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 @𝑜𝑚𝑖-𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑠

#poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #poly!141 x you #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john price x reader #poly 141 x reader

104 notes · View notes

gullemec · 2 months ago

Text

Bitten

ao3 Bitten Masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You and Joel left the QZ together a year ago in search of something better. Against all odds, the two of you have formed a bond, something quiet and rare and fragile. Then, on an ordinary day, it all comes crumbling down.

Warnings: description of infected, gore, description of mortal injury, gun use, mild non-sexual bondage, talk of death/dying

Please let me know if I missed any TWs <3

WC: 7.6k

A/N: My first TLOU/Joel fic I'm ever sharing! And you best believe there's more where this comes from! Also I've included another note at the bottom so please read that!

It’s a cool evening in the rugged wilderness between what remains of Billings and Big Sky, Montana. The air carries a bite of late spring chill, sharp and clean, the faint scent of pine and damp earth lingering after days of relentless rain. The sun has slipped low, casting the forest in shades of deep green and dusky blue, streaks of gold like brushstrokes on the jagged peaks on the faraway mountainscape.

The river that snakes through the dense forest is a merciless torrent, swollen from the rains. Its waters, frothy and wild, churn over boulders and shattered logs, their jagged edges slick with moss and spray. Branches, stripped bare of leaves, whirl chaotically in the current, their twisting shapes momentarily snagging on stones before being pulled back into the fray. The sound is constant and deafening, a relentless cacophony of crashing water and the guttural grumble of rocks grinding against each other beneath the surface.

You crouch at the river’s edge, boots braced against the slippery rocks, arms outstretched to catch the icy water in mason jars to filter back at camp. Overhead, the canopy is dense, needles interwoven with skeletal branches still clinging to the remnants of rain, droplets falling sporadically to pock the surface of the river. Despite the chaos of the water, you feel grounded here, your focus narrowed to the task at hand. The white noise of the rushing river drowns out the rest of the world, and for a brief moment, the wilderness feels almost serene.

Then, a movement—quick, sharp—in the corner of your eye. You freeze mid-pour, breath catching in your throat. Turning slowly toward the treeline, you rise to your feet, knees protesting against the sudden shift. The forest stretches out before you in shadowy stillness, dense with towering evergreens and underbrush thick with rain-drenched ferns. Your eyes dart through the gloom, searching for the source of the movement, but the dimming light and shifting leaves conspire against you. The world feels suddenly larger, the quiet of the forest pressing in at the edges of the river’s roar, your pulse quickening in the cold dusk.

The snap of a branch shatters the stillness of the forest, cutting through the constant roar of the rain-swollen river. You freeze, heart lurching in your chest, as a low, guttural snarl ripples from somewhere just beyond the treeline. It’s faint, almost lost between the river and the rush of your heartbeat in your ears, but unmistakable.

But before you can fully process the danger, it’s already too late. A blur of movement, a rush of air, and then a heavy weight slams into your side. The impact sends you sprawling, crashing hard onto the slick, rocky ground. Pain jolts through your ribs as the world tilts, your vision swimming from the force of the blow. The jar in your hand shatters on impact, slicing your palm as shards of glass scattering across the wet earth.

The creature is on you before you can even catch your breath. Its weight is crushing, its limbs flailing wildly as it pins you to the ground. A feral snarl tears from its throat, a horrifying mix of rage and hunger, as its face, a twisted mask of decay and filth, looms inches from your own. Its skin is gray and bloated, patches of it sloughing off to reveal sinew and bone beneath. The stench of rot and old blood is overwhelming, its acrid breath clawing at your senses.

You thrash beneath it, hands instinctively going to its shoulders to push it away, but it’s strong, so fucking strong, and its gnashing teeth snap just shy of your face. Droplets of its fetid saliva spray your cheek as its jaw clamps shut on empty air.

Panic surges like a shot of adrenaline, cold and sharp. Shit. You twist your body, feet scrambling for leverage on the slippery ground, but the creature’s weight is unrelenting. You try to reach for your knife, only to remember—you didn’t bring it. You thought this area was clear, that the river’s roar would drown out any noise that might attract them.

A mistake. A stupid, deadly mistake.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as the stalker lunges again, its teeth snapping so close you can feel the rush of air against your skin. With a desperate yell, you plant your feet and buck upward, trying to throw it off. But it doesn’t let go, its rotting fingers clawing at your jacket, its growls reverberating through your chest.

You twist violently beneath its crushing weight, legs curling upward as you fight for leverage. With a guttural cry, you shove your boots hard into its torso, muscles straining as you push with everything you’ve got. The creature topples to the side with a sickening grunt, its limbs flailing as it scrambles to regain its grip. Wasting no time, you roll over and claw your way forward, boots slipping on the wet earth as your eyes lock onto one of the mason jars lying just out of reach.

Your fingers are inches from the glass when a cold, rotting hand seizes your waist, nails tearing through fabric and skin as it drags you back. Then the pain hits, a searing, white-hot agony as the creature buries its face into your side, teeth scraping against flesh. You scream, a sound ripped raw from your throat, and your free hand finds the mason jar. Without hesitation, you swing it with all the strength you can muster, smashing it into the creature’s skull.

The jar shatters on impact, shards of glass slicing into the putrid flesh. The stalker reels back, momentarily stunned, its snarls faltering into gurgles as blackened ichor oozes from its shattered head. You’re screaming again, this time desperate, panicked.

“Joel!” The name tears from your throat as you shove yourself backward, kicking at the writhing body, desperate to put distance between you and the thing on the ground.

A single gunshot cracks through the chaos, sharp and deafening. The creature jerks once, then stills, its grotesque form collapsing into a lifeless heap.

Your chest heaves as silence rushes back in, broken only by the relentless roar of the river and the distant patter of rain. You scramble to your feet, legs trembling, hands flying instinctively to your side where pain pulses in hot, angry waves. The world feels unsteady beneath you, every movement sharp and raw as you clutch at your side. Your fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt, and with a hiss of pain, you pull it up to inspect the damage.

Blood. So much blood. It blooms across your skin, bright and vivid, the gash at your hip jagged and cruel, clawing its way across your waist. Your breath catches, panic rising like a flood as the implications hit you.

Before you can speak—before you can even think—you hear it. The unmistakable click of a pistol being cocked.

Your head snaps up, eyes locking onto Joel. He stands a few feet away, his face a mask of hardened resolve, his breathing labored but steady. The barrel of his pistol is trained on you, unwavering. His eyes are dark, unreadable, jaw squared.

“Joel—” your voice trembles, barely a whisper.

“Don’t move,” he warns, his tone low and sharp. His grip on the gun tightens as he steps closer, each movement deliberate, measured.

“Wait!” Your voice cracks as the word bursts out, raw and desperate. You throw your hand out in front of you as if it could shield you from the inevitable, as though the small gesture might protect you from the bullet with your name on it. “Please, just… wait,” you beg, the words coming out as a broken, trembling whine that shames you even as you say them.

Joel doesn’t move. His shoulders are stiff, his hands trembling around the pistol, knuckles white with the pressure of his grip. His eyes dart frantically, torn between your face and the wound at your side, the gash you’ve tried to hide, like covering it could somehow erase it from existence.

Your left hand moves instinctively, tugging at your shirt to pull it over the gaping wound. The thick cotton clings to your skin, soaking up the blood in heavy, sticky patches. You feel the wetness against your fingertips, warm and damning, and your stomach churns at the realization of how bad it is. You don’t need to look at it again to know the truth, you can feel it.

“No…” Joel murmurs, the sound barely audible over the rushing river and your own ragged breathing. His voice is shaky, distant, like he’s talking to himself now instead of you. His gaze hardens, his jaw clenches, and his finger hovers near the trigger. He’s slipping away from you, mentally already miles ahead, as if you’re not even standing in front of him anymore.

You know what he’s thinking. To him, you’re already dead. The infection is a foregone conclusion, the gash on your body as good as a death sentence. You see it in his face—this is no longer you standing here. In his eyes, you’re just a corpse waiting to fall, a hollow body waiting for the bullet that will silence you before the sickness has a chance to take hold.

It’s over.

“Joel.” You force his name out through chattering teeth, your lips trembling uncontrollably. “Listen to me. Please.” The words crack under the weight of your fear, barely holding together as dizziness washes over you. Pain radiates outward from your side, sharp and unrelenting, but the ache in your chest, the utter hopelessness gripping your heart, is far worse.

In any other moment, you’d hate yourself for this. You’d hate the way your lip quivers, the way your voice shakes, the way you’ve laid yourself bare in front of him, vulnerable and pathetic. You’d curse yourself for throwing every card onto the table, for showing him just how desperate you are. You’d tell yourself to stand up straight, to act strong, to meet death with dignity.

But none of that matters now. You’re not ready. You don’t want to die.

This isn’t the first time you’ve begged for your life. There were countless moments over the years when you were forced to plead, to barter, to lie just to stay alive. But this is the first time you’ve begged knowing it’s utterly futile. Knowing that no amount of pleading will change the truth, or his mind.

You’d talked about this moment, back when you left the QZ together, when survival was still something you both believed in. You’d made a pact, as so many travelers do.

If you get bit, I won’t hesitate.

The words had come from Joel himself, blunt and unflinching, delivered in that steady, gravelly tone you’d grown to trust.

And you’d agreed. Of course you had. It was practical, logical. You’d said the same thing to every companion before him. A foregone conclusion this late in the game, but still you'd felt the need to make it entirely clear that your definition of mercy was a swift bullet to the forehead.

And yet, here you stand, begging the man in front of you to wait, listen, hear me out.

“Joel,” you whisper again, softer this time, pleading. “You have to listen to me. I’m not—” Your voice catches, the words faltering as the weight of his gaze presses down on you. His face is unreadable, his expression stone-cold and unyielding, but his eyes…

His eyes tell a different story.

You see the anguish there, buried beneath the hard lines of his face. The war waging inside him. The man you’ve come to trust, who’s fought beside you, bled beside you, isn’t made for this kind of mercy, no matter what he says.

And yet, you see his finger twitch on the trigger.

“Joel.” Your voice is shaking, but louder now, cutting through the space between you. “I’m not ready. Please.”

The world feels smaller, darker, as you wait for his answer. For the sound of the shot and the unknown that follows.

This was the reality you’d known since you were a child, torn from innocence and thrust headlong into the nightmare of the end of the world. The collapse had been swift and merciless, leaving you to navigate the jagged edges of survival before you even understood what it meant to truly live. Death had been a constant companion, circling you like a predator, never far away. You’d faced it down more times than you could count, each encounter stripping away another layer of who you once were.

You knew it now with the intimacy of an old, cruel lover. The way it crept in quietly, the way it demanded submission, the way it took and never gave back. And yet, now that it has finally come for you, fully and undeniably, you recoil. You flee.

Your breath shudders as you stare into Joel’s eyes, searching for something, anything, to hold onto. His gaze is hard, but there’s something beneath it, a crack in the armor. You plead with him, your voice trembling, words spilling out in a desperate torrent, but it’s more than words. It’s the raw urgency building in your chest, clawing its way up your throat, begging him to feel it.

He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly at first, then harder, his face tightening in anguish. His lip quivers, just the faintest tremble, but it’s enough. It’s a crack in the foundation, a glimmer of doubt in the man who never hesitates. You catch it, latch onto it like a lifeline.

When he says your name, it’s like a prayer, soft and broken. A plea wrapped in the syllables of something he’s never wanted to say. It cuts through you, sharp and cold, leaving you raw and exposed.

His hands are shaking now, the gun unsteady in his grip. You watch it tremble, the barrel wavering slightly, and for a fleeting moment, you think he might miss. That if he pulled the trigger now, the bullet would veer off course, grazing past you instead of ending you. Your mind whispers, Run. Maybe you could bolt, maybe you could make it. But deep down, you know better. Joel doesn’t miss. And if he did, he wouldn’t miss again.

The two of you remain locked in this fragile standstill, unmoving, unblinking, as the moment stretches unbearably long. The adrenaline that had flooded your system begins to ebb, leaving you hollow and weak. Your outstretched hand, once rigid with desperation, falters and starts to fall. It drifts downward, as if surrendering to the weight of inevitability.

Your legs buckle beneath you, the strength draining from them as exhaustion and pain take hold. You collapse slowly, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree behind you, its surface digging into your shoulder blades. Joel’s gun follows your movement, unwavering, the barrel trailing you as you sink to the ground.

“Just wait, okay?” you whisper, the words barely audible over the pounding of your heart. Your eyelids flutter, heavy with exhaustion, but you force yourself to keep your gaze locked on Joel’s. “Wait until I turn. Don’t shoot me… not yet. Just… wait.”

He doesn’t move. His grip on the pistol is steady, but his chest rises and falls unevenly, betraying the storm inside him. For a moment, the silence stretches so thin it feels like the world itself is holding its breath. Then, he exhales, a long, ragged sigh slipping past his lips.

“D-darlin’...” His voice cracks on the word, soft and uneven, a plea in itself. His eyes glisten with unshed tears, and you see one break free, tracking a shining path down his cheek. “We agreed. You—” His voice falters, breaking on the words he can’t quite bring himself to say. “You were bit, and I… I have to.”

The way he says it—have to—isn’t just broken; it’s shattered. The weight of the words twists something inside you, but even now, as death looms close, the tenderness of his pet name stirs a small, bittersweet pang in your chest.

“You don’t have to do anything, Joel,” you murmur, shaking your head, your voice unsteady. “Just let me live a little bit longer, okay? I didn’t get to see much or do much… Just give me a few more minutes. Please.”

The words feel foreign, like they’re coming from someone else’s mouth, distant and detached. The adrenaline that once roared through your veins has ebbed, leaving you woozy and untethered. The world around you feels unreal, a blurry haze of pain and fear.

Joel’s jaw tightens as he fights with himself. His finger hovers near the trigger, but his hand trembles now, betraying the conflict raging inside him. You watch his face carefully, every muscle tense as he weighs the impossible decision before him. His eyes flicker, darting around the clearing, searching for something—anything—that would deliver him from the scene laid before him.

He tilts his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. His gaze turns skyward, as if beckoning the heavens to intervene. The seconds crawl by, agonizing and infinite.

Then, slowly, Joel lowers his gun.

You shudder as a strangled, heaving sigh escapes your lips. Relief floods through you, too sharp and too cruel, making your chest ache with its weight. It tricks you, just for a moment, into believing you’ve cheated death, that you’ve won. Your lips twitch with the urge to laugh, but you hold it in, choking back the sound before it escapes.

Joel moves quickly, breaking the fragile stillness between you. He drops to one knee, his pack already in his hands, and begins digging through it with a kind of frantic determination. You watch him, your body too heavy and your mind too dazed to question what he’s doing.

When he stands and starts toward you, a small bundle clutched in his hands, your stomach lurches. He unfurls it, and your breath catches, terror and confusion gripping you. Your eyes squeeze shut, bracing for the feel of a knife piercing your skull.

“W-what are you doing?” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling with fear.

“Fuckin’—stay still,” he growls, his tone clipped and uneven.

Your eyes flutter open as his arms reach around you, and you realize what he’s holding: nylon rope. He pulls it around your torso, cinching it tightly against the tree. His breath comes in sharp, hot gasps, fanning against your cheeks as he works.

“Joel,” you gasp, your voice rising in alarm, but he doesn’t respond. His eyes are locked on his hands, refusing to meet yours as he ties knot after knot, the rope biting into your sides with cruel precision. The pressure sends fresh waves of pain shooting from your wound, and you wince, clenching your teeth to keep from crying out.

The final tug is brutal, the knot digging into your flesh, and he ends up behind you, his hands lingering for a moment as if testing the ropes’ strength. You feel him pause, his breath shuddering as he finally stops moving.

“Joel,” you say again, softer now, your voice cracking under the weight of everything left unsaid.

But he still doesn’t look at you.

When he steps back, his shoulders are slumped, his face shadowed by something you can’t quite name—grief, guilt, maybe both. He wipes at his face roughly, as though trying to erase the evidence of his tears, but they’ve already betrayed him.

You’re bound, defenseless, and hurting, and yet all you can think about is how utterly broken he looks as he stands there, staring at the mess the world has forced you both into.

“Thank you,” you manage to whisper, your voice small and steeped in guilt. The words hang in the air, fragile and trembling, but Joel doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even glance your way.

Instead, he turns on his heel, his shoulders tight and his head bowed, and walks to another tree about ten feet away. He plants himself at its base, his back to you. His silence cuts deeper than any words might have, and you feel the weight of it settling over you like a suffocating shroud.

The two of you share the silence, your shallow breaths filling the void between you. Each exhale feels labored, your body struggling against the pain radiating from your side, but you force yourself to focus on something else. You lean your head back against the rough bark of the tree, the texture biting into your scalp, and lift your gaze to the heavens.

The stars are impossibly bright tonight, scattered like shards of broken glass across a velvet sky. You try to commit them to memory, tracing their constellations with your eyes, knowing these moments might be your last chance before you navigate them on your imminent departure.

As you stare upward, memories begin to filter through your mind, unbidden and fragmented, slipping through the cracks of your composure.

Your parents, once so vivid in your mind, are now nothing more than faint, blurred shapes. You can almost feel the warmth of their presence, the comfort of their arms around you, the safety they once provided. Almost. The memory is fleeting, like a firefly winking out in the dark.

Will their faces greet you on the other side?

Your adolescence in the QZ flashes through next, a sharp contrast to the hazy warmth of childhood. The cold, unforgiving reality of it all. Hunger gnawing at your belly, desperation clawing at your throat, the endless days that taught you how to survive but left little room for hope.

Then the years on the road in between QZs, each one harder than the last. The faces of strangers, some kind, most cruel, blur together. Every day had been a gamble, every night a test of endurance. And yet, through it all, you’d kept going.

Finally, your thoughts settle on Joel. The better part of a year spent in his company, you guessed. It had started as a shaky partnership, the two of you circling each other like wary predators. Two feral creatures lowering their hackles just enough to agree to watch each other’s backs. You’d both been so used to solitude, to the cold comfort of self-reliance, that you’d resisted the vulnerability of companionship.

But somehow, somewhere along the way, that had changed.

The memory surfaces vividly, as if it had only just happened. The two of you had set up camp, the evening falling quiet save for the crackle of the fire. Joel had rolled out his sleeping bag next to yours, closer than he ever had before. It was unmistakable, deliberate. Your breath had caught in your chest when you realized just how close he was. Close enough to reach out, to touch. To feel his warmth radiating.

That night, he’d taken first watch, as always, sitting cross-legged by the fire with his rifle resting across his lap. But you hadn’t slept, not really. You’d stayed awake, your heart pounding in your chest, stealing glances at him through the dim light of the flames. The moonlight dusted his features in silver, softening the hard lines of his face. You’d stared at the rough stubble along his jawline, aching to reach out and trace it with your fingers.

You’d felt like a teenager again, giddy and restless, wanting something so badly it made your chest ache. It was dangerous to feel that way in this world, to allow yourself even a sliver of something as fragile as hope, but you couldn’t help it. That night had changed everything for you, though you couldn’t say if Joel even realized it.

Now, sitting bound to this tree, your side throbbing and your vision dimming, you wonder if he’s thinking about it too. If he remembers that night, or any of the moments you’d shared since. You glance toward him, his back still turned to you, his shoulders hunched. You want to call out to him, to say something, but the words catch in your throat.

Instead, you close your eyes, letting the memories wrap around you like a fragile cocoon. You hold onto them tightly, as though they might somehow tether you to this life for just a little longer.

You’d never said anything. How could you? This life wasn’t made for love, for relationships, or for anything that resembled romance. Whatever you felt for Joel, whatever that small, fragile thing blooming inside you was, had always seemed impossible to name, let alone act on.

The world you lived in was harsh, brutal, and unforgiving. There wasn’t room for tender words or soft moments, and certainly no place for anything as foolish as hope. All you knew was that you felt safe under his protection, warm under his rare but lingering gaze. Anything beyond that, any flicker of desire, longing, or affection, could be swallowed whole by the world so long as it meant keeping him close.

But now, things are different. You’re staring down the end, and there’s nothing left to lose. Everything worth losing had already been ripped from you piece by piece over the years. Maybe it’s selfish of you to want this moment, to unburden yourself of something you could have taken silently to the grave. Maybe it’s selfish to pile this weight onto Joel when he was already carrying so much. But then again, you’d already been selfish, hadn’t you? Begging him to forgo his own safety for the sake of putting a bit more time between yourself and his bullet in your brain.

And he had complied, hadn’t he?

Fuck it.

“You know what I thought of you when I first met you?” you ask into the silence, your voice low and trembling, but steady enough to carry through the night air.

Joel doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even flinch. His broad shoulders remain rigid, his gaze fixed on the darkness in front of him as though it holds some kind of answer he’s desperate to find.

“I thought you were an asshole,” you continue, forcing a small, breathy laugh out of your chest. It sounds pathetic, even to you, but you push on. “A grumpy asshole.”

Still, nothing from him. But you’re certain, almost certain, you catch the faintest twitch of his shoulder.

“And once I figured out how easy it was to piss you off, I couldn’t stop myself. I’d say the dumbest shit just to get you all riled up.” You smile faintly at the memory, even as the ache in your side deepens. You stop to take a deep breath, hoping he might take this chance to interject, beg you to shut the fuck up and die quietly already. But he doesn't. “You’d get so mad, Joel. Your face would do this thing, this little twitch, like you were trying so hard not to tell me to shut the fuck up. And I think—no, I know—you liked it.”

That finally earns you something: a sharp exhale from his nose. A sound so faint you might’ve missed it if you weren’t straining to catch every little thing.

“If I was nice to you, you’d ignore me. But if I said something dumb just to piss you off? You couldn’t help yourself,” you press on, emboldened now. “I think you liked the banter. The arguing. Maybe it made things feel… normal.”

You pause, drawing in a shaky breath. Your chest feels tight, your body heavy, but you force yourself to keep going. “Do you remember that night a few months ago? When you set your sleeping bag up right next to mine?”

His shoulders tense at that, just barely, but he still doesn’t turn to look at you.

“I liked it,” you admit softly. “A lot. Probably more than I should’ve. And I couldn’t sleep that night, Joel. I just kept laying there, staring at you while you were on watch, thinking… Maybe you liked me, too.”

Your voice breaks on the last word, the confession hanging between you like a fragile thread. You don’t expect a response, but part of you still hopes, desperately, foolishly, that he’ll turn around and say something. Anything.

Instead, his shoulders shudder, and you hear it, a ragged, broken breath that shakes his entire frame.

“Joel?” you whisper, your own voice trembling now.

But he doesn’t answer. He stays where he is, his back to you, his head dipping forward as though the weight of your words, and everything they mean, has finally crushed him.

You lean your head back against the tree, the bark biting into your scalp, and close your eyes. The pain in your side throbs in time with your heartbeat, and your breaths grow more shallow with each passing moment. But you don’t regret saying it.

If this is how it ends, if this is your last night on this broken earth, you’re glad you told him. Even if he never responds. Even if the silence stretches on forever.

“I know what you're gonna say, Joel. You're gonna tell me it didn’t mean anything, and…” You stop, your breath hitching as tears well up and threaten to spill. “Fuck, maybe it didn’t. I don’t know.” You inhale sharply, struggling to keep the flood of emotions from overtaking you. “But you should know that it meant something to me. All this time we spent together, it wasn’t just survival for me. Being with you, it’s the closest thing to happiness I’ve felt since… since before the world ended.”

Your voice cracks again, the weight of your confession pulling it down to a trembling whisper. The tears that had gathered finally spill over, streaming hot down your cheeks. You can’t wipe them away, but even if you could, what would be the point?

“If I could go back,” you continue, voice thick with emotion, “I would have told you then. I wouldn’t have waited. I’d have kissed you just so I could’ve known what it felt like. I’d have asked you to lay with me, to hold me, to—”

“Stop.”

The word cuts through the air like a whip, startling you into silence. Joel’s voice is low and hoarse, laced with something sharp and raw.

Your eyes dart to him, still sitting against the tree, his face hidden in shadow but his posture stiff, brimming with tension. His shoulders rise and fall heavily, and for a moment, you think he might stay there, unmoving, until the sun rises.

“Joel—”

“No,” he snaps, his voice rough and cracking like a fraying rope. “You need to stop.”

Before you can respond, he pushes himself to his feet in one swift, almost frantic motion. His boots crunch against the underbrush as he rounds the tree, his long strides closing the distance between you in seconds.

The gun glints in his hand as the moonlight catches it, but he doesn’t raise it. He doesn’t point it at you. Instead, he stops just in front of you, towering over your slumped, trembling form.

You crane your neck to look up at him, your breath catching as his broad silhouette eclipses the moon. The glow from behind outlines his unruly curls, casting his face into shadow, turning him into something impossibly dark and imposing.

And yet, despite the towering presence above you, the sharpness in his voice, and the speed with which he closed the gap, you feel no fear. You’ve seen Joel like this before, anger weaponized, his mere presence a threat designed to cow and intimidate. He’s used it countless times against others, and now it’s turned on you.

You should feel afraid.

But the only fear you feel now is for yourself, for the minutes, the seconds you have left before the darkness comes to take you. For the inevitability you can’t run from.

You stare up at him, the moonlight weaving through his curls like a halo, his face cast in shadow but no less striking. He looks like some tragic figure out of a dream, the kind that lingers in your chest long after you wake. Your lips part, and before you can stop yourself, the words spill out.

“I love you.”

It’s barely a whisper, cracked and fragile, but he hears it. You can see the way his shoulders tense, the faint shudder in his breath. Despite yourself, you smile, a soft, bittersweet curve of your lips. You want nothing more than for him to drop to his knees, to pull you close, to press his lips to yours and grant you one final wish before the inevitable.

But you don’t ask. You know better.

You’ve been selfish enough, asking him to delay the mercy he’d promised you. And Joel—Joel is many things, but generous isn’t one of them. Not when it comes to matters of the heart.

He shakes his head, the motion jerky and stilted, and you feel tiny droplets splash across your cheeks. For a second you fight the urge to chuckle at the insult of sudden rainfall added to the injury of your imminent demise. Of course you would spend your last moments shivering, cold, and wet.

But when you glance up, the sky is clear, the stars sharp and bright against the endless black.

It’s not raining.

The realization dawns slowly, your gaze drifting back to him. His broad shoulders quake, his head bowed, his face hidden from view. A sob tears free from his chest, jagged and raw, the sound of a man breaking under the weight of something far too heavy to bear.

“Oh no, Joel—please don’t cry,” you croak, your voice trembling as guilt twists like a knife in your gut. “I’m sorry, I—”

Your words catch in your throat as a sob wracks your own body, your tears flowing freely now, warm and relentless. The two of you dissolve into shared grief, your cries mingling in the stillness of the night. The air between you feels heavy, saturated with sorrow so thick it’s almost suffocating.

And then he moves.

Joel drops to his knees in front of you, the motion unsteady, like his legs are buckling under a weight he can no longer carry. His hand hovers in the air for a moment, trembling, before it finds your cheek. His palm is rough and calloused, but his touch is impossibly gentle, wiping away the tracks of your tears. His thumb lingers, as though he’s memorizing the curve of your cheek, the warmth of your skin, before it fades forever.

He leans forward, his breath uneven as it fans across your face, and presses a kiss to your forehead. It’s soft and lingering, a silent prayer offered up to whatever gods might still be listening.

When he pulls back, you tilt your head up instinctively, angling your lips toward his. You can feel his hesitation, the way he freezes, his hand faltering on your cheek. His eyes dart between your mouth and your tear-filled gaze, his own eyes wide and uncertain, searching for something he can’t seem to find.

But then he pulls away.

Your heart clenches, fracturing further as he backs up, his boots dragging across the dirt. He doesn’t stop until he’s ten feet away, where he collapses against the base of another tree. His posture mirrors yours, slumped and defeated, but he’s unbound. Untainted.

You can’t blame him. You know how the infection spreads, the risks it poses. A kiss might seal his fate as well as yours, and you couldn’t bear that, not after everything. But there’s a cruel, gnawing thought that whispers something worse: that he didn’t want to kiss you at all. That it wasn’t the infection that held him back, but a lack of affection.

You’d been his companion, his partner in survival. Nothing more. His tears now are a testament to his enduring humanity, to his ability to feel for others despite the walls he’s built around himself.

And you? You’re a dying woman desperately clinging to the scraps of a life already slipping through her fingers. A life at its end, spent confessing your love to a man who might never have loved you back.

You let your head fall back against the tree, your vision swimming as fresh tears blur the stars above. You’ve never felt so small, so painfully insignificant. The weight of the unspoken words between you feels unbearable, pressing down on your chest, suffocating.

The two of you sit there in the thick, silent night, your breaths the only sound between you. For what feels like forever, you both stare at each other, the weight of unsaid things lingering in the space between you. The moonlight plays across his features, painting him in shadows and silver, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if he sees you the same way, if he’ll remember this night after you’re gone.

You start talking.

You tell him about your life before the world ended, the warmth of your parents’ smiles, the taste of summer nights spent in the quiet of a safer world, the way everything seemed so simple back then. You describe the house you grew up in, the creaky wooden floors, the old red bike you used to ride around the neighborhood, the smell of your mother’s cooking wafting through the open windows. It’s all so distant now, like a dream you can’t quite touch.

Then you move to the people you’ve met since the world burned down. Companions, friends, lovers, whatever they were, however brief. You tell him about the ones who had your back, the ones who betrayed you, the ones you couldn’t save. You tell him how, despite everything, none of them ever quite compared to him. There’s a rawness in your voice, a truth you never dared speak before now.

You find yourself laughing a little, shaky at first, when you tell him about the time you tricked a QZ guard into giving you double ration cards. The image of his face when you handed over the counterfeit papers is enough to make you chuckle even now. The momentary relief, the feeling of outsmarting the system, feels almost like a lifetime ago.

But then your voice falters, and you recount the loss of your parents, their faces gone too soon, their absence an ache that never quite goes away. You talk about the lengths you went to survive in the aftermath, how the world didn’t stop for grief and how, somehow, you found a way to keep moving, even when everything inside you screamed to collapse. Your eyes never leave Joel’s face, watching him as he listens. He doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t offer pity or comfort, just listens, soaking up every word, every part of you you’re willing to offer.

As the words flow, they start to spill out faster, louder, and more frantic. You’re no longer telling stories, no longer reminiscing. You’re unraveling, thread by thread. You talk about your regrets, your fears. You speak of all the places you never got to see, all the dreams you’ll never chase, the future you’ll never have. You tell him about Yellowstone and Old Faithful, about the sunrise over the Grand Canyon, about the quiet peace of a morning in the mountains. You make him promise, with desperation edging your voice, that he’ll go. That he’ll see it for both of you, and your hope that, in doing so, you’ll somehow live on.

Your heart aches with the weight of it all. You want him to know you, every little piece of you. You want him to hold onto your stories, to carry them with him long after you're gone, so that maybe, just maybe, someone will know you for who you were, not just what the world reduced you to. You want to be remembered.

But as you talk, you begin to feel the distance between you grow. The adrenaline that once fueled your desperation, your need to be heard, starts to wane. You feel it in the weight of your limbs, the fog creeping at the edges of your mind. You know the end is near, even if you don’t want to admit it. You can feel yourself fading, your words becoming less coherent, your thoughts scattered like the leaves in the wind.

And Joel, he sees it too. He sees the way your shoulders slump, the way your eyes flicker as though trying to hold onto the present but failing. He watches you, his face hardening with the realization that no matter how much he listens, no matter how much he tries to understand, he can’t stop what’s coming. He sees you slipping through his fingers, and it makes it hard for him to focus on anything else.

You try to hold onto the last few fragments of yourself, the last words you want him to hear. But your vision blurs, and the words begin to jumble. You hope, in the deepest part of yourself, that somehow he’ll hold onto them, that something will remain after you’re gone. That somehow, in this moment, you’ve found a way to live again.

But as the world narrows, as the last threads of you unravel, you realize that perhaps all that’s left now is for him to remember you in the way you are right now—alive, speaking, a fleeting presence in the shadow of the man who, in this moment, matters more to you than anything else you could have ever dreamed.

“I… I gotta go.” His voice cracks as the words leave his mouth, and for a moment, he struggles to hold his composure. “I’ll just move over there,” he gestures toward a large tree about ten feet away, a hollow, tired motion. “I’m not leavin’ you. I just… I can’t see you like that. I can’t watch it happen. I’m sorry.”

The words hit you like a blow, but not the one you expected. Not the harsh sting of rejection, but something softer, something heartbreaking. You hold his gaze, letting the weight of his apology settle between you. His eyes are soft, regretful, heavy with the pain of his own helplessness.

In the year you’ve spent together, he’s given you more than anyone else ever could. Tonight, though, he’s sacrificed everything, pushed his own limits to keep you alive just a little longer. You can’t ask him to stay by your side and watch as you slip away, but God, you want him to. You want him to hold you, keep you anchored, be the one who’s there when you cross over.

But you know what’s fair. What’s right. You know he’s already given you everything he has. You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying to breathe through the ache.

“Joe, will you still talk to me though? Please?” The words are barely a whisper, but you hope he hears them. “Just until… until it’s over. Please.”

It’s his turn to nod now, his eyes wet but unwavering. He gives you one last lingering glance, his gaze a soft promise, something too delicate to touch. A mental photo to keep in the locket of his heart. You catch a brief flash of sorrow in his eyes, something deeper than words can express, before he turns away.

He walks a few paces, the sound of his boots crunching against the damp earth almost too loud in the heavy silence. Then, as he settles at the base of the tree, his back to you, you realize something. He’s doing this for you. He’s giving you space to fade without the burden of his gaze, giving you dignity in the last moments when it matters most.

You can’t help but wish for the opposite, wish for him to be by your side, holding you as you fall away. But you don’t voice it. Instead, you whisper, your words soft and fragile, as though they’re the last thread tying you to this world, to him.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, barely audible through the thick air.

“It’s okay,” he answers, his voice rough, strained, like he’s holding back tears. It’s a simple phrase, but it means everything to you.

You smile weakly, the gesture trembling at the edges, as you whisper back, “Please don’t cry.” It feels like an echo, your voice thin and fragile in the night, but you say it because you know it’ll be the last time you can.

“It’ll be okay,” he replies, and you feel the weight of his words settle over you like a blanket, soothing in the way only he can.

But the darkness is creeping in now, slow and inevitable. You’re so, so tired. The exhaustion is more than physical, it’s in your bones, in your soul, and you can’t fight it anymore. You pull your head up just enough to see him one last time, to glimpse his silhouette framed by moonlight, his broad shoulders, the curve of his dark curls.

A weak, tremulous smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. It’s a smile for him, for everything he’s been for you, everything you never expected to have. For the kindness, the tenderness, the fleeting happiness you got to hold onto before it all slipped away.

You feel the weight of your own eyelids, heavy and reluctant. Your head slumps forward, your gaze unable to keep hold of anything.

And then, just like that, you descend into the dark, the world slipping away from you like sand through your fingers, the last breath you take a whisper in the wind.

Hoo boy, did that hurt as much to read as it did to write?? 😭 Believe it or not there are (at least) two more chapters that follow this so... 🌚 I won't be updating this as regularly as golden cage partially because i don't have it all written just yet, and partially because i am doing my master's degree while working full time lol. also please like/comment/reblog, i'm a new writer and all the encouragement i get genuinely means the world to me!

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