#because it's not like he told them he died either

[somethingvicked]

First time

An Eddie Munson one-shot.

warnings: female reader, fluff, light smut, light cursing.

The first time Eddie saw you was pretty uneventful. You were the new girl at Hawkins high and while he thought you were pretty, he didn’t give you much thought. Your style wasn’t his style – you were dressed in a mustard colored turtleneck and a checkered skirt in the same yellow color, black knee socks, on the preppy side – and he could’ve sworn you had never heard a rock song in your whole life.

And he was the one talking about others being prejudiced?

However, when he almost collided with you at the water fountain, he spotted something around your neck that made his whole brain light up with excitement and dopamine.

A golden ring hung around your neck in a silver chain.

”How’s the Precious doing?” he heard himself ask, waiting for you to reply with some kind of line of your own.

Instead you stared at him like he was insane. Although, on the plus side, you didn’t run away, screaming; always something.

”Excuse me?” you asked.

”You know – the One ring. One ring to rule them all? Gollum’s Precious?” You frowned and shook your head. ”Umm, this ring belonged to my grandmother. She died recently. It’s her wedding ring. She left my sister her engagement ring and me the wedding ring,” you explained and Eddie thought he had never felt more like an idiot in that moment, blushing from his jaw to the tips of his ears.

”Oh,” he got out, ”I’m... I’m so sorry for your loss.”

”Thank you,” you said and then you held out your hand, introducing yourself.

He had expected you to turn around and never speak to him again – in fact, he wouldn’t blame you if you did! But you didn’t.

After he had told you his name you had smiled a little and asked him what he really meant when he talked about the One ring. It was clear you had never read The Lord of the Rings, but he decided not to judge you for that. Gareth hadn’t read it either and he was okay, after all.

He told you that it was from a book, or actually a book series, Lord of the Rings, just as the bell rang.

You looked intrigued. ”Too bad we got to cut this short. But... can I join you for lunch? You can tell me more about then. It sounds really interesting!”

Eddie didn’t believe his ears but he nodded eagerly. ”Sure! Well, I sit with the other in my club, Hellfire Club. But you’re more than welcome to join us.”

Once again he would have thought that you would snort and tell him ’never’ but you didn’t. ”Oh, that’s what the shirts are all about? It’s a club? Nice,” you said, smiling. ”Yeah, I’d love to! See you at lunch then!”

And that was how your friendship started.

Eddie wasn’t proud of it, but in the beginning he was a bit suspicious that you were only hanging out with them until the popular people reached out to you. You were pretty, clearly not a metalhead or a nerd – why wouldn’t they?

Then he thought that you had simply not realized that hanging out with him and his friends would kill any chance you had of becoming popular and so you were stuck with them.

But he quickly understood that he was wrong. You may not be a metalhead or a member of Hellfire club – at first – but... you viewed him and the others as your friends and you were loyal to a fault when it came to friendships.

You were civil with the cheerleaders, because they rarely harassed Eddie and the others, but since the cheerleaders and jocks often came as a package, and the jocks were well known for harassing Eddie and his friends, you weren’t interested in joining them.

Eddie had thought long and hard on whether he should admit his judgemental suspicions about you, but one night after he had finished his weekly show at the Hideout with the band, the both of you had gotten a little drunk and he had told you. You had seemed a bit hurt but then said you could understand it, considering how everyone at Hawkins high treated Eddie.

You in turn told him that you had been suspicious of him when he came up to you, thinking he was trying to hit on you – apparently that was another reason you distrusted the jocks, one of them had hit on you on your first day, even though you had seen he had a girlfriend while in class – but the moment Eddie started talking, or more accurately, when he asked if your grandmother’s ring had belonged to Gollum, that’s when you understood that no, this guy wasn’t hitting on you.

You were grateful, you said. Even though it had been somewhat awkward you were glad that Eddie seemed to see you as a person, not as just as the new girl to score with.

That’s why Eddie felt so bad when he started to develop new feelings for you. He had always thought you were pretty, but he hadn’t thought of it... that way.

Now he did. He could barely glance at you without being awed by your beauty, not just your looks but the warmth of your personality shining through, a personality he loved so much.

Yes. He loved you. He was in love with you. And he didn’t know how he was supposed to deal with it, being so close to you all the time, but not in the way he truly wanted.

He wanted to kiss you. Pull you close, wrapping his arms around you, hold your hand, carrying you in his arms... it just went on and on.

He never thought you would return his feelings. Not once in a thousand years, especially not after telling him that him not hitting on you, was the reason you felt so safe with him.

But that wasn’t the only thing that stopped him. He wasn’t even sure how to... actually hit on someone.

Eddie had never had a girlfriend before. He had never even dated anyone. Thereby, he was a virgin with zero experience with girls.

So he did his best, trying to keep his feelings for you in check. It was better to simply stay friends with you than not having you in his life at all, right?

The fact that you never dated anyone either was a blessing for him, but he often wondered why. You got asked out plenty of times, but you always said no.

For a while he wondered if you were into girls, like Robin, but considering how you sighed dreamily at Johnny Depp every time you and Eddie watched Nightmare on Elm Street, he didn’t think so.

So one night when you were staying over at the trailer, whilst sharing a joint, you told Eddie that another guy had asked you out that day, but you had turned him down.

Eddie felt jealousy flare in his chest, despite the fact that you had told the guy no. He wanted you to be his! For everyone to know you two belonged together, make all the other guys stop thinking they had some claim over you.

He grumbled a little as he realized that his own thoughts about you was quite similar to wanting to have a ’claim’ on you, but he couldn’t help himself.

Maybe it was the weed or maybe his curiosity just got the better of him, but he finally asked what he had wondered for so long:

”You keep turning every guy down. Why? I mean... is there no guy you’re interested in?”

You looked at him, holding the joint between your fingers, your eyes a bit glazed over.

”Oh, Eds,” you sighed, ”of course there is. But the guy I want... he has never asked me out.”

Eddie once again felt that burning jealousy flare up inside him, making him clench his jaw, his eyes grow hot as if he was going to cry.

He didn’t know who that guy was but he already hated him with a passion.

”Huh,” he said, running a hand through his curls, looking away for a moment so he could blink the tears away. ”Maybe... maybe you should just... ask him out then.”

Yes. He said that. Because no matter what, he loved you and he wanted you to be happy. Even if it was with another guy.

”I don’t know...  what if he turns me down? I’m not sure I dare to risk it... I don’t want to lose him,” you whispered, and Eddie frowned.

”Why would you lose him? I mean, if he has never asked you out... wait, is it someone you’re close to?”

Suddenly he wondered if you were in love with Gareth, or Jeff? Could he survive that? Seeing one of his closest friends with the girl that Eddie himself loved?

”Yes,” you nodded. ”Very close. But not as close as I want. I just don’t know how to tell him. Because... in the beginning I said that I was grateful that he hadn’t tried to hit on me.”

For a moment Eddie’s brain stood still. It was like a sign had popped up that said ’information overload’.

Then he blinked as it cleared.

”Wait... the guy you... it’s me? You want me to ask you out?!”

You nodded, your lower lip trembling, clearly in fear.

”Holy shit!” Eddie whispered, staring at you, his eyes wide.

You snorted. ”What does that mean, Eds? Do you want to... go out with me?”

”No,” Eddie said and then his jaw dropped at his own stupidity, whilst your face fell. ”No, no, no, no!”

”That’s five ’no’s’, Eds,” you said, ”I get it.”

”No! I mean... yes! I mean... I want to be with you. Yes, I can ask you out and take you on a date, but I already know that I’m... that I’m in love with you! I’d like to... be your boyfriend immediately.”

As he said that, your sad frown turned into a giant grin and you climbed into his lap, hugging him tightly. ”Really? Oh, Eds! That’s... that’s what I want too! I’m in love with you as well. I just didn’t know how to... it seems so silly – I was grateful for you not hitting on me, and then I fell in love with you! But you know what? I think I fell for you, because you didn’t hit on me. Because you saw me as a person first, a girl second.”

That was how you and Eddie became a couple.

But despite being your boyfriend Eddie still feels uncertain. Not about his feelings for you or even about how you felt about him – you made that clear every day when you told him you loved him, followed by a big kiss.

No, he was feeling insecure about the fact that he was a virgin. He had never even kissed a girl before you.

Eddie had been worried about that too, that he would be a bad kisser, but the first time you two kissed he simply had followed your lead (and the lead of every romance movie he had ever seen) and you had never complained, so he figured he wasn’t that bad.

Sex, though... yes, he had watched a lot of porn and gotten off to it during the years, but... he had a feeling that wouldn’t be enough preparation. He wanted to be the best you’ve ever had.

He didn’t know exactly how many you’d had and it didn’t matter to him. Except about him wanting to be the best part.

But that had more to do with his fear of you realizing that you were too good for him, and leaving him.

You were pretty, kind yet fierce, loyal, funny... you could have anyone and yet you chose him. But would you still want him if he couldn’t please you? If he turned out to be the actual one-pump chump?!

Luckily for Eddie you had sat him down one day and asked if he was okay with taking it slow. ”I just think this is so special, what we have. I want us to truly revere it, before going further. Is that okay?”

Eddie had almost fallen to his knees and thanked you, so relieved was he. Now he had some time to prepare! Exactly how he was going to do that, he didn’t know yet, but one step at a time.

”Of course. That’s what I want too, sweetheart. You’re the most precious thing in my life. Just like Gollum told the Ring,” he said, giving a little joke at the end, making you snort before you kissed him.

One might think he just wanted to take it slow because he was scared of being bad in bed but in truth he agreed with you. Despite his worries, he completely agreed with you, that you should treat your relationship with reverence, because it was special.

On the other hand, sometimes it was hard – pun intended – when you two made out and he just wanted to place you on his lap and thrust into you as hard as he could.

A couple of weeks went by, turning into months, Eddie and you being as happy as could be, still in that honeymoon-phase where you felt you needed to be by the other one’s side every hour of every day or you’d die.

The fact that you had been friends before becoming a couple and spent a lot of time together already didn’t matter.

One night you and Eddie were lying on his bed, making out while his DnD rulebook laid long forgotten on the floor. He was supposed to teach you how to make a character – since you couldn’t be without him during the Hellfire club game nights – but that plan was soon forgotten.

Eddie’s hands moved up and down your back, feeling the softness of your breasts pressing against his own chest, the scent of your shampoo and perfume heavy in his nostrils, felt you kissing him, your tongue swirling around his own, how you...

Eddie’s eyes suddenly flew open, wide as saucers. It was no secret that he was hard, he knew you could feel it, but that had happened a few other times and since you two were taking it slow neither of you had brought it up.

Now your hand was on top of his erection, slowly pressing down, making him let out whimper.

”W-what are you doing?” he almost squeaked out.

”I just want to help, Eds,” you cooed, ”when I said I wanted to take it slow I didn’t mean that we can’t do anything. It can be comfortable for you. Let me make you... comfortable,” you joked with a wink, starting to unbutton his jeans.

”No, wait!” he almost yelled and you jumped back as if he had threatened you with a gun.

”Eds... what is it?” you whispered, almost looking scared of him.

Eddie swallowed. But he understood that it was better to tell you what was really bothering him than make you think that he was actually insane.

”Look, baby, I  just... I have never... never done...”

An understanding look came over you and you took his hand. ”You’ve never had a girl jerk you off before?”

Eddie shook his head. ”Not just that. I’m... I’m a virgin. A complete virgin. Before you I hadn’t even been kissed! That’s... that’s pathetic, right?”

Your eyes widened. ”No, Eddie, that’s not pathetic, why would it be that? Everyone has to start somewhere – is it pathetic for everyone else that has never been kissed?”

Eddie snorted. ”I don’t think there are many other guys that are over eighteen and still haven’t had their first kiss. And if it is, then I don’t think it’s because they’re the town freak that no girl wants to come near.”

You felt so sad when he talked about himself that way. ”Listen to me,” you told him, pulling his chin toward you so you could look into his eyes. ”Those other girls... they are stupid. Have you never heard the phrase ’gentleman in the street, freak in the sheets’?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, but had to laugh. ”No, I don’t think I have.”

”Being a freak doesn’t always mean bad things. But regardless. If those girls are stupid enough to judge you like that, then you’re better off without them. Their loss is my gain. I’m... I’m happy to be your first.”

Eddie felt a little better but he was still a bit worried, confessing the last part of his shame:

”I’m just worried, that since I haven’t done anything, I will blow it before it has even started – literally!”

Now you had to laugh and leaned your forehead against his. ”If you do, it’s okay. I’m pretty sure I can get you ready again.”

He tilted his head and looked at you. ”I bet you’re an expert in this.”

Now it was your turn to sigh and look embarrassed. ”Eddie... you’ve just confessed something to me, can I confess something to you?”

”Of course,” Eddie said, wrapping his arm around you. ”What is it?”

”I... I’ve actually never had sex either.”

Now, he almost fell off his bed in pure shock. ”What?!”

”No. I jerked off my last boyfriend a couple of times. And in return I got a really lousy fingering that felt like he was trying to dig his way to China. It lasted like thirty seconds and then he was wondering why I hadn’t cum yet. That was pathetic.”

Eddie may never had had sex but even he thought that sounded... yeah, the way you told it made him want to cross his own legs.

”But the point is... I did want to take it slow with you, yet at the same time... it was more because the only thing I’ve done is that – fingering and handjobs. I thought you would be disappointed if I couldn’t suck you off without gagging, or if... if it hurt the first time we made love and I had to ask you to stop.”

Eddie’s jaw dropped and he hugged you even tighter against him. ”What?! Oh, sweetheart... I would never do that. Never, ever!”

”Deep down I knew you wouldn’t. But I didn’t know you were a virgin, I thought you would compare me to some other girl that had made you feel amazing.”

Eddie snorted. ”Even if some other girl had made me feel good, it would never be as good as with you. I love you. ”

He had to laugh at the whole situation. You and Eddie had walked around, being worried about pretty much the same thing without knowing it.

”I think we need to work on communication. Otherwise we’re pretty great,” you said, as if you read his thoughts.

He nodded. You did as well. Then you suddenly smiled.

”So... what about it, Eds? Do you want me to...?” you gestured toward his crotch.

Eddie had softened somewhat while you were talking – especially when you described the whole ’digging for China’ part, but now his erection returned again with full force at the thought of you touching him there. Jerking him off. His cum covering your hands.

It was tempting. But there was something else he wanted even more.

”If... if both of us were worried about disappointing each other... could... would you like to... try? Have sex?” he wondered carefully.

If you weren’t ready he wouldn’t press it, but feeling you completely was the only thing he could think about right now.

You were quiet for a little while, then you smiled. ”Yes. I think so.”

Eddie was sure he had died and gone to heaven at that moment, pressing his lips to yours in a deep kiss.

First you two kissed. There was no rush, you had the whole night. He pulled you shirt over your head while you unbuttoned his jeans, all while still kissing.

Then he thought he had died and gone to heave again when he saw your black lace bra underneath your shirt. Your breasts were perfect, fitting his hand perfectly.

He had to peel your matching panties off of you since they were so slick from your juices that they stuck to the skin.

You licked your lips when you caught sight of his cock, saying you wanted to taste him, but Eddie knew he only had so much willpower left. If you put your mouth on him he would shoot off like firework.

”Next time,” he promised, ”just like I want to taste you too.”

When you were both naked he rolled you underneath him before putting a condom on, slowly pushing your legs up as he slid his cock against your sex, making you whimper.

”Can I... push in?” he wondered and you nodded shakily.

He knew that it might be uncomfortable for you so he took it slow but you didn’t seem to feel any pain.

As he bottomed out inside you, you moaned loudly, bucking your hips against his, clearly impatient for him to start moving.

”No, no,” Eddie whimpered, ”hold still! If I move even an inch now I’m going to erupt so hard you’ll end up through the roof.”

You giggled and Eddie groaned as he could feel the vibrations in his cock.

”It’s okay, Eds,” you whispered. ”I want you to move. And if you cum before me, we’ll deal with that. There’s always next time, right?”

He supposed you were right.

With slow movements he started pushing in and out of you, clenching his jaw at the pressure invading him, almost too much to handle.

You were so wet, tight and so warm... he would never be able to use his own hand again after this!

Had he thought he had died and gone to heaven before? That was nothing. If he could do this to you for the rest of his life, then he wouldn’t need a heaven.

You moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck, raising your legs even more to give him better access.

That seemed to work, because suddenly you cried out. Eddie was first worried he’d hurt you, but now you clawed against his back, your legs hooking around his waist, heels pressing into his ass to get him even deeper.

”Clit,” you whispered, tears brimming in your eyes from the pleasure. ”Please, Eddie, rub my clit! I’m... almost...!”

You were almost there?

Swiftly Eddie slid a hand down between you and started to rub your clit. He wasn’t sure how to do it exactly, but he didn’t need to worry, because you nearly snarled at him and moved your own hand down, placing it on his and showed him how to do it. After just a second or two he got the hang of it, and as he rubbed you, your eyes rolled back into your head as you bit down your lip, so hard he was worried you’d bite through it, all the while he felt you get even tighter, your walls fluttering around him.

”Cumming!” you cried and Eddie’s eyes widened, as he finally felt okay to chase his own release as he had made you cum.

He increased his pace, finally letting go on all of his restraints, letting out a sound that was almost a growl as he tensed up, his whole body going stiff as a wire as he filled the condom.

For a moment it was completely quiet except for both of your panted breaths. Then he looked down on you, you smiling at him as he was the only one in the world that mattered.

”That was...”

”Yeah,” Eddie said, nodding, leaning down to kiss your lips. ”It was.”

He rolled to the side, taking the condom off and tossing it in the trash before wrapping his arms around you, both your bodies slick with sweat.

”That was a great first time,” you told Eddie and he grinned.

”I’m glad to hear it. It was great for me too.”

Another moment of silence.

”Hey,” Eddie said, making you look up at him beneath your eyelashes.

”Mmm?”

”Can we... do you feel up for trying for our second time now?”

taglist: @stranger-things-mania @quinnyficsy @ali-r3n @spider-starry

[delizzie]

Old love warmed up

Description: After years of not seeing each other, Emily and Y/N meet again. The feelings of the past come up, and Emily has to make a decision. Leaving her old life or leaving the chance of being with Y/N, again. 

Tags: wlw, ex!bau!reader, older!Emily, hurt/comfort, supportive!team, happy ending(?) 

Spoiler warning for season 18.

Emily, like most people, hated funerals. She had been to too many, and these were the worst ones, when someone close to her died. She couldn’t imagine how JJ and the boys must feel, and she was angry with herself for thinking how lucky she was to be single. 

She had already lost too many people. 

“I can’t believe he actually came,” JJ appeared next to her, causing Emily to snap out of her thoughts, and glance at Spencer, who's standing in the corner. 

“Of course he did. I had no doubt about it,” she said with a small smile. Although she was uneasy, she tried to contain herself. This wasn’t about her. 

“Yeah, it’s incredible how far they come from. Spence, Y/N, the old…” 

“Y/N?” Emily’s heart pounded at the name, she tried to remain uninterested, but with little success. 

“They worked together for a while before Y/N joined.” the blonde replied confusedly. 

“Yeah, really. I totally forgot it.” Emily replied.

“Who is Y/N?” Tara appeared next to them, and they both flinched “Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“It’s okay.” Emily began “Y/N was a member of the team for a while, and before that she worked at the same police station as Will.”

“Oh, I see.” Tara nodded, but Emily’s feigned calm didn’t convince her. 

It wasn’t long before a familiar figure suddenly appeared. She exchanged a few words with everyone as she made her way further inside. Emily swallowed hard, trying to hide the confusion she felt as she watched the woman walking towards them. 

Y/N was beautiful as ever. She was wearing an elegant black outfit, and although the years had left their marks on her skin, she was still very pretty.

“Hello!” she walked up to the three women, first turning to JJ “I’m so sorry!” she whispered as she hugged the woman tightly, her voice full of emotion. After the hug ended she looked at Tara “I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” she extended her hand. 

Emily watched the three women talk for a bit, a little awkwardly, and then suddenly Y/N looked at her. 

“Hi, Emily.” she said with a small smile. Her body moved a little, as if she wanted to hug her, but in the end she didn’t “It’s good to see you again. I wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”

“Yes, I agree. It’s good to see you.” Emily replied with a small nod. 

The ceremony was touching and difficult, like a funeral usually is. As everyone started to leave, Tara and Rossi also walked out. 

“Rossi, who is this Y/N exactly?” she asked curiously. 

“Y/N was a member of the team for three years, and before that she was a detective. She’s smart, good with words, and she always had good insights. Then she had an accident on one of the cases, and she left not long after that. She stayed in America for a while, then she moved to Austria.” Rossi told them as they walked out with the crowd. 

“Austria? That’s far away. It’s nice of her to fly here for the funeral.” Tara said, surprised and a little touched “Is it just me, or are she and Emily a little weird together? Emily’s been so awkward since she’s been here.” 

Rossi smiled. 

“No wonder you’re a good profiler. Well, you didn’t know this from me, because there’s really nothing concrete, but the fact is that Emily and Y/N had a strange relationship back then. They never acted suspiciously during the cases, but often if one of them wasn’t home on their day off, the other one wasn’t either, they came together and waited in the yard until the other one arrived up, so that it wouldn’t be seen that they came together. If sometimes we had to share rooms, they almost always immediately reported that they were sleeping together, and things like that.”

“They were together?” Tara’s eyes widened, her voice rose a little, and Rossi chided her. 

“Nobody knows for sure. There was never a kiss, a handhold, not even a suspicious touch. The fact is, they suddenly stopped going to work together, and didn’t want to sleep in the same room. Then there was that accident, and not long after that Y/N handed in her resignation.”

“I see. Well, it’s a strange case for sure. Emily never talked about it?”

“No. After Y/N left us, Emily didn’t bring up her name. I think Morgan asked her once what was going on between them, but Emily brushed it off with some obvious answer, and we didn’t push it any further.”

Tara and Rossi weren't the only ones talking. Maybe it was coincidence, maybe it was fate, but somehow Emily and Y/N ended up next to each other on the way to the parking lot. There was an awkward silence for a while, before Y/N spoke up. 

“I like your hair. It looks good. It's so…bossy, but in a good way.” she said with a small smile, and the mood lightened a bit. 

“Thank you.” Emily replied in a gentle voice “You're in great shape too. Is the Austrian air that good for you?”

“That, and all the hiking. There are so many beautiful places there, it's unbelievable. Also, I have a small garden, and there's always something to do. It's not big, but it's enough for me. The best thing about it is the fresh, home-grown strawberries.” Y/N said with a calm smile, then took out her phone to show a few pictures. 

“Wow, what places. Your house is really nice too. It looks really cozy.”  Emily sincerely wanted to see how Y/N was living. It had been so long since what had happened between them had happened, but it was still vivid in her memory. 

“You can visit me sometimes, boss.” she shoved her phone in her pocket cheekily. 

“Absolutely.” 

They had already made it out of the crowd and it was just the two of them. They were talking while leaning against Y/N’s rented car. 

“Don’t you miss the life you had here sometimes?” Emily asked, her gaze searching for the other woman’s. 

“Honestly? No.” Y/N sighed as she played with her keys “I miss you guys a lot. I think about you a lot, I look at our old pictures, but not knowing where I have to fly to tomorrow, constantly being afraid of when I’ll be shot or taken hostage, having my whole life uncertain, I definitely don't miss that.” she looked up with a sad look, her mouth still smiling faintly “My life may not be very exciting now, but I had to leave.”

“I know, and no one ever blamed you for that. You did what was best for you.” Emily snapped, her hand reaching out to grab Y/N, who didn’t pull away. 

“So, what about you? Don’t you sometimes feel like it’s all too much? That it would be good to change, or maybe retire?” Y/N asked. 

“Oh, I do a lot. Only then I realize that if I leave I would be alone. No work, no friends, and no one waiting at home. It’s better for me this way.” Emily explained, a deceptive smile on her face. 

“You don’t have a relationship?” Y/N looked surprised. 

“With a job like this? And anyway, I’m too picky.” she rolled her eyes cheekily “And you?” 

“No, nobody.”

Emily also looked surprised, but only for a moment. Then a smile of relief took over.

“Maybe you did the right thing by leaving,” Emily said. “You’ve made a nice little life.”

“Even if I don’t help people too much with this job?” Y/N asked, a hint of guilt in her voice. 

“Don’t say that. You definitely catch a lot of bad people at the police station there,” Emily encouraged. 

“I don’t work at the police station anymore. I became a private investigator a year ago. Most of my cases are about finding missing relatives and catching cheating spouses,” she said with a small smile. 

“Oh, that’s important too. Cheaters need to be caught.” Emily giggled. 

When there was silence again, Emily broke it.

“You said you think about us a lot. Do you think about me too?”  she asked hopefully “Because I think about you.” she added shyly. 

“Too many times.” she sighed cheerfully “I have a neighbor who makes wines. He has a very delicious, slightly sour wine. When we drank together last time I immediately thought how much you would like it.” 

“Sure.” Emily smiled. 

“I’m going now. I’m staying at the hotel next to my old apartment. I’ll stay for two more days, then I’ll fly home.” Y/N said, then got in the car “If you think, come visit me.”

Emily hadn't visited her in the past two days, but Y/N was the only thing on her mind. She nervously ran her fingers through her hair as she hunched over her papers in her office. Her feet were tapping madly, she had been tense to the point of snapping in the past two days, and the team noticed it too. 

“Can I come in?” Rossi knocked on the door, and without waiting for an answer, he was already inside. 

Emily dropped the pen in her hand, which clattered loudly on the table, then sighed. 

“Have a seat. How can I help you?”

“I'd rather ask that.” he said “What's wrong, Emily? We've barely been able to talk to you these past few days, you're completely tense.”

“Why should I deny it, Y/N's arrival upset me a little.” she tucked a strand behind her ear “I thought I was over it, but it seems I'm not.”

“I kind of thought that was the case. Why don’t you talk to her?” the man leaned forward. “Why don’t you try to fix the past?”

“Because her life is in another country, Rossi. She made it clear that she’s not coming back. She has a nice life there, and I might even envy her a little bit.” Emily bit her lip. “Maybe we shouldn’t bother the past.”

“Maybe.” the man shrugged. 

“You know, JJ reached out to me this morning.” she picked up the pen to turn it between her fingers. 

“And what did she say?”

“Look, Emily, I don’t want to talk into your business…” JJ began as they walked into the building together that morning. 

“Then don’t.” Emily snapped, which she immediately regretted. JJ had already enough on her plate. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

 “It’s okay, just please listen to me,” the blonde said, then stopped. Emily took another step, then she stopped too. 

“Sure.”

“Do what you want, just take some advice.” she looked at him with tired eyes “Life is very short, and we have so little time for each other. If there’s one thing you should never miss, it’s the time you can spend with the people who are important to you, wherever that may be.” she said in a choked voice, fiddling with her necklace. 

Emily’s heart almost broke for her. 

“Okay, I’ll definitely take it.”

“I don’t know what to do. It was so long ago. It would take so much effort, but would it be worth it?” Emily asked. 

“Only you can know that, Emily. How much is happiness worth to you?”

While Emily was reeling from her emotions, Y/N wasn't idle either. She visited old friends she hadn't seen in a while, and took care of a few things. She would be lying if she said she wasn't expecting Emily's visit, but she wouldn't admit how disappointed she was when Emily didn't show up on the day of her departure. She even asked at the hotel reception if someone had been looking for her when she wasn't there, but the answer was no. 

Y/N was loading her bags into the car in the hotel parking lot when she heard hurried footsteps behind her. The past doesn't pass without a trace, so she calmly, but immediately turned around, her hand already searching for an object that could be used as a weapon, but as soon as she saw who it was, she sighed. 

"Emily?" she asked with a small smile. Although it was at the last minute, she was glad that she had finally visited her. 

"Y/N, it's good that you're still here." she sighed in relief. 

“Unfortunately, you’re late. My plane leaves in three hours, I don’t have much time.” 

“You left something here.” she snapped. 

“Did I? What is it ?” Y/N looked around in confusion. Her luggage was in the car, her coat too. She looked at Emily, and then she noticed that she had a bag under her arm. 

“Me.”

Y/N suddenly laughed. Emily always had a good sense of humor, but when she continued to stare hopefully, Y/N paled. 

“Emily, what are you talking about?”

“When I saw you, I thought I had gone back in time, because I felt the same way I did then. I tell myself that it’s over, that it was a long time ago, but every year I write a letter for your birthday, which I then don’t send.”  she took a stack of envelopes out of her bag, then put them back in. “I know exactly when you left, and every year I take a good hard look at myself drunk, and wonder what my life would be like if we had made different decisions.”

“Emily…” Y/N’s voice caught in her throat, her heart pounding. 

“I love my team, my job, I love helping others, but I’ve been doing it for so long. I’m not getting any younger, and it’s time to put myself first.” she stepped closer. 

“So?” Y/N asked in disbelief, because she understood what the woman was referring to, but she didn’t want to believe it. 

“Y/N, I think it would be worth giving ourselves another chance.” she said with a small smile, her hands nervously gripping the strap of her bag. 

“But how? Would you come to Austria with me?”  Y/N couldn’t believe they were here, but Emily’s unwavering face told her she wasn’t kidding. “Emily, this isn’t how it works. You can’t just leave your life here like this.”

“My life is the team, but their life isn’t me. So much has happened lately, and it’s made me realize I need to act.” she trailed off, her eyes searching for the other woman. “I don’t want to wake up one day and realize I don’t have a chance.”

Y/N’s face softened, a hot feeling ran through her body. 

“But Emily, this isn’t how it works. We haven’t seen each other in so many years. What if we’re too different now?” she asked, starting to think she was crazy for even considering such an absurd idea. 

“That’s exactly why we have no time to waste. We’ve wasted too many years on pride and fear.” she said, then smiled “By the way, the plane is flying back, but I don’t think it will be necessary.”

Y/N shook her head, folding her hands. 

“Okay, theoretically, if you really came with me, what would you do there?” she asked with a small smile. 

“Well, you worked for the local police, too. I guess there would be a place for me there. Or maybe I could partner with you. I’ll be the undercover agent for your investigations.” she mused with a half smile on her face “I’m a trained spy after all.”

“And that would be enough for you? To find car thieves and grocery store robbers?”

“I don’t care, I just want to be with you.”

“And how would you manage there? It’s a completely different culture.”

“Ich denke, es wird mir gut gehen.” she said cheekily, to which Y/N ​​rolled her eyes and smiled.

“Emily, why is this worth it to you? Leaving your good life here, moving to the other side of the world for what? To play house with me? Am I worth this much?” she asked uncertainly. 

“More than that. This is what I want, to drink wine with you, to garden together, to hike in the mountains, to wake up and go to bed next to you.” Emily’s eyes showed genuine longing. 

Y/N wanted to make more excuses, but she couldn’t, and deep down she didn’t want to. The idea of ​​sharing the life she had built with Emily was more than a dream. 

“You don’t have a plane ticket,” she finally whispered. 

Emily laughed, then stepped closer. They were now within arm’s reach of each other. Y/N lowered her arms and held them out, which Emily accepted. They stood hand in hand, but only for a few moments. 

“I can’t go with you right now…”

“Then what’s this bag?”

“It’s symbolic. It’s my travel stuff, it’s always in the car. So I’m saying…”

“With the letters in it?”

“No, I’ve only been carrying them with me for the last few days. I’ve reread them all.”

“Can I read them too?”

“No, but can I finally tell you what I want?”

“Why not? If you wrote them to me, why can't I...”

“Y/N!”

“Okay, sorry.” she chuckled. “Talk.”

“So, I can’t go with you right now, but in a week I’ll be standing at your door with my stuff, all the paperwork in progress, and ready to start the rest of our lives together.”  Emily let out a sigh. “What do you say? Are you willing to accept a fifty-something, sometimes grumpy, but in great shape, and incredibly funny ex into your life?”

Y/N had always liked to wonder what her life would have been like if she had done things differently in the past. What if she hadn’t studied to be a cop? What if she hadn’t applied for the job on the team? What if she hadn’t left the states? For years, she had wasted too much time dwelling on the past, but lately that had changed.

“This is yours.” she placed a glass of red wine on the table right in front of Emily. “We deserve it after today’s drive.” she smiled, then sat down in the other chair, her own glass in hand.

Emily glanced at her, then took the glass.

“Yeah, we do. Let’s just say when you said you had some strawberries, I didn’t think you meant that much.”  she chuckled as she used her free hand to remove the clip from her hair that held it together.

"Well, if I had told you how much work there was, you might not have come with me." 

"No way." she reached across the table and took her hand. "It was the best decision I’ve ever made."

Their hands clasped on the table, one holding the glass to their lips as they looked out over the small estate. The only sounds in the background were the chirping of birds, and the mountains around them, the sun just barely visible behind it, flooding the view with a beautiful golden glow.

[bewitched-hours]

Aherm. Just found this wondrous account. And I'm in love (I say cartoonishly dropping to one knee ring in hand/p)

MAY I BE 🪽 ANON???

And secondly... Hear me out on ex two time bsf + azure friend reader who had the fattest one sided crush on them during the gang's early days (+ if it started when timey and them were kiddos and they henceforth have known timey for a LONGGGG time) and was a part of the cult before they ran away after two time sacrificed azure and they meet again as reader becomes a new survivor.

Make it as angsty or as fluffy as you want,,, I leave how it goes into your creative hands despite the prompt being more angst leaning ꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡

Also,,, oneshot please and thank you !!! (Hcs are fine if that's what you're most comfy w lol)

Afraid your emoji didn't work so I guess you're now Block Anon- (/j) Anyways, it's a pretty cool concept so I'll have fun writing it, no doubt! I wasn't entirely sure about wether you wanted Azuretime or not but I kinda hope you did for this (ﾟヮﾟ)

For this, Reader's pronouns will be She/Her!

You were never brave enough.

It used to be a childhood crush that you never dared to voice. Your mother taught you to be sweet, soft and gentle. She wanted you to be ladylike and thought when you made friends with Azure and Two Time that you would make her proud one day by getting your chaotic energy out early and growing into a 'proper lady'.

All that to say, she failed. The two only made your chaotic energy worse and she HATED it. Not like you'd care though, she might've tried to be a mom but you saw Azure and Two Time as better 'family', in a way.

And that childhood crush only worsened as time went on, though you were scared to break the bond you three had and ultimately watched as they got together when you were all in a cult to worship the Spawn.

You were obviously supportive, not wanting to get between them and figuring you could talk to them about it at some point.

... So you thought... Until you found out Two Time had sacrificed Azure for a second life and the shock and horror of the situation made you run for the hills. You managed to escape the cult and had hoped to never see Two Time again whilst grieving for Azure, blaming yourself.

Maybe you could've done something? Maybe you should've kept a closer eye on them and warned Azure of anything odd?

You made sure to visit his grave a lot. And you always had something to decorate it with. Things you remembered he liked.

But the guilt kept eating at you, especially since you never told anyone what you saw that day. You never told anyone it was because of one of your childhood best friends that the other died...

Why? Was it some form of affection still left for them? Maybe a feeling of loyalty?

Even your therapist was unaware, only being told it was someone who was close to you at the time but you refused to speak their name.

It was like their name was laced with a poison so strong you'd die for even saying it...

So it was obviously a strange and less than welcome surprise when you suddenly found yourself in this hellish realm back with the murderer.

You were noticeably passive aggressive towards them, even if they got their second life and you were a healer among the group.

You resented them for what they did. And part of you even wished you had listened to your mother when she had tried to get you to not join the cult back then.

But what was better? Being traumatized by your best friend and building yourself a more free life from the ground up or being traumatized by your mother into basically acting like a 1950's housewife only to be handed off to the first man who shows interest in you?

Either way, Two Time tried to mend things... In their own way...

And it at least got you to be more neutral towards them! That was already a good start!

But imagine the shock when you suddenly stood in front of Azure and didn't even realize it.

You first thought it was just similarities and that your mind was simply being delusional but he recognized you again... And he did go gentle with you.

At first it was just you being spared until the very end, all whilst talking with him about how your life had been after... Well- you know-

He was actually glad when he heard all the things you'd bring to his grave. It made you both a little emotional and he had to shut up his hat more than once to let you talk.

But a certain sentinel was just a little jealous.

They didn't understand why at first but even so, they were desperately trying to mend things which all led to you getting stuck between your own best friends once more.

Just that this time, you were in the middle except of on the side. A position you'd think impossible growing up.

It was already a dream to think about one person interested in you but two? If only you knew how lucky you had gotten... In a way-

It even came to a point where you'd team up with Two Time more regularly and have your meetups with Azure when you weren't chosen for a round.

Both would try to act neutral whenever you brought the other up in a sad attempt to have them reconcile. Instead, they got jealous over each other.

And this round would be where the truth was spilled.

As you moved to heal your teammates and Two Time was fighting off Azure for them, you caught glimpses of them actually somewhat talking before attacking each other... Odd...

Eventually, you and Two Time were the last two standing and as you anxiously waited for the cooldown on your healing ability, you noticed you were being grabbed by the arms by a tentacle and... Two Time's tail...

Although confused, you had little time to ask questions before they almost perfectly synced up to ask you which of them you liked more...

eh?? EH????

It was only about 30 seconds left and they were asking you to choose between them?! WHAT-

You quickly panicked, only able to blurt out "Both!" before you were back at the survivor cabin with a face as red as a tomato and the other survivors staring at you in pure shock. Except Two Time, who seemed oddly happy with your answer.

You were quick to just grab them though and rush to the meetup spot where you'd find Azure. This would be when you could finally explain, surely!

Although your heart was nearly threatening to break your ribcage, you knew not to let this linger anymore. You didn't want history to repeat itself in cruel irony.

Azure was already there, chuckling but demanding answers for what you meant.

Inhaling sharply, you decided to explain as quickly as possible. "I had a silly childhood crush on you both that never really died and I was scared of losing my two closest friends and it somehow returned and I feel stupid an-" You shortly had a tentacle covering your mouth to get you you calm down. It smelled like flowers, oddly enough...

All the while, Two Time and Azure couldn't help but giggle, getting you even more embarrassed and soon flustered as they came to your sides for a quick hug before the tentacle moved back away for them to take turns stealing a kiss from you... Oh boy, you were definitely red now...

Seems they weren't so against the idea of a polycule...

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[thefailingthief]

Mari nodded, wincing. That made sense, but it wasn't ideal. She wouldn't want to watch what happened if everybody around her died. The difference was that she at least had the courtesy to tell them... usually. "I mean, I told her what was going on. I didn't just ignore her."

As for Griffin's inability to defend himself, Mari barely knew him. She couldn't say anything in either direction about that. Hell, she could look competent, but actual fighting was a different story. Besides, it didn't seem important compared to Jack's anxiety. "Like, every friend ever, or...what? Just bad luck?"

She didn't know the scope of what Jack was talking about. Maybe it was a situation like hers, where he lost friends purely because their profession was dangerous and he blamed himself somehow. Maybe it was way worse.

Jack’s anxious spiral immediately halted, wonderfully stunned at that first bit Mari said. “You did?” he whispered.

Maybe it was one part validation, one part just being happy to not be called an idiot or scolded for it, but mostly transfixed by the girlfriend mention. Mari was…

Her question pulled him back down to earth. His eyebrows drew together and he gripped his arms as he suppressed a shudder. His eyes went back to the wall beside them.

Jack kept his voice low as he answered her. “He just. Doesn’t have the same instincts we do,” he said. “He can’t defend himself.”

“…and…” Jack tried to pull his gaze back to Mari as he continued, but he couldn’t convince himself to look at her for reasons he didn’t understand. “it always happens.” With that, his gaze ended up on the ground. Miserable, spiteful, little pieces started clicking together in his brain as he recalled everything Vincent had done.

[jessesluvr]

Please write an imagine where reader is pregnant with another man’s baby ( he died, or something.) and Jesse takes it upon himself to be there for you starting out with little things then you eventually invite him to a doctors appointment and he sees the baby and realizes he is in love with reader and wants to raise this baby together. When Jesse goes on patrol reader is sad not cause she fears for his safety she trusts his instincts but because she loved going on patrol but now can’t so she is in the radio tower listening to the reports from everyone on patrol. And Jesse coming back and she decides to take care of him whether it’s smut, cooking for him, or doing something she knows he would enjoy.

what we build | jesse x pregnant!reader

author's note : jesse the MAN that you ARE. i'm so in love with him, it hurts. i absolutely enjoyed writing this and kind of got carried away.. i might even make another oneshot as a "part 2" to this just because i feel like there could still be more touched on. anyways, please enjoy !

warnings : pregnancy, grief, loss

summary : after losing your partner, grief isolates you—until jesse quietly, consistently shows up, offering comfort without expectation and love without pressure. as your bond deepens through late-night talks, doctor visits, and finally the birth of your child, you realize that what you’ve built together isn’t just healing—it’s home.

word count : 2k

the days after he died were a blur.

people said the right things. they brought food in baskets you never finished. they offered help you didn’t know how to accept. they looked at you with soft eyes and sad smiles, their voices dipped in sympathy.

but then they left. they always left.

he didn’t.

jesse stayed.

at first it was practical.

he brought supplies. firewood. extra canned food. blankets from the storeroom that he said maria told him to deliver (you knew she hadn’t). once, he dropped off an old record player someone had fixed up, along with a few dusty vinyls.

“not sure what you’re into,” he’d said, setting them on your porch. “but i figured silence gets loud after a while.”

it did.

you hadn’t turned the music on. not yet. but you didn’t throw it out, either.

your relationship with jesse before that had always been light.

he was the guy who made the patrol schedule work even when everyone hated it. he was the one who cracked jokes around the campfire and made ellie laugh when no one else could. he’d been your friend’s friend. part of your life, but not really part of you.

but now… now he showed up. and not just in body.

he was present in this steady, dependable way that no one else managed.

he didn’t talk about your partner unless you did. he didn’t push you to move on or smile or pretend to be okay. he just… stood beside you in the quiet.

sometimes he’d fix things around your place without asking—tighten a loose hinge, patch a leak, clear the gutters. once, you came home from a doctor’s visit to find your porch railing sanded and re-stained.

you sat next to him on the steps while it dried, both of you watching the trees sway in the wind.

“you don’t have to do all this,” you said quietly.

jesse shrugged. “maybe not. but i want to.”

one night, you’d fallen asleep on the couch—body sore, nausea still lingering. you woke to a blanket tucked around you, the faint smell of woodsmoke, and a low, steady voice humming a song you didn’t recognize.

jesse was sitting in the chair across from you, one leg bouncing slightly. a book in his hand.

he looked up, surprised. “sorry. didn’t mean to wake you.”

you blinked at him, groggy. “how long have you been here?”

he rubbed the back of his neck. “couple hours. figured i’d stay until you got up.”

you stared at him, something shifting inside you.

“thank you,” you whispered.

jesse smiled, soft and real. “anytime.”

you started asking for him.

not constantly. just here and there. when you needed someone to walk to the market with. when the baby kicked hard enough to make you catch your breath and you needed someone to talk to about it. when your chest felt too heavy to carry alone.

he always showed up.

you started keeping a mug just for him in your kitchen. it was chipped, navy blue, with a little “j” you’d scratched into the side with a nail when you were bored one day. you never mentioned it. but he used it every time.

sometimes, at night, he’d stay late and talk about old memories—about how jackson used to be before they got the lights running again, how joel tried (and failed) to build a fence one summer, how his parents used to sneak him treats from the dining hall when he was a kid.

you didn’t realize you’d fallen in love with the sound of his voice until the night he said your name like it meant something.

“you’re not alone in this,” he told you, fingers gently brushing your knuckles. “even if the world tries to make you feel like you are.”

one morning, early enough that the sky was still pale gray, you had a nightmare.

you woke up gasping, cold sweat clinging to your skin, your hand on your belly like it might disappear.

before you could think, you were on the radio.

“jesse?” your voice cracked. “you awake?”

you half-expected silence. but within seconds:

“i’m here. what’s wrong?”

you swallowed hard. “can you—could you come over?”

“yeah,” he said. “on my way.”

you opened the door for him and stood there in your pajamas, shivering.

jesse stepped inside and didn’t say anything. he just wrapped his arms around you and held on.

you buried your face in his shoulder and cried.

you asked him to come to the doctor’s appointment not long after that.

he blinked, surprised, but didn’t hesitate.

“of course,” he said. “i’d be honored.”

and he meant it. you could see it in the way he cleaned the mud off his boots before entering the clinic, in the way he sat beside you so still, knees bouncing only slightly.

when the sound of the heartbeat filled the room, his eyes went wide—like hearing proof of life was more than he knew how to handle.

“that’s really them,” he said quietly, gaze fixed on the monitor. “they’re really in there.”

you laughed, tears in your eyes. “yeah. they are.”

he looked at you, then. really looked. like he was seeing you for the first time and understanding everything all at once.

“you’re incredible,” he whispered.

and something about the way he said it made you believe it, even just for a second.

after that, things weren’t so quiet.

you started spending your evenings together without excuses. he helped organize the baby clothes you’d been gifted. he offered to paint the nursery walls—even though the paint was dry and chipping and barely covered anything.

he started bringing over little things. wood carvings. a stuffed bunny he found in a trading bin. a book of baby names (you’d both laughed until you cried at the weirdest ones).

he made you laugh again. not fake laughter. real laughter. the kind you hadn’t heard from yourself in months.

and every time he touched your belly—whether on purpose or just accidentally—your heart ached with something bigger than gratitude.

one night, you both sat in front of the fireplace. the room was warm, shadows flickering against the walls. outside, snow fell in silent sheets.

jesse was half-asleep, slouched next to you with a blanket draped over both of your shoulders. your head rested on his chest.

his fingers traced idle circles on your arm.

“can i ask you something?” you said, quietly.

he hummed in response.

“why did you stay?”

he was quiet for a long time.

then he shifted, just enough to look down at you.

“because when he died, i saw how fast people backed away. how scared they were to deal with grief. with pregnancy. with you needing something they couldn’t name.”

you swallowed, throat tight.

“i wasn’t scared,” he added. “i am scared sometimes. but not of you. not of this.”

“then what?” you asked, barely breathing.

he smiled, eyes tired and warm. “just scared of not being the man you need.”

you reached for his hand and placed it over your stomach.

“you already are.”

and from then on, there was no line between “you” and “him.”

there was just us.

a quiet kind of us. the kind you built in the stillness. in morning light. in shared silence. in whispered promises that didn’t need to be spoken out loud.

the kind that grows slowly.

the kind that lasts.

the days started bleeding together again as winter deepened.

your body ached constantly now. your back, your legs, your ribs. sleep came in short, shallow bursts, interrupted by the baby shifting, pushing, growing. jesse was there through all of it.

he read to you at night when you couldn’t rest. rubbed your shoulders when they seized up with tension. walked slower than he needed to on your grocery trips just to match your pace. you tried to pretend you weren’t counting the days, but he could see it on your face every time you looked at the calendar.

he never said “soon.” he just said “you’ve got this.”

and somehow, that was better.

the day it happened, there wasn’t a warning.

just a deep, low cramp in your lower belly. not like the little flutters and tightness you’d gotten used to.

this was sharp. grounding. final.

you were standing in the kitchen, staring out the window at the snow-covered trees when it hit again—stronger.

you leaned on the counter, sucking in a breath.

then came the next one.

you barely made it to the radio.

“jesse?” your voice was hoarse, barely holding together. “you there?”

his voice crackled in immediately, calm as ever. “yeah. you okay?”

“no,” you breathed. “it’s time. i think it’s time.”

silence, then a sharp intake of breath. “i’m coming. hang on.”

minutes passed. they felt like hours.

then the door burst open.

jesse didn’t hesitate. he crossed the room in three long strides and wrapped his arms around you like a net catching something falling from a high place.

“how far apart?” he asked.

“five minutes,” you gasped. “maybe less.”

his jaw tightened, but his voice stayed steady. “okay. we’re going. now.”

the clinic was ready for you.

maria was already there, hands warm and firm on your shoulders. the doctor, dani, moved fast but gentle. candles flickered. blankets layered the cot.

jesse never left your side.

he held your hand through every contraction, wiped sweat from your brow, whispered encouragement like a prayer.

you screamed once—a raw, ripping sound—and his fingers tightened around yours like a lifeline.

“you’ve got this,” he whispered. “you’re almost there. i’ve got you. you’re not alone.”

time blurred.

pain, pressure, the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

then, finally—sharp release.

and crying.

not yours. not jesse’s.

a baby’s.

high and loud and full of life.

you collapsed back into the bed, body trembling, sobs hitting you like waves.

they placed the baby on your chest, tiny and warm and perfect.

jesse was beside you, wiping tears off your cheeks with a shaking hand, his own eyes wet.

“you did it, you did amazing,” he breathed. “you’re… god, you’re incredible.”

you looked down at the little bundle on your chest, their mouth opening and closing in soft, startled gasps.

“we did it,” you said.

jesse laughed, breathless and cracked and so full of emotion you thought your chest might break.

hours later, the world felt still again.

jesse sat beside you in the dim clinic room, baby tucked against his chest now, your hand in his lap.

you watched them together.

his thumb gently brushed across the baby’s cheek. he looked terrified and awestruck and completely, irrevocably in love.

“he doesn’t have a name yet,” you said, your voice still a little raw. “i wanted to wait. to see.”

jesse looked up at you, eyes soft. “have you thought of one?”

you nodded. “yeah. jesse jr, or jj for short.”

he smiled at you and you swore you could see a couple tears leak out.

he leaned down, kissed your forehead. “it fits. he’s gonna be so loved.”

you rested your head against his shoulder.

“jesse,” you said quietly, “you don’t have to stay. not if it’s too much. not if—”

“stop,” he said, voice gentle but firm.

you blinked up at him.

“i’m not going anywhere. i want to be here. this is where i belong.”

he looked at the baby again, then back at you.

“you and him… you’re my family.”

that night, the three of you went home together.

jesse carried the baby like a sacred thing, careful and proud. you walked beside him, slower now, but lighter. like some part of the weight you’d been carrying finally shifted.

inside, your home felt different. like it had been waiting for this moment all along.

you laid down in bed while jesse rocked the baby to sleep.

you watched him—this man who had walked into your life in quiet pieces and built a whole future from broken parts.

and you knew, without doubt or fear, that the life you'd lost wasn't gone.

it had just changed shape.

[ienjoybeingahater]

Castiel was interesting at the beginning but he quickly turned into a caricature.

Cas in my opinion, started as an antagonist, as the mirror image of Ruby. He was the one manipulating Dean, he opened the panic room to let Sam out, and he did exactly what heaven told him to do which made him interesting, and compelling. The fact that he chose to help Sam and Dean, to go against heaven's orders made him even more interesting because he defied everything he knew for them. He turned on his home, on everything he knew, because he realized humanity was worth it.

That's where my issues with his character started because why wasn't that implored more thoroughly? Why couldn't they show him change, show him become more merciful and human-like without reversing it each and every time? Why couldn’t they focus on Castiel hating how weak he'd become without making jokes or giving him his powers back?

The writers could have done so much more with his character but instead, they just repeated the same cycle over and over again; he gets weaker, he miraculously gets stronger, he wants to help which means he needs to become even stronger, he fucks up majorly, he gets punished for a minute, repeat.

That said, I think it's clear that Castiel’s downfall started quickly and didn't stop until he 'died'.

Like I said, at first he was a compelling character with depth and tons of potential but as soon as season six started he started decaying, slowly losing what made him interesting until he was nothing more than a husk that could be filled with a new personality every time his character became stale.

It's obvious the writers didn't know what to do with him after season five which is why they sent him on random quests; getting out of the way but still close enough in case Sam and Dean needed him for something. Even that could have worked though; he could have been a recurring character like Garth or even Bobby. They could have explained his absence so easily too; he's needed in heaven, rebuilding what was destroyed.

But that wasn't the case. Instead, they kept him around and made him into a fool that actively made things worse for the people around him. He didn't even take responsibility for most of the things he did, not even for the few I'm certain he did on purpose.

(I'm talking about things that happened after season five, before that his alliance was with heaven after all)

Let's start with him pulling Sam out of hell soulless. There is no way he didn’t notice Sam didn't have his soul, that he didn't notice Sam was acting different because if he didn't then that means he pulled him out and left without looking back. And honestly? That just makes it worse considering he would have left his injured and incredibly traumatized 'friend' in a field without letting anyone know or making sure he was okay. It would also mean that he didn't check in on him or Dean during the time Soulless Sam walked around.

That wouldn’t be a bad thing if they kept Castiel ambiguous if they made him care about them slowly, bit by bit, but they didn't. They presented him as a part of the team, as a friend, very early on but they didn't make him act like it. He constantly acted like a comrade who changes alliances as soon as someone stronger, someone better, showed up. That didn't just happen once either, it happened multiple times.

And of course, he wanted to be stronger to help but why did he always trust people he either barely knew or knew to be evil? He trusted Crowley, someone who wasn't trustworthy at all, over his so-called friends. That, of course, didn't end well. Not only did he free the Leviathans and became Godin his quest for power but he also destroyed Sam's hell wall. That led to dozens of deaths and almost killed one of his friends. And, instead of dealing with that whole situation the writers 'killed' him, erased his memory, and wrote him out of the show for a while. And when they decided they needed him back Castiel took Sam's hell trauma, making himself suffer. That would be a great way to show his growth if the writers and characters weren't pretending it never happened in the first place. The fact he broke Sam's wall is basically never mentioned again, instead, it's always about Castiel being insane (not to mention that said insanity gets used as comedy).

After that came Metatron, an angel he barely knew, if at all. Trusting him would be understandable if Castiel didn't already know that angels are just as untrustworthy as demons. He already had to deal with angels that were manipulating and conniving (Uriel, Michael, Naomi, etc.) so why did he decide to trust Metatron blindly? Why didn't he try to find out more about him or the trials Metatron wanted to perform? And why, after Naomi told him that the trials Sam was doing would kill him, did he decide to go see Metatron on his own? I also can't decide if I believe Castiel didn't know the trials would kill Sam upon completion or not. On the one hand, he could've said Naomi was lying due to her track record but on the other hand, it didn't seem like he cared about Sam's upcoming death all that much so who knows? In the end, it didn't matter anyway because Cas, once again, lost his powers, Sam survived (barely) and the angels fell.

And then there was Lucifer. Castiel helped free him the first time by opening the panic room, something that could be excused considering he was still on heaven's side then. Still, the fact it was never mentioned he did that by anyone just goes to show how little he cared for Sam. But, this is not about that, rather it's about him freeing Lucifer the second time.

Castiel knew Lucifer couldn't be trusted. He knew what he did to Sam in the cage, intimately considering that he had taken Sam's trauma earlier. He knew Sam was still traumatized. He knew how many people had died last time Lucifer was free. He knew all of that but still decided to let Lucifer possess the body that didn't even belong to him.

Sam had been in that cage with Lucifer, his abuser, for so much longer, saying "No" over and over again while he was terrified just for Castiel to say yes after a few minutes. Sam knew Lucifer was lying, that he was just saying what they wanted to hear but Castiel trusted him anyway. Not just that, he didn't even tell them about it. He let Lucifer walk around in their home, Sam's home, without saying anything. He didn’t warn them, he didn't leave and he didn't do anything to protect his 'friends'.

Then when Lucifer tried to kill Sam, after he had already shoved his hand into his soul, Castiel finally decided to stop him. But instead of kicking him out of his body he just left and continued to let Lucifer possess him because he thought he knew better. Because Lucifer might have tried to kill Sam but he would still help them and leave them be afterward. We all know that's not what happened, that people died, that people suffered and Jack got created. All because Castiel thought he knew Lucifer better than anyone else, than Sam who spent decades with him only a few years ago.

All these things wouldn't be that bad if they hadn't made Castiel up to be family, if they had treated him like Crowley or Rowena but they didn't. They wanted Castiel to be part of Team Free Will. Still, they made him do so many things Sam and Dean shouldn't have forgiven him for, things that made him Naive and stupid. They should've killed him or had him be a once-a-season character instead of making him into what he was at the end and I am sure they would have if it weren't for some fans loudly begging for him to stay.

But what did it get them? A character that repeats the same mistakes every time he doesn't have anything to do, a character that wouldn’t even be around if the writers had stayed consistent regarding Dean’s character. Because let's be real: Sam suffered from Castiel’s actions the most, either directly or indirectly, and Dean should've killed or at least abandoned him for it.

That brings me to my next topic: the relationships between Castiel and the people around him.

Let's start with Sam and Castiel’s relationship. We all know it started with Castiel calling Sam an abomination while Sam was starry-eyed due to finally meeting an angel, a being he had believed in for years at that point. Him seeing Sam like that could have been the start of a compelling and impactful story. The writers could have built the relationship between them slowly, making Castiel’s view change from 'walking sin' to the good and kind-hearted person he was. Castiel could have questioned Heaven's ways because of Sam, because he was told The Boy with the demon blood was evil even though Sam always tried to do the right thing.

They could have built upon that, they could have shown how the two of them helped each other but they didn't. Instead, Castiel said Sam was a friend but acted like he didn't care about him at all. He didn't think he should be saved, he didn't care when he was soulless, he ignored his prayers, he destroyed his hell wall and so much more.

We all know why: because the writers and some of the fans decided Dean was better, that his relationship with Castiel would be more interesting. That decision, to me, was the noose that slowly took the air away from Castiel’s character and the confession scene was what kicked the chair out from under his feet.

I know that might sound harsh but I truly believe it to be true.

Dean and Cas were never friends, never family. At first, Dean hated Cas, thought he deserved to die because he wasn't human, because he was a monster and every monster deserves to die in Dean’s mind. Then they were coworkers, working to stop the apocalypse they both helped start and later to stop Lucifer. That's it. You could argue that they might’ve been friends after that but only out of convenience. Dean was the human Castiel latched onto at the beginning, he raised him from perdition and then he was his mission. Castiel was the friend that could help Dean with everything, every time he needed help and he was the friend that couldn’t die. Castiel didn't choose Dean, Heaven did and Dean tolerated Cas because it was convenient.

Not to mention that Dean constantly treated Castiel like trash, like he never stopped thinking of him as a monster but the writers still forced them to be friends. Dean made fun of him losing his powers, got angry at him when Castiel was too busy to come as soon as Dean called him and he abandoned him when Castiel needed him. Castiel didn't even stick up for himself, he just continued to run after Dean like an abused dog that still loved its owner. And just like the dog Castiel deserved better.

Every relationship that came after he met the Winchesters traced back to them as well. He met most of the people he knew through the Winchesters and the few relationships that were created without them were destroyed by them. It's like Castiel wasn't allowed to exist outside the Winchesters, like his pure essence was tied to them no matter what.

He never freed himself, and never tried to be someone else; he just continued to be Dean’s property. Dean was the one he spent the most time with, the one he was seeking out, the one he cared about the most. He stayed at Dean’s side through everything, only having other relationships when it furthered the narrative, losing them as soon as the story they were needed for ended. He didn't get much screentime with Jack either, because even that was given to Dean, the person who hated Jack from the moment he was created.

But still, Castiel liked Dean better than Sam, even though Sam treated him way better in comparison.

That isn't to say that he deserved Sam's kindness because he didn't. Not just because he acted like Sam was beneath him, not just because he did everything in his power to make Sam's life worse but because he didn't even apologize.

He never told anyone that he opened the panic room, not even when Dean practically disowned Sam for starting the apocalypse; something all three of them did. He didn't defend Sam when Dean blamed him for everything that went wrong and he, just like Dean, acted as if he'd always known about Lillith being the last seal.

He either purposefully rescued Sam without his soul or just ignored his injured and traumatized 'friend' while he went on his quest for power. He later destroyed Sam's hell wall, the only thing keeping him sane, to keep Dean away from him. That once again, shows that he barely saw Sam as his own person instead he was an extension of Dean; a prop.

He practically didn't care when Naomi told him Sam would die if he finished the Trials, he repeatedly kept things from the Winchesters, he went off the rails multiple times and most importantly he freed Lucifer. He freed Sam's abuser and kept it from him, and then when Lucifer started doing what he always did, Castiel made it everyone's problem. He acted like it wasn't just his fault that Lucifer was freed and he gaslit Sam into thinking it was his duty to help. And don't get me started on his monologue; telling Sam that "he was used by Lucifer too" AS IF IT WASN'T HIS OWN CHOICE. He acted lik3 h3 knew what Sam went through even though Sam had been tortured and sexually assaulted while Castiel sat around watching TV. (Sam should've punched him for that honestly)

So no, Castiel wouldn't deserve Sam's friendship but Sam would still be the better choice. But he chose Dean. He hopped from Noami to Dean, back to Naomi, and right back to Dean. In the process, he lost every bit of his character that made him so compelling until he was nothing more than 'the angel hanging around the Winchesters'.

Seeing what became of his character I can't help but wish that they killed him off. His death was set up so often, they could have just let him stay dead but no, they brought him back time and time again; diluting his character with each resurrection. They didn't give him proper, compelling storylines, they didn't develop his character in any interesting way and they certainly didn't let him exist outside of Sam and Dean. Instead, he got a bad confession of his love to Dean, something that wasn’t set up or fair to his character.

(As you can see I got a bit mad halfway through)

I will make a post about Sam as well but I don't know when. Also, if you want me to write about a different character just tell me and I'll look into it!

[dudeimjustagirll]

Where Hope Lives (part 1/2)

Ao3 Link :p

Link to part 2 :ooo

You had always been a little too in love with life—and a little too angry at it.

Before you died, you were a textbook case of teenage angst.

Sarcastic. Restless. Furious at everything and nothing in particular. You loved your parents—of course you did—but sometimes even their wealth and their kindness felt suffocating. Like being smothered in silk.

You had the world at your fingertips:

Private schools, sprawling summer homes, every door open with a word or a signature. You sure were your parents' daughter—your family’s name one that bent cities and politicians to its will—but you still felt small sometimes, trapped behind expectations you didn’t know how to meet.

You didn’t realize until it was too late that life, even the messy parts, was a privilege.

The night you died, it wasn’t grand or dramatic. No supervillains, no evil plots. Just one drunk driver and a street too dark to see them coming. At fifteen, you died on a road slick with rain and bad decisions. The headlights came too fast. The world cracked open. And then there was nothing—nothing but the cold realization that no amount of screaming could stitch your body back together.

One blink—headlights. The next—nothing.

You remembered the jarring absence of weight first.

No breath. No heartbeat. No sound but your own thoughts unraveling into terror. It was like sinking underwater with no bottom.

And for six long months, you drifted through a world that no longer had a place for you.

You weren't alone exactly—ghosts found each other. Some wailed. Some whispered. Some had long since stopped remembering what they waited for.

At first, you cried with them.Then, you listened.

The dead still loved. The dead still mourned. The dead still hoped.

And in learning to love them, you started to understand how desperately you had loved the world you left behind.

It was your parents who found you.

Brought you back.

They had money—more money than you could ever spend in ten lifetimes. And when grief hollowed them out, they spent it like a weapon.

Consultants. Mystics. Whispered meetings in the dead of night.

Until someone—some terrible, brilliant man—whispered back: The Lazarus Pit.

They didn't tell you the price.  They didn’t tell you about the desperate deals struck in back rooms, or the pilgrimage to a man with a cruel smile. They only told you " Come home. "

And so you did.

But it wasn't simple.

Being alive again felt strange. Your body was heavy in ways you didn't remember. Air rasped too loud in your lungs. Food tasted too rich.The ground pressed too hard against your feet.

The fear didn't leave you immediately either. For weeks, you slept curled between your parents in their massive bed, clinging to them like the child that you were. You woke up gasping sometimes, afraid that if you closed your eyes, you’d slip away again. And when you did, you’d sob into your mother’s nightgown, screaming and crying like you’d just been stabbed.

But the terror withered slowly, gently. Because every time you cried, your mother held you closer. Because every time you panicked, your father kissed your forehead and told you he wasn’t going anywhere, and neither were you.

Because even after everything, the world still loved you back.

Eventually, you developed a new hunger, a new patience.

You wanted to touch everything. Learn everything.

To never waste a second of what you were given.

And slowly—impossibly—you found your way back to something like normal.

Your friends welcomed you home like no time had passed at all. They threw themselves into your arms at the first chance they got, laughing and crying all at once, telling you how much they missed you, how empty it felt without you. Not one of them looked at you like you were broken. They just looked happy —so fiercely happy to have you back that it made your chest ache.

Sleepovers picked up again.

School gossip still circled through whispered texts.

You sat with them at lunch like you always had, pretending not to notice how often someone’s hand would brush yours—as if they needed to be sure you were real.

You joked. You studied. You fought over which movie to see on weekends. Giggled about boys.

In so many ways, you were just a teenager again—messy, stubborn, full of half-formed dreams.

And in other ways, you were something else entirely.

The dead still spoke to you sometimes—old friends you hadn’t quite left behind. But the living were louder. Brighter. Fiercer.

You clung to them with both hands.

You let them anchor you.

You kept the gift. It never felt like a curse. It felt like... a responsibility. A bridge you were meant to walk.

So you did.

You enrolled in college, studying forensic science—because the dead still had stories to tell, and you would not let them be forgotten. And when the sun set, you became something else.

Veilwalker —the girl who knew the secret language of the grave. You wanted–needed to use your powers to help people

You never touched alcohol. Not at parties, or on dates. You knew firsthand how quickly a life could shatter under the weight of one selfish choice.

And somewhere in the endless, ugly sprawl of Gotham, you met someone else who understood what it meant to lose everything:

Jason Todd.

He was younger than you—just barely—but grief had carved deep lines into him you recognized instantly. Another soul that clawed its way back from the dark. Another heart that didn’t quite trust it deserved to beat.

You should have walked away.

You didn’t.

You stayed—stubborn and soft—and decided if Jason didn’t believe he deserved saving, you’d believe enough for both of you.

After all, the dead didn’t scare you anymore.

And neither did love.

You met  on a night when Gotham smelled like rain and something dying.

You were tracking a man—a nasty piece of work who thought the ghosts of the people he'd hurt would never catch up to him.

He was wrong.

You had followed whispers through crumbling alleys and half-collapsed buildings, listening to the thin, fraying voices of the dead. The city was thick with them. Their sadness clung to the brick and the concrete like mold.

The man you hunted had killed and hidden bodies like they were nothing. And the dead had not forgotten.

You were crouched in the broken mouth of an alleyway, heart steady, breath calm, when you felt someone behind you.

Not a ghost. A man—solid and heavy, radiating anger like heat from a furnace.

You spun, defensive, but he was faster.

A hand shot out, knocking your wrist aside before you could even summon a weapon. The glint of a helmet caught the stuttering streetlight. And then he was in your space, close enough to taste the fight rolling off him.

"Who the hell are you?" he’d asked.

You could feel the crackle of tension between you, sharp and dangerous. You should have been scared. Instead, something inside you—something fearless—just tilted your chin up and stared him down.

"Someone who's not going to let you screw this up," you said coolly.

For a beat, he said nothing. Just studied you, eyes sharp behind the black slits of his helmet.

Then, almost against his will, his shoulders dropped a fraction.

"Fine," he muttered. "Just stay out of my way."

You didn’t.

The man you were both hunting—David Jones, a serial killer who targeted people no one would miss—was hiding out in a condemned apartment building five blocks south.

You knew because the victims were whispering in your ear, their voices tattered but insistent

Dead men tell no tales, some said—but they were wrong.

The dead told you everything .

You found him first.

You cornered him in a crumbling stairwell, your knife steady in your hand. He was sweating, frantic, babbling half-sentences that barely made sense.

"You're not real—ghosts aren't real—this isn't—"

He lunged at you. You dodged easily, too used to frantic men grasping at straws to be impressed.

It was Jason who crashed in a second later—kicking down what was left of the stairwell door. He took one look at the scene—you, unflinching, the killer crumpled against the wall—and froze.

Not out of hesitation.

Out of recognition.

He saw you—the hard line of your shoulders, the grim patience in your eyes, the way you didn't flinch even with blood on your hands—and something in him stopped .

Because you weren’t scared.

Because you weren’t running.

Because you knew death—really knew it—and you hadn't let it hollow you out.

He watched as you wiped your blade clean with clinical efficiency and nodded toward the unconscious body at your feet.

"He'll live," you said.

"Shame," Jason muttered, but there was no heat behind it.

The cops would pick him up.

Maybe.

But tonight, at least, he wouldn’t hurt anyone else.

Jason stood there for a long moment, still as a statue, studying you. The storm outside deepened, rattling the broken windows around you both.

Finally, he said—low and rough:

"You’re not bad at this."

You smiled—small, secret—and for a moment, the world tilted.

Because even through the rain and the blood and the ruin, you could feel it:

A bond.

It wasn't trust. Not exactly.

Not yet.

But it was enough to start.

He didn’t even know where it started. 

The habit of checking his burner phone for your texts before anything else.

Most days, you didn’t text first. You’d just show up—at crime scenes, at stakeouts—easy as breathing, inevitable as the end of a life.

But sometimes—Sometimes you sent a clipped, two-word message.

"You coming?"

Jason answered every single time.

You didn’t know where it started either. The habit of scanning rooftops for a flash of worn leather and battered red. The way your heart stuttered when you found him—alive, whole, breathing—even when you pretended you didn’t care.

You told yourself you were just partners. Just two vigilantes tangled up in the same broken city.

Nothing more.

(You were lying.)

Jason told himself you were better off without him.

You had friends.

Family.

Roots sunk deep into the world he barely knew how to stand on anymore.

You were sunlight—heavy and golden, burning in a way he didn’t think he deserved to touch.

And him? He was still something cracked and dangerous.

He couldn’t even keep a goddamn apartment from falling apart around him—how the hell was he supposed to keep you safe?

He didn’t trust himself not to wreck you. So he kept his distance.

(He failed. Every time.)

You told yourself you couldn't fall for someone who bled out hurt like a leaking wound.

Jason moved through the world like it owed him something—like his miraculous survival was an act of war, not mercy. He was angry in ways you couldn’t fix. He was reckless in ways you didn’t want to get dragged down by.

You didn’t want to be someone’s redemption arc. Someone’s perceived “reason to change”. The thought alone sickened you.

You wanted a partner.

Someone who chose to live—really live —not just fight like hell to survive.

So you kept your walls up. You told yourself he wasn’t yours to want.

(You didn’t stop wanting anyway.)

Jason caught himself thinking about you more often than he liked.

About the way you tilted your head when you listened. About the way you looked at the city—not with bitterness, but with something closer to hope.

He hated how badly he wanted to deserve you. Hated the ugly, greedy part of him that whispered maybe, when he knew damn well he wasn’t good enough.

You caught yourself wondering about him, too.

What it would be like to have his loyalty pressed into your palms like a promise. What it would be like to trust him with your heart—reckless, stupid, alive.

You hated yourself a little for it. For wanting someone who didn’t even know how to want himself.

So you stayed locked in orbit around each other. Too afraid to close the distance. Too afraid to let go.

There were nights when you said too little. Nights when you said too much.

One such night was right after a case you both solved, without the help of the local law enforcement. 

The smell of the rain from earlier that day was still clearly plastered in the air, filling your nose with the tender dewdrops of the new Spring. You loved it. Regardless, your hair was still a bit damp.

Jason was right behind you, helmet tucked under one arm, his black hair plastered to his forehead.

He looked like every bad decision you’d ever thought about making.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

And then, you broke.

"You look like a wet dog," you said, wheezing around the words, adrenaline still sparking in your veins.

Jason blinked at you—stunned—and then, God help you, he laughed.

Not a snarl, not a bark of disbelief. A real laugh.

Warm and rough and alive.

You froze like you’d been shot.

Jason caught it almost immediately. The way you went still, blinking at him like you’d never seen anything more precious.

It was shocking, really. Someone looking at him like he was something worth looking at.

His smile faltered, confusion flickering in his eyes.

"What?" he said, voice raspier than normal.

You shook your head too fast, heat crawling up your neck.

"Nothing," you said, which was the biggest goddamn lie you’d ever told.

Jason stepped closer.

Close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, even soaked to the bone.

"You’re weird," he muttered, but there was no bite to it.

"You're worse," you shot back—too soft, too fond.

The air changed.

Tightened.

Something shifted between you—a crackling in the static, a tug you felt in your teeth.

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

Jason’s gaze dropped to your mouth—fast, unthinking—and then snapped back up like he regretted it.

You mirrored him without realizing it, your throat dry.

It would’ve been so easy.

To lean in.

To close the last inch between you.

You could practically taste it—the inevitability, the gravity pulling you both closer.

You wanted to.

God, you wanted to.

But somewhere, deep in the back of your mind, a voice whispered:

Bad idea.

Jason saw it too—the moment of hesitation, the shuddering breath you dragged in.

He stepped back first.

A blink. A heartbeat. And the spell broke.

You swallowed down the ache rising in your throat, forcing a shaky smile.

"Come on," you said lightly, pretending nothing happened. "You’ll catch pneumonia if you stand out here being broody too long."

Jason huffed a laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Wouldn’t be the worst way to go."

You rolled your eyes, bumping his shoulder as you stepped past him.

He let you.

He always did.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

There were also nights when the silence stretched long and aching between you—full of all the things you could never say.

But you still showed up. Every time.

Both of you bloody and stubborn and so, so close to something real.

Neither of you brave enough to reach for it.

Not yet.

The first night Jason showed up on your doorstep, he was half-collapsed against the doorframe, one hand pressed tight against his ribs.

You stared at him—at the blood, the bruises, the crumpled defiance of his mouth—and for a second, the world spun.

Then you hauled him inside without a word.

He told himself it was just for the night.

But nights turned into days.

Days turned into weeks.

In his defence, he couldn’t just go back to his apartment, it wasn’t safe!

Or, so you told him when he told you he was thinking of leaving soon. 

You got used to the way he moved through your space—quiet, careful, like he was afraid of leaving too much of himself behind.

He got used to you leaving little things out for him—an extra cup of coffee in the morning, painkillers set neatly by the sink, your laptop open next to your cold breakfast as you crammed for exams.

He never said thank you.

You never asked him to.

Just what partners did, duh. 

He didn’t mean to stay.

He really didn’t.

But every time he tried to leave, something stupid and warm got in the way.

The first time, it was the sight of you curled up on the couch, papers spilling from your backpack, a highlighter clutched in your hand like a weapon. The second time, it was your damn cat—a tiny, black slip of a thing with gold eyes—who climbed onto his chest and refused to move. The third time, it was you again, half-asleep and mumbling for him to "lock the door behind you," like you already assumed he lived there.

So he stayed.

And it scared the shit out of him, how easy it was.

The apartment was way too nice for someone your age—full of huge, stupidly expensive furniture he kept bumping into and vases that looked like they belonged in a museum. You had silk throw pillows with pretentious-sounding French words he didn’t understand, blankets that probably cost more than his entire wardrobe, and art on the walls that made him feel like he was always being watched. Even the damn soap in the bathroom smelled like something a princess would use.

He hated it. (Sort of.)

But he got used to it, somehow.

Got used to finding your overpriced candles burning low at the end of the night. Got used to the velvet armchair he liked to sprawl in after patrol, the one he swore was "too fancy" but always ended up falling asleep in anyway. Got used to you—barefoot, grumpy from studying, hair falling into your eyes—grumbling about coursework like someone who didn’t live in a magazine ad.

Your world was nothing like his. Polished. Pretty. Warm. He didn’t belong in it.

And yet, when he sat at your kitchen table with a cup of coffee too sweet for his pride, and your cat butted its head against his elbow, and you wandered by to press a thoughtless hand to his shoulder—He thought maybe he could pretend for just a little while longer.

Maybe he could stay. Just until he ruined it.

Just until you realized he would.

It was small things, at first.

Love always showed itself in minute forms, didn’t it?

You’d come home late from class, dragging your feet, and there’d be a pot of coffee already waiting.

He’d come back from a rough night, jaw clenched tight, and you’d press a clean towel into his hands without a word.

You crashed at your table one night—out cold, burnt out—and when you woke up fifteen minutes later, there was a blanket around your shoulders. You didn’t have to look to know who’d put it there.

When you turned your head, you saw him, half-sitting against the kitchen counter, arms folded, trying so hard to pretend he hadn’t been watching you.

"You didn’t have to," you rasped.

He shrugged, eyes sliding away.

"Don’t worry. Go back to sleep."

You did.

He learned the rhythms of you.

The way you hummed under your breath when you cooked.The way you twirled your pen when you were deep in thought.The way you left the balcony door cracked open, even in the winter, because you hated feeling trapped.

You learned his, too.

The way he liked his coffee (black, two sugars).The way he tended to only sit at the very edge of the sofa.The way he always chose the spot by the door, muscles taut like he was waiting for something bad to happen.

The ghosts noticed, of course.

" If these walls could talk... "

" They do, dear. And they're laughing at you. "

" Poor boy doesn’t even know he’s home already. "

You ignored them.

Mostly.

You didn’t want to hope too hard. Not yet.

Your parents noticed too.

Your mother called you one evening, voice tight with worry.

"Are you sure about this, sweetheart?"

"I trust him, Mom," you said softly.

Another pause.

"You have such a good heart," she said. "Be careful where you set it down."

You bit the inside of your cheek until it hurt.

Because you already had.

There were moments that wrecked him.

The first time you handed him a house key without even thinking. The way you fell asleep on the couch with your cat curled against your hip, trusting him to sit nearby, just breathing.

He caught himself staring sometimes.

At the slope of your shoulder. At the curve of your smile when you thought he wasn’t looking.

At the soft, stupid, unbearable hope he felt around you.

It scared him more than any crowbar ever had.

It was the first time he realized love didn’t have to be earned with blood or broken promises.

That maybe— maybe —he didn’t have to be perfect to be worthy of it.

That maybe someone could choose him as he was, even with all the wreckage he carried behind his ribs.

He didn’t love himself yet. Not even close.

Some days he couldn’t even look in the mirror without flinching, without seeing everything he’d lost and everything he’d failed to protect.

But you made him think, for the first time in too long, that healing didn’t have to be loud or dramatic. Maybe it could be quiet. Maybe it could be slow.

Maybe it could be something like you sitting next to him, legs brushing under the coffee table, your cat sprawled between you both like he belonged there too. Maybe it was your laugh echoing down the hallway, soft and startled and so real it made his chest ache.

Maybe healing wasn’t about forgetting the bad parts. Maybe it was about learning he could have something good despite them.

Because he wasn’t beyond saving. He was just battered. Bruised by a world that never taught him how to want more than survival.

And you—you who had every reason to walk away—you chose him. Not because he was a project. Not because he was a tragedy you could fix.

But because, somehow, you saw the good in him clearer than he ever could.

Because you believed he was already enough.

And slowly—painfully, clumsily—he started to believe it too.

Not because you fixed him. Because you cared about him.

Exactly as he was. Exactly as he could be.

And for the first time in a long, long time—

He wanted to stay. He wanted to try.

Not just for you. For himself.

And you noticed.

Not because he said anything. Jason wasn’t the type to announce change like it was something you could pin to your chest, shiny and new.

He didn’t wake up one day and say, "I’m better now."

But you saw it, anyway.

In the way he remembered your coffee order without asking.

In the way he talked to your cat in a low, absent-minded grumble, pretending he wasn’t absolutely wrapped around her tiny paw.

You saw it in the way the anger didn’t sit so sharply in his chest anymore. In the way the light in his eyes lasted longer than just the moments after a fight.

He was still rough around the edges. Still reckless, still stubborn, still Jason.

But there was something new there, too. Something soft.

Something steady.

You wove into each other’s lives slowly, clumsily, tenderly.

You learned to make space for him.

He learned to fill it.

The distance between you shrank and shrank, until there was barely a breath left.

And you realized: he was someone you could build with.

Someone you could trust with your heart, not just your life.

A partner in all the ways that mattered.

But still—still—you didn’t move.

Because love was terrifying.

Because hope was terrifying.

Because wanting more meant risking everything.

And Jason had lost too much already. To introduce the stress of a relationship? It seemed like rocking the boat much more than need be.

But life had a way of cracking even the strongest walls. And one night—something cracked.

You had fallen asleep again, curled over your desk, textbooks open and notes half-finished. Jason found you there when he came in from patrol—bloodied knuckles, exhaustion in his bones—and for a long moment, he just...stood there.

Staring. Heart aching.

You were so stubborn. So bright. So alive.

Quietly, he crossed the room and draped a blanket over your shoulders as usual, careful not to wake you. The tiny black cat blinked up at him from where it perched on the desk, then let out a soft, knowing meow.

Jason hesitated, then brushed a strand of hair from your face, so careful it hurt. And then he turned, ready to leave.

"Jason?"

Your voice was soft and rough with sleep.

He froze. Turned back.

You sat up slowly, blanket slipping from your shoulders, blinking at him with heavy-lidded affection.

"You’re staying, right?" you mumbled, half-asleep, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like you trusted him to stay. Like you wanted him to stay.

Jason’s chest twisted painfully.

"I...yeah," he said, voice low. "Yeah, I'm staying."

You smiled—content. Then, got up and walked over to the couch beside you and patted the cushioning.

He sat. Careful, always careful, like you might change your mind.

But you didn’t.

You just leaned your head against his shoulder and closed your eyes again, trusting him with the softest, sleepiest parts of yourself.

And something inside Jason—something cynical and scared— cracked open .

He wanted this. He wanted you. He wanted a life where he got to be good for someone.

Even if he wasn’t perfect. Even if he still had a long way to go.

Especially because of that.

He shifted slightly, just enough to lean his cheek against the top of your head, and whispered, almost too quiet to hear:

"You make me wanna try."

You stirred, tilting your face up to look at him.

And the way you smiled—tired, radiant, a little broken but still here— killed him dead.

"I don’t need you to be perfect, there’s no real way I can ask that of you," you said softly.  "I just need you to be here."

"I’m here," he rasped. "I’m staying."

He kissed you then—finally—gentle and rough and real, all at once.

It wasn’t a perfect kiss. It was messy and a little awkward, full of fear and hope crashing into each other.

But it was real. It was yours.

When you broke apart, breathless and smiling like idiots, Jason pressed his forehead to yours and whispered:

"I want to take you out," he said. "Really. Candlelight. Dinner. The whole thing."

You laughed against his skin. 

"Ja–"

"I’m paying," he added fiercely. "Don’t care how disgustingly rich you are."

You laughed harder, your whole body shaking with it, and Jason held onto you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

"Okay," you said, grinning. "But I’m picking dessert."

He pulled back just enough to see your face, and the look he gave you was so full of love it made your heart ache.

"Deal," he said.

And somehow—clumsy, scared, stubborn—you found a way to start.

Not because you were perfect. Not because you had no scars.

But because you had always been a little too in love with life—and a little too angry at it.

And Jason—reckless, tired Jason—was learning, somehow, to be a little in love with it, too.

[sideprince]

I resent getting dragged into the discourse but it's wild to me that there are people out there who read the HP books and laud Harry for being brave and having a big heart and redeeming the wizarding world with his unusually great ability to love, yet can't comprehend how he could learn to appreciate Snape's sacrifice.

I'm very specifically thinking of the fact that Harry watches Snape die. Snape, who is lying on the floor, gripping Harry's robes, and whose eyes Harry is looking into and seeing the life leave. I don't understand how people can humanize some fictional characters and treat them as if they were real and completely dehumanize another. Not even for Snape's sake, but for Harry's sake, do these people not understand what it is to watch someone die? What's the expectation, that the Capacity For Love Posterchild protagonist steps out of character and doesn't care about the guy he watches bleed out and die suffering because you, as a reader, don't like him?

Which is it? Does Harry have a huge capacity to love or not? Pick a lane. Either you value this character trait in Harry or you don't. But you have to take or leave everything it comes with, otherwise you're a hypocrite. Or maybe illiterate.

I just don't GET it.

[transhetanybodys]

Shout out to Seymour and Audrey for possibly being the fictional couple with the worst communication skills. Literally they're so bad that the world ended because of it

[th3houseofleaves]

never actually said this but dove just assumes their dad is dead. it's not a concrete fact like they act like it is. but it's easier to live thinking he's dead than it is thinking he left them. so. even though there's a chance that he's still alive somewhere, they don't look into it. they can't really explain why either, no one understands it; most people believe they should be actively trying to find out if he's alive or dead, they think dove is weird for not wanting that. they don't understand that dove doesnt want to find out their dad has been alive this whole time and he just abandoned them when things got too hard.

[treesbian]

hey general public. if someone is fostering your cats for you while you're between homes + you were unexpectedly homeless for like 3 weeks + you haven't been able to get to housing that will allow your pets to come with you yet, and you're in regular contact with that someone discussing those cats and paying for their care needs, and then that someone messages you saying they decided they're just going to keep your pets because they decided that's what's best for them, that's stealing, right? that's stealing? the general public of reasonable people in the world agree that that is theft? yes?

that's what these bitches did to my godsister fuck them!!! but they got threatened with criminal theft charges and handed them over ^_^ and my aunt already pressed trespassing charges on them lol. but when I texted them to yell at them about it they lied saying they never stole any cats but like. what they did was stealing. my mom had to take it all the way up to the police but I kind of don't feel bad because it was their own damn fault. I hope their lives aren't ruined forever but I do hope they learn what a consequence is

[into-the-milgramverse]

I wish I could also write out something about Shidou, but like, my opinions are shaped based on combination of other people's takes, and it feels as if everyone kind of just stopped analyzing him after people figured out that his crime is related to asking the families of brain dead patients for permission to use the organs of said brain dead patients. After that, no one really went to look into his character deeper, he kinda just got boiled down to as "oh, a surgeon guy", "guy with family", "guy who takes organs", "guy who wanted to be guilty sooo bad and then got innocent twice in a row".

[dollyichi]

WE LISTEN AND WE DON’T JUDGE : BLUE LOCK EDITION . . . m—dni. f ! reader / it’s either pretty tame or freaky idk / doing it raw / creamp!es / virginity and being inexperienced / some ooc but this is just for fun / not proofread

FEATURING ⋮ isagi, nagi, karasu, rin, barou, kunigami, chigiri

isagi yoichi ⋮ before your relationship was established he really really liked you and didn’t want to mess it up. but then he wasn’t sure if you were on the pill but the sex was so good he ended up coming inside you. proceeded to suck his cum out for your pussy cause of the panic. didn’t have sex with you for a week after that but you were fine.

nagi seishiro ⋮ played a game where he can customize the character and got really pissed off because it wasn’t even half as pretty as you. sulking each time he dies because he think he ‘failed you.’ ended up quitting the game too because he found out there was sex in the game and he wouldn’t want the ‘game you’ being with anyone else that wasn’t him. even got jealous one time because he didn’t know that he was increasing his character’s relationship level with an npc who looked too much like his teammate. too many emotions while you’re watching him lose his mind when you’re perfectly fine eating snacks on the bed. having to console him by riding him and telling him you only love him and not barou.

tabito karasu ⋮ pays for your nails when you get an appointment so you could jack him off after. will also take photos of your nails for you, with one jerking his cock of course. got this pavlov effect that he gets hard every time you show him your fresh new set. yeah he’s ruined.

itoshi rin ⋮ he was a virgin before he met you, and ended up cumming each time he bottomed out the first few times you guys did it. he was inexperienced and very sensitive since he wasn’t used to it. he was still always hard after so it didn’t matter. unaware he was crying one time because he was so overstimulated while you’re clenching down so hard causing his cum to spill.

shoei barou ⋮ you were supposed to meetup with someone else that your friend suggested but you weren’t really sure if it was him when you arrived at the meeting place. ended up going on the date with him and hooking up at the end only for you to find out he wasn’t actually the guy. “what was i supposed to do? deny a pretty girl like you?” went on a few more dates anyway and ended up establishing the relationship properly <3 [ do not be like them! ]

rensuke kunigami ⋮ you were the first person to ever give him head. it felt too good and better than expected. you told him you weren’t too experienced but you worked on him like a pro. he was scared he could hurt you so instead of holding onto your head he gripped onto the wooden headboards. when he came, he held onto it too hard he broke the top part in half.

chigiri hyoma ⋮ moaned out your name during a wet dream. until it shifted, “take it! fucking take it” he said. his teammates weren’t sure if they should wake him up any time soon and they weren’t too sure how to face you after hearing that.

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : i have no idea what came over me writing these but here u go crying during sex rin hell yeah!!!

[dufrau]

thinking about shauna listening to jackie talk about jeff like he never even mattered when shauna is pregnant with his baby because she just wanted something jackie had and wanted to be wanted by someone who wanted jackie and now jackie doesnt even care anymore and shauna is stuck with this forever. and then jackie dies and then the baby dies but not before shauna has to give birth to him in the wilderness in winter surrounded by people who eat the dead and now fucking jeff sadecki is the last thing she has of either of them and what the hell is she supposed to do with that? she's stuck with him forever.

thinking about shauna beating lottie almost all the way to death to get all of that rage out of her and then when that rage is out of her they give her a knife and tell her to slit natalie's throat, and then when natalie runs and shauna is let off the hook for one thing for once they give her the knife again and tell her to cut up javi, the closest thing to a baby, so they can eat him, and now she's stuck with this, too. and all that rage she burned off didn't go anywhere, really. it's still right there.

and then im thinking about shauna watching lottie and everybody else crown natalie the queen for virtue of not dying, which is the same thing everybody has been doing, except for jackie and the baby and javi who all took chunks of shauna with them and left her with nothing but a knife.

im thinking about shauna who watches everybody gossip and laugh through the springtime knowing that when winter comes she will be the person who will have to cut them all up one by one so the rest of them can live and its very easy to see why she isnt friends with any of them anymore by then. she looks at them and she sees cuts of meat and how is she supposed to look at anybody normally ever again after that?

and its cruel, of course it is, everything she does to coach ben. it's not his fault, it's not about him at all, really, except that he is exactly the problem. he's innocent. he judges them. he sees what they have had to do to survive and pretends he never profited from any of it. pretends to be above it, uninvolved. he judges them. he judges her.

and shauna needs complicity from these people. she needs somebody else to know what it feels like to hold the knife. she needs people to be stuck with those guilty votes forever. tai with the gun and melissa with the knife and natalie at the butcher's table so that she's not the only one. and so ben is the sacrifice.

i saw somebody say that shauna doesnt want natalie to have to feel the pain of butchering a person, thats why she puts the cloth over his face. but that's not true. she *needs* natalie to know the pain of it, the guilt of it, the weight. The cloth is a lie she told herself would make it easier but she knows that Natalie is about to know what the inside of this man's joints look like either way and that she's going to be stuck knowing that forever.

they are going to be rescued someday and everybody will say "we did what we had to do to survive" and shauna needs to not be the only one who really has to mean that when she says it. and i guess she has that now. or she's about to.

[noirtek]

tags are not a humble brag but a genuine distressing pattern

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

then send me a son

pairing: joel miller x reader

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

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

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

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

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

wc: 9.4k

masterlist | ko-fi | taglist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Being watched.”

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

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

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

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

“He didn’t ‘put me up to anything’.”

“But he told you, didn’t he?”

“He told me a long time ago.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Which one?”

“All of ‘em.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like, spying on him?”

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

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

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

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

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

“She’s not around anymore.”

“Oh,” you say. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tommy sent me.”

“Oh, so they’re making you watch me?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning,” you say. 

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

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

“I can make my own damn coffee, kid.”

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

“I’m alright, but thank you.”

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

“Are you really gonna do that all day?”

“Do what?”

“Sit there and stare at me.”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“You could leave, for starters.”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

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

“A little.”

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

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

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

He shrugs, and you take it as a yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Congratulations,” Joel says. 

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

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

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

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

“Are you calling me old?”

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

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

“Somebody did most of these already.”

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

“I think I’d still be able to tell.”

You hang your head in defeat. 

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

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

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

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

“I was just curious about the answers.”

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

It takes him about a week to finish the book. 

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

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

“Kid had great handwriting, then.”

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

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

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

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

“Sorry. I should stop swearing.”

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

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

“Whatcha got there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How old are you?” 

“56.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I get you anything?” you ask. 

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know I’m an adult, right, Joel?”

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s not about that.”

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

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

“I offered.”

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

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

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

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

And you say, “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pull away briefly and catch your breath. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are we going?”

“To my bed.”

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

“Are we going to have sex?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. 

“Then, what are we going to do?”

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. 

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Has anyone ever kissed you before?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not fair,” you whine.

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

“Excuse me?”

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

“I was.”

“Then, why are you backing out?”

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

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

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

His eyes go wide. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s leaving.

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

“Downstairs.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry. I zoned out.”

“Got something’ on your mind?”

“Not really.”

“C’mon, what is it?”

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

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

“So?”

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

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

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

“So you pity me?”

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

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

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

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

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“I said, that’s bullshit.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll talk.”

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

“You know what I’m talking about.”

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

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

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

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

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

“What? Gonna fuck you?”

The word slips out of his mouth so easily.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Well, I’m not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you need to get ready first too?”

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

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

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

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

“Come here,” he says.

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

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

“You trust me, right?” he asks.

“Of course.”

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

“Then, come sit on my face.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t let me go.”

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

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

A blanket of peaceful silence settles over your bare bodies.

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

“Are we going to have sex?”

“Hm?”

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

“I thought I wore you out.”

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

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’d tell you if you were.”

He hesitates.

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you hold my hand?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

You have more power over him than the sun.

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

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

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

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

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

“How many?”

“Almost three.”

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

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

“We’re going to go get one.”

He stands up immediately and turns towards the door.

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

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

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

They recommend taking multiple because false negatives are common.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Making an appointment?” she asks.

“Yeah, just a checkup,” you lie.

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

You turn back and forth between her and Maria.

“Um, no,” you say, “keep it as is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod and wait for her question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He does, reluctantly.

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

“What?”

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

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

“I guess, maybe,” you shrug.

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

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

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

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

But the tears suggest otherwise.

“Do you want to keep the baby?”

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

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

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

“You’ve got a good heart. Follow it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What was she like?” you ask.

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

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

“I couldn’t save her,” he says.

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

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

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

“A grown man.”

“Doing the best that you could.”

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” he says.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try my best.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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