#Maybe I should try to fix my sleep schedule | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wosospacegirl · 24 days ago

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Stuck with you - part 3

Summary: Y/n’s used to Alexia’s overprotectiveness and the pressure of her career—but Kika? The shy, socially awkward teammate who’s starting to make her feel things she didn’t expect.

Warnings: a lot, and I repeat, a lot of second-hand embarrassment because Y/n and Kika are awkward, ok!! also problem with absent parents <3 Olga and Alexia are our favorite chaotic duo...and hm guinea pigs death?

Word count: 4.2k

MASTERLIST

Part 1 here part 4 HERE

Alexia stood in the doorway of Y/n’s room, a ball tucked under her arm.

The soft morning light shone across the bed, where Y/n and Olga were curled up under the covers, not seeming to be bothered by the brightness of the sunrays.

Alexia watched the two girls. It was a rare sight, really. Y/n didn’t usually allowed herself to be comforted, she always had that tough expression on her face–that only meant Alexia had really fucked up last night.

The heaviness of guilt set on Alexia’s chest . She’d been harsh, even if she didn’t mean to. And now Y/n was hurt, which meant Olga was mad at Alexia.

Alexia stepped closer to the bed, nudging Y/n’s torso.

“Nena, come play.”

Y/n stirred, turning around and hitting Olga on the head in the process,

Alexia tried again.

“Desperta, vamos,” Alexia said again.

This time, Y/n turned around just once, her eyes barely opening as she stared at Alexia, confusion on her face. “Huh?”

“Football, you and me,” Alexia said again, showing the ball to Y/n as if it was enough for her to understand what was happening.

“What’re you even talking about?” Y/n mumbled, still groggy.

Y/n rubbed her eyes and blinked around the room–then froze when she saw Olga beside her, as if she'd forgotten what happened the night before.

Realisation set into her face, and that's when she frowned, glancing at Alexia.

“Do you hate me, Alexia?” Y/n asked, sitting up on the bed carefully not to wake Olga up.

Alexia shifted the ball in her arms. “No?”

“It seems like you do,” Y/n said. “First, you were a jerk last night, which I get it because I was annoying too–”

Alexia opened her mouth to say something, but Y/n lifted her finger, making Alexia shut up.

“And now you wake me up in the wee hours of my day off to play football?”

Alexia changed the weight between her feet, slightly uncomfortable.

“You and I love football,” Alexia said.

“But do we need to do this on a Sunday?” Y/n asked. “I was having such a good sleep, tio.”

“I think we need to spend more time together,” Alexia said. “As Ale and Nena, not…captain and player.”

Alexia was trying. She always did, Y/n couldn't complain about it. Sometimes she just got confused about the place she occupied in Y/n’s life. Maybe Y/n did that too sometimes, I mean… she always yelled at Alexia at the training center when she was being too bossy.

Most players wouldn't yell at their captain, but Y/n just knew she could do that and that Alexia wouldn't be mad.

Yeah, maybe both of them should talk more, hang around more often, just be who they were before Y/n was placed on the A team in Barcelona, when Y/n was just a kid, Alexia was looking out for.

It wasn’t easy–being a pre-teen and living with Alexia–but at least neither Alexia nor Y/n said things that hurt each other. They used to just play football and sort things out.

Olga wasn’t even in the picture back then, so she didn't need a peacemaker to make them realise they actually did not hate each other, that they were just too much alike.

Back then, it was just Ale and the kid who never stopped talking about football. There were no structured training schedules, no press conferences, no pressure. Just the two of them, a ball, and a big yard all for them.

“Football won’t fix everything, you know”, Y/n said, but quickly regretted it as a wave of sadness ran into Alexia’s face.

She groaned, but not loud enough for Olga to hear.

“Okay,” she said, getting up from her bed and taking Alexia’s ball from her hand. “Maybe football will fix this, come on.”

Alexia smiled, watching as Y/n went to the bathroom to freshen up and change clothes.

“You don’t know how to be smooth with apologies, do you?” Olga said against the pillow, eyes still closed.

“I’m trying,” Alexia said, running her hands through Olga's hair.

“And did you need to try it this early?”

“You and Nena are too much alike,” Alexia rolled her eyes, kissing Olga’s temple. “Too sleepy.”

“We just aren’t morning freaks,” Olga murmured. “Not even the birds are up.”

“Yes, they are, Olguita.”

“I doubt that.”

“Okay, let’s go,” Y/n said as she left the bathroom, wearing a training top and some shorts.

Alexia turned to her. “Don’t you wanna have breakfast first? I can make you some smoothies.”

“No,” Y/n said, shaking her head. “Let’s get this over with so I can come back to sleep.”

“That’s my girl!” Olga said, still tucked into the bed. “You guys be out sporty and all that, but don’t be loud, por favor” [please]

“And come back as friends,” Olga murmured before going back to sleep.

“You actually need to retire,” Y/n said when Alexia missed the ball y/n sent on her way.

“I was sneezing!”

“Whatever.”

They continued quietly kicking the ball under the soft sun. It was one of those cold, but sunny mornings. The grass on their back was brushing on their ankles, a little damp from the morning dew.

“Look… I’m sorry,” Alexia said suddenly, watching as the ball rolled toward Y/n.

Y/n paused, looking at Alexia. “Olga already talked to me, it’s okay.”

“I want you to hear it from me too,” Alexia said in a low, serious voice. “I’m sorry I acted like that…I didn’t mean to snap at you. I was–”

She looked down at the ball before shooting it to Y/n. “I don’t know. Frustrated? And I took it out on you. That's not fair.”

Y/n hesitated for a second. She and Alexia were never the ones to apologise through words. “Hm…Thanks for, hm, saying that.”

“I love you,” Alexia said. “The girls at the club love you. You know that, right?”

Y/n took the ball, playing with it and nodding with her head, not trusting her words.

Alexia shifted her weight. “Your parents… they called again and they said they really miss you, nena.”

“Alexia,” Y/n said in a warning tone, kicking the ball with more force than she intended, but Alexia caught it.

Alexia’s shoulders dropped. She needed to talk about it. Y/n might not open up about her parents, but Alexia knew how much it had bothered her when she was younger and how the hurt had turned into anger, avoidance.

Alexia sighed and rubbed the back of her neck. “I know that’s complicated. I just–” Her voice dropped, and she looked down.

“–I want you to know that they called and asked me to say that they loved you,” Alexia said, her voice softer now. “Cariño… you can’t ignore them forever.”

“Yes, I can. And I will. Just like they ignored me.” Y/n said.

“I just think you three should talk,” Alexia tried to argue. “I’m not asking you to forgive them, I’m just saying that maybe you could call them yourself and say you don’t want any more contact, or else they’ll keep trying.”

“They weren’t really trying when I was a fourteen-year-old kid calling them on Christmas morning, waiting for them to come pick me up for some family time, were they?”

Alexia let out a sigh. Of course, this wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

She remembered that Christmas very well, it was the first time Alexia and Y/n were together because her parents had ‘forgotten’ to tell Y/n that they were going to be travelling during the holidays.

It was also the first time Alexia had to calm down a crying fourteen-year-old girl. After that, everything changed. Y/n became distant from her parents and stopped calling them.

Now, five years later, the roles had flipped, the parents were the ones calling Alexia, desperate, as if she could undo what they’d broken years ago

And maybe that was what stung both Alexia and Y/n the most: they never asked what Y/n needed, they just told Alexia what they wished she would say to the girl in order to have her forgive them

“Nena, you know that I don’t like to be in the middle of this,” she said softly. “But I am and I want you to know that I’m on your side, si?”

“I just don’t think they get to choose when to show up, now” Y/n’s jaw tightened.

“You and Olga are family,” Y/n continued. “And that’s enough for me–it’s been enough for me for five years now.

Alexia absolutely wouldn't push Y/n to talk with her parents if she truly didn’t want to; although Alexia was aware of how much Y/n missed her parents, how she always searched for them after a match.

Her parents weren’t the best in the world. They forgot they had a daughter after sending Y/n to live with Alexia, but now they called her– not Y/n, never Y/n–hoping Alexia would fix it. She never knew what to say.

But she answered, anyway.

But now Y/n was already hurt. They couldn't do much, and Alexia couldn’t do much either, except encourage Y/n to talk to them.

Alexia hesitated, fingers drumming softly against the ball resting between them. “You don’t have to talk about it,” she said, quiet but certain. “But if you ever want to—I’m here.”

It was just a quiet offering. Alexia wanted Y/n to know that she was there. Even after their fight, even after she had said hurtful things. That she loved the girl.

Alexia watched as Y/n played with the ball on her feet. She looked…tired, emotionally tired.

This wasn’t going as planned.

Alexia had to use her last resort. The one she and Y/n had forced to swear off after Olga’s ban—a ban she declared necessary when they nearly broke the TV over a match for getting too competitive.

“…Wanna play FIFA?” Alexia offered, hopeful.

Y/n lit up instantly, mischief on her face. “Of course I do!”

Alexia smiled proudly, happy that at least she had made the girl smile in some way.

Alexia had found the PlayStation hidden away in Olga’s side of the closet. She took it quickly and put it on the TV in the living room. They had a few hours to play before Olga actually woke up.

They were playing nicely. That was, until Y/n purposely nudged Alexia just as her character–literally her–was about to score.

“That’s a red card!” Alexia yelled, tossing the controller onto the sofa and turning to Y/n. “You can’t do that, you cheater!”

“Why am I a cheater?” Y/n asked, brows furrowed in anger. “Pushes happen in real life, Alexia. Get over it.”

Y/n rolled her eyes before jumping onto the couch, arms raised in celebration as her goal was confirmed on the screen, shining bright on Alexia’s face.

“Yeah!” Y/n shouted triumphantly, pointing a finger at Alexia. “One point for me, zero for you!”

“Què!?” Alexia turned to the TV, then back to Y/n. “No! I wasn’t paying attention–that doesn’t count!”

“Yes, it does! Not my fault you weren’t focused.”

“I would be focused if you didn’t cheat!”

“Cry about it, Capi.”

“You cheat at FIFA, you cheat at tug of war–”

“Oh my god, not the tug of war again!”

“Cállense!” Olga’s voice cut through their argument as she entered the room, her hair was a complete mess, and her eyes were barely open.

“Olguita,” Alexia started, standing quickly, nervousness on her face “, We’re sorry we woke you–”

“Putellas,” Olga said in a warning tone, eyes sharp. “Keep quiet.”

She made a beeline for the TV and snatched the PlayStation and hugged it protectively to her chest, as if either Y/n or Alexia would fight her for it.

They would never. They were actually scared of Olga.

“How is it that you two still don’t know how to play a game amicably? You play on the same team!” Olga huffed, walking out of the room.

Alexia and Y/n glanced at each other, then at the console in Olga’s hands as she made her way upstairs.

“Quina merda!” Y/n whispered, “She’s gonna ban it again.”

“She already has,” Alexia muttered back, sighing.

After Olga took away Alexia’s and Y/n's source of happiness, Y/n had to find other things to keep her mind busy during her day off. That’s why she went for a run later that afternoon.

It was good, it helped her put things in perspective. Especially her fight the other night with Alexia and the whole situation with her parents…maybe she should call them just to make sure they would stop bothering Alexia.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t realize it was almost 7 p.m. The air had turned colder, but Y/n didn’t feel it– she was still moving, headphones on.

Her hair was completely messy, she was all sweaty, and her gym clothes were dirty from all the running she did around the park.

She needed a shower. Desperately.

Yn walked to the big white house on the hill and pushed the door open…and then she paused.

Alexia and Olga were right in front of the door.

Looking pretty. Fancy even.

Y/n looked at them with furrowed eyebrows as she closed the door behind her.

“Cariño,” Alexia called, hand on her hip. “Why did you take so long?”

“We were going to look out for you,” Olga said, already turning around, Alexia and Y/n quickly following her.

“What?” Y/n blinked. “Look out for me? I’ve been out for just two hours!”

“Yeah, but you are late for dinner!” Olga replied, rolling her eyes as she urged the girl inside into the kitchen.

“What dinner?”

“Tonight’s dinner!” Alexia said, exasperated as she handed Y/n a stack of plates. “I told you about it.”

“No, you didn’t!” Y/n said, automatically setting the table, putting one plate down after the other.

“Yes, she did, cariño,” Olga said, passing by holding a salad bowl. “This time I have to agree with Ale.”

Y/n huffed and watched the table she had just set. One, two, three…four plates?

Y/n frowned. “Who’s coming–?”

Ding dong.

Alexia placed a hand on her shoulder, guiding her gently but firmly. “Nena, get the door while we finish setting the table.”

“Me?” Y/n asked, pointing at herself. “I’m disgusting!”

Ding dong

Alexia pointed at the door, her voice more stern. “Go.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, still confused as she trudged to the door.

It was probably Alba coming. It had to be Alba. They always did those dinner dates every once in a while.

‘Please be Alba. Anyone…boring. Anyone safe.’ Y/n thought, not wanting to deal with another dinner with hers and Alexia’s manager or Olga’s coworkers

Y/n got close to the door, trying to get rid of the leaves of grass on her top, and quickly ran her hands through her hair, trying to look a little presentable. She put on her default polite smile and breathed.

She opened the door, then she completely froze.

Kika stood there, holding a flower pot tight to her chest. Her eyes were wide, nervous, as if she also didn’t expect Y/n to be on the other side of the door either.

Okay. Everything was fine.

Kika was at her door. On their day off. Holding flowers. And unfairly cute.

Yes. Alexia had definitely not told Y/n about this dinner. Y/n would remember if she had told her Kika would be coming tonight.

“…Hi,” Kika said, voice small. “Sorry, I hit the doorbell twice, I didn’t hear it quite well the first time.”

Y/n blinked, looking at the flowers, then at Kika and then gluing her eyes to the sunflowers like they might explode. “What the he–”

“Can I give them to you or…?” Kika extended her arms with the flowers, urging Y/n to take them, but she didn’t; instead, she just watched as Kika’s hand wrapped around the flower pot.

Y/n opened and closed her mouth, almost like a fish.

“The flowers?” Y/n finally asked. “I mean, do you wanna give me the flowers?”

Now it was Kika’s turn to open and close her mouth.

“Yes, I-I guess?” Kika said, flushing.

“You bought me flowers?!” Y/n said.

“No! I mean–yes? No. I bought them for Olga and Alexia.” Kika said, fidgeting. “I mean, it’s kind of…hm…It’s a house gift! So I guess… yes? You can take them–since you live at this house?”

“Oh. Okay,” Y/n said, a little too quickly. “So they’re for the house. Not for me.”

“Right,” Kika nodded. “House flowers.”

Y/n looked down. Then up. Then back at the flowers.

Kika shifted her weight and cleared her throat. “You've got a little something–” she pointed at Y/n’s head. “It’s a leaf…in your hair.”

“What?” Y/n stiffened

“It looks like a whole branch, actually,” Kika said, tilting her head.

Before Y/n could shake the…branch away, Olga swept in and dodged Y/n to the side, giving a disappointed side eye, muttering something.

Y/n grasped it as ‘hopeless’.

“Oh, Kikinha,” Olga said quickly, taking the pot from the girl’s hand and kissing her cheeks. “You bought us flowers! That’s so sweet of you!”

Y/n just stood there like her brain had short-circuited.

Kikinha? Were Kika and Olga the best of friends now? Greta, they had nicknames now.

Olga welcomed Kika, a hand on her back as she led her through the hall. Y/n didn't realise Alexia was also there, in the doorway, watching with an amused smile on.

Y/n had the impression that they had been watching her interaction with Kika.

At dinner, Y/n tried to sit as far from Kika as humanly possible. But Olga just smiled and tugged her chair closer to Kika–way closer.

“Come sit here, cariña!” Olga patted at the seat beside Kika as she took her own place on the other side of the table, by Alexia’s side.

Y/n glared internally, but sat down anyway, shuffling her chair ever-so-slightly away, which resulted in an embarrassing screech of wood against tile that echoed through the room, indicating very well what Y/n was doing.

Silence.

Y/n smiled awkwardly and plopped herself down to her chair, Kika’s tight, very close to her own.

They began to eat as Olga chatted away, completely oblivious to Y/n’s rising panic.

It wasn’t that Y/n wasn't happy that Kika came over to dinner. It was just that she wasn’t prepared. Before training, she would give herself a pep talk, urging herself to act normal, cool and collected.

But right now? She was everything but collected. Y/n looked like a mess while Kila looked pretty. Y/n smelled like sweat while Kika had the sweetest perfume on.

“Do you want rice, Alexia?” Olga asked.

“No, tha–”

Too late.

Olga scooped a generous spoonful onto Alexia’s plate before she could finish.

Alexia smiled resignedly before eating.

“Kikinha, you should come around more often!” Olga added happily, taking salad from the bowl and serving herself and then Alexia, who once again didn’t request any food.

‘Come here more often?’ Y/n squinted her eyes at Olga. This didn’t seem like a normal dinner. It felt more like a trap.

“So, how’s the adaptation going, Kika?” Alexia asked, staring sadly at the lettuce Olga had put on her plate.

“It’s nice being away from my parents for the first time.” Kika smiled shyly. “I lived in Portugal my whole life, and now. It’s like I get to be freer. Like, I can make my own choices, you know?”

“Oh yeah, that’s the best thing ever, sweetie,” Olga nodded. “You get to make your own rules, all that.”

“So, how’s training been for you lately, Kika?” Alexia chimed in, still trying to avoid the lettuce.

“It’s intense, but I love it,” Kika said. “I’m starting to get the hang of things. I feel like I’m learning a lot from everyone– especially from you, Alexia.”

Alexia smiled smugly, and Y/n kicked her under the table. Not enough to hurt, just enough to deflate her ego.

Olga turned to Kika, smiling warmly. “Do you get much free time outside of training, Kika?”

“Not a lot– our schedule is crazy–but it’s enough to do some fun things!”

“What do you like to do, sweetheart?”

“Hm, I like to walk around, explore. It’s beautiful here.” Kika said, taking a bite from her food. “There’s a lot of old buildings, good food, and pretty places…”

“You should take Estrelita with you!” Olga beamed, pointing at Y/n, who was slowly leaning back in her chair, as if trying to disappear. “She never goes out. She’s lived here her whole life but barely knows the city!”

Y/n froze, eyes darting to Kika as she felt her cheeks blush instantly. Great. Now Kika was going to think she was some sorta antisocial freak.

She could feel Kika’s gaze drifting towards her, but she didn’t look up, instead, she just stared at her fork as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

“Come on, cariño,” Olga pressed. “You two would have a great time. Right, Kika?”

Kika blinked. “Hm… sure! We could…go for a walk? Or something.”

“You know, Estrelita’s favorite ice cream place is just a few blocks away from here,” Olga said, dodging Y/n’s leg that tried to kick her. Instead, Olga casually hooked her ankle around Y/n’s and held her in place under the table, smiling sweetly as she spoke. “You should take Kika there sometime, nena.”

“It got closed,” Y/n deadpanned, trying to wriggle her leg free, but in the process, she accidentally kicked Alexia’s shin.

Alexia winced. “Ouch!”

“Oh, why did it close?” Olga asked quickly, trying to be louder than Alexia ,still holding Y/n’s leg.

Poor Kika looked from Alexia, then to Olga, then to Y/n with a confused expression on.

“Sanitary inspection,” Y/n muttered. “Rats and all that.”

The table went completely silent.

Kika paused mid-chew, fork frozen halfway to her mouth.

Olga blinked. “Well… maybe don’t go to Y/n’s place of choice, Kikinha.”

“I think rats are cute,” Kika offered quietly..

Everyone turned to look at her.

“I mean–not like in ice cream.” She added quickly. “ Just… in general. As animals.”

Y/n stared at her.

Y/n watched as Kika’s cheek blushed. “I didn't mean as pets... I've never had a rat–or any rodent–as a pet,” Kika said, trying very hard to explain herself over something that really didn’t need explaining.

“I saw the other day a video about a rat painting with its paw,” Y/n said with a smile, hoping it would ease the tension. “I thought it was cute.”

“Oh, I also saw it,” Kika said, smiling.

“You know, nena had a rat when she was younger,” Olga chimed in, nodding as if this was a perfectly normal conversation to be having over dinner.

“Oh, Y/n had a rat when she was younger,” Olga chimed, trying to fix whatever happened to their whole conversation.

“It was a guinea pig,” Alexia murmured, correcting Olga under her breath.

Olga let go of Y/n’s leg to kick Alexia lightly under the table, but it only landed directly on Alexia's knee.

Hard.

“Olguita!” Alexia gasped, jerking back on her chair. “My ACL!”

“Oh!” Kika said, eyes wide with concern.

Y/n dropped her fork and stared at the whole scene in front of her. They really couldn't have a nice and normal dinner, could they?

“Oh, I’m sorry, amor,” Olga said, urging Alexia to get up from the chair, hands on her shoulder. “Let’s go to the living room, I’ll get you some ice. Just elevate it, okay? It's fine!”

Olga grabbed Alexia by her shoulder and gently guided her towards the hallway. “Perdón, mi amor, no fue mi intención pegarte, fue sin querer.” [I’m sorry, my love, I didn’t mean to hurt you.]

And just like that, they were gone.

And Kika and Y/n were alone.

Y/n stared at her plate. The silence was loud.

Kika cleared her throat, attempting to break the awkward silence. “So… you had a guinea pig?”

“Not quite the same as rats.”Y/n glanced up, smiling faintly.

Kika nodded quickly, a hint of a smile. “Right, less…tails.”

“His name was Cerdito.”

“That’s a cute name,” Kika said softly, poking at the piece of broccoli still on her plate.

“Yeah.”

Silence.

“Alexia killed him,” Y/n added.

“Oh.”

“I left him out in the yard to get some sunlight,” Y/n continued. “She didn't know and was practicing her shooting.”

Kika's fork froze mid-air. "That's..terrible."

"We had a whole burial for him," Y/n said.

Kika searched Y/n's face. “Poor Cerdito.”

"Yeah," Y/n agreed. "He never saw it coming."

Notes: this is my contribution to our Kika obsession ok!!

Also, I gave myself more freedom to just write awkward dialogues for those too, something I feel like people will cringe too much, but then I realised that's exactly what Kika and Yn feel, so why not? haha

Hope you liked it!! Please let me know what u think.

PART 4 HERE

#woso fanfic #woso x reader #kika nazareth #kika nazareth x yn #kika nazareth x reader #stuck with you

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pedgito · 3 months ago

Text

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 | Jackson!Joel Miller x reader

summary | Your postcards become a personal journal during patrols with Joel.

author's note | a little late, but this is my entry for @jolapeno's dear-uary! i had very little idea what i was going to do initially, but this kinda turned into its own thing. i hope the postcards are a nice addition to the fic, they were quite fun to make.

content warning | 18+ MDNI, jackson era joel, patrol partners, quiet!reader, enemies to lovers, one instance of choking, mentions of violence, angst, mean!joel, voyeurism, forced orgasm, thigh riding

word count — 7k

“It’s the fifth time I’ve came back and she’s been sleepin’,” Joel gripes a handful of feet below as you feign resting, trying to relax the sneer that threatened to cross your face, annoyed with the exhaustion that never left but loathing the man who couldn’t seem to give you a break, “or writing in that damn book, ignoring us.”

“I’ll talk—” Joel interrupts Tommy once more, with emphasis on the amount, but Tommy reels him in, squeezing down on his shoulder as you peek through one eye over the railing, scoffing under your breath, “I’ll talk to her, alright? S’awonder what a simple conversation can fix, Joel.”

His approach comes later during shift change as the night slowly melted into dawn, the sun rising on the horizon in waves of orange and purple, creating a cotton candy sky, hearing Tommy’s voice carry as he greeted people along the way before the scuff of his boots stopped behind you, you turn to peer up at him sheepishly.

“Not a good look, y’know?” Tommy says redundantly, “I’m not tryin’ to gripe you out, but Joel—”

You nod knowingly, waving him off as you toss your pencil and notebook aside, adjusting your jacket over your shoulders as you sit upright, rubbing the sleep out of tired eyes.

“You can always put me on kitchen duty, hell I’ll take—”

“No—no, I’m not moving you. You havin’ trouble sleeping in the singles?”

The apartments, the singles—it varied, depending on who you asked. A place for the younger, single survivors in Jackson. With the constant sound and rumble of life within the walls, you should feel safe, a subtle semblance of home, but sleeping alone was hard. Trapped within four walls, drowned out by the eventual silence as night fell, it left room for the nightmares.

It was easier here, surrounded by others, sounds to help keep you grounded, the fresh air despite the stale smells and faint fumes of rotting corpses. You couldn’t explain it, but it was easier. Besides, it wasn’t like you were being completely negligent—even Tommy knew that.

“I have trouble sleeping in general,” You feed him a half-truth, “I’ll keep it together, though. As long as it keeps Joel off your ass and mine, I wouldn’t be thrilled to be on the receiving end of one of Joel’s outbursts.”

“Tantrums, more like.” He jokes with a smirk, his teeth peeking out under his thick mustache. “I really don’t mind if you’re dozing off a bit, s’long as there’s others keepin’ watch. Maybe–just maybe, try and keep up the act when Joel’s coming and going.”

“Can do,” You agree with ease and Tommy smiles, pointing lazily toward your notebook.

“I’m curious, though—whatcha got goin’ on in there?”

Your brow furrows until you look over your shoulder and surmise what he’s referencing, picking up the notebook carelessly and flipping through to show him–it was a mix of random doodles and sketches, some vulgar words scribbled in by a mix of immature men who you’ve come to befriend with reluctance on the job, a detailed log of everyone’s schedule as they leave and return, random details of weather patterns, things you’ve noticed along the skyline toward the inner city, several months worth of information that Tommy nods at, thoughtful as he looks over the pages.

“Don’t let ‘em give you a hard time,” Tommy tells you, folding the cover closed.

“Yes, sir,” You say endearingly, mostly as a jest at Tommy’s expense, knowing he despised the word, making a face as he turned on his heels to leave.

“Shit makes me feel old,” He gripes, shaking his head in a mix of disdain and amusement, “stop it.”

You smile at his annoyance as you tuck your belongings away into your pack and trade your rifle off to Jesse, who seemed more than eager to take your shift with bright, well-rested eyes and a grin of his face as greeted you both.

As you expect, there is little sleep to be had as you hit your bed, tossing and turning as you fiddle with the ripped hole in your bed sheet or spend time counting the stains on your ceilings—mold spots and holes, signs of a building that was on the way out, but hanging by a thread.

Tommy wouldn’t condemn the place unless it was in shambles, finding use of just about anything if it still had enough life in it.

And you follow Tommy’s instructional plea—even if it killed you to appease Joel, who seemed just as critical if not more as he rode up on his horse every few nights.

Their shifts weren’t always regular and Joel often picked up extra patrols when someone else couldn’t, complaining entirely too much for someone who seemed like they couldn’t stand living within the sanctuary of Jackson, like he’d rather tough it out on his own.

Ellie blamed it on his inability to let himself settle—Jackson was home, his family was here, and physically he could exist, but he never seemed quite present.

You catch Ellie on a shift change as Tommy and Joel approach, trading out your jerky for her sandwich as she hurriedly tucked it away like she was going to get caught doing something she shouldn’t, snorting softly at her actions as Joel scowled, pulling at the reigns of his horse as he drew near.

The call of your name has you perking up, peering around Ellie’s head at Tommy with a less than enthusiastic look on his face, rifles held between both of the brothers grips.

“I’m askin’ for a huge favor,” Instantly you knew, posture slumping slightly as your boots sunk into the snow, “Cindy’s sick—caught the same bug that’s been goin’ around. Can you cover another shift? I’ll owe ya.”

“Seems more like you’re telling me,” You retort, stretching the beanie down over the back of your head to cover your ears, the cold biting at your skin, “—it’s fine, I’ll do it.”

“Thank—“

“But I want the weekend off.”

“Done.” Tommy agrees without problem.

The patrol box wasn’t all that bad anyways, insulated enough that you weren’t freezing your ass off, enough room for two people, it could be worse. It was better than walking the strip of the barricade, shivering until you couldn’t even feel your toes.

Wyoming winters were brutal, but it seemed like the end of the world had found a vengeance to fight back with, giving you the harshest versions of every season. A blizzard was expected within the next few weeks and those were never ideal—extra patrols, doubling watchmen, curfews. It sucked.

You find yourself sketching out the same tree line you’ve drawn a hundred times, wispy tendrils and thick trunks that wove together like a web, time drifting by with ease as the night swallowed up the day, the thick blanket of snow reducing both the noise and allowing a soft illumination as you peered off into the distance, almost mesmerized at the glowing orb that seemed to grow closer and closer.

Tommy and Joel were the last ones out, everyone else having returned back hours prior, keeping in mind that they had taken the furthest patrol out north, so it wasn’t all that surprising.

But, it doesn’t take long for you to realize that Joel and Tommy are not alone, horses trotting quickly toward the gates as a small group of raiders followed closely behind and shot of rifle rounds with no exact target, whizzing by your head as you opened the door and ran to your own rifle, sliding to the wall for cover as you quickly loaded your gun and swung it over the ledge.

It wasn’t often that you had to use it outside of training and target practice, finding that Jackson had always been relatively quiet—except for now, as the brothers tumbled to cover as shots fired from your left and right, a few of the attackers succumbed to their flurry of wounds.

You watch as one raider attacks the brothers head on, short-lived as Joel attacks him with his fists, a hand bunching into the front of the attackers shirt before he’s crushing his skull in with pure rage and strength, eventually ending up with his hands around the other man's neck while he choked on the blood that spilled from his mouth, the light in his eyes slowly fading.

There’s a straggler on the outskirts, though, blending in as he slid through the tree line and attempted to attack Joel from behind, you quickly aim down your sight through the scope of the gun, following a straight and calm line as the man approached, stepping a few feet away from Joel before the bullet slices through his head, falling to the ground in an instant.

Joel’s head whips toward you, your head peeking over the scope as you examine the body before looking over at him, seemingly stunned but the expression was subdued, quietly mouthing something to his brother who wasn’t as good at hiding his shock.

Either you had made the right choice in saving Joel’s life or he was going to twist this on you, somehow proving that you could’ve killed him with your carelessness, letting a shot ring out so close to his head.

The dread you were feeling does come to fruition as Tommy knocks on your door that weekend, your soft voice welcoming him inside as you perched against the alcove in your room, a small ledge tucked against the windowsill.

“I ain’t here to lecture you,” Tommy begins, cutting through your doubt, “feel like I’m constantly askin’ so much of you but Joel and I can agree on one thing. You’re a damn good shot.”

You scoff at that, almost a laugh.

He leaned against the wall near the small kitchen tucked into the corner of the apartment, arms crossed over his chest.

“We lost James,” from what you recalled, he was a young kind, inexperienced, reckless too, “poor kid never fuckin’ listened, got shot before he could even get his gun out.”

“Why are you telling me this?” You ask bluntly, looking up at him through a downturned gaze, picking at the chipped paint by your feet.

“We’re down a person. I want you to take over.”

“I thought this was a council decision. Some prestigious thing, putting people through tests before they could—“

“It’s the least of my worries. Maria’s close to her due date too, that storm is creepin’ in. We ain’t got time to waste, we’ll be doubling patrols soon. Are you in or out, kid?”

Tommy’s face screamed desperation, sunken eyes were a telltale sign of lacking sleep, stress rifling his features. He had a lot on his plate, the weight of Jackson on his shoulders, his burgeoning new family growing within a few weeks. You had a soft spot for him unfortunately and it was always your downfall.

“I’m in.”

—

“You listen to every word I say,” Joel tells you, snaking by the others loading up their saddle bags, side stepping the horse’s head as he crowds you into the small space of the stall, “Every single word, got it?”

He’s never been friendly—cordial, maybe. But, Joel wasn’t the type to ask or suggest. It was always order and demand, his harsh tone constricting the words to instill an edge that had your brows furrowing down into your lids, face scrunching up in annoyance.

You agree regardless, nodding your head as you clip the saddlebag closed.

“I need to hear it.”

“Got it,” You retort, sarcasm laced around your tongue, “Every single word. You say run, I run. Jump, I jump. Good enough?”

Joel shakes his head slightly at your tone, looking off toward the entrance of the barn at his brother who was deep into a conversation, displeased with the idea of being paired with you.

But, he was the only one Tommy trusted to train you properly, even if it meant several hours together with a good chance you both might kill each other.

With Joel, you were safe from everything else but him.

“Yeah, thas’ good.” He relents, turning on his heels before he finishes his sentence.

The weather was only just beginning to pick up, the winds whipping your loose hair over your face, pulling them from the tie you had pulling the majority of it back, hood snug over your head. You hear the distinct sound of leather rubbing against itself as Joel tightens his grips on the reins of his horse, settling beside you quietly as Tommy called off everyone’s posting.

You were assigned to the ski lodge far north, the furthest they patrolled but for good reason. It kept the raiders at bay, staking claim so far out and keeping them away, for the most part. Plus, it gave them an early jump on any of the migrating groups of infected, finding that they often moved in hoards during the colder months, picking off the stragglers that wandered in.

The trip is cold, lips dry and cracking by the time you reach the lodge, but relatively easy.

“Tie ‘em up,” Joel instructs coarsely, waiting to latch the door closed as you tie the horses up to the makeshift post in the foyer, his foot holding the door open as you step past him, shoulder brushing his elbow as his eyes track the touch silently, clicking the lock into place.

“Beds are up there,” Joel pointed toward the right corner, couches lined with sheets and pillows, “s’better to sleep down here with this weather, place don’t keep out the cold that well unless we got a fire going and even then…”

“I’ll be fine,” You assure him tensely, stripping your jacket off your shoulders and slinging it over the back of a nearby chair, pack falling slack against the floor, leaving you free to wander around.

“Sign us in,” He points vaguely in the direction of the bar, an old leather booklet resting against the wall with a pin tucked around a page, his voice carrying as you walk further away, “I’ll start up a fire.”

Joel was like a ghost, almost forgetting he was there until he’s approaching behind you, that familiar grimace on his face as he finds you scouring through the book, curiosity getting the best of you—it was harmless, but Joel thought otherwise.

“Is this gonna be an issue?” He asks, eyes widened slightly in an expectant manner, waiting for your response.

You wrestle with the urge to roll your eyes, neatly writing your names down into the book, checking quickly at your watch before you snap the book closed and shove it aside.

You move to walk around him, but his palm flattens out against your collarbone, shoving you back into place—he wasn’t letting you move without an answer.

“No,” You answer casually, pushing his hand away gently, “Are you gonna explain how any of this works?”

“We take turns,” Joel says, mirroring your early actions as he strips off his couch, the warmth of the fire already spreading throughout the room, “I’ll take first shift ‘til morning, then we swap.”

“And if we see something?”

“You wake me up,” He tells you, “otherwise, don’t.”

It was a simple but lethal instruction, a warning.

This was going to be absolute hell.

Luckily, the conversation dies out and you wander toward the small gift shop attached to the bar. It was mostly picked through besides the small plush bear sitting alone on the shelf and a revolving carousel of postcards, aged from both weather and time. You spin them around careful, mindlessly plucking a few that still seemed in good enough condition before you’re shoving them away in your bag, ignoring the creak of a chair as Joel sat with his rifle in his lap, leaned back as he stared out the long expansive window that covered the wall, just on the edge of cliff with a substantial drop.

It had a beautiful view, breathtaking, really. But, looking in his direction only made you feel more and more unsettled, taking your seat beside the fire quietly.

“Should get some sleep,” He suggest without turning his head over his shoulder, your eyes glancing in his direction, “don’t need you fallin’ asleep on patrol here.”

And normally, you could find yourself falling asleep easily given the situation. But, you were on edge, fearful, something twisting in your gut that kept you from relaxing. You’ve heard the stories about Joel, how ruthlessly he killed and maimed. A man of action rather than peace.

You pull a single postcard from your back to distract yourself, hoping that it might help lull you to sleep eventually.

And you wished it had gotten easier, but the more you were paired with Joel, the more tension it seemed to cause, always unspoken—Joel never reacted, barely skirting the idea that this was becoming a problem, the lack thereof with communication, speaking only when you absolutely needed to.

His questions were always odd, like a robot attempting to make small talk—and often, it was observations, one-off statements that shouldn’t have bothered you as much as they did.

But, they did.

“Sleepin’ with that knife ain’t safe.” Joel told you on a crisp, stormy night at the end of January, the tail end of it peeking out from under your pillow, one eye peeling open to look at him with disdain.

“Says the man who sleeps with a rifle on his chest.”

Joel chews at his bottom lip, looking down at the bulky weapon in his lap before he ignores your retort, focusing his gaze on the book in his grip, something he’s read through about a hundred times, attempting to give himself a different view, flipping through the pages mindlessly.

“Where’d you learn to use a gun like that?” He asks suddenly, cutting through the silence again.

Another question, one you could leave unanswered.

“We’re not put in the watchtower without gun training,” You tell him, “seems kinda self explanatory, Tommy trained me himself.”

“That kinda shootin’ isn’t taught.” Is all he replies with—almost like an accusation.

“I think you’ve forgotten that QZ kids were born with a gun in their hand.”

It was an asinine exaggeration, but still wholeheartedly the truth. You knew every part of a gun before you could even confidently tie your shoes, it was unfortunately second nature when you had a gun in your hand, similar to a knife. Your grip tightened around the handle as you closed your eyes, succumbing to sleep eventually.

You wade in and out, peeking through bleary eyes and always find Joel’s eyes on you, whether purposeful or not, he was always watching. Even as you wandered, no matter where you were—maybe it was his own strange way of hoping that it provided you comfort, that he was always watching out. But, it never made you feel safe. Not really. And, in turn, you find yourself doing the same thing.

He’s more relaxed when he’s sleeping, the familiar scowl non-existent as he snores alongside the crackling fire or roar of wind, his boots untied and loosened but never off, never too comfortable. Joel always slept with his arms crossed, sitting up or lying down, occasionally mumbling in his sleep as he whimpered, his face contorting in the only sign of emotion you see from him outside of anger and annoyance.

You scribble out your thoughts on a postcard to pass the time.

He never asks about the stack of postcards in your bag, remaining blissfully ignorant. It was an unspoken agreement, that prying wasn’t something either of you were going to make an attempt at—you could simply exist around each other, no baggage or stories to be traded.

For now, at least.

–

It was nearly four months of patrols when Tommy lays his plans out and surprisingly, Joel doesn’t seem displeased and truthfully, things had become easier with him than anyone else.

You didn’t have to put on an act for him.

He could tell when you were exhausted or irritated, giving you space with a silent pass of the sandwiches he had picked up before leaving, retreating to his own corner, though his eyes still lingered.

It had taken a few months, but you did feel that safety with him that Ellie often talked to you about—his steadfast personality, knowing that if something were to happen, he’d handle it.

But, he’s still a mystery.

“Ellie told me ‘bout that time you killed a group of raiders tryin’ to attack her,” You start the conversation bluntly, biting into the steak sandwich, “You like knives more than guns?”

Bold, he thinks. That’s fuckin’ bold.

“Guns are loud,” He replies, “Knives aren’t.”

You think back to the incident at Jackson with another set of raiders, witnessing Joel kill a man with his bare hands and think - maybe he preferred neither, if given another choice.

The prospect shouldn’t excite you or even entertain you, the brute power he holds.

But, it does.

You make a soft nose of acknowledgement as you nod your head, noticing the subtle glint in his eyes as he revisits the memory with Ellie, his face twitching at the sight of the broken glass slicing through a poor kid’s neck, right along the jugular as he choked on his own blood.

“You kill anyone?”

“A few—just…for survival.” You weren’t sure why you lied.

Joel wasn’t threatened by you in the slightest and lying wasn’t going to change that.

You’ve been lucky enough to avoid it until recently, bouncing from place to place until you landed in Jackson. It had been your home for a while now, so long that you didn’t like to think about it, staying in one place for such a long period of time.

Joel sat a few feet away in the small house nestled on the mountain, a cool breeze stretching through the open window as Spring had taken hold, flowers blooming over the edge of the windowsill where they threatened to creep in.

His feet were near your head, resting against the ledge of the window as he leaned back in his chair, tapping his knife against the wooden leg of the chair as you pretend to sleep, shifting slightly as the blanket drifted down your body, layers shedded and crumpled by your feet, leaving you in a thin top and and jeans as you turned to your stomach, moaning softly, content.

He’s been less shy about his stares, or oblivious, his gaze lingering when you would catch him in the act—but you count the second in your mind from the moment you catch him through your squinted gaze, his eyes drifting along your body curiously.

Ninety-five seconds.

It was a new record.

And you dream of him that night, it wasn't the first time.

But, this time felt different. Usually the dreams drift away the moment you wake, like a distant and distorted memory, but this one is vivid and lingering as you watch Joel, who had caught you in the midst of your wake but he'd fallen asleep shortly after.

Some fucked up and empty part of you wishes it was reality.

You end up at the same patrol a month later, the heat of summer creeping in.

You hadn’t been paired together in a couple weeks and Joel seemed lighter as he stepped beyond the threshold of the house and stripped off his pack, busying himself with a quick sweep

Wiping your hand over your forehead, skin damp and sweaty as your pack falls to the floor, you sigh, fanning yourself with your hand as Joel catches a subtle glimpse of your obvious discomfort.

“Did Tommy ever fix the water?” You ask with a slight hint of annoyance, more than willing to douse yourself in a bucket of cold water to get some relief, “Please say yes.”

Joel chuckles at that, a small sound that you would have missed had you not been paying direct attention to his response.

“Yes, a couple weeks ago,” Joel answers simply, sinking lazily into the couch, allowing himself a moment of well-earned rest after the long ride here, “go on—I’ll cover the first watch.”

It was all the encouragement you needed.

And the shower is marvelous, leveled at the perfect temperature to let the cool water wash over your skin, cleaning off the thin layer of dirt that had accumulated from Jackson to here, listening to the faint footsteps as Joel traversed the house, assuming he was setting things up in the bedroom—doors opening, floorboards creaking, the sounds were like a comfort.

Joel doesn’t talk unless he absolutely has to, more settled in the idea of just existing around you—he knew it brought you a semblance of feeling safe, but he was forcing himself to keep that distance, remaining vigilant to the eyes that constantly watched him, occasionally catching himself doing the same.

Even now, it was like a trance, his head bowed as he passed the bathroom, noticing the small crack in the door as he heard your melodic hum filter over the sound of water, singing a song that reminded him of before, his favorite.

Was it your favorite too?

He doesn’t mean to, not really, but then you’re turning your body away from the shower-head, eyes closed and head tossed back as you washed your hair, the gap in the curtain from this angle giving Joel a perfect view of your body, the pristine slope of your breasts down to your stomach, a few faint scars he followed before his eyes landed on your pelvis, the trimmed patch of hair nestled above your cunt, feeling his throat swell as he swallowed.

The faint creek of his footsteps gives him away, he knows, but you don’t react.

It wasn’t until the midnight hour rolled around, falling asleep on your shift, that Joel sneaks out of the house—sometimes he just needed the silence in nature, no birds chirping overhead, the faint distant growl from traversing hoards that didn’t carry out this far, if he closed his eyes, it was almost as if everything were normal, like he was back at his house in Austin, enjoying a moment out on his back porch.

Unfortunately, Joel was a paranoid man; your quiet footsteps catch him off guard, only feeling your presence as you arrive at his back, turning on his heels in an instant as his hand latches around your throat, tackling you against the ground with his knee digging into your stomach, your face pinched in pain as you throw weak punches at his chest, gasping for air.

He seems trance-like, eyes glossed over as you struggle to breathe, vision blurring around the edges as it begins to tunnel, you muster as much strength as you can to wheeze his name.

“J-oel. Joel, s’me.”

Your voice, broken and strained, seems to break him out of his deadlock grip on your throat, dark eyes snapping back into a soft chestnut, his face softening as much as it could while still remaining hardened, scrambling away from you without a word. Like you had attacked him.

You let out a flurry of coughs as you roll to your side, massaging your throat as your sounds come out raspy and weak, feeling slight pain as you swallow and attempt to rise to your feet, seeing Joel hesitate from your periphery for a moment, considering helping you.

“Coulda fuckin’ killed you,” Is the only thing he offers.

“Yeah,” You respond bitterly, “Almost fucking did.”

“You got a habit of sneakin’ up on people like that? The hell were you thinking?”

He rubbed a hand over his graying beard, the other hand cocked against his hip as he kept a safe distance, watching you pick the clumps of dirt and grass from your hair.

He’s angry. Angry?

Why the fuck was he angry?

“I was worried—you like to leave at night,” You explain through a strained tone, a tic in your jaw as you clench down, eyes sinking into a scowl as you challenge his expression, “the last thing I need is finding you dead and having to explain that to Tommy.”

A tense silence stretches over, a slow and powerful breath through his nose before he relents and stomps past you, leaving you in a similar position to his earlier, watching his figure trail toward the house as your head turns back toward the sky, covered in stars and picturesque.

The kind of sight you wouldn’t believe if you weren’t seeing it in person.

Joel liked simple pleasures, a moment of silence and a place to sit with himself, and you had disrupted it - the only true moment he had alone all day, to sit, to think. The guilt settles in quickly, lingering for a moment before you decide to make the walk back toward the house.

–

What you aren’t expecting to find is Joel, sifting through your bag, items sprawled out on the floor and the thick cards fitted between his calloused fingers, covered in filth as he read over the notes you had left over the past few months, internal thoughts that you wouldn’t dare let slip.

He'd broken the one unspoken rule you both had kept with each other.

Some of them were slightly more embarrassing than others, forbidden to see the light of day until now, meticulous notes about the details of his face as he slept, how you found the rhythmic sound of his breathing comforting or even more damning, how the more aggressive side of him did the exact opposite of what it should.

It excited you. Turned you on, though the cards held more flourishing details about why and how. Because even then, moments prior as his hands pressed against your throat, there was a brief moment of exhilaration, excitement.

Your breath catches in your throat as you scramble, stumbling toward him and reaching for the cards he holds easily out of reach, a hand pressing against your shoulder and squeezing tight enough to hold you back.

“You wanna explain this?” Joel asks, the type of tone that made you want to shrink.

Your mouth parts for a moment before you find your voice, brow knitting in frustration as you reach for the postcards once more, failing, “Those are private—why are you snooping?”

“You left a mess,” Joel explains away, the items of your bag spilled on the hardwood floor, chuckling as he continues, “Huh, private? Ain’t much privacy to be had when you’re writing about me.”

You can feel your heart racing, knowing if Joel moved his hand an inch further down he would feel it too.

The stack had to be at least twenty postcards thick, some innocently tame and just a means to let your thoughts and feelings flow, most of them answering questions Joel had asked you earlier in the night that you had refused to answer, giving him nothing to work with.

The ones he does recite are damning, tossing them to the floor as he flips through the stack before reading off a particularly recent one from earlier that night, his confidence slowly flagging as the words leave his mouth.

Shower. Watching me.

It felt good.

“Goes both ways,” You sneer, pushing his hand away and making one final reach for the cards as you successfully pry them from his grip, stuffing them away in your bag along with your other spilled belongings.

Joel’s expression shifts slightly, staring down at your kneeling figure as you avoid his gaze. His boots scuff against the floor as he crowds you against the wall, nowhere to run when you rise to your feet. Attempting to scare, to provoke.

Daringly, you challenge him, “I’m not the only one watching, Joel.”

His eyes narrow, searching your face for any sign of a bluff. For a brief moment, you almost expect him to deny the obvious—lie, lie, lie.

But, even he couldn’t deny the strange connection; or, affliction, that had riddled you both.

You could blame it on the close proximity built over months of isolation, often paired together over your willingness to work efficiently and without issue as time went on—Tommy was used to people butting heads, arguing, favoring one person over the other.

With you two, he could send you off for a patrol and not have to worry about things being left behind or forgotten.

You were innately quiet, even in Jackson, never wanting to ruffle anyone’s feathers or stir up trouble—that was left for the rowdy teens and few and far between drunks. Joel almost suspected you as mole for a brief time upon your arrival in Jackson, a worry soothed by Tommy over time.

But now, he doesn’t know what to think. He can’t figure you out and he’s not really sure he wants to, but you’ve got the kind of look in your eyes that calls out to Joel, silently.

He’s never met someone so controlled, knowing when to keep to themselves and when to bite back; it strings, that bite. He feels it in the way your jaw tightens, attempting to shove past him.

He glances down, noticing the knife tucked away in your left hand. A low, threatening chuckle releases from his lips as his hand grips your wrist, holding it up between your bodies.

“What’re you plannin’ to do with this? Stab me?”

“M’not against it,” You try to keep the strength in your voice, but it wavers slightly.

“I know that look,” Joel challenges, “You ain’t ever killed like this—s’too close, too personal.”

He knocks the knife away with a quick jerk of your wrist as you stumble back against the wall, praying he didn’t hear the small gasp slip from your throat as his chest presses against yours.

“So, you like watchin’ me sleep?” Joel asks in a taunting tone, “Enjoy jottin’ down all those dirty little thoughts thinkin’ I wouldn’t see ‘em?”

“They weren’t meant to be seen. They were private,” You retort, feeling the weight of his body as you exhale, lashes fluttering at his hot breath as it ghosts your face, reiterating, “Private, like my shower? Or, how about all the times I’ve caught you watching me? You know, we could go back and forth about this all night but frankly, I don’t mphh—”

Joel’s hand claps tight over your mouth, effectively silencing you as your face contorts in frustration, hands curling around his thick forearms and fingers, attempting to pry his hand away.

“Look at me,” He goads, repeating it more menacing as you fight against his hold, nodding in satisfaction when you finally relent, “Yeah—now and don’t you fuckin’ lie to me, you left that door open because you hoped I would, right? Stop tryin’ to act so innocent, girl.”

It ignites a fire in you, the demeaning monaker that transforms into enough strength to fist your hands into his shirt and shove him into the reclining chair positioned behind him, a heavy grunt releasing from his chest as you stumble over his boots and into his lap.

“Don’t call me that,” You seethe, not amiss to the immediate instinct of Joel’s to catch you, thighs bracketing his right leg as his hands squeeze your waist, keeping you upright.

Joel speaks your name, almost taunting, “S’that better? Or is that little crush your harboring hopin’ I’ll call you somethin’ a little sweeter?”

You feel the weight of his thumbs as they curl into your belt loops, body swaying with the motion as you take a seat on his lap, ass pressed against his knee and you watch as his chin gradually moves to rest against his chest, his eyeline following your movement.

“Don’t call me anything,” You retorted, his eyes flicking up under a heavy gaze.

Joel was simmering with a controlled rage, his hands squeezing at your hips as he jerked you forward suddenly, your hands grasping onto the back of the chair over his head, the friction at the seam of your denim as it rubbed against your clit, nestled between slick folds that couldn’t hide the arousal you were feeling, how the heat that radiated off of Joel made you sick with want.

“Alright,” He agrees, “then go on ‘head, get off me.”

Something tells you it is definitely a trap.

A moment later, you can feel his fingers gripping around your backside, digging into your ass as he pushes your hips backwards once before slowly guiding them forward, your sneakers scuffing against the hardwood as your lips parted, a silent breath slipping out.

“Go on—get off,” He taunts, the double-entendre making your brain go fuzzy.

“Joel,” It was a weak attempt to tell yourself and him this was a bad idea, but with the pleasure swelling in your core, it comes out more relaxed - you moan his name and Joel hears it.

“You ain’t good with words, but you can show me,” He remedies, the subtle movement as you grind against his leg, denim on denim but you’re almost positive he can feel how wet you are through the fabric, or how the shared heat was almost sweltering, “rub that pretty pussy on me.”

You have half the mind to snark at him, but think back to his eyes on you on the other side of the bathroom door, how he had admired without guilt, no truer words having left his mouth.

Guiltily, you lean against him, forearms resting where your hands were previously gripping, aiding in the quickening pace of your hips as you breathed softly into his ear, one of his hands slipping under the fabric of your shirt, palm spread wide over your back as the chair creaked with the shifting weight.

Your breath hitches, a sharp gasp as Joel’s calloused fingers rub against your spine. The friction against your clit is overwhelming, intensifying with every roll of your hips under his guise, the desperate need for release building in your core, quietly aware of the weight of Joel’s cock through his jeans, hard and neglected.

Your hand slowly moves toward the button on his jeans, ghosting over the swell of his cock before his fingers grip your wrist and return them to their original spot, “This ain’t for me,” He reminds you, “Keep goin’—show me how bad you need it.”

His words spur you toward the ledge you were teetering on, movements increasingly more wild and frantic, soft noises gradually becoming louder as his hands roam your body, the one on your back remaining as a constant while the other roams toward your front, squeezing gently at your breasts through the flimsy bralette, his thumb brushing pointedly over your nipple as you moan.

“Fuck, I’m c—close,” You warn him, blindly finding his hair with your right hand, squeezing at the strands as he grunts, head tilting back against the chair as you moan brokenly, a sob escaping your mouth.

His voice carries you through, his voice enveloping every point of your existence as your orgasm starts and crescendos, “That’s it,” He coos, “s’alright, let it out.”

You obey, weak whimpers cry into his neck as you hide away, hips grinding lazily through the aftershocks as his arms wrap around you silently, holding you steady as the sound of your ragged breath fills the room alongside the quiet chirping of nocturnal animals.

“Gonna write about this later?” Joel teases, whatever hostility he was holding earlier now non-existent, clearing his throat as you lean back, ignoring the obvious thick and permeating tension that was blanketing you both, still unaddressed.

“S’not funny,” You respond, climbing off him unsteadily before you turn your back to him and gather your belongings into a pile and shove them back inside your pack, “You weren’t supposed to see ‘em.”

“We’re partners—you think keepin’ secrets is smart?”

“It’s harmless—and what about you?” You begin, suddenly settling back into your own quiet rage, “Sneaking around, watching me? I notice shit too, Joel.”

Joel sits in quiet contemplation, his permanent scowl growing deeper as his knuckles rub at the spot where your cunt previously was, “Alright—new rule.”

Your eyebrows raise in anticipation, never really prepared for what Joel ever had to say.

“I ask questions, you answer ‘em. For every one you answer, I’ll answer one too.” Fair enough, you think, but then he continues, “It stays between us, alright? And if you want something—ask for it. No sense in bein’ shy ‘round me anymore.”

Not after that.

Baby steps, you say to yourself.

The thick air between you seems to open, like a weight off your chest.

“Alright,” You reply softly, “I can do that.”

Joel leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes intense as they lock onto yours. "So, those notes. How long you been writin' 'em?"

You smile with a newfound giddiness, though still mostly subdued, biting at your cheek to stop the spread of your grin, shaking your head as you lock down at the stack of postcards stuffed into your bag.

“Only since we got paired up,” You admit, “every other night or so. When I can’t sleep.”

Which was often.

He grunts, processing the information as you fiddle with the strap of your pack.

“Is it my turn?” Joel nods quietly, shifting back in the chair, ignoring the slowly waning bulge in his jeans that he would surely deal with later, “Well—how long have you been watching me? Or, well–why?”

“That’s two,” Joel chastises, but there was no real bite behind it, “Since you came to Jackson, figured you weren’t good—”

You know what he means—mistrusting, suspicious.

“Does it bother you—that I do? You scared of me?”

You shake your head shyly, avoiding his gaze.

It was the darkest, most sinister parts of Joel that drew you in.

“I think you’d be terrified of the things I like about you, Joel.”

Joel doesn't respond outright, but his subtle grin is enough confirmation for you. He knew exactly what you meant.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #the last of us #pedro pascal #tlou fic #the last of us fic #my writing #jolapenosdearuary

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ihopeinevergetsoberr · 2 years ago

Text

Who says I’m sharing that bath with you?

female anatomy for reader (no use of y/n, gender-neutral pronouns)

nsfw, fluffy smut basically word count: 1900~ english is not my first language. if you spot any mistakes (especially grammar ones), any typos/misspelled words, or if you have any advice for me in general: please let me know. reblogs and comments are highly appreciated.

art cr: @arcanescribbles

"Have some mercy on yourself," you mumble, wrapping an arm around his slender waist, and its thinness has you puzzled and somewhat concerned again. He doesn't hesitate. Allows you to place that weary head on his shoulder, to nuzzle into the crook of his neck — a pleasant relief in the guise of your heat, of rhythmic breath tickling his slimline skin.

"You can't work that much,” you remind him, trying to hide your evident worry behind a light-hearted chuckle.

“Have you ever heard of a proper greeting?” Viktor quirks an eyebrow, and his deft hand quickly grabs yours to do a thing that never fails to make your heart shrink: has you melting at the feeling of his dry, warm lips on your knuckles yet again.

“Hug is a proper greeting,” you protest with a slightly offended scoff, burying your nose into the gorgeous mess of his hair — all unkempt strands and a sturdy scent of something pleasant, yet not exactly definable.

“Not when it comes with scolding,” Viktor releases your hand, the touch of his lips lingering on your skin, and he turns around, forcing you to break the embrace for a second — which you do reluctantly. But now you get to face him, and it certainly feels like a much bigger win.

A win and another reason to give him a lecture. Viktor initiates eye contact, runs a hand along the perfect curve of your hips, hoping that his gentle touch is a good enough distraction from his terribly deep eye-bags — so treacherously confirming your concerns about his sleep schedule (or the lack of such, to be precise).

"You've gotten thinner," you state with a sad frown, looking Viktor up and down. "And you need a nap," you continue, tangling two fingers into his hair. "And a bath.”

“I’ve missed you terribly, and that’s the first thing you mention when I finally have you in my arms?” Viktor cooes, staring at you with a guilty smile — your love-sick genius, always exhausted yet so unexplainably handsome in his own special way.

You scoff again, wrapping your arms around his neck and gently pressing him against the desk — a small gesture of care that allows his body better support without the cane.

“Have you eaten today?” you carefully ask, watching his expression closely.

“Maybe,” he grudgingly answers, and his amber eyes are lancing right through you in the dull light of his lab — tired, attentive, pretty.

“I don’t like that answer." Your voice is a sweet purr against his skin, and he winces as you slide a hand down his chest, fixing his vest for him.

“You’re being incredibly annoying today,” he informs you, pressing a quick peck to your lips. A brief one, barely palpable, too fleeting to give you a proper taste. “Perhaps I should appease you.”

“If you want to appease me, a kiss like that won’t do.”

“Demanding, are we?” He quirks an eyebrow, casually sitting down at his desk, squeezing your waist in a playful attempt to pull you onto his lap. But you don’t move an inch. Not until he kisses you properly, at least.

He gets the hint. Gently grabs your chin, pressing your noses together — kissing the right way this time, deep and slow, with his tongue brushing your bottom lip before slipping into your open mouth — it’s almost lewd when that small motion steals a surprised moan out of you. A kiss of a hungry, fervently missing his lover man. Your man.

“Better?” His question is rhetorical at this point. He knows he left you amazed and dizzy once again — your messy breath is giving it all away. But Viktor wouldn’t be Viktor if he hadn’t asked. The incorrigible tease at his best behavior.

“Much better.”

You give him the reassurance he’s been seeking, adding the missing touch to this affectionate gesture by nuzzling into his embrace, and he hums, satisfied with the solace you’ve brought him so easily with the mere power of your presence.

“So… is my darling appeased now?”

“Relatively.” You laugh, and a self-assured smirk plasters smugly across his face. “It won’t save you from having dinner with me tonight though.”

“Is that so? Well, I appreciate the effort, and the fact that you came here just to visit your sick, touch-starved man, but I’m afraid I still have work to do—“

“I’m not here just to visit you,” you cut him off, as one of your hands slips off his neck straight to cup his sharp knee. “I’m here to collect you. I’m stealing you home with me.”

“Oh no.” He cracks an exaggeratedly offended expression, but judging from the still present on his face grin — he’s actually rather pleased with your intentions. “Being abducted definitely doesn’t sound appealing to me at all.”

“That’s right.” You nod, nudging him softly. “I’ll even hold you hostage if that’s what it takes to bathe you and get you into bed.”

“But what a horrific torture!” he pulls away, slamming a hand against his chest with a low giggle — it lands on his sternum with a muffled slap, right where his thudding heart is. “How ever will I survive that?”

“I believe your fate is inevitable, so you better just accept it.”

“How unfortunate,” he murmurs, pulling you closer, and you gasp, allowing him to lay his cheek against your chest. “Can’t wait to end up in that bath with you,” he whispers, and you hitch in breath, your shaky hands stop massaging his scalp.

“Who says I’m sharing that bath with you?” you tease light-heartedly, feeling his grip tighten around your waist.

“Me.” His response is firm and simple, yet still maddening enough for you to go weak in the knees. Apparently, his nap is being delayed again.

***

Bath with Viktor is a death sentence — a long and squirming one, of countless orgasms and moans loud enough to wake up the whole Piltover. You tried, you really did, to talk him out of it, to make him wait until at least after dinner, but he’s stubborn and knows damn well that you can’t resist him. So all your warnings about how he needs some rest first were muffled mercilessly by his tongue buried deep inside you. At this point, you’re not even sure whether he’s really that into devouring you, or if he’s just trying to prove you wrong, to show you that he’s never tired when it comes to eating you out.

He has you sitting on the edge of the bathtub, legs resting on his covered in crescent nail marks shoulders, and you tug, tug, tug on his hair as he tongue-fucks you through yet another insane release. If only he could smile right now, which was obviously impossible in his position, he would definitely give you the most provoking signature smirk. So you mentally thank his passion for giving head, since it’s the one to blame for his inability to destroy you even more with those grins and his witty dirty-talk right now. He has you right where he wants you: with your thighs wrapped tightly around his head, with your slick getting quite literally everywhere — his tongue, his chin, some on his chest, even. And when you slam your head against the wall, light-headed and breathless, he knows it’s time to do a particularly vicious thing — to suck on your abused clit so hard he might as well just suck the damn soul out of you while he’s at it.

Too much. Overwhelmingly so. And those sweat drops forming on his forehead, and the way he digs his wet fingers into the soft flesh of your legs, and the way he laps up so thoroughly—

“Gonna cum.” You gather the last strengths in your possession to mumble an illegible warning and the skillful bastard between your thighs only picks up pace, leaving you wondering how his tongue is still intact after all that frantic motions inside your cunt. But the technique is rather impressive. You stare at him, wide-eyed and with your lower lip bitten. His sinful gaze meets yours with a guttural rattle when you grip a strand of his dark hair so hard your knuckles turn white. You want to tell him how good his mouth feels, how indescribably hot he looks kneeling in the bathtub, how attractive his skin glistens right now, in the warm water. But the words are unnecessary. Your precious cussing as you come undone on his agile tongue is the best existing compliment to him.

So you deliver. He coaxes the third orgasm out of you. Leaves you throbbing, making one of your shaking legs slip off his slick shoulder into the water with a loud splash. He licks the remnants of you tauntingly slow off his swollen lips, watching your every convulsion closely, and he’s so proud of himself that it almost re-turns you on all over again.

“Look at you.” His sultry whisper reminds you that his ability to be a smartass is back.

“Viktor—“ You suffocate, grabbing his shoulder to hold on for dear life, so you don’t fall out of the tub completely. He chuckles, carefully pulling you back into the water, thoughtful as always, like the gentleman he is. Well, if rearranging your guts with that tortuous tongue and thick cock could be considered something gentlemen do, of course.

He tastes like you now. His tongue is somewhat sour, much puffier in comparison to yours, and it’s not that animate anymore — he pushes it into your mouth rather lazily, evidently worn out by the intercourse.

“I thought the purpose of this bath was to get me cleaned, not dirty,” he whispers with a filthy giggle, wiping your slick off his chin. You roll your eyes, admitting that the single thing stopping you from biting him for that joke is a complete lack of energy. Admitting that he’d just one-upped every single man you've slept with before. Once again.

“Oh, fuck you.” You giggle back, nuzzling into his chest, and it feels so gentle — the lust is gone and the only thing left between you two is pure affection; divine, immaculate, expressed through the softness of your body and the sharpness of his.

“I would be a liar if I said it doesn’t sound tempting, but I don’t believe you’re in a state to do that, my love,” Viktor teases, but you don’t talk back. He left you witless. Too fucked out for your own liking and just perfect for his. “Do you think you can make it to the kitchen?” he asks, pointing at your wobbly legs.

“Yeah.” You hesitate for a second, reluctant to get out of the warm bath. “And you?”

“Oh, I’m not hungry.” Viktor shakes his head, and his response dramatically increases your urge to pinch him. That wasn’t the deal!

“No. Not a chance, you’re not skipping dinner again.”

“But I’ve already had dinner. Well. In a way,” he whispers, as the corners of his mouth curl into another insufferable smirk, and it takes a good ten-second uncomfortable pause for you to understand the pun.

“Eating pussy is not an actual meal,” you frown, pulling away.

“And that’s so unfortunate, don’t you think? At least that way, I’d never skip them…”

“Viktor!”

#viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor arcane #viktor smut #i need to be spayed #no beta we die like men

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neeeooon · 22 days ago

Note

Hi hi guess who has another request >_<!! So I was wondering if I could get bllk boys reacting to a reader who likes staying up late at night (It can be anyone but I especially request Ness or sendou in it <3) ? Thank uuu amazing author for feeding my hyper fixation😻

ofc thank you for feeding mine 😍

when you like to stay up late

bf bllk x gn!reader. all domestic fluff <3

alexis ness

-> “are you sleepy?” “mmm,” “is that a yes?” “mm.”

-> you smile and kiss ness’s forehead. though you like staying up late, ness is an early bird and usually falls asleep before the clock hits double digits. you used to tease him for it, but now you respect him, as it isn’t often you wake up before 10 am

-> tucking him into bed, you find an extra blanket to wrap around yourself and pop your earbuds in so you can watch a few episodes of your show without disturbing ness

-> he usually shuffles around at around 1 am, but it isn’t often that he wakes up. “y/n?” his groggy voice startles you, and you turn your phone off when you see his bleary eyes trying to spot you in the darkness

-> “go to sleep,” he hims while carefully tugging the comforter over you before tucking himself into your side. “your head will hurt in the morning.” you smile and nuzzle the top of his head with your cheek. “goodnight, lovely.”

sendou shuto

-> “so… what do you wanna do?” he asks with a wink, yelling dramatically when you smack him in the face with a pillow

-> you end up seated beside each other, stuffing your faces with popcorn as you watch some classic pixar movies

-> you look over when you hear sniffling during up and raise a brow at sendou, who is trying (and failing) to muffle his sobs with the pillow. “i-it’s so sad! please never die, y/n!” “.. i’ll do my best not to..?”

-> he’s asleep twenty minutes later, head slumped against your shoulder like it’s his own personal rest, not that you mind. you scoffed gently when he snored before placing a kiss in his hair and carefully tossed a blanket over him

-> you watched another movie and started the third when sendou finally shifted against you. “i was resting my eyes…” “sure, babe.”

hiori yo

-> he likes staying up too and will offer to stay up with you

-> you mostly waste the night away playing video games together, something you can do whether he’s physically there with you or not

-> though he’s always up to play with you, your favorite nights are when hiori stays with you. your parents are lenient and trust him, so they don’t care if he stays over or not... though all you’re doing is playing video games until the sun comes up

-> “maybe we should try to fix our sleep schedules one of these days,” you said after finally shutting your pc down and peeking past the black-out curtains to see the sky lightening

-> hiori shrugged and tugged his hoodie off before climbing into your bed. “why?” “i doubt it’s healthy to play video games all night.” “it’s fun, though. getting to play with you.” you blushed at his quiet confession and jumped into bed beside him. “so romantic. let’s see how long we can sleep before my mom brings us food this time.”

kurona ranze

-> for some reason, your town had a 24h pet store/clinic. on nights where you don’t feel like sleeping, you like texting your boyfriend and walking there together

-> the cashier yawned when you approached. “hamsters and birds are all asleep right now. unless you’re looking for dog food, we don’t have much else to show.”

-> you and kurona ignored him and made beelines to the back of the store, where the fish tanks were. you crouched in front of the lower level tanks and watched, mesmerized, as the fish swam around

-> “two dollars for a fish is crazy, crazy,” kurona sighed as he followed a spotted fish with his fingertip. you blinked as his words sank in before grabbing your wallet and dumping the contents onto the floor

-> you had enough coins to make $2.07 and turned a wild smile on your boyfriend. “i’m getting you that fish.” “that’s the sleep deprivation talking..” “bet.” “… bet, bet.”

-> your family had an empty tank at home, and it was perfectly sized for kurona’s new spotted fish. kurona joked that he’d never go on another late night adventure with you again after that

kiyora jin

-> just. dance. party.

-> your neighbors hate you, you’re sure of it, but you don’t care. when you can’t sleep, you send a simple “🕺” emoji to kiyora, and he’s at your place ten minutes later

-> and if your just dance cd, so aged and scratched from use it doesn’t always play right away, doesn’t work? michael jackson: the experience

-> yes, kiyora is your lovely boyfriend who will do almost anything to make you happy. no, that does not include letting you win any level of either game. even when he’s exhausted and you’re still bouncing with energy, he still manages to get 5 stars while you stay stuck at 4

-> “this is insane. billie jean shouldn’t be this hard! rematch!” but he’s already asleep on your bed, so you finally, reluctantly, turn everything off and join him

karasu tabito

-> “can i play with your hair?” “it’s two in the morning. there’s a very high chance of me falling asleep on ya.” “sooooo..?” “.. sure.”

-> you always sneak into karasu’s place to visits after his shower, when all the gel is washed from his hair. you like sleeping late since your first class isn’t until noon, so it gives you plenty of time to sleep in

-> you sat on kurona’s bed while he was position on the floor between your legs, watching soccer reruns on his phone as you ran your fingers through his gel-free hair

-> smiling when your boyfriend hummed, you continued playing with his hair until you heard the quiet thud of his phone slipping from between his hands and hitting the floor

-> internally cooing, you gently encouraged karasu to move to his bed so you could oss a blanket over him and cuddle against his chest. lying together like that with the steady rise and fall of karasu’s chest, it wasn’t hard for you to fall asleep

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agirlwithglam · 3 months ago

Text

☆ it girl journalling tips ☆ part 1

TIPS TO REMAIN CONSISTENT AND GET MAXIMUM BENEFIT:

TIP 1: dont follow the “pretty journalling trends" ... unless you know that it’s gonna benefit you in some way and you’ll actually stay consistent.

You know the ones im talking about. The ones with the aesthetically pleasing habit trackers and sleep trackers and water trackers. Those ones. Before you do them, save yourself the time and energy and firstly ask yourself:

If it’s a habit tracker you want: am i looking to develop new good habits? - Is there another easier and prettier way i can do this?(maybe online) - Will i stick with this format everyday? - Am i ready to draw this whole thing out?(except if you’re printing it or its already there, then skip that)

If it’s a water tracker you want: do i need to hydrate myself more and drink more water? - Is there an easier way i can do this? Etc etc.

If it’s a sleep tracker you want: do I need to/ want to fix my sleep schedule? - Do i need to check the best way i can sleep so i have a lot of energy the next day? Etc etc.

And so on. Me personally for example, I’ve decided to start a sleep tracker to figure out a) what time is best for me to sleep, b) what time is best for me to wake up, and c) how many hours of sleep should i get so i can get more energy the next day. This is all so that i wake up feeling less tired and more energised. (Sure you can take tests/ quizzes online on this, but experimentation is the best and also the most funnest.)

TIP 2: have a good and solid WHY

if you're just doing it for the aesthetics, sure it will be fun at first but then the hype will die down and you'll get bored and just quit. thats why its important to journal about something that actually means something to you. don't force yourself to follow what someone else is doing because something that they are trying to achieve and understand about themselves may not be the same as you.

if you know that you have quite a negative mindset, then everyday make the habit of writing down 3 things that happened that you're grateful for in your day!

if you want to get to know yourself better on a deeper level, search up shadow questions and write them out to answer in your journal!

TIP 3: romanticise it!

omg there is NO better way to get the full main character, it girl feel than romanticising it!! it can feel so good and sometimes literally gives me this tingly sensation!!! here are some tips to romanticise it:

light candles

play some music

soft, ambient, cozy lighting

hot chocolate / coffee

late nights

snacks / cookies

cute stationary- pens, notebook

hoodies

getting cozy (can be in bed!)

#agirlwithglam🎀✨#it girl energy #becoming that girl #self improvement #self love #girlboss #girlblog #it girl #self development #girlblogging #journalling #journal #journal tips #it girl journalling #journalling tips

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rekino2114 · 1 month ago

Note

Fluff 6 with makoto haru and Kawakami (p5) and male reader too pls

Makoto, Haru and Kawakami giving you a lap pillow

Prompts list

Makoto niijima

"Hey y/n, are you paying attention?"

Your girlfriend's voice brought you back to reality, which greeted you with her beautiful red eyes staring at you in disappointment

"Did you fall asleep again?"

".........maybe"

Makoto sighed and fully turned her chair to look at you

"I thought you invited me to a study date to study not sleep"

"That was the plan"

"But?"

"But I just can't focus"

"Why?"

"I dunno, I guess it's the stress of exams coming up, I pulled way too many all nighters"

"....so you can't focus on studying....because you studied too much?"

"Pretty much and phantom thieves business definitely doesn't help either"

"So that's why you've been falling asleep in class"

"You noticed?"

"It's pretty hard not to when we sit next to each other"

"Thanks for not telling the teacher"

"You seriously think I'd tell on you?"

"No but still thanks"

"It's nothing"

".......so do we keep studying?"

"Even if we did I think you'd just fall back asleep"

"Oh sorry"

"It's not your fault, and I think I can fix that"

"Huh? How?"

"Well as the student council president it's my duty to ensure all students try to study at their best and you can't do that with a sleep schedule like that"

"....oh"

"And as your girlfriend I have to make sure you're healthy and taken care of so......."

Makoto blushed abut quickly regained her composure

"You can......s-sleep on me"

".....what?"

"...r-rest on my lap, I've heard it's a really comfortable and intimate thing that couples do......a-are you ok with that?"

You blushed too but smiled at her

"I'd love to if you're OK with it"

"I'm more than ok, I need you to have a good rest and I think this is a solution for that...s-so come here......p-please"

She turned even redder as she lightly patted her thighs

"You don't need to tell me twice"

You quickly got up and laid your head on her lap causing makoto to blush even more

"A-are you comfortable?"

"The most comfortable I've ever been"

"That's great i-i'm glad"

You smiled and closed your eyes as makoto looked at you with a slight smile

"By the way I had an idea, you're going to take a nap now right?"

"Yeah, if it's all right"

"Definitely, I just wanted to propose something. They say that the brain absorbs more information before it's about to fall asleep, so how about I read what you need to study so you can memorize it easier"

"That's genius makoto, you always have the best ideas"

"Thank you, I appreciate the compliment, now just relax and listen until you sleep alright?"

You nodded, and makoto grabbed the book and started reading to you while stroking your hair with her other hand, her soft voice and hands making you relax even more

"Thanks.....this feels really good"

"It's nothing, I just wish to help you sleep better........i-if you want I suppose I wouldn't be opposed to doing more study sessions like this if you don't mind"

"......You're the best girlfriend I could have asked for"

"...and you're the best boyfriend, now just continue listening ok?"

Haru okumura

You sighed, stretched and grabbed your weapon after defeating the last shadow, then turned to noir to see that she had just finished axing the last one too

"That was every shadow right?"

"Yep, I checked, we should probably regroup with joker and the others now"

You nodded as she smiled brightly and held your hand, you two made your way through some floors and found your leader talking with panther standing outside the Morgana car

"Oh you're finally back"

"Yeah sorry, there were more shadows than expected"

"It's fine, we weren't waiting for long"

You got in the car ready to leave mementos you and noir together in the back while joker and panther were on the front.

As soon as you entered you stretched again and yawned, attracting haru's attention

"Is everything alright darling?"

"Hm? Yeah,yeah don't worry, I'm just a bit tired you know how mementos gets on days like this"

"I see, but are you sure you're alright?"

"What do you mean?"

"You look really tired, n-not in a bad way of course, you still look as handsome as always, it's just......."

The beauty thief narrowed her eyes, and sweat dropped at the fact that she could still see your eyebags even with your mask covering the part around your eyes

"You look really not alright"

"O-oh it's just.........j-just don't worry about me"

"Dear, I'm your girlfriend it's my job to worry about you"

"......i-i'm just really really tired"

"Oh, there's an easy solution for that. Once we go outside, I'll make you some chamomile and we can cuddle"

"That does sound amazing"

"Hm, but I can’t have you falling asleep on your way there, how about you have a quick power nap in here? I'm sure there's enough time to rest until we get back in the real world"

"Sure but Morgana doesn't seem too comfortable"

Haru giggled at you and you already felt a bit better hearing her adorable laugh

"Oh no silly, I meant over here"

She pointed at her lap

"R-really?"

"What's the issue, it's not like this is the first time we've done this"

"Y-yeah but in public....."

You mentioned while pointing to your friends in the front seats

"I'm sure they won't mind, and they definitely wouldn't even think about doing any noises to wake you up right?"

Joker and panther just did a thumbs up

"Alright then, it's decided, I'm sure you remember how comfy and fluffy this pillow is. Just come over here my love"

You still blushed but sighed and laid on her lap

"That's great baby, just relax now, alright? I'll play with your hair and sing something,that should help you"

You nodded and closed your eyes as haru started playing with your hair and singing a lullaby. Her actions and just entire presence were so relaxing that you fell asleep almost immediately

"You're so adorable like this"

Haru kissed your forehead and whispered sweet dreams in your ears before turning to look at her friends

"Joker may I request that you send someone else other than me and y/n to mementos for a while, I would like to take care of him more"

The phantom thieves leader just nodded causing noir to smile

"Oh my God! You are so adorable together I need to take a picture"

"I-i suppose it's alright"

Haru posed for Ann's picture before returning to stroking your hair and singing

Sadayo kawakami

The moment you heard it you immediately recognized the sound of the keys jangling and the lock opening, a sound that could only mean one thing: your wife had returned home.

You immediately turned around from your computer and went up to the door where you saw kawakami standing

"Hello honey"

"Hi sadayo, welcome home"

"Thanks"

You helped her take her jacket off and hang it up

"How was work?"

"You know always the same, annoying kids who don't listen"

"Hehe, I can definitely relate"

"Speaking of, how was yours?"

"Pretty much the same, I'm just glad they let me leave early, I'm sorry that we couldn't do lunch break together by the way"

"It's alright, we can just eat dinner together now"

"Yeah......about that"

You sheepishly avoided kawakami's gaze but she quickly noticed and inquired

"What's wrong y/n?"

"Sorry I didn't prepare dinner, I was just grading some tests and lost track of time"

"Oh is that it? That's fine we'll just order something"

"Yeah, I'm still sorry though, I'll wash the dishes to make up for it"

"Hey you don't think I married you just because you can make housework right? We both know I can do that too"

"I know but you're always so tired when you get back from work and-"

"Y/n we work the same job I know how hard it is you deserve to be taken care of to and you have me for that"

You smiled at her and she did the same while holding your hands and leading you to the couch

"It's obvious you've been overworking yourself so you need to sleep more"

"It's easy when you put it like that"

"I know but I think I know how to at least make it more comfortable"

"Huh?"

"I can't believe I'm saying this but just lay your head on my thighs"

".......h-huh?"

"Just do it before I change my mind"

"O-ok"

You did as she told you and found yourself laying on her incredibly thick and comfy thighs

"Wow this......this is great"

"Is it?"

"Yeah like the best pillows I've ever laid on"

"I'm glad my experience was at least useful"

"Experience?"

"Some clients asked for stuff like this, they just wanted someone to comfort and listen to them, they were actually some of the nicest ones"

"I can definitely see why they'd like this..... I get this for free though right?"

"Obviously, you're the reason why I don't have to work that job anyway"

".......and I can have this in the future too?"

"Yeah whenever you feel stressed"

".....thanks"

"You're welcome, if I can give great lap pillows then why shouldn't I give them my husband"

"...I love you so much"

"I love you too just fall asleep now, I'll wake you up when the food gets here"

You nodded, closed your eyes and fell asleep on your wife's lap who sighed again before smiling and starting to give you an amazing scalp massage

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movingmusically · 13 days ago

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Fic request.Austin has been developing a crush on his publicist(reader) for a while but she has no idea.He ends up confessing his feelings during a game of truth and dare with mutual friends. Could you write it from austin's perspective?

Author’s Note: I also received this similar request so tried to write something that worked for both.

Can i request a shorter chapter from austin's perspective? More along the lines of austin having a crush on a girl but she's completely unaware of it. More focus on anxiety that comes with wanting to confess your feelings but never finding the right words or moment to convey them?

Word Count: 3.5k

Masterlist

The Truth of It

It started slow. A flicker. A shift. Nothing obvious. Nothing dramatic.

I’d been working with you for almost a year by then. Enough time to know that you were damn good at your job—and terrifying in that calm, patient way that made other people scramble to keep up.

You never raised your voice, never snapped, never panicked—not even when we were behind schedule or some journalist asked me a question I’d been strictly told to avoid. You’d just appear. Like magic. A gentle hand on my arm, a quiet, “Let’s move on, yeah?” before turning to the reporter with a smile so smooth it could cut glass.

And people listened. They always listened.

“You have to ask the boss,” I said once, halfway through a red carpet when photographers wanted more pictures. You gave me a look like don’t start, but you didn’t deny it.

“Smile, Butler,” you said, nudging me toward the camera. “You’re getting paid for that jawline.”

I smiled. Mostly because you made me want to.

Whenever we were swarmed—flashbulbs, handlers, noise—you reached for my hand to tug me through the chaos. Just like that. No hesitation. Your fingers curled around mine, steady, guiding.

It happened often enough that I stopped questioning it—just let you lead.

Then, one night, you glanced toward a cluster of fans at the barrier and said, calm as ever, “Quick stop for the ones with posters,” without breaking stride. “Then we’ve gotta move.”

And I went. Happily. Because if it was for fans, you always made time. But if it was for me, you made space—held everything still just long enough for me to breathe.

You knew me. That was the problem. You knew the version of me that everyone else saw—and the one that came out after too many interviews and not enough sleep.

You’d show up at my trailer with coffee before I knew I needed it.

You’d pull me out of conversations when my jaw started to lock.

You remembered what kind of gum I liked.

And you never made it feel like a job.

So yeah. Somewhere in there, something changed. I didn’t mean for it to. I just… couldn’t help it.

I almost told you today.

We were walking out of the hotel, post-junket, you listing the next day’s schedule like it was a grocery list. Calm. Efficient. Familiar.

And I looked at you—just looked—and the words nearly slipped out.

I like you.

Or maybe just, I think about you more than I should.

Something light. Something easy.

Something that might’ve meant everything.

But then you glanced at your phone and said we’d be late if we didn’t get moving, and the moment was gone before I even finished building it in my head.

It’s always like that.

These quiet, impossible seconds where I think maybe I could say something. Where I think maybe you’d hear it the way I mean it—not as pressure, not as some cliché, but just… honesty. A quiet truth.

But I never do.

Because we’re good.

Because I don’t want to mess it up.

Because you smile at me like I’m safe, and if I say the wrong thing, that smile might change.

You don’t know.

I’m almost sure of it.

You don’t know that I notice the way your voice softens when you’re asking me something you think I won’t like. That I know the exact shade your eyes go when you’re focused—really focused—on fixing something no one else saw coming. You don’t know that I’ve replayed a dozen almost-moments in my head, trying to figure out if I missed my chance.

If there ever even was one.

You don’t know that I nearly told you last week, when we were standing in line at that coffee place and you laughed at some dumb comment I made. Head tilted, sunglasses slipping down your nose. You looked up at me like I was worth looking at.

And I thought—just for a second—say something.

But I didn’t.

You got a call. I let the moment slip.

I’ve rehearsed it so many times it’s embarrassing.

I’ve tried casual. “You know, you’re kind of impossible to get over.”

I’ve tried funny. “Is there a non-weird way to tell your publicist you’ve got a thing for her?”

I’ve tried serious.

And I’ve said none of them. Not once.

Because you’re not just someone I like. You’re the person I count on.

You’re the calm in every cluster of chaos. The voice in my ear telling me we’ve got five minutes. The person who shows up with tea when my voice is shot, and a look that shuts down dumb questions before I even need to flinch.

You’re… you.

And I don’t want to lose that.

You’d be kind if I told you. That’s what scares me most.

You wouldn’t laugh or make it awkward. You’d smile, probably. Say thank you. Let me down gently.

Then keep doing your job—brilliantly, calmly, without missing a beat.

And I’d still feel like I’d dropped something fragile between us that I could never quite pick back up.

So I wait.

For what, I don’t know.

A sign? The right words? A day where it doesn’t feel like a risk?

Maybe just a second of courage I haven’t managed to find yet.

The thing is—I don’t want everything.

I just want you to know.

And if I ever do tell you the truth, I hope you’ll still look at me the same way after.

We had mutual friends. That helped and didn’t. You used to work with James’s old client, and somewhere along the way, you’d ended up in the same circles. A lot of LA people did. Tight-knit, overlapping, the way this city works when everyone pretends it’s huge but it’s really just one never-ending dinner party.

So when James said he was having people over for his birthday, I knew you’d be there.

He texted earlier to remind me it’s just a chill birthday hang. No pressure. I stared at my phone for a full minute before answering. He has no idea how loud “no pressure” feels when I know you’ll be there.

I should cancel.

Say I’ve got an early call or a migraine or—hell, just vanish.

It would be easier.

But then I remember that thing you said once, half-joking, half not—“You disappear when you’re overwhelmed. Try showing up instead.”

And I think, maybe this is me trying.

Even if I don’t say a word.

Even if I just sit there and nod like none of this is happening in my head.

Even if you never look at me the way I look at you.

I’ll still be there.

Because showing up counts for something, right?

I told myself I was just showing up because I hadn’t seen the crew in a while. But I wore the shirt I knew you liked—the black one with the slightly rolled sleeves—and I brought the bottle of bourbon you’d once said reminded you of New York winters.

You were already there when I walked in.

You looked up, already halfway through a drink and barefoot on James’s rug like you owned the place.

“Took your time,” you said, one eyebrow raised.

“Traffic.”

“Sure.” You glanced at the bourbon in my hand. “Is that what I think it is?”

“You really think I’d show up without it?”

That earned me a smile. “I’ll put it with the rest.”

I followed you into the kitchen, where someone was lighting candles in a cake and James was insisting he didn’t want people singing. You handed me a drink—exactly how I take it, not that I’ve ever told you—and pointed toward the living room.

“Go be social. I’ll rescue you if it gets weird.”

“You always do.”

The night warmed slowly. A few more people arrived. Some I knew, some I didn’t. Industry adjacent, mostly—PR, management, the kind of people who always seem to know each other in LA. Not a massive party, but enough for clusters of conversation, background music, and too many shoes piled by the door.

You were everywhere and nowhere—laughing at James’s terrible playlist, refilling drinks, teasing someone for calling their agent mid-party. But every so often, you ended up beside me again. Elbow brushing mine on the couch. Knees bumping under the table during cake.

I pretended not to notice. Or tried to.

“You always this charming at birthday parties?” I asked when you handed me a napkin just before I dropped icing on my shirt.

You tilted your head. “Only for the ones who dress up.”

“This is me dressed down.”

You smiled. “Shocking.”

It was later—drinks flowing, lights dimmed to that comfortable, flattering level—when someone brought it up.

“I swear, we’re not doing Truth or Dare,” James said, groaning into the couch cushions. “We’re too old for this.”

“That’s exactly why we should,” someone replied. “Let’s act like idiots before our backs give out.”

There were protests, obviously. Groaning, eye-rolling, someone muttering something about ‘trauma from sixth grade.’ But no one left the room.

You were curled up at the edge of the couch, glass in hand, grinning. “Fine. But I’m going first so I can leave when it gets ridiculous.”

James pointed at you. “Truth or dare?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Truth.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What’s the most unprofessional thing you’ve ever done on the job?”

You took a beat. “I once took a twenty-minute nap in a parked car during a film festival press day. Left my assistant in charge and set an alarm.”

Someone whistled.

I frowned. “Wait. Was that in Venice?”

“Yep.”

“I thought you were reviewing the schedule.”

“I was. In my dreams.”

“That was right before I went on Italian TV.”

“Exactly. I woke up refreshed and fully capable of wrangling you in two languages.”

The game rolled on. One person had to text their ex. Another admitted to crying after losing a pitch. Someone tried to do a handstand and immediately regretted it. All very grown-up stuff.

I stayed quiet. Sipped my drink. Listened. Watched you.

Then someone looked at me. “Alright, your turn Austin. Truth or dare?”

I leaned back, slow. “Truth.”

Of course I picked truth. It wasn’t the kind of night for dares. Not for me.

“Who was the last person who completely caught you off guard?”

It was meant to be harmless, I think. But the second they asked, I felt it—like a shift. Everyone looked relaxed, not really paying attention. But you were watching me.

And I knew I could dodge. Say some reporter. An old friend. Anyone but the truth.

But I shrugged. “Someone I work with.”

That got a few raised eyebrows. Someone whistled. Someone else asked, “Like actually work with?”

I didn’t answer.

But I wasn’t looking at anyone else.

Just you.

The game carried on, but it felt like the air shifted after that.

Maybe it was just me.

No one pressed for more details. The attention moved on—back to dares and dumb stories, someone doing their best celebrity impression, James complaining about the time he sprained his wrist trying to impress a girl with yoga.

You laughed. You rolled your eyes. But I could feel it—something tighter in the space between us. You didn’t look at me much after that question. Not directly. But your body stayed turned toward mine. Your glass tilted in my direction when you talked. Your knee still bumped mine under the throw blanket someone had tossed between us.

Eventually, the game fizzled out. People peeled off into different corners—some back to the kitchen for snacks, some to the garden for air.

You stood up to stretch, glancing down at me with that easy smile you wore like armour. “You want anything? I’m going to grab water.”

“Yeah,” I said, standing too. “I’ll come with.”

You led the way to the kitchen, and I followed. It was quieter in there. Dimmer. The fridge hummed gently as you poured two glasses, handed me one, then leaned against the counter like nothing was different.

But something was. You weren’t looking at me quite the same way.

You took a sip, then asked, too casually, “So. That answer.”

I blinked. “What about it?”

“That truth. ‘Someone I work with.’”

I met your gaze, waited.

You tilted your head. “You meant someone in this room.”

It wasn’t really a question. More like a guess you didn’t quite believe.

I gave a small shrug. “Depends who��s still technically on payroll.”

That made you huff a soft laugh—but your eyes didn’t leave mine.

“I didn’t know you could be cryptic,” you said.

I smiled into my glass. “I contain multitudes.”

You didn’t push it further. Just gave me one more look—curious, maybe a little unsure—and then turned your attention back to the glass in your hand.

And I thought, Not yet.

I wasn’t going to say more. Not here. Not when I didn’t know if you were ready to hear it.

Then a loud laugh burst from the other room—someone knocking over something, maybe. The moment snapped like a rubber band.

You blinked, stood straighter, and tapped your fingers against the counter.

“I should probably make sure James hasn’t burned down the snack table.”

I nodded. “Go. Be the hero.”

But you didn’t leave right away.

You stood there for a second longer, watching me with that expression I could never quite read. Like you were working something out. Like you were about to speak but didn’t want to get the words wrong.

And then you turned and walked out.

I stayed behind. Pretended to check my phone. Took a sip of water I didn’t want. Stared at the counter like it might offer answers.

I hadn’t planned on saying anything tonight. Hadn’t planned anything at all, really. But it had slipped out—honest and real—and now it was just… out there.

I wasn’t sure if you’d heard it the way I meant it. If it would change anything. Or if you’d pretend tomorrow like none of it had happened at all.

But a few minutes later, when I wandered back into the living room, you were waiting. Not near the others. Not caught up in a new conversation.

You were leaning against the hallway arch, arms folded, like you’d been waiting there a while.

Not scrolling your phone. Not pretending to be on your way somewhere else.

Just waiting.

I crossed the room slowly, careful not to make it look like I was hurrying. But my pulse picked up anyway.

You didn’t move. Just said, “Can I ask you something?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Was it… me?” You weren’t coy about it. You weren’t fishing for a compliment. You just genuinely didn’t know—and that, somehow, made the question land even harder.

I nodded once. “Yeah. It was you.”

You let out a breath, more surprise than relief. “Okay. Just… I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to assume.”

“Fair.”

You tilted your head, searching. “How did I catch you off guard?”

I looked at you for a long second. “Can I give you the real answer?”

You hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Please.”

“Not here,” I said. “Come with me?”

The guest room was quiet. Lights low. Door half-closed behind us, like even it understood this wasn’t a conversation for public ears.

You stood just inside the room, arms at your sides now, watching me with that same careful expression. Not guarded, not afraid. Just… alert. Like you were bracing for something you weren’t sure you wanted to hear, but needed to anyway.

“So?” you said softly. “What was it?”

I leaned against the opposite wall, hands in my pockets, heart thudding like I’d run five blocks instead of five steps. “You want the honest version?”

You nodded.

“You caught me off guard because… I didn’t see you coming. Not like this.”

Your brow furrowed, just slightly.

“I knew you were good at your job,” I said. “Smart. On it. The person who always had the answers. That was obvious from day one.”

You watched me, saying nothing.

“But then there was the other stuff. Little things. The way you’d drag me away from a conversation right before I started saying something I’d regret. The way you’d hand me gum without asking, or say my name a certain way when I was two questions away from snapping. The way you’d look at me when I wasn’t even talking, like you knew what I was thinking before I did.”

You didn’t interrupt. Just stood there, still and quiet and listening in a way that made my chest ache.

“I didn’t expect to like you,” I said. “And I definitely didn’t expect to feel anything like this. You’re not… you’re not loud about anything. You don’t try to take up space. But you’re everywhere. And I didn’t notice until I couldn’t stop noticing.”

Something in your expression shifted. Softened.

“I meant it,” I added. “You caught me off guard. Not because you did something big. Just because you were you, and I wasn’t ready for what that did to me.”

The silence stretched—but it didn’t feel empty. It felt full. Heavy with everything we hadn’t said until now.

“I’m your publicist,” you said softly, almost like you were reminding yourself. “This is… complicated.”

“Doesn’t feel complicated,” I said. “Not right now.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Just let your eyes drag over my face like you were memorising it. Your voice, when it came, was quieter.

You exhaled slowly. “I really didn’t know.”

“I didn’t want you to.”

You looked at me. “Why not?”

“Because I like having you in my life exactly as you are. And if saying any of this screwed it up, I didn’t think I could live with that.”

You didn’t speak right away. Just crossed the room in two quiet steps and stopped in front of me.

Close enough to touch. Close enough that I could feel the warmth of your skin, the weight of your focus.

“And now?”

I swallowed. “Now I think I’d rather take the risk.”

You didn’t smile. But your hand found mine. Your fingers curled around mine, steady and deliberate.

Like you were still thinking it through, still holding the weight of everything we were and everything this could shift.

I didn’t move. Didn’t try to push the moment further. Just let my thumb graze the side of your hand, slow and grounding.

You looked up at me, eyes searching.

“I don’t… I’ve never let myself think of you that way,” you said finally, voice quiet. “Not because I didn’t like being around you. I love being around you. I love working with you. You’re—” You stopped yourself. Swallowed. “You’re wonderful.”

That hit harder than it should’ve. Maybe because I could hear the care in it. Maybe because you still hadn’t let go of my hand.

“I just always thought mixing work and… anything else was a bad idea,” you added. “And with you, it’s never been complicated. It’s been good. Easy.”

“I’m not trying to make it complicated,” I said. “I’m not expecting anything from you. I’m not asking for all or nothing.”

You were still watching me, brows drawn slightly like you were working through something you hadn’t planned on solving tonight.

“I just meant what I said,” I added. “You caught me off guard. And I didn’t want to keep pretending that didn’t mean anything.”

The silence stretched, but not in a way that made me want to take it back. You weren’t pulling away.

You were just still catching up.

And then you stepped closer—half a step, maybe less—and said, “I don’t know what this means yet.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

“But I don’t want to pretend either.”

That was it.

That was all I needed.

I brought my hand to your cheek, warm and tentative, giving you time to pull back.

You didn’t.

And when I kissed you, it was careful. Curious. A soft, steady press of lips like testing the shape of a new idea.

You kissed me back with the same hesitation I felt in my chest—like we were both standing at the start of something and still working out if the ground beneath us was solid.

But then your hand slid up to my chest, fingers resting lightly over my heart like you needed to feel what you couldn’t quite say yet.

And you didn’t let go.

When we pulled back, your eyes stayed closed for a second longer than mine.

Then you opened them, looked up at me, lips parted, a little breathless. “I don’t know what happens next,” you admitted.

“We figure it out,” I said. “Slow. Safe. On your terms.”

You gave the smallest nod.

And this time, when you smiled, it reached all the way to your eyes.

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