#but lately since it has been colder where I live

[linterteatime]

Lil redraw of the b-sides soundtrack art 💌

[shellshocklove]

does anyone know where the love of god goes? | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x female!reader – post breakout & no ellie AU

summary: crossing the country alone as he searches for his brother, joel stumbles on a farm. winter is closing in, and against his better judgement he's convinced to stay. as the frost covers the land like a blanket, a warmth ignites in his heart for the young woman who's home he finds himself in.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so minors dni!!! canon-typical violence, age gap (reader is mid to late twenties), swearing, dead animals, joel being a sad man, masturbation, no use of y/n

a/n: i soft launched this ao3 last month and it flopped lol so i'm gonna keep my expectations low for this series. anyways this has been a story i've been thinking about since probably october. this is the first part of what i'm hoping will be 3 parts. happy reading i guess

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3 / playlist

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

The leaves rustled against Joel’s boots with every step he took. The sun had turned traitor cold, and he couldn’t feel its kiss against his cheek no more. The trees shivered above him in the wind – the only sound for miles except his heavy steps.

Did he still exist, with no one around? Joel had never minded being alone; after the breakout he’d found that he sometimes preferred it. People could be… well, when you’ve seen the worst of humanity, maybe it’s best to leave it behind.

And wasn’t he the worst of humanity? The things he’d done. The people he’d killed, and killed for. The people he’d lost.

But he had to keep going. For Tess. He promised.

Every night as he stared into the flames his thoughts would drift to her – the memories flickering in the fire. They should’ve never gone through that museum – it was supposed to have been empty – they should’ve never left Boston in the first place. Now Tess is gone because of him, him and his stupid plan to find his brother.

And for what? How is he ever gonna find Tommy?

Joel didn’t even know where he was. Nebraska? South-Dakota? Maybe he’d made it to Wyoming and just didn’t know it? Abe had told him ‘Cody Tower’, but Joel hadn’t seen anything other than mother nature for weeks.

Everything had started to look the same. Trees and more trees, a mountain in the distance, a grey and heavy sky above him. He’d been walking for forever. Slowly he moved west– or at least he thought he was. On the days where the sun hung high in the sky and wasn’t shielded behind a cloudy partition, he liked to watch it as it dipped below the earth. As the days turned shorter and shorter, the display of color had started to get more vivid. Joel would watch the light blue turn red and bloody, fiery tongues of flames licking over the horizon while the sharp edges of the mountains, and the triangular shapes of the trees faded into an intense black– like the shape of the mountain and the trees had been cut out with scissors. There wasn’t much to stay alive for anymore– but Joel lived for those few moments where nature painted with fire. Humanity might’ve gone to shit, but the cyclical regularity of mother nature gave Joel a small sense of peace.

But he missed the kiss of the sun against his cheek now. He’d moved into a large forest a few days ago. Tall trees hovered over him like giants and cast shadows down at him. It was colder here than out in the open country, but at least he’d been somewhat shaded from the rain pouring from the grey cover above his head the last few days.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The sound stopped Joel in his tracks. Muscle memory worked on its own, gripping the shotgun slung over his shoulder. He listened for the sound again, to the steady rhythm echoing through the forest.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

With slow calculated steps Joel walked in the direction of the sound with the shotgun held tightly to his chest, his finger hovered over the trigger. The chopping sound got louder as he closed in on a man. He couldn’t tell his age with the man’s back turned – but he was strong – Joel could tell from how hard the man’s axe hit the tree trunk.

Taking another silent step, Joel got in position, “How ‘bout you slowly turn around and place that axe on the ground.”

Joel’s voice was hoarse after no use, but still cold and calculated as he spoke his order. He could see he’d startled the man, probably thinking he was alone, just like Joel had thought mere minutes ago.

The man obeyed, turning around slowly. He was older than Joel, maybe mid-seventies, maybe older if the wrinkles and creases around his eyes and nose were to be believed. His hair was white as snow matching his unkempt beard. Joel caught his eye. Strong and steady, no trace of fear one would think a man would feel while having a gun pointed at them.

Joel’s grip around the gun tightened. He wasn’t afraid to pull the trigger if that’s where this was headed. The man watched him calmly before he bent his knees, throwing the axe haphazardly on the ground.

“Kick it over here,” Joel commanded again, and the man obeyed, kicking the axe clumsily towards Joel.

Slowly Joel crept closer, gun still pointed at the man. He locked the heel of his shoe against the shaft, dragging the axe behind him and out of the way.

“Hands where I can see ‘em.”

“Are you going to kill me, son?”

The man’s question puzzled Joel. He said it so calmly, like how you’d ask someone to pass the salt.

“That depends on you.” Joel’s answer pulled at the old man’s lips, a small huff of a laugh escaping them.

“Well, you’re the one with the gun. I think it depends on you.”

Joel tightened his grip on the shotgun again – he didn’t know why –to frighten the man? He didn’t seem very frightened.

“Are you alone?” Joel asked.

“Not anymore,” the man answered.

“Don’t be a smartass,” Joel gritted through his teeth, “who you travelin’ with?”

“No one,” the man’s eyes never left Joel, “I live at a farm about a mile away.”

“Take me to it.”

The man walked with a limp Joel noticed. It was barely there, you wouldn’t see it if you didn’t pay attention, but it was there. The man acted tough enough, but his body revealed his weaknesses. It would be easy to kill him, Joel thought, if it came to that.

He followed the man through the trees with his gun pointed at his back. When they reached the end of the forest a clearing revealed itself. They followed a path through a field of, tall but wilted, brown grass until they reached an overgrown gravel road with a fence running along it. Looking out in the distance, Joel could see small spots of white and black wool. The gravel moaned under their feet as they closed in on a small farm. A two-story house sat in the middle of the barnyard where it was surrounded by a barn who’d seen better days, a silo, and a smaller farmhouse – a stable – Joel noticed as they walked closer.

The man trudged up the front stairs of the main farmhouse, a hand on the handrail keeping him steady.

“Put that gun away would you, son? I don’t want you frightening my wife.” The man broke the silence between them, speaking for the first time since they left the woods.

Joel’s grip on his shotgun didn’t loosen. How could he be sure that this man’s ‘wife’ wasn’t some gang of raiders hiding behind the front door? A question he asked the man through gritted teeth when he turned around to look at Joel.

“There’s nothing of the sort around here,” the man said, “we don’t even see any infected.”

When Joel didn’t say anything, and didn’t lower the gun, the man spoke again, “Who are you?”

“Just someone passin’ through,” Joel answered, making the man chuckle.

“You’re something else, passer-througher,” the old man smiled before he turned around again and stepped inside, leaving Joel on the porch alone.

Abandoned outside he lowered his gun slightly. Inside he could hear muffled voices, a deeper one, definitely the old man, and a brighter one, a woman’s voice. He listened, trying to make out their words with no prevail. The man seemed to have spoken the truth up until now. He most definitely lived on this farm – a seemingly normal farm. This man was just someone making an honest living – even after the apocalypse.

Lowering the gun completely, Joel put the safety on before he slung it over his shoulder. Taking a hollowed step towards the front door, movement in the window to the right of him caught his eye. It was there and then it was gone – just a ruffle of blonde curtains. Then, the door opened revealing an elderly woman.

The man’s wife.

“Welcome, traveler,” she greeted, stepping aside to let Joel in.

He passed through the doorway with a “Thank you, ma’am,” never forgetting his manners even after pointing a gun at her husband.

Inside it looked like a picture taken straight out of a Homes & Gardens magazine. The house was cozy, but it was small. He’d been welcomed into what probably used to be a parlor, but now served its purpose as their living room. It was hard to get a read on the house. Not like those open-floor plan houses he’d built too many of back before the outbreak – this was old, maybe hundreds of years old. The floorboard creaked under his shoes as he walked deeper into the living room, the rest of the house locked away like a secret behind three closed doors. The man was seated in a lounge chair by the fireplace, watching Joel with an expression Joel found it hard to decipher.

“Would you like some tea?” the woman asked, “It’s peppermint from our garden.”

Joel turned his head to the woman. She must be around the same age as the old man, Joel thought. He cleared his throat before he answered with a nod, “Thank you, ma’am.”

She pointed to the sofa, urging him to sit down with a smile before she disappeared through one of the doors to what Joel thought must be the kitchen. He felt the old man watching him as he slid his backpack off his shoulders, placing it on the creaky wooden floor behind the sofa. Joel hesitated for just a second when placing the shotgun up against the back, but decided he wasn’t in any imminent danger.

Joel almost groaned as he sat down. He’d been walking for so long, slept on the hard ground for months, he’d almost forgotten what a comfortable chair was. It almost felt surreal, being invited in for tea, like the outbreak had never happened. Here, it was like the time had stood still.

“So,” the man started, “where are you heading to if you’re just ‘passin’ through’?”

Joel cleared his throat again, “I’m lookin’ for my brother,” he answered truthfully, “last I heard he was somewhere in Wyoming.”

“If you’re going to Wyoming, then what you’re doing all the way up here?” The man queried with a chuckle.

Annoyed, Joel grinded his teeth, “Not many signs in the fuckin’ woods are there?” He huffed.

“I guess not,” the man shrugged, “but you’ve made a heck of a detour… where did you come from? Texas? You sound it.”

“Boston.”

“Boston?” the man didn’t hide his surprise, breathing out chuckles in disbelief, “I’ll give it to you, that’s one long trip.”

Joel only huffed in agreement, turning his head from the man to the window overlooking the barnyard.

“Well,” the man broke the growing silence between the two men, “you’re more than welcome to stay for dinner and for the night– you look like you could need a hot meal and a warm bed.”

Joel’s instinct was to say no, but before he could the front door opened, revealing a young woman. You.

You stopped dead in your tracks as you laid your eyes on Joel, “Oh!”.

The door slammed behind you. Under your arm you were carrying a metal bucket filled with apples. You were beautiful, young, but still beautiful – Joel couldn’t deny it.

“This is…” The man paused.

“Joel.” He cleared his throat, introducing himself, “Joel Miller.”

“Mr. Miller is just passing through– he’s looking for his brother,” the old man explained to you.

You nodded at the information, sat the bucket down before you reached out a hand for Joel to take, introducing yourself. Your hand in his was warm and soft while his own dwarfed yours, rough and calloused. He couldn’t help but think about what his hands had done, the people they’d killed. He shouldn’t be tainting yours, painting them red. Joel quickly drew his hand back, balling it into a fist at his side.

Joel looked over at the old man, “Your daughter?” he asked with a tilt of his head in your direction.

“Oh, no,” the man answered with a playful smile, “You’re not the first person ‘passin’ through’ who’s shown up on our doorstep.”

The door to the kitchen opened to reveal the old woman with a teapot in her hand, and a stacked tower of teacups in the other.

“Let me help you Alma,” you said, taking the teacups from the old woman’s hand before placing them on the table; one in front of Joel, a second in front of the old man, “Here you go Arthur,” and a third next to Joel.

“Did you also want some tea, sweetie?” Alma asked you as she placed the steaming teapot on the table.

“Yes, please, but I can grab a cup myself– sit down,” you smiled and padded the old woman’s shoulder, then you grabbed the bucket of apples and disappeared into the kitchen.

Alma started pouring the tea as a silence fell over the room. A small, “Thank you, ma’am,” left Joel’s lips as she moved on to pouring tea for her husband.

“So,” the man started before taking a sip of his tea, “what do you say Mr. Miller? You staying for the night?”

That night as he laid in a real bed for the first time in months, Joel had trouble falling asleep. He wasn’t used to this. Hadn’t been used to it for a while. His belly full, soft fabric against his skin, feeling warm, and clean. The old couple had offered him one of the two bedrooms on the first floor, the two mystery doors in the living room now revealed. Laying in his new bed he tried not to think about who he was sharing a wall with.

You.

You were something else, helpful and kind. Everything Joel hadn’t seen since the outbreak. At the dinner table you’d asked him questions and listened intently – even when his answers were short and brisk. There was a glimmer in your eye, and it touched something inside him he hadn’t felt in a long time. But you were young, mid to late twenties he reckoned, maybe a little older– anyways, he shouldn’t be harboring anything for you, it wouldn’t be right. Especially now, now that he’d agreed to stay.

After the dinner plates had been cleared, Arthur had folded a big map out on the table. “Here are we now,” he’d pointed a finger at the map. Montana. Southern Montana to be precise. “I’ll give it to you Mr. Miller, if you’ve made it this far on your own you probably won’t have any trouble making your way down south to Wyoming.”

“But?” Joel watched the grimace pulling at the old man’s face.

“But,” Arthur had said, “Winter is just around the corner and… well, going back out there in the wilderness alone during our winters is a dead trap, I’ll tell you that much.”

Joel had let the man go on about the far below freezing temperatures, the heavy snow, and the tough wind, but Joel wasn’t stupid. He knew the winters up here were harsh. It wasn’t even winter yet, but every day he’d felt the temperature drop lower and lower, and the last few of nights he’d even had to get a fire going, against his better judgement.

So– the deal was: Joel would stay over the winter. Just for the winter, he’d been adamant on not staying longer. He’d get a place to stay, a warm bed to sleep in, and food in his belly on one condition – he’d help out on the farm.

The fire crackled loudly, red tongues licking up the chimney as Joel fed it another log. He watched as the fire caught in the new log, devouring it quickly and with no mercy. It was really starting to heat up now. A small flicker of pride sparked in Joel chest. He’d always been good at building a fire. It was one of those things, Joel had come to learn, where you needed to pay attention, to have patience.

When he was younger, he’d take Tommy out camping sometimes, just the two of them. Mostly they’d go during the summer; Tommy wasn’t a fan of sleeping outside in the cold, though cold had meant something different back then in Texas. But Joel remembered one time he’d managed to convince him to go with him. It was right after he’d gotten his driver’s license, and his parents had given him a beat-up truck for his birthday – for sharing – they’d told him, “You need to give your little brother a ride when he needs it!” Joel wasn’t exactly thrilled about his future as Tommy’s private driver, but it didn’t mean he didn’t love his brother.

A few weeks into October he’d managed to convince Tommy to go camping. They’d packed the truck with their tents, sleeping bags, and fishing equipment, before they’d gotten on the road, driving to a lake where they knew there were fish to catch. Finding a place to camp was always difficult with Tommy. They’d parked Joel’s truck at the edge of the forest before they’d followed a hiking trail. Joel was convinced they’d walked at least three quarters of the way around the lake before they found a spot good enough for Tommy.

It had to be flat, but also shielded. There couldn’t be too many rocks, but there also had to be enough rocks to build a hearth. Tommy wanted it to be private, but he also wanted it to be open enough that he could see if someone would stumble upon their camp. Joel knew not to argue with him when he got like that, opting instead for a defeated, “Whatever.”

Setting up camp went relatively easy. They’d worked together building the tents, collecting rocks for their fireplace, and even managed to find a fallen tree to use as a bench. When the night slowly started to cover them in darkness, Tommy decided to get the fire going. Joel watched him work the logs into a pile as he started on filleting the fish they’d just caught.

“You’re doin’ it wrong,” he’d told his brother, “You’re suffocatin’ it.” He’d washed his hands in the lake, ridding himself of the slimy smell of fish, before crouching down next to Tommy.

The fire was one big bowl of smoke, and Joel caught himself wondering what messages Tommy must’ve been sending to the heavens. He removed some of the heavier logs, and the fire could breathe.

“See?” he’d looked at Tommy, “It just needed air.” Joel had shifted the smaller pieces of wood around and not long after the fire was alive.

That Joel, that green boy who liked to take his little brother camping, that Joel didn’t know how much those skills would come in handy in a few years when the world would get turned upside down.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?”

Your question pulled Joel from his memories. He turned his head slightly, meeting your gaze from where you were huddled up in the corner of the couch. You looked cozy, but he knew you weren’t. The house was cold this morning, outside a thin layer of frost had stuck to the grass during the night. It was early too, the sun not having climbed high enough yet to peek over the mountains. You looked tired where you sat, clad in a wool sweater with a blanket pulled over your knees. Under the blanket Joel remembered you were still wearing your pajama pants, and in your hand you held a steaming cup of tea, peppermint, Joel knew, his own cup abandoned on the coffee table.

“What?” Joel answered, eyebrows furrowed.

“Do you have any mittens, Joel?” you repeated softly, like the way people tended to speak in the mornings, like they were afraid they’d wake up the world.

His calves were starting to burn from the strain of being crouched in front of the fireplace for a moment too long, and he tried his best to hide his groan, biting his teeth together as he stood to his feet, knees cracking loudly.

“Um, no,” he said, confused about your question.

“I’ll knit you a pair then,” you smiled before putting your cup down next to his.

“That’s… that ain’t necessary,” Joel hurried, but you waved him off.

“Sure it is,” you smiled again, much to Joel’s annoyance. He didn’t deserve your kindness, but you gave it away like it cost nothing. “If you’re gonna be helping Arthur out in the woods this winter, you need some mittens.”

Joel watched as you got up from your home on the couch and vanished into your bedroom. A moment later you appeared in the doorway with a basket under your arm.

“Also…” you gave him another smile as you sat back down again, placing the basket in your lap. It was close to overflowing with yarn, balls of black and white in varying sizes peeking over the top, the homespun ends fraying against the rough edges of the basket. “I’ll have something to do during the evenings,” you winked before you rummaged through the basket and fished out a measuring tape.

Joel shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he watched you. Mittens? Joel can’t remember if he’s ever owned a pair of mittens. Gloves, sure, but mittens?

You patted the cushion next to you, urging him to sit down, kind smile hanging off your lips like always. Sitting down, he folded his hands in his lap, suddenly very aware of how close you were sitting. It wasn’t like he hadn’t sat next to you before; he’d been here a few weeks now, and he was starting to know you, but for some reason, this felt different. Maybe it was the early morning, the quiet house, or the fact that Alma and Arthur were still sleeping upstairs, but it felt like it was just the two of you, alone, and Joel didn’t know how to feel about it.

You shifted towards him, the blanket slipping slightly off the couch with your movement, in your hands you held the measuring tape while you looked at him expectantly.

When Joel didn’t move, a smile quirked at the corner of your mouth before you grabbed one of his hands resting in his lap. You uncurled his fingers slowly, one by one, making Joel hold his breath.

“I need to see how big I need to make them,” you whispered, holding his hand very gently.

Joel’s heart hammered in his chest. Your hand was warm and soft, like the last time he’d touched you as you’d introduced yourself to him. Joel didn’t dare look at your face, or he’d say something stupid, so he didn’t. He looked at your joined hands, his brain trying to remember the last time someone had held his hand as gently as you did, your thumb running over the back of it soothingly.

He can’t remember. His hands are always empty.

With your other hand, a finger curled around the measuring tape, you slipped it around his wrist before leaning closer to look at the numbers.

“Is this too tight you think, or do you want them to be looser?” You asked through your lashes, eyes sparkling in the low morning light.

Joel cleared his throat, “No, that’s fine.”

“Okay,” you nodded, slipping the measuring tape from his wrist to write down the measurement. He hadn’t noticed your notebook until now. It was a little rough around the edges from use, the spined cracked and the paper a little yellow. Placing the pen in the seam, you grabbed the measuring tape again.

Loosening your grip on his hand you placed it over the thick of your thigh. Joel drew a quick breath, his heartbeat hammering in his ears, under his hand he could feel the warmth of you through the soft flannel.

You continued taking your measurements. You didn’t say anything, so neither did Joel, but you looked up at him through your lashes sometimes, and Joel thought that maybe the most useful thing one can do with empty hands, is hold on.

The creak of the stair made Joel jump, and like he’d been burned his hand retracted on reflex, as Arthur’s heavy steps got closer.

“Morning,” Arthur greeted as he ducked his head through the door to the living room.

“Mornin’,” Joel mumbled, head lowered as he gathered his hands in his lap.

“Good morning!” you smiled, always with that kind smile, “Did you sleep well, Arthur?” you got up from your seat before grabbing your teacup to follow Arthur into the kitchen, leaving the yarn and Joel.

Taking a deep breath, Joel pinched the top of his nose. He needed to get it together. You were just being your regular kind self; your soft touch was nothing more than that. Standing to his feet, Joel grabbed his own cup, trudging into the kitchen.

In the kitchen Arthur sat in his usual spot at the dining table, the chair closest to the window. “I need to get on with this barn soon,” Joel heard him say as he sat down opposite him. “It’s gonna fall apart come spring if we get as much snow as we did last year.”

Joel tried his best not to look at you as he heard you hum. You were stood at the kitchen counter slicing the bread Alma had baked yesterday, readying breakfast. Instead, Joel opted to gaze down into his teacup, where the peppermint leaves had all gathered at the bottom.

“Um,” Joel cleared his throat, “what needs fixin’?”

“What doesn’t need fixing in that barn?” Arthur sighed, peeling his eyes from out the window to Joel.

“I can uh,” Joel eyes shifted quickly to you before he cleared his throat again, “I can take a look at it, if ya want?”

Arthur’s eyebrows met in a furrow as he looked at Joel.

“I used to be a contractor,” Joel explained with a shrug, before taking a last cold sip of his tea.

“So, you know a thing or two about buildings I reckon?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah, well I used to,” Joel leaned back in his chair.

“Well, that would be very helpful Joel– I’d appreciated it!” Arthur smiled before leaning back in his chair making room for you as you started setting the table. Joel gave him a short nod in return, trying to fight the urge to look at you as you placed the food on the table.

Arthur had downplayed the state of the barn – it was a mess – it was dangerous, and had Joel told him as much. But it was nothing Joel couldn’t fix, as long as he had the right supplies, fortunately for him the forest would provide them with what they needed.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

The axe dug a deep wound into the bark with every swing. Joel’s breath was heavy, and his arms ached, but it was a welcomed form of tiredness. A month into it, he was starting to get used to the work. There was something so satisfying about manual labor, of using his hands, of making something – he’d almost forgotten.

The routine of the work felt good. Waking up at dawn, then breakfast, he could use his body for something useful for the first time in twenty years and end the day with a warm meal for supper. This new temporary life was simple, but it was strangely normal.

Originally, Joel was only helping Arthur out in the woods for firewood through the winter– but now with the barn, they’d changed course. The last few days they’d started to become more selective with the trees; looking for the tallest and straightest ones that would fall safely.

A frozen sky hovered over the men as they worked. This morning when Joel had woken up, the thinnest layer of snow had fallen like powdered sugar during the night, turning the world bright with winter. Earlier in the week the frost had perched on the farm, and Joel had known winter was closing in. He’d lost count of the days and months passing while on his own, but Arthur had told him it was late October.

“It will start snowing properly soon,” Arthur said, breaking the silence between them.

Joel hummed before taking a bite of his packed lunch. They’d worked all morning – Joel felling the trees and Arthur cleaning them up and removing the branches. Now they were sat on a fresh tree stump each, their first break of the day.

“I have an old logging sled in the barn– used to be my father’s,” Arthur explained, “I think we should leave the trees here until the snow gets deep enough for the sled and have the horses pull them back to the farm.”

“Fine by me,” Joel took another bite of his lunch.

“The logs will have to dry out over the winter,” Arthur mused, “Then come spring we can start the repairs on the barn.”

Spring. If everything goes according to plan, Joel won’t be here come spring. He needed to find Tommy– he couldn’t, and he wasn’t gonna stay on the farm for any longer than necessary. He’d already decided– when the snow finally started to melt, Joel was gone.

Joel hummed, a non-committed answer. It was easier that way, to not get Arthur’s hopes up. He liked Arthur, he was a good man, a hard worker even in his old age, and silent when Joel wanted him to be. Joel liked Alma too, but her age shined through more easily than Arthur’s. Joel couldn’t help but notice her repeating herself more often and forgetting where she put things. It made life harder for you, Joel could see it. Your responsibilities were already a lot to handle as you took care of the animals mostly by yourself, but as Joel had discovered Alma starting to struggle with the housework, he’d noticed you starting to help her more often. In Joel’s mind it was unfair to you, but it wasn’t like he could blame Alma for growing older, in this world it was a feat.

Still, he’d try his best to help you when he could, like doing the dishes after dinner as you dried them off and put them away. The first few times you were both quiet, it was strangely intimate, only the sound of splashing water filling the space between you. One night he'd gotten brave, breaking the comfortable silence and asked you ‘What you thinkin’ about, sweetheart?’ You’d looked at him with big eyes, searching his own for something, but before he could figure out what it was, you’d answered him with a shrug. It was unlike you, unlike you to be this silent, but Joel didn’t push. The next night the silence persisted, and he’d thought adding ‘Sweetheart’ had been too much, but then the next night you’d sighed quietly and whispered, “I’m worried about Alma.”

Looking down at the mittens in his lap, the guilt gnawed at him. The look of worry in your eyes, Arthur’s hopeful wishes, and Alma’s aging. Joel couldn’t have anything tying him to this place. He was supposed to find his brother.

Suddenly, a black and orange butterfly landed on Joel’s knee. Joel stopped breathing, body going rigid as he tried not to move. How the hell was this butterfly still alive? It sat quiet on his knee, wings slowly retracting and widening behind it. Memories pushed its way to the forefront of Joel’s mind then.

Sarah. Another year had gone by, and the thought made his chest tighten.

“That’s quite a sight at this time of year,” he heard Arthur say, “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

“Y-yeah,” Joel stammered out an answer, afraid his voice would scare it away.

The longer Joel watched the butterfly he found his guilt started to slowly melt away. It’s okay, dad. It was like the rustling of the trees carried her voice with them. You’re on the right path.

“I can do that f’you want, sweetheart.”

Joel’s boots creaked under him as he walked across the barnyard. You looked up at the sound of his voice, smile blossoming across your face as you tightened your grip on the shovel.

“It’s alright,” you said with a grunt as you picked up more snow, adding it to the growing pile, “Good for me to get some physical work in.”

Joel nodded as you straightened up, hand going to your hip while the other leaned on the shovel, your heavy breath curled in small plumes out of your mouth. You took him in for a second, eyes flickering over his form before they fell on the rabbits hanging over Joel’s shoulder.

“Where’d you get those?” you asked, and Joel shrugged.

“Shot ‘em,” he said simply, “they walked right by me as I was choppin’– seemed too good to pass up.”

“Not for the rabbits,” you muttered, and Joel had to fight the urge to smile.

“You a vegetarian or somethin’?” he asked with a single raised eyebrow, and you waved him off.

“No,” you said pointedly, but a teasing lilt lingered, “Just stating a fact... we don’t eat a lot of rabbit around here, is all.”

Joel nodded slightly; it made sense. He knew there was a gun in the house, but it was a revolver– too small to do any real hunting, and Joel didn’t even know if there were bullets for it. So, Joel didn't ask further. Lucky for him, you did.

“So, you just shot those?” you asked, a frown pulling at your eyebrows, “Aren’t they fast?”

Joel made a nonchalant sort of face. “Ain’t that hard when you can aim straight.”

“Well, how do you aim straight?”

“You learn to shoot.”

You let out a small laugh, one that pulled at Joel’s lips. “And how did you go about learning that?”

Joel felt his smile drop, the leather strap of his shotgun weighing heavy on his shoulder, “Practice.”

You didn’t seem to notice the change in his demeanor as you dug the shovel into the snow, so it stood by itself like a watchman. “Can you teach me?” you asked, the snow creaking under your shoes as you took a few steps closer.

His lips pulled at the corner, “No.”

Your eyes widened with disappointment, eyebrows pulling together in a frown as you asked, “Why?”

“Nothin’ good ever comes from it,” Joel shrugged.

“Okay,” you huffed a laugh, “that’s sinister.” Then you narrowed your eyes at him, gearing up for an argument no doubt with the way you rested your hand on your hip. “What if I also wanted to go hunting?” you posed, and Joel shook his head.

“That ain’t happenin’, sweetheart.”

“Okay, but now you’ve brought us rabbits– and what if I end up really liking rabbit?” you bit down on your bottom lip, unconsciously showing off you own rabbit teeth.

Cute.

“Then I’ll shoot as many rabbits as you want,” Joel countered with a teasing smile before tightening his hold on the rope slung over his other shoulder (the one he’d tied the rabbits to), and walked towards the kitchen door at the back of the farmhouse.

He heard you huff in defeat behind him, your creaky steps following him up the stairs and inside. Walking into the kitchen Joel placed the rabbits on the table before he pulled at his mittens, stripped off his jacket, and hung it neatly over the back of one of the dining chairs. Grabbing one of the rabbits he brought it to the kitchen counter to start dressing it, fighting the urge to turn his head as he heard you enter the room.

“Come on, Joel,” you whined, “Why won’t you teach me?”

“Told you already,” Joel replied, “Nothin’ good comes from learnin’ to shoot things.”

Shifting the rabbit around on the counter he reached for the butcher knife in the knife block.

“You know, that’s a really stupid way of saying you don’t want to spend the time,” you told him, your voice closer now as you leaned against the kitchen counter.  

“When exactly did ya hear me sayin’ I don't wanna spend time with you?” Joel asked, his eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

“You won’t teach me to shoot,” you teased, and Joel could hear the smile in your voice.

Joel huffed out a laugh, “Damn right I won’t.”  

He heard you let out a whiney huff, before you turned on your heel, muttering out a curse under your breath when you accidently bumped your hip into the counter and Joel couldn’t help the smile teasing at his lips. You sat down with an overdramatic sigh, and Joel still didn’t look at you – he knew he’d cave eventually if he did, say yes against his better judgement – so he kept his eyes on the knife in his hand.

“How’s Arthur?” Joel asked as he worked.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, “The same I think– Alma was up there looking after him last time I checked.”

This time Joel allowed himself to look at you. You sat sideways on the wooden chair, legs crossed and tucked under your chair with your head hanging, eyes glued to your lap. Gone were the teasing, and gone were the smiles.

“He’ll be fine,” Joel said, his eyes back on the rabbit, “it’s just a cold.”

“Yeah… but he’s been getting sick a lot more often,” your voice was low, like you didn’t want them to hear you upstairs, “you can’t help but think the worst you know?”

Joel put the knife down and moved over to the sink. He quickly washed his hands before grabbing a towel to dry off, twisting it in his hands as he approached you. Placing the towel on the counter, he hesitated for a moment as he watched you, watched the way you twisted your hands in your lap with no sense of purpose or intent. It was like the worry dripped down your body. Pushing off the counter Joel knelt in front of you, a grunt escaped him as his knees clicked loudly, his balance slightly off on his haunches.

“Shit,” Joel huffed out a laugh, and you followed. Your palms landed on his knees to keep him steady, warmth spreading like jolting electricity.

“Sweetheart, I’ll tell you what–” he stopped himself when you looked at him through your lashes, trying to ignore the way your eyes focused on his mouth as he spoke. “’s just a cold, he’ll be up ‘n walkin’ tomorrow– man’s got gumption.”

“Yeah?” your eyes flickered upwards, meeting his.

Suddenly, under your gaze Joel felt brave. His hand moved on its own accord, cupping your cheek in his hand. He let his thumb ghost over your skin, still cold under his fingertips from being outside, but warming under his touch.

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, you only watched him with glimmering eyes, like you were under a spell. Maybe he was too.

“Still,” you sighed, “Would be better if I could pick up more of the slack around here... Arthur does a lot, and I wish I could do more to support them.”

“Like what? You take care of the animals all by yourself– that’s more than enough.”

“Well, I could learn to shoot rabbits,” you told him, before the corners of your mouth pulled into a pleased smirk as he rolled his eyes at you.

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away, making a move to stand when you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

“I’m kidding, Joel,” you smiled, before a more serious look washed over your features. “I mean it’s… It’s gonna be empty here without you,” you said, “I’m starting to really like having you here, Joel.”

Joel turned his hand to rest the back of it on your thigh, your hand fitting in his.

“I uh,” his eyes fixated on your joined hands, then he cleared his throat, “I’ll stay as long as you need me to. I’m not leavin’ you alone, sweetheart.”

Your eyes lit up at his words, smile growing large across your face. Joel’s heart drummed in his chest as your eyes flickered down to his mouth again.

“Thank you,” you said in a low voice, and then you did something Joel thought was gonna make his heart stop beating. You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. It bloomed against his skin, and made wings flutter against the walls of his stomach.

“You’re a good man, Joel Miller,” you whispered before you pulled away, looking at him with kindness in your eyes.

If only you knew, Joel thought, if only you knew the blood on his hands.

He couldn’t look at you when you looked at him like that. Like you believed your own words. So, he cleared his throat awkwardly and stood to his feet, his knees clicking as your hand slipped from his movement. He walked back to the counter, fingers grabbing the towel with no other purpose than to calm himself down.

After placing the towel back where it usually hung, he grabbed the knife again, turning his attention back to the rabbit, allowing himself to steal a few glances at you where you sat looking out the kitchen window.

“Hey, uh,” Joel broke the growing silence after a few minutes, “how ‘bout rabbit stew for lunch?”

Your head snapped to look at him as he spoke, a smile ghosting over your lips as you said, “I’ll go get some vegetables from the cellar.”

Joel wouldn’t necessarily call himself a good cook – he wouldn’t even call himself a cook in the first place. Back before the outbreak he’d been forced to learn the basics as a fresh single dad, but he’d never been able to provide Sarah with gourmet meals very often, and when Sarah had gotten older, he’d been embarrassed to say that her food was always better than his – eggshells and all. One summer he’d bought himself a nice grill– one of those way too expensive gas grills with too many fancy accessories for Joel to regularly use. He’d had a job that ended up paying well, some rich guy’s mansion that needed renovating, and decided to treat himself for once. That summer all their meals had come from that grill, well mostly, and afterwards Joel looked at himself as a pretty good griller, if nothing else.

You on the other hand, you knew what you were doing, it was clear in the effortlessly way you moved beside him as you got the vegetables ready for the stew. Joel seared the meat to the best of his abilities, making sure it was properly browned on both sides before setting it aside. After that, it was clear that you were in charge, and Joel let you boss him around and tell him what to do. It made his heart warm around the edges, watching how you put so much love and care into everything you did.

An hour later you finally sat down to eat; two hearty bowls of stew each as light snowflakes covered the world outside. You’d let the pot simmer on low over the heat as you’d wanted to bring up a bowl for Arthur and Alma later.

“So…” you started, watching as Joel dug into his bowl, “How’s the stew?”

“’s good!” Joel nodded through a mouthful, and he wasn’t lying. It was good, really good in fact.

“Yeah?” you bubbled through a smile, before you dug into your own bowl to see if he’d spoken the truth. He watched as you face brightened as you chewed, nodding your head to confirm his verdict.

“I think I really like rabbit, Joel,” you said through a teasing smile, and Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle from spilling.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, teasing smile not going anywhere, “So… when are you teaching me to shoot?”

“Shut up.”

The living room was quiet, safe for the cracking of the fire. It had almost died out when Joel had stepped out of his room. He’d been twisting and turning again, counting sheep, but nothing had been able to pull him under the blanket of sleep. He was plumb tired too, that was the worst part. The embers hummed with a low light, and with a small stick Joel had spread them out before placing a small piece of wood on top. No less than a minute later the fire fed on the log.

Taking a seat and leaning back in the lounge chair, Joel looked out the window with tired eyes. The moon looked down on him, big and bright, it shone its white light over the barnyard like a spotlight. His thoughts were clouded over as he gazed up. A billion little lights turning into bright spheres in the sky.

On nights like this, Joel felt like he was barely breathing at all.

His thoughts didn’t stray for long before they found you again. Lately, you were always on his mind. He thought about how you’d looked mere hours ago, when he’d sat in this same exact chair, only this time it was facing towards the sofa and not the window.

You’d been sat curled up in the corner, blanket thrown over your lap with a book in hand. You’d told him you’d read all the books in the house already, but it didn’t stop you from coming back to your favorites. Joel had been reading his own book, an old western he’d found in the bookshelf in the upstairs hallway a few days ago. It was entertaining, but not enough to hold his attention. He found his eyes had a mind of their own, slipping over the top to steal a peek at you as you read, feeling a smile tug at his lips at the barely there furrow of concentration between your eyebrows.

“Joel.”

Joel perked up at the whisper of his name, the memories fading like ripples in still water. He looked around the room –nothing. He sat quietly in his chair for a moment, listening, as his heartbeat quickened in his chest. It had been your voice, hadn’t it? Or was he starting to lose it? His eyes fell to the door of your bedroom. He hadn’t noticed it until now, but he could see it was slightly ajar.

“Joel.”

The voice was louder this time, almost strained, but it was yours. A thousand scenarios flashed before his eyes then at your tone. Was there someone in your room? Were you in danger? Seconds later Joel crossed the room, a mix of fear and protectiveness overcoming him.

Leaning up against your door he listened for the intruder as he readied himself. The soft crinkling of your sheets combined with your strained whimpers was all it took for him to push the door open, fearing the worst.

And…

It was empty, your room, you were alone. Joel immediately felt stupid– the only intruder here was him.

He was about to step out, embarrassed at his actions, when he heard it again, his name falling from your lips. It was all Joel needed to finally take in your body, squirming under your sheets, still asleep. The realization of what he’d just walked in on made Joel’s eyes widen.

Laying on your back, the duvet had slipped down your torso from your movements to reveal the thin t-shirt you wore to bed. Like this he could see your perked nipples through the fabric, as your chest quickly rose and fell, making Joel’s imagination start to run wild.

“Joel.”

In his pajama pants, Joel could feel his cock come alive from the soft whimper that left your lips along with his name. He couldn’t move, like some farm elf had glued his feet to the floor while he wasn’t looking. He watched as you scrunched your face together in pleasure, another whimper falling from your lips, and all the blood in Joel’s body rushed down south.

As if the soundwaves from your voice had broken against him, he took a step backwards, and then another, and another until he crossed the threshold of your door. He tried his best to be quiet, to not wake you and have you catch him in your room in the middle of the night.

The image of you squirming under your sheets, dreaming of him, didn’t leave him as he closed the door to his own room. With a sigh his head fell against the door, a strong hand gliding down his front to hover over his aching cock.

Joel Miller was no saint, but what he was doing– what he was about to do, was bad.

“Shit,” he quietly hissed, running his hand up his clothed cock. He hadn’t touched himself properly in a long time, not since he left Boston.

His cock reacted to his touch, growing harder and harder until he couldn’t take it anymore. He hooked his finger around the hem of his pajama pants, pulling them down to the thick of his thigh, freeing himself. He hissed at the cold air hitting his length, as it bopped with the movement of being freed. Bringing his hand to his mouth, Joel spat, before he wrapped his spit-soaked hand around himself.

His mind found you again as he started stroking himself, slowly at first, pumping himself with a practiced hand, squeezing himself at the base before bringing his hand up to thumb at the tip. Joel couldn’t get the way you sounded out of his mind. Couldn’t forget how you were squirming in your bed, dreaming of him. Couldn’t shake the thought of pulling those moans and whimpers from you with his hands, and his mouth, and with his cock.

“Fuck.”

Joel tried to be quiet, but he couldn’t fight the moan from slipping from his lips. Fuck, he wanted you. He wanted his hands all over you. Closing his eyes his mouth dropped open as he imagined what he was dying to do to you.

How much he’d wanted to help you out of your t-shirt, run his hands over your breasts and tease your nipples. Take his time to pull those moans and whimpers from your soft lips as he teased you with kisses down your body, down the valley of your breasts, your tummy, down to you to your–

Another low moan fell from Joel’s lips. He squeezed himself tighter as he jerked himself off, precum pearling at the tip, and slipping down his length, mixing with his spit.

The sound of the slick rhythm of his hand filled his bedroom as he increased the pace of his strokes. He had to bite down on his lip to strangle a groan when thoughts of getting between your legs, spreading them open and getting his mouth on you filled his head. He fantasized about how you’d taste falling apart on his tongue–Fuck, how you’d sound falling apart around his cock.

His eyes fell shut as he fisted himself faster. Joel could feel his orgasm quickly building, coiling tight in his tummy. With his free hand he cupped his balls, and then he couldn’t help but imagine it was you, a picture of you on your knees before him flashed behind his eyelids, your tongue lapping at his balls while your hand pumped his cock.

“Shit.”

With a strained groan, thick ropes of cum spilled over his knuckles and down his length, coating him in his release. His breath came out ragged, as he continued his strokes, milking himself of the rest of his release.

Fuck.

His cock softened in his hand as he calmed down from his high. With a quiet groan he pushed himself off the door, looking around his room for something to clean himself up with.

The guilt of what he’d done washed over him quickly, settling in his chest like a heavy weight. You were so young, and beautiful, and Joel just an old man. He shouldn’t want you like this, shouldn’t want you this much.

Climbing under the covers, Joel couldn’t shake his thoughts of you, of you dreaming about him in your bed, about your smiles, and your touch. A supercut of you rolling like a tape in his minds eye. A supercut of you bundled up under a blanket on the sofa, knitting him his mittens. Of you, your own knitted hat pulled tightly down over your ears as you stepped out into the snow to check on the animals. Of the way you’d looked at him for the first time, with the bucket of apples under your arm, and the sweet taste of them as you’d offered him one later, after dinner.

Finally, Joel could breathe.

next part -> here! i hope someone liked this? if you did a comment, reply or an ask is always welcome and they make me super happy <3 other than that thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[rowdyluv]

“He's been a bit of a jerk”

Summary: quinn suddenly ditches his childhood best friend on new years eve when they have spent every NYE together since they were 6. luke saves the night

Warnings: use of y/n and I think one or two uses of y/n/n, only brief mentions of quinn not actually active in fic but substantial to the plot, like has internal dialogue via italics, if I missed anything please let me know

Word Count: 1.8k

requested: yes - “luke pining after Quinn’s best friends and he finally gets the girl.”

Authors Note: edited as may 31, 2024 - if you read before May 31 the word count is now 800 more than it is was previously 🫣

part 2

On the frost-tipped grass, (Y/N) sat beneath a canopy of stars, her back propped against the rough bark of an old oak tree. A light dusting of snow had settled over the ground, transforming the world into a perfect winter wonderland. She shivered, not necessarily from the cold evening, but from the heart wrenching realization that tonight was supposed to go different. It was New Year's Eve, and every year since they were six, she and her childhood best friend, Quinn had celebrated together. But this year, he had up and ditched her last minute. Just like that. He gave her zero explanation and no apology. He had just vanished into the night with his middle brother, leaving her feeling more alone than ever. Which when he left for the NHL was pretty hard to top, yet he somehow managed to do it when he was only somewhere in the same town. The two barely get to see each other anymore as it is. He lives in Vancouver and she lives in Michigan. Quinn flies her out to a few games a season and of course she attends any Canucks vs Redwings games as well as Canucks vs Devils games. However the time the two have available with one another is so restricted at that time, she may as well be just another fan in the arena.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching through the frosted snow. A warm blanket was draped over her shoulders, and a steaming cup of hot chocolate was pressed into her hands. She looked up, her eyes falling on her best friend’s youngest brother, Luke, as he joined her. She briefly looked over his features, his cheeks were already flushed from the growing colder night, but the smile he gave her was warm and genuine.

"Hey, (Y/N)," he whispered as if they were amongst a huge crowd of people and not alone in an empty yard. His voice still highly audible over the silence of the night. "I came out here for a few reasons but one being because I…” Luke’s words ran out into the night. His right hand pulling off his beanie then he was slipping his fingers through his messy curls. A tell tale sign he was nervous about whatever he was about to say. “I wanted to apologize for what Quinn did to you tonight. He had no right to leave you like that. I don’t know what is going on with him and what would make him decide to leave behind the one person who has been consistent for him that isn’t family. The one person in his life that still sees him as Quinn and not as big shot Quinn..” Luke shoved his beanie back on and sighed. He had been looking up at the night sky watching the night clouds move uncovering the stars. “He has been a bit of a jerk here lately, and I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to stop him."

(Y/N) smiled weakly at the rambling boy next to her. Her gaze slowly drifting back up to the now clear sky and where the stars were twinkling like Christmas lights. "It's fine, really. I mean, it stung a lot at first, but..." Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged halfheartedly. "I'm just glad you were here tonight." The butterflies in Luke’s stomach flapped back to life and were going insane at her last statement. “Who knows Lukey. Maybe we can start our own tradition together this New Year’s.” Luke was watching her body languagefor any signs of a joke before speaking up. “I wouldn’t mind. It would teach Quinn to ditch someone as special as you.” (Y/N) slightly smiled, still looking up at the stars. “Special? No. Just me Luke.” (Y/N) argued, Luke didn’t want to have the silly argument back and forth. He knew just how special she is. Given the chance he would show her too. After all, a girl like her deserves to be treated, loved, and respected the way she treats, loves, and respects everyone else. (Y/N) was the girl has sought after ever since Luke stopped thinking he was supposed to marry his mom when he was older. Luke shook his head and groaned at her words. “One day (Y/N/N). Just you wait, one day you’ll know just how special you truly are.” He tells her before they fell into another comfortable silent state. His words confidently spilled out. (Y/N) turned her head opposite from Luke so he couldn’t see the true smile she was wearing across her face because of him. She also hoped he couldn’t hear her heartbeat as a result of his words.

The silence stretched between them, as she snuggled further into the blanket, (y/n) suddenly became aware that Luke was only wearing a thin jacket as he shivered. She glanced over at him, her eyes meeting his. "Here," she said, pulling the blanket off from around her shoulders. "You can have this. It's getting kind of cold out here." Luke hesitated for a moment, debating on offering to share the blanket. "No, really. It's fine. I'm warm enough." She shot him a glare. “Luke Warren Hughes. I just saw you shiver.” Her tone, at best, was barely strict. He held eye contact waiting for her to continue, he could practically see the gears turning in her mind. “If you won’t take it for yourself, we will share it.” She says wrapping it around him and snuggling into his side. Luke was trying his best to calm the butterflies and his racing heart. While also fighting the mental battle on if he should shoot his shot at midnight.

(Y/N) is the girl I have wanted for years now. She is right here. Cuddling into my side, a couple moves and I could easily be her new year’s kiss. If she hates it? I just play it off as a friendly new year’s kiss. Her and Quinn have been each other’s midnight kiss before, I can play it off as if I’m filling his shoes if she questions me and she’s angry. I can do this. I can do this. I think I can do this?

As midnight was quickly approaching the air was thick with anticipation between the both of them and more people were gathering outside.

The countdowns echoed throughout the night, each one louder than the last.

Fireworks lit up the sky, casting a multitude of colors over everyone. The fireworks also casting iridescent colors across the blanket of snow on the ground. Making a beautiful picturesque scene.

Luke decided it was definitely now or never. He may not have done it 12am but right now under the colorful display of the many fireworks was perfect. He smiled down at (Y/N), feeling a warmth spread through his chest, for the first time the butterflies in his stomach calmed. He leaned in, his breath fanning her cheek. "Happy New Year, (Y/n)." She felt his lips brush against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. That is when he froze up. Her reaction to his lips barely touching her sent his heart racing. He was scared she was going to send him flying into the snow. Her best friend’s baby brother’s lips just touched her. But she didn’t move. She was waiting? Luke quickly finished his well wishes to her before she snapped out of it, "I hope this year brings you everything you wish for." Her breath caught in her throat as he pulled back, their gazes locked.

“Do it Luke. Her eyes are basically screaming, begging for you to.” why do you have to be in my head now jack dear god please shut up.

In a seconds time he was leaning back in, his left hand making its way softly to the back of her head. His fingers interlacing in her hair. (Y/N)’s breaths were slow and deep awaiting Luke’s next move. “Tell me if this isn’t something you want.” Luke swallows down the anxiety he was feeling. Mentally silencing the jack he hears in his head telling him to go for it. “Because once I do this once.. I’m going to want to do this again and again. Everyday for the next foreseeable future.” Luke’s voice was trembling in want, desire, need. All of his feelings rushing to the forefront of his mind. “Shut up and kiss me Luke.” (Y/N) sighed grasping his face pulling him to her.

As their lips touched, the grand finale of the fireworks show was set off. The energy of the grand finale matching the energy sparking off the two of them. Luke and (y/n)’s kiss was hot enough to melt the snow underneath them. The way their mouths moved in perfect harmony. The small nips Luke made against her bottom lip as he pulled away. It left them both wanting more, needing more.

“Remind me to thank my brother for being an ass.” Luke mumbles against her lips before getting lost in another languid kiss. “Lukey let’s go home. It’s the new year, I’m cold and I also want to thank Quinn, because now I know who the better kisser is...well I’ve not kissed Jack.” She pauses and makes a playful gagging noise. “And because it finally got you to make a move.” Luke’s face went more red than it already was where it was tinged from the cold. “That..what?” He was baffled by her admittance . “I had my assumptions. I’m just happy I wasn’t wrong. Now let’s goooo. I wanna go get in bed and get warm.” (Y/N) sent a wink his way.

She was hinting towards cuddling. But with how fast Luke was grabbing up the blankets that they had been sitting on and were wrapped up in, before grabbing her hand and heading to the car…She is pretty sure his mind went a different direction.

“Quinn now owes me $10, he said you didn’t like me.” (Y/N) says once they were in the car and headed down the road. “You two had a bet on if I had a crush on you or not?” Luke laughed while asking. “No we had a bet on if you even liked me as a person. Because you avoided me. He’s going to be so shocked to know that you like-like me.” She clarifies with a giggle when she says ‘like-like’. Luke rolls his eyes at the thought of his older brother being naive enough to believe he didn’t like his best friend. “So back to what you said earlier tonight…Same thing and same place next new year’s?” Luke asks her. She nods with a smile. “New tradition, with you. Starting this year.” (Y/N) confirms with a nod. “Only maybe we hang out inside until right before midnight.” She adds grabbing for Luke’s hand to wrap both of her freezing ones around. The two sat in a comfortable silence stealing quick glances, with smiles plastered across their faces, and glimmers in their eyes the rest of the way to the Hughes home.

[seichira]

is it just me?

itoshi rin is tormented by the lingering ghosts of your tragic breakup. he is cold and he lives with the burden of missing you. he wonders if you are hurting too, or is it just him?

pairing : itoshi rin x reader

content : hurt and comfort. exes to lovers. messy breakup. accusations of cheating (no actual cheating). insecurities. mentions of alcohol. cursing.

it’s one in the morning and rin is surrounded by his friends and acquaintances but still, he feels cold. even with the alcohol in his system that he drank to purposely warm him, it’s cold.

it has been this way for nearly a year now. eleven months and a couple weeks, if anyone is counting. a few days more and it would be the anniversary of your breakup.

the nearer it gets to twelve months without you, the colder it gets. right now, even with the perfectly working heater in one of his teammate’s penthouse, rin shivers.

it’s cold.

he never thought it could be this cold.

rin knows why he feels like this. he knows exactly why he wakes up and goes to bed alone. the reason why his life is dull and empty is not a secret to him—he just won’t acknowledge it.

he refuses to admit to himself that the reason why he has been suffering for the past eleven months of his life is because you’re not here.

how could he admit it? how could he ever address that your absence it what causes his pitiful state, when he brought it upon himself.

it was his fault that you’re not here. he wanted this. well, he had thought that he wanted this.

there is no way he could welcome the thought that he misses you when he was the one who drove you away, right? there is no use.

it’s too late now. all he could do is go out with his teammates on nights like this and pretend as if he wasn’t freezing from the inside out.

“damn, this is so boring,” seishiro sits down beside him on the sofa and rin tenses at the presence of the white-haired boy.

he does not know what to do because among everyone else in this crowded room, you are most connected to nagi seishiro. your best friend. and he has long been your best friend before you and rin even got together.

how is rin supposed to act around the person who is still in your life while he himself isn’t? this man seated next to him knows where you are right now and what you have been doing, while rin has absolutely no idea how you are.

“didn’t think i’d see you here, itoshi,” nagi speaks again. rin hums in acknowledgment, “thought it wouldn’t be so bad to come.”

there is this unspoken understanding between them, that both of them are thinking about you. after all, aside from soccer, all they have in common is their connection to you.

nagi debates whether he should tell you that he saw rin tonight or keep it to himself so as to not instigate negative feelings from you.

rin wonders if he should start asking about you. he decides against it and pretended to busy himself with his cellphone to avoid further conversation with your best friend.

he convinces himself that he does not care. he acts like he doesn’t want to know how you are. he tries to make himself believe that as long as he can fake it, it will somehow be true.

jokes on him, really.

meguru approaches nagi next to him and rin is planning to ignore him like he usually does, but the words that comes out of meguru’s mouth made that utterly impossible.

“nagi! i saw y/n by the bookstore earlier this afternoon, didn’t you ask her to come? i invited her but she said you didn’t mention anythin’ about a party!”

the mere mention of your name makes rin’s heart stop. it has been a very long time since he heard someone mention your name casually around him. now that your name has been dropped, everything comes crashing down on him, and he cannot breathe.

“oh, damn, i’m sorry—“ bachira seems to notice his mistake upon not seeing rin next to nagi. they know not to carelessly throw your name around because at first, it affected his performance. now, it is apparent that you affect him in and out of the game.

“excuse me.”

rin is cold. it’s like ice is running through his veins as he stands up and rushes to leave the suffocating penthouse.

rin runs out to the street and for the first time since he lost you, he names the sinking feeling in his stomach that won’t go away.

for the first time since you walked out the door of your shared apartment, rin finally admits it.

he misses you.

he is longing for you like how the moon misses the sun but never meets it enough. it burns and it is freezing all at the same time because when you were here, he felt nothing but the assurance of your love.

he runs, and runs, and runs. it’s dark and it’s cold, but he runs. he runs in hopes that he could change the past. he runs with the burning desire to correct his faults and take back all the hurt he inflicted on you.

maybe then, you’d be here.

maybe then, it wouldn’t be so cold.

“are you seriously accusing me of that, rin? are you hearing yourself right now?” the hurt was evident in your tone as you watched the love of your life with all of his guards up.

his glares were accusing as if what he saw was an unforgivable betrayal. he had seen you talking to his brother, sae, and rin was quick to act out of pure rage and jealousy.

“you were flirting with my fucking brother!” he spat out, and he knew it was irrational.

he knew he was wrong about and that you would never be able to do that to him, but his years of pent up frustration and hatred towards his brother made it impossible to remember his trust in you.

“and i already told you i wasn’t, rin. i was talking to him. i bumped into him at the coffee shop while i was getting your usual morning drink when he saw me and i sat down for a little chat! that was all, baby. believe me.”

you deserved an award with how well you held up, with how patient you were with him despite his hurtful accusations towards you.

no one else understood him like you did, and you knew to be more patient with him in times like these. you were aware of how his brother affected him and how he just needed someone to stick with him through it.

“well, fuck that! you shouldn’t have been with him in the first place! sae wants everything that i have and now, he’s tryna get you too!”

it almost made you flinch, with his tone rising and his voice getting louder. he is furious, and you try to disregard the sting of his words now that his fury is directed at you.

“i’m sorry, alright? it wasn’t my intention to hurt you, rin. he’s your brother and i thought it would be nice to ask him how he is and—“

rin cut you off like he couldn’t comprehend a word that you were saying. “that’s bullshit and you know it! just fuckin’ tell me the truth! that like everyone and everything else, you’re gonna leave me for him!”

it frustrated you that he blocked all your explanations out. you were growing weary with the accusations thrown at you, but you continued. you continued to reason with him because you knew him. you knew he needed someone to stay. and above all, you tried further because you were in love with him.

you loved rin three years before you finally got together. your two years together made that five. that was five years of your life being deeply in love with someone whom you thought was going to be your husband and the father of your kids.

that amount of time may not be much when viewed through the generations of people who loved each other, but for the both of you, those five years were enough to build a life and create an ideal future with the other.

so, yeah. it never occurred to you to give up in that argument. there was no chance in hell that you would leave him high and dry.

“it’s not like that, rin. i am never going to leave you for anyone, much less for your brother! i need you to listen to me! we talked! that’s it!”

“you’re lying to me. i know it.”

you shake your head in exhaustion. “i talk, and i talk, and i talk—and you don’t hear a thing.” a lone tear falls from your eye without realizing.

his sharp stare does not falter. all he could see was red. the scene of you and sae together replayed over and over again in his mind.

you, the person he loved most, with the person who took everything away from him. it killed him to imagine a future where it is not you and him, but you and sae.

“i’m in love with you. only you. i cannot see myself with anyone else and i thought you knew that, rin. i get that your brother strikes a vein in you but don’t i at least deserve to be heard? we’re better than this.”

“yeah? and i thought you’d be better than acquainting with sae like that. you knew how i felt about him, and you did this? fuck that.”

rin walked out on you that night without another word. it felt like he also walked out on your relationship because he started training more. this meant leaving before you even woke up and going home when you were fast asleep.

during those weeks when rin avoided you like the plague despite living under one roof, you felt completely alone and isolated. you were lonely. he spoke to you in words, and he treated you as if your encounter with sae was enough for him to give it all up.

until one day, he comes home to a living room full of bags and boxes. you were there, waiting for him with a tired smile on your face.

for the first time, rin realized that the black circles under your eyes have grown where they weren’t before. he noticed that you are all cried out and now, you’ve got no tears to shed as you leave him.

“w-what’s all this?”

“i’m leaving. i’m sorry for not getting out of your hair faster. it was really hard to look for another apartment that was within my budget but don’t worry, i figured it out.”

“leaving? leaving me? leaving… this house?” which one is it? or fuck, is it both?

“mhm. i f-figured it’s not healthy for us to live under the same roof after everything. i wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable in your own space just because i’m here, so…”

did you really think he wanted you to leave? he wanted to explain. he wanted to tell you that he only acted that way because he was hurt and he was guilty! you don’t have to leave!

but he’s frozen from where he stood. the sight of all your stuff packed up and ready to go was a little bit too much for him.

you stood from where you were seated among the bags and boxes, and you stop in front of him. again, you smile gracefully, in contrast to the breaking heart that almost killed you.

“and rin? i’m sorry again for what happened with sae. i should’ve known better than to do that to you, and i understand that you don’t want to do anything with me because of that.”

he shook his head but you missed it because you walked past him with some of your bags in your hand. “y/n, no. i—“

you hear it and for a moment, you delude yourself into thinking that he will ask you to stay. but he doesn’t continue.

he stops because how could he ask you to stay after how he treated you? it was his fault for not listening and in the end, it was you who apologized? in what fucking universe do i deserve this angel, huh?

he doesn’t stop you from leaving because in that very moment, the thought of you finally escaping from him and his hurtful treatment towards you didn’t seem so bad.

“so, i guess… i’ll see you around. nagi will be around to grab my remaining stuff, so try not to kill each other, yeah?” you try to play it off cool, mask the fact that inside, everything is falling apart.

rin nods but he stayed with his back facing you. until the end, he did not have the guts to face you. to face what he had done to you and your relationship.

suddenly, everything grew cold. everything lost their color. the empty corners of where your warmth used to be mocked him.

for nearly a year since then, he has lived and suffered with the mistakes he did. he didn’t know what to tell people when they started asking about you. he didn’t know how to ride the train without holding your hand. he didn’t know how to be soaked in the shower without letting his tears flow freely.

he wondered endlessly as he daydreamed of speaking to you again: are you hurting too, or is it just me?

his endless running brings him to your street where you moved when you left him. his feet takes him farther than he expected because this street is on the opposite part of town from your shared apartment, a telltale sign that you tried to get as far away as possible.

evidently, it is not far enough because on your way home from the convenience store, you run into your ex-boyfriend. rin is first to notice your presence, and instead of freezing up like he did when you left, he walks up to you.

“rin?” you are confused and nervous. after all, the last time you had seen him was almost a year ago. you never tried to see him again.

“it hurts.”

the two words he just confessed are two words that he has never said together in a sentence ever in his life. itoshi rin never admits it when something is hurting him. he never tells anyone when he is in pain.

for him to say that now, it is a cry for you to soothe him in a way that only you could, and you know this because you know him better than the back of your hand.

standing a meter away from you underneath a street lamp, itoshi rin confesses his truth.

“it hurts, y/n. it hurts without you. it feels like i can’t breathe. it is so cold without you. it hurts so badly. i thought i could live with it eventually—but i can’t. it only gets worse.”

rin sees your shoulders shake in your attempt to conceal your sobs but you are failing miserably, and so does he. you don’t say anything and rin figures that’s fair.

you already tried to talk. you already told him everything you needed to hear on the night of the fight that ruined your relationship. it’s his turn to tell you everything you deserve to hear.

but he isn’t as good as you when it comes to words. he thinks about how he accused you of cheating on him. he thinks about how he shut you out and left you feeling lonely. he thinks about every day that he could have chased after you but didn’t. he thinks about all of that and he thinks about how he’s sorry.

and he manages to get that last part out, hoping that you would get it. hoping that the deep-rooted connection between the two of you is enough to let you know what he means.

“i’m sorry.”

you drop your groceries to the ground and you close the meter of distance between the two of you. you welcome him in his arms but he wraps his arms around you tighter than you welcomed him, because he is afraid that if he doesn’t, he will lose you again.

“that is all i needed to hear from you, rin. i never wanted much from you. just you and your love. i just needed to know that you still felt that for me, and when i didn’t… i had no other choice to walk away.”

rin nods against your neck and you feel his tears staining your shoulder. “i’m sorry. forgive me, please. i love you. i love you. and i trust you. more than anyone, baby. i promise.”

“you know i could never hurt you like you thought i did—“ you recalled, but rin cuts you off because he can’t bear another second of you defending yourself when you shouldn’t be.

“i know. i know.”

his embrace around you tightens, and he does not care if anyone could look out from their windows and see the soccer star practically begging for you in the middle of the night. not when he is in your arms again after months of only dreaming about it and wishing for it.

“it hurt too much without you too, rin. i had to remind myself that i can’t run to you for warmth. i took everything in me not to throw away my dignity to beg you to bring me back.”

that answers his question.

in his absence, you were hurting too. your separation killed you just like how it killed him.

“no. no—don’t have to beg for it, baby. i should be on my knees to thank you for even taking me back like this because—shit—i swear that i wouldn’t have lasted another day.”

you run your hands through his hair before briefly pulling away to cup his cheek in your hands, and he fondly leans on your touch.

“for the entire year, i thought it was just me who longed for you, rin.”

you couldn’t be any more wrong.

“i begged the stars and the skies for this very moment. it wasn’t just you.”

[daenysx]

Modern!aemond coming back from hard day at office so reader gives him a pamper day to get him back on his feet. I’m talking face masks face gels hair thingies all sorts to make him feel better and babied and he just LOVES IT and demands playfully for this every week

i believe aemond is the type of guy who has a skincare routine but just this once we'll ignore it. i hope you enjoy, thanks for requesting! (also i got a bit emotional instead of playful i'm sorry) <333

modern!aemond targaryen x fem!reader, fluff

"you can lean back just a bit." you say quietly, your hands on his shoulders.

aemond does as you say, settling down on the tub you filled for him. it's much easier to access his long hair now. you wet his shiny blonde strands, the water makes them curling up on his shoulders.

he had a long day, he could barely stay on his feet when he got home. you like taking care of him when he's like this, tired and inevitably soft. you offered to wash his hair for him and he gladly accepted it with a pinch of pinkish color on his cheeks.

aemond has always liked the softness of baths and playing with bubbles since he was a kid. he draws shapes on his arms with foamy water now, with you looking at him from his shoulder. he turns his head to you, your eyes are gentle. it was a bit awkward at first being bare like this in front of you at the beginning of your relationship. the realization of getting used to it feels nice, though. you like every spot of his body. you let him know how much you like him. he trusts you.

you take his shampoo first, start rubbing it on his scalp. his hair is always flawless, you've never seen it messy except the mornings when he's restless enough in bed to put his head on the wrong side. you use a bit water to massage his scalp, fingertips pressing lightly towards his neck. aemond exhales deeply, he tilts his head back.

"does it feel good?" you ask.

"yes." he says quietly, the word flowing out of his lips. "so good."

you keep moving your fingers on his head, especially on the spots where you get a reaction from him. he tries to enjoy the moment of silence, your company has always been peaceful but now it feels like you belong to him, and only him. no other distraction, he has your full attention, and he loves the feeling.

your wrists get a bit tired from doing the same thing for a few minutes. aemond angles his head enough to help you rinse the shampoo. when his hair is clean, you reach for the conditioner. it needs to sit for two minutes so you decide to use the leftover foam from shampoo to rub his shoulders.

"you're so tense these days." you say, applying some gentle pressure on a tight muscle. "i wish you could relax a bit."

when he moves, a cracking sound leaves his neck. "i'm relaxed right now." he whispers. "relaxed when i'm with you."

you massage his shoulders until your wrists go numb. rinsing the conditioner, his hair is shiny and wet. aemond forces his eye to open to turn his head to the side. he kisses your hand on his shoulder, leans his face on it for a second.

"i can do the rest." he says. "thank you, sweetheart."

you kiss his shoulder nicely. "anytime."

leaving him alone in the bathroom to clean himself up, you go to kitchen. aemond doesn't like eating so late at night but he likes the herbal tea you got him recently. it helps him sleep better, he says. you prepare the tea for him and a cup of your favorite for yourself.

he looks much better when he meets you in the living room. you gesture him to lay on your lap until his tea gets a bit colder. he puts his head on your thighs.

"i got something for you." you say, showing him the skincare essentials you got him from your side of the bathroom shelf.

"what's that?" he asks, interested in the white bottle.

"that's an under eye cream for circles and puffiness." you show him the cream. "and this is a serum for hydration."

"and this?"

"it's a night cream for your face. moisturises really well."

"you'll apply them on my face?" he asks, his look is unpredictable.

"if you want, yes." you reply, with a smile. "they always help me with the tension on my face, you know, rubbing them with my fingers. i think you'll like the feeling."

"please." he says, giving you the bottle he has in his hand.

you apply the creams and the serum in an order you use for yourself. you're careful with aemond's scar, spreading the productions gently. he closes his eye, the lines on his forehead and the corners of his mouth get loose as you massage lightly on them. you kiss his forehead when you're done.

"your tea gets cold, my love." you whisper. he doesn't open his eye at first.

he reaches for your hand slowly, kisses the back of it and your palm. "no one's ever taken care of me like you do." he says. "thank you."

you don't want him to get upset. "i'm happy you let me take care of you. i'll always do that anytime you want. just like you take care of me."

"always." he promises. he accidentally falls asleep on your lap without drinking his tea.

[t0yac1d]

Attention (C.Grimes x Fem!Reader)

Request: hi! I had a request in mind with Carl grimes where like the f! reader is being a brat because they haven’t had sex in a while and she’s starting to become really pent up so she starts acting up and stuff and Carl yk deals with her. And it involves stuff like degradation, oral(f receiving), overstimulation. And then include some aftercare afterwards where he’s all like lovey dovey and shit.

Btw no worries if you can’t write this anytime soon! 🫶🏻

Word Count: 2,017

Warnings: Smut, bratty/mean!Reader, jealous/mean!Carl, some degrading but lots of mean!Carl, biting, teasing, oral (fem receiving), overstimulation, aftercare

Notes: Idk loves, I think I like having mean!Carl around. Also, I am so fucking sorry for getting this out extremely late, it won't happen again!

You've never been one to act out. Never been one to be impatient over something so small. Never been one to cause a problem that could've very easily been solved if talked about. But as they say, there's always, always, always, a first for everything.

It's been a little while since you and Carl have done anything intimate. Whether it had been holding hands, cuddling, kissing, or even just sex. You're aware of the huge ongoing and dangerous situation that's going on. The world has gone to shit, and it has been like that for years. So, you know that you can't always live that perfect and peaceful life you dreamed. But you just missed your boy's touch, his smell and presence so much that it started to get to you.

You lacked attention from him, he'd give you a glance and a smile when he could but other than that, you've been sleeping in an empty and cold bed.

It started a couple of weeks ago, your tone and mood shifted whenever you spoke to him. You acted colder to him than to anyone else. He had wondered if he did something to upset his girl, but before he had the chance to ask his dad called him over for help, and since then he had forgotten about it.

You then started getting a little too touchy with some of the guys, especially Ron. That made Carl feel something within, something he hasn't felt before. You've always talked to Ron, you guys were pretty close, but for some reason he felt as if right at that moment there was something else happening that wasn't friend-like.

You've tried almost every way to get Carl to react to you, including flirting with Ron to see if he'd grab you and take you to his room so you could finally feel his touch after so long. But it all failed. You were so close to giving up when you got an idea that wasn't exactly the best.

But if it gave you the possibility to be touched in anyway by your boyfriend, you'd take it.

Carl was in his room, getting dressed to go out on a run. This was your chance to:

A. Have a peaceful conversation and talk to him

Or

B. Make him feel what he unintentionally made you feel

You made sure to wear the hottest and sluttiest outfit you owned. A very short and tight shirt that showed a beautiful amount of cleavage and the miniest skirt you had in your wardrobe. But it was perfect for the weather, as it was a heat wave. So, in your defense, it was the only outfit that kept you cool in this heat!

Before you walked in the room you gave a knock on the door and announced it was you. When you got the green light to come in, you opened the door and closed it behind you.

You made your way to his full body mirror, not saying a word to him as you fixed your hair, face, and just checked yourself out while checking him out in the mirror at the same time.

"What? No 'Hi'?" he joked, walking to you, and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him.

If you weren't so upset with how he treated you these past couple of weeks, you would've leaned into his touch and sighed with content, inhaled his scent and enjoy his presence while you had him.

But you kept your composure. You stood your ground and resisted the feeling.

"Hi, Carl." you muttered, focusing on your figure more than his, you knew if you continued to glance his way you'd pounce on him.

"Hi baby," he smiled, leaning in to give your cheek a kiss. When he did you wiped it off with the back of your hand and sighed, "Don't do that, you'll ruin the blush."

Carl's face twisted in confusion, you've never cared when he kissed your face before, whether there was makeup or not. "Sorry," he apologized.

"Sure, how do I look?" you questioned, crossing your arms, making your tits push together and almost spill out of your tiny top. "Beautiful as always. Are you coming with me?" he asked. "No, I'm heading to Ron's."

Carl felt a pang in his heart and gut.

"Why?" he asked, curiosity taking over him.

"To be fucked and stuffed my love." you smiled.

You didn't even get the chance to walk to the door when Carl hooked two of fingers around the belt loop of your shorts and pulled you towards him, your back hitting his chest.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"What?" you asked, tilting your head.

"I must've heard your pretty mouth wrong. Why are you going to Ron's?"

"To be fucked and stuffed." You repeated, looking up at him, "Don't you have somewhere important to be? Like leaving me again for the fourth week in the row?"

The cogs in Carl's head turned and a lightbulb went off, "You're acting like this because I've been busy?"

"No, I'm acting like this because I'm practically in a relationship by myself."

"So, you dress like a whore and tell me you're going to get fucked by your friend? You're funny." he chuckled, turning you so your body would face him.

"I'm not joking. If you won't fuck me, I'll just go to someone who will. Someone who I know would fuck me better than-"

Carl grabbed your jaw and forced you to shut your mouth, "What was that? I couldn't hear you; can you say that again for me?"

You whimpered, hands tugging at the hem of his shirt.

"Get on the bed and lay on your back." he said as he let go of your face.

"And if I don't?" you teased, your lips getting closer to his, ghosting over them. "Get the fuck on the bed, bitch."

You giggled and lied down on the bed, he wished he could be mad at you for saying those things. But he can't. He just can't.

You look too beautiful and dreamy with the way you were splayed out on his bed.

"This is funny to you sweetheart?" he asked, hovering over you, kissing your neck and leaving bite marks over the skin. "Just a little," you sighed.

Carl hummed and made his way down to your shorts. He unbuttoned them and pulled them down. He kissed the inside of your thigh and softly bit them.

You were soaked, you just knew there was a wet patch on the middle of your panties from how desperate you were for Carl. He looked up at the wet spot and smirked, "I haven't even started yet, and you're already soaked."

"Not for you, that's for sure." you said, crossing your arms. "Not for me?" he asked.

"No. Not for you."

He hummed at your response and his fingers grazed against your clothed cunt. Your body shivered at his touch, and you sucked in a breath.

He toyed with your clit through your panties and lightly touched it.

He slid your panties to the side and teased your aching, begging, wet hole with a finger.

He moved his hand back and got off of the bed. "What are you doing?" you asked, "Well, you're not wet for me, right? You're wet for him."

"You can go to him to cum." he smiled.

Well, this didn't go as planned. He was supposed to deal with you, but he's just, leaving?

"So, you're leaving your girlfriend here?" you asked, "No, I'm leaving a brat here. Tell my girlfriend I'll be back."

"Your girlfriend is gonna be fucking another guy on your bed." you mumbled, Carl scoffed and turned back to you. He spread your legs and pulled your panties off of your body.

He pushed your legs up to your chest and dipped head low.

You felt his tongue lick and lap at your folds and juices. Drinking you and tasting your essence. You were so horny and pent up from the lack of sex that you didn't need much to cum. His tongue alone was doing the job.

Your whines and moans grew louder and louder, you were so close to cumming on his tongue. Your mind was foggy and empty, the only thing in that head of yours was that you got what you've been missing.

Your moans began to break as you felt yourself about to cum, that's when you felt Carl's tongue leave from between your legs.

"Apologize." he said, "W-What," you stuttered, "Apologize for the things you said."

"Um, I'm s-sorry,"

"Say it like you mean it."

He pushed his knee close to your pussy, the friction making your toes curl.

"I do mean it!" you cried out,

Carl didn't really believe you; he didn't believe you meant it but that's fine. He'll just get it out of you.

He spread your legs once more and dipped his head between your thighs and kept your legs on his shoulders. He shoved two fingers and his tongue in your hole and curled them.

You came all over his tongue and fingers, panting and wiping sweat off of your forehead.

You thought that was all until Carl cleaned his fingers and dove back in. Your hand flew to his head, you were so sensitive right now. You were always sensitive after you came, and Carl knew that he also wanted to take advantage of that.

Again, it didn't take much for you to cum, but each time you did he would just go back in. He wouldn't give you a break and you started to feel tears fall down your face from the stimulation.

"Apologize and this will be the last one. If I don't believe you, we'll just keep going."

He's been repeating that over and over and over again. You've apologized more than you can count on both hands.

"I didn't mean it! I didn't mean when I said I was going to fuck Ron! I-I didn't mean it when I said he was better!" your whines broke your sentence up so much, you sounded so pretty, and looked so slutty.

So messy.

Your hair clung to your skin, your mascara ran down your face and you were shining with a coat of sweat. Your skin was hot, and your cheeks were flushed. You were a mess. And it was all because of him.

You felt Carl smile and he made you cum one last time before kissing up your sweaty legs, stomach, chest, neck and face. "You want anything? Water or a snack?" he asked, "Water.." you said, your voice not even above a whisper.

Carl left his room to grab a cup of water and some snacks. He gave you the water as he went to run a cool bath for you. He came back to his room and picked you up bridal style. "Can't wait to carry you up like this through the threshold." he chuckled sweetly.

He sat you down on the tub and helped you take your shirt off and wiped your makeup off for you.

"Get in, let me clean you." he softly spoke. His tone was different from before, guess he just matched the energy you were giving him before.

You sat in the tub as Carl lathered your body in soap and cleaned you off. He was so sweet to you. He wouldn't hurt you, not on accident, never on purpose. "I'm sorry for the way I acted." you spoke up, breaking the silence.

"It's okay love. You were just upset that I haven't been treating you like my girlfriend and I understand that. But say shit like fucking Ron again and I'm beating him and fucking you like a whore."

You smiled and giggled at his words, "You'd like that," he said, shaking his head, "I would."

"Freak." he joked.

It was times like these that made you remember that he in fact did love you. Even when you acted out and got moody, he still loved you and cared for you deeply.

[robin-evry]

Hiiiiiii !!!! Could I please ask for half-flower (rose) yuu? ♡

Sure thing, ask and you shall receive

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐔𝐔 𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 / 𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐏𝐇 🌹🥀

A nymph (Ancient Greek: νύμφη, romanized: nýmphē; Attic Greek: [nýmpʰɛː]; sometimes spelled nymphe) is a minor female nature deity in ancient Greek folklore. Distinct from other Greek goddesses, nymphs are generally regarded as personifications of nature; they are typically tied to a specific place, landform, or tree, and are usually depicted as maidens.

I know this isn't what you ask for, but I decided to modify it a little to have a little background, I chose nymph due to them being a personification of nature, so this yuu will be a nymph that is the personification of the flower rose

( English is not my first language )

Yuu's appearance is deeply tied to the rose motif. They have half of their body adorned with intricate rose patterns, where thorny vines twist elegantly along with their skin, possibly wrapping around their arms and legs.

They are calm and nurturing like a flower in full bloom, but if someone harms those they care about, they reveal her "thorny" side, becoming sharp-tongued and quick to defend themselve and others.

They are the embodiment of the rose—elegant, serene, and welcoming to those who approach them with kindness. They value harmony, often seeking to create peace among those around them, much like how a rose beautifies its surroundings. However, like the thorned stem of the flower, they have a sharp edge. They are fiercely protective of their friends and can be quite intimidating when someone threatens them.

When they walk past the surroundings with plants, flowers or roses start to bloom out of nowhere since they have a connection to nature. Become NRC affocial gardener

Regardless they are actually very good at gardening, when Crowley was visiting ramshackle he saw that ramshackle is like a green house rich with beautiful plants, instead of a run down shack it looks like a rich and bountiful house that are filled with flowers around it making it beautiful. Soon they were hired to be a gardener including a paycheck for them.

And it did not disappoint, the school became a lot more popular, the school has become a much nicer place than RSA, the film research club usually films scenes that takes place in forest or an area field with flowers in exchange of not damaging the flowers, even some famous brands, photographer etc do their photo or filming in NRC, Crowley managed to double the amount the his getting but 80% of the money was given to yuu.

During some time epel ask half flower!yuu to help him with the trees in his village, since their grandparents have apple trees and it been getting hard to maintain. As well to use their natural ability to turn dead trees into flourishing apple trees.

Each winter, they're powers and energy slowly begin to dwindle as the weather turns colder. Much like how roses enter dormancy during the winter season, they also withdraw from their usual lively state. Their body and magic are tied to nature, so they require this period of rest to rejuvenate their powers. During hibernation, the rose vines that adorn their body recede slightly.

This hibernation period usually lasts from late fall until the first signs of spring. During this time, their personality becomes quieter, more introspective. They tend to avoid conflict, conserving their energy by staying indoors and using her magic sparingly. However, even in this dormant state, their thorns remain sharp, ready to defend themselves and others if necessary.

Since they're connected to plants and nature, they have the ability to manipulate any plant similar to poison ivy powers but the drawback they are unable to create plants, only be able to only existing resources.

Example : during the savanaclaw arc, they were unable to manipulate plants due to the lack of plants or nature in the area. So they carried a sack of seeds In case of this situation.

They're floral pheromones can calm, soothe, or subtly influence others. At NRC, they uses this ability carefully, often to de-escalate conflicts before they spiral out of control. In dangerous situations, they can amplify the effect to create an overwhelming sense of peace, putting their opponents into a dazed or passive state.

In ramshackle, there's a small garden filled with rare flowers, and some students found half flower!yuu tending the flowers during their free time and if any students pluck their flowers without permission or destroy it, they will dangle by the leg upside down for half an hour.

Their dorm room is a sanctuary of its own, filled with potted plants, vines, and roses that respond to their presence. It has a calming atmosphere, with the faint scent of roses always lingering in the air. Friends often visit their room for peace and quiet when the chaos of NRC becomes overwhelming, knowing that their plants will offer comfort and protection. They've become known for her green thumb, and their room is a hidden oasis amid the more chaotic, dark environment of the school.

They are also knowledgeable about biology on plants. During their free time if a student manages to come in contact with their dangerous plants, they will create an antitude for the situation. They are also excellent pharmacists.

Classes like potionolgy are extremely easy for them, one of Mr crewel star pupal. Some students seek for them for their guidance on the subject

Them and Vil share an appreciation for beauty and elegance. Vil respects their natural grace and sees her as a symbol of refined strength. They bond over skincare, fashion, and the art of presentation, though Vil sometimes wishes they would embrace a more high-maintenance beauty routine. meanwhile, they enjoy Vil's dedication to perfection but reminds him that even roses have imperfections that make them unique.

Also they usually have a sun bath, they will lay in the ramshackle ground wearing a sun glass and enjoy the sunlight.

They are also to be described as very confident and brash by people, described by people as their thorn side even tho that people said this side is ugly, half-flower!yuu would ignore them due to them loving both sides of themselves and always be true to themselves.

Even tho people see them as a kind and brash person, they are also very judgemental immediately judging people's fashion sense, during their first meeting with ace, in their head they are judging his uniform and hairstyle. They also had a very sharp tongue immediately roasting the first years during their first meeting.

[weemssapphic]

Could I request a fluff fic for Miranda :0?

Maybe the weathers getting colder, cuffing szn etc Miranda falls for one of her neighbors who keeps bringing her baked goods, she’s unaware that said neighbor likes her!!! (unaware queen). Literally anything cute and sweet to get me thru the treacherous winter of Northern Europe HAHA

A/N: Hello! Sooooo a. this became a bit more of a Christmas fic than a winter fic, I hope that's okay, and b. I also failed to finish it before Christmas as I had originally planned 🥴 buuut I do hope you enjoy anyway! HUGE shoutout to @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze and @agathaandgwenslesbian for beta'ing and hyping me up to post this, I love you both 🥺💖

Merry Christmas, Baby

Words: ~6.3k | ao3 link in title Warnings: mentions of alcohol/drinking, cigarettes/smoking

You’ve been living in your new apartment for about three months now, after leaving home and moving all the way to Australia for work. You like to think you’ve settled in well: you’re starting to get into a routine, you’ve managed to decorate most of your apartment and make it feel like home, Sydney isn’t as daunting as it was in the beginning - you were even able to give a tourist directions the other day.

The only thing missing is, well, friends. You get along well enough with your coworkers, they’ve been welcoming and have even started to invite you out. But more weekends than not you find yourself exploring the city on your own or hanging out on your couch with takeout, watching Netflix and thinking about your friends back home. You try to FaceTime them as often as you can, but the time difference makes it hard, and sometimes it makes you sad to ‘see’ them and know you can’t just meet up like you used to.

To stave off some of the loneliness you’ve been feeling, you’ve spent the past few weeks attempting to meet more people - and one person in particular has caught your eye: your neighbor, Miranda. You met her in the hallway during your first week in the building - she’d come up the stairs as you were fumbling with your keys, struggling a bit as your arms were full of groceries. She’d immediately offered to help, her eyes wide and her smile bright as she’d rushed over to you and grabbed the grocery bags right out of your hands. The way she looked down at you, watching your every move with great interest as you unlocked your door, brought a flush to your cheeks that only got worse during the subsequent small talk. 

Your interactions since then have been a bit sparse - you keep hoping you’ll catch a glimpse of her in the hallway, but you rarely do. Sometimes you’ll hear her apartment door fall shut late at night as you’re falling asleep, or you’ll hear her footsteps on the stairs early in the morning while you’re still getting ready - wherever she works, she seems to have irregular shifts.

~~~

It’s a Sunday evening and you’re spending it alone (again). When your friend back home had canceled your scheduled FaceTime call at the last minute, you’d decided to distract yourself by baking. As you put together the ingredients for blueberry muffins, you find your mind wandering to your tall, blonde neighbor - wondering what it is she does for work, where she’s from (you thought you caught a British accent but you weren’t sure anymore), whether or not she’s seeing anyone…

The sound of the timer pulls you out of your thoughts and you turn off the oven and pull the muffin tray out, setting it on the counter. Your heart sinks when you realize there’s no way you’re going to finish them all by yourself. You suppose you could bring some to work… You bite your lip, your brow furrowing as you stare down the baked goods. Perhaps you could bring Miranda some? Butterflies erupt in your tummy when you picture her opening her front door, her lips stretching into a smile that reaches her bright blue eyes. Perhaps she would invite you in, perhaps the two of you would spend the evening on her couch, getting closer by the hour as you get to know one another. Perhaps…

You shake your head, trying not to get ahead of yourself. You’ll just stop by with a few muffins and see what happens. Maybe she’ll be busy. Or she won’t even be home and you’ll be forced to leave them next to her door. 

After preparing a small basket of baked goods and changing from your rattiest sweatpants into a pair of jeans, you slip out of your apartment and cross the hall. Your heart begins to pound, your hands turning clammy as you bring your fist up to Miranda’s door. After a brief moment’s hesitation and a deep breath, you knock.

At first, you’re met with silence - your heart sinks a bit, and you try to ignore the little pang of disappointment that begins to creep up on you. But just as you’re about to turn around, you hear a shuffling behind the door. It opens just a crack - you hear an “Oh!” - and then it swings open fully, revealing Miranda in a navy bathrobe. Her hair is wet, slicked back - one strand falls over her eyebrow and she pushes it back, a smile growing on her lips as she looks down at you.

“Hello,” she says, sounding a little breathless. You feel yourself flush as you realize you must have caught her just out of the shower - perhaps it took her so long to answer the door because she wasn’t dressed yet, and the thought makes you slightly dizzy.

“Hi.” You can’t help but gawk a bit, and the thought of just dropping the muffins at her feet and leaving before you can make a fool of yourself briefly crosses your mind.

Her brows furrow slightly and so do yours, before you realize that you should probably say something else.

“I just wanted to…” You gesture vaguely at the basket you’re holding. “If this is a bad time, I can come back later,” you manage to stutter out, focusing all your efforts on keeping your eyes on her face.

“Oh, you’re alright,” Miranda says, craning her neck a bit to catch a glimpse at what you’re holding. “Are those muffins?”

“Yeah. For you.” You thrust your arms out, holding the basket towards her. Her eyes widen, darting between you and the basket as she takes it from you.

Her entire face seems to light up with excitement - she looks positively giddy. “Did you make these?”

“Yes! Yeah. I like baking. And I made too many. So I thought I would see if you want some.”

The smile that’s broken out across Miranda’s face is one you wish you could save and put in your pocket to look at on your worst days. It lights up her entire face, making her eyes sparkle and her nose crinkle - it’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen. You’re so distracted by it that you nearly miss her next words.

“Would you like to come in? I was going to make some tea.”

“Sure.”

You blush as Miranda steps aside, allowing you to step over the threshold of her apartment. She shuts the door behind you then walks past you into her kitchen. Even the way she walks is attractive to you - the mesmerizing sway of her hips, the way she pushes her shoulders back and swings her arms, her long strides. Taking a deep breath, you follow her and lean against the door frame, watching as she sets down the muffins on the counter and puts on the electric kettle. 

“I didn’t know if you’d be home,” you say, breaking the silence. You’re a bit embarrassed that your voice comes out hoarse, and you clear your throat. “I don’t see you around much. Do you do shift work?”

Miranda glances back at you as she rummages through the cupboards for two mugs. She smiles softly. “Sort of. I’ve been on call a lot lately.”

“Oh.” You cock your head to the side. “What do you do?”

“I’m, uh, a police constable.”

Your eyes widen as you process the information. It makes sense, you realize - and then you feel your mouth go dry as you picture Miranda in a police uniform.

“What do you do?”

Her question breaks you out of your trance, and you can feel your cheeks turn red. “Oh, um, that’s… I work in accounting.” You swallow back your embarrassment at having a “boring” desk job, your eyes darting around Miranda’s kitchen - anything to avoid meeting her gaze. 

“Steady work then,” she says - you can hear the smile in her voice and you dare to steal a glance at her face. Her expression is soft, completely at ease, and you can’t help but feel your shoulders relax a little. “How come you moved to Sydney? Did you move here for a guy?”

A sound between a snort and a chuckle escapes your lips and you quickly look away again. “Nope.” You want to say that you’re more into women, but you get nervous and something stops you. “I just needed a change of scenery. I figured moving to an English-speaking country would be easiest, and I thought the weather here would be nicer than in the UK.”

Miranda laughs a full-belly laugh, throwing her head back. “I’m from the UK, you know.”

“Tell me I’m wrong then,” you tease with a grin.

Her eyes flicker briefly over your form, an amused grin on her face. “You’re… you’re not wrong.” She ducks her head in surrender - then the kettle goes off and she turns to busy herself with preparing the tea. 

“So why did you move to Sydney then?”

“My boyfriend at the time was Australian.” Miranda hands you one of the mugs, then leans back against the counter, taking a sip of her own tea and observing you carefully. You try not to let on to the way that your stomach sinks when you hear the word “boyfriend” - it doesn’t mean she’s straight, you remind yourself (and besides, even if she did like women - it doesn’t mean she’d like you). You nod and hum in acknowledgment, hoping to come off as casual and unaffected as you sip your tea.

Miranda sets down her mug and reaches over the small kitchen table to grab a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Once again you find yourself mesmerized as long, slender fingers pull a cigarette out of the pack, placing it between her pale lips as she lights it. 

For a moment, she seems unaware of your presence - she takes a deep drag from the cigarette, her fingers playing with the lighter as she exhales a cloud of smoke. Then her eyes fall to your face and widen slightly. “Oh, God, sorry. Do you mind?” 

You shake your head - it’s not your apartment so it’s not like you have a say anyway, and, if you’re honest, you find it a bit hot. “Go ahead, it’s your apartment.”

She shoots you a grateful smile and takes another drag from the cigarette. “You want one?”

You nod and she tosses you the pack. Once you’ve plucked a cigarette from it, she steps towards you. “Here, let me,” she says, moving to light it for you as her own cigarette dangles from between her lips. She gets closer than would probably be necessary and her proximity makes you feel a little faint - you can smell the shampoo in her still-damp hair, and the smoke on her breath. Your eyes are trained on the lighter - when the flame goes out, you glance up, only to be met with the brightest blue eyes you’ve ever seen. They’re even lighter than you initially thought and her gaze is intense - it’s slightly overwhelming.

“Thanks,” you whisper hoarsely, forcing yourself to blink and take a step back. Miranda’s eyes are fixed curiously on your face as she plucks her cigarette from between her lips. She tilts her head, her lips parting into a smile.

“What?” There’s a playful edge to her voice and her eyes sparkle with mischief. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You freeze, your cheeks turning pink. “Like what?”

“You find me intimidating, don’t you?” You open your mouth to argue but she cuts you off, gesturing down the length of her body. “It’s my height, isn’t it? I get that a lot.”

“It’s not- I mean…” You shrug lamely, taking a sip of your tea to give yourself a moment to think. “It’s not you, I’ve just had a long day. A long few months, actually.” Okay, so you’re deflecting - but it feels way too nice just to bask in Miranda’s presence, and you don’t want it to end so soon by making things awkward.

Miranda’s face softens in an instant, little creases appearing between her brows. “From the move? It can be so hard to uproot your life like that.”

It’s a phrase you’ve heard before - people trying to sympathize with you, looking for something meaningful to say. But with Miranda, it feels different. With the way she’s looking at you, it feels like she truly understands. 

~~~

In the past few weeks you’ve gotten into the habit of bringing Miranda baked goods - always on the pretext of having made extras for work and other neighbors (though you never have any intention of giving them to anyone except Miranda). It’s more than worth the hours spent in the kitchen to see the smile that lights up her face when she answers the door. Sometimes she invites you in for tea and a cigarette, sometimes there’s only time for a bit of small talk before one of you needs to get going - but each time, butterflies erupt in your belly and you find yourself wishing you were brave enough to make a move. 

What you don’t know is that Miranda finds herself wishing the same thing. Sure, she loves everything you make her (nothing you’ve ever baked her has lasted more than 2 days at most), but the real reason her face breaks into a splitting grin when she answers the door is because it’s you who’s standing there.

Miranda can’t get enough of you - you’re easy to talk to, you make her laugh, you seem to take her as she is. And you’re damn beautiful. The most exciting part of her week is wondering on which evening you’ll come by unannounced after work, and she finds herself praying she’ll have the time to talk to you.

One such evening, you’ve come over with a tray of red velvet cupcakes - decorated with festive little Christmas tree sprinkles. Miranda’s just gotten off a shift and has the evening off, and she’s never been more grateful as she leads you into her kitchen and turns on the kettle. You make yourself right at home, settling on a kitchen chair and tucking your legs underneath you as you reach for the pack of cigarettes on the table - it’s almost become a routine now, and you look like you belong there. Miranda likes that thought more than she’d care to admit.

Still, despite how often you’ve come by lately, she feels there’s still some sort of barrier between the two of you. Your conversations are the best part of her week, yet they tend to feel a bit… shallow. She’s desperate to get to know you better but she’s holding herself back - the fear of driving you away, of being too much for you to handle, causes her to freeze up. You’re just being nice, trying to make new friends in Australia, and here she is, falling for you one red velvet cupcake at a time.

“Mir?” Your voice pulls her out of her thoughts and she looks at you like a deer caught in headlights. She tries desperately to remember what you were talking to her about, but she realizes quickly that her efforts are futile - she was too busy admiring the lock of hair falling across your cheek, the way you ran your fingers through your hair to push it back. 

“Sorry.” She offers you a sheepish smile, her cheeks slowly turning scarlet.

You smile back, and her heart skips a beat. “I asked if you’re staying in Sydney for Christmas or if you’re going back to London?”

“I’m staying here. I work on Christmas, so…” She frowns slightly - she hasn’t gone home for Christmas in a few years. Usually, she works and spends her off-hours curled up in bed watching Christmassy rom-coms by herself. She’s gotten used to it. “Are you? Going home for Christmas?”

“Nah. I blew all my savings in the move, can’t afford the plane ticket.” Something about the way you shrug your shoulders, your gaze dropping to the floor, tells Miranda that your nonchalance is a front.

“Would you like to come over?” Miranda, what are you saying? “We could cook something and watch a movie together.” Miranda, shut up! “Maybe you could sleep over and we could keep each other company.” Oh, great, now you’ve done it! Miranda’s eyes widen as she realizes what she’s saying, but she can’t take it back now - and, to be honest, she doesn’t want to take it back. Her heart hammers wildly against her ribcage as she waits for you to reply. It only takes you seconds, really, but those few seconds might as well be hours as time slows and Miranda begins to find it hard to breathe.

“Oh, it’s fine, you don’t have to take me in! I’ll be okay, I wouldn’t want to impose.” Your words come out in a rush and your cheeks are turning pink - Miranda’s heart starts to sink and she scrambles to find the right words to save the conversation.

“You wouldn’t be imposing, I’d have just had a few beers by myself after work anyway.” She chuckles nervously, before adding, “I could use the company.”

She quickly looks away from you, finding the brief moment of vulnerability too much to handle - she couldn’t bear to see the look in your eyes at the moment, certainly one of pity or judgment. 

“Oh… Well in that case, I’d love to spend Christmas with you. If that’s okay.”

Miranda’s eyes widen and she glances over at you to see you smiling shyly - her heart stutters in her chest and she feels her stomach flip pleasantly. She lets out a shaky breath, unable to stop the wide smile that’s creeping up her face. “Okay then.”

~~~

Ever since that evening in Miranda’s apartment, you’ve been buzzing with excitement. She’d ended up giving you her number so that you could plan when to come over, and it’s taken all of your restraint not to bug her every waking second - you wouldn’t want her getting sick of you and regretting inviting you over. 

But as Christmas is just a few days away, you decide to shoot her a text as you’re lying in bed at night.

Y/N: Hey there, it’s Y/N! I just wanted to ask what time you wanted me to come over on Christmas? :) 

You toss your phone aside, not expecting Miranda to text back anytime soon - it’s already late, after all. When your screen lights up moments later, however, your heart begins to pound.

Miranda: Hey! Miranda: I work until 4 Miranda: So evening I would say

Y/N: How does 6 sound? Is that too early?

Miranda: That sounds perfect :) 

Y/N: Great! Should I bring anything?

Miranda: Just yourself ;) Miranda: Wait Miranda: Actually Miranda: Do you remember the cookies you brought me last week?

Y/N: What, am I not enough for you? ;)  Y/N: (I’ll make some more)

Miranda: Are you sure?

Y/N: Absolutely!! Anything for my favorite neighbor.

Miranda: You’re too good to me

By the time you’re done texting her, you’re grinning down at your phone like an idiot. The screen goes black and you catch sight of your reflection - you blush and bury your head in your pillow. For the first time since you moved, you’re actually starting to get excited for Christmas.

~~~

Three days later you’re wrapping up a pair of Christmas pajamas (red, covered in little white snowflakes - you have a matching pair) to give to Miranda - you want to give her something for Christmas, but you don’t know her all that well yet to get her something personal. Still, you think (or at least, you hope) she’ll find the pajamas silly and fun.

Armed with the gift, a huge tupperware box full of candy cane cookies, your keys, and your phone, you pad across the hall and knock gently on Miranda’s door. You hear her muffled voice yell “coming”, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps, before the door swings open. Miranda’s eyes flick briefly down your body, over the wrapped gift and the cookies, before she finally meets your gaze. She’s slightly out of breath, and her lips curl up into a smile that meets her eyes. What you would give to kiss those lips… 

“Merry Christmas,” you say, smiling back and forcing your eyes to remain trained on her own.

“Right! Merry Christmas!” You could swear you see Miranda’s cheeks turn pink, but before you have time to question it she’s ushering you into her apartment, her hand coming to rest on your lower back as she steers you towards the kitchen. “I did some food shopping the other day. I wasn’t sure what you’d want to eat, I’m not usually big on holiday foods and I didn’t have time to prepare anything because of work.”

Miranda’s rambling has you swooning - you can tell she’s nervous, though you aren’t sure why. If only she knew you’d happily eat frozen pizza or cereal for Christmas dinner, as long as you get to spend it with her. 

“It’s fine, I don’t care much about Christmas dinner, we can eat anything.” You hope that you’re coming off as reassuring, though you can’t really tell as Miranda blushes again and lights up a cigarette.

“Maybe a curry?” she asks, chewing at her bottom lip.

“Yeah, that sounds great. Just tell me what you need help with.”

She seems to relax a bit, heading over to the fridge and pulling out ingredients. “What do you drink? Do you want a beer?”

“Please.”

The two of you spend the next 45 minutes side by side in the small kitchen, cooking, drinking, talking - mostly it’s Miranda, telling you about her workday. When she’s done chopping vegetables, she reaches for the pack of cigarettes again - “sorry, nerves,” she says with a faint smile. You still can’t fathom what she’s nervous about but you don’t want to push her, so you shrug it off and turn your attention to the curry that’s simmering in the pan. You dip a spoon into the sauce to try it, humming in delight the second the flavors explode on your tongue.

“This is really good, try it!” Without thinking you bring the spoon to Miranda’s mouth and, without thinking, she closes her lips around it. Her eyelids flutter shut and she lets out a little noise of pleasure that’s dangerously close to a moan. Heat pools in your stomach, your eyes glued to her lips as you slide the spoon out of her mouth - it’s the first time you notice a little scar above her lip, and you swallow thickly.

You quickly avert your gaze as Miranda’s eyes open again, taking a sip of your beer as you check on the rice.

“I was thinking we could just eat in the living room and watch a movie?” Miranda suggests when the curry is done cooking. You agree and help Miranda carry the bowls and a couple bottles of beer into the living room. It’s small, like yours, and a little cluttered. There’s a string of fairy lights above the window and a small Christmas tree sat atop a side table. Miranda’s eyes follow your gaze and she chuckles.

“I actually put that up two days ago, I panicked when I realized I didn’t have any Christmas decorations up at all.”

“You didn’t have to decorate on my account,” you tease, earning yourself a laugh.

“Oh but what kind of Christmas would it be without a tree?”

“Can’t argue with that.”

Miranda smiles at you as she settles on the couch, crossing her legs and setting her bowl in her lap. She gestures for you to join her. You tuck your knees underneath you, angling your body towards her. As you eat, you fall into an easy conversation - you find yourself getting even more comfortable in Miranda’s presence, feeling right at home in her apartment. You can tell she’s relaxing as well - she stretches her legs out, her toes (clad in Christmas-themed socks) touching the side of your thigh. 

“I got you something, by the way,” Miranda says suddenly, leaning over to place her almost-empty bowl on the table. You follow suit, a smile lighting up your face.

“I got you something, too - wait here!” Miranda looks somewhat surprised as you jump up and rush into the kitchen, returning with the gift you’d brought. She now has a gift of her own on her lap, and she’s picking at the edge of the wrapping paper as you settle back down beside her, a soft smile on her face.

You exchange gifts and Miranda’s chewing nervously at her bottom lip as she watches you tear open the wrapping paper. It’s a cookbook for baking - you can’t help but laugh, and you look up to see Miranda’s cheeks turn pink. 

“Is this meant to be a hint?” you tease, and Miranda chuckles nervously. 

“Sorry, I-”

“I love it,” you cut her off, setting the book down beside you and leaning over to wrap your arms tightly around her torso. She returns the hug - her arms are strong and comforting and you’re immediately enveloped in her scent. It takes everything in you not to kiss her.

After pulling away, you gesture eagerly to the gift that’s in her lap. She has a look of nervous excitement on her face as she begins to unwrap it - her smile widens when she takes the pjs out of the wrapping paper and holds them in front of her.

“I hope they fit, I guessed your size. I have the same ones and you seem like the type of person who would like them.”

Miranda’s eyes widen as she looks over at you, her expression nothing short of giddy. “You have the same ones? Wear them! We can match.”

Her reaction is exactly what you hoped it would be. The prospect of wearing matching Christmas pjs is both adorable and a little intimate, and you’re filled with nervous anticipation as you head across the hall to your apartment to get changed.

When you get back to Miranda’s apartment a few minutes later, the blonde is sitting on her couch with her legs tucked underneath her. She smiles so widely that her nose crinkles, and she opens her arms to you. Without a second thought, you allow yourself to be pulled into a tight hug.

“Do you like them?” you ask as you pull away.

“I love them!” The smile on her face is genuine, her eyes shining brightly, and you can’t help but blush, your entire body tingling a bit as your eyes drift down her body.

~~~

You’re about an hour into the second movie of the night and you’re already several beers deep (you’ve lost count, to be honest). You’ve scooted closer and closer to Miranda as the evening has worn on, and now you’re practically on top of her - your legs are bent at the knee, tucked against your body and resting on the outside of her thigh, your shoulder is all but glued to her own. 

You drain the rest of your beer, then pout at the bottle. “It’s empty,” you say, more to yourself than to Miranda, who chuckles and shifts beside you.

“I can get you another one?”

“It’s fine,” you say with a giggle. “Maybe I should stop drinking.” You’re not drunk but you’re definitely tipsy - you turn your head to face Miranda a little too quickly and, for a brief moment, the room spins, causing you to burst into another fit of giggles.

Your eyes meet Miranda’s, before dropping to her lips and getting stuck there. They’re curled into an amused smile as she chuckles at your inebriated state - though the smile slowly fades as her brows begin to crease. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and your own laughter quickly dies in your throat, your mouth going dry. You can tell Miranda’s breathing has gone shallow, her eyes falling to your lips. The air around you becomes thick and heavy, and Miranda’s gaze darts away.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, scrambling to scoot away - before she can get very far, your arm shoots out and holds her in place. 

“What are you sorry for?” you whisper. The only sound you can hear is the pounding of your own heart in your ears as you wait for Miranda to respond. Her gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips, a lovely shade of pink rising in her cheeks.

“I-” she starts, cutting herself off as she swallows visibly.

“Do you want to kiss me?” You don’t know what prompted you to be so bold (probably the alcohol), but when a soft, barely audible whimper escapes Miranda’s throat, you can’t say you regret asking.

“Yes.”

You definitely don’t regret asking. 

“I want to kiss you, too,” you whisper, leaning in slightly as you fix your gaze on soft-looking, pale pink lips that glisten slightly in the dim light of the living room. Then you stop yourself, hesitating as the room spins again. You’ve dreamed of kissing those same lips for weeks now but something is off. 

The alcohol, you realize - you don’t want your first kiss with Miranda to be clouded by alcohol. You want to appreciate and remember the moment fully, you want to savor every second. So, as much as you’re dying to close the gap and absolutely ravage the lovely, beautiful woman sitting next to you, you decide to pull back. “But I’m going to wait until tomorrow. I want to be completely sober for that. And… if you still want to kiss me tomorrow… then I’ll kiss you.”

Miranda nods slowly, looking a bit dazed. “That’s, uh,” she starts, her voice hoarse. She clears her throat. “That’s a good idea.” She shifts in her seat, crossing one thigh tightly over the other. The air is still thick and heavy, and it takes everything in you not to say ‘fuck it’ and push her back onto the couch - but you mean it, you really do want to be sober for that. So you lean back, putting a few inches of distance between yourself and Miranda for the remainder of the film.

You feel yourself becoming more and more tired, and by the time the credits are rolling, you’re struggling to keep your eyes open. Pushing yourself up off the couch, you sway slightly as you make it to your feet, and immediately decide to sit back down so that you don’t fall over.

“You sure you can make it back down the hall okay?” Miranda teases, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she watches you lean back against the sofa.

You roll your eyes and shoot her a playful glare. “I’m not drunk. I’m just tired.” As if to emphasize your point, you yawn widely as you finish your last sentence - Miranda laughs. 

“You can sleep here if you want,” she offers - then her face goes pale and she rushes to explain herself. “Not with me of course, but the couch is quite comfortable. Or you can take the bed and I’ll take the couch, that’s fine, too-”

She’s talking a mile a minute and it’s the most charming thing you’ve ever heard - especially since you definitely would sleep with her. You’d just prefer to do it sober. Giggling, you decide to show her mercy and cut her off. “Thanks for the offer. I think I’ll take the couch if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, let me get you some blankets.” She turns off the tv and stands, leaving the room for a minute and coming back with a pillow and an armful of blankets. You get up and try to help her to make a makeshift bed for you, but your movements are a bit sluggish and you realize you’re just getting in her way, so you end up perching on the edge of the coffee table until she gives you the go. 

You snuggle into the blankets - they smell like Miranda, and it takes everything in you not to bury your nose in them and moan out loud. Instead, you shoot Miranda a smile and mutter a sleepy ‘thank you’ - she nods, telling you to yell if you need her, then turns to leave.

“Oh, Miranda?” You lift your head off the pillow and crane your neck towards the blonde.

She pauses in the doorway, turning back to face you as she runs a hand through her hair. “Hmm?”

“Merry Christmas.” You beam at her, even as your eyes threaten to close any second. The evening was far from a traditional Christmas celebration, but it was the best Christmas you’ve had in a long time.

“Merry Christmas,” she replies, her smile soft and genuine, before turning around and disappearing into her bedroom, closing the door quietly behind her.

~~~

You’re out like a light the second Miranda is gone, completely oblivious to the internal struggle she faces as she curls up in her own bed. She tries to close her eyes and force herself to sleep, but she’s not tired at all - her mind is racing and her heart is pounding, her entire body responding to the evening she’s shared with you. The laughter, the sense of familiarity and peace, the tension when you nearly kissed her. And, God, does she want to kiss you. But you’re tipsy, and you probably just said that in the heat of the moment - she gets it, sometimes alcohol makes her flirty and a little horny as well. You probably won’t remember that conversation in the morning - and you probably won’t want to kiss her anymore either. 

She can’t help the way her heart sinks as she comes to that realization, and it keeps her up for the better part of the night. She feels like she’s just managed to nod off when the morning light starts to filter in through the curtains and she groans, burying her face in her pillow. 

Thud. 

Miranda freezes for a moment, her blood going cold as she hears a noise coming from her living room. Then she remembers that you’re sleeping on her couch and her body relaxes again. She’s nervous, wondering if you’ll be awkward about the previous evening’s sexual tension, but her curiosity about whether or not you’re already awake wins out and she pushes herself off the bed, smoothing a hand over her hair and wiping the sleep out of her eyes before creeping into the hallway, careful to be quiet in case you’re still sleeping.

There’s a clattering coming from the living room though, and she finds you collecting the beer bottles from last night that are still scattered across the coffee table. 

“Hello,” Miranda says, her voice still a little hoarse from sleep.

Your head whips around towards the doorway and your cheeks turn pink. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to clean up a bit. Did I wake you?” The way you’re chewing at your bottom lip is adorable and makes Miranda want to kiss you senseless. She chuckles and shakes her head.

“No, I was awake anyway. Here, let me help.” Miranda helps you clear off the coffee table, heading into the kitchen with an armful of bottles and her empty bowl from dinner. You’re right behind her with the rest of the dishes and you immediately make your way to the sink and start washing them - it feels so domestic that it makes Miranda’s heart flutter, and she has to look away and focus on something else so that you can’t see the blush on her cheeks or the yearning that’s surely shining in her eyes. 

“Do you want coffee?” she asks, waiting for your affirmative hum before starting to make some. She’s so focused on preparing the coffee machine that she misses you turning off the sink and padding over to her - she yelps as you press against her back, placing your hands on the counter on either side of her and boxing her in. Her heart is racing, skipping beats left and right as your body heat warms her from behind. Drawing in a sharp breath, she turns around to face you.

“Miranda?” Your voice is low and a little shaky, and your cheeks are flushed - gorgeously so, Miranda finds her mouth going dry.

“Yes?” she croaks out.

“Remember how I said I’d kiss you today if you still wanted to?”

All Miranda can do is nod, her mouth hanging open as all the blood rushes to her face.

“Well, I guess I wanted to ask you if you still wanted to kiss me? Because I’m sober now and I still want to kiss you.” You look just as nervous as Miranda feels - she nods again, afraid her voice will betray how badly she wants you.

“Please, say it,” you plead, your eyes wide and earnest. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Y-yes. I- I want to kiss you.”

Your lips curl up into a soft smile and your hands move from the counter to Miranda’s waist, your grip firm as if you’re afraid she’ll run away from you. You press yourself up onto your toes until your face is mere inches away from her own. She can feel your breath on her face, warm and shallow. Her eyes are glued to your lips, wondering when you’ll close the gap - then you do, your lips soft and plush as they press gently against hers. 

She allows her eyelids to flutter shut and kisses you back, her own hands reaching out tentatively to cup your cheeks. You smile into the kiss and she takes the opportunity to deepen it - you groan softly into her mouth as her tongue brushes against yours, and she swallows the sound, groaning back in return.

“I didn’t think you’d remember,” she murmurs, her thumb stroking your cheek.

“As if I haven’t been thinking about that since the moment I first met you,” you tease with a seductive grin, before wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her down for a second kiss, even more passionate than the last. 

x

@alexusonfire @brienneswife @pro-weems-places @bigolgay @kimiinou @imprincipalweemspet @h-doodles @bychrissi @katie-bennet @giogwensversion @gela123 @friskyfisher @justcallmelittleone @michi2504 @scream-queenlover @a-queen-and-her-throne @sequoirius @anne-lister @winterfireblond @imgayforwoman69  @Ssappling2004 @fictionalized-lesbian @i-like-reading @aemilia19 @milfsloverblog @missdowling @billiedeansbitch @The_Demon_of_your_Dream @agathaandgwenslesbian @http-sam @Cute-catx @saltrage @renravens @opheliauniverse @zillahofviolets-bayolet @scarlettssub @catechristiestuff @niceminipotato @barbarasstar @women-are-so-ethereal @thevillagegay @willowshadenox @lilfartbox1 @larissaoftarthweems @dovesintherain @fallenbutch @lunala-rose23 @ahauandthesun @thenazwife @lvinhs @sweetderacine @daydream-cement @ilovetlcc @wastdstime @ladylarissaweems @spacetoaim22 @m1lflov3rrr

[jreads]

Not sure if this is where we submit requests, but i’d kill for a fic where reader’s having debilitating anxiety attack in Jackson (like where your vision blacks at the edges and you can’t breathe) and suddenly a strong force is keeping you up and you look up and it’s Joel; and he’s concerned bc he relates (but you don’t know each other) and you take a fistful of his shirt and suddenly they feel the symptoms retreating - and that’s how you meet, and you’ve found comfort in each other since. :’)

Sorry if that made no sense it’s word vomit LOL

Also sidebar: unexpected constellations will stay w me forever thank you:’)

Of Memories and Mealtimes (Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Word count: 2.5K

Warnings: Mentions of blood, Mentions of anxiety and panic attacks, Mentions of death, Foul language

A/N: this prompt was so cute, I hope I did it justice!

It’s been getting colder recently. No snow, not yet, but the breeze has a certain nip to it, blowing burnt orange leaves to rest on the ground like a natural carpet. The days are grey, and the nights are long, and that creeping feeling has been looming ever closer recently. You’ve found solace in the comfort of the kitchen. The air here is warm and humid and smells of frying garlic and onion. You perform repetitive, menial tasks and it staves off—to some extent—the ever-present penetrating feeling of loneliness. 

Since arriving in Jackson, you’ve struggled to find a place, a sense of belonging. You’re coming to the conclusion that maybe you never will. You thought you had one… but that was a while ago. 

It’s selfish to think you’re the only one in this town with a painful past; it’s clear that everyone is trying just as hard to find reasons to get through each day. You’re not alone. But you do feel like it. Often.

Maria has taken pity on you, stationing you in the kitchens because she knows you like it there. Knows you like to watch the people sitting at tables and soak up sounds of laughter in an attempt to steal a moment of second-hand happiness.

It’s late now, pitch black outside, and your shift is almost over. You’re cutting fruits and veggies for omelettes in the morning: spinach, olives, tomatoes. There are maybe five people still sitting, a table of three, one woman at a booth, and a man sitting alone at the bar. Sometimes, you like to eavesdrop.

The trio are talking about their old lives. They seem to have found something in common, street racing. Moding their cars, evading the cops… back when you could just drive into a gas station for petrol.  One used to have an old Charger, stolen in the looting. He reminisces over how the purr of the engine felt, how the lights of the highway would turn to a blur as he accelerated. From the corner of your eye, you see the man from the bar get up to leave, dropping some coin on the counter. You used to like to drive fast too. When it was for leisure and not for survival.

“I’m scared.”

The familiar voice sears through you like a branding iron, bringing with it flashing images of memory. Fuck. No, no, no. Not now. 

The freeway is peppered with stationary cars, and you’re swerving, as fast as humanly possible, trying desperately to navigate the mess. The Jeep behind you is gaining, and the little boy in your passenger seat is rigid in fear. If you can just make it through the overpass, it clears out after that. Their car is good offroad, but yours is faster. You upshift.

There’s gunfire, and your rear window shatters. He screams. You use your right hand to push his head down. He needs to stay low. You’re almost there.

Another gunshot. You try to ignore the popping of the rear tire; try not to think about what it means. The vehicle swerves and you fight against it by correcting the wheel. It’s no use. You clip the side of an abandoned car, and your own flips. You’re thrown through the windscreen. It’s the last thing you remember before your vision goes dark.

There’s pain. But not from the onslaught of old memories. You’ve slipped with the knife in your distraction, cutting a deep line into the side of your thumb. It’s dripping down, coating your fingers in a slick red. Your heart is pounding out of your chest, lungs constricting so hard you can barely get a breath in.

“Could I take five?” you manage to gasp to the other lady. But you don’t even wait for her reply before dropping the knife with a clatter and banging gracelessly through the back service doors. Your vision is blurring, darkening at the edges and your head is spinning. It feels as if you might die. You’re going to die.

Your hand is now coated in blood and—with little thought—you try to brush it off with your right, only succeeding in spreading the scarlet until it’s all you can see.

You wake in a ravine. How long have you been out? There’s pain in your cheek and you reach up to pluck a piece of glass from it. The crash. The kid. Oh, no. Oh, god. You call his name, voice hoarse. No reply. Your legs are too weak to support the weight of your own body, so you scramble up from the ditch, back onto the freeway. The car lies a few meters away on its side. Scraped and destoyed. And beyond it, a small body. No.

You crawl to him, sobbing at the bones bent in unnatural angles. And the bullet wound through his chest. You scream. You wail. His lifeless form is so small in your arms, leaking blood over your palms. You were supposed to protect him. You were supposed to—

His body is going cold. Limp and lifeless. But you can’t let go. Maybe, if you just hold on tight enough, the force of your love can breathe life back into his lungs.

You’re covered in his bood, figuratively, literally, it’s everywhere. Stumbling as if you’re drunk, you cry so hard that the tears only blur your vision further. It’s been a while since you’ve had one this bad. If you could just get back to your house. God, why did it have to happen in public? You can’t see where you’re going, so it’s no surprise when you run into something.

No, someone. There are hands on your shoulders and a comforting voice, gravelly Texan accent. What is he saying? You can’t tell. You’re going to be sick.

Something blocks out the lights of the streetlamp. There’s a body beside you.

A fragile body, broken and empty. Leaking life onto cracked pavement.

No, but this body is warm. Strong and gentle. A calloused palm cradling your head into a broad chest, a steady heartbeat. Alive. This body is alive. You clutch onto the fabric of his shirt with desperate hands, forgetting for a moment that your own blood will stain the fabric. He’s speaking words, low whispers, but the sound of them vibrates through him and into you. He’s telling you to calm down.

But you can’t. How do you tell him you can’t? You’re choking on air, hiccupping in a way that hurts.

“Come on now, breathe with me.” He smells nice, like cedar and whiskey. You can feel him smoothing circles onto your back, the rise and fall of his chest as he inhales and exhales. You try to copy him, lungs spasming with the effort. “That’s it. Keep going.” You’re heaving loud, ugly, uneven breaths, but it’s all you can manage. Past and present are flashing before you, your own blood, someone else’s, unseeing eyes and dead silence, a thumping pulse and soothing voice. It’s getting easier; you’re synchronizing your breaths to his own. But as you lean into the comedown, that exhaustion starts to creep up behind you. You melt into him in relief, but he doesn’t shy away. “There you go. I got you.”

Pieces of your surroundings start to fade back into view. You’re under the awning by the barn, shrouded in shadow. He’s practically holding you up by himself, and you feel a sudden deep stab of embarrassment. You can’t look this stranger in the eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his shirt.

He doesn’t loosen his hold. “You got nothing to apologize for.”

“Probably got… blood on your shirt.” It’s taking effort to even form the words.

He laughs lightly and the sound is like warm caramel. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

The nausea is ebbing, but you find you don’t want to leave. Caught in his arms, you feel the safest you’ve felt in a long while.

“You should probably get that finger bandaged.” He steps away, pulling your arm into the light to examine the cut and you almost sob once more at the loss of contact. “I got supplies back at my place, if that’s alright by you?”

“Okay,” you say because you feel too weak to walk back to your own house alone right now. And also because in the glow of the streetlamp, you can see the rugged handsomeness of his face, etched with sweet worry, dark curls interspersed with shots of grey. You’ve seen him before. The man at the bar, so often alone. 

You’re shaking now, visceral, wracking shudders. He sheds his coat and swings it over your shoulders before leading you down the laneway.

His house is not far, a five-minute walk at most. He ushers you up the front porch, opening the door to a dim-lit living area.

“Joel?” A shrill voice calls down from above. 

Joel Miller? This is Joel Miller?

“Yeah Ellie, it’s me.”

A little girl comes bounding down the stairs, dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She stops dead when she sees you, noting the jacket around your shoulders, the blood on your hand.

“What happened?” she says, with a kind of fascinated wonder that comes naturally to kids. Oh god, she reminds you of—

“Kitchen accident.” Joel replies smoothly. “You mind getting the med kit, kiddo?”

Her big eyes blink once, twice. “Oh, yeah.” Then she’s running right back up the staircase.

Joel sits you on the couch, grasping your wrist with a tender motion so at odds with all the things you’ve heard about him. Then again, you never knew he had a kid.

“Is she yours?”

He doesn’t look up from your palm. “In the ways that count.”

The girl, Ellie, is back down in record time with a worn first aid kit that she extends to Joel. When he takes it, she looks again at you with blatant curiosity. You feel guilty for barging into the warmth of their home like this.

“Ellie, why don’t you go boil some water for coffee.”

“Can I have hot chocolate?” she asks, and the hopeful joy in her voice is enough to finally make you smile.

Joel does too. “Sure.” And she’s off once more, rounding the corner to where you assume the kitchen lies. “But don’t go putting extra sugar in it,” he calls after her. The soft domesticity makes you ache with loss.

“Well, good news is you won’t be needing stiches.” He pulls an array of supplies from the box: disinfectant, gauze, a bandage. “But you should tell Maria to take you off kitchen schedule for a couple days.”

“How’d you know I was on kitchen schedule?” 

“Lucky guess,” he replies easily, but you swear there’s pink travelling across his cheeks. 

The disinfectant stings and you hiss. He falls into silent work, and you find yourself watching him, trying to understand how the man in front of you is the very same that garnered such a ruthless and cold reputation. 

He breaks the silence first. “I don’t mean to pry but…” Joel fastens the bandage securely around your finger. “…if you want to talk about what happened…”

You don’t. Not now, maybe not ever.

When you don’t reply, he nods his head. “I get it.” You watch him cast a glance toward the sound of a boiling kettle, to where Ellie is. “Trust me, I do.” 

You sit with him and Ellie—quiet with a warm cup of coffee—until late into the night. Ellie makes a face at the smell of it and quips back and forth with Joel about how he can ‘drink that piss.’ The girl has a mouth on her. She’s clever, sharp-witted, and the banter between her and him seems to dig a needle and thread into your gaping heart and sew one single stitch into it.

Past midnight, despite your repeated refusal, Joel insists he walk you home. Seeing your own house, cold and devoid of light makes your shoulders slump and heart race anew. Joel seems to note the behaviour.

“You’re always welcome at ours.” You know you’ll never take him up on the invitation. From the sadness in his eyes, you think he knows it too.

There are miles between you. “Thank you.” He only nods. You leave him standing on the lawn.

From behind the safety of the porch window, you can see that he waits for the light to turn on in your living room before walking back down the street.

Maria has insisted you take a few days off. Damn it. Joel must have said something. You try to busy yourself in the garden instead, but the gloves fit awkwardly over your bandage. You don’t last long anyway. The sound of school children heading home hits your ears around 3:00PM, and within minutes, a small shadow blocks where the sun hits your face.

“What’re you doing?”

Just seeing her face is enough to put a small smile on your own. “I’m planting basil.”

“What’s basil?”

You laugh. Actually laugh. “You want to try some?” You offer her a leaf and she chews it thoughtfully. Gives it an approving face. A thumbs up.

“You should bring some for Joel.” The forwardness of her suggestion is almost shocking, but she seems like the type of kid who says whatever comes to mind. You like that about her. “His cooking is pretty bland.”

Two laughs in one day. This kid is like medicine. “You think so?”

“Mhm. You could come over now. I think he’s on patrol, but he’ll be back soon.”

You think about turning her down, just on reflex. But you like how it feels to laugh, just the way you liked how you had felt in Joel’s arms the other night. So you agree. Her smile is brilliant. 

Minutes later, when she loops her arm through your own, she says, “Hey but don’t tell Joel what I said about his cooking, okay?”

You promise.

Around 7:00PM, he comes through the door, a weary sigh giving him away. “Ellie,” he calls.

“In here!” She’s excited. You’ve prepared a meal: pasta, sundried tomatoes, and the basil plucked from the garden. She’s been picking at the penne with her fingers, unable to wait until he arrives.

Seeing the surprised look on his face when he rounds the corner makes you feel suddenly shy. “I wanted to do something to thank you for last night and, well… Ellie found me in the—”

“Joel, it’s so fucking good.” At this point the muscles in your face are starting to hurt from smiling. 

Over dinner, you actually start to engage in the conversation, and somehow you seem to get along like you’ve known each other for years. In tandem, they work to bring you out of your shell. Your voice is hoarse and face warm by the time you go to leave, but Joel stops you at the door.

“Let me walk you back again.” Your selfish streak is only getting worse. You say yes. You think you see Ellie’s face in the top window as the two of you leave, a devious grin on her face.

Conversation flows on the way, about food, wine, Ellie. It’s comfortable, familiar, but there’s something… 

A yearning, buried under layers of friendly formality. He walks you up your porch and you think, for just a moment, about inviting him inside.

But you’re not quite ready for that just yet. So, you rise up to kiss him on the cheek instead, relishing the stunned look on his face.

Shy again, you back away across the threshold. “Good night, Joel.”

He says it back, and the way your name rolls of his tongue ignites something long dormant within you. You think he might be looking at your lips.

When the door closes, you let out a shuddering breath. And for what seems like the thousandth time that night, you smile.

[eveninggstar]

my kink is karma ⊹ ࣪ ˖

charles leclerc x singer!ex!reader, unspecified driver x singer!reader

24.07.24

୨ৎIt's been six months since you and Charles broke up in April. Since he kicked you out, his team's performance has noticeably declined. Despite the breakup, you've kept up with the races and are often seen watching them. Some of Charles's fans have labelled you as jealous or worse, but in reality, you simply find satisfaction in seeing Charles fail after he proved to be an inadequate boyfriend. So much so you would joke its your kink.

୨ৎ back a page ୨ৎ back two pages

pretend monaco gp was in april, not may lol also the timeline is all over dont mind it lol (this isnt one of my best fanfics)

The roar of the crowd was deafening as Charles crossed the finish line, claiming victory at the Monaco Grand Prix. You stood by the sidelines, your heart swelling with pride as he emerged from his car, triumphant and glowing with sweat and adrenaline. As the celebrations unfolded, you finally found a moment alone with him in his driver’s room.

"Congratulations, Charlie!" you beamed, wrapping your arms around him. "What are we going to do to celebrate tonight?"

His expression shifted from joy to irritation in a heartbeat. He pulled away from your embrace, running a hand through his tousled hair. "I just want a moment alone," he snapped, his voice low but sharp.

The words stung, and you took a step back, trying to hide your hurt. "What do you mean?"

He sighed heavily, avoiding your gaze. "You're always around, always asking for attention. It's like you’re trying to piggyback off my success to boost your own career."

Your breath caught in your throat. "That's not true, Charles. I’m just proud of you and want to support you."

"Well, it doesn’t feel that way," he said, his tone colder than the champagne being sprayed on the podium. "You're annoying, and I need some space."

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. "Fine. I'll give you space." You brushed some loose hair behind your ear. "I’ll see you at home, I guess."

The following Tuesday, the apartment you shared felt colder than usual. Charles had been distant since the race, and you could sense something was wrong. As you walked into the living room, you found him waiting, his expression unreadable.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

Your heart sank. "What’s going on?"

"I think it’s best if we go our separate ways," he said bluntly. "This isn’t working anymore."

You felt a lump form in your throat. "Charles, please, can we talk about this?"

He shook his head. "No. I’ve made up my mind. I want you to move out."

Tears finally broke free, streaming down your face. "But where will I go?"

"That's not my problem," he said, turning away from you. "You have until the end of today to pack your things."

With those final, cold words, he walked out of the room, leaving you standing there, shattered and alone in the apartment you had once called home together.

The days following the breakup were some of the darkest you’d ever known. You found refuge at your parents' home, which once felt warm and inviting and a good idea to bring Charles to, but now felt hollow and cold. Even when he ditched you, he couldn’t help but ruin something you held so dear. But instead of succumbing to despair, you channelled your emotions into your music. Late nights found you in your makeshift home studio/childhood bedroom, writing and recording songs that poured out your heartache, frustration, and eventual acceptance.

You released your music under an alias, wanting the work to stand on its own and not attract the flood of F1 fans wanting to see how you were after the "golden boy" broke everything off. To your surprise, the songs quickly gained traction. The raw emotion and honesty resonated with listeners, and your music began to blow up. The overwhelming support and success of your songs helped you heal. You started to feel happier and more fulfilled, finding strength in your own achievements. And it had only been a week!

One day, you decided it was time to reveal yourself. You posted a video on social media, explaining the journey behind your music and how it helped you through the toughest period of your life. The response was overwhelmingly positive, with fans praising your bravery and authenticity.

Meanwhile, Charles's career took a downturn after his Monaco win and the breakup. Ferrari’s performance in the following races was abysmal, plagued by mechanical failures and strategic errors. His frustration was evident, both on and off the track.

In a desperate attempt to distract himself and perhaps regain some control, Charles decided to change his appearance. During an interview, he was asked about the patchy, orange highlights in his hair.

“I thought a change might do me some good,” he said, running a hand through his hair and forcing a smile. “But clearly, it didn’t turn out the way I planned.” He sensibly decided to wear a hat until his mother was free to fix it, yet she had very little free time that lined up with his busy schedule.

Maybe karma was real, and it was his turn.

The Canadian Grand Prix was a disaster for Charles. During the race, a miscalculation led to a devastating crash. The car spun out of control, smashing into the barriers. The crowd gasped, and the cameras quickly cut to the chaotic scene. Fortunately, he was unharmed, but the crash marked a low point in his career.

As the medics rushed to Charles’s side, the camera panned over the crowd. There you were, sitting in the stands with your sunglasses on, watching the scene unfold. A slight smile played on your lips—not out of malice, but as a quiet acknowledgment of how far you had come since that painful breakup. You had found your path and your peace, and seeing Charles now, it was clear you were better off.

As Charles struggled with his racing career, his personal life took a turn that left many puzzled. He began dating a string of significantly younger women, each relationship seemingly lasting no more than two weeks. The media and fans noticed the pattern, and speculation ran rampant. It seemed like Charles was desperately searching for something—or perhaps someone—to fill the void.

Meanwhile, your career continued to flourish. You were seen at a variety of high-profile events: fashion shows, music festivals, charity galas, and, yes, occasionally at races. Your rising fame meant your presence was increasingly noted, and the public couldn’t help but draw connections between your appearances and Charles’s chaotic love life.

Some of Charles’s more fervent fans took to social media to voice their opinions, accusing you of being jealous of his new girlfriends and of Charles himself. They claimed you were trying to stay in the spotlight by being seen in the same places he frequented. The reality, however, was far from their accusations; your success had brought you to these venues on your own merit.

One evening, you attended a high-profile charity gala. Dressed in an elegant gown, you mingled with other artists, philanthropists, and celebrities. The event was buzzing with excitement, but the atmosphere shifted when Charles arrived with his latest girlfriend, an 18-year-old model. Whispers spread through the crowd, and cameras clicked furiously as the couple made their entrance.

You found yourself near the press line when Charles and his date approached. Despite the awkwardness, you struggled to hold back your laughter, it coming out as a quick snigger. Charles’s eyes briefly met yours, and there was a flash of something—regret, maybe, or recognition of how much had changed. Your reaction caught the lingering eyes of another driver who was present at the same gala.

Later that evening, you were approached by a group of Charles’s fans when a different driver had so graciously offered to walk you home. Their faces were a mix of anger and curiosity. “Why are you always around?” one of them demanded. “Are you still hung up on Charles?”

You took a deep breath, maintaining your calm demeanor. “I’m here for my career,” you said evenly. “Just like everyone else. My presence here has nothing to do with Charles.” You turned to look at the man holding your hand. "Charles is the least of my concern." After you said his name wrong in front of these die-hard fans, their faces morphed into more disgust (if possible).

It had been another tough race weekend for Charles. His frustrations were evident not only on the track but also during the post-race interviews. Sitting down with a popular motorsports journalist, he was asked about the ongoing challenges with his team and his personal life.

"Charles, it's been a rough season for you. How are you coping with all the changes, both professionally and personally?" the journalist inquired, genuinely concerned.

Charles shifted in his seat, a hint of irritation flashing in his eyes. "Yeah, it's been tough. The car isn't performing as well as we hoped, and there have been a lot of distractions off the track too."

The journalist nodded, sensing an opportunity to dig deeper. "Speaking of off-track distractions, there's been a lot of media attention on your former partner. She's been seen with another driver quite frequently. Any thoughts on that?"

Charles's jaw tightened, and he forced a smile. "I think it's interesting how some people move on quickly and find comfort in familiar circles. It’s almost like they’re trying to stay relevant by associating with those still in the spotlight."

The journalist raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Are you suggesting that she's using this new connection to boost her own profile?"

Charles shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm just saying it's curious. I focus on my career and my performance. If others choose to spend their time differently, that's their prerogative."

The comments made by Charles quickly spread across social media and the news, stirring up a storm of speculation and opinions. Fans and analysts dissected his words, trying to decipher whether he was shading you and the other driver you had been seen with.

You had indeed been seen frequently with another driver, but it wasn't anyone's business, especially Charles's, if you "moved on too quick." Both of you had bonded over shared interests and the mutual understanding of life in the spotlight. The growing relationship had been a source of comfort and support for you, but now it was being dragged into the media circus.

Despite the media frenzy, you continued to thrive. Your music career soared, and your public appearances were met with admiration and respect. The relationship with the other driver remained a positive influence, untainted by the rumors and insinuations.

As for Charles, his comments eventually faded from the headlines, overshadowed by the ongoing drama and excitement of the racing season. The world continued to watch, always eager for the next twist in the tale, but you had found your peace and your path, no longer defined by someone else's shadow.

Please don’t steal my work, much love ᡣ𐭩

if this is your first time reading one of my fics i promise i can write better (i genuinely feel as if this was a flop) also if you saw this before i deleted the first version and had it copied twice no you didn’t

taglist: (comment if you wanna be added)

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃 eveninggstar

[zegrasdrysdale]

Hey!! Could you possibly write a John Marino x Reader where she has a pregnancy scare while he’s away and debates telling him cause they had a conversation about not being ready for kids? Angst preferably!

[ positively negative ] j. marino

paring : John Marino x fem!reader

summary : (Y/N) thinks she’s pregnant while John is on a short roadie, and she debates telling him about it once he gets home since they talked about how neither of them are ready for kids, though she thinks she might be more ready than she told John she was

warning(s) : angst ! mentions of pregnancy, mentions of abortion, throwing up

author’s note : listen, john marino needs more love on this app so i will absolutely write anything for him 🫶🏼 enjoy, anon

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Something is very much wrong. When she gets sick, she never throws up.

Now, she's learning over the toilet and throwing up every single thing she ate for dinner the night before. It's nearly five in the morning and she's sick in the bathroom.

John is in Vancouver of all places right now so she can’t even call him because it’s two in the morning and he has a game tonight. She hates disturbing his sleep on game day, even when she doesn’t feel good. She knows he’d answer her call, but she can’t bring herself to do it.

The toilet paper runs out as she dries her lips. It was the only thing within reaching distance she could grab so she goes into the cabinet under the sink to grab a new roll.

What she sees instead scares the hell out of her.

An unopened box of tampons that she definitely bought more than a month ago sits in front of the rolls of toilet paper. She sits back on her feet and stares at the box in front of her.

It was three weeks ago when she and John had a whole conversation about how neither one of them were ready for kids. Not that she’s jumping to conclusions but she’s late for her period. It's probably only by a week but it is still enough to worry her.

She’s never been late. Not even when she was stressing out last season when the Devils made playoffs for the first time in five years.

The unopened box of tampons stares her down until she decides that she needs to get up off the bathroom floor and drag herself to the nearest drugstore and buy a pregnancy test. Maybe multiple to be on the safe side.

If a plus sign shows up on any of those sticks then she has no idea what she's going to do. Obviously she'll tell John and they can make a decision together but he made it very clear that he is focused on his career when they talked a few weeks ago, and she feels like she isn't ready to be a mother.

She doesn't have a steady job and doesn't want John to pay for every single thing if they were to have a baby. She wants to be financially stable, which she is far from at the moment.

As soon as she throws on a pair of black sweatpants and a one of John's red Devils hoodies, she walks out the door with the keys to the apartment.

It's colder outside than she thought it would be. It's been a little warmer outside than it usually is for mid-February, but not today.

The closest drugstore that is open isn't very far from the building she and John live in. She buys two boxes of tests, each box containing two tests each. That should be enough.

Her hands are shaking the entire walk back to the apartment. She has no idea if it's because she's cold or because she's nervous.

She doesn't think that John would tell her to get an abortion if any of the tests came back positive. She doesn't think he'd leave her to raise a baby by herself, but she is certain that he probably wouldn't be very happy about it.

Her phone dings with a text when she walks into the apartment. The first thing she sees is that it's six in the morning. The second thing she sees is that John texted her even though it's three in the morning for him right now.

johnny ♡ - 6:19 am i can't sleep so i wanted to let you know that i miss you. hope you have a good day when you see this <3

(Y/N) frowns and calls him instead of texting him back. He picks up the phone after two rings. "I wasn't expecting you to be up when I texted you," he says on the other end of the line.

"I don't feel good so I've been up for an hour," she admits to him as she walks into the master bathroom that's attached to their bedroom. "Why can't you sleep? I thought the jet lag would've gotten better by now." He's been gone for four days already.

He lets out a breathy laugh. "It's just one of those nights," he replies. "Plus I actually do miss you. I was thinking about you so I sent you that text."

She pulls the tests out of the plastic bag. "Such a romantic," she comments. She knows that there's a smile on his face that she can't see right now.

"You said you didn't feel good though," he says after a moment of silence between them. "What's going on?"

With a soft sigh, she says, "I woke up at five and ended up on the bathroom floor for a little bit. I think I'm okay." She's still very nauseous, but that could be her nerves since she's about to take a pregnancy test. "Um, I was going to wait to tell you this but since I have you on the phone, I am currently standing in our bathroom right now with two boxes of pregnancy tests on the sink because I was throwing up and I'm a little late for my period."

She's met with silence. Total silence. John doesn’t say a single word for about thirty seconds.

“Baby-”

“Don’t say that right now,” John snaps. She has to bite her bottom lip to keep from wincing at his tone. “I thought- we are safe every time. Do you really think that you’re pregnant?”

With a shrug that John can’t see, she replies, “I threw up. I never throw up and I’m never late for my period. I’m just doing this to make sure. I have multiple tests that I’ll take to double and triple check.”

More silence, except this time it’s a shorter moment than last time. “I need to, um, go to sleep,” John tells her. “Let me know what happens.”

“John-” she tries to say, but he’s too quick in hanging up the phone. Her throat closes up and her nausea returns at full force.

She retches into the toilet with a cry. “Fuck,” she cries as she recovers.

The pregnancy tests stare at her from the sink as she throws up again.

Yeah, she really has no idea what she’s going to do if one of those comes back as positive.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

She’s angry.

That’s all she’s been feeling since that morning John hung up on her when she told him that she might be pregnant. That morning was two days ago.

He’ll be walking through the door any minute now. She’s sitting on the couch waiting for him.

If she’s learned anything in the past forty eight hours or so is that she’s more ready for kids than she thought she was. She loved a baby she didn’t actually have. She didn’t tell John the tests all came back negative because she was grieving a child that she wasn’t even expecting.

Keys jiggle in the door around eleven in the morning. It swings open and reveals a tired John Marino. He drags his suitcase in behind him and shuts the door once he and his things are in the apartment.

“Good road trip?” she asks from the couch. “Didn’t hear from you after you hung up the phone on me so I hope it went well.”

John freezes and looks over at her. “I, um … ” he trails off. His eyes fall to her belly. “Are you?”

She chucks one of the negative tests at him. “No,” she retorts as he looks at the test. “I’m not.” She pauses. “I want to know what you would’ve done if I was pregnant. You didn’t even hesitate to hang up the phone when I just mentioned the possibility that I was pregnant.”

He leaves his bags by the door and walks over to where she’s sitting. She’s doing everything in her power not to cry because right now, it seems like they might want two completely different things. Couples who have differing opinions on children rarely ever work out.

John takes a seat beside her with the test in his hand. “I wouldn’t leave you to raise a baby alone,” he tells her. “I also don’t think I was clear in our conversation before. If we were to expect a baby, I would need some time to get myself together but I would love you and Baby Marino so much. I wouldn’t leave either of you. I’m sorry if that came across as me leaving. I’m just not ready to start actually trying for kids.”

A tear spills onto her cheek and her bottom lip shakes.

“You wouldn’t run?”

“I wouldn’t run,” he assures her. “Like I said, I might need a second but I would never ever leave you to raise a baby alone. It takes two to make a baby and it’ll take two to raise one.”

John reaches out to brush away the tear that has rolled down her cheek. She leans into his touch. Usually when he comes back from a roadie, she’s immediately in his arms. Today she had to hold back because of how mad she was.

She blinks a few times and he comes back into focus. He has a small smile on his face. “I think I’m more ready to be a mother than I thought I was,” she admits. “I was so ready to love our baby and was more upset than relieved when those tests came back negative.”

“We’ll have a baby,” John tells her. “I promise. Just give me a little more time, okay?”

“Okay.”

She gives in and moves closer to her boyfriend. He wraps his arms around her instantly and she buries her face in his neck. John kisses the top of her head before he rests his cheek against her forehead.

“You’re okay though?” he questions. “Since you were throwing up.”

With a nod, she says, “I think it was food poisoning. Ate some bad seafood the night before.”

John laughs and shakes his head. “You would mistake food poisoning for being pregnant.”

“Shut up.”

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MASTERLIST

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taglist : @dasiysthings @equallyshaw @dancerbailey3 @love4lando @sweetinsatiable @mangoluver

[lokis-army-77]

The Date

Eddie Munson x reader

Word Count: 903

You are excited about your date with your long-time crush Eddie, until it isn't exciting anymore.

Warning: THIS IS HURT NO COMFORT. EDDIE IS AN ASSHOLE. IF YOU CAN'T HANDLE THAT THEN GO AWAY! Also rejection, crying, feelings

I was all up in my feels and this is kinda the thought that went through my head about a date with this guy I'm going on Sunday. so to stop thinking about it, I wrote it out.

Masterlist

You were excited. Nothing could damper your mood. You had always wanted to go on a date and now you were. All primped up, taking extra care to ensure you looked absolutely perfect.

Eddie Munson had been your crush for years. From the moment he'd been one of your three table mates in fifth grade until now, three years out of college. 

You had reconnected on a random dating app while both living in Indianapolis. the conversation had flowed nicely. He was charming and funny and you fell for him even harder than you had in grade school. 

A week and a half after only texting, he asked you out. He'd planned it all, meet up at the botanical gardens and go out for a late lunch afterward. 

Eagerly you had agreed, giggling and kicking your feet in the air behind you as you lay on your bed like a schoolgirl. 

That had been a week ago and now, as you parked outside of the conservatory entrance you felt your heart beating erratically in your chest. Looking at yoru phone, you smile, five minutes early. 

You send Eddie a text, telling him you've arrived. 

He doesn't answer.

Five minutes go by, it's now one o'clock. He still hasn't answered. 

You text him again, asking where he was. 

Another five minutes and still no answer. You look around the parking lot frantically trying to see him or the car he said he drove. Nowhere to be seen. 

It's okay, you think to yourself. Maybe he's just running late. He's driving and can't text because he doesn’t want to be distracted. 

So, you decide to wait for him inside the gift shop where the tickets are sold. 

Another ten minutes go by and he still hasn't shown. You text him again, twice this time. 

Hello?

Where are you?

Finally, he answers. He tells you he's already there, just inside the conservatory, and that he's sorry he hadn’t answered sooner, the service there wasn't good.

Blinded by infatuation, you ignored the warning bells sounding in your mind and purchased a ticket. Your heart beat faster as you walked to the conservatory door. You'd imagined what this date would be like since he'd mentioned it. You'd dreamed about it.

When you entered the glass building, the first thing to hit you was the humidity. It was nearing the colder days of fall and the heat of the greenhouse made it hard to breathe. 

You followed the path through the lush plants, looking everywhere for Eddie. You called out his name a few times but no one answered. When you reach the exit doors that lead into the garden, you begin to worry. 

You text him again, asking where he was, telling him that you had walled the whole conservatory and hadn’t seen him. 

No response only the word read over the message. 

You walked out of the sweltering heat of the greenhouse, the humidity no longer the main reason for your labored breaths.

Another text. 

And another.

And another. 

They all go unanswered but you can see that he has read them.

Tears begin to brim your eyes. You felt so stupid, how could you have been so so stupid? 

The chill outside seemed to become harsher, biting your cheeks and freezing the trails of your tears as they began to fall. 

Tears of sadness. Tears of embarrassment. Tears of anger.

They all fell, ruining the makeup you had tried so hard to perfect, staining the collar of your shirt. 

You couldn't understand what was happening. Why wasn't he here? Why wasn't he answering?

Your heart ached and you felt like you were going to lose what little you'd had for breakfast. 

Heaving short, gasping breaths, you find a bench to sit on. 

With blurry vision, you open your phone and do what you should have almost a half hour ago. You call Eddie. 

Your heart breaks even more when it doesn't even get the chance to ring before going straight to voice mail.

Never could you have known rejection to hurt so bad, to cut so deep that even tho there were no physical wounds, you still felt as though you were bleeding. 

A sob racked through your body when you called for a second time and it went to voice mail. 

And just to be sure, you sent one last text. The sobs come harder. That once blue bubble was now green. 

He had blocked you. 

He let you believe he was interested. He led you on. Tricked you into dolling yourself up. Tricked you into driving here with expectations only to rip them all away and for what? A laugh? Something to tell his friends about? Why would someone you had thought hung the moon, who had been so sweet and caring, turn out to be such a repugnant asshole? 

He blocked you. Without warning. Without reason. 

Was he pleased with himself? With how he had reduced you to a sniffling, snotty mess in the garden of what was supposed to be one of the most romantic places to visit with a significant other?

Now, it was all ruined. Your mood, the day, this garden… everything was in shambles and it was all his fault. You no longer felt pretty, no longer felt desirable, all you felt was numb and the sharp sting of the cold fall wind as it hit your wet cheeks.

[irisintheafterglow]

Heyy, can I request best friends to lovers with suguru geto pls? Maybe where reader is helping on the star plasma mission but gets a little jealous of Riko bc sugu is so focused on the mission that he hasn't spent much personal time with her?

Also! I adore the fic where sugu and reader are best friends on a mission together! Good work 👏

dazzling haze, mysterious way about you, dear

summary: on your last night on the star plasma mission, a trip for water becomes an interrogation.

wc: 1.5k

cw/tags: best friends to lovers, swearing, mild angst, satoru is the king of being unserious and you're having none of it

note: so many suguru fics that i will gladly provide🫡 also i'm sorry this took so long, i just started fall semester so my time has been a little limited lately. but thank you for the ask, i hope you like it!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated :D

It’s chilly in Okinawa, much colder than you imagined it would be. Despite the comfortable airflow of AC in your part of the hotel suite, something about the environment still felt stifling. It felt too empty, the bed too big and the sheets too barren. Water, you decide. Let’s get water and some fresh air.

Your intentions are abruptly thwarted by an idiot in the sitting room.

“Aw, come to check if I was okay?” Why do I even bother? You turn on your heel and head back in the direction of your bedroom, leaving Satoru pretzeled in his armchair. You’d just have to figure out how to fall asleep a different way, one that didn’t involve a change of scenery. Still, a loud whisper calls out to you as you make your way back down the hallway. “Hey, wait! Why are you actually up?” Giving him a skeptical look, your shoulder finds the side of the door frame and you cross your arms defensively. 

“Couldn’t sleep, duh. Why else would I be out here?” 

“Okay, grumpy, don’t duh me. I’m just wondering since you usually sleep the deepest out of all of us. Well, you and maybe…” His voice trails off and you watch the gears start to turn in his head. He knew there would be only one reason why you weren’t sleeping well. You shoot him a sour look preemptively and he narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Is something wrong between you and–”

“Alright, stop talking,” you state bluntly, pushing off the wall and finding your way to the corner of a sofa next to him. You want to slap the arrogant, aware-of-his-victory smirk off his face, but the daggers you’re staring into him are deflected by a shield of self-satisfaction. “Stop smiling like that, asshole.”

“Sorry, I just can’t help but laugh in the face of your suffering,” he shrugs with a patronizing lilt to his voice. You scoff and throw a pillow at him, to which he catches with one hand. Infinity off, you notice. He never turns on Infinity if it’s you, or Shoko, or Suguru with him. “Both my best friends are idiots in love, and both are suffering!”

“I think suffering is a little much.”

“Nope. It’s a little embarrassing, really.” His tone has turned to unabashed teasing and your face heats a little bit from pure indignancy. There’s no way Satoru put two and two together, right? Shoko’s epiphany was understandable; she seemed to always be watching, someway or another. Nanami only learned because Haibara figured it out first. You weren’t, however, anticipating the king of living in his own world to confront you. You put up a wall of confusion to hide the fact that he was poking dangerously close to your greatest secret. 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb. Or do, I don’t really care. This is entertaining.” He flashes a condescending grin that makes your blood boil. Yet, despite your best efforts, you couldn’t find the courage to leave. Retreating felt like running away, and you were determined to withstand Satoru’s stubbornness. 

“You are the biggest asshole to walk this Earth, Gojo Satoru,” you bite, shrinking away a little bit when uncannily blue eyes burn into your retinas. Unease sits in your stomach as he stares at you like he knows every single one of your thoughts and memories. It’s a feeling you wouldn’t wish on anyone, being the sole target of the strongest sorcerer on the planet. It had your forehead perspiring and knee bouncing unconsciously.

“And you are utterly in love with Geto Suguru,” he states. 

“How would you know that?” You sputter, immediately back on the defensive. 

“How could I not? You’re staring at him eight days a week, 25 hours a day.” You wish you could summon a fork from your domain and stab his stupidly determined eyes. Still, you think gaslighting the strongest sorcerer and your nosy best friend is a plausible option. 

“You’re out of your mind.” He sticks out his tongue defiantly. 

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not, no take-backs.” You groan and lean back into the cushions, a hand coming up to cover your tired eyes. “So, are you mad at him or something?” 

“I don’t owe you any explanation,” you snap, but with significantly less fervor than before. He’d caught you. 

“You don’t,” Satoru agrees. “But, I also know you’re dying to get it off your chest.” You peek out at him from behind your fingers and he’s still staring at you expectantly. “Well?” You exhale deeply before speaking, stalling the inevitable. 

“I’m…angry?” It’s more of a question than a statement and he snorts haughtily. 

“You don’t sound very sure.” 

“I hate you,” you glare. Of course, he wouldn’t take seriously anything you’re trying to verbalize.

“No, you don’t. Continue,” he ushers you on with a wave of his hand. “Why are you angry?”

“It’s dumb,” you mutter indignantly, silently praying he gets bored and drops the subject. However, the honored one is relentless.  

“You have a crush on Suguru. Can’t get much dumber than that.”

“What about being jealous when we aren’t in a relationship?” 

“You don’t need to be in a relationship to be jealous, you know.”

“Yeah, but it feels so wrong to want him when we’re supposed to be focused on the mission. I just want to make sure he’s okay.” 

“And, you want him to make sure you’re okay?” He’s right on the money and you despised it. 

“I guess so.”

“You know, he already does that about four million times a day,” he says, like the information should be obvious to you. “Check on you, ask if you ate, bring you water, the usual. It's up to you how you want to interpret that, but I think it's clear as glass.”

You exhale again, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees and your face in your hands. “I don’t know what to do, Satoru. I can't think clearly when he's around and I feel so immature.” 

“You’re not asking the right person for advice, you know.” You stiffen at the voice coming from the darkness of the hallway, his voice. Three thousand trains of thought derail all at once when he steps out into the moonlight of the room, looking absolutely stunning despite having just woken up. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, but you must be really desperate if you’re going to Satoru for advice before me,” he jokes as he sits down next to you on the sofa. He’s in such close proximity that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body and faintly smell his shampoo. 

“And the world must be ending if the deepest sleepers I know are both awake at the same time,” Satoru adds, shooting you a knowing look for half a second before returning his focus to Suguru. “If you two are taking over watch for a few minutes, I’m gonna go take a shi–”

“Please, leave before you finish that sentence,” Suguru interjects as Satoru’s body lankily disappears down the hall. You’re suddenly struck by an unwavering feeling of awkwardness, something you’ve never felt before with Suguru. He must have sensed the way your body tensed up, too, since he respectfully positions himself away from you ever so slightly. “Nightmare?” You shake your head, too exhausted and too emotionally drained to answer. “Thinking?”

“Mhmm,” you hum, fiddling with your fingers. You can feel his dark eyes staring at you, but you don’t look up at him for fear of him seeing the burning shame on your face. “Just thinking a little too much about the mission, is all.” 

“Just the mission?”

“Yeah,” you lie, and a glance at his face reveals a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What has you so entertained?” He chuckles softly under his breath, the faint light catching the sharp outline of his jaw. Fuck, you think. He’s so beautiful. 

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve been awake since I heard the door of your room creak open,” he informs you and your stomach drops to your knees. “So I–”

“Heard everything,” you finish and put your head back into your hands, face on fire. “Just ignore whatever I said, rationalize it as a weird-ass dream or something–”

“Why would I wanna forget what you said?”

“Because you have bigger things to focus on,” you laugh, a little cynically.

“And I’m only able to focus on them because I have you to ground me,” he replies nonchalantly.

"What do you mean?"

“I like you too, genius. I thought it was obvious that I can barely see straight when you’re within a ten foot radius.” You smile, genuinely this time, and scoot back closer to him until your shoulders are touching. Carefully, your pinky reaches for his and eventually interweaves all of your fingers together. He lets you rest your head on his shoulder, inhaling deeply against your temple. 

“Can we do something about this after the mission is over? I don’t want to put more stress on either of us,” you whisper. 

“Of course, we can,” he murmurs, pressing the lightest kiss to your forehead. “Take your time; I’m already all yours.”

“You’ll wait for me?”

“However long you’ll let me.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[happiest-hotch]

3 AM

part one

Summary: Aaron shows up somewhere he shouldn't be with some words for you

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader (Angst/Fluff)

Word Count: 1.4k

Content Warning: mutual cheating

You go home to a house that doesn't feel like home, which isn't anything new, but today, it upsets you. Maybe it's too late, and the case drained you too much. Your self-preservation instincts refuse you to consider an outside factor.

Thankfully, your need for sleep trumps any chance of facing an existential crisis, so instead of staring at the ceiling wondering how your life got to this point, you're asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow.

It doesn't last long. Too soon, a knock on your door wakes you, and you reach for your phone to check the time. 2:52- great. If it were BAU-related, Penelope would have called and left messages before pounding on your door in the early morning. You run through who it could be. Maybe your pathetic excuse of a husband lost his keys, but nothing would inspire him to come home unless he learned of your affair and was hypocritically mad. Or it could be much more mundane; police, firefighters, a neighbor. 

Speculation gets too exhausting, so you get up and walk to the front door, checking your gun is sitting on the side table before opening the door.

It's one of the last people you expect. You wrap your robe tighter around yourself, defensive and hyper-aware that he's in jeans and a shirt, and you're in a tank and sleeping shorts. 

"Hotch." You greet him coldly, colder than the chilly DC night air. 

He didn't expect a more positive reaction. "Don't call me that." He says slightly too pathetically. 

"What can I do for you?" You ask, unsure what's compelling you to continue the conversation and not just slam the door in his face.

He shouldn't be here.

He knows it, you know he knows it, and you know it.

"Let me in." The Unit Chief tone, commanding authority, is nowhere to be heard, no matter how hard he tries to muster it up.

You sigh, momentarily weighing the pros and cons before stepping aside. Aaron follows you in carefully. Houses, thus far, have been off limits, like there was some unwritten rule neither of you would show up at the other places, knowing the consequences, but he's here, and you're still not sure why.

As you lead him down the hallway, Aaron keeps his head down, obviously trying to avoid being nosey. It's amusing since the personal pieces he assumes you have and refuses to look at don't exist. You wonder if he's drawing similarities between you and where you live, both beautiful on the outside and empty on the inside.

"Is he-" His question quickly gets reframed. "Are you alone?"

"I was." You answer. "He's in Pierre, South Dakota."

"Our case was in Pierre, Sou- Oh." Unsurprisingly, he put it together quickly. Pierre, South Dakota, is not a big enough place for you not to have run into your husband.

You laugh humorlessly. "I know. It's smart to have an infallible lie, but maybe not that specific." You remark. "He's actually in Miami. I checked the credit card and told him our case was there, so he always has to look over his shoulder."

Aaron doesn't smirk at what you consider a wonderfully devious plan. Instead, he looks concerned. "You still have joint credit cards? Are you keeping any money he can't touch?"

"Surely you didn't come here to discuss my financials." You shoot back, but he raises his eyebrows, and you know you can't progress the conversation without answering his question. "Yes. I've been to a lawyer and an accountant. He's only running himself into massive amounts of debt." You assure him. "Although, I'm not sure when this became your business."

His answer doesn't come quickly, and when he speaks, it's inadequate. "It's not."

"Okay, so what are you doing here?" You prompt. "Because you look like hell, Aaron, and you could really do with some sleep."

"I went home and sat there for an hour just thinking." He tells you. So, he didn't get lucky enough to fall asleep and avoid dreadful spiraling thoughts.

"You want to talk about your feelings?" You ask incredulously, unsure how he conjured the audacity to come here. His lack of answer is an answer. "No." You shake your head firmly. "You don't get to do this. Whatever we are, we don't discuss feelings."

"We could," Aaron begs desperately. It's not hard to profile that he keeps his emotions bottled up until he's bursting, so you know Aaron's here for a different type of release, for you to drain yourself listening to his problems and leave before he can consider that you have feelings.

You could hit him hard enough that he stops talking, and it's tempting.

"I'm okay with running to you when you want to have sex, but I can't be who you run to when you want to talk to someone about your day." You explain it as simple as you possibly can. 

"I don't think of you like that," Aaron assures you, his eyes softening as his words fall short of being stern.

Frustrated, you huff. You're tired and wound up, easily upset, and Aaron shouldn't be here. "Well, I have to think of you like that... or I can't sleep with you and not feel anything."

"You're not hearing me." He argues, a tiny flicker of the fire you saw before appearing in his eyes. "I want you to feel things."

You bit down on your bottom lip to avoid crying. You've become so callous to everything around you, bottled so much of it up that it's difficult to let any emotion show without breaking the floodgate. 

"You don't." You fight back, although it comes off far weaker than you expected. "I'm messy, my whole life is just one disaster after another, and I'll never excite you if we're not sneaking around."

Aaron's hands come to cup your cheeks, surprising you completely. It's a soft touch that has your lips closed in a second. "Don't say that." He instructs, speaking firmly but gently. "You're not a mess, not at all."

"Look at where we are, Aaron!" You remind him, throwing your arm at your side. For a detail-orientated person, he's only focusing on the big picture. "I'm married, you're married, and this is so damn messy."

"I know, I know." He nods. "It's... less than ideal, but we can get through it." He promises, holding you tighter now, like he's worried you'll slip away. "I want to be there for you. I don't care about any mistakes from your past. And please, please don't say that you won't excite me because I will always be excited every time I see you." It's enough to have you in gentle tears, not angry, heavy sobs, and he does his best to wipe them up delicately. "But if you don't feel the same way..." 

Aaron's waiting for your decision, and he isn't about to add more pressure, but he will stand there for as long as you need to decide. 

"I do." You affirm. "God, Aaron, I want to be with you more than anything, but I'm not sure I know how to." Being married is just a technicality now, and a divorce is something you're fiscally ready to do now. 

"Tea." He decides, his permanently furrowed brows relaxing. 

"Tea?" You repeat. 

He moves slightly away from you. "Where's the kitchen?" You're still confused about why now is the right time for tea, so you wait for him to explain. "I'm going to make you tea, and we're going to drink it while you tell me how you're feeling, and then whatever you want- a drive, breakfast, you name it, it's yours."

You pull away from him, offering your hand to take him to the kitchen. "Sleep is what we're doing after this." You tell him. "I don't say it to be mean, but you do look like hell."

"Wait." He stops you before you're in the kitchen, turning to hold your hands in his. "You need to know that I don't care about anything in your distant or soon-to-be past, but it's always going to be my privilege to be part of your future."

Aaron isn't meant to be here, and you aren't either, but wherever you're meant to be, it's with him.

[evita-shelby]

Stay

combined @justrainandcoffee and @hoodeddreams13 requests for this soft!Brilliant x Eva one shot

taglist: @mischievouslittlecreature @thegreatdragonfruta @zablife @kmc1989

She never stays long.

With the excuse of Charlie and her own booming business, Eva tends to avoid staying the night.

She would love to, she could if she wanted tonight seeing as Tommy has Charlie for the week ---with Polly watching him as he woes May Carleton--- and it’s been so long since she’s wanted to do nothing but stay in bed with the man who owns it.

“Its late, I need to go.” The witch tries to extract herself from the man who has set her heart ---amongst other parts of her--- aflame.

“You don’t, stay tonight and I’ll make it worth it in the morning.” Billy is full of surprises, hiding a dangerous skill for martial arts under his fine clothes, capable of being exclusively hers and rather great at cuddling after sex.

Eva would be lying if she said she didn’t want to do as he suggested.

Once she had stayed the night, slept so well she forgot the chaos that was her life until she found Tommy waiting for her at home.

As much as she knows Tommy is busy right now and won’t know until he’s returned from wherever the horse trainer lives, Eva doesn’t want to run the risk of finding Arthur and John looking for Brilliant’s place again.

“I don’t want to risk of you being cut up by my former in-laws.” The dark-haired woman brushed away his damp inky hair reminding him of how it ended for the young man who rented his previous flat. Eva had been very close to letting the Shelbys get arrested for behaving so barbarically as if she’d left them and not his brother.

“They won’t know.” Billy assures her and refuses to let go. “I'm not letting go, so you can stop fighting it.”

He would if he believed she truly wanted to leave, but Brilliant knows it wouldn’t take much to get her to give in and make this something more than a fling.

She wants to, even Polly knows this relationship was different than the rest she’s had after Tommy. There was this instant click, this feeling of permanence to them that had long left her marriage once the bubble burst and revealed the cage she had trapped herself in.

“Then I won’t go.” The witch caved to her own desires for something more and melted into his arms. The cold of spring couldn’t reach her here with him, winter hadn’t either and won’t ever reach her as long as she is with him.

The morning is colder and neither make any effort to leave the bed. Eva is her own master, the ladies that consult with her for matters of life and business would be told she is not available and as long as Arthur has the Eden he won’t be free to come here.

“Do you have any business today?” Eva asks enjoying being kissed good morning.

“Today is one of those stay in bed and cuddle days.” Billy said in between kisses and reminded her how thoughtful and soft he can be when he wishes to be. “How anyone gets anything done in this abysmal weather is still a mystery to me.”

Hong Kong is warmer than London by about 20 degrees Fahrenheit.

the picture at the center is Regent Street, London in 1927(close enough🤷‍♀️) where Brilliant irl owned his buisnesses and lived

[tonberry-yoda]

I Love You, Spiderman - Peter B. Parker

notes - I have been thinking about him way too much lol word count - 2,108 WARNINGS - brief mentions of blood (a deep cut) summary - you've been tired and missing spending time with your bf. a superhero by the name of spiderman helps you destress before work, but you find out something about him you would never expect

You've been exhausted as of late, working overtime and trying not to fall asleep at your computer. You had been trying to pay off college for a long time and you were so damn close you could taste it. Just a couple more weeks of overtime and you would be done paying it off. The thought made you smile, it just sucked how hard you had to work for that.

Because of this though, the time spent with your boyfriend has been little to none. You didn't really know where Peter worked, but you knew that it was something busy as well - cop stuff, he told you. So because of this, you would rarely see each other. You both lived in a crappy little apartment together so when you would come home, you would turn on the dim kitchen light, make some microwavable mac and cheese, and immediately pass out. Hours later, if you weren't dead asleep, sometimes you would feel your boyfriend curl into your arms and kiss along your neck before he passed out just the same.

You hated that you were growing apart from this. Even days off were pretty silent because out of nowhere, he would get a random call that would send him off to work, leaving you to lie on your bed and stare at the ceiling.

He was tired and you were tired.

You didn't know how much more of this you could take. Even a couple more weeks sounded like hell.

---

You woke up to Peter kissing you on the forehead and saying goodbye. You opened your eyes, but squinted at the sun. What you did see was him walking out of the room.

"Wait," you said with a tired voice. "Peter."

"What's up?" He stood in the doorway and looked like he had to leave in a rush.

"Have a good day." You held open your arms and Peter quickly ran over, giving you a quick hug and another kiss.

"You too. Don't work too hard."

"Oh, you know I will." you chuckled.

"I know." he laughed back, quickly bolting out of the house.

You were just glad the two of you could still talk.

You stretched and got out of bed, yawning. Another long day, but you were so used to it at this point.

You brushed your teeth and took a shower. It was colder out than usual in New York, so you had to put on some layers and then decided to make yourself a little treat of hot cocoa that you could carry out of the house with you.

When you locked the warmth behind you with the click of a door, you could see your breath. You shivered and wrapped yourself in your coat, beginning your walk.

Walking was way nicer than wasting forty minutes in New York traffic, no matter how cold it was. Plus, where you worked wasn't more than a fifteen minute walk.

You put in some headphones and put on something to pump you up for the day and decided to take a shortcut since it was so cold.

The shortcut you would only take on days like this was a long alleyway. You never liked it, since it smelled pretty bad - especially on hot days - and was always dark, but on colder days, it was a good way to push through and get to work.

You held your keys close, ready to use them as a weapon and saw alley cats that you wanted to pet, but passed since you didn't want to be late.

You quickly froze in place when you saw something completely unexpected, however. Spiderman landed in front of you, panting and out of breath. He leaned against the wall, looking victorious, and let one of the alley cats curl up on his lap.

"I am so tired." he muttered softly under his breath. The cat just purred at him and he pet it.

He looked up and noticed you, completely frozen in your spot.

"Oh, hey." he giggled, rubbing the back of his neck. "What's up?"

"You're Spiderman," was all you could say in complete awe.

"That I am." he chuckled.

"Are you okay?" You spotted a torn spot in his suit and blood running out of a cut.

"Oh, this?" He winced. "It's nothing. Just a little scratch. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? It looks pretty deep."

"I've been through worse," he admitted. "This is nothing compared to what I usually go through."

"Alright.... well uhh... it was nice to meet you, Spiderman. I gotta go to work though."

"It was nice meeting you too," he moved the cat and stood up, reaching his hand out to you. "What's you name?"

"y/n." you took his hand and shook it.

"Well, it was wonderful to meet you, y/n. And might I say, you are pretty dang cute." He winked at you.

"Oh, I have a boyfriend." you told him quickly before walking away.

The walk to your office building was just you in deep thought. Did Spiderman just call you... cute? What a weird morning.

And definitely not your last of those.

On a morning that Peter woke you up by pressing kisses up and down your face and neck that made you giggle, you went out again only to find Spiderman down the same alleyway.

"Well look who it is!" he laughed.

"What a coincidence," you laughed back, thinking that was it, just trying to walk past him.

"So, where are you off to?" he asked, catching up to you.

"Work."

"Ew."

You laughed. "No kidding."

"So what's this boyfriend of yours like?"

You rolled your eyes. "Really?" you asked, turning to look at him.

"Yes, really! I wanna hear about him. You know, since you were so able to reject Spiderman over him."

"Shut up. I don't even know who you are."

"Just tell me!"

So you did. You told him everything. How much you loved him, how long you've been together... how you've been separated.

"I wouldn't really call it 'separated' per say," Spiderman said. "I mean, sure you have to work some overtime, but it sounds like you guys are fine if he's still waking you up with kisses and saying he loves you."

You thought about it for a minute. He was right. It's not like you and Peter were arguing or actively avoiding each other. You were both just extremely busy.

"How much longer do you think you have to work like you have been?" he asked.

"Not too much longer."

"Well that's good. I would say ask him on a really nice date if he doesn't beat you to it."

You laughed out loud. You laughed and really couldn't control it.

"What's so funny?" Spiderman asked.

"It's just... I think Peter would shit his pants if he knew I was talking to Spiderman. Let alone getting relationship advice from him."

"What? Is he a big fan or something?"

"Oh, huge fan. He owns a stupid amount of merch and exclusive stuff too. He's like in love with you."

That got Spiderman to laugh pretty hard, nearly keeling over. "Maybe I should take your boyfriend out instead."

You both laughed until you got to the end of the alleyway. You gave him a fist bump and thanked him.

"Even if I don't know you under the mask," you said. "I think it would be pretty cool to be friends, Spiderman."

And that was exactly what happened. Every morning before work, you would walk with him for only a short five minutes before you had to part. Whenever you got a short amount of time to talk to Peter, you would tell him that you hung out with Spiderman, but he would just brush it off with laughter.

But if not for him, you wouldn't have gone on such a lovely date with Peter after you stopped working so much overtime.

When he saw you come downstairs in a shimmery red dress, he nearly passed out.

"J-Jesus, y/n." he stuttered as he looked you over.

"Do you like it?" you asked as your cheeks heated.

"No way," he said with a sigh. "I love it. You look.... oh my god."

You laughed and pulled Peter into your arms, playing with his hair. You told him how cute he looked in his suit and pressed a kiss onto his cheek.

He still stared at you with complete shock and you swore to god you could see hearts in his pupils.

You just locked your arm with his and got in his car before driving to go get dinner. You blasted music that you both sang horribly to, and when you ended up at the restaurant, you ended up talking more than eating. You were remembering old memories and laughing about stupid stuff from years ago.

It felt nice to be back like this with your boyfriend. All those years of dating were suddenly so much more worth it and you were now debt free.

"I love you so much, Peter." you told him as you reached for his hand across the table.

"You don't even understand how much I love you." he said back.

---

You took the next few days off, just enjoying your time with Peter. Not a lot of dates occurred, it was more the two of you sitting around in your PJs, but that was more than good enough for you.

And even when the two of you did eventually get back to work, it didn't feel like anything awful. It was shorter days and a lot more cuddles.

On another cold day before work, you walked down the usual alleyway and weren't surprised to see Spiderman playing with a cat.

"Hey, Spiderman," you said with a smile.

"Oh, hey!" He stood up and gave you a high five. "How've you been?"

"Really good." you smiled. "Like really really good."

"And your boyfriend?"

"Amazing. Thanks to you telling me to take him on that stupid date, we've literally been closer than ever I think."

"You would've gone on the date anyway." he chuckled.

"I know, but I feel like I need to thank you for some reason."

"Don't worry about it. I'm just doin' my thing."

You laughed and walked down the alley with him. "Would you ever want to meet Peter?" you asked. "You know, since we're close now, I figured it would be kinda cool if you met him."

Spiderman laughed. "This is so weird that we're friends."

"No kidding."

"But, no, really, I think it would be pretty cool to meet him."

You beamed. "He doesn't work until later! Maybe he's still lying in bed! Let me call him!"

You took a couple steps away from Spiderman to call Peter. You were so stupidly excited to share your friendship with this superhero with your boyfriend. It was silly, but it was nice.

Behind you, you heard Spiderman's phone go off and he laughed. "Looks like I'm getting a call. Hello?"

You heard the same 'hello' echo from your phone and you nearly dropped it on the asphalt beneath you.

"Peter?"

Spiderman looked around to make sure no one was nearby and he slipped off the mask to reveal that he was just Peter under the mask.

You felt yourself go faint for a minute.

"Wait, hold on," you held onto a nearby wall and looked at Peter, who was just smiling at you. "What the hell, Peter?!" you exclaimed.

He shrugged and then looked at you with pure horror. "Wait! Are you mad?! Please don't tell me you're mad!"

You didn't know what you felt, but mad definitely wasn't one of those somethings. "No, I'm not mad," you reassured him. "Just confused." you laughed.

He took a deep breath and nervously chuckled. "I didn't know how to tell you, so I thought it would be funny to bother you as Spiderman before work."

You laughed again. You really couldn't help it. "I don't know how I didn't figure it out sooner. It should've been obvious."

"You think?"

"Same bad humor."

"Hey!"

You just laughed again and hugged Peter. "I'm gonna go to work now, you big dork. But have a good day, alright? And don't get hurt."

"No promises." He went to slip the mask back on, but left his lips out, which you gladly kissed with a smile.

"We'll talk all about this when we get home, okay?"

He nodded and pulled the mask back over his face completely.

"I love you, Spiderman." you said, blowing him a kiss.

"I love you too." he swooned before taking off into the city.

~~~~~

into the spiderverse masterlist | pinned post 2023 @tonberry-yoda – do not repost or claim ANY of my work as your own! likes, reblogs, and comments are not only welcome, but appreciated

~~~~~