#I really hope this will be a learning experience for most. Probably not though. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

alexiswritingstuff · 3 months ago

Text

Everyone can heal.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Gn!reader

Summary: Logan falls asleep in the day room at Xavier's school, you accidently startle him awake and end up getting hurt.

Genre: hurt/comfort.

Warnings: mentions of blood, and descriptions of wounds, mentions of nightmares.

This is the first time that I am writing in a while, so I hope this isn't just straight up terrible.

A/n: this if my first fic for Logan, so like I usually say when writing for a new character, I may not have portrayed him in an accurate way. There might be parts that seem out of character and such, so please keep that in mind while reading!

Anyway, I've watched the X-men movies since I was a kid. And after watching the new Deadpool and Wolverine movie I was put right back at square one. So, here you go!

I hope you enjoy!!

Logan masterlist.

It had been a long few days.

It was one of the first weeks that you had actually tried to be a professor. Of some sort.

Now, generally, you weren't exactly the kind of person that worked well with kids. It was a lack of experience on your end, as you hadn't gotten the chance to grow up with much others.

But you wanted to learn. Or... did.

The main fault was that you had forgotten to weigh your personal life, more so the things you needed, alongside being a professor in a school.

See, there were a few things that you didn't know about your abilities beforehand. Charles managed to bring some to light, and in turn, you had to figure out how to use them: Incorporate them into your training, into your fighting skills.

It was a lot to relearn. And you misjudged just how much it was going take it out of you.

Though, you didn't seem to be the only one.

Logan was practically in the same boat. Maybe even a little worse. I mean, he was good with kids, but working with them was different, especially when it's a whole group of them at a time. He even bailed on his own classes once. Or twice... could’ve been more.

But you couldn't exactly blame him.

This was the man that barely stayed a week anyway. He was always leaving, whether it was for a bar or something else, you didn't know unless you went with him.

He wasn't used to it yet. The change of being alone, pretty much all the time, to suddenly being surrounded by a boat load of people 24/7. It was understandable. Especially to you, which is probably why you had got to know him so well.

It was the end of the day. The sun was tucked far beneath the horizon, blanketing your part of the earth in a complete darkness. Minus the slight light pollution.

The hallways of the schools were empty at this time, each kid, hopefully, getting a good night's sleep for the next day of learning. But you could never be sure when it came to the teenagers.

It meant that there were less things in the surrounding area for the sound of your footsteps to bounce off. And that, combined with the size of the archways themselves, allowed the echoes to ring a lot longer than needed.

You were on your way back to the day room, having made a quick stop by the kitchen to get more sodas in order to soothe the joint annoyance of having a lack of beer.

It was where the two of you usually set up for quiet moments like these. There wasn't really anywhere else to go, unless you wanted to be stuck in an empty classroom, or have to sit on a freezing bench. And neither of you had an interest in being near a bed.

The most important factor about the day room, however, was that it had a TV. Which just so happened to be the first thing you heard after passing through the final corridor.

It was distant, set at a cautious volume. It must've been one of those talk shows, or maybe some kind of sitcom, as a chorus of laughter would erupt after almost every sentence said.

Either way, it didn't really matter. It had only been put on for background noise. A sound that would carry the silence whenever the two of you had stopped talking, unsure of what to bring up next.

Though, it seemed it had worked a little too well.

The last time you got a look at Logan, he had resumed his usual position. He was upright, back pressed firmly into the sofa as if he were trying to meld with it, and leant against the palm of his hand that had his elbow digging into the armrest.

Your feet halted in a matter of seconds of turning into that doorway. Your tongue was curled in your mouth, lips parted and remaining so, as your eyes had landed back on the man.

He was lying in the opposite direction. His body was sprawled across the length of the couch, though his feet were cursed to hang loosely over the edge. His muscles looked tense, regardless of the usual relief that sort of position was supposed to give a person. But that wasn't the interesting part.

His eyes were closed.

At this point the condensation on the bottles had begun to grow into little drops of water, joining together, one by one, before leaking onto your skin.

Your steps were slow, testing each of the floorboards beneath your shoes to avoid the ones that creaked like an old door.

Logan wasn't a person who got tired easily. It was part of his mutation, that of which you had learned very quickly, but apparently it had manifested into thinking that he couldn't even feel it at all. I guess you were wrong.

Though, in his defence, he may not have even meant to fall asleep when he closed his eyes.

Eventually, you had made it to the edge of the couch. There was a side table on each end of it, the safest and the closest option regardless of the fact his shoed feet were almost right above it.

You took one of the bottles in your free hand, making sure that your grip was just right, before beginning the descent to the table.

You held your breath, narrowed gaze flickering consistently from the eventual destination to the sleeping man. The concentration had even caused your tongue to poke through your teeth as you took about a step closer--

And then bam.

Right as the bottom of the bottle had touched down on the wood, this sudden guttural sound rippled through the air. It had you stumbling backwards, gaping in the direction of the continued noise that sounded like fear itself.

In front of you, now, was not the same sleeping man. In fact, this man was sat up, though almost hunched over most of his body. His arms were raised, aimed straight ahead, and that happened to be right at you.

“Whoa-- hey!”

He was heaving. Each breath taken almost shook his entire body. And the noises... They were almost like growls.

They were so deep and harsh as they pushed out of his throat one after the other, but his inhales were somehow even worse. It was like all the air in the room had suddenly dissipated.

It wasn't until you heard the seams of the couch starting to rip that you realised his claws were even out, the ends just about digging into the pillows beside him.

“Logan, hey, it's me, okay? Look,” you attempted to call, trying to lower your head so that he could properly meet your eyes, “Look, it's me!” And then he did. He saw you, even if It took a moment for it to actually kick in.

He was still heaving, his gaze was fierce and his eyebrows never eased. He had even slightly choked on a breath on its way out.

But you saw the way he had slightly leaned back. There was a relief within the swirl of other emotions.

Until his gaze lowered.

Now, at some point in the past few minutes, the other bottle in your hand had been discarded. It most likely hit the edge of your shoe, sending it to roll off into some corner of the room where it would be forgotten about until morning... But it hadn't smashed.

So, why did something sound like it was dripping?

“Y/n.”

By the time your eyebrows had furrowed in confusion, Logan had hurriedly shoved himself up from the couch, his claws shrinking back between his knuckles within seconds. “Shit.”

You were lost. The sudden switch in atmosphere had you just standing there, fixated on the man that was moving towards you with this look on his face. Similar to one of guilt.

“Logan?” You had barely gotten the name out before you suddenly felt a hand on your arm. Your head snapped in its direction, lips parting so that you could ask what the hell was going on. And then he slightly tilted your arm.

There was your answer. “Oh.”

Three marks. There were three lines etched diagonally into your arm, one deep enough that it led the pooling blood to trickle down your skin. How did you not feel that?

“Fuck,” Logan's hand was careful. His fingers were light and gentle as they grazed the side of your arm. Hesitant. His breaths were getting louder again. “I'm…”

“I'm sorry,” he attempted, his voice barely escaping as a whisper, “I'm so sorry.”

His eyebrows were more furrowed than they were before. The rest of his face was sort of scrunched up too, like he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Or he was disgusted by it.

“Logan,” You tried placing your hand on his closest wrist, but he immediately retracted. He let go of your arm, “Hey, look, I'm fine, okay?” you started louder, more insistent, “It doesn't hurt.”

Logan shook his head for a moment. He took a slight step backwards, his stance heavy. His eyes never moved. “I'm sorry.”

He grunted, the frown taking over his lips deepening for just a moment before his torso twisted. He grabbed the neck of the successfully placed soda, and then just walked around you.

“No, wait,” You tried to reach out, wanting to grasp his arm or even the fabric of his top, but he swerved, completely avoiding you, “Logan?”

You couldn't even make another attempt as if your other hand was away for longer, more blood would end up dripping on the floor. So, your body turned, desperate eyes following the man in a way that was more of a plea than anything else.

But he never looked back. He continued walking through the doorway, rubbing hard against his temples with a final grunt before disappearing behind the wall.

~~~

The time, at this point, was unclear. The clocks in this school were usually around the learning areas, mostly in the classrooms, which created a sort of guessing game anywhere else.

It was apparent, however, that the sun had just begun to rise. Peeking over the horizon enough so that a bright mist seeped into most of the corridors.

You found yourself back in the hallways. There wasn't a very clear reason as to why than this inability to sit. A failure to be still for seconds at a time, regardless of the tiredness that had started to cling to your skin.

But that was the last thing on your mind.

You kept thinking about it; the previous encounter. It was sort of plaguing your mind, more so how you handled it.

Granted, it was in fact your first time having to deal with a situation like that, and usually you were on the other side. Though this seemed different, like something had just been exposed.

You were aware of the fact that Logan had nightmares. I mean, it was one of the most believable things about him, considering the things he'd gone through. The extent, however, was undetermined.

Until today.

A huff of air sifted through your lips as you attempted to straighten your spine, stretch the accompanying muscles that had grown tense over the past few hours.

The aimless walking was almost nice. The surroundings were mostly quiet, excluding the wind that whistled against the glass of the windows, having picked up some time earlier.

It was that time of year again. The group of months where the weather grew cold and the plants began to change. It almost made the school feel cosy even if there was no heating in the hallways.

In fact, where you were now was the coldest, and it wasn't until you looked up properly that you realised you were about to walk into a dead-end.

Slowly, your feet came to a stop, your lazy eyes blinking hastily in the blaring yellow light, which was starting to mix into this sort of orange.

Your shoulders lowered, a sense of relief filtering through your system as the decision had been final. You were going to go to your room, maybe even get to lay down for a few hours until it was time to teach.

So, you turned on your heel, taking about a step in the other direction as your blurry eyes attempted to focus on the closest doorway, until you could note the surroundings. It was the kitchen.

Now, that door was always open, usually swung all the way back and held by a stopper. But a light was on. Allowing you to properly get a view of the room and what was in it.

More so who.

Your movements had halted right as you were about to take another step.

Logan.

He was sitting at the narrow table at the back, set between the array of windows. His elbows were against the surface of it, one of his hands clasped around a bottle he had just set down. He swallowed, and so did you.

There was an initial pause, seconds taken to calculate the right decision, before you went in. Your lips parted, ready to release the script you had gone over in your head for the last hour--

“I didn't mean to hurt you.”

Instead, you were frozen. The volume of his voice, and the angle he sat at, almost made it seem like the words didn't even come from him. He probably heard you before you had even come down the hall.

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Logan–” you tried, but his mouth opened before you could even finish, “Just let me talk,” He hadn't moved. He was in the same position, still holding the bottle, and staring straight forward like there was someone there across from him. “Okay?”

You brought your lips together, placing a hand on the kitchen island to distribute your weight. Logan took the silence as acceptance and he cleared his throat. “I'm sure you already know,” he had begun, sparing the slightest glance your way for confirmation that didn't even need, “about the... nightmares.”

It was as if something in his mouth went sour when he said it, like the words itself tasted bad.

“Some are about the past, you know-- bits and pieces of it, anyway, but…” Logan paused for a moment, both verbally and physically. It only held for a few seconds. And then he sighed. “There are other ones too- Ones... ones where people get hurt, and, I'm…”

“I'm the one doing it.” It was a slow movement, an action that looked like it had to be forced, as Logan suddenly began turning in his seat. He met your eyes with a look that had your eyebrows furrowing all over again, “I'm the one hurting people.”

“Y/n, I'm sorry.”

“Logan,” you started, shaking your head in disagreement with the apology, but he only repeated it. “I'm so sorry.”

You made your way to the edge of the island, pace slowing once round the corner, “Hey,” Logan's gaze had shifted as you moved. It was lower, directed at a specific point. He was looking at your arm.

It had been engulfed by a layer of, hopefully, the appropriate bandaging. An attempt at following the tips Jean had given you from previous injuries.

But it being covered somehow made it seem worse than it was.

“Hey, look at me,” you called, stopping at a good place where you were actually in front of him, yet still a good distance away so he wouldn’t want to back off. “Look at me.”

The next words only left your lips when he had finally decided to comply. “I'm fine.” you assured, the tone of your voice much lighter than before. But that made the look on Logan's face shift, “I hurt you.”

“It was an accident,” Your response was quick, your voice making it sound so simple. Like the sentence said should’ve been accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders. Logan didn't like that, “Accident or not, I still hurt you, Y/n.” His tone was riddled with this disbelief, as if he couldn't believe that he had to tell you that in the first place.

“And, I'm still here, Logan.”

You didn't understand it. The two of you had trained together many times, each round ending with either one receiving a new injury until your skills developed. Hell, you had been in battle together.

A little scratch was nothing. “It was a mistake-- my mistake. I'm the one who startled you, shit like this happens.” you tried to assure. Logan scoffed immediately, “What-- Does that make it magically okay for me to hurt people?”

“No!” you huffed out, the ability to contain your annoyance dwindling the more he challenged your statements. “No, okay? But-- You know, what-- Look.”

You took a few more steps, the care for all of the previous caution going completely out the window as you grasped an end of the bandaging, and unwinded the material before pulling back the padding beneath.

“See?”

Logan almost looked like he had buffered for a few seconds. He blinked, and then again, and then twice really fast, as if it would change what was in front of him. His hand had even flexed, like he wanted to reach it out, though it remained on the table.

They were gone. Each mark, each line that was carved into the skin had completely gone. Disappeared without a trace. There wasn't even a scar.

“You…” He spoke slowly, his eyes trailing up the length of your arm to your shoulders. And then your face. “You can regenerate?”

“Granted, a little... Well, a lot slower than you-- But, yeah.” you confirmed, wrapping the bandage up in your hands before placing it on the kitchen aisle behind you.

Logan leaned back slightly in a way that straightened his up spine. He brought his legs from under the table and set them in the direction the rest of his body was facing. He had turned right towards you.

“Are you serious?” The complete deadpan had you staring right back at him. You couldn't read the expression, nor the stance. You didn't even know what to call it. “Yep.” You blinked. Logan didn't move a muscle, “You can heal.”

Now, you could hear it in his voice. It wasn't just a statement, a form of repetition to clarify the new information. He was getting mad.

You furrowed your eyebrows, “I... I don't really know what else you want me to say.” Which was the truth, the whole healing thing was one of the things you had discovered with Charles.

It's an entirely different process than it is for most anyway, let alone when it comes to Logan. At the moment you actually had to activate the process for anything to heal. But you were working on it.

I guess it just slipped your mind.

“So, you were just willingly acting like a damn damsel?” The lines around his eyebrows deepened the way they usually did when he was getting angry. And they weren't stopping.

“A damsel?” you repeated, even tilting your head as a wordless question, and he just nodded. “You stood there. You just stood there until I came to you-- You didn't even try to stop the bleeding. Hell, did you even notice?”

That look on his face never changed. You hated it. The way it darkened his eyes, or tensed the surrounding muscles. The most bothersome thing, however, was the fact that it was aimed at you. “No,” you started, this time with a deeper voice. “No, I didn't-- You know, why?”

“Why?” Logan commanded, the veins around his neck becoming apparent. It was as if he was trying to win an argument, get the upper hand and serve some kind of justice, like you had done something wrong.

He was supposed to be relieved.

“Maybe, it's because that was the last thing I cared about, Logan!”

The two of you were just staring at each other. At this point, both of you were almost heaving, the past few minutes taking the air out of both pair of lungs.

The expression on Logan's face twitched for a moment, a crack in the anger that usually wasn't breakable. His posture had become more of a slouch as he suddenly decided to lean back a little, like before.

You watched with curious eyes when he then sighed, breaking the held gaze to grab his bottle of soda and bring it to his lips.

It all resembled a puzzle. A constant attempt to find the right piece, the right thought, that would fit it all together. But there was a lack of progress. You were at a loss.

Was he mad that you didn't tell him? Was he actually mad that you didn't do anything about the scratches? Were you reacting the wrong way? Did he want you to hate him? Were you supposed to?

Or did he think that you couldn't grasp the situation? The severity. The big 'What if?' Maybe he was in fact tired.

Just a different kind.

You started to move after another few seconds, the sound of your shoes against the tiles piercing through the layer of created silence. It was apparent that Logan was watching, albeit discreetly, following what he could as he took another swig.

Your movements concluded by the length of the table he was sitting at. You leaned onto it, releasing that weight that had started aching both your knees and your feet from standing for so long.

By the time your eyes were back on Logan, his own had snapped away.

You took in a deep breath of the cold air, feeling it hit the back of your throat, your shoulders deflating, “I get them too, you know... Nightmares.”

There was a beat of silence again. A lack of movement, or reaction. And then he met your eyes again. Slower this time, almost hesitant. He set his drink down ,listening. So, you continued, “I wouldn't go about comparing them,”

“But, I understand enough to know what it's like.”

Logan sort of huffed a laugh after that. Not a malicious one, or in disbelief of the sentiment. He was acknowledging it. “You shouldn't have to.”

He was back to that whisper of a voice again. It was still deep, and a tad gravely, almost forceful. But it conveyed enough. “Neither should you.. yet,” you paused, shrugging your shoulders, “Here we are.”

This time, the huffed laugh was louder. More pronounced in a way. It left a mark on his lips, leaving them curling at the corners. It fit right in. You wanted it to stay. Maybe a little too much, “At least, now, I get to say that I was attacked by The Wolverine and survived.”

The comment was a little dangerous, especially if taken the wrong way. In all honesty, your eagerness allowed it to be blurted right through your lips before you could catch it.

But Logan practically snorted. “Shut up.” he breathed, bringing the soda back to his lips. You pretended that you didn’t hear him, even crossing your arms over your chest, though a grin had slightly appeared, “I could even say that I defeated him.”

In about a second his eyes had snapped to yours, a singular brow rising as the bottle smacked onto the surface of the table, “Okay,” He swallowed, “you did not defeat me, bub.”

“Oh, really?” you challenged, attempting to mimic his expression. “You were done after one move.”

Logan pushed the chair with his back in a way that had the legs screeching against the tiles. He stood from it, moving about a step to the side before continuing towards you.

“I was distracted.” he pointed out, gaze narrow as his eyebrows decided to furrow in an attempt to support his justification. “Excuses, excuses,” was all you said, accompanying it with a light shrug.

Logan was right in front of you now. He was close, about a step away. Though, the longer he looked at you, his eyes scanning across the skin of your face, that amusement once held had begun to fade.

He became sort of serious, the tension making the lines of his face more prominent all over again as his lips curved into more of a frown.

“I don't want it to happen again.” He was avoiding your eyes now, his own gaze cast downward. They were following his hand as he had brought it to your arm, the fingers of which ghosting across where the marks had been like he could still see them.

“Logan,” you started, your voice quiet yet loud enough that his attention was recovered. The two of you were looking at each other again, this time properly. Your features eased, all of the concern and the previous anger completely melting away.

You brought the hand of your previously injured arm upward, and he watched it until it went out of his vision.

You gently placed your hand on the side of his cheek, your palm pressing into the hair of his mutton chops which brought his gaze back to yours. And then you smiled lightly, just enough that he could see it, “Even if it did, I am not going anywhere.”

There was this quick twitch in Logan's expression. A split second of movement that had almost gone unnoticed until it happened again. His eyebrows pinched together.

Before you could say a word, he had suddenly pulled you forward, away from the table you were once against.

By the time you were up straight, his arms had wrapped around your body one after the other, entrapping you in this warmth that the kitchen could never achieve. It had you copying him as fast as you could, letting your hands land across the skin of his back and the fabric of the tank top.

Logan's head was planted on your shoulder, his hair sort of tickling the side of your face as he tucked himself in further.

His body slightly deflated after a moment, a sort of gravelly hum of content rumbling from his throat. He obviously wasn’t putting his entire weight on you, the two of you would've tipped over within seconds. But you could feel it.

An extra weight that you were glad to carry.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x gn reader #wolverine #wolverine x gn!reader #gender neutral reader #hurt/comfort

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puckinghischier · 3 months ago

Text

Spotlight

luke hughes x fem!reader

summary - reader prefers to stay out of the spotlight being luke hughes’ girlfriend brings

notes - y’all asked for luke, so luke you’ll get. i wanted to try to get out at least one more fic for you guys before my semester kicks off tomorrow. i don’t know how often i’ll be able to write once things get going, but i’m going to try my best not to completely disappear again. i don’t really like the ending of this, but i hope you enjoy it anyways. happy reading! 🫶🏼

request - “go with me?” “only if you’ll hold my hand” “take my jacket, i don’t want you catching a cold”

[2.3k]

You were someone that absolutely hated the spotlight. You hated the feeling of eyes on you, the knowledge that every move you make is being observed and analyzed.

You flew under the radar all through school, until college. You managed to become valedictorian of your program, earning a highly sought after position with a company based out of New Jersey.

The city has always brought a sense of anonymity to you that you’ve enjoyed. The ability to be a stranger everywhere you go brings a certain comfort to you.

That is, until you met one of the most well-known men in Jersey.

You first met Luke at an event your company was hosting in partnership with the Devils to present them with a hefty donation for a new practice facility. You had tried to get out of going, suit and tie events not being your typical scene, but your boss informed you that you were required to attend.

Even wearing the most plain dress you could find, you caught the attention of none other than the team’s rookie defenseman. You had tried to politely make your exit, but Luke was too intrigued by the pretty stranger in the corner.

The two of you had spent the rest of the night talking, despite the feeling of every eye on you as Luke lead you back to a table. The two of you exchanged numbers at the end of the event, Luke inviting you out to a game. He offered to give you a ticket, but you informed him that your company had rink-side season seats, courtesy of the GM after the donation.

You attended games regularly after that night, blending in the sea of red with Luke’s own Jersey on your back—another perk of the large donation— while also chatting with Luke nearly every day over text, which eventually morphed into phone calls, then facetime calls when he was on the road.

Four months after your initial meeting, Luke decided to make it official and put a label on your relationship.

You had worried about the unwanted attention that came with being a ‘WAG’ as you learned the other significant others on the team were nicknamed, but your feelings for Luke were greater than any discomfort you may experience.

Now, though, looking at the hoard of photographers that are stationed around the rink, your anxiety begins to spike a little.

“Honeybee, I promise it’ll be fine. They probably won’t even focus on us, anyways. They’ll want a few shots of me and Jack with mom and dad, but it’s likely they’ll be too busy on the guys with kids to even notice you’re with me,” Luke reassures you, crouched in front of you while tying your skates.

Today was family skate day for the team, Luke having asked you weeks ago to participate with him.

You agreed, despite your limited ability to skate, thinking it was just going to be the players and their families, no media presence. When you arrived with Luke this morning, however, and you saw the photographers trying to get pictures through the windows of Luke’s BMW, you realized you were wrong.

“I’m just nervous, Luke,” you tell him quietly. “I know if they release pictures of you with a girl during family skate it’s going to be the next big hockey gossip topic, and then it’ll feel like I’m under a microscope.”

Luke’s soft eyes look up at you, sensing the nervousness in your own.

“I know, sweet girl. But I promise, I’ll have Tom talk to the media and tell him to withhold any pictures of us together, if that makes you feel better?” he offers, picking up your now skate clad foot off of his knee and placing it on the padded floor.

You think about the offer, but realize it would still cause unwanted attention on you. You don’t want to be difficult, just invisible.

“No, I don’t want to overcomplicate things. It’s fine. Like you said, I’m sure they’ll mostly focus on everyone else,” you smile down at him, watching his own grin overtake his face.

“Well then, it’s time we finally get you acquainted with the ice. I have a feeling you’ll be seeing a lot of it in your future,” he winks, standing to his full height and holding a hand out to help you off of the bench.

He helps you walk over to the entrance to the rink, steadying you after every wobble. Once you reached the gate, you hesitate, halting your movements.

“C’mon, Honeybee. Go with me?” Luke asks you, already having stepped on the ice.

Thinking about what this means once more, and the huge step it is, no only onto the ice but in your relationship, you hesitate for only a few seconds.

“Only if you hold my hand,” you tell him, your words going deeper than just ice skating.

“Always,” he responds, tugging your hands towards him when you step onto the ice, shakily keeping your balance.

“Well, look at you, Wallflower, out here skating with the big dogs,” Jack calls out, skating up towards you and Luke.

Looking over to give him a short smile, you try to keep a majority of your attention on not falling over as Luke slowly pulls you towards him as he skates backwards.

“Figured it can’t be that hard if you do it all the time,” you tease him back, the two of you becoming close friends over the course of yours and Luke’s relationship.

Jack, as rambunctious and rowdy as he can be, is one of the people who works the hardest to keep you out of the spotlight, other than Luke, of course.

On the rare occasion you decide to tag along for team outings with Luke, Jack will act as your own personal body guard, perfectly hiding you in-between him and Luke anytime there’s a flash of a camera or a squeal of a fan.

“Oh, yeah, make fun of the professional. Let’s see you do this,” Jack makes a big show of skating backwards while swiveling, then executing a very poor jump, but still managing to land upright on his skates.

You roll your eyes at him, only glancing up for a few seconds at a time, trying to keep your eyes on your own feet.

“Alright, Jack, that’s enough showing off. Give the poor girl a break,” you hear Ellen scold her middle child as her and Jim skate over towards the three of you, hand in hand.

“Hey, she started it. I was just trying to defend myself,” he holds his hands up in surrender.

Luke guides you over to one of the short walls, allowing you to hold onto it for support for a second, giving you a break.

“Don’t act like you have to have a reason to show off, it’s just your natural state,” you tease Jack again, earning a laugh from the rest of the group.

“You got me there,” Jack doesn’t argue, shrugging his shoulders in agreement.

“Jack! Luke! Over here!” you hear a voice yell, turning to look at the photographer a few feet away from you, leaning over the wall with his camera pointed in your direction.

You feel the spike of anxiety in your chest, attempting to scoot further down the wall to separate yourself from them, but nearly losing your balance.

Luckily Luke was right there to catch you. “Hey, it’s okay. They’ll just get a few pictures of our family together and then move on,” he assures you once he makes sure you’re steady enough to be left alone.

You watch as Jack and Luke position themselves in just the right way that you’re completely hidden behind them, the added bodies of Ellen and Jim only ensuring your hidden state.

The photographer snaps a few shots of the family before giving a thumbs up, looking down to check the quality of his pictures.

You let out the breath you were holding in, sagging a bit at the relief of avoiding any unwanted attention.

“See, told you there was nothing to worry about,” Luke skates over to you again, leading you away from the wall.

“Luke! How about a shot of you and your lady!” the same photographer yells out, causing your relaxed state to turn rigid in a heartbeat.

“Nah, man. No pictures for her today. Just me and Jack,” Luke replies, skating to stand in front of you, blocking you from the camera pointed at you.

“Oh, c’mon, man. The fans will love it!” the photographer tries again, attempting to move positions to catch a glimpse of you.

“He said, no, man. Go get some shots of Cap or something. She doesn’t want her picture taken,” Jack skates up, standing in front of both you and Luke.

The photographer rolls his eyes, agitated at the loss of a good picture opportunity. “Fine, whatever,” the man huffs, turning and walking towards Nico and his family.

“Thanks, you guys,” you mumble out, embarrassed at the interaction.

“I told you, no pictures if you don’t want them,” Luke turns to face you, taking your hands in his once again, pulling you out further onto the ice.

The rest of the skate goes smoothly, no more unwanted attention from the photographers, just you and Luke and his family skating in small circles and having a good time.

Towards the end of the skate, you start bringing your gloved hands up to rub at your red nose, the chill of the ice finally getting to you.

“You cold, Honeybee?” Luke asks you, knowing how chilled you get, even when wearing layers like you were right now.

“Yeah, it’s a little chilly in here. Not that you’d know,” you tease your boyfriend, gesturing to his full set of pads and jersey he was wearing. Not to mention his tolerance for the cold anyways.

He leads the two of you over towards the benches, leaving you leaned against the wall for a second before returning with something in his hands.

“Here, take my jacket, I don’t want you catching a cold,” he tells you, draping your favorite plaid jacket of his over your shoulders.

You put your arms through the large sleeves, loving how you were now engulfed in the smell of his cologne.

Thanking him, you lean up to give him a small kiss, not caring who was watching, lost in your love for your boyfriend.

“Alright, let’s get you out of these skates and back into your normal shoes before people start filing in for warm ups. I have a game to play and you have to get to your seat so you can watch your hunky boyfriend do his manly job of hitting people and chasing a piece of rubber on ice,” he tells you, causing you to laugh at him, bringing a hand up to ruffle his curls.

After helping you remove your skates, and pouting until you give him a good luck kiss, Luke shoos you away so you can make your way to your usual seat, Jim and Ellen opting to join you at the glass rather than sitting in a box with some of the other player parents.

The boys ended up winning their game, Luke coming straight out of the locker room after the game and picking you up in a celebratory spin, claiming you have to go skating with him before every game now.

You laugh at his superstitious self, grabbing his hand and walking towards the exit of the rink with him to join the rest of the team for celebratory drinks, not wanting to bail on Luke after such a game.

Weeks later, when you see an article containing the pictures from the family skate event, you click on it and scroll through the various snapshots.

You find yourself smiling at all of the family pictures of Luke’s teammates, enjoying how happy the guys are to have their wives and kids with them on the ice.

Scrolling all the way to the end of the article, you find yourself stopping on a couple pictures in particular, the familiar pit of anxiety forming in your stomach.

The last two pictures in the article are pictures of you and Luke. The first was taken when he was zipping up the jacket he gave you, the two of you looking at each other with so much fondness you could feel the love radiating from the picture.

The second is when you were craning your neck to give Luke a small kiss, the picture captured right before your lips touched, both of you smiling at the other with the same fond look in your eyes.

Your immediate reaction should have been a level three meltdown, your picture out there with Luke, officially, in an ESPN article of all places, but you were surprisingly calm. You should have been screaming and angry, having specifically told the photographer no pictures, but you couldn’t find that anger within yourself.

The pictures showcased yours and Luke’s love for each other so well, you wanted copies of them for yourself. Suddenly you didn’t care if people knew your name, or your face. You could care less if you were front and center on every hockey gossip page in existence.

All you cared about was the amount of happiness you saw on Luke’s face in the pictures, and how deeply you felt about him.

So, when Luke called you an hour later, panicked and telling you he was in the process of getting them taken down, you told him it didn’t matter. They didn’t need to be taken down, because you didn’t care if you had to stand naked in the middle of the rink during puck drop at his next game, you just wanted people to know you loved him with every ounce of your being.

Your aversion to attention be damned, seeing these pictures made you want to scream your love for him from the rooftop of the highest building in Jersey. You were still opposed to the idea of unwanted and unnecessary attention, but decided right here that there would be no more hiding. You were going to be there for Luke in any way he wanted or needed you from here on out. And if you happened to be caught in a few pictures on the way? Well, you guess you’ll just have to get them framed.

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familyvideostevie · 1 year ago

Text

the meaning of it all

joel miller x reader

summary: Joel Miller, of all people, teaches you to ask for help.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: jackson au, post part i, joel and ellie worked it out! joel is soft! language, violence, fluff, learning to accept help and love.

a/n: this fic is a soft joel (think part ii joel but make it two years into jackson because he and ellie resolved everything <3) and a reader who is much more me than i've written before. i hope you like it! thank you again to @strangerfreaks who held my hand through this, i owe you my life.

___

Luck. God damned old-fashioned thank-fuck-for-that luck has kept you alive since the world ended. Deep festering rage and a near-constant state of fear have helped. But every bullet you've found, every undamaged can of food, every shot that landed in the right place so you were the last one standing -- that's all luck. Or a curse, depending on the day. Depending on how you're feeling about it all.

And Jackson? That's the biggest stroke of luck you've had in twenty years. A single woman on her own with plenty of working years left and no obvious red flags was probably a no-brainer for the community to take in but you feel like you've finally made it. After two decades of violence and horror and pain, you fucking made it somewhere safe.

You spend as much time as you can making sure everyone knows how grateful you are. You don't have any special skills, not really. You can shoot well enough, cook well enough, clean well enough. Young enough when all the shit went down that you don't have a trade or any work experience, you just go wherever they need someone in town.

Keeping busy means you're bone-tired most nights. Exhausted sleep means fewer nightmares, less time to wander the halls of your very nice but much too-big-for-you-home and miss everything you've lost. But picking up shifts wherever you can also means you don't meet many people beyond hellos and exchanging names. Farming is easy and you get to work with a lot of the kids in town, daycare much the same. You're lousy with power tools but you're able to carry materials wherever they're needed. Cooking is easy when it's stew for hundreds of people and doing dishes is even fun when someone turns on the radio. You're making it work.

Patrol is...patrol. You're able, so you're on the roster. It's not that you hate it, not exactly. Going outside the walls makes you feel like you're someone else. You slip back into the mask of fear and anger, the one that kept you alive for so long. And the worst part is it's comfortable.

You've done the training runs, the group patrols for three months. Infected still freak you out a little but you're smart enough to be more scared of people. All of the senior patrol members have cleared you for paired patrols and today is your first one.

Tommy meets you at the stables to check-in.

You don't really have any friends, though everyone is perfectly nice to you, but Tommy and Maria are probably as close as it gets. You figure they take a shine to newcomers like you, ones who come in alone, maybe to keep an eye on them as much as anything else. But they've both got a smile and kind word for you whenever you see them, always asking if you need anything. You always tell them no, you're fine, thank you.

"You ready?" Tommy says. "I've had them pull Apollo for you." You pat yourself one more time to make sure you have everything. Pistol on your thigh, knife at your hip, pack secure on your back. Hat and gloves tucked into your jacket pocket to account for the wind on the trails.

"I think so," you tell him. You blow a raspberry at your horse and he blows back, nudging your shoulder with his nose.

"After this, pretty sure you'll have done every job there is to do in this town. Pullin' crops, plantin' crops, cookin' crops. Kids, the library, cleanin', buildin' that ramp at Lenore's last month. You've been here, what, six months? And you've done it all."

It should make you feel good that he's noticed. It does, but only a little. You still feel like you could work every day for the rest of your life and not repay what he and this town have given you. To make up for the things you've done on the road.

"I'm the best floater in Jackson," you joke instead. Smiling makes people like you. You haven't had much cause to smile in recent years so you're still getting used to the urge. Tommy scoffs. "I don't do important council stuff like you and Maria, though."

He ignores that. "Y'know, pretty sure they call that a jack-of-all-trades. A real Ren-ai-ssance woman." You try to come up with a retort, eyes wandering to the patrol assignment board. Your name is under ELK CREEK and under it is --

"Quit harassin' her." Tommy rolls his eyes and flips off whoever comes up behind you. You turn around and see a man you know of but have never actually met.

"Joel," Tommy says. "I believe this is called havin' a conversation. You ever tried it?"

"Funny," Joel replies. He nods at you. "You my partner today?"

"Seems so." You introduce yourself, Apollo's warm breath at your back.

"Joel Miller," he says back.

You're a little intimidated, truth be told. You know him by reputation mostly. Tommy's big brother who came to town a few years ago with a little girl. They're both pretty much everywhere. Joel fixing houses and talking to kids in the street, going on patrols and always bringing back extra for whoever needs it. Ellie galloping around town with other teenagers and bringing home the biggest game. You've handed her books a few times at the library, too, seen her bright eyes and infectious energy underneath teenage angst that transcends even an apocalypse. And you've seen them together, heads down in the dining hall or pressed closed walking down the street -- heard rumors about why they came here, how they came here, too -- and one thing is clear to you: the Millers are beloved. By this town and by each other.

It's a miracle all its own in this fucked up world.

"You two ain't met yet?" Tommy says, pointing at the space between you. You snap out of your thoughts. "You've been here long enough to have met everyone by now."

"Guess not," you say with a wry smile. The younger Miller is too polite to call you out for not having a single friend in that time period, either.

"Well, here we are," Joel says. "Gonna keep us here forever, Tommy? Or can we do our job?"

Tommy claps him on the shoulder and winks at you. "Tone down the asshole for her first paired patrol, yeah?"

Joel snorts. He grabs a horse that was already tacked for him and leads it out of the stable. You follow with Apollo. The patrol coordinator hands out rifles and reminds everyone of the rules.

You hop on your horse. "You ready?" Joel asks, startling you a bit. "We'll gallop to the mouth of the river and then start patrollin'."

Something in you relaxes a bit at his clear confidence in you to handle yourself. You know you're with him for a reason -- he's one of the best. That, or maybe he just doesn't give a shit. Somehow you think it's the former.

You follow him up the hill outside the gates and through the tree line. The noise of the Outside is different than that of Jackson. Birdsong, snapping branches and dry brush under your horse, the wind rippling down the hill. You take a deep breath through your nose and feel a part of you come alive. It's funny how a world so beautiful can be so deadly.

Joel gallops a little ahead of you, strong and steady. You watch him, think about what you know. He's older than you, that much is obvious. Greying hair curling around his ears, lines on his face from more than just a stressful life. But he's strong, good at what he does. Those rumors come back to the front of your mind. How he and Ellie showed up, half-starved and bloody. How he and Tommy are the most famed patrol duo for Infected kills and otherwise. It makes you feel safe. It makes you want to learn from him. It makes you want to know more.

And he's got kind eyes. Somehow, he's got kind eyes.

"Alright," Joel calls back to you. "Route starts here." He slows his horse and you pull up beside him. He shifts in his saddle and turns his face to you. "Now, I know this is your first pair," he says. "I won't order you around or nothin' but my main piece of advice is that everyone has a different patrol style. Know how to adapt."

You dig your gloves out of your pockets and wiggle them on. Joel watches before his eyes snap back to yours. "Noted." You honestly didn't think he'd talk this much. "And let me guess. Yours is patrol in silence?" You punctuate the nervous quip with a smile.

Joel snorts. "Nah," he says. "Unless you're Max. Can't stand that fucker."

It startles a laugh out of you and any ice you'd imagined breaks for good. Max is one of the middle-aged men who probably would have been a lawyer or a politician based on the way he likes the sound of his own voice.

"Now," Joel says. "You done this route before?" His knuckles are a little red but he doesn't put on any gloves.

"Twice, I think. First log book in that old station, right?" Joel nods. "Second in the town?" He nods again.

"Color me impressed." His mouth tugs up at the corner into something you might call a smile. You try not to look too pleased with yourself. "Some of the dipshits on the roster don't even remember that much."

It feels like you've passed a test. His praise makes you feel nice. Noticed. Not something you often seek but you know yourself well enough to admit that you'd like a little more of it. Even if it's from a man you just met.

"Not that hard," you say softly. Joel looks at you for a moment longer before clicking his teeth. His horse starts to walk. You signal to Apollo to follow.

The patrol goes off without a hitch. Joel signs the log book in the station and you sign it in the tower. He lets you snipe two runners that he spots and doesn't scold you when you take three tries on the second one.

"Settlin' in okay?" he asks once you've rounded the town one last time and started back towards Jackson. "Six months, Tommy said?"

Despite his earlier words, you haven't chatted much this patrol. While you'd like to know more about him, want to get him to smile at you again, you're really just enjoying being out here with someone else, knowing that you're safe. That you've got somewhere to go back to.

"It's nice," you sigh. "I never imagined I'd find a place like this."

You really should pick up the pace to get back to town but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry.

"I know the feelin'," he murmurs. "Ellie'n me slept on the floor for a good two weeks at the start. Been two years and some nights I don't take my boots off."

"What a fucking life, huh?" That earns you a wry smile. "Having a house is...strange. All of the hinges squeak and I --"

"The hinges squeak?" You look over at him and Joel's brows are furrowed.

"Oh, I mean, it's no big deal --" You stumble over apologies. You don't want him to think you're complaining about a home his brother gave you when he sure as shit didn't have to.

Joel taps his thumb on the pommel of his saddle. "Can get that fixed, y'know."

You didn't know, actually. "Really?"

Now he looks at you like you're a little stupid. "Ain't you the one hauling shit to people's houses when they need a hand?"

He has a point and you hate it. It never occurred to you to ask for someone to come fix your hinges. They're just hinges, for fuck's sake. Other people have holes in their floorboards or leaks or need new rooms for family members. You're just...you.

Joel sighs. It feels like you've disappointed him and it swirls in your gut. "I'll take a look at it this week."

Your neck cracks audibly with how quickly you look up at him. "What? No, Joel, you don't have to --"

He says your name in a tone that you know means no arguing. "I know I don't have to. I offered."

"You don't even know me!" The words fly from your mouth before you can stop them.

He brings his horse to a full stop so quick you almost run into him.

"Look," he says. His gaze holds yours. Wow, he really can be intimidating when he wants to be. You can only imagine the things he's done, the things he's capable of. Anyone who has made it this long has blood on their hands. You've washed it from your own skin plenty of times. And yet, you feel completely safe. And you know that you'll probably do whatever he tells you. "I know how it can be."

Your gut swirls. "You don't know what I've been through," you say softly. It's not a jibe, it's just the truth. No one knows because you've told no one because it doesn't matter. You're here now.

"I've been alive for a while longer than you," he continues. "I've seen the world, just as you have. I've been out here. I was out here for a long, long time." He runs a hand through his beard, fiddles with his broken watch in what looks like reflex. "I know how hard it is to ask. To get back to something that makes any damn sense. But you can if you try."

The words linger in the chill around you. He's right, obviously. He's so fucking right that you want to be mad. You haven't asked for anything because you don't want to fracture the good thing you've got. Don't want to be too much, to be a burden they can't support, to make people think you don't deserve to be in Jackson. All things that don't make any fucking sense, not really, but you can't stop them. It's just how you're wired.

"So I'm comin' over this week to fix those hinges. Alright?"

"Alright." Something in Joel softens when you agree.

"Good," he says. "Good."

You finish the patrol in comfortable silence. All told it's been nice. To talk to someone, to feel like they give a shit about you even for just a few hours. You have no doubt Joel will be over to fix your hinges but you figure it'll fizzle out after that -- it always does. You don't know how to ask someone to stick around, anyway. But even this little bit of him will have been worth it.

Something both loosens and tightens in your chest when you get back to Jackson and through the gates. Goodbye beautiful, horrible outside world, hello safety, community, home. It's a trade-off. You and Joel hop off your horses and return your rifles. You're about to hand Apollo off to be brushed and returned to the stables when you feel a hand on your shoulder.

Joel says your name and you turn around.

"Good job today," he says softly. "Not too excitin' of a patrol, but you're good out there."

You blink owlishly. "I-- thanks," you manage. "Maybe we'll get to go out again as a pair." You're showing your hand but you can't help it. You want more of whatever this was.

Joel's mouth pulls up at one corner. "Maybe."

___

Two days later you drag yourself out of the house for community breakfast. Most mornings you're out the door and at your work detail for the day before you can pop over but you don't have anything assigned today. It's a rare respite and it has you antsy. You don't remember how to be idle, aren't any good at it. Sitting in your empty house means your mind might wander to the thoughts you try very hard to keep at bay. The loneliness, the regret, the fear. The loss. It's always there and you've gotten better at dealing with it after so many years but some days you really just wish you could talk about it to someone, could just bitch and moan about how fucking awful this life can be.

But everyone is carrying their own shit and you don't need to add to it. You don't want anyone to have to carry yours, too.

Breakfast is quiet this morning. You settle at a table with your toast and your eggs and your potatoes and smile back at anyone who smiles at you but no one sits with you. If they did you don't know what you'd say.

But then the air changes. Your neck feels a little hot and you slowly look around until you see what's caused it -- Joel and Ellie are here. He's already looking at you when you meet his eyes and he smiles a little, a half-moon curve of his mouth, and nods. You wave.

Ellie waves back, which you don't expect. She says something to Joel and he frowns, rolls his eyes. She punches him in the arm and he flips her off and grabs two plates, starts to fill them. You smile down at your own food.

"Man, are the potatoes that fucking good today?"

You look up and find Ellie in front of you. You're pretty sure she's 16 or thereabouts, still growing into herself based on the way she shifts on her feet. Her right forearm has the outline of something floral. She notices you looking at it and crosses her arms, looking unimpressed. Ah, teenagers.

"Pretty okay," you tell her. "I don't know if we've met yet --"

"We kinda have," she interrupts. "I know your name and you know mine, so. And you're at the library sometimes when I check shit out."

This still does not explain why she's over here talking to you. You can see Joel in the breakfast line still, glancing over his shoulder every so often to see if she's still in the room. You try not to catch his gaze because you're a little afraid of what Ellie might read in it.

"Can I do something for you, Ellie?" you ask, not unkindly. She scrunches up her nose and then sighs.

"Joel told me not to bother you but I wanted to ask if you could look out for a book for me. At the library." Her words get faster as she reaches the end of her sentence. She takes a look at you, sees that you're not telling her to fuck off, or something, and keeps talking. Some book about the history of comics or something.

"Oh," you say. You feel a rush of affection for her and the fact that she can hold the record for headshots on a group patrol and still want to read about something she loves in her free time. "Yeah, I'll look for you. I don't have a library shift until tomorrow but I'll look and put it aside if I find it for you."

Ellie tugs on her fingers. "Don't you need to write it down or something?"

You smile at her. "No, I'll remember." You recite the title and author she just told you back to her and it seems to satisfy her. It's like a switch is flipped -- her earnest expression morphs into something you can only call mischief.

"So Joel's coming over to fix your doors, or whatever," she says. "How'd you crack him?"

"I--what?"

"You patrol with him once and he's coming over to your house," she says. "It took him like, weeks to laugh at one of my jokes. And I'm fucking funny!"

You have no idea what to say to that. Patrol with Joel was your first time talking to him and while he's a bit intimidating, sure, he never came off as anything other than...good. But you'd bet he wasn't always that way in this world. Maybe this girl in front of you had something to do with it.

And honestly, you're sure he just feels a little bad for you. He's nice enough to worry, to make sure everyone in town can do their part and you'll take what you can get even if it's temporary attention.

Part of you knows Ellie is just giving you a hard time because she's a teenager and you're kind of connected to the guy who looks after her so you're fair game, too. But she's talking to you like she wants to which is throwing you for a loop. And you're realizing it's been a long time since you actually wanted someone to like you. Well, Joel aside.

"You want to tell me one?" you ask. She looks surprised and then delighted.

"Oh, fuck yeah. Okay, let me think." You take another bite of your breakfast. "Okay, okay, I got it. What did the mermaid wear to her math class?"

You give it a few seconds before you shrug. Ellie grins. "An algae-bra."

Your laugh makes her grin bigger. "See? Fucking hilarious." She holds out her hand for a high five and you oblige. "Anyway, Joel's gonna come over tomorrow, I think. Seriously, dude, I don't know how you did it. He never used to be this nice!" She looks over her shoulder at the man in question. He's sitting down at another table. "He's getting soft."

Her voice is fond and you're pretty sure she doesn't notice. "You should go eat your breakfast, Ellie," you tell her.

She sighs like the weight of the world is on her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm fucking hungry. Let me know if you find that book!"

"I will," you call after her. You can't help but watch as she barrels back to her table with Joel and immediately makes an attempt at his bacon. He fends her off with his fork before surrendering a piece with a scowl.

He looks up and catches your eye again. You stand with your tray and nod at him, turning around before you can see his expression. Stupid, so stupid to be caught looking like that. But you can't help it -- looking at the love still alive in this shitty world and wondering what it feels like.

___

You run into Joel on your walk home from the next day's shift at the library. You spent probably far too much of it looking for the book Ellie wanted but it was worth it because you've got it tucked under your arm. It feels like a small miracle but you're not one to question it.

Maybe it's the good mood you're in, but when you see Joel from behind you call out his name. He doesn't stop walking but turns his head like he heard something. When he spots you he does stop, waiting for you to catch up.

"Hi," you say, suddenly a little less brave.

"Howdy," he replies, amused. "I'm headed your way."

"You --" He lifts a toolbox you now realize he's carrying. "Oh, right. Hinges."

"I can come by another day if it's not a good time."

Joel could knock on your door in the middle of the night and it would be a good time. "No, ah. Now's good." He motions for you to lead the way even though he clearly knew where he was going. He must have asked Tommy.

It seems like everyone waves as you two head for your street. They call out Joel's name and he knows pretty much everyone. You feel a little self-conscious being seen with him like this -- you, pretty much a nobody in town through your own doing and Joel, beloved by all.

It doesn't stop until you're almost at your door. "You're popular," you say, trying to make it sound teasing. Instead, it sounds awed.

Joel runs his free hand through his beard. "Don't remind me," he grumbles. "Can't go for a walk without a damn conversation."

You pull out your keys and unlock the front door. There are plenty of people in Jackson who don't lock their doors but you can't shake the need. "Sounds difficult."

He chuckles and you feel it zing up your spine. It's nice to make him laugh. "Yeah, yeah. S'pose it's nice." The front door opens with a creak and you look at him sheepishly. His eyebrows touch his hairline. "They all like that?"

You nod. Joel whistles. "Christ," he says. "Alright." He follows you into the house. You try not to think about what he sees. You've tried to make it your own, just a little. Posters you traded for, books you've collected. You cleaned the whole thing top to bottom when you moved in but somehow it still looks a little un-lived in. You're working on it.

"Don't let me bother you," Joel says, getting on one knee with a grunt and prying open his box. "Probably need 'bout an hour to get 'em all. I'll holler when I'm done."

That's your cue to busy yourself with something, anything, but you don't want to. You want to talk to him, to watch him do whatever he's going to do, to soak up this time with Joel before he walks out the door and you go back to being acquaintances.

"What are you going to use?" you ask. He looks up, a little surprised, before pulling out a spray bottle and a rag. He shakes it at you.

"It's some sorta homemade shit one of the younger guys cooked up," Joel says. Somehow he manages to sound self-deprecating, like he thinks he should've thought of it first. "I think it's...soap? And cleanin' stuff? Fuck, I don't know." He huffs a laugh. "I know it works, though. Back in the day we'd use shit you could buy on the shelf." He stands with a grunt. "You old enough to know that?"

That gets you to laugh. "Yeah, Joel," you say. "I'm old enough to remember the hardware store."

His gaze feels a little different than before, like he's allowing himself to look. "Hmm," is all he says. "I'll just --"

You don't know how to justify shadowing him as he oils your hinges -- there's a joke there's somewhere -- so you don't. You grab a book from the shelf and settle on your couch and try your best to read but your mind wanders.

It's pretty clear that you have a crush on Joel. You've spent one patrol with the guy but somehow he's gotten under your skin. It's inconvenient but also...nice? A crush at the end of the world. The fact that you can still feel something so sweet, so juvenile after all you've seen and all you've done is almost laughable. And it's not like it's going to go anywhere -- you're sure Joel thinks you're too young for him, too green, and he's probably tripping over admirers in town. But you can let it be something to keep your days interesting until it fades.

It was hard enough to love yourself before the world ended for reasons anyone could understand. Societal pressures, stupid comparisons, things that don't matter at all now. Who has time to think about being loved when you're constantly faced with death? Feeling desired, feeling loved, feeling looked after isn't exactly top of mind. You're not even sure you remember how. You put one foot in front of the other and that's enough.

But wouldn't it be nice to be on the receiving end of affection from a man like Joel?

"All finished." You startle and realize you haven't turned a single page of your book. If Joel notices he doesn't say. He wipes his hands on a rag and eyes you. "Pretty sure I got all the doors."

You hop up from the couch and try to find your words. "I -- that's -- you're --"

"Thank you will do just fine," he says with a smirk. He tucks the rag in his back pocket and crosses his arms, leaning against the wall.

"Let me cook for you," you blurt out instead. "In exchange." You can make a few things fairly decently and making him something is another excuse to talk to him like this, to be on the receiving end of those eyes. "I can make chili. Does Ellie like chili?"

"Don't have to do that," he says kindly. "Helpin' you ain't a business deal. S'what people do here." He stands straight and heads for your front door, picking up his toolbox on the way.

"Joel," you say, snagging his sleeve with your fingers. You pull them back quickly and grab the book you brought home, holding it out for him. "Ellie asked me to look for this. Could you give it to her?"

He looks at the book the same way he looks at his kid. It's tenderness so raw you look away. "I will," he says softly. He tucks the book under his arm like precious cargo. "Thank you for findin' it for her." He clears his throat and looks at you, smirk back in place. "Wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks. You don't follow. "Havin' someone help you," he adds.

Your face feels hot. "I'll still cook for you," you say, opening the door. He shakes his head.

"You let me know if you need anythin' else, alright?" A quick smile and he's down the steps and back into the street, strolling back to his own home.

"I will." You say it to yourself and almost mean it.

___

You patrol a few more times over the next month but never get paired up with Joel. If you were a little braver you'd ask Tommy or the kid he's training to take over the schedule to put you two together but you don't. Instead, you wave at Ellie when you see her, nod at Joel from the other side of rooms where he's always talking to someone else. You let yourself enjoy the way your heart picks up at the sight of him and the thrill you feel after he smiles at you. It's a nice change to the boring, lonely routine you had before.

The doors in your house open and close silently.

Being outside is fine. You don't like it any more or any less, it just is what it is. Life at the end of the world continues on.

Until you have a bad patrol.

It's no one's fault and no one gets bit. You and your partner, Astrid, are tailing a buck that's wandering along your route. If you can shoot it you can load it on one of your horses and ride back together on the other. Winter is on its way and any extra meat helps.

You follow protocol. You're lining the deer up through the scope while she keeps watch. Just as you prepare to pull the trigger you feel it -- the pull of your gut telling you something isn't right. That feeling has kept you alive all these years so you lower the rifle and turn to Astrid just in time to see a stalker lunge out of the brush.

Its broken and jagged nails catch your shoulders and you go down hard enough to bruise. You can't hear anything over its snarls and the blood pounding in your ears but you do your fucking best. You wedge your forearm under its chin and try like hell to keep its mouth away from you. Your other hand somehow makes it to your belt and unsheathes your hunting knife and in one swift movement, you shove it into the soft jaw of the infected. Hot blood spurts over your face and you keep your mouth closed, shoving the corpse off you.

A gunshot has you whirling around and scooping up the rifle. You've got it ready to fire but you only find Astrid standing over a stalker corpse of her own, forehead bleeding and revolver smoking.

"You clean?" you ask her, eyes on her forehead. She nods.

"Shoved me into some thorns. You?"

"Yeah. Can we go home now?"

Your hands don't shake until you get back to Jackson. They tremble when you wash the blood from your face, your hair. You wish for just a second that you had someone to hold them, someone to tell you it's alright. Someone to talk to about how shitty your day was and how scared you were and how sometimes this life is so fucking exhausting and just when you think you're safe you're reminded that no one is safe anymore.

Maybe this is the kind of thing Joel was talking about. Asking for help.

The thought fades quickly. You can deal with this. You're just out of practice. You just got comfortable.

You go to bed as early as you can bear, closing your eyes and hoping for dreamless sleep.

You could only be so lucky.

You're no stranger to nightmares. Hell, who isn't? Usually, it's the same old shit -- people you've lost, fucked up things you've done, horrors you've seen. You know how to deal with it.

But this is the first time in a while you've got new nightmare fuel. The hot, rancid breath of the stalker and the agonizing sound of its moans. Your own choked gasps as you try with all of your strength to keep its rotting teeth away from you. Unlike reality, your dreams don't allow you to grab a hold of your knife and instead, you feel it take a chunk out of your neck, hot blood splattering your face and you have to just lie there as it bites and bites and bites --

You jolt upright with a small gasp. Necessity has taught you to wake silently.

"Fuck," you say to the empty room. No way you're going back to sleep after that. You swing your legs over the side of your bed and put your head in your hands. "Breathe. Breathe."

The sky is black through your windows. You have no idea what time it is but you stand before the lingering panic can take hold and make things worse. Fresh air will get the iron smell out of your nose. You dress in the dark in more layers than necessary but you want to stop shaking.

Jackson at night is quiet but there are always a few people around, always someone else who can't sleep. The sky is clear and the moon is bright and it smells like woodsmoke and the unique earthy feel of the valley. This is your home. So long as you have this you can get through it.

Your feet take you through the streets of houses, most of the windows dark. Just another lap around town and then you'll go home, try to sleep again.

Then you hear something. The gentle strum of an acoustic guitar weaving with the night air like a dream. A song from before, a song you recognize but don't know the name of, don't know the words. You wrap your arms around yourself and follow the sound down Rancher Street. If you find whoever is playing it you'll wave and walk slowly home.

Your breath catches in your throat when you see whose house it is. Joel is on the porch, rocking slowly and head leaning back, eyes closed as he strums. How did you not know he played guitar? It only makes sense that the hands that are capable of such violence can also make something beautiful. He can ruffle Ellie's hair and pull the trigger and fix your doors and do this.

Something in your chest tightens.

Joel's eyes open and land on you immediately. You realize how it looks -- you standing in front of his house in the middle of the night, watching him. But he stops his playing and calls out your name.

"Hey, you alright?" he says. You hover between taking a step forward and a step back.

"Couldn't sleep."

He shakes his head. "Can't hear ya," he says. "C'mere."

Step forward it is. Up the stairs and onto the porch that creaks a little under your boots. There's only one chair and a small table with a lantern on it. Wind chimes dangle over the railing and you drag your hand through them on instinct like a child with a toy.

"Sorry," you say softly.

"Only got one chair," Joel says. He's got one boot resting on his knee, guitar slung across his lap. He looks tired. "I'll go get another --"

You wave him off. "No, please," you say. "I'll stand. I'm too antsy to sit, anyway." If you sit down in a chair next to Joel Miller you might never get up.

He frowns but settles back into his seat. "You alright?" he asks again.

His gaze is a little too much. You feel silly all of a sudden, not sure how you got here. A fucking nightmare? God, you're ridiculous. You cross your arms and lean back on the railing and look anywhere but him.

"Couldn't sleep." Joel hums.

"Heard that one before."

He strums some more and you relax again despite yourself. "Sounds nice. Do you play a lot?"

"Sometimes," he says. "Old habit."

"It's a nice one. Better than walking the streets in the dark." Your tone is harsher than you mean it to be and Joel frowns.

"It's safe to," he says, as though your wellbeing is his personal concern. "Bit cold, though."

"Why are you out here then?" You're frustrated with yourself and taking it out on him just a little bit. The smell of blood fills your nostrils again and you press your fingertips into your crossed arms, hard, and close your eyes. Your breath stutters in your chest.

"Nightmares," Joel says wryly. There's some shifting, the scrape of wood on wood and you open your eyes. His are fixated on your fingers and you stop squeezing. The guitar is now leaning up against the house and he's got his elbows on his knees like he's about to ask you a serious question. The lantern light makes his hair look darker, less silver, but it also makes the lines on his face look deeper. You wonder what kind of shit he's seen. What things he has nightmares about.

"Had this conversation with Ellie a million times," he huffs, rubs his hand through his beard in what you now consider a familiar gesture. "You don't need to talk if you don't want to. But can't hurt."

Is he asking you to talk about your nightmare? Does he actually want to know? Do you know how to talk about it?

"I take it you're a fountain of emotional sharing, huh?" Again, the misplaced frustration. You don't know how to turn it off.

His eyes flash but he just leans back in his chair and shrugs. "Depends on the day."

The low-level hum of your infatuation with him flares and your traitorous brain bats it down right away. You want to see all sides that he can offer you, want to make him frustrated and angry just to see if that'll make him sick of you.

You run your hand through the wind chimes again, watching your fingers move through the air. You remember what the knife felt like in your hand, the way the blood was hot as it dripped down your wrist and onto your face.

"Tough patrol," you say. "Messiest since I got here." Joel says nothing and you don't look at him. "I...it was fine. We got jumped by some stalkers and it was fine but...close. And I -- I didn't realize how badly I wanted to come back here until then. How badly I wanted to go home at the end of it. Does that make sense?"

You finally look up and Joel's knuckles are white on the arms of his chair. When he sees you looking he crosses his arms. "Sure," he says, clears his throat.

The urge to try to explain more is overwhelming. "I mean, we've all done fucked up shit. I've been up to my elbows in infected guts and still come out on top and slept like a rock the night after. And all of a sudden I can't fucking handle a stalker getting in my face. It's like I've never had to get my hands dirty before and what if it means I'm going to fuck up next time --"

"Hey," Joel says firmly. You feel a hand on your forearm and realize you've been pacing, arms flailing as you rambled. He gives it a squeeze and then releases you. "Feel like I gotta say fuck now to catch up with you."

A wet chuckle works its way out of you. Where did that come from? Are you about to cry? On the porch of the man you have a stupid, stupid crush on? This is embarrassing. And his touch. People touch you all the time, all things considered. A tap on patrol indicating silence, a hand on your arm to get your attention, to brace you as you lift something. Children in town who don't know the horrors outside the walls give affection freely. Hell, Joel touched your shoulder after your patrol. You're not touch starved but you feel like no one has touched you with tenderness and meant it in years.

"Sorry."

Joel tuts. "C'mon," he says. "I asked."

"I don't think I feel any better."

He stands and grunts as he does so. He's so much closer than before, so close you can smell what you can only describe as Joel: wood shavings and gunpowder, laundry soap and leather. It's a little dizzying. He leans on the railing next to you.

"Bet when you go back to bed you won't dream," he says. "Usually what happens."

"Here you are again," you sigh. "Helping me out. I promise I get on just fine on my own."

"I know," he says. His eyes are warm and so, so deep. "Don't have to, though."

Joel, for all his kindness and popularity in town, is a man just like any other. A person who has seen and done shit that no one should have to see and do. You know he's got his fair share of secrets, of things he won't talk about. You all do. You know he can be unflinching and maybe even cruel, dangerous and deadly. Whatever is happening here -- this openness, this desire of his to help you out -- is hard won. You think about what Ellie said and let yourself have a dangerous thought: maybe he's this way with you because he wants to be.

You sway into him just a little before catching yourself and standing up straight. "I should go try that dreamless sleep," you say softly. "And you should, too." It does not escape your notice that you haven't talked about Joel's nightmares, whatever they are. You don't think he'd be that open. A piece of you imagines a world where you ask and he answers.

"I might," he says. Neither of you move.

That small piece of you would stay here all night. That small piece of you tries for the next best thing.

"Will you let me cook for you now?" you ask. It sounds a little desperate to your own ears. "Please?"

"Persistent, ain't you?" He taps his closed fist on the railing once, twice. "Well, if it's that important to you. Chili, you said?"

"I can have it done by sundown tomorrow. I'm on greenhouses but we always finish early. You can come by and get it. I'll do enough for you and Ellie for a few days." You're rambling but finally he's going to let you do something for him. Hinges, nightmares, it's too much. Maybe you can somehow cook out this affection for him, get rid of it with your own hands if you try hard enough.

"Alright," Joel says. He puts his hand on your shoulder lightly and squeezes once. You feel it all the way down to your toes. "Now get outta this damn cold."

He doesn't offer to walk you home. You'd say no if he did. You need the time to sort out the mess in your mind. You give him the most earnest smile you can manage and he watches from his porch until you turn out of sight.

Joel is on your mind all day. More so than usual, which is saying a lot. The crush has turned into something...more. Something that makes you hope and that something is dangerous. It's just setting yourself up to be hurt through no fault of Joel's when it goes nowhere. Because why would he be thinking about you?

"You're smiley today," Dina says. She's a sweet girl and you're paired together on greenhouse shift today. She's always got a story to tell about plants she and her sister saw in New Mexico or some weird mushroom she found on group patrol. You love how positive she is and you try to absorb some.

"Am I?" you say lightly.

She tugs on one more cucumber, putting it in your shared basket before wiping her face. She gets dirt on her nose. It makes her look young. "Got big plans?"

Your face feels hot. "Just cooking for a...friend." It's the first time you've said that out loud. It's probably true, right? Acquaintance, at least. Joel is important to you and it's taken an alarmingly short amount of time for it to solidify. That's just how the world works these days -- you never know how much time you have so everything moves faster. You care harder despite years of proof that nothing good comes of it. You can't help it. You were made to leak love like an open wound.

"A friend," Dina teases. Teenagers. You remember that she's friends with Ellie and it's very possible she knows exactly what you're talking about but she's too kind to say anything more.

"Yep," you say, popping the p. "Do I have to start teasing you about Jesse or are you going to cut me some slack?"

"Well, hey," she laughs. "I think it's nice to be excited about something. You're so serious all the time."

"Am not," you mutter.

Something you appreciate about Dina is that despite her age she knows when to leave it. "Whatever you say," she says primly.

Once work is over and you're back home the cooking goes quick. You focus just enough considering you want this to actually be good and for Joel and Ellie to like it. It's thank you chili, it's you are important to me chili, it's I want to see you every day for the rest of my life chili.

Well. It's thank you at the very least.

And food, especially in this world, means something extra. There's enough to go around in Jackson, more than enough, but anyone taking the time to fix something with their own hands means more. You know how different a meal can taste when someone makes it with care.

And to say you care is a bit of an understatement.

The chili is simmering and you're about to start on the dishes when there's a knock on the door.

"Shit," you say. You wipe your hands on a towel and pad down the hall in socked feet. When you open it you find Joel bathed in the golden light of the sunset. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the collar of his coat turned up to protect his neck from the chill that's settled in for the season. His face softens at the sight of you but his shoulders are still tight. Is he...nervous? No, you're projecting.

Here he is on your doorstep again. If you're not careful you'll get used to him being there.

"Sorry for bein' a bit early," he says at the same time you say, "I was just thinking about you ."

The tension melts out of him and he smirks like a man with a secret. "That so?"

Your eyes are wide as you find your words. Hopefully ones that aren't embarrassing. "Come in," you say. "I'm letting the heat out."

He follows you to the kitchen. "Smells good," he says.

"It's not quite done yet but that's a good sign, I guess." You stir the pot before rolling up your sleeves and taking your spot in front of the sink. "Sorry it's a bit of a mess, I was about to start on this --"

"Now I know you ain't about to do all that yourself," Joel drawls. It's a syrupy tone you haven't heard from him, not really. Is he...flirting with you?

"I...what?"

"Scoot," Joel says. He steps beside you in front of the sink and gently bumps your hip with his. "Seriously."

"Joel--"

"Does it look like I'm kiddin'?"

He keeps his eyes on yours as he shrugs off his jacket, tosses it on this island, and rolls his shirtsleeves up to his elbow. You look away from him so you can watch.

"This is getting ridiculous," you tell him even as you hop up to sit on the counter closest to the sink so you can see his face. He turns on the tap and starts on the various things in the sink even though some of them are clearly not from cooking tonight. "You'll be sick of this chili before I can pay you back."

"I told you it ain't like that," he scolds. "So quit it."

There's no real bite to his tone but you do as he says all the same. You kick your feet out a few times and do your best not to stare but fail miserably. The fall sunlight seems to have followed him into your house, pinkish-golden beams falling across his face. You can see a triangle of chest at the top of his shirt, a few dark curls teasing the hair on him. The scar on the bridge of his nose is much harsher up close, much deeper than the countless other ones that dot his forehead, his temples. He doesn't look as tired today. Maybe he got some sleep after all.

So did you. You didn't dream.

"How was your day?" you ask. Joel's eyes flick up to yours for just a breath before he looks back down at his task. His mouth pulls up at the corner.

"Fine," he says. "Had to fix the water heater at Ellie's place."

A piece of hair falls in his face and you shove your palms under your thighs so you don't brush it back.

You tap his denim-clad thigh with your socked foot, almost like a compromise with yourself when it comes to touching him. "And that took all day?" Damn, are you the one flirting now?

Joel seems amused in a grumpy way. "Well, no," he says. The faucet is on so he speaks a little louder. "Did some house chores. Worked on a guitar. Took a nap."

The image of Joel sprawled out on a couch is clear as day. You bet he looks relaxed in his sleep, the lines on his face not as pronounced, his breathing steady and even.

"Busy day," you say softly. He's about to say more, lips parted to ask about your day, maybe, but you're not about to admit that you spent all day thinking about him so you keep talking before he can. "Does Ellie like living in the garage?"

"Think so," he says. "She spends a night in the house every so often but I think she likes havin' her own space. S'important to me to give her that."

This is uncharted territory. You desperately don't want to step in shit, to somehow make him bring his walls back up. Everyone is protective of the things they love in this world and for good reason and you're pretty sure there is nothing and no one Joel loves more than Ellie.

"She's a good kid," you offer. "Everyone in town loves her."

Joel smiles down at his hands, that soft, raw smile you've seen a few times when talking about her. It makes your chest ache. "She is," he admits. "Pain in my ass, too."

You want so badly to ask him the details. How did they meet? How did they get here? How did they become so devoted to one another? And what happened in the last twenty years to get him to right now, washing dishes in your kitchen?

But you haven't earned that stuff yet. Maybe you never will.

"Does she like Jackson?" You remember what he said about them settling in, sleeping in the living room with their shoes on. You imagine he kept watch for weeks, maybe months, before deciding it was safe.

He nods. "S'good for her to have friends. And havin' school is good for her. She's real smart." He clears his throat. "And you? D'you like it?"

"Well, I like it much better now that my hinges don't squeak."

Joel laughs. "I'll bet you do." He's almost done, everything from your chili-making washed and set aside to dry. He's doing your dishes from breakfast but shows no signs of stopping."Do you cook like this a lot?

Your brows furrow. "I-- no, actually," you admit. "It's just me, so. Not worth putting in the effort that often."

He turns off the tap and grabs a towel and starts to dry. You should offer to help but you feel frozen to the counter. If you get any closer to him you might snap. His jaw is tight.

"When Ellie and I --" he stops, takes a moment to focus on the bowl in his hands. Joel, you've noticed, doesn't tend to say things he doesn't mean, at least not to you. It's like he knows that every word counts in a life as unpredictable as this. "We had a bit of a rough patch last year and we didn't talk for a while. I was damn near eatin' canned veggies on days Tommy didn't drag me to the community meals." He sighs and sets the bowl on the counter ever so gently. Violence and tenderness go hand in hand with him. "Just didn't have it in myself to try cookin' if she wasn't there to eat it."

It's the most vulnerable thing he's said. He keeps doing this -- offering you pieces of himself that you want to hold close, that make you think maybe he wants you to know him.

"Joel--"

"I guess what I'm sayin' is it's easier to take care of yourself when you're also takin' care of people who matter to you. That make sense?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "It does."

The whole scene is so...domestic that your chest aches. Joel in your kitchen doing your dishes. He's helping you yet again but this feels different. It feels like he wants to be here, talking to you. It feels real.

He finishes his task and dries his hands on a faded towel. You hop down from the counter to check the chili. "Should be done," you say. "Do you want to try it? Make sure it's worth it?"

"Oh, it's worth it," he mutters. You work to keep your face neutral. What does that mean? "Sure."

You pull a spoon from the drawer and while it would make more sense to just hand it to him you don't. Instead, you dip it into the steaming liquid and hold it out for him, your other hand cupped underneath to catch any spill. Joel stares at your offering for a few seconds and you wonder if he can hear your heart beating.

Then Joel reaches out slowly like he's afraid you'll bolt if he goes too fast, and lightly wraps his hand around your wrist. It's the first time he's touched you skin to skin and you know immediately that it's a mistake.

You'll never stop wanting him now.

His palm is warm, callused fingertips pressing gently into your skin and he tugs, bringing the spoon -- and you -- closer to his mouth. Everything moves in slow motion for a few moments and it's like you are the only two people in the world. Your kitchen fades and it's just Joel. His lips part and he slides the spoon into his mouth at the same time as his thumb strokes the inside skin of your wrist.

It's very possible that you gasp a little.

He closes his eyes and you're torn between watching his face and his throat as he swallows. You could look at him forever, you think, and never get enough. The set of his brow, the hard line of his jaw. Lines around his eyes and mouth from years of terror and violence but also from laughter and smiles. You want to learn every inch of him if he'll let you.

"Christ," Joel says. His eyes fly open and find yours. "That's good. That's real good."

"You're just saying that," you say weakly. He hasn't let go of your wrist and his thumb strokes once again. You wonder if you realize he's doing it.

Something in his face changes, something so small that you only notice because you're watching. It feels like he has decided something and you wish you knew him well enough to say what. You dare to hope it has to do with you.

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm a good liar but I ain't just sayin' that."

Sweetheart. It echoes in your ears, burrows its way into your chest and takes root.

You're so fucked.

But there's something in Joel's gaze, in the brush of his thumb across your skin, in the fact he's just done all of your dishes and talked to you like he wants to be here that gives your traitorous heart some ground to stand on.

You send him home with as many glass containers of chili as he'll take. He argues that you won't have enough for yourself and manages to convince you to keep a few. You don't tell him that what you really want is to sit next to him at a table and eat it, knees bumping under the wood and his smile making your empty house feel warm.

"Tell Ellie I say hi," you say once he's out your door and on the porch. "And let me know if she likes it."

"Will do," Joel says. You hug your arms around yourself against the chill. He frowns slightly.

You wonder if he'd touch you if his hands weren't full.

"And thank you for--"

He shakes his head. "Not acceptin' thanks," he chides. "Not from you."

You don't know what to say to that. Joel seems to realize he's rendered you speechless, not for the first time, and nods his head before heading home.

"See you around, Joel," you call after him. It sounds half like a question and half like a wish.

He turns. "Countin' on it."

___

You do see him around but not as much as you'd like. Things pick up around town before the seasons can change and send Wyoming into winter. You find yourself in the kitchen most days helping seal jars for the community food stores, hands chapped from the hot water and heart light when you think about Joel. He nods at you from across the dining hall, opens the door of the library when you're going in and he's coming out, and tells Ellie to tell you how good the chili was when you share a shift at the stables.

"Fucking amazing," she says.

You sleep fairly well, going to bed each night with a little bit of lightness in your heart that you allow because why not? There's no way out short of Joel telling you to fuck off and you don't think that'll happen. If only you could get over yourself a little more and actually do something about it.

As much as you want to keep telling yourself that this -- glances across rooms, smiles from a distance, memories of his hand on your skin -- is enough, you're not sure that it is. The force of your want is destabilizing considering the most that's happened is maybe a little bit of flirting. But maybe this is you taking his direction to ask for...no help, not exactly, but to ask for something. To ask for him.

Today you're going on patrol. You decide as you mount your horse that you're going to ask Joel if he wants to get a drink when you get back. You want to talk to him again, let him under your skin a little more. Maybe tell him some things about yourself. Sometimes he's milling around the gate or on wall duty but you don't see him as you and your partner -- a fairly new kid in his twenties -- take your rifles and head out. You're on an easy route today, just clearing out the town over the hill and the highway exits near Jackson. Shouldn't take you more than a few hours.

It goes to shit fairly quickly.

The kid -- Conner? Charlie? You can't remember -- is rambling about the infected he's killed for some reason when you realize something isn't quite right. You can't hear any birds. Apollo snorts and it sounds panicked. You motion for the kid to stop talking but he either ignores you or doesn't see.

He sure shuts up when the clicker bursts out of a house to your left. Apollo startles and rears at the moment you reach for your gun and you can't grab hold in time.

You go flying, bouncing off a rusted-out car and landing hard on the broken pavement of the street with a popping sound. There is a pain in your shoulder so intense your vision whites out. The kid is shouting, the clicker is making that awful sound, but then you hear two gunshots and nothing else.

"Holy fuck," he says, rushing over to you. "Fuck, are you okay?"

Well, for a talker, this kid a good shot.

"Get the -- horse --" You roll onto your back with a groan and he grabs Apollo and settles him.

"What happened?"

You stare up at the sky, blue turning purple. It'll be sunset soon and you very well might be fucked if this is what you think it is.

"I think my shoulder popped out," you say through gritted teeth. Your head doesn't hurt like you smacked it and your side is only a little sore. Maybe some bruised ribs. Your hands are scraped, blood beading on the heels of your palms. "Help me up."

"Holy shit." He helps you sit up and then stand, your left arm hanging limp at your side. You hiss through your teeth as it gets jostled and lean heavily on the car. "You don't look so good," he says. "Can you ride? We should only be a half hour out of town."

"I...don't think so." You're pretty sure you'll pass out from the pain and this kid doesn't look like he can handle that. You don't want to fuck up the joint any more than you have to. "You're going to have to go back and bring someone to set it for me, okay?"

"But the rules say --"

"I know what the fucking rules say," you snap. Don't let your partner out of your sight. Your shoulder is throbbing and you might cry but not until this kid is on his way back to town. "That's why you're going to go as fast as you can, alright?"

"We should at least clear a building first so you can --"

"No time," you say, looking at the sky. "If we want to be back before nightfall you need to go now. I'll handle myself."

You really should know his name. He sets his jaw in a move that reminds you of Joel which causes a pang in your chest so intense you want to rub it away. "I'll clear that garage, okay?" He points behind you and before you can stop him he runs towards it with his gun out.

Lucky for both of you it's clear. You take Apollo inside and slump against the wall, pistol in your hand. The kid closes the garage door behind him and you hear the clop of his horse as he gallops away.

"Fuck," you say into the empty room. It's dusty and full of cobwebs and not much else. Empty metal shelves, a rusted-out lawn mower, some tarps so ratted they're useless. Apollo snorts. "Not your fault, buddy."

Death has been nipping at your heels for twenty years now. You've always expected it. And you're fairly certain you won't die out here. Maybe end up spending a night on this floor, having to walk yourself back to Jackson tomorrow morning. But you can't help the fear that rises in your throat. You know how an injury like this means so much more in this world. You won't be able to work for weeks. You won't be able to patrol, to pull your weight.

You're going to need a lot of help.

You close your eyes against the stinging tears and thud your head against the wall.

The pain dulls the embarrassment you feel when you catch yourself thinking of Joel. You wish he was here. If you'd been on patrol together this wouldn't have happened. You wonder what he's going to think of this.

What you'd really like is for him to hold you and tell you it'll be alright.

A few tears slip down your nose. Apollo noses at your knee.

There are no windows so you don't know how much time has passed. You start to question if this was the right call. Maybe you could have made it back on horseback, or at the very least slung across the back of Apollo like a sack of flour, arm be damned.

Your traitorous brain is about to remind you of all the things that go bump in the night out here when you hear something.

Someone is calling your name. Yelling it.

"Here!" you scream. Apollo whinnies. "I'm here!" You have no idea if they can hear you. You press your good shoulder into the wall behind you and try to push yourself to your feet but just as you do the garage door is hauled open and there stands --

Joel.

A sob bursts from your throat and you will yourself to pull it together. Behind him the sky is much more orange than it was when you first sat down.

Joel's eyes look you up and down once before cataloging the space and locking on some milk crates. He stacks two of them.

"Sit," he says. His voice is tight.

"Joel --"

"Sit."

You do as he says. He kneels at your feet and rummages around in his bag. His horse stands munching on some overgrown grass on the driveway. Did he come alone?

"How are you here --"

Joel cuts you off with a glare. His eyes are blazing, jaw grinding as he holds out a length of bandage.

"Hold this." He stands and his knees crack. "Kid said it's your shoulder. Anything else?"

The throb is still deep, still intense, but his arrival almost made you forget all about it. You shake your head.

"Didn't hit your head? Crack ribs? Nothin' like that?"

"No, I don't think so --"

"Need you to sit up straight," he says. There's no warmth in his tone but it's a little softer now that he's taken stock of the situation. "I ain't gonna lie to you, this is going to hurt like hell." He digs in his pocket for something and pulls out a square of leather. "Need you to bite down on this."

He squats so that you're just about face to face and holds out the leather. It feels like being in your kitchen, you holding out the spoon and fighting your desire to touch him. Except this time he won't look you in the eye. You open your mouth and he gently places it between your teeth, thumb catching the corner of your lips and trailing along the edge of your chin before he pulls away and stands up.

"I'm going to reset it on three, alright? Bite down hard on that." He finally meets your gaze and you nod and close your eyes. He puts one hand on your shoulder and the other on your wrist and you wince even though you feel incredibly safe in his hands. "Alright. One...two --"

Joel jerks your arm up and around before he hits three and you barely hear it pop back into place because, as he said, it hurts like hell. You bite down hard on the leather which also serves to muffle your scream.

Someone is talking to you."I know, baby, I know. Good job, you did a good job."

You open your eyes and wipe away a few tears with one hand and pull the leather from your teeth. Joel looks pained but his face snaps back to neutral when he sees you watching. His eyes narrow.

"Where did that come from?" He gently grabs your wrist and looks at your palm and you both find it bloody. "Got it on your face."

"Scraped my hands when I fell," you say hoarsely. He clicks his tongue.

"Give me that bandage." You don't even get a chance to hand it to him because he plucks it from your lap. "Gonna make this into a sling for this arm. Try not to move it much. Then we'll clean those hands and head home. Get you to the clinic for some meds." He gently positions your arm, which hurts a lot less than before but is still throbbing, and ties a sling so it's bent close to your chest. You can feel his breath on your neck as he does the knot.

And then he's back crouching in front of you.

Joel Miller on his knees for you so many times in one day makes you a little dizzy. Or maybe that's the adrenaline.

"Are you angry with me?" you ask softly as he wipes clean your palms and cheek with firm touches. The muscle in his jaw twitches again and his hands freeze for a split second.

"No," he says. "I ain't mad at you. I just can't believe the fuckin' kid left you here."

"I told him to."

"Can't believe that either. You know better."

"It's fine, Joel," you say. "It doesn't matter. I would have just walked back in the morning if no one came --"

He pulls his hands away and tosses the rag to the floor. "Damnit, it does matter," he curses. "'Course it fuckin' matters. Cut that shit out."

Now you're confused. It sure seems like he's angry with you. "Joel, I don't understand --"

His hands cradle your face and the protest dies in your throat. "You matter to me," he says thickly. His eyes are wide but his stare is steady. "Ain't it fuckin' obvious?" Anger and desperation are dripping from his words. "It matters."

For one long second you think he's going to kiss you. Now that might kill you.

You wrap one hand around his wrist and lean into his palm. A thousand thoughts swirl in your head but you focus on one. Joel is here which means you're safe. Joel is here which means he's going to take care of you. Joel is here. Joel is here. Joel is here.

"Oh," you breathe. You turn your face in his palm and press your lips to the center of it. His breath hitches and it feels like something big between you shifts, slots into place. "Okay," you say against his skin.

He pulls his hands away and stands. He works his jaw a few times before shouldering his pack and holding out his hand. "Let's go home," he says.

You stand with his help. "I think you'll need to help me get on my horse."

"Not a fuckin' chance," he growls but you can still see tenderness in his eyes. "Can't hold on well enough with one arm. We're ridin' together."

This Joel is one you haven't seen. But this is what you wanted, right? You want to see every part of him. Something molten and heavy sits in your stomach at how tense he is, how his hands remain gentle despite his harsh words. How he just told you that you matter to him. Maybe this is all a dream.

He helps you on his horse and then gets on behind you, tying Apollo's reigns to his so you won't lose him. He wraps one arm right around your stomach, mindful of your arm.

"Ain't gonna be comfortable," he says in your ear. "But it'll be over quick."

You lean back into him. Hell, it's all on the table now. If your arm is going to hurt you might as well enjoy your time pressed against him.

"Oh, I don't know," you say. "This isn't so bad." He snorts and snaps the reigns.

He talks low and steady in your ears as you gallop, his palm firm on your abdomen to keep you as still as possible though it's a hopeless venture. Your shoulder aches, sends sharp tendrils of pain through your entire arm with every stride.

He tells you that he was on the wall when your partner came back alone. That he knew something was wrong with you as soon as the kid came into view. He'd seen the patrol assignments and knew you were paired together. Kid didn't know what flag to use to signal his approach because you're not supposed to leave behind your partner.

Joel tells you how he hopped down from the wall and asked the kid where exactly he left you. Demanded to know how hurt you were, if you'd been bit. He was on a horse before anyone else could get their shit together, told them to get Tommy and have the clinic ready for you. Started hollering your name as soon as he got to the street, rifle ready for any infected to show up.

"Damn miracle when you yelled back," he says just as Jackson comes into view. You're sweating and dizzy from the pain, practically all of your weight slumped back into his chest. "Almost there, sweetheart. Doin' real good."

The rest of it is a blur. Joel takes you to the clinic where he becomes increasingly agitated that he set your shoulder wrong until one of the staff says he did it just fine. They give you a real sling and one painkiller to take if you hurt really bad, despite some harsh words from Joel in an attempt to get you more.

"Don't move it above your head for two weeks. Keep the sling on for that time, too. Ice it today, start moving it back and forth a few times in a few days. You got someone to help you for a bit?"

Before you can open her mouth Joel answer for you.

"Yes." The nurse hides her amusement well. She lets you go. Joel keeps his hand on your back as he walks you to your house.

You stop him when you get to your front door. "Joel --"

"If you're about to argue with me, so help me God, I'll --"

"I was going to ask if you need to go check on Ellie." You pull out your keys and after a second hold them out for him. Maybe letting Joel help you is helping him, too. You can handle that. You think.

"Told Tommy to when I left. I'll go home once we get you settled."

We.

"Okay," you say softly. He unlocks the door and motions for you to go in. You sit gingerly on the couch and Joel brings you a glass of water.

And then he paces. He looks at the books on your shelf without seeing them and rubs his thumb against his first two fingers over and over. And all of a sudden he won't look at you.

"Joel, sit down or something," you grumble. "You're making me nervous."

He stops. "Fine." His tone has a bit of bite to it that makes you close your eyes. There's an armchair in the room but he sits next to you instead. He presses his knee to yours, almost in apology.

The adrenaline has faded by now and all you feel is the ache of your shoulder and ribs and rawness of your palms and heart. The shoulder hurts like hell but in a way all of this hurts deeper, harder than that. In the way you know love, or the beginning of it, can hurt.

You sniffle.

Truth is you're overwhelmed. By what happened, by Joel coming to get you and saying all that shit. By him touching you, by him being here, by your own heart beating so quickly at his nearness. Even though you dared hope he felt something close to your affection for him it's a shock to realize he cares about you because you're you, not just because he's a good man. You've always wanted love that came from a place of purpose, which feels selfish on the best of days. You should just accept whatever kindness comes your way in this cruel world.

But, fuck, you've always wanted to feel chosen. Like you matter.

And you do. Right here, you do. From his own lips he's said you do.

You don't even realize you're crying until Joel curses softly and one wide, warm palm is on your face again.

"What's wrong? You hurtin'?" His thumb swipes at your tears. "Talk to me."

"I'm fine." You press your face into his shoulder and he holds you, hand soft on the back of your head. "I'm just -- I'm just really glad you're here, Joel."

"Course I'm here," he says into your hair. "C'mere."

There's nowhere for you to go considering you're already pressed against him. But his arms come around you fully, mindful of your shoulder, and your fingers fist in his shirt.

You should be embarrassed. On the scale of fucked up shit that's happened to you, today is remarkably low. But you let yourself have this. You breathe him in and let him hold you.

"I was going to ask you to get a drink tonight," you mumble. His chest vibrates with laughter.

"That so?" he says. His hand rubs up and down your spine. "Reckon I'd say yes."

You pull back just enough to see his face. This close you can see how his eyes have a bit of gold in them. "Really?" Even with proof of his affection right in front of you it's a little hard to believe.

"Am I readin' this wrong?" he asks. "It's okay if I am--"

"No," you say quickly. "No, you're not."

"Thought so." His lips pull up at the corner just a bit. "But, still. You've had a real rough day, and --"

"Joel," you breathe. You free your good arm from your embrace and put your hand on his jaw. He's touched you plenty today and you want to give it a try yourself. His face is warm, his beard gently rubbing against your skin. His eyes flutter close for a breath before he opens them wide and leans into your hand just a little.

"Alright," he says softly. Then he says your name, just once, ever so tenderly. It sounds like a prayer.

Joel Miller kisses you in the middle of your living room. Despite the affection you've been nursing for him over the last little while you never allowed yourself to imagine what it would be like to kiss him.

It's like this: the first press of his lips is soft like he thinks you'll pull away. When you don't he takes your lower lip between his and presses a little harder. Your hand slides into his hair and he palms your hip with one of his and cups your face with the other. His tongue traces the seam of your lips and you open for him, let him lick into your mouth. You sigh into it and tug on his hair just a little. Joel makes a sound deep in his throat and then pulls away.

You're both breathing heavier than before, both smiling. Joel presses his lips to your forehead, your temple. He holds you against him and you breathe against the skin of his neck.

"Will you let me take care of you?" he says into your hair.

"For my sake or yours?"

You think he'll laugh but he just breathes. "Both," he says. "Hell, you know what's goin' on here. I showed my hand. Been showin' it." He pulls away so you can see the honesty in his face. "I told you in as many damn words as I know how."

He did. He did and you make yourself believe it. Love in this life is worth holding on with both hands. Whatever this is, whatever this is going to become, you want it. You want to let this man continue to teach you to ask for help. You want to learn from him, maybe teach him a few things of your own.

You want to love him. You think you could sooner rather than later.

You trace the line of his brow, run your fingertip over the scar on the bridge of his nose.

"Can you kiss me again?" you ask.

"What a fuckin' question," he says. "C'mere."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction

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livebeforeyoulearn · 2 months ago

Text

Room Number Three - Part 2

part 1

Warnings: None

Word Count: 9.6k…

Summary: Does she see you for who you are, or just for what you can give her?

It’s been a couple of months. A couple of long, agonising months where you’ve fallen into a routine, walking into that dimly lit, neon-splashed room, always hoping – no, wishing – that it’d be her sitting there. Just like she had before, waiting, watching. But she’s never there. Instead, you’re met with strangers, faceless men who throw money at you without a second thought, men who crave something temporary, something fleeting. Each time you walk in, you brace yourself, knowing deep down that she’s not coming back. Yet, a small part of you, buried beneath layers of cynicism, always clings to that hope. You can’t help it.

But why would she come back for you? It’s not like you’re anything special. You’re just another stripper in a sea of many, just another body for hire. The harsh truth sinks into you like a cold knife every time you think about it: you promote your body for money and validation. Nothing about you stands out. You tell yourself you’re replaceable, that she probably hasn’t thought of you once since that night. And yet, no matter how much you repeat this to yourself, no matter how logical it seems, the thought gnaws at you.

It’s ironic, really. You can admit to yourself, in the privacy of your thoughts, that the time with her was unlike anything you’ve experienced before. There was something in the air that night, something that made your skin tingle and your heart race. If you could, you’d go back in time just to relive it. Not because you’re in love with her or you’re infatuated with her – you aren’t. You can’t be. It was just a moment, a good time. A fleeting memory. But the weight of it sits heavy on your shoulders, and every other experience since then has felt empty, hollow. No one else compares.

Sometimes, late at night, you wonder what would have happened if you hadn’t broken the rules. If you had kept things strictly professional, like you’re supposed to. That would have solved so many problems. Maybe then you wouldn’t be trapped in this labyrinth of thoughts, your mind constantly circling back to her, trying to decipher what it all meant. You wonder if it was worth it – crossing that line, letting yourself indulge in something you never should have. Maybe you wouldn’t feel so lost now if you’d just stuck to the rules. But you didn’t. And now, you’re paying for it, trapped in a maze of your own making.

You’re fairly certain your manager knows something went down that night. He hasn’t said anything directly, but the way he’s been acting lately tells you enough. He’s more cautious now, more watchful. He used to give you private sessions without a second thought, but now he’s more selective, always quick to check in on you. He doesn’t give you a chance to slip up, doesn’t allow any room for rule-breaking. The rare times he does assign you a private room, he’s there in a flash, popping his head in at the most inconvenient moments, like he’s expecting to catch you in the act again. Each time, though, he finds you where you should be – sitting alone on the bed, zoning out, lost in thought. There’s no one else there. No rule-breaking. Just you and the weight of your own mind, drifting back to her again and again.

You’re in the back room, as usual, waiting for your next cue to head on stage. The noise from the club is muffled, a constant background hum that you’ve learned to tune out. You’re fiddling with your hair, trying to focus on the upcoming routine, when your coworker slides up next to you, fresh from a private session. Her face is flushed, and there’s a playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

“I think you have a stalker,” she says with a light giggle, her voice teasing.

“What?” You glance up, startled. The absurdity of the statement makes you blink in confusion before a small laugh escapes you.

“I’m serious!” she insists, though there’s a twinkle in her eyes. “She’s always here when you’re working. Like she knows your schedule or something.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your face neutral, trying not to let on how much the idea affects you. “What are you talking about?”

“She’s here every time you have a shift,” she says, leaning in conspiratorially. “It’s kind of creepy, honestly. I can’t believe you haven’t noticed.”

A flicker of something – hope, maybe? – sparks in your chest, but you force it down. It couldn’t be her. Could it? “What does she look like?” you ask, feigning casual curiosity, but inside, your heart is racing.

Before she can answer, your manager pokes his head into the room, telling you it’s time to go on stage. You sigh, pushing yourself off the chair, trying to brush off the conversation.

“She’s… well, I don’t know how to describe her, but she’s hot,” your coworker says with a mischievous smile, tucking a stray hair behind your ear as if it’ll help you.

“Thanks, super helpful,” you mutter sarcastically.

You check yourself in the mirror one last time, making sure everything is in place before you head out.

“Anytime!” she calls after you as you walk away.

You push the thought from your mind as you step into the neon-lit haze of the club. The familiar weight of your stage persona settles over you, a mask of confidence and seduction that you wear so well. The crowd is already buzzing with anticipation as you walk onto the stage, and you fall into your routine with practised ease. Every movement is calculated, designed to draw their attention, to make them cheer, throw money. You add a little extra spice tonight, just enough to keep things fresh for the regulars.

But then, halfway through a particularly sultry movement on the pole, you see her. Your breath catches, and you falter for the briefest of moments. It’s her. Of course, it’s her. Who else would it be? She sits at the bar, casually sipping her drink, her eyes fixed on you. It’s like she’s been there all along, watching, waiting.

A smirk curls at your lips as you continue your routine, but now there’s something more behind it. You perform for her. Every movement, every twist of your body is for her eyes only. And she’s watching, her gaze never leaving you. She’s been watching all this time, and you didn’t even know.

When your routine ends, you linger on stage, soaking in the cheers, the bills fluttering down around you. But your eyes aren’t on the crowd. They’re on her. She meets your gaze from across the room, and for a moment, everything else fades away. It’s just the two of you, locked in this silent exchange. She lowers her glass, a soft, almost affectionate smile playing on her lips, and then she stands. She walks over to the private rooms, where the requests are made. Your heart races, and you can’t help but wonder what’s going to happen next.

Backstage, you grab your water bottle, taking long, slow gulps, trying to steady your nerves. You sit down, waiting for the inevitable call from your manager, already knowing what’s coming. She’s going to request you. She has to.

But when he finally comes in, he doesn’t call your name. Instead, he calls one of your coworkers. Confusion washes over you, but you force yourself to stay calm. Maybe he’ll come back. Maybe she’s waiting for you. But he never does.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Neon lights flash behind your eyes, laughter and music blend into a distant hum as you make your way through the familiar routine of clocking out. The once-bustling club is emptying now, a hushed contrast to the chaos it held just moments before. You say goodbye to your coworkers, your voice barely above a murmur, your thoughts elsewhere.

You push open the heavy backdoor, stepping out into the cool air of the alleyway. It greets you with an unexpected stillness, a quiet that feels almost foreign after the noise and heat inside. The ground beneath your feet is uneven, the faint smell of rain and concrete hanging in the air, and your breath curls in small clouds as you exhale.

Your eyes catch a figure standing at the end of the alley, partially obscured by the dim light. You squint, taking slow, cautious steps forward. At first, you can only make out the silhouette, but as the soft glow of the streetlamp flickers above, the woman’s features begin to come into focus. Your heart skips a beat as recognition dawns on you. It's Alexia.

She’s leaning casually against the brick wall, arms crossed in front of her chest, but there’s a tension to her posture, something about the way she’s waiting. You pause, momentarily taken aback, your eyes sweeping over her form. Even in the faint light, she looks just as striking as you remember. Her hair catches the glow, her face half-illuminated, her expression unreadable – until she notices you.

Alexia’s lips twitch into a small, almost imperceptible smile. It’s hesitant, unsure. She pushes herself off the wall, taking a couple of tentative steps towards you, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. The sound of her footsteps echoes softly in the alley as she approaches, and you feel a knot of confusion twist in your stomach. What is she still doing here?

When you’re close enough to see her clearly, you glance up at her, still wary, your mind racing with a thousand unspoken questions. She looks nervous – more nervous than you’ve ever seen her – and the usually confident Alexia seems uncharacteristically shy, her eyes shifting as if she’s searching for the right words. Her lips part, but nothing comes out immediately. Instead, she fumbles for a second, her mind clearly working faster than her mouth.

“I was waiting for you,” she finally blurts out, her voice quiet, her thumb gesturing back awkwardly to the wall behind her as if she needs to explain where she’s been standing all this time. “I wanted to see if I could… walk you to your car? Maybe talk?”

There’s a blush creeping up her cheeks, one she seems almost embarrassed by, and you can’t help but notice how out of place she seems in this moment.

You tilt your head slightly, studying her as her words settle over you. It’s strange – everything about this is strange. The Alexia from earlier tonight, the one who watched you from across the room but didn’t come near, who requested someone else… it doesn’t quite fit with the Alexia standing before you now.

“Why didn’t you request a private session with me earlier?” Your voice is quiet, but there’s a hardness to it, a small wall of guardedness that you’ve built around yourself, even if you can’t fully maintain it. You don’t want to give in too easily. You don’t want to let her off the hook without some kind of explanation. She requested someone else – someone who wasn’t you. And that stings, more than you care to admit.

Alexia’s eyes widen slightly at your question, caught off guard by the vulnerability in your voice. She blinks, and you can see the surprise flicker across her face, her lips parting as if she hadn’t expected you to be so direct. “You… you looked at me like you were going to,” you mumble, your words softer now, almost a confession.

She hesitates for a moment, then nods. “You weren’t on the list of people I could request,” she says, her voice gentler now, more sincere. “You haven’t been for a while.”

Her words sink in, and the realisation hits you. Of course. Your manager. He’s known. He must’ve known she was here, must’ve known about whatever… this is. Maybe that’s why he’s been giving you fewer private sessions lately, why he’s kept you from certain clients.

You can’t help but ask the next question, even though the words feel bitter on your tongue. “Did you… have sex with her?” Your voice comes out smaller than you’d intended, a quiet insecurity slipping through despite your best efforts to hide it. You immediately curse yourself for it. Why should you care? You barely know her. You have no claim over her, no reason to be hurt by what she does with anyone else.

But the question hangs there, heavy and unspoken in the silence that follows, until Alexia shakes her head quickly, almost too quickly. “No,” she says firmly. “I didn’t. I even cut it short.” Her voice drops lower, softer. “I don’t want to do it with anyone else… I can’t. It’s not the same.”

You study her face, and for a moment, all you can see is how desperate she looks. Desperate to explain herself, to make you understand something that, technically, she doesn’t owe you at all. You’re not hers. She’s not yours. You have no right to expect anything from her. And yet here she is, standing in the cold night air, waiting for you. Telling you things you weren’t sure you wanted to hear, but things that, deep down, you needed to know.

Your fingers rub at your eyes, trying to make sense of the tangle of emotions building inside of you. “You’re tired,” Alexia says softly, her voice cutting through your thoughts. “Where’s your car?”

“I didn’t bring it,” you admit, your words almost slurred with exhaustion. “I live close by. I usually walk.”

Her eyebrows raise in concern. “You walk?” she repeats, incredulous. “That’s dangerous with your job.”

You shrug, the fatigue weighing down your shoulders, and give her a tired look. It’s late, and you’re too drained to argue or explain. “It’s not that far.”

Alexia’s gaze hardens with worry, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Let me drive you,” she offers, more of a statement than a question. “Come on,” she says, answering for you before you even have a chance to speak, as if she’d protest if you said no anyway. She holds out her hand, the gesture small but inviting, her fingers barely extended toward you. For a brief moment, you hesitate, looking down at her hand. Her confidence falters, and you see it in the way she quickly pulls her hand back, as though embarrassed for even offering it.

But you reach for it anyway. The moment your fingers brush against hers, the tension between you seems to dissolve. She looks more at ease when you finally take her hand, and without another word, she leads you towards her car. Her palm is warm against the cool night air, and the contrast sends a shiver through you, though it has little to do with the cold. You remember the way her hands felt on your body, the strength behind them, how they explored every inch of you with desire. You swallow hard, trying to shake the images from your mind, but they cling to you, lingering as she drives you home.

Her hands grip the steering wheel, but your memory clings to how they felt inside of you, how her fingers trailed over your skin, pressing into the softest parts of you. Your breath hitches, and you shift uncomfortably in the passenger seat, hoping she doesn’t notice the flush rising in your cheeks. You glance over at her, half-expecting to see the same thoughts reflected in her expression, but she’s focused on the road, her face unreadable.

You’re lost in your thoughts when the car finally comes to a stop. She parks outside the location you’d given her. Silence falls between you, the hum of the engine fading, and all you can hear now is the soft sound of your breathing. You turn to look at her, unsure of what to say, if there’s even anything left to say after everything that’s already happened.

Her eyes meet yours, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks. The streetlights outside cast a faint glow on her face, highlighting the sharp lines of her cheekbones, the slight parting of her lips. She looks calm, composed, but her eyes are saying everything at once. You can’t tell if it’s your own tiredness warping your perception or if there’s really something there – something you’re too afraid to acknowledge just yet. Is she really looking at you like that, or are you reading too much into it?

“You did look very good tonight, you look good… every night,” she says, her voice breaking the silence.

It’s a compliment that should feel casual, offhanded, maybe even a little too forward. But instead, it flutters inside you, softening the tension you hadn’t even realised you were holding. Your lips curl into a small smile, and she mirrors it, her own smile shy but sincere.

“Thank you,” you whisper. The words are barely audible, but they hang in the space between you, fragile and intimate.

She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with the weight of it, and you can feel the air shift. The tension thickens again, making it harder to breathe. Her eyes never leave yours, wide and expectant, and you know exactly what she’s thinking. The unspoken question lingers in the air, written in the way her gaze drops to your lips and back to your eyes.

You nod, just once, giving her silent permission. You’re making it easy for her, letting her know what you both want without either of you needing to say it. There’s a brief hesitation, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, before she finally leans towards you. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you lean in to meet her halfway.

Your lips hover just inches apart for a moment, you can feel her breath against your skin, warm and steady, and then, finally, she closes the gap. The kiss is firm, commanding – just like last time. It’s hungry, almost desperate, as if she’s trying to claim every part of you in that single moment. Your head spins, your mind lost in the softness of her lips, the heat of her body awkwardly pressed against yours over the console.

Her hands move with purpose, fingers brushing over your neck, trailing up to cup your face, then into your hair. You feel the familiar rush, the way your body responds to her touch without hesitation. Before you even realise what’s happening, you’re both in your bed, the remnants of your clothes scattered carelessly on the floor.

The only sounds now are your ragged breaths, uneven and heavy in the quiet room. The first hints of dawn are creeping through the blinds, and you can’t help but wonder how she’s still awake, how she’s managed to keep going for this long. Doesn’t she have training? Responsibilities to attend to? But the thoughts are fleeting, drowned out by the haze of exhaustion and everything that’s happened tonight.

You lie there, tangled in the sheets, unsure of what to do next. Part of you wants to tell her to leave, to restore some sense of normalcy and control. But another part – the part that’s far more vulnerable – wants her to stay, to hold onto this moment for just a little longer.

She lets out a soft sigh, her body going limp as she rolls to her side, facing you. You turn to meet her gaze, your eyes locking with hers. She looks drained, as if the night has taken everything out of her, her eyes barely open as sleep threatens to overtake her.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper softly, your voice barely more than a breath.

She doesn’t argue, doesn’t protest. Her eyelids flutter shut, and within moments, her breathing evens out. You lie there, staring at her peaceful face, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. You know you should sleep, but your head is too full, too loud to quiet down just yet.

For a long while, you stay like that, watching her sleep, until you’re sure she’s fully gone, her body relaxed into the mattress. You move carefully, shifting closer to her, biting your lip as you contemplate what to do next. You want to feel her against you again, the warmth of her body, the comfort of her presence.

Hesitantly, you reach for her arm, the one tucked beneath her chin, and lift it, shifting it over your waist. You roll onto your side, pressing your back against her front, her arm draped over you like a safety net. For a second, you worry it’s too much – that she’ll pull away or wake up – but instead, she tightens her hold on you, pulling you closer.

Your eyes widen, your body stiffening at the unexpected embrace. But then you feel her nuzzle her face into the back of your neck, her breath warm against your skin, and slowly, you relax. The tension seeps out of your muscles as you melt into the bed, her body fitting perfectly against yours.

The weight of the night finally catches up with you, the exhaustion settling deep into your bones. Your eyes drift shut, and before you know it, you’ve fallen asleep in her arms, your mind still spinning with the uncertainty of what comes next.

Because now, there are questions you can’t avoid – questions about what this means, what she wants, what you want. You’ve never been one for casual, never been someone who can just let things be. But you don’t know if she feels the same. You want more, you always want more, but is she ready for that? Is she willing to give you everything, or will she walk away in the morning, leaving you with nothing?

—

You can't help but think about Alexia constantly, her presence infiltrating your thoughts, making it impossible to focus on anything else. The way she effortlessly slid into your life after that second encounter felt like fate – or maybe something far more dangerous. There's a part of you that wonders if she wanted more from the very beginning, but you hadn’t dared to ask, and she had never outright said. But you know she does, at least, you think she does. You tell yourself that, over and over again, hoping that her actions speak louder than her silence. And yet, the uncertainty still lingers in the back of your mind like a weight pressing down on your chest.

Alexia never says much, but what she does do feels like more than enough. It's in the way she makes sure you're fed after work, even if it's just a late-night diner run. You’re exhausted, but she insists on taking you out, getting something to eat before she drives you home. For you, it’s dinner; for her, it’s breakfast. Those meals have become a ritual, something you’ve come to expect at the end of your long shifts. It feels like care – like a routine that connects the two of you in ways you’ve never quite been able to explain.

You tell yourself it’s her way of showing affection, but as you sit across from her at those quiet, hole-in-the-wall diners, watching her sip her coffee while you nurse a plate of greasy food, the doubt creeps in. It’s never more than casual conversation. The little moments between bites and sips when she smiles softly at you, but never gives away too much. You realise that you’re the one doing most of the talking. Alexia listens, her eyes focused entirely on you, as if absorbing every word, but offering so little in return. You talk about your life, your shifts, your exhaustion – she listens, but what does she say about herself? Nothing that you don’t already know. She’s a public figure, and while her career isn’t something new to anyone, especially not you, there’s a strange emptiness in realising that you know so little beyond the headlines.

It’s in those quiet moments, where her silence stretches on, that you begin to wonder – does she really care? Does she want you, or is it just the convenience of having you after a long night?

And then there are the dates. They’re not frequent, but they feel significant. Sometimes she’ll call you when you’re both free, offering a night out, away from the club and the noise of your everyday life. You walk through the city together, the conversations light, sometimes playful, but never diving deep enough for you to understand her fully. Alexia’s hand will brush yours as you stroll along the sidewalks, her touch lingering just long enough to send a quiet thrill through your body. Every time it feels like she’s leading you towards something more, something real. But before you can grasp it, it slips away, just like the smile she gives when you try to ask more about her life.

She always makes time for your performances, though, especially when she has the next day off. Her presence in the crowd is unmistakable, her eyes locked on you like you’re the only person in the room. It’s intoxicating, the way she watches you. You can feel her gaze burning into your skin, watching your every move with an intensity that makes you shiver. And it’s not just lust – it’s something deeper, something you can’t quite put into words. But as much as she watches, she never stays long after the show. She’ll wait until your shift ends, and then pull you aside, whisking you away like you’re a secret only she’s allowed to keep.

It’s strange, though. As much as you love those moments with her, there’s always a distance, always a barrier you can’t cross. You want to reach her, to see what’s behind that cool, collected exterior, but she keeps you at arm’s length, even when she’s pulling you closer physically.

And now, with your return to private sessions, the intensity has only grown. Your manager put you back on the list, trusting you again after a long period of caution. You didn’t miss those private rooms, the way they felt so closed in, so suffocating with other clients. But with Alexia, it’s different. She’s the only one who you want to request you, and when you step into that dimly lit room and see her waiting for you, a strange calm washes over you.

Private sessions with her are unlike anything else. The moment the door clicks shut, it’s as if the rest of the world ceases to exist. It’s just the two of you, wrapped up in each other. You’ve never felt so exposed, yet so safe, as when Alexia’s hands trace the lines of your body, her touch always firm but careful. You lose yourself in her, in the way she undoes you so easily, like she knows every secret place, every vulnerable spot that makes you melt. It’s a dangerous game, this intimacy you share with her behind closed doors, but you can’t bring yourself to stop.

The nights always end the same. Whether it’s after a performance, a date, or one of these private sessions, it all leads to the same conclusion: you and her, tangled together in bedsheets, limbs intertwined, bodies bare and spent. Her touch lingers long after the moment passes, leaving you breathless and aching for more. But she’s always the first to move. She’s quick to dress you, her fingers moving deftly as she glances toward the door, always alert, always watching for your manager to walk in. You don’t know why she’s so cautious. He knows she’s in there with you. But the moment her task is done, she slips away, like a shadow disappearing before the light can expose her.

And you let her. You never ask why. You just watch her go, your heart heavy in your chest as the door closes behind her, leaving you alone in the aftermath of what just happened. You tell yourself it’s because you trust her. But do you? Or is it that you’re too afraid of the answer you might get if you ask?

Today, though, things feel off. There’s a tension in the air as you walk into the club, ready for another night of work. You’re exhausted, your mind already drifting towards thoughts of Alexia, of the moments you might share later.

“Y/n, come in here, please.”

The sound of your manager’s voice cuts through the haze of your thoughts, pulling you back to reality. You swallow hard, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. You’ve been called into his office plenty of times, but this feels different. There’s a sternness in his tone that sets you on edge. Nerves coil tightly in your stomach as you step inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

He leans back in his chair, his fingers lacing behind his head as he studies you. His posture is casual, but the intensity in his eyes is anything but.

“This woman,” he starts, his voice measured, “the one who comes in every other week, always requesting you. Who is she? What’s her name?”

Your mouth goes dry. You knew this would come up eventually, but you hadn’t prepared yourself for it. You glance around the room, avoiding his gaze for a moment, searching for something to anchor yourself to.

“Her name is Alexia,” you finally say, your voice quieter than you intended.

“And…” he hesitates for a beat, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you and Alexia dating?”

The question catches you off guard, you shake your head slowly, unsure of what else to say.

“Then why does she keep coming back? And only for you?”

You shrug, your shoulders heavy with the weight of everything unsaid. “I don’t know,” you murmur, though the words feel hollow, even to you. You want to believe that it’s more than just convenience for her. You want to believe that she sees you as more than just the girl she can have when she wants. But you don’t have the answer your manager is looking for. You’re not sure you have any answers at all.

Your manager leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk as his gaze sharpens. “I have a feeling,” he says slowly, “that you’re doing something you’re not supposed to be doing in these private sessions.”

The disappointment in his voice stings more than you expected. You try to open your mouth, to defend yourself, but the words die on your tongue. What could you say? You’re breaking the rules, and you both know it.

“If you’re engaging in acts with clients, you know that’s prohibited here,” he continues, his voice firm. “If we find out you’re involved with her like that, you’ll be fired.”

Panic flares in your chest, but you force yourself to stay calm. You can’t lose this job. But you also can’t lie. So you say nothing, just nodding in acknowledgment, hoping it’s enough to show him that you understand.

“I want you to tell Alexia that she can no longer request you,” he says, his voice unwavering. “And if you don’t, I will. I’ll make sure she doesn’t come here for you anymore.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs. The thought of not seeing Alexia anymore, of losing those quiet moments with her, makes your heart ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

But what can you do?

“You can’t ban her,” you protest, the disbelief thick in your voice. It’s the first time you’ve ever raised your voice to him, and it surprises you as much as it seems to surprise him.

“I can,” he cuts in sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. His expression is calm, but the firmness in his voice makes it clear he’s not bluffing. “I will, if I have to.” He takes a moment for his words to settle in, “I don’t know her intentions with you, and that’s the problem,” your manager continues, his voice softer now, almost concerned. “I want you to be safe, Y/n. You know how dangerous this job can be, especially with private sessions. If she wants something more with you, fine, but it can’t happen here. If you’re involved with her, keep it professional – or handle it outside of work.”

You can’t even form words, your throat tight with frustration and confusion. You nod, though it feels like you’re surrendering. “I’m sorry,” you manage to whisper, the words barely audible.

For the first time, his expression softens. He sighs, looking at you with something that almost resembles pity. “Go get ready for your shift,” he says, his voice no longer sharp but weary. “We’ll talk more later if we need to.”

You push yourself out of the chair, your legs unsteady beneath you as you make your way to the dressing room. The usual routine feels foreign, mechanical, as you go through the motions of preparing for the night. Your mind, however, is far from the club, far from the neon lights and pulsing music. All you can think about is Alexia – what she means to you, what you mean to her, if anything at all.

For the rest of the night, you’re distracted. You go through your shift like a ghost, barely present, your thoughts consumed by what your manager said. What does Alexia really want from you? Every time she comes to see you, every time she takes you out, it always ends the same way – with her hands on your body, with the two of you tangled together in bed. She’s always so focused on you, so intent on touching you, pleasing you – but what about you? Does she want more than just your body?

It’s frustrating – infuriating, even – that you’ve given so much of yourself to her, but know so little in return. You want to be more than just her escape, more than just a body she can touch and leave behind. You want her to see you, really see you, for who you are beyond the roles you play in the dim lighting of the club.

—

The next time you see Alexia, it’s just a few days after your manager had that quiet talk with you about her. He’s been watching you more closely lately, not with suspicion, but with a kind of silent expectation. Every time you pass him, his eyes lock onto yours, silently asking the question you still can’t answer. Each time, you give the same small shake of your head, lips tight, and his face crumbles into thinly veiled disappointment. It’s like a ritual now, and before you can stop yourself, the same tired promise escapes your lips: “I’ll tell her soon.” He never pushes for more, but you can feel it, that invisible clock ticking down. You know what he’ll do if he ever sees her.

When you finally spot her tonight, she’s sitting at the bar, as calm and radiant as ever. Her usual drink sits untouched – just a glass of water tonight. It’s mid-season, after all. She’s been coming less and less, and you know why. The intensity of her schedule, the demands of being a professional athlete, are pulling her further away from these nights, from you.

You stick to the routine, the one that feels mechanical now, rehearsed to the point of exhaustion. There’s no spark, no new energy flowing through you, and for the first time in a long while, her presence doesn’t fuel you like it used to. Your movements lack the usual grace, the confidence that she used to stir in you simply by being there. Maybe it’s the worry gnawing at your insides, the creeping thought that tonight could be the night your manager catches her.

When the routine ends, you glance towards her, and for a brief moment, your eyes meet. She gives you that familiar look – the one that says she’ll wait for you in the room. Usually, it would send a small thrill through you, a silent anticipation of what comes next, but tonight, you simply shake your head at her. Her expression flickers with confusion, but she only shrugs, abandoning her glass with a casual nonchalance that stings more than it should. She waves, a small, half-hearted gesture, and walks out the door.

She didn’t even seem to care. There was no lingering glance, no hesitation in her step. It was as if your rejection meant nothing to her, like you meant nothing. Your chest tightens, a dull ache spreading through you, and the thoughts you’ve been trying to suppress rise to the surface. Maybe she doesn’t care. Maybe she really only wants you for your body. And since you can’t give her that tonight, she just leaves.

The thought churns in your mind, twisting and turning, but you push them down, refusing to let them take root. You won’t let this affect you, not tonight. You force yourself to stay focused, to remain in control. The rest of the night drags on, slow and unremarkable, but you manage to hold it together until the end. When the last person leaves, you clock out without a second glance and head for the backdoor.

The night air is crisp as you step outside, the alleyway bathed in dim light. The world feels quiet, muted, as if it’s holding its breath. You walk the same path you always do, your feet carrying you down the alley and onto the sidewalk. When you reach the street, you glance down the road to where she’d usually be parked. There’s a flicker of relief when you see her car still there, waiting for you. But then, just as quickly, annoyance takes its place. Because she should be home by now. She’s a professional athlete. She should be getting her rest, not waiting up for you like this.

Still, you find yourself moving towards her. You open the passenger door and slide into the seat beside her. The car is silent, the atmosphere thick with tension. She stares out the window for a long time, her profile illuminated by the faint streetlight outside. The silence stretches between you, heavy and uncomfortable, until finally, she turns to you, her eyes searching yours.

“Did I… do something?” Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but there’s a vulnerability in it that catches you off guard.

You shake your head, but the words don’t come easily. You’ve been holding so much back for so long, and now, with her looking at you like this, it’s hard to keep the dam from breaking.

“Why didn’t you want to go to the room?” she asks, her voice trembling slightly, like she’s afraid of the answer.

You sigh, turning away from her gaze, staring at your hands instead. "Because my manager’s onto us. He doesn’t want you coming back anymore. I’m sorry, Alexia."

She huffs, shaking her head as if the answer wasn’t enough. “We should’ve been more careful,” she mutters under her breath, her frustration evident. Then, after a long pause, she turns to you again, her voice softer, almost hesitant. “Can I still… see you?”

There’s a knot in your chest, tightening with each passing second. You nod, but the motion feels hollow, automatic. You don’t know what else to say, how else to respond.

After a stretch of silence, you speak, your voice barely masking the weariness you feel. “Are you taking me home, or are we sitting here all night?”

Her lips curve into a small, teasing smirk, a flash of the confidence you’ve always known in her. “Are you hungry? We could get something to eat.”

“Not tonight,” you murmur, rubbing your forehead. “Just take me home, please.”

The smirk fades, and she nods, starting the car in silence. The drive back to your place is quiet, save for the soft hum of the engine. You lean back in your seat, your thoughts swirling, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t shake the unease. You know what she wants. It’s written in the way she looks at you, the way her fingers occasionally flex on the steering wheel. But tonight, you’re not sure you can give it to her. You’re not even sure you want to.

When you arrive at your place, she goes to park the car, but before she can shift into gear, you place a hand over hers, stopping her movements. She looks at you, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“I don’t want to have sex tonight,” you say, your voice steady but quiet, the words feeling foreign on your tongue.

Her lips part in surprise, and for a moment, you think she might argue, but she doesn’t. Instead, she nods slowly, her confusion giving way to a softer, more understanding expression. ��Okay,” she says, though you can hear the uncertainty in her voice.

“There’s something I need to talk to you about, though,” you continue, feeling the weight of what’s to come. “Can you come inside?”

She doesn’t argue. She simply nods, her expression unreadable as you both step out of the car and head towards your apartment. When you finally unlock the door and step inside, the air between you feels charged, tense, like the calm before a storm.

You settle onto the couch, and she follows, her limbs sprawling out in that casual, confident way of hers. She leans her head back against the cushions, staring at the ceiling, waiting for you to speak. But the words stick in your throat, and instead, you find yourself staring at her.

For a moment, you wonder what she sees in you. She’s so put together, so effortlessly perfect, and you feel small. Inadequate. The weight of your insecurities presses down on you, and for a moment, you question everything. Maybe what you’re about to say is stupid. Maybe it doesn’t even matter.

She turns her head slightly, catching your gaze, and you quickly look away, focusing instead on your hands resting in your lap. After a long, uncomfortable pause, you finally speak.

“What exactly… do you want from this?” Your voice sounds small, uncertain.

She lifts her head, looking at you with a mixture of confusion and surprise. "This? As in us?"

You nod, unable to meet her gaze, afraid of what her answer might be.

Her brow furrows as she thinks for a moment, biting her lip. “I don’t know,” she admits quietly. “I haven’t really thought about it like that.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. She hasn’t been thinking about you. Not the way you’ve been thinking about her. While she’s been a constant presence in your mind, an endless loop of thoughts and feelings you can’t escape, you’ve barely registered on her radar. You feel the sting of it, sharp and cutting, sinking into your chest. For a moment, the room seems to tilt, and your heart drops. You were a fool to think she felt the same way, to let yourself hope for something more when she hadn’t even bothered to consider it.

“Do you want more?” she asks, her voice hesitant now, faltering as she glances at you. Her eyes flicker, catching the hurt in your expression, and you can see her start to second-guess herself. “I thought we were just… casual.”

Her words slice through the air between you, the final confirmation of your worst fear. Casual. That’s what this was to her. Just a passing thing, a distraction from her busy life. Meanwhile, you’ve been caught up in thoughts of her constantly – wondering what you mean to her, why she shows up at your place after nights out, why she sticks around, why it always felt like there was more. But to her, it’s just casual.

Your voice is barely a whisper when you finally speak. “I don’t like casual.” The words feel pathetic on your tongue, like you’re exposing something weak and fragile about yourself. “I thought you taking me out and waiting for me meant something more than it actually did.”

The silence that follows is deafening. You expect her to say something, to argue or apologise, but she just looks at you, her mouth slightly open as if she doesn’t know what to say. And maybe she doesn’t. Maybe there’s nothing to say.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to meet her gaze. "I want you to leave if you don’t want more," you say, the words coming out stronger than you feel. “I’m not going to keep doing this with you if it leads to nothing in the end.”

The shock on her face is clear, her eyes wide as she stares at you, and for a brief second, you wonder if you’ve pushed too hard. Maybe you’re being too dramatic, letting your feelings spiral out of control. Maybe this is how she shows love, maybe you’ve misread everything. But at this moment, your heart is screaming for more, for something solid, something real. You can’t live in this uncertainty anymore.

You offer her an out, your voice quieter now. “I can give you time to think…”

But before you can finish, she shakes her head, and you brace yourself for the worst. You think this is it, the moment she’ll stand up and walk out of your life for good, leaving you to pick up the pieces of your heart on your own.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she moves closer, wrapping her arms around you, pulling you into a tight, almost desperate embrace. It catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to react. Her hold is firm, like she’s trying to hold you together, trying to keep you from slipping away from her.

“I’m not going to leave,” she whispers into your hair, her voice raw with emotion. “I want the same thing. I was just too scared to tell you because I didn’t know if you felt the same. I didn’t want to embarrass myself or… or lose you.”

Her words wash over you, and for a second, you’re not sure if you should believe her. You’ve spent so long convincing yourself that she didn’t care, that this was all just surface-level for her, that now, hearing her say otherwise feels surreal. But there’s something in her voice, a vulnerability you haven’t seen before, that makes you pause. Maybe she’s been scared, too. Maybe this whole time, she’s been holding back the same way you have, afraid of what it might mean to open up completely.

“I didn’t want to let you go,” she continues, her breath warm against your skin. “I couldn’t ever let you go.”

Her words feel like a balm to the ache that’s been building in your chest, soothing the tension that’s been twisting inside you for weeks. You take a deep breath, the scent of her perfume filling your lungs, mixed with the subtle scent that’s uniquely hers. It’s comforting, grounding, and you let yourself relax into her embrace, closing your eyes for a moment as the weight of your fears begins to lift, just a little.

“I want to be something more with you,” she murmurs softly, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. Her hands cup your cheeks, her thumbs brushing gently over your skin as she holds your gaze. There’s something new in her eyes, something tender and raw – an emotion you’ve never seen before. Adoration, maybe. Admiration. You can’t quite put a name to it, but whatever it is, it makes your heart swell in your chest.

“I do, I really do,” she continues, her voice steady now, more certain than before. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. You just sit there, staring at each other, her hands still cradling your face as if she’s afraid to let go. Her gaze roams over your features, taking in every detail as if seeing you for the first time, and then her eyes drift down to your lips.

The kiss, when it finally comes, is tentative at first. Slow. Gentle. There’s none of the urgency or heat that usually ignites between you. Instead, it’s soft and tender, filled with a quiet longing that takes your breath away. It’s a kiss that says more than words ever could – a promise, an understanding. It’s everything you’ve been wanting from her, everything you’ve been waiting for, and you can feel the weight of it in your bones.

When she pulls back, her forehead rests against yours, and you sit there in the quiet of your apartment, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. Your mind races, a thousand thoughts swirling at once, but before you can speak, she asks the question that’s been pressing on your mind.

“What are you thinking about?” she whispers.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure of how to voice the doubts still lingering in the back of your mind.

“Are you… okay with what I do?” you ask, your voice wavering slightly. “I mean… the media is going to say so much when they find out about me. About what I do.” You pause, your chest tightening as you search her eyes for any sign of doubt. “Are you comfortable with me dancing for others? Letting others see me like that?”

She’s quiet for a moment, her eyes searching yours, and for a brief second, you feel your heart clench in fear. But then she smiles, a slow, warm smile that sends a wave of relief through you.

“Who cares what they say?” she murmurs, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Own what you do. You’re sexy, and I love it.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the tension start to ease from your body. “But–”

“I trust you,” she cuts in gently, her eyes locking onto yours with a sincerity that leaves no room for doubt. “I trust that you won’t do anything to hurt me. And if something does bother me, I’ll tell you. But for now, let’s just focus on us. On where we want to go, okay?”

Her words settle over you like a blanket, warm and comforting, and you nod, unable to find the words to express the gratitude swelling in your chest.

She stands up, offering her hand to you, and together, you make your way to the bedroom. But this time, there’s no rush, no urgency. This time, you fall into each other’s arms, but not out of lust. And as you drift off to sleep, her body wrapped around yours, you feel a quiet contentment settle over you, knowing that for the first time, you’re both on the same page.

Over the months that follow, her actions speak louder than any words ever could. She shows you, day by day, how much you mean to her – how much she wants this, how much she wants you. You watch as she slowly lets her guard down, revealing parts of herself that she’s never shared with anyone else. It’s in the small moments, the little gestures that show you how much she’s come to care. She holds your hand in public without hesitation. She asks you about your day and genuinely listens, her attention unwavering.

And when she finally tells you she loves you for the first time, it’s in the quiet of your apartment, after a long day. She doesn’t plan it, doesn’t make it a big moment. It just slips out naturally, like it was always meant to be said, and you realise then that you’ve been waiting to hear those words for far longer than you knew.

It’s in the way she moves in with you, how the two of you build a life together. It’s in the way she surprises you by proposing, years later, after you’ve both grown together, after you’ve come to know every inch of each other’s hearts. And when you stand at the altar, exchanging vows, you see the truth in her eyes – the unwavering love that’s been there all along.

And it’s in the way she stands beside you when your first child is born, holding your hand through every pain, every joy, until you’re both holding the life you created together.

Looking back, you can’t help but feel a deep sense of relief that you didn’t let fear or pride get in the way of what was right in front of you. You allowed yourself to love her, and just as importantly, you allowed her to love you. And that, you realise, was the bravest thing you’ve ever done. It wasn’t easy to be vulnerable, to lay your heart bare in front of her, but it was worth every moment of uncertainty, every doubt you ever had.

You can’t help but feel a surge of gratitude for the people who played a part in allowing you to be here. Your manager, for one, comes to mind, and a small, appreciative smile tugs at your lips. He had seen it all, from the beginning – how you danced around the truth for so long, how you kept things under wraps until it became impossible to hide.

You remember the day you finally told him about Alexia, bracing yourself for judgement or worse, thinking he’d tell you it was too much of a risk to keep seeing her. But instead, he had simply rolled his eyes in that familiar, knowing way and shrugged. When you later told him you were getting married to her, you’d half-expected him to lecture you or at least bring up how complicated it could be with the job. But no – he barely blinked, just gave you a look that said, I knew this was coming, before congratulating you with a smirk.

And that was it. No drama, no judgement. He didn’t treat you any differently, didn’t look at you any differently, and most importantly, he let you keep your job. He understood – maybe more than you gave him credit for – that love was something worth fighting for, something worth protecting. You’re thankful for that, for his quiet support and the way he let you figure things out without pushing too hard.

You’re grateful for him, for the way he respected your boundaries, your choices. And in a strange way, you’re even grateful for the moments of discomfort and uncertainty, for they ultimately led you to where you are now – deeply in love with a woman who loves you just as much, if not more.

there were sooo many ways i could’ve taken this so im very anxious as to what you think about this 🫠

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia x reader #woso #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso x reader #barca femeni #barca femini x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader

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sordidmusings · 26 days ago

Text

Drown in You (Sanji x Reader)

Art by tsuyomaru

Prologue: It is no secret to the crew that you know soul magic. Robin was the first to understand what you were talking about - it is, after all, a practice from a far off island whose resident have all but vanished. While she would ask you actually engaging questions, almost all the others are just begging you to use it, but you refuse to budge and show them. You tell them about it though, wistfully and reverently. At first, Sanji would beg and wax poetic about it the most of all, but as you grow closer he learns to just listen. With your deepening trust and his lack of pushing, you decide it’s time to give him a taste of the heady bliss of brushing souls.

A/N: Getting this up quick before getting back to asks 👏🏻 This was written for me to practice using my magic stuff instead of just thinking about it lol I use it constantly in daydreams so why not try to actually get it down and see if others like it too 🤷🏼‍♀️ as far as this fic goes, visualization is used to control the energy of the soul then have it flow over Sanji then all his happy chemicals go ~W O W~

Word Count: ~3.8 k

Warnings: gn reader, just so much non-sexual intimacy, ✨magic✨, flirting, pet names (all gn), Sanji being down bad, reader finding it cute, it’s more opla down bad not anime down bad in this one, besides that I think he could be read as either

Hope you enjoy guiding Sanji through feeling a soul the first time 🤍🤍🤍

Suggested Music:

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

“If you relax it will help,” you instructed.

Sanji was trying his best to relax but how could he? He had seen how dreamily you talked of your experiences with this, of how comforting and relaxing and intimate it felt. After somehow convincing his way into receiving the touch from you, he was ecstatic. Then the reality of it - of how vulnerable it would leave him - started to sink in and anxiety began to taint his excitement.

You laid a hand on top of his, stopping his fingers from tapping at his thigh. You didn’t have to reach far to touch him; both of you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, so close that your knees touched.

“Really, don’t worry,” you soothed. “We’re only brushing so you can get used to the feeling, yeah? It’ll be a lot at first, but nothing entangling or invasive. And we stop if anything’s too much.”

Sanji’s shining blue eyes took their time examining your own before turning to the floor. He hoped that looking at anything else would help him think; whenever your eyes met, his mind went blank. The patterns in the blanket separating you both from the sleeping mat didn’t help him find his words. Neither did the pillows and extra blankets encircling your seats. As you started to pull away, he felt your soft skin trail against the back of his hand and suddenly the words came.

“It’s okay, I’m fine,” Sanji rushed out. It took only a second for him to adjust back to flirtation. “Just got tongue-tied looking at you.”

You giggled at the cheesy line and how flustered he was. His practiced silver tongue didn’t seem to be helping him at the moment, which was probably making him even more nervous. You took mercy on him by not pointing it out.

Instead, you offered him your other hand and he quickly slid his into your upturned palm. He settled it so that your palms nestled into each other, giving you perfect access to run your thumb back and forth over the inside of his wrist. Sanji responds with a gentle squeeze. You pull your other hand away to resituate your hand-holding on that side to mirror the other. Sanji looked between both embraces with a soft affection that had your heart skittering. A deep breath helped steer you back on task.

“Okay. If we sync our breathing it will help the whole process and keep everything moving nice and slow,” you explained. Sanji gave you a short nod and a shaky smile. “Watch me and follow.”

You started by breathing through your nose until you felt the air refresh every corner of your lungs. Sanji held your gaze and followed the action a split second after he heard the soft sound of your inhale start. You held that air for just a moment before gently pursing your lips and slowly blowing the air through them. His eyes shot down to watch your lips and his breath left him in a short quiet sigh. The gentle breeze you blew out brushed the back of his hands. You started your next inhale fast to exaggerate the sound and it snapped him out of his trance. He smiled in apology, squinting those shiny baby blues of his, and got right back to following you.

The feeling of your lungs stretching out your ribs, and the pressure of the exiting air tingling your lips, was soothing your mind and body. The effect grew with the sounds of your own controlled breathing and amplified with Sanji’s mimicry until there was a pleasant murkiness to the edges of your thought. Judging by how hooded Sanji’s eyes had become, he was feeling it too. Time to start.

“Now keep your hands in mine, it may feel destabilizing if you pull away suddenly,” you gently warned, voice quiet in your unwillingness to disrupt the tranquil air.

“Comforting,” Sanji responded, scrunching his nose. He resettled his expression to the flirtatious one you were much more familiar with. “Promise to nurse me back to health if anything goes wrong?”

“How else am I supposed to get my favorite treats if you’re out of commission?” you teased.

“Say that you’re mine and I’ll give you all the treats the world has to offer,” he promised, earning an enabling chuckle out of you.

“Well, we’ll see if you can handle that,” you said, voice affectionate instead of condescending. “Now less talking, more breathing. I’m going to start and I want you to save your words for anything feeling uncomfortable.”

At his nod, you began.

Sanji watched with curiosity as you closed your eyes and stopped all motion except for your breathing. He thought you looked absolutely radiant sitting in the warm afternoon light cast through the porthole, drenched in bottomless peace. Matching your breath became second nature surprisingly quick, making his mind free to absorb every beloved detail of you sharing this with him and to charge with anticipation for your next move.

He felt but he did not see - no matter how hard he stared at the feeling manifesting on his skin, whatever was moving there stayed invisible to him. It started with your hands radiating warmth out, growing so gradually that he didn’t notice until it felt like his hands were shoved in laundry fresh from the dryer. The heat held steady for a moment, turning his grip lax as it melted any tension, before he felt the sensation change and grow up his arms. It felt both liquid and air against his skin; a summer breeze that swirled and toiled like an ocean current. A shiver crept up his spine, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Each place the sensation curled and puffed across was stuck between enlivening with an electric flush and sinking into the heaviness of a body deep in sleep. By the time it was encroaching on his shoulder, bleeding straight through his clothes as if they didn’t exist, his breathing stuttered to something of a gasp.

Your concentration faltered at the sound, offering Sanji a light reprieve as the energy lost its ability to ignore his clothing. You opened your eyes to check in on your companion and gasp too. His eyes were hazy and staring at you like you had given him his first sip of water in days. His blue irises stood out even more above the light blush on his face, even with his love-blown pupils. You flushed at the look, but brushed it off; the first feeling is usually overwhelming and confusing and sets off many happy chemicals to douse the whole brain and body. You thought you hadn’t pushed out too much of your energy on him and it was all soothing and content, but his eyes told you that you had bombarded him with permeating affection. Too bad you couldn’t connect your energy to his to figure out precisely what he was feeling.

“Sanji, honey, talk to me,” you asked quietly, encouragingly. “What are you feeling?”

“I feel…” he started, but he trailed off and simply kept taking you in with his soft eyes. You squeezed his hands and bumped his knee with yours to jostle him a little closer to coherence.

“Sanji, is it bad?” He certainly didn’t look like it felt bad, but too much good can quickly lead that way.

“It’s… strange?” he offered. His brows scrunched from the difficulty he was having conjuring the right words. “Good strange. Breezy. Warm. It’s a lot though.”

“Too much?” you probed, already starting to lighten up the energy.

“No,” Sanji insisted, leaning towards you in his urgency. He caught the surprise in your eyes and forced himself back again. He cleared his throat. “Please.” He exhaled heavily. “Keep going, love.”

“As long as you're sure.” You took a deep breath yourself, needing to settle your own worry back into calm concentration. You gifted yourself a moment to caress his wrist with your thumb again, enjoying how soft the skin felt in comparison to his calloused fingertips. You gave one more warning: “It will peak before you adjust and it settles out.”

You did not wait for a response to continue. Shutting your eyes so sight wouldn’t battle you on your way back to your visualizations, you were back to your task. The way you’ve gotten success in controlling your own soul’s energy was with water imagery. In your mind’s eye, a lake behind your head leaked to the space between your eyes, where it poured down in a roaring waterfall. The majority of the torrent flooded down through your neck, into your ribcage, and along to the cradle of your pelvis. On the way, it bounced and flung off a boulder built of your heart and splashed to make trickles on your ribs, spine, and hips. There was, however, some water that took a different path. The highest rocks it crashed upon rested in your shoulders, making the water spray and rush its way down your arms. Its journey from rapids to stream took place along your forearms to control the flow by the time it reached your hands. There, the water became a gently swirling pool in each palm. By the time this vision had become immaculately clear to you again, Sanji’s grip had firmed back up on you.

Sanji’s nerves had worsened instead of smoothed out, but he'd be damned if he was going to back down from this. He needed to know that feeling you had tried to describe to him and the rest of the crew. And like he had said - it wasn’t bad, but it was.. startling? Unnerving? He knew the feeling was coming from his skin but it almost didn’t feel like it was his own skin; it felt like it was coming from a whole new body. It felt at once thrumming and alive as well as heavy and enveloping. He shut his eyes against the overwhelm.

With your own eyes closed, you had to use the strength and tremble of Sanji’s grip to guide you on when to pause and when to push forward. As you anticipated, the greatest reactions came when the mental water flowing from the pools in your palms up his arms snaked to wrap around his chest and then it inched further down still to dance around his waist and stomach. Through the process, he had shifted himself ever so slightly closer to you, seeking grounding and comfort in the flourish of feeling that threatened to puff his mind into smoke. Noticing his cute nudging closer, your heart burned with fierce affection for him. You had to hold yourself from releasing his hands to pull him into and embrace. That would be too much; he’s too unused to the process and you’re too unpracticed to keep the flow stable through that action.

Finally, you imagine the long journey of the water making its way over his hips and down his thighs to cover the remaining pieces of his body. All except the head. Saving it for last was generally the best idea for someone’s first time feeling the presence of a soul; the heart is where many emotions are held but the brain has the most ties to the soul. It was much better to prep it before the plunge.

“Sanji, are you doing okay? Ready for the last bit?” you checked.

“Anything you’re willing to give, love, I’ll take,” Sanji mumbled. He sounded pleasantly dazed like a drunk existing half in the waking world and half in dreams. You wished you could open your eyes to see him.

“It’s going to rise up over your head and then it should smooth out,” you explained. A lethargic hum resonating from the depths of his chest was his only response.

The conflicting reactions his body was giving to the river of air around him had begun to center slightly by the time you had spoken. All that progress went out the window when he felt little licks of wind flicking at his neck. He trembled under the electricity they buzzed along his spine, but found himself happy to be at their mercy. He felt so very alive and that in itself was stumping him. Had he been alive? Can you live before knowing a touch that feels so implicit after only a small taste? One of the few pieces of his mind that remembered the Before and that there’s an After to this experience was repeating the daunting fact that this is only the beginning of connecting to a soul. How beautifully terrifying.

More brushes of liquid air played off the skin of his neck and he found himself tilting his head back for more of it. The rise was steady, moving past the stubble of his chin, the ears peeking out from his hair, the ends of his bangs, his curled brows, and he was submerged.

For a split second, the impulse to jump to his feet and run until he was unable to move almost overtook him. He was a lit fuze and needed to burst or surely there would be agony. But agony never came. What came was the comfort of a morning bed on a taskless day. He was surrounded by perfectly radiating body heat in a dark cocoon. The unfamiliar aspect was how he felt like he was sitting underwater, weightless and gently rocking at the whims of a constantly swaying current. He distantly thought that if he’d open his eyes he’d find the dark pits of the ocean yawning around him and all he could find in himself to think of such a haunting notion was ‘how nice’.

Meanwhile, you were much more sure of agreeing to go through this whole thing because of how languid Sanji had become. His hands lay mostly limp in yours, except for the occasional movement of a finger to enjoy the feel of your skin. The little affections burst joy in your heart and made that path of water that your mind held flow richer and with more ease. Knowing he’d need at least several long minutes in this stage, you let yourself relax fully into your own meditation built on your rushing blue visions and his delicately moving fingertips. Just as he had learned to mirror your breaths earlier, your hands took to mimicking his own.

Time was a muddy thing from the moment he fell fully under until the moment his body was coming back to the world. It trickled in gradually, starting with the feeling of the blanket and mattress pad he sat on and ending with the brush of his clothes on his skin when he finally shifted. The great abyss around him shrunk back to the initial feeling of twirling winds over his skin. Unlike the initial feeling, this didn’t send his body and mind reeling; it left him warm and relaxed like a decadent hot oil massage. There was still a sense of being enveloped, though. It had him thinking back to the last time he had fallen asleep wrapped in the arms of another. Despite the easy comparison, there was no unsatiated hunger plaguing him from the closeness. He was at ease.

Sanji’s eyes began to blink open once they were ready, and he was glad they did. In front of him you sat as peaceful as he had ever seen you. Once he was able to move his gaze away from the little shadows your lashes cast onto your cheeks or the enchanting curves of your resting lips, he began fully taking you in. Slowly trailing his eyes over every detail, his heart swelled with love until it pressed a placid smile on his lips. The pieces he most wanted to store away in his mind forever were the content look making your face even more beautiful to him and the sight of his hands held so caringly in your own. He let out a happy sigh as he watched your thumbs trace him once more.

“Sanji?” you called softly.

“Yes, dear?”

“How are you feeling?” He almost laughed at your question.

“I feel wonderful,” he breathed out. You could hear the smile shaping his words and were struck with the bare emotion in his statement. He sounded just like he said.

“Perfect. You’ve done beautifully, sweetheart,” you spoke through your own smile. Even with your eyes closed, you could tell he was preening at your praise.

You lightened up your conscious control of your energy flowing around Sanji. It continued on its path with ease, enough that you were able to let the feeling of its circulation sustain itself instead of needing your imagery. The repetition of it over the long time spent meditating helped you to focus in on what your energy feels like. Usually, that was something too abstract for you to be able to call on straight away. It would take hours and hours more in that sensation before your brain could own and control it with ease. For now, you were good enough to latch onto it once it was there long enough so you fully release the envisioned control by blinking your eyes open.

Sanji was already looking at you. He was no longer flushed and fidgety; every roused edge of him had polished out to a serene shine. The smile stuck on his face was delicate, only pulling his lips to curl enough to press into his cheeks and threaten to crinkle his eyes. Those eyes were half-lidded but still glimmering as they looked back at you. You darted your eyes back to his smile, which now exposed a hint of his teeth between his gently parted lips.

“What now, love?” Sanji asked. He was loath to interrupt the moment, but truly needed to know what he was supposed to do now that he had reached the goal of this whole endeavor. Would you just suck the feeling out right away? Would you pull your hands from his? Would you leave him to process this whole thing alone? Leave him to starve for a taste he’d never get again?

You took one last moment to check him over before deciding to be a little self indulgent. Sure, this would help him ease back out to no soul contact more than just sitting there, but it also wasn’t absolutely necessary. You didn’t think he would mind though.

“I think we could both use a lay down and maybe a nap,” you offered, nodding your head to the side to gesture to the head of the sleeping mat. Now his smile split wide enough to scrunch his eyes.

“You’re going to spoil me rotten, love,” he jokingly admonished, already leaning himself in the direction you’d motioned towards. He wasn’t going anywhere fast though; his body felt as heavy and slow and syrupy as his mind did.

Deciding to expose more of your soft spot for him than usual, you respond, “Good. You do enough spoiling to deserve some in return.”

The fondness in your voice let him know that it was true care offered instead of easy flirting. Hearing you send that tone his way had his supporting arm collapse under him, sending him down to his elbow. Were it any other time, he would’ve tried to hide the slip or recover quickly, but it wasn’t any other time and he simply went with it to finish crawling the short distance to the head of the mat. The movement to get to his side was more flopping than laying, but the shift to his back was at least smoother. Those lovely blue eyes fluttered closed and refused to open.

You kept close to him the whole way, smiling and snorting at his lack of grace under the influence of the new and potent headspace brought on by your own energy. Yes, you wanted to be close anyway, but it was functionally to make it easy to keep him within the swirl of your soul. Once he had surrendered to the position his body ended up in, you began adjusting him to make sure he was as comfortable as possible. An arm was saved from its strange angle, his head was raised and placed on a plush pillow, the most luxurious of your blankets was grabbed to place on him. The whole time Sanji was mumbling sweet pet names along with his thanks.

Ever since you had mentioned sleep, Sanji felt it pulling at him. It only got worse when he moved and laid down. He was existing so sweetly in a waking dream, stuck half-lucid in a body that was being tended by your very soul. He thanked whatever lucky stars were up there and shot a “thank you” to whatever past life had earned him this; he didn’t think it could get any better than the bone deep contentment that saturated him.

That was until you laid down next to him and started snuggling into his right side.

The feeling of your warm and soft body shifting into him until you molded perfectly against each other had one more flurry of tingles and skipping heartbeats work through him. Your cheek was nestled against the top of his pec and you were happy to find that the fabric of his dress shirt felt soft against your skin. The arm that laid over him was reached out so that your hand could rest on the shoulder opposite your head. The whispering sound of your skin brushing over the fabric of his pants filled the air as you bent your right leg just enough to nestle in between his. You couldn’t help the deep, contented sigh that left you at the pleasant feeling of his thick thighs cradling one of yours. You had nearly forgotten to pull the blanket up over the two of you with how harshly the drain from concentrating and moving your energy had started to hit you. It didn’t help that Sanji was just as enviously comfortable as he looked.

Sanji drank in every touch you offered with satisfaction and serenity. Every single one seemed to solidify the heaven that wrapped his every sense in comfort and peace. His left hand managed to make its way up and hold the hand you had rested on his shoulder. His right was placed down lovingly on your waist. You mumbled something that could’ve been “sweet dreams” and he mumbled back with just as much clarity.

With your last waking action, you gave him a gentle squeeze then fully relaxed your body into his. Sanji stayed conscious for as long as he could, basking in the feeling of being truly held.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

No Pressure Taglist: @click-and-flash-pest-captures @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @hey-august @schoute @feral-artistry @haveatthee83

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help-itrappedmyself · 9 months ago

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Summoning Game Show Part 7

Masterpost

Okay. This is technically the end of Summoning Game Show! There is room to write more, but that probably won't be coming for a little bit. Thank you to everyone for reading and commenting and sharing. I am so so happy that people liked it and interacted and everything. I had a great time and I hope you like the end.

~~~~~

Red, Nightwing, and Robin soon find themselves in an office/meeting room of sorts. They’re seated on a couch in front of a table.

Danny closes the door behind them. “I would offer you a drink, but I don’t think you could drink it.”

Danny takes a seat on a loveseat across the table from them. He has a small green dog with a spiky collar sitting in his lap and he pets him absentmindedly as he gets settled. Robin is laser focused on the dog.

“What would you guys like to talk about?”

“Who is that?” Robins asks immediately.

“This is Cujo!” Danny smiles down at the Cujo and he wags his tail when he hears his name. “You guys don’t mind him being in here right? He’s mostly well behaved.”

Robins shakes his head. “We don’t mind. Just…”

“Ah, dead animal. Well, animals get ghosts too.” Danny explains. “ Personally, I like to think that Cujo is happy.”

“His collar says Axion Labs.”

Danny nods at Robin, fingers playing with the collar. “ He used to be a guard dog for them.”

“What-” Robin is cuts off as Danny and Cujo start glowing more brightly, Cujo starts growling and his form flickers.

“Never- never- ask a ghost how they died.” The boys all nodded, and Danny and Cujo stabilized as they calmed down. “It’s very rude. Now, to business, why did you want to summon me? ”

“We do a lot of travel, space, dimensions and everything and we just wanted to learn more about this realm. Maybe set up communications, that kind of thing. A learning experience.” Nightwing explains.

“I mean, we clearly don’t know enough considering we didn’t know you could help Hood. Or that he needed help in the first place.” Red mutters the last bit.

Danny eyes them all warily. “Historically, we don’t really do well when people want to learn more about us. What exactly do you need this information for?

“”Just to learn. I told you, I like to know things.” Red said.

“Well, I can’t just give out any information, but if you want to ask me some questions until Hood gets back, I’ll answer what I can.”

“What is this place actually called?” Nightwing asks.

“Oh, it has lots of names, because it’s lots of places. This is the Infinite Realms, home to all afterlives and the dimension between dimensions.”

“Home to all afterlives?” Red is flabbergasted. Red wasn’t sure that he believed in any afterlives, and now there are multiple? “So you’re all dead?”

“No.” They wait a moment but Danny does not elaborate.

“So there are living people here?” Nightwing asks.

“Obviously.”Danny makes a face at them. “Everyone here is living. You need better terminology. Humans are very narrow when it comes to life and death.”

“That’s because usually you’re either dead or alive.” Robin is struggling to comprehend the possibility of an in-between.

“That seems very narrow-minded coming from people who came here with someone both alive and dead.”

“Hood?” Red asks.

“Hood is alive.” Nightwing states.

“And dead!” Danny chirps. “There are many in-betweens, most leaning to one side or the other. Hood leans more towards being alive, but his being alive is dependent on ectoplasm, so he’s at least a little dead. Though the fact that he was able to live with the ectoplasm he has means that he is mostly alive.”

“What is ectoplasm and how did Hood get it?” Red is very curious now.

“Oh, everything. Most of the Infinite Realms is made out of ectoplasm , including most creatures in it. “ Danny puts his hand together and green liquid pools in it. The same green as everything outside.

“So, that’s probably the Lazarus pits.” Red mutters. “ Explains the exposure bit.”

“You have ectoplasm in your dimension?” Danny asks.

The boys nod. “There are a few pools of it around. One guy in particular likes to hoard them to keep from dying.”

Danny frowns.

“That’s a violation. Ectoplasm is poisonous for humans, radioactive.” Danny complains. “And if his ectoplasm is as bad as the ectoplasm in your friend, that is not healthy.”

“It would be, he’s the one who exposed Hood to it in the first place.”

Danny groans. “Alright, I’m going to need a list of all the locations you know of in your dimension, and if you have a way for me to contact whoever is hoarding the ectoplasm that would be great. I’m going to have to take care of that.”

There’s a knock on the door and Danny calls, “Come in!”

Frostbite opens the door for Hood, who comes in without his helmet, but with a mask on. “Guys, this is my new doctor. He’s great.” Hood says.

“Glad you’re doing better!” Danny smiles at them both as Hood takes a seat. Frostbite nods his head, then leaves again, shutting the door behind him. “Frostbite gave you a rundown of what’s to do and what’s going to happen now that you have healthy ectoplasm?”

“Yep, explained all the side effects, but I’m already feeling much better.”

“Wonderful! So If you guys wouldn’t mind just giving me that information so I can follow up on it, I think we’re done here.”Danny stands, putting Cujo on the seat as he vacates it.

“We would like to be able to get in contact with you, if you’re coming to our dimension, that way we can tell the rest of the heroes what you’re up to and everything. Is there any way to communicate between our dimensions?” Red asks.

“Frostbite also said I would need to discuss a way to get fresh ectoplasm from you until I can create my own reliably.” Jason cuts in.

“Well, looks like I have lots of business in your dimension. Do you guys have communicators that you use? Anything from your dimension on you right now?”

They all nod. “Cool, hand me something, two-way, that you don’t mind losing because after I fix it up you won’t be able to contact anyone except for me on it.”

Red hands him a phone, Danny opens it up and messes with the insides before putting it back together. Then he turns it on and calls his Ghost business phone so he would have the number. He hands Red back the phone, picking his own up. “What should I name you guys? Is it always going to be Red on the phone?”

“Probably not.” Red says. “Especially if Hood needs things from you as well. Just put us under Bats.”

“Bats is weird, but whatever you say.” Danny finishes with his phone and smiles up at them. “Thanks for competing! I’ll be in touch.”

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suzukiblu · 2 months ago

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WIP excerpt for inkwell; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good! (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Oh, you don’t have to do those, you’re the one cooking,” Billy says. Lynn pauses again, then looks up again with another frown.

“What?” he says.

“Um–if somebody cooks for you, the polite thing to do is do the dishes for them after. So I can do ‘em,” Billy clarifies, because probably Cadmus actually wasn’t really very interested in teaching Lynn, like, normal manners and stuff, come to think. Because Lynn wouldn’t have needed to know that, if they weren’t ever gonna be letting him go be normal.

Jerks.

Lynn stares blankly at him again. He’s holding a dish. Billy hopes he’s not embarrassed or anything. It makes sense that he doesn’t know, obviously, and even if it didn’t make sense it’s not like Billy’d hold it against him, but, like–obviously Lynn doesn’t know that kind of thing yet.

It’s probably gonna be a while before he does, Billy figures. Though Lynn’s technically still really little, so he might have an easier time letting his guard down a little? He hasn’t really had much life experience to tell him he shouldn’t, so . . .

Billy . . . well, he learned pretty quick not to let his guard down too quick in a new foster home. Or, like . . . ever, really. At all.

He’d like it if Lynn just . . . didn’t have to, though. Didn’t have to learn that kind of thing, he means. Like–yeah, definitely Lynn should keep his guard up on patrol and missions and stuff, but not at home.

There’s not any kryptonite in the apartment for a reason. Pretty much the same reason Billy wants Lynn to be able to let his guard down.

“You want to . . . do the dishes,” Lynn says slowly.

“Yeah,” Billy says. “I mean–if you like doing them yourself it’s fine, just since you cooked I thought I should at least, you know, offer?”

Lynn stares blankly at him some more. He does that a lot. Billy wonders if Lynn’s maybe just not very good at using facial expressions yet, come to think. That might make sense, right? He saw some pictures of the other genomorphs in the mission report, and most of them didn’t have very expressive-seeming faces either, and almost nobody actually human-looking spent too much time working down on Lynn’s sublevel, it seemed like. And also the head security guy apparently wore a helmet with a half-mask involved, and Dr. Desmond was, um . . . maybe not a great person for Lynn to be taking any cues from, considering–plus who even knows how hands-on he was in the lab anyway–so maybe Lynn just still hasn’t seen all that many expressions yet. Like, outside of his uploads and stuff, anyway. Or maybe he just didn’t see all that many of them “growing up”, depending on how awake he was for that?

Or both, maybe. Maybe just both?

Cadmus did not do a very good job teaching Lynn how to be somebody outside Cadmus, Billy is pretty sure. Which, well–yeah. Of course it wouldn’t have.

Cadmus didn’t want Lynn to ever be somebody outside it, or even be outside it at all.

That’s just so, so messed up.

#billy batson #conner kent #captain marvel #shazam #superboy #young justice #young justice animated #wip: billy adopts conner and it actually goes pretty good!#inkwell

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lanawinterscigarettes · 9 months ago

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Headcanons for Jennifer Check with an autistic S/O?

I love this idea so much- I took inspiration from some of my own experiences so this might not apply to everyone but I certainly did my best! I really hope you like it <3

Jennifer Check with an autistic s/o

Warnings: brief mention of meltdowns/sensory overloads, references to ableism/ignorant people, very brief (somewhat) joking mention of committing murder (it's Jenny, what do you expect), very salty and blunt language that I'm honestly not even sorry for

I honestly think Jennifer would appreciate dating an autistic person, especially if you're the type who's very straight forward or overly blunt about things

She probably thought you were a bit of a bitch at first I'm not gonna lie lol, but she makes that assumption about pretty much everyone when she first meets them

You'd seen each other around school before but your first real conversation was when you were paired up for some sort of science project. She was not looking or feeling like her typical hot and fabulous self, and while you weren't the first to notice you were the only one brave enough to point it out

"Have you been getting enough sleep recently? You have really heavy bags under your eyes"

Jennifer wanted to snap at you at first, thinking you were being sarcastic (because obviously she had bags under her eyes, she didn't need anyone pointing it out) but much to her surprise you didn't look like you were making fun of her. In fact, you seemed a little concerned

"Your hair looks pretty damaged." You continued, oblivious to the look of utter shock on her face that you would actually say something like that out loud. "If using both shampoo and conditioner is too much of a trouble I can recommend some two-in-one products. Or you can always use dry shampoo in between washes"

The woman was too stunned to speak. All she was able to do was mutter an awkward "thank you", something that you simply nodded your head at before turning the conversation back over to the project

She gained a lot of respect for you that day, as you were the only person who wasn't afraid to say what everyone was thinking (though she soon learned this was due to you not knowing what was and wasn't considered 'appropriate' to say)

Out of everyone, you're the one person Jennifer goes to (other than maybe Needy) when she needs an honest opinion on something because you won't lie to spare her feelings or try to flatter her

"Which tank top do you think I should wear to school tomorrow, the pink one or the black one?"

"Well, the pink one makes you look like slut. But the black one makes you look like both a slut and a bitch, too"

"Perfect. Black it is, then"

If you ever accidentally make a situation awkward or uncomfortable by your comments or questions you won't even have to worry about being embarrassed because she'll immediately come out with saying something so bitchy and/or vulgar that whatever you said looks innocent in comparison and is forgotten about right away

She'll get very protective if people try to purposely make you feel bad for the out of pocket things you say. After all, you're just telling people the truth, it's not their fault if they can't handle a dose of reality (her words, not mine)

Even though she loves to party she'll most likely either tone it down or just stop going altogether when she finds out you don't like them all that much because of the loud music, bright lights, small spaces crowded with lots of drunk people, etc. She'd rather be with you any way

Always lets you infodump to her about your newest interest or favorite thing, which truly shows just how much she loves you as she usually always has to be the one dominating any conversation she's a part of. Sometimes you wonder if she ever really listens until she gets you something relating to your latest hyperfixation and then you're like "ah okay so she does care :D"

Honestly she's such a trashy mcbling y2k girly (canon, she told me herself) that I feel like she's the type of person to buy you stim/fidget toys and then help you 'bling' them out by gluing on fake rhinestones and such because "you can't just walk around with boring accessories"

Is she the type of person to tease you/make a bunch of sex jokes if you have an oral fixation? Yes. Will she start carrying around lollipops, gum, chew rings, etc. in her purse to give to you when you're feeling distressed in a public place? Also yes

Totally understands if you don't like/can't eat certain foods due to pickiness, especially if this is after her demon possession. She goes out of her way to make sure the pantry is stocked with your safe foods and all your favorite snacks for whenever you come over so you won't run out of them

She may not be the best at comforting you if you're in the middle of a meltdown/sensory overload or if you start crying (especially if it's over something small) but she tries her best to be gentle, not wanting to accidentally make things worse. If you need physical comfort then she'll gladly let you wrap your arms around her and get as close as possible, but if not then she'll stay a safe distance away while trying to cheer you up with words of encouragement

Absolutely hates ableist people. Hates and will eat them /hj. She can't stand when people make you feel bad for not understanding certain phrases or not being able to pick up on social cues

If you're ever confused on something then she takes the time to explain it to you, and yes this includes her sarcasm. She can't stop being sarcastic for anyone, including you (sorry) but she can make accomadations so you don't feel stupid or left out

Jennifer finds your stimming so adorable, especially if you do it when you're excited to see her. The fact that you get so happy you have to make a physical show of it just to get the extra energy out warms her cold, otherwise unfeeling and bitchy heart

If you're a really physically affectionate person then she one hundred percent welcomes it and allows you to touch her at literally any given moment no matter where you are. If not, then that's all the more reason for her to feel special and loved if you ever do give her, say, a hug, especially if you have an aversion to touch

Speaking of which, if there are any clothes of hers that you don't like because the texture of it bothers you/makes your skin crawl then she simply won't wear them around you, and might even get rid of them so you can feel more comfortable touching her. This includes making sure her bed always has the coziest pillows and blankets and comfiest sheets for whenever you spend the night

Overall I think Jen would love you no matter what personality quirks you may have regarding being autistic, and she would never fail to tell you just how much she loves you for them

Main masterlist | Jennifer's Body masterlist | wanna be added to my taglist?

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated <3

🏷 taglist: @anxiously-sad @iloveentrapta @ghot-girl @taecube @corn3liiia @gilmore-angel @your-next-daydream @alexxavicry @noisy-dumb-piece-of-shit @lovelyy-moonlight @red1culous (if you were crossed out it means I couldn't tag you for some reason)

#gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader #gn reader #x gn reader #autistic reader #x autistic reader #jennifers body imagines #jennifers body imagine #jennifers body x reader #jennifers body #jennifers body headcanons #jennifer check #jennifer check imagines #jennifer check imagine #jennifer check x reader #jennifer check headcanons #jennifer check hcs #jennifer check x gender neutral reader #jennifer check x autistic reader

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thefloatingstone · 2 months ago

Note

I would love to hear about the Flanderisation of Ghibli movies if you're willing to revisit the topic for someone who wasn't in the stream. The term is something I only just learned about recently and I'm really curious how it applied to Ghibli.

Only if you want to, though! I hope the stream was fun for you and everyone else.

Ah I was talking about a tumblr post speaking about this specific thing. How people in the internet really like to emphasise Ghibli movies as

"Oh cottagecore vibes! So cozy!"

And I had someone in my chat ask "are all Ghibli movies just cozy? Because I want to watch them but I need something with a little more teeth." And I had to assure them that aside from Ponyo, Kiki and MAYBE Totoro, Ghibli movies are NOT just cozy cottagecore feel good films and do actually have a LOT of substance to them.

And I don't blame the chat member for thinking ALL Ghibli is that kind of vibe because that is the way the internet as a whole have flanderised the Ghibli movies. Because a LOT of the Ghibli films deal with topics that are not cozy comfort films. Almost every Ghibli film has anti-war messaging, or a plea for nature conservation, or in some way or another a balance getting thrown off that needs correcting.

Sometimes a Ghibli movie is about the friction of different ideologies with no villain or bad guy, like Mononoke. Sometimes it's about responsibilities regarding the long term damage of war and the destruction of the environment like Nausicaa. Sometimes it's about post-war trauma and being anti-fascist like Porco Rosso. Sometimes it's about preserving nature in the face of progress like Pom Poko. Sometimes it's about overcoming the fear of new environments and experiences like Spirited Away. Sometimes it's about losing your passion for something when you make your passion your job like Kiki.

But the internet doesn't like focusing on those parts of Ghibli movies. They want to focus on the soft, comfortable, easily digestible parts of the Ghibli films. Which is why I am convinced Ponyo is probably one of the most popular Ghibli films in the US. You know. The one Ghibli made for toddlers.

Or Howl's Moving Castle which I don't consider to be a good movie. But even Howl's Moving castle has anti-war themes in it. It just takes a very big back-seat to the plot around Sophie. But even that is not what people focus on when they talk about it. The main focus most people have on Howl's Moving Castle is the "romance" between Howl and Sophie which is about as style over substance as you can get. I'm so sorry but it is.

If you look up "Ghibli" on most social media sites you're gonna get a LOT of results, but none of them are going to focus on the actual substance of the films or what they are inherently about at their core. Which is most often humanity and life affirming even or especially in the face of cruelty. Or it will be about the disregard of nature. Not so much from an conservationist perspective, but simply from a perspective of the lack of reverence society currently has of nature.

[Mononoke-hime Theater Program, July 1997]

But all of this substance has been lost when people talk about Ghibli movies in the public space in favour of The aesthetic.

To the point where I have people in my chat asking me if Ghibli HAS any substance to it. Or if they really are just nothing but comfort cozy cottagecore films.

#C-Puff answers

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engenlvr · 2 months ago

Text

kintsugi

pairing: alexia putellas x anneliese hoffmann (oc)

summary: your relationship with a certain blonde captain is complicated especially since all you can do is think about her but every time you try to move forward with her something always pulls you back.

a/n: orange coloured text mean that is german, blue coloured text means that its dutch and red coloured text means spanish. i hate writing games so it will probably be written horribly. the end isn't written the best as i didn't really know how to finish it and sometimes it’s hard to write exactly how you want it to turn out also if there’s any spelling mistakes i’m sorry but enjoy

w/c: 7.3k

playing at barcelona had been a dream of yours since you were a kid despite growing up germany to a german mum and a dutch dad. you immediately fell in love with the club ever since he introduced you to the club at a young age and you always flew out to see them play when you can.

just before the world cup the club had contacted you telling you that they wanted your and before they finished the sentence you blurted out a yes. saying yes was even easier when you knew caroline, ingrid and fridolina from wolfsburg.

despite germany’s early elimination which shocked not only the team but the world especially since we were in the euros final. but watching the rest of the tournament was a learning experience and time to learn your new teammates way of play.

though it was hard to leave wolfsburg as you’ve been there for as long as you could remember. slowly making your way to the first team but barcelona was the right challenge you needed. with your arrival at barcelona the wolfsburg girl’s immediately took you under their wing.

after being at barcelona for a couple of months of being there you fell in love with the atmosphere. being able to play with the worlds best alexia with some other players who were worthy of it. you learned so much.

apart from the girls from wolfsburg you got along with esmee the most as the both of you are dutch. the rest of the team you got along with easily but your friendship with alexia was weird. the two of you got along but it was awkward at least in your eyes.

today was the day barcelona were gonna play eintracht frankfurt in germany and you were over the moon. to be able to speak german again and be at home. but more importantly to see national teammates but especially laura.

the both of you made it through germany’s youth together to the first team she reminded you of your sister that’s why the two of you first bonded.

the four old wolfsburg girl’s walked out one the pitch talking about all the fun the lot of you had on germany. your eyes grazed the field in hopes of finding the familiar blonde you knew. once they did you ran to the girl jumping on her back which caused her to nearly fall.

“anne, missed me?” laura said with a joking tone and placing you down on the grass “of course we don’t even live in the same country anymore”

she looked at you talking in your appearance “how’s spain been treating you? you’ve even got a tan” you went on blabbering about the spanish life and how everything was perfect until alexia called you over telling you it was time to prep for the match “see you soon” pulling the girl in a long hug before making you way back.

“you know you shouldn’t be fraternising with the enemy afterwards sure but before no” alexia told you in her caption voice before walking away.

★★★★★

you told the team how they played just before the lot of you went on the pitch as you knew how the team plays. but despite that the team let a goal slip by none other than laura. over the years whenever the two of you played each other and one of you scored the other did shortly after.

thought that didn’t happen in the first half it happens it soon happened shortly after the second half started. when they were given a free kick which you decided to take and went it. which seemed to fill the team with more energy as as two more goal came from mariona in the fiftieth minute and salma in the sixty seventh.

once the final whistle was blown you went around congratulating the players and spending extra time with your national teammates.

“you just had to score the first goal didn’t you” teasing the girl seeing as your team won in the end “and you just can’t keep copying me. i score and then you score some may say you’re obsessed with me” laughing at her comment and pushing her shoulder away.

“well you know what they say look up to your elders—” laura was about to retaliate when a blonde girl came and placed a hand on your lower back causing you to jump slightly at the placement.

alexia was out for a little bit as her knee was causing her irritation but she could still travel with the team if she wanted to “great goal by the way. i’m happy it’s with us not against us” her eyes looked directly at you forgetting that laura was there completely before walking off to mapi before you could respond. your eyes followed her before looking back at your friend.

your best friend looked at you knowingly "what?” questioning her gaze on you, but she stayed quite “laura what? i don’t like when you look at me like that”

“you like her” her theory caused your eyes to widen while trying to come up with something. Which caused her to think her to think her theory was right “no i don’t i just think that she’s pretty and talented”

“sure”

“well esmee’s calling me so i got to go” pointing at the girl on the other side of the pitch who wasn’t even looking in your direction “byeee” running to the dutch girl as fast as you could.

“you can’t run away from this” the german girl shouted across the pitch.

★★★★★

it was now christmas break and the girls were hanging out before they all went away doing their own thing for christmas. they all had family to go home to but you couldn’t it would be too much.

when you were little you used to love christmas spending time with your parents and sister. the snow the music and the markets in town. it was also conveniently when your birthday was the day before christmas.

but then the whole thing with your sister happened making you hate your birthday and christmas.

hearing all the plans the girl has made you sad. ingrid and mapi going to norway to experience a scandinavian christmas with snow and then coming back to spend time with mapi’s family.

esmee going back to the netherlands to be with her family.

fridolina going home to sweden to spend time with her boyfriend.

the whole team talked about the plans they had this christmas. you sat there quietly listening but barely taking in the words that were being spoken. how they’d spend time with family their parents, brothers, sister.

sister

SISTER

“anneliese, you got any special plans this christmas?” you started at the cup of tea in your hands before alexia nudged your shoulder tapping you out of your thoughts.

smiling “nope I’m staying here by myself just need some time away from home”

“alone for christmas” salma said with a sad smile at the thought of her teammate being alone on a day meant to be spent with family and your loved ones.

all the girls who were staying in spain offered to let you stay with them all except one alexia who sat there quietly while you kindly declined the girls despite their persistence.

the night ended soon after with you laying in your bed scrolling through your phone when a message appeared.

alexia

no one shouldn’t be alone on christmas

spend it with me and my family

anneliese

as kind as that is i don’t want to intrude

plus i’m fine being on my own

alexia

i won’t have it

join me and my family on christmas eve at least

anneliese

your not gonna take no for an answer are you

alexia

nope

anneliese

fine but only cause your so persistent

alexia

great can’t wait to see you

so there you were sat with alexia’s family as light chatter filled the room. you admired what they had, her close relationship with all her family.

her mum welcomed you as of you were her own, hugging you immediately when went through the door. completely forgetting about her daughter.

you’d forgotten what it was like to be with family on holidays you rarely were.

you and alexia weren’t even that close, not like you were with ingrid, frido and caro. so for the the catalan girl to ask you to spend christmas eve with her family it caught you off guard.

why?

the two of you never spent time outside of of football unless it was team bonding night other than that the two of you were basically strangers.

after being dragged away by alba who talked about anything and everything from her job to saying that the two of you should meet up for dinner one day. as she said and i quote ‘no wonder alexia been hiding you from me she’d know that we’d immediately get along. we have to grab dinner some time’

“i’m going to borrow her for a second” alexia said to her sister and pulled you along with her to the garden “thought you’d want a breather, i know how my sister can be”

she brought you out to the garden area which had a nice outdoor sofa facing the sunset that was currently happening. flowers covering every corner of it making the scene in front of your eyes look like one that should be in a museum.

looking at the girl “no honestly it’s fine she’s so kind we actual lot have planes to get dinner soon” a shocked look was on the girls face “i admire the relationship you have with your sister it’s so pure and cute” it got you thinking about your sister and your relationship with her the two of you should of been like them but instead you weren’t.

“you have any siblings?” the question wasn’t even a hurtful one but it did it cute deep and she didn’t know no one did except for your family “yeah a twin sister actually. we used to be like exactly like you and alba” smiling fondly at the memory.

“if you don’t mind me asking why aren’t you?”

“we just don’t talk anymore” a sad smile painted on your face which alexia took as a sign to drop the topic “well i’m glad you decided to join me today” placing a hand on your shoulder.

“well you were very persistent and i can’t exactly say no to my captain”

she laughed at your comment, you hadn’t been this close to alexia ever and you’ve never really appreciated her beauty. her hazel eyes, her blonde hair which was glowing due to the sun behind her, the dimple that appeared when she smiled.

“you’re so pretty” the words blurted out before you could stop them from coming out, covering your mouth in shock and staring directly at the girl who’s smile seemed to get bigger.

the blonde girl moved closer to you so that your legs were touching “thank you so are you” complimenting you back with a slight giggle.

you saw her eyes flicking between your eye’s and lips whilst yours did the same. the two of you slowly got closer to each other to the point where you could feel her breath on you. just one of you had to move forward and your lips would be touching and alexia was the one to do so.

“anne you didn’t tell me it was your birthday” alba walked through the door just as you’re lips were about to touch. you looked at alexia and saw as her faces fulfilled with shock? hurt? sadness? over the fact you didn’t tell her.

“yeah i guess how’d you know?”

alba waved your phone in the air “well your phone kept ringing so i was going to check who it was and then they sent a happy birthday message so i put it together”

walking to alba you grabbed your phone “well i’m going to call them back real quick” walking further in the garden.

alba walked and sat where you previously were “did you know it was her birthday and don’t think i didn’t see what was happening there you were about to kiss her” she gushed over the scene that was about to unfold in front of her, happy to see the girl happy and in love again “omg your really like her”

“alba” dragging out her name “i don’t know one second she was telling us she was spending christmas alone and then i invited her without even asking mum. and that not like me i like plans, a schedule. i don’t know what’s happening to me, we’re not even that close as you can tell cause i didn’t even know it was her birthday. i feel like shit cause i don’t have anything for her—”

“alexia it’s okay breathe. it’s okay to like her, i get it she’s nice easy to talk to. oh and you know mum called it the second the two of you walked through the doors” her eyes brightened when her sister said that, the thought of her mum liking you “really”

“yeah, so did i” the smile on her face only grew bigger

walking back to the sisters “just had to listen to my parents complain about how it took me too long to answer” attempting to joke as you could tell you not talking alexia about your birthday hurt her “i’ll leave you guy’s alone” alba touched your shoulder with a smile before walking back in “happy birthday”

“i’m sorry i didn’t tell you i wanted to but i don’t really celebrate it after everything with my sister. it just reminds me of her and i kind of just forgot so i’m so sorry—”

“— it’s fine if just wish i could of got you something and made this day more in your honour” holding your hand and rubbing her thumb on the top of your hand “honestly it’s the most fun i’ve had in forever”

it was true, as bad as it sounded you forget about your sister. for the first time in forever you forgot about the girl and had peace in your mind, you felt guilty but it felt nice.

“let’s go back in”

the german girl started to walk back inside “i actually do have a present for you” her hand grabbed yours spinning up around.

“how you just found out—” alexia’s lips met yours causing you to freeze in shock before reciprocating and wrapping your arms around her neck pulling her closer to you. pulling apart to catch a breath before pecking her lips two more times.

“you just kissed me?” your face full of shock by her public act in front of her family

“i did”

placing another kiss on your lips, never wanting to leave the moment “we should really go back inside” pulling away from the kiss.

the two of you went back inside with rosy cheeks. despite the kiss being in the open only alba and eli managed to see it. the only reason you knew that they saw was that alba was now jumping in excitement and eli was looking at you with an all knowing smile.

so hours later you found yourself having a few too many glasses of alcohol and you were giggling anything that was being said and clinging to the girl who complied putting your head underneath her’s. but with the alcohol you were in no shape to go back home.

"I can just sleep on the sofa" offering not wanting anyone to give up their bed for you.

eli shook her head at your idea "nonsense you and alexia can sleep in her room"

but before you could protest the two of you were pushed in the room. a scheme that was definitely orchestrated by the blonds sister, in hopes for the two of you to kiss again? confess 'feelings'? said feelings that you didn't even know what they meant. whether she had felt the same as you did? the whole situation confused you to much. being in a relationship was a bigger step for you than one might think.

cause of her

alexia's room was filled with her teenage brain pictures of her football idol's, some family photos mainly of her and her dad, old football gear, football trophies which helped make sense to all the awards she was getting now. though you had twenty nine year old alexia in front of you got to see all the younger versions of her.

the two of you laid in her old bed, you wearing one of her old football jersey paired with shorts.

your green eyes looked into her hazel ones as the two of you faced each other "I wish I could of made today more about you and overall more fun. instead you got a day with my family" pushing a piece of your hair behind you ear the main reason being so she could touch you.

be closer to you

"seeing your family be so happy honestly made this the best birthday I've had in years" a smile growing on the girl's face at the thought of you liking her family.

the hand stayed there stroking your face lightly the act so small but it had you feeling things. which got the german girl thinking as to if the girl in front of her had the same feeling. whether her actions were due to the alcohol the catalan girl had or so she could feel some sort of control in her life, she lost control on her leg causing her to be out with injury.

"goodnight, alex"

"goodnight, liese. happy birthday"

christmas eve ( your birthday ) was the first and last time the two of you kissed for a while.

★★★★★

instagram anneliesehoffmann has posted! click to view

liked by alexiaputellas, laurafreigang and others

anneliesehoffmann 🎄👙🍽️🍾💋🚗

( view all comments )

laurafreigang who did u ditch me for 😭

> anneliesehoffmann i didn’t ditch u for anyone

> laurafreigang well i know ur not alone

alexiaputellas 💞

liked by anneliesehoffmann

barcalvr i’m so happy to see the girls love u

liked by anneliesehoffmann

esmeebrugts pretty girl

liked by anneliesehoffmann

lynnwilms_ miss uuu

> anneliesehoffmann miss u moreee tell the girls i say hi and that i miss them

marialeonn16 I KNOW WHOS HOUSE THIS IS

> annehofflvr mapi don’t be afraid tell us who’s house this is

user2627 ugh ur soooo

ingrid_engen so happy to be playing with u again

> fridolinarolfo i second that

> graham95 i agree

> anneliesehoffmann well i happy to be playing with my girls again

★★★★★

the thought of being with the alexia scared you. ever since the two of you kissed on your birthday it was all you could think about. you wanted to be able to kiss her whenever you felt like.

but wherever you thought about telling the girl that you wanted to be in a relationship with her all thoughts linked back to her.

the distance between that you put between the two of you was something that alexia felt. the way that every time that two of you would bump into each other outside of work you’d walk the other way or you’d walk past her muttering an excuse as to why you couldn’t sit and chat whenever she tried.

at work the two girls would only talk if they absolutely had to. their conversations only about football never about that night months ago.

what hurt alexia more wasn’t that the fact that you weren’t talking to her, it was the fact that you still saw her sister and not like once since the last you guys met or whenever your calendars aligned. but it was like once a week, at this point her sister was seeing her situationship? the girl she liked? her teammate? yes her teammate, that was the best word to describe their relationship given that they don’t even talk in unless needed.

alexia wanted to talk to you, the way the two of you talked in her mum’s garden. the scene replayed in her head everyday since then replaying the way you looked at her, the way you looked with the sunset making you look like something straight out a painting, the kiss that quite literally captivated her. and it was silly because it was one kiss well maybe like five including the small ones.

the most words you spoke to her was when she returned back on the pitch after her surgery with you simply congratulating her on it and the goal that she scored. plus the words you spoke to her after a little celebratory night out the team had for her return but you couldn’t remember anything ( probably due to the alcohol ) but alexia did she remembered everything.

alba could confirm this, as without a doubt everyday her sister would complain about the situation. that night it seemed as if the of you would take a step further or atleast see what would come with your relationship.

she thought it would lead to a couple dates, heartfelt talks and a few more kisses.

instead she got no dates, the two of you only talking about football when forced forced, you avoiding her and no kisses.

upon the alba’s complaints about how often she would hear her complaints, the girl confided in mapi instead and mapi being mapi she couldn’t keep her mouth shut and told ingrid ( just her thankfully ) about everything.

today was already a big day for you before knowing that it was the champions league final. the last time you were in one despite scoring the two goal which caused wolfsburg to be in the lead, but during the second half barcelona managed to bounce back and score three more. in the end they won your feelings towards the loss then were weird you weren’t as sad as you should of been, maybe it was because you deserved it as she was meant to be her not you.

you stole her dream, the life she deserved to have.

and you losing that final was the price to had to pay.

you sat in your cubby as the dark haired norwegian girl sat next to you “anna, mapi told me something yesterday and i don’t think that i was meant to know but you know how mapi is she can’t keep a secret” turning to the girl in confusion “about you and alexia, you know you’re allowed to feel love? in my years of knowing you not once have you talked about a girl even if someone asked you out you’d decline”

no one knew your reasoning as to why you pushed alexia away “it’s just so much more to it” keeping your response short so you didn’t reveal too much “it makes sense now the looks alexia gave you. you spending christmas with her. all i’m saying is don’t be afraid to let go and let yourself feel their love for you”

“ingrid”

“okay, if we win you have to at least give it a go you might not see it but it’s hurting alexia more than you know. but if we lose i’ll let it go and i’ll make sure mapi doesn’t push anything. whatever or whoever is causing you to push alexia away isn’t worth you living your life not being in love and i really would be perfect alexia is mapi’s best friend and ur mine so we could go on double dates”

it was such a simple sentence bit it caused all the emotions that you were feeling to resurface. tears started to build up and fall “oh anne, it will work all out in the end” wiping your tears away and kissing your cheek, you looked over at the blonde who was in the far right corner only to see the girl already looking at you sending you a little smile which you returned.

“okay, now let win this” nodding at the norwegian.

hours later you and the rest of the starting eleven started to walk on the pitch alongside olympique lyonnais. your heart started to beat faster at everything what the day meant to you before it was named as the final for the champions league. you looked at the catalan girl who was at on the bench.

breath anneliese

and the second the whistle was blown you had to put all you emotions aside. the first half wasn't an easy one with both teams proving as to why they were both in the final. lyon had many attempts some of them from corners but thankfully cata was able to save them. we just happened to have the same luck with all of our attempts to be save or have them merely miss the goal.

then half time rolled by and after a motivational team talk given by alexia. the deadlock was broken by you with an assist from keira. the two of you were passing the ball back and forth between each other when you started to run forward to the left side of the net and kicked it into the top right corner.

cheers erupted through the stadium, your teammates running towards you and the subs jumping in joy. they were all looking at you but your eyes were on team captain.

this was the most you’ve looked at her since then. since that night. it was just a glance at each other but it meant so much more to the both of us

it wasn’t until the 90th minute that the alexia came on for keira, claps through the stadium at a club legend coming on.

she showed just why she’s is know as one of the worlds greats. as in the ninety sixth minute claudia kicked the ball towards alexia who finished it off.

you watched as the girl took of her shirts and spun it around ( much like what chloe kelly did in the euros final when she done the winning goal ). you watched as she bowed down to her people, she looked and you completely forgetting about the others around her you were what mattered most and you ran toward her jumping in her arms and holding her face

“you just had to go and show them why they call you la reina” she laughed at your words “i hate when people call me that”

“okay well, my star girl showing the world why she’s the best”

and less than a minute later the final whistle blew and the two of you ran to each other again hugging, the rest of them soon joining the two of you. you began to sob many thought it was due to winning but it wasn’t it was cause of her.

ingrid’s words changed the way you looked at the situation, that maybe she’d would want you to be happy to find love again.

for years you thought that every big game that you lost was due to her, your sister. maybe you winning this game was her telling you that you could forgive yourself. that it wasn’t your fault.

the stadium was now close to empty all the family members and friends on the pitch.

you were gonna tell her.

now or never.

“alex, erm i’m so sorry for the way i’ve treated you pushing you away. only thinking of myself—”

“liese—”

“no please don’t interrupt me or i won’t say it. for years i thought that it was my fault. genny my twin was the one that loved football not me, i only went cause she did. then she got sick and i wanted to quit but she made me continue but she kept getting worse nothing was working the chemo barley did anything then one day she— she just died. i felt like i stole her life. i’m living the one she always wanted to live and i never even wanted it. i thought that every game i lost was punishment, for stealing her life. but today winning this game i think was her way of telling me that it was okay and that i can forgive myself. that i can let myself be loved and feel love. ingrid said that if we win this game i should tell you how i feel and alex i— the first day that we spent together just us was the day i realised that i loved you. the way you are with your family, how much people look up to you, how your simple show. i love everything about you—”

your words stoped the second she placed her hands in your cheeks “liese, i’m so sorry that you’ve been through all that but don’t think for a second that it was your fault that she died okay or that you deserve to the dead one okay. the world works in cruel ways and losing innocent loved ones is part of it unfortunately. i’m glad that you’ve realised it’s not your fault”

for once you didn’t care about anything only the girl in front of you.

the pair of you stayed together till you both spotted you family and went your separate ways. they went on about how proud they are of you, how proud she would be of you. the three of you were talking till your mum spotted ingrid’s mum and went to the norwegian who she grew a friendship with when you played in germany.

you spotted alba who was talking to her sister and you ran to the girl hugging her “i’m so proud of you” the girl whispered happy to see a genuine smile on your face “i see you and my sister have sorted things out” you nodded “good cause i can’t listen to her complaining about you none more” the words cause alexia too hot the girl in the head “hey that was between us”

smiling at alexia your alex “hate to break it to you but i already knew. you told mapi and then mapi told ingrid who had a little talk with me today” she swore under her breath about her best friend

“plus mums gonna be so happy that you found love” the girl blushed looking at you and gently pulling you in her arms “yeah i guess i have”

★★★★★

pretend its you in all the pictures with alexia , in the 5th ur esmee, 7th and 8th ur frido but in the 8th pretend aitaina is a image of her sister

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anneliesehoffmann ive done it big sister

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alexiaputellas for her

> anneliesehoffmann no for them

barca4ever i may seem delusional but i fell like there’s somet between her and alexia

ingrid_engen i told everything would work out in the end plus this win is already better cause we won it together. the wolfsburg gang is back

laurafreigang you deserved this so much anne

annehofflvr i honestly haven’t seen her smile more

marialeonn16 you know ingrid refused to take a picture with me until she took one with u stop stealing my gf

> anneliesehoffmann omg sorry not sorry wolfsburg gang > youu

fridolinarolfo the girl who deserves it most

liked by anneliesehoffmann

lena_oberdorf6 goals in finals just seen to be your thing

> anneliesehoffmann lena it don’t count if we lose 😭

user3565 why are half the pictures you and alexia

esmeebrugts so cute

★★★★★

you and alexia your girlfriend. if that’s what the two of you were. you guys done stuff that couple did, like going on dates, staying at each others place ( meaning you being at her's all the time ) , visiting her family. the two of you were basically a couple but neither one of you have fully asked the other to be their girlfriend.

this summer before the olympics the two of you explored more of barcelona together alexia showing you her home in between games. but for the time off the two of you had before both of you were off to national duty.

you showed her your homes, the first time you've ever done so to somebody you loved. you showed her germany some of your favourite places, some of your sisters favourite places growing up. it was such a small thing but it was so intimate to you, and alex knew that. you opening up about you're sister was such a big act no one really knew about her the fan's didn't only close friend's and family.

you showed her the netherlands the place your family moved after your sister. you're parents had gone away on holiday so that allowed you and alex to stay there.

the two girls were currently out for dinner at a nice restaurant which you went to a lot as a kid. it was a big place with seats in a garden filled with many flowers and plants.

"im happy that you wanted to give this a try” her hand moving a piece of your hair away. she could get used to this you sat beside her, going on little dates, the two of you “i'm happy i did too, so tomorrow i’m thinking maybe we could go to that breakfast place the one me and my family used to—”

“—be me girlfriend?” your sentence halted in shock of the catalans words. they caught the both you you by surprise “i had this whole plan to do it tomorrow after going out to dinner and then a walk through the park but i can’t wait i’ve wanted you to be my girlfriend since we kissed and it’s all i can think about since you said you wanted to give this a try”

“— yeah i’ll be you’re girlfriend” placing a soft kiss on the girls lips. it was different since their last, it held so much more emotion. it was raw and truly showed how you felt for each other. the thought of being someone's girlfriend used to scare to it due until a month ago where that fear turned into excitement. you were waiting till you would be able to call alex your girlfriend.

★★★★★

pretend it’s u in all the photos with alexia and in the 8th pretend that nathalie björn is u in alexia’s spain kit

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alexiaputellas 💐💞🌺📖🍦📸🦋

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evrywoso OKAY HARD LAUNCH

annelisehoffmann i did not agree to that photo

> alexiaputellas don’t worry you look beautiful

ingrid_engen remember what i said before the final we better do that soon

> alexiaputellas you didn’t tell me anything

> ingrid_engen i was talking to anne not you

> alexiaputellas @annelisehoffmann liese ???

> anneliesehoffmann i’ll tell u in a second alex also why are you texting me when your right next to me

laurafreigang omg something happened and u haven’t told me but u told ingrid

> anneliesehoffmann 😝

wosolvr anne is alexia’s spain kit is so cute

albaps9 dinner date when

> alexiaputellas when i’m back just come over

> albaps9 ale i’m talking to anne not you plus i see u all the time

> anneliesehoffmann whenever i’ll cancel plans to see u

annehofflvr their nicknames for each other

> barca4ever i know it’s so cute and how alba’s friends with anneliese

marialeonn16 oh you so done it

user4567 so they’ve deffo met each other’s families

★★★★★

the olympics went neither of the girls way their first games went good germany winning 3-0 to australia and spain winning 2-1 to japan. germany was missing some key players like lena who tore her acl and mcl in a match that didn’t even matter as we had already qualified for the upcoming euros.

we were fine against canada which went to penalties which was 4-2 to us and funnily enough so pain went into penalties as well with a 4-2 win over colombia. then we played usa which seemed to be a problem for us even in the group stages which was a 1-0 win to them.

but for spain it went horrible. they just weren’t playing like they normally do, making silly mistakes which allowed brazil to take advantage of it. alexia wasn’t playing for the majority of the game till the 77th minute, and that was when the team started to play better but despite their sudden elevated energy ( which you said was due to alexia being on the pitch ) it wasn’t enough they still lost.

you were playing spain.

you were playing alexia.

obviously you had thought about having to play alexia but you didn’t think it would happen. the both of you had been dreading the game, it wasn’t just her you were playing a lot of the team played for barcelona.

the both of you starting.

but despite the two of you playing you swore to each other that you wouldn’t let what you feel stop from fully committing to the game.

when the two of you were on the pitch you didn’t know each other in fact the couple decided that they were to hate each other on the pitch.

and they done exactly that.

the second that whistle was blown you both had an aim and that was to get that bronze medal. germany’s motivation was to do this for obi and spains was to prove exactly why they’re the worlds best.

the first half was tough you didn’t really have any chances but spain, they were eager to get a medal and they had chances most hitting the crossbar out just being slightly off target. your defence wasn’t the best in the first half cutting it to close making these chances for spain and you were lucky that none went in the back of the net.

the second half was where the action started ( specifically the sixty fourth minute) to happen it was germanys chance. you were just past the half way mark where you saw gulia in the perfect position so you kicked the ball over to her.

the only person in front of her was cata who pushed gulia to move her from the ball which resulted in the referee giving a penalty immediately.

and you were gonna take it.

maybe it was because you knew how cata played but it still was hard. you always hated playing against your teammates even in friendlies but especially it important games like this one.

you watched spains last penalty shoot out against colombia and they were good. you saw how she played her tells.

you walked up to your spot and you could feel her eyes on you, and off you looked back at her you wouldn’t be able look to fully it would throw you off your game. but like the both of you agreed to use the your love as motivation to beat the other

taking a deep breath. your heard the whistle blow an ran towards the ball putting it in the bottom right corner while me cata went to left. running to where obi was and pointing at her so she knew that all this was for her. you turned around to hug lea who all ready had her hands open for you.

but that goal didn’t mean that germany would win the game can turn around in seconds and spain were known for doing that in the euro qualifiers and in the olympics.

if anything that goal lit a spark in the team more fouls were committed you and alexia committing some on each other.

jenni was a problem she wanted to make this level and get her name on the score sheet, a cross from olga to the center of the box right where jenni was headed toward the girl and luckly ann was there and saved another attempt from her.

and they kept coming spain these opportunities from spain but ann was always there to clean up our mistakes proving just how good she was.

the fully ninety + the seven was done all we had to do was make sure that we didn’t make any mistakes until you did resulting in a penalty to spain you and your teammates were convinced that you barley touched her and that she fell down dramatically as she was in the penalty area and knew that they could get a pently out of it.

you could be the reason that germany lose and as if it was some silly joke alexia was taking it for spain.

your alex.

against berger.

your feeling were conflicted even though you promised her you wouldn’t be. of course you wanted the best for alexia but you wanted, no needed your team to win not just for yourself but for obi for horst for your sister.

the situation was cruel but it was the game.

you were stood next to aitana ready to kick the ball away if it gets blocked and came back to the girls in red. you watch as you’re girlfriend, no alexia kicked the ball in the same direction as you did but this time it being saved.

your ran towards ann to hug her as a thanks for cleaning up your mistakes. surely this was the last action of the game and it was as less than a minute later the whistle was blown.

germany won.

the whole team ran to ann as she was the while reason that we won with all her amazing saves. but while you were all huddled up you saw a alexia was being comforted her teammates and you couldn’t help but feel guilty. but that was the game no matter how great the player is it’s a group sport.

after some time of talking to obi she was like your’s and lea’s child you were her wolfsburg mum and lea was a bayern mum well that was what the fans had been saying. alexia was finally alone sat down waiting for you, you slowly made your way and sat next to her.

the both of you sat silent till alexia broke the silence “i’m happy for you, you deserve it more than anyone i know” she finally looked at you with her hazel eyes, those eyes that you grew to love looking at “i don’t want you to think that you can’t celebrate or be happy around me”

putting her face in your hands, you knew the look that she had on her face. she blamed herself for spain’s loss “alex, it not your fault and no one’s looking at you differently for missing that penalty. you guys had ninety minutes before hand to put a goal in that net okay. you don’t see anyone else blaming themselves as much as you are, they all had chances. so don’t think for a second that missing that penalty erases the ballon d’ors and all the other award that you got. it’s a group sport and as hard as it sound every team needs to lose from time to time it helps show that no matter where your team is ranked you got to make sure you continue to work for it. in the end this will all work out for the better”

you watched as a smile began to rise on the girl’s face “thank you. i really needed that but seriously you were the better team and you played brilliantly today my star girl” repeating the same words you said to her in the champions league final. the day the two of you gave this a go.

the both of you sat there in each other shirts chatting about what you were gonna do what you were back in barcelona, back in her flat which is basically theirs with how often the german girl was sleeping over at alex’s.

no matter the result of a game their love for each other was bigger than what ever happens between them on the pitch. in the end the both of them knew they found the one. whether it was in english, spanish, catalan, german or dutch they knew that in every language that they spoke that they loved each other.

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #espwnt x reader #woso #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #laura freigang #gerwnt x reader #dfb frauen #alexia putellas imagine #engenlvr writes #spain women's national team #barca femeni #barça femení x reader #woso community #woso imagine #womens football

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chronicbeans · 10 months ago

Text

Platonic Alastor x Maladaptive Daydreamer Reader

Hehe not me self-projecting again! Anyways, these are kinda based on my own experiences, but I'm trying to make them more generalized.

TW: Maladaptive daydreaming, escapism, dissociation, mentions of depression and anxiety, brief mentions of compulsive behavior/OCD, invasion of privacy, manipulation, peer pressure, yandere-ish behavior (I believe he defaults to those behaviors, no matter the type of relationship), mention of cannibalism (this is Alastor we're talking about...), Alastor is a shitty toxic friend in this

• He's absolutely fascinated by the way your mind works. Even before he knows what is going on, or begins to get close to you, he can tell you are an interesting person. The way you look so distant, like your mind is checked out and flying to far off places without you, is something he hasn't seen before. He wants to pick and prod at your brain to see what's going on.

• He doesn't want to do so the easy way, though. No. Instead, he wants to drag out this process for as long as possible, and make sure you twist and squirm all the while. He loves to make people uncomfortable, after all! That's his specialty, in his opinion, besides his radio show.

• He'll start off with introductions, of course, which is probably when he first got interested in you. That dreamy look isn't so easy to see from a distance, after all. The second he looked into your eyes while shaking your hand, though, it became obvious. How hadn't he seen it before? If he saw this look when he first entered, he would've talked to you first out of the crew at the Hazbin Hotel. Well, besides Charlie... But, that's just because she owns the place.

•The uncomfortable prodding starts in an instant. One of his first questions after getting your name is not "What made you want to come to the hotel?" or "What can you provide to help the hotel?" It's more like "How did you die?", "What are your major vices?", and "What sin have you committed to be brought to Hell?" He wants to test the waters. See what he can get away with without completely scaring you off. If you run away and avoid him, it'd be harder to learn what he wants, and make you uncomfortable while doing so.

• Regardless of whether or not you answer, you are probably a little put off from him. Not enough to completely avoid him, since you can see how some of those questions might help him help the hotel, but enough to be uncomfortable... Which, in his opinion, is perfect!

• He's great at hiding, so if you start noticing him mentioning things you thought were private, you really shouldn't be surprised. He can, quite literally, hide in the shadows at times. He quickly takes notes of your little habits, including ones you might be embarrassed about.

• He may watch you pacing around your room, mumbling to yourself as if you are playing pretend all alone. Or, maybe, he's hiding over your shoulder while you're writing down some elaborate storyline. Perhaps he's watching you in plain sight, seeing you make a bunch of odd facial expressions at seemingly nothing. He may not know why you do this, but he wants to. He would've suspected some sort of substance use, considering it's Hell. Lots of people do so. However, he's never seen you near anything that would cause such behavior. So, that's off his list, for now.

• So, step 2 of his plan begins! As his good ol' pals Husk and Niffty to try befriending you! Or, at the very least, get information from you that you aren't comfortable telling him. Then, have them report back to him with their findings. Of course, Husk seems agitated by the request, but obliges. Niffty seems more than happy to do as he asks, though. A happy worker is a good worker, so he has more hope in Niffty getting the big story than Husk.

• Surprisingly, though, he's proven wrong. The most Niffty got was your fashion sense, favorite types of stories, and that you are very "quiet". Yes, the fashion and types of stories were new to him... But what he seems important, the reason you act so oddly, isn't there. Husk, however, was able to get a lot more out of you, somehow.

• Husk mentions you talking to him, one night, after he saw you skipping oddly down the hall and pass the bar where he was cleaning the glasses before closing it for the night. You seemed extremely embarrassed to have been seen, mentioning that you thought he was asleep already. He then just, politely asked a few questions...? And got answers? How?

• Alastor immediately demands answers, only for Husk to reply "I don't know how to describe it like they did! Most I understood is that they daydream too much. Seems like it's a constant thing going on. They like to pace and prance while doing so, sometimes, but don't like getting caught."

• Now it begins to make more sense... the writing, the talks about stories with Niffty, the prancing and pacing... and most importantly, that dreamy, distant look you have. He can even see why you'd make odd expressions. You're reacting to your own thoughts... He doesn't understand it. He's never heard of anything like this before, especially during his time as a human, but he can tell one thing for certain: You must be his friend, now. Whether you like it or not.

• You are so different from everyone else he's met, you see, and he loves things that go against the norm. Now, while you may or may not be considered normal or not too different by others, you're different and abnormal to him. You somehow succeed in both being polite, smart, and funny to mess around with, while also barely being able to pay attention to the world around you. He's always thought that those two things were mutually exclusive. How can you learn when you can't stop being in your own head? How can someone be polite and not listen? The funny part, though... He can kind of see that. He finds surprising you be sneaking up behind you and tapping your shoulder funny every now and again. Nevertheless, you are going to be his friend.

• Soon enough, you notice his behavior changing, a bit. Less following you around, less vaguely threatening words, and more... quiet. It's eerie, coming from him. However, you also notice him trying to talk to you about stories and books he's heard and read. Even things he's heard during his human life, such as Creole folktales and other stories he's heard in New Orleans, Louisiana back in the 1920s-1930s. It's a bit like a completely different side to him you never expected to see, and never really wanted to, but you aren't really complaining. It's better than him deciding to terrorize you for fun and him asking invasive questions...

• A little more time passes and he decides to ask about small habits, disguising them as him just now noticing those habits, when he's probably noticed them while spying on you months prior. Nothing too extreme. Mostly just your expressions, how it seems like your attention is somewhere else... Nothing like your pacing, prancing, or acting. He wants to establish that he knows about these tiny little things, and now that you're more comfortable with him, you're much more likely to answer. That way, once he moves onto the bigger, more personal questions, you'll already have been eased into feeling comfortable with it.

• Eventually, you get to the point where you feel comfortable calling him a friend. He's already considered you one since that conversation with Husk, but it's a start. Now, he's gotten the lovely privilege of being able to know more about what's going on in that lovely little brain of yours... well, "little" brain is definitely an understatement. From how you describe your imagination, he'd be led to believe your mind must be as vast as the Library of Alexandria.

• Vast worlds, complicated plotlines, complex characters... you talk of odd tales you've created, all in your brain. Ones you've had in your mind for years, some you came up with on a whim, and others, still, that are still being developed. Stories that have been being created over the span of real life years, ones you started then dropped... All of which are being held in your head, with only a miniscule fraction of it being written onto paper. He's truly impressed, genuinely respecting your odd talent, as he sees it. You've perfected the craft of creativity, while he's perfected the art of talking to an audience. Even better, is that he got to learn whether or not his theory of you taking inspiration from stories you've heard was right. Which explains his sudden mentions of stories he's heard in life.

• Now... if only you'd let him tell some of your stories on his radio show! If you wouldn't like that, then he'd probably ask you to write something for his show. That way, it isn't as personal to you, and you wouldn't even need to be credited if you're embarrassed by it! He could just say a random listener sent it in, and he thought it'd be great to read, to show his appreciation for his adoring fans. The world simply must hear the greatness of your mind, dear, and he is not going to stop annoying politely asking you to write something until you do.

• Another thing he might try is to see if he can figure out why you partake in this little habit of yours. He's never heard of it, though he has asked some sinners and demons if they have. Be it Charlie, Angel Dust, some of the other overlords, or a friend of his we haven't seen or heard of, before. More modern sinners keep mentioning a thing called Maladaptive Daydreaming, describing it as a symptom of other mental health diagnoses... but that's the problem. That fits you, you've mentioned that you know of that and it fits you... but that's also just a symptom. Well, a few argue that it may be its own thing, but it is not an official diagnosis yet. So, for now, he wants to figure out why you do it.

• Is it depression? Anxiety? Do you really want to escape from something, and you're doing so by hopping into that little dream land of yours? Is it some sort of compulsion? You seem to not really be able to control it that well, after all, and others have mentioned links to OCD, as well as other disorders that can cause compulsions. Is it sheer, absolute, chronic boredom? Speak to him, dear! What is it? Do you even know? If not, he'll assume it's the boredom option... for now.

• He's obsessed with you, really. You're his friend, and he's very obsessive over them, in his own way. He is as far away from normal when it comes to showing real affection for others, which wouldn't be bad, if it weren't for the fact that a main part of it is him being absolutely suffocating when he's around. That, and he can be terrifying... He's the Radio Demon, after all! It's just worse for you than his other friends, though, because you are different. Being different is a really important thing for him, really, alongside being polite, smart, and funny. Not required, unlike the last three traits, but it makes you more likely to be his friend. You hit the lottery by achieving being all four, but it must be the worst lottery prize in the world.

• He holds the thought that you should just be friends with him. Now, you don't have to be... but, he'd prefer it. If you really want outside friends, sure! You just can't be friends with his other friends. He claims they'd "taint" you with how violent they can be. Plus, since he's friends with other cannibals, some of which do serve sinner and demon meat to others without telling them, he genuinely does worry about your safety and wellbeing if you met those specific friends of his. For your friends, he wants to meet them. He needs to in order to deem them worthy of being your friend, and to make sure it's not someone he knows and is friends with. You deserve perfection, and who knows perfection better than Alastor, yes? After all, he can see that you're perfect. That is more than enough evidence, dear.

• You're one of the few people who he doesn't mind having your attention not on him. Part of your charm, in his opinion, is your lack of attention. All he asks is that you tell him about a story of yours. What is going on in your head that's so important? Oh, a great war between this and that? A psychological horror? Cities beneath the sea? Tell him about it. He finds it fun! Especially if he can see any possible inspiration from events or other stories. He likes to hear your voice almost as much as he likes to hear his own, which you'll realize is more of a compliment than it might sound like, once you truly get to know him.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor #alastor the radio demon #maladaptive daydreaming #alastor x reader #platonic headcanons

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widowmaxff · 10 months ago

Note

if you wanted to, could you please write an angsty oneshot of moms!wandanat and reader where they get into a a bad argument which results in reader running away to yelena’s? ending could be happy or sad- up to you overall!

proud

pairings: parents!wandanat × daughter!reader | yelena × fem!reader (all platonic)

warnings: angst, argument, crying, insecure reader (?), happy ending!, steve × reader (platonic) at some time of the one shot, bad writing

a/n: i finished this crying because a cockroach attacked me, so thats why the ending was kind of bad writing sorry :P anddd tysm for your request <333 i loved writing this

You were never sure when it started, but it was probably a long time ago. When you learned that having parents who fought the super villains in the world wasn't normal, you realized that your life wouldn't be normal either. But even though you liked seeing your mother training with her red powers or running and being able to do whatever you wanted through the great corridors of the Compound, you still missed having a 'normal' life.

Being able to go out on the street without worrying about some evil man who hates one of your mothers kidnapping you or even being able to make friends at school without them being people who just wanted to meet your uncles, were things you wanted so much to experience. But that wasn't the only thing that made you feel bad in your daily life, having mothers who were superheroes also made you barely see them in weeks.

Even though most people your age didn't want anything to do with their parents anymore, you still missed the comforting and long hugs, the nights you had a marathon of your favorite movies and even when you still had dinner together as a family. But now, either they were too busy with work, like missions and paperwork, or they just didn't want to deal with a teenager.

And even then you tried to get their attention in some way. "Mom?" You knock softly on Natasha's office door, hearing a quiet response for you to enter. "Can you help me study for my test of the next week? I really don't understand this." You chuckle seeing your mother's eyes continue on the papers on her desk.

"Can't you look up the answer on the Internet or something? I'm really busy here, Y/n/n." You knew that Natasha would dismiss you somehow, but deep down you still hoped that she would look at you.

"Yes, but- I wanted to understand how to solve it and not just research it." You whisper, watching your mother write something down in the corner of the paper.

"Wanda can help you." She says, her eyes unable to take the words from her face for even a minute.

"Okay- um, thanks anyway, Mom." You only hear a mumble under her breath, making you wonder if there was something wrong with you. You close the office door with a little less hope this time. Your other mother was always a step ahead than Natasha in terms of emotional comfort, so maybe she would help you in your task by remembering your daily difficulties with that kind of thing. "Mama?"

"Yes?" Your mother murmurs, you barely listening. Wanda was sitting on the sofa at the Compound while devouring herself with a book in her hands.

"Can you help me study for my test of the next week, please?" You sit next to her while Wanda flips through another white page of the big book.

"Now?"

"Yeah. If it's possible."

"Can I help you...tomorrow?" Wanda finally looks at you from above her book. "Today is my only day off from the week's missions and paperwork and I'm really tired right now, my love." Your eyes fall to your hands in your lap, it was obvious that deep down you knew she was going to promise you something and maybe she would deliver. But by the time the next day passed, and then the next, and then the next... and Wanda didn't talk to you about it, you knew she wasn't going to help you.

And when you felt your head hurt just looking at that big red note in the corner of your test, you knew your mothers' wouldn't react so well to it. Maybe before they started spending time apart from you, they wouldn't get mad or anything like that because of your grade, but now you were sure that wasn't what would happen.

Stirring your fork on the plate still full of food, you go over the things you would say to your mothers' about your school grade. You travel between words and don't even notice when someone enters your field of vision. "Is everything okay, Kid?" It was your Uncle Steve. He sits in front of you watching you think about what to say to him.

"Yeah, it's just...school stuff."

"Is someone picking on you?" You knew that Steve almost saw you as a daughter, and you also knew that he was aware of how your mothers would rather be busy than deal with a teenage girl going through puberty, and that maybe now is the time when you needs them the most.

"Not like before, but that's not it." You leave your fork on your plate before sighing deeply. "I just got my test and I didn't get a very good grade," Murmuring you hold back the tears that sting your eyes. "now I don't know how I'm going to tell my mothers this."

Steve sighs. "I'm sure they won't fight with you, Y/n/n. Your mothers' will understand what happened and a grade doesn't define who you are, okay?" Your uncle didn't have much certainty in his voice but you tried to believe him anyway. You nod and put a small smile on your face, as a gesture of thanks.

Steve ruffles your hair, getting up from the chair when he hears the loud and unmistakable footsteps of your mothers' approaching you. He sends you a smile to try to reassure you that everything will work out, and with each step closer to you, your heart starts to accelerate. Your mothers' had a neutral expression, even if Natasha seemed angrier. "Aren't you going to eat?" Wanda asks, walking past you and heading towards one of the closets.

Completely ignoring the question, you take a deep breath and swallow hard. "I received the grade for that test in which I asked you to help me study." You mutter as you saw your mothers still facing away from you. "I got a D." Your voice was low, but even so, the two stopped what they were doing and looked into the depths of your soul.

"You got what?" Natasha seemed to finally understand that you were there. Her arms crossed as she walked towards you.

"I-I asked for help and-"

"Now you're trying to get out of this by blaming us for not helping you?" Wanda cuts you off making your eyes focus on her.

"I'm just saying- I tried, okay?!" It could be said that you got anger issues from your mom genes, or that you were just overwhelmed and your patience was running out. And when your tone of voice increased, you knew Natasha's anger would increase as well.

"Hey, don't talk to your mother like that!" Natasha slams her fist on the table in front of you, making you almost jump out of your seat.

"Well, you shouldn't be talking to me like that either." You didn't know where so much courage came from to fight back against your mother, but when you realized it, the damage had already begun.

"I'm your fucking mother, I talk to you however I want!" Natasha had never made you feel as scared as you did now, but it seemed like now that the words started to come out, they wouldn't stop.

"Ah, you haven't even been acting like a mother these past few months. Hypocrisy, huh?" When you finished speaking, you saw Wanda's eyes want to turn red like her hair. She approached the two of you quickly with the angriest expression you had ever seen.

"What's your problem, Y/n?!"

"My problem?" You get up from the chair and cross your arms, anyone who saw you in that position would notice the similarities in anger between you and Natasha. "You tell me! I'm not the person who would rather spend time anywhere else than with her own daughter. I'm not the one who forgets that she still has a daughter to raise!"

You screamed so loud that you were sure the entire Compound could hear that argument and that they could probably feel the tension in that environment from afar. If you were in a cartoon, you could see smoke coming out of Natasha's head and definitely Wanda's eyes catching fire. "You're being so selfish right now, Y/n."

"Am I?"

"Yes, you are! Just because your mother and I work all day to give you a better life, you think that we don't pay attention to you?" You had never seen Wanda like that, screaming and looking like she could kill anyone who came in front of her.

"Ah, yeah. Because last week when you weren't working you preferred to spend the whole day with Peter than with me just because he got a good grade!"

"Yes, because he always made us so proud by passing all the tests he had, unlike you!" Natasha spits the words out of her mouth without even thinking about what she was saying. And when they passed your ears you could feel your heart breaking.

Hearing that your mothers were more proud of a teenager who worked with them than they were of you made you feel like a gunshot was slowly passing through your chest. Natasha and Wanda knew how insecure you felt in your daily life, mainly due to academic validation, and now it seemed like all those days they had to spend helping you feel better about yourself were going down the drain.

Natasha sighs deeply when she sees your eyes widen, holding back tears that would fall at any moment. Wanda didn't seem any different when she heard the same words coming out of her wife's mouth. She never imagined that an argument of that size would ever happen between you, and Wanda could have sworn that she felt her heart stop beating out of disgust at the thought of how bad you must be feeling right now. "Y/n, I didn't mean-"

"It's okay." You murmur, uncrossing your arms. Two tears fall from your eyes and you make sure to wipe them away quickly. Your eyes were anywhere but on your mothers, because you felt so disgusting knowing that they were more proud of Peter than they were of you, that you couldn't even look at them.

Neither Wanda nor Natasha say anything when you turn and start walking out of the kitchen. You seemed to be walking automatically, your eyes blurry and your mind foggy, just going through your mother's words, over and over. But when you realize it, you're already outside the Compound, a few blocks away. You remember only one person who could help you outside of that place, and who wouldn't mind if you showed up suddenly.

And that's how you found yourself in front of Yelena's apartment, your aunt. She had found a place to live close to Natasha's house when she reconnected with her years ago, and especially when she discovered that she had a daughter, you. "Y/n?" Yelena seemed confused to see you there, with your face soaked and red, looking like an abandoned puppy. "Hey, what's wrong?" She didn't take long to have you in her arms.

"M-Mom and Mama h-hate me." You finally managed to murmur after some time sitting on the sofa in the apartment with Yelena stroking your hair and saying affectionate words.

Anyone who saw her doing this wouldn't believe it. Yelena wasn't the type of person for physical touches and especially sweet words, but when the subject was you, she became another person. "Why do you say that? They love you more than anything, Y/n/n."

"No, they don't."

Yelena had never seen you like this, not when you cried for days when you saw your favorite character dying, not when your mothers had to leave for a long mission. It was strange to see you crying almost as if there was no air in your lungs, your aunt wondered what happened to make it look like you had a bullet in your body and you were begging her to take it out. So, when you fell asleep crying on the couch, Yelena didn't wait a minute to call Natasha and insult her in every way possible. "What the fuck did you do?"

"What?"

"Y/n showed up at my door, I've never seen her crying as much as she does now." Yelena looks at you from the apartment's kitchen, you were curled up on the sofa with a blanket covering your body.

"Are you with her? Wanda and I were looking for her throughout the entire Compound." Natasha seemed to be relieved on the other end of the call, but even so her voice still sounded apprehensive about what had happened. "We're going to your apartment, I'll answer your question when we get there."

"You better!"

[...]

"She's sleeping on the couch." Yelena says when she sees Wanda and Natasha's eyes follow behind her, trying to find you. Yelena noticed Wanda's red eyes, not as if she wanted to cast circles of magic through her hands, but as if she had cried before arriving at the apartment. Your aunt knew that Wanda was sensitive, especially when it came to the topic of you and that you probably inherited that from her too, but for you two to cry so much like that, something really happened.

"Tell me what happened before you look at my niece again." Yelena has always been very protective of you, for example the time two girls made you the target of jokes in your school, and your aunt didn't wait a second to go to each of their houses and have a word with them.

"I better show you." Wanda says getting closer to Yelena, moving her fingers that came out red magic towards her mind - Steve messing up your hair, Wanda opening cabinets, red grade, Natasha screaming, you screaming, not being a mother, Wanda screaming, Peter being mentioned, not proud, disgusting feeling, you crying, you leaving the kitchen.

"Jesus." Yelena sighs deeply, running her hands over her face. "I really don't know how you're going to fix this, but I'll warn you: the hole is deeper than it looks."

"What- what do you mean by that?"

"Look, I'm sure you didn't want this to turn into a big snowball, but Y/n been feeling neglected for so long that after today it might take a while for things to get back to normal." Yelena says leaning on the front door frame.

"We didn't-"

"Yes, you did this to her. Today wasn't the first time she's shown up at my door in the last few months, but she's worse than the other times." Yelena crosses her arms and closes her eyes trying to calm down. "I had to listen to her talk about how you hardly talk to her on a daily basis, how you forgot to go to her presentation at school and didn't even apologize, how there were days when you forgot to pick her up and she had to walk in the rain to my apartment because it was closer, how she cried because you never had movie nights again because apparently now you have movie nights with Peter." Yelena's voice got louder with each thing she remembered you saying to her, and there were countless things. "I don't want to hear what you have to say, I want you to talk to her, apologize."

Natasha was so embarrassed to hear all those things from Yelena that she preferred to remain silent. Wanda had started to cry again, but it was silently, digesting all those things they did and didn't do to you. She had always dreamed of being a mother and now that she wasn't acting like one made her want to vomit over her own actions.

"Can we see her?" It was a stupid question coming from them, since they were your mothers and have the right to see you whenever they want. But they knew that everything was messy and bad for you because of them, so the least they had to do was respect your space.

Yelena just nods and gives Wanda and Natasha space to enter the apartment, taking light steps towards you. They bend down in front of you and see your swollen eyes and your red face with dried tears. Your mothers could cry just to see you in this state. Wanda starts to caress your face trying to make you wake up calmly, it was something she used to do when she went to your room in the morning every day to wake you up. And when you felt that you quickly knew who it was. "Mama?"

"Shh, yes it's me, my love." Wanda says with a small smile on her face when she hears your voice. You seemed lost for a few seconds but when you looked around the apartment you quickly remembered, throwing off the blanket and quickly sitting down on the couch. "Hey, it's okay."

"What are you two doing here?" You murmur, looking at your mothers' faces, who seemed sorry for everything that happened.

"We... came to talk and apologize, is that okay for you?" Natasha says, you could see in her face that she felt just as guilty as Wanda, because most of those horrible words were said by her. "Yeah, I guess." Wanda sighed in relief at your answer and felt some of the weight leave her body.

"I know that just apologies won't be enough to make you want to be around us for now, but your mother and I are completely sorry, my love. We were so stupid about leaving you aside these last few months, we didn't even realize what we were doing to you and it's really fucked up." The swear word made you laugh briefly, putting a smile on your mothers face. "And maybe you don't want to forgive us and that's definitely okay, but know that we're going to do everything we can to get things back on track, okay?"

Natasha agrees with Wanda's words and takes a deep breath before starting to speak. "We love you very, very much, sweetheart. And you are our greatest pride in our entire lives. I know you may not believe this, but you can be sure that me, your mother, your aunt and all your other uncles feel most proud of you, okay? You're our little star and our little agent."

A genuine smile appears on your face when you hear the sweet words that came out of your mothers' mouths. "First, you guys are literally the only people I want by my side and that's the only thing I've wanted these last few months. And I'm really grateful that you guys are sorry about that, even though it's probably going to be hard for things to go back to normal." They nod their heads when they hear your words in your low voice. "And I... forgive you. Not completely but until I can feel good again, but I think hearing you say sorry is a start."

"Okay, yes, that's okay." Wanda leaves a kiss on your forehead and strokes your hair affectionately. "We love you so much, dear."

"Love you too." You say, hugging the two women in front of you, finally feeling maternal affection after feeling neglected for so long and wondering what you had done wrong. Even though it took a while to get used to it all again, you were definitely happier than ever just hearing the words that they were proud of you. "Now I finally don't need to come to talk to Auntie Yelena anymore."

"Hey! I heard that!" Yelena shouts from another room in the apartment making the three of you laugh. You loved making fun of her, but even so, you will always be thankful for all the things she did for you. "Wow you're so ungrateful, Mini Romanoff."

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