#crimson rambler

[godofthestupid]

I'm cooking something

[dancingtotuyo]

6. play my bloody part

Woman | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: You take another step forward. Maria goes into Labor.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (Reader is 42, Joel is 56). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: angst, needles, blood, discussions of selfworth, grief (loss of a spouse), childbirth, graphic descriptions of childbirth, traumatic child birth, hemorrhage, likely very bad medical practices (don't try this at home folks, I am not a medical professional), shock, trauma, anxiety

This chapter is intense!

Notes: Thank you to @janaispunkand @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for beta reading this! I appreciate all your comments and feedback, and I love you both so much!

Words: 5507

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Ellie stops by the clinic a few days later. She stays relatively quiet as you gather supplies. Her eyes track your movements as she swings her legs back and forth from her place on the exam table. You’re not used to her being so quiet.

“Hold out your arm for me?” You give her a reassuring smile.

She listens but seems half a world away. You find a vein with quick precision, letting the blood drip into a glass vial. Your eyes flicker from the collecting blood to her face. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh…” she says. “I guess- why did you agree to do this?”

You cock your head to the side, twisting the top on the vial before you press a cotton ball to the inside of Ellie’s elbow. “You asked. I could at least look at it.”

You press her arm up to hold the cotton there. “Even though you think there’s no point.”

“I never said that.”

Ellie looks you dead in the eye, expression flat. “You thought it. Joel thinks-”

“What does Joel know?” You twist your face, winking at her. A faint smile flashes over her face. “I’m the medical professional here.”

“He talked to Marlene.”

“And Marlene was a doctor? A nurse?”

“No… at least I don’t think so.”

“See, what does she know?” You smile. This time, Ellie actually smiles back. “Now, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Why did you ask me to do this?”

Ellie bites her lip. “I mean if there’s any chance, I have to try right? People could stop dying from this.”

“It’s not your responsibility, you know.”

“What?”

“To save the world.” You say. “It’s not your responsibility.”

“But I’m immune.”

“It’s okay to want to help.” You place the vial in a holder on the counter. The crimson red stands at stark contrast to the sterile-looking clinic. 

“I have to help. I have to do something.” Ellie can’t meet your eyes. “It can’t be for nothing.”

“What can’t be?” You tilt your head to the side. 

Ellie clenches her fist. Her typically assured demeanor is gone, making her look more like the 15-year-old she is. “Ellie?”

She takes a deep, shaky breath, lip quivering slightly. She doesn’t cry, waiting until she’s more assured to answer. “A lot of people died for me. It can’t be in vain.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” She’s quick to answer, looking away.

“That’s okay.” You nod slowly. “But Ellie?”

There’s a pause. She sighs deeply. You can see the tears glistening in her eyes now. She’s fighting so hard to keep it all together. “Yeah?”

“Those people, they made a choice to do that. From what Joel’s told me, it sounds like they did that without even asking you first.” 

“What do you mean?”

You hold out a hand in front of her arm, the one with the bites on it. She’s hesitant at first but eventually lets it rest in your palm. You look over the raised skin where the tendrils of fungus are or were. You’re not sure if they’re still there, or if her body just stopped the progression of them. “You get to decide what happens to you, Ellie. Just because you’re immune doesn’t mean doctors or scientists or whatever form of power gets to make decisions for you.” She meets your eyes. You squeeze her hand. “You don’t owe the world anything for just existing.”

She chews on her lip, making you worry that she might draw blood. Her voice is quiet like she’s scared to say the words. “What good am I if there’s no cure?”

“Ellie.” Your heart breaks for her. You want to gather her in your arms and push all the bad thoughts away. You settle for squeezing her hand again “Your value isn’t tied to your immunity. You’re worth something simply because you exist.”

She tries to brush you off, pull away, and not look at you, but you keep a grip on her hand. “Look at me.” You’re stern. She hesitates but listens. You take a deep breath. “I don’t know if it means much coming from me, but you belong here. Here in Jackson, here in the world. You’re not a bother or an inconvenience, and yes, it sucks that we can’t do anything with your immunity, but that’s not your weight to bear. You understand?”

Her chest quivers. She manages a nod as a couple of tears fall from her eyes. You wipe them away. “And you will always, always, always, have a place in my home. Just waltz right in and I’ll set a plate.”

A small laugh falls from her lips. 

“Okay?”

“Okay.” She agrees, a small smile beginning to take over her face. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” You smile back. “Now, what do you want to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you still want me to look at it?” You tilt your head toward the vial of blood sitting on the counter. 

She stares at it for a minute, contemplating the answers. “Maybe another day? I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

You move away, disposing of the vial. You’re not sure how much weight your words hold, but you feel a little proud of her decision. 

“Are you going to the dance tonight?”

“I guess.” She shrugs. “Dina and Jesse say I have to.”

“Good. You should.”

“Are you and Joel going?”

“Adam beat Joel in Texas Hold ‘Em last night and is making him go.” You laugh a little at the begrudging attitude Joel met you with last night, but a bet is a bet.

“I bet you could get him to dance.”

You laugh a little, images you’d conjured up in your childhood bedroom spring into your mind. They were the daydreams of teenage delusions, but there’s still a little dip of excitement in your stomach at the thought. 

And then you sober up. “I’m not going.”

“If Joel and I are going, you have to come.”

You force a smile. “I don’t go to them anymore.”

“Oh, come on. I bet you’re a great dancer.”

“It’s not about the dancing.” 

“What is it about then?” Ellie wears that goofy little prying grin that’s nothing no short of pure curiosity. If Joel were here. You imagine he’d say her name sternly and give her a look. 

You sigh, keeping a tight smile on your face. “It was something my husband really enjoyed. I haven’t gone since he died.”

“Oh,” Ellie says as the energy shifts. 

“It’s okay, Ellie.” You brush it off. It’s not her fault, and you didn’t have to answer. 

She hesitates, and then she knocks into you, arms flying around your torso, knocking the wind from your abdomen. It takes you by surprise, but it’s a good one. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

And then she’s across the room, grabbing her backpack off the exam table. You can’t help but laugh, wondering how she’s managed to hold onto all that wonder and spunk.  

“You should still come tonight!” Ellie calls before the clinic door slams shut, leaving you with only your thoughts. 

You drop Carter off with Tommy while you walk that night. Maria is on strict bed rest with her due date fast approaching, making them two of only four people not crowded into the Tipsy Bison. You expect to cry on your walk, expect to feel all the emotions that keep you away from the dances, but it doesn’t come even as you round the corner, passing the building that’s overflowing with energy. 

Light flickers across the dimly lit street from moving bodies. The doors and windows are open to let the breeze filter through. A few people congregate outside on the patio with boisterous laughter and animated movements. A couple of folks stumble about, already intoxicated. You stop in your tracks, taking it all in. In the past, you’ve doubled back to forgo passing the festivities, but things are different now. Maybe… maybe you’re a little bit different now too. 

Then you feel it, almost physically, like someone is pressing on your back, leading you toward the door. The people outside don’t pay you much mind, too caught up in their own worlds. The noise grows louder until you’re inside the Tipsy Bison’s doors.

You pass through the room slowly, almost invisible at first. Then you find him, laughing at the bar with Adam. He’s relaxed. An empty whiskey glass sits in front of him and a full one in his hand. He makes a comment to Adam that earns a playful roll of his eyes. He chuckles, shaking his head as he pulls the glass to his lips. His head cocks to the side. Before his lips make contact with the glass, his eyes lock with yours. He stills, a smile crossing his face. He tips the glass toward you and finishes it off. Then, he’s walking toward you with a determination that makes your insides melt and your toes curl in your boots.

His lips dip to your ear. His voice is low and smooth. “I thought you weren’t comin, Darlin.” His Texas drawl is stronger tonight, not helping the heat that grows in your belly. it sends wicked thoughts through your mind. 

You shrug, almost careless about it, but he sees the heat in your eyes. It burns in his too. “Plans change.”

His hand slides around your waist, landing just above your hips. “I like it when your plans change.”

You bite your lip, fighting the urge to pull him out of here and into your bed. “Dance with me?”

A grin spreads across his face. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He pulls you toward the dance floor. The crowd of bodies seems to part like the Red Sea before you, not that your mind can focus on anyone but Joel. He tugs you close as the band starts their rendition of My Girl. Your arms slide around his shoulders, body flush against him. He smiles at you. It’s like something out of a high school movie. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” 

He kisses your forehead, and then your head falls to his chest, eyes blinking closed. It feels like such a sacred moment, it’s hard to believe you’re in a room full of people. Joel sways on beat to the music, humming along. It reminds you of the faint singing that used to drift through your bedroom window at night when he would sit out on his front porch with his guitar and the stars. You spent countless hours sitting under an open window listening to him when you fostered that crush, imagining him singing to you. 

You never imagined you’d be in his arms at the end of the world, in front of the whole town no less, as you fight your growing feelings for him. It sends a kick-start to your system. Not enough to raise a panic attack, or for onlookers to notice, but Joel feels it in the way your muscles tense and your body straightens in his arms. Your eyes pop open and you catch it- the rumor mill turning. Whispers pass behind shielded hands between pairs throughout the room. Some of them are audacious enough to make contact with you or send a wink your way.

Joel’s breath hits your ear again. “Wanna give them something to really talk about, Sweetheart?”

You look up at him, brows furrowed. He stops swaying, both hands cupping your cheeks. Your breath catches. It feels like the whole room’s does, and then his lips are on you, hot and searing and nowhere near chaste. Joel Miller never struck you as the PDA type, but this feels like more. He’s staking his claim on you, telling them all to shove it. Everyone is here. Everyone can see what’s happening for themselves. For all intents and purposes, this is the night Joel Miller becomes yours in the eyes of the community. You’re off limits, and so is he, and it feels good. There are no words, no spoken acknowledgment of anything, just his actions. 

He pulls away, leaving you slightly stunned and hazy. He chuckles. Spinning you around and then pulling you in as the song ends. People clap around you, for the band of course, but you can only look at Joel with a smile that shines like crystal. 

Another song starts back up. Another wave of people join the dance floor. People seem disinterested in the very thing that held them captive moments ago. Joel looks like he is two seconds away from dragging you out of the bar as you stare at each other, unmoving. 

Tommy runs in, breath ragged and hair a mess. His eyes dart around until they land on you. He calls your name, running toward you. “Tommy, what’s wrong?”

“Maria’s in labor.”

Whatever trance Joel put you under is gone as years of experience snap into place. You turn to him. “Will you grab my clinic key and get the green bag?”

“Of course.” Joel nods and then Tommy grabs your hand, dragging you to the house. Ellie and Joel are not far behind. 

Maria is pacing the guest room when you get there, letting out small groans. Like everything else, Maria handles childbirth with grace and dignity- something you wish you could’ve done. 

You shake the memories from Carter’s birth from your mind. It’s mostly a blur- what you remember from that day haunts you. You were a mess- inconsolable. There was no grace or dignity in it. 

“How far apart are your contractions?”

“Hello to you too.” She pops a smile. Your tight lips don’t budge. She sighs. “About three minutes.”

“Three minutes? Maria!”

She waves you off. “You were never more than two minutes away.”

“We agreed on five.”

“I changed my mind.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re a shit patient.”

“I’ve been on bed rest for two weeks, have I not?”

You quirk an eyebrow. She may not have left the house, but you’re not convinced she was following the rest of your instructions. 

She waves you off like it’s nothing. “I heard you were at the Tipsy Bison.”

You shoot her a glare. “You are literally on the verge of having a baby, Maria. My social life is unimportant.”

“I can still talk in labor.”

“Not about this.”

“Oh come on, I’m going to be here all night. Might as well entertain me.” She grins. 

“No. Now let me check your cervix.”

Maria sighs, sitting on the bed. “I think we’re too close as friends.”

Maria’s labor moves quickly. Before midnight, the baby is crowning. You’re coaching Maria through it as Tommy stays by her side, offering what support he can. Maria lets out low moans as she works through contractions, bearing down when you say. Sweat dampens her brow. She’s tired but determined. “How much longer?”

You meet her eyes, giving her an encouraging smile. “You’re almost there. One or two more, Okay?”

She nods, and then another contraction hits. You feel them in your hands, guiding the newest member of Jackson, Wyoming into the world. There’s a long pause, there always is, you never get used to it, you’re quick to clear airways, and then he takes a deep breath, and tiny little wails fill the room.

Relief fills Maria’s eyes and looks of awe and wonder fill the couple’s faces. You can’t help but let out a joyful little laugh. “It’s a boy.”

You place him on Maria’s chest. The proud parents crowd around him, their voices softening, pitching up as they soak in their first moments of a family of three. 

“Tommy, you wanna cut the cord?”

He nods. You show him where to do it, and then he’s right back at Maria’s side, caressing his son’s head. 

“He’s got so much hair,” Tommy says. Tears gather in the new parents’ eyes. 

You’re quiet as you tidy up. Before you slip out, Maria grabs your hand. “Thank you.”

You smile at your best friend. “Of course. Anything for y’all.” She squeezes your hand and you return the gesture. “I’ll give you a few minutes and then be back in to finish up.”

She nods. You wash your hands in the hall bathroom, shedding the soiled apron you wear. Joel greets you when you come out. He raises his eyebrows. “I heard crying, and it sure as hell wasn’t Tommy.”

You laugh. “It’s a boy.”

You see Joel’s happiness for his brother on his face before the big smile ever crosses it. He wraps his arms around you. You lean in, laying your head on his chest. His heart beats beneath your ear steady as a drum. The stress you’ve been carrying for months over this day starts to dissipate from your body. It’s here. He’s here. It happened. You made it through. 

Tommy peaks his head out. “Maria says she’s ready for you.”

You nod. Joel kisses your head and you pull away, warm energy thrumming in your veins. Maria looks almost annoyed when she sees you, knowing what’s coming. 

“He have a name yet?”

“No,” Tommy looks pointedly at his wife. “She swore we were having a girl. Wouldn’t even discuss boys’ names.”

Maria rolls her eyes, making you laugh. “Tommy, go make yourself useful and get me some water.” 

“Yes, Ma’am.” Tommy chuckles, the grin unwipable from his face. His hand runs over his son’s head before he leaves. 

Maria shifts slightly, careful not to disturb the sleeping infant at her side. She lets out a soft hiss.”

“You good?”

“Yeah, you know how it is. Pretty sure the placenta is already out.”

You nod, kneeling at the end of the bed. You’re relieved to see the placenta delivered, fully intact. There’s some bleeding, but no more than what you’d expect. Another relief. “We should get Tommy in here to move you back to your room. How do fresh sheets sound?”

“Like a slice of heaven.” She smiles. 

You move Maria to their room, Tommy sweeping her into his arms like a groom would carry his wife on their wedding night. They throw baby names back and forth as they cross the hall. You carry the baby, swaddled and sleeping. Once he’s tucked into his mother’s arms, you set to work cleaning up. It’s always the hardest part as the adrenaline fades from your bones. Tommy and Maria’s bickering floats across the hallways as you do, making you laugh. This baby may never get named at the rate they’re going. 

The first time Tommy calls out your name. It doesn’t register. The second time is much more urgent and he’s in the doorway of the guest room. He’s gone pale, breathing heavily. 

Your stomach drops. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s bleedin. It’s soaked through the towel.”

“Shit.” You drop what’s in your hand, grabbing your bag of supplies. 

Tommy is at Maria’s side. You lift the blanket and your heart drops. You glance back up at Maria. She looks tired. You’d expect it, but this feels different. “How do you feel?”

“Like I just had a baby.” She tries to joke, but it falls flat. She knows this is bad too. “A little lightheaded.”

There’s another gush of blood. A clot that’s bigger than it should be. “Fuck, Fuck, fuck.” Your breathing turns ragged. There’s too much blood and more appears bringing another large clot with it. She’s hemorrhaging. 

“What should I do?” Tommy asks. He’s panicking. 

“Go get Joel.” Tommy tries to protest. You cut him off. “Get Joel back in here.” You leave no room for debate, but he still hesitates. “Now!” 

He finally listens. Maria locks eyes with you. She knows. You see the fear in her eyes, and it knocks the breath out of you. You’ve never seen Maria scared. She’s always so sure and sturdy, but not now. Her skin has gone dull, losing its typical vibrance, like the life is slowly draining from her.  You want to sit on the floor and weep, but you have to push through. “Deep breaths, Maria. I need you to stay as calm as possible.”

You dig through your bag, pulling out everything you need. 

Joel is barely across the threshold when you direct him to the chair next to the bed. He doesn’t have time to ask questions. He knows it’s best not to. “You promise you’re O negative?”

“Yes, why?” He hardly gets the words out before you clean his arm with high-proof moonshine and insert the needle in his vein. He winces. You’re efficient, ensuring there’s no air in the tube before inserting the other end into Mari’s arm. You glance down at your watch, noting the time. 

“Keep your arm elevated. If you start to get dizzy, you tell me.” You’re stern. You leave no room for argument. Joel watches as his blood flows through the short plastic tube connected to Maria. 

You have no idea if this will work. She’s probably losing blood too fast and the risk of complications looms in your mind, but you’ve never had someone survive a hemorrhage like this before. It’s your only hope and you will do everything within your power to keep Maria on this earth. 

Maria stays as quiet as she can. She’s focused on her son, memorizing everything about him, so you focus on saving her life. 

“What’s happening?” Tommy stays in the doorway. You don’t turn around. You can’t stop what you’re doing. You have to stop the bleeding. It’s the only thing on your mind now. “Tell me what’s happening to my wife!”

“She’s trying to save your wife’s life!” Joel snaps. “Let her do her job.”Joel keeps his eyes pinned to you. 

“Tommy,” Maria says. “Come here.” Her voice is weak and raspy. You have to push it out of your mind. If you don’t, you’ll break. You can’t break right now. 

Tommy kneels next to Maria and his son. He’s caressing both their heads. You’re sure he’s crying. You’re not convinced you’re not crying too, but you’re too preoccupied to take stock of it. 

You know when she goes unconscious, but you don’t hear anything from Tommy. The room is so silent as you rotate between massaging Maria’s uterus and packing it. You’re running out of semi-sterile material. Has the bleeding slowed down? How long has this been going on? It feels like a lifetime. You can’t spare a second to look at your watch. 

Joel’s arm drops a little. It’s getting tired. “Keep your arm higher than her head.” You spare a look at Joel only because it pertains to Maria’s health. “Stand if you have to, but slowly.” 

The blood loss appears to be slowing down, but you don’t. You keep going and going and going, until you’re sure it’s stopped. Then, you just sit there and wait. Tommy wants to demand answers, but Joel glares him into silence. 

You dare you to step back. You’re on autopilot, the adrenaline wearing off long ago. You check her heartbeat and her blood pressure. Neither is great, but it could be worse. You dare to hope you’ve seen the worst of it. 

Joel stumbles forward a little bit, catching himself on the bed frame. 

“Shit.” You rush over to his side, guiding him back into the chair. 

“I'm fine, I’m fine.” He brushes you off, making sure his arm is still raised. You see the shake of it. 

You check your watch. It takes you longer than it should to do the math. “Fuck, you’ve been hooked up for too long.” 

Joel stops your hand before it can pull. “No, no. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re done.” 

“No, Maria… she’s not awake yet… she-” Tommy stands up.

“She’s not waking up.” You face him.

 He loses any color he has left, panic-stricken across his face. “What?”

“Fuck,” you cringe. “I mean tonight, Tommy. She’s not waking up tonight. She needs to rest.”

“So she’s going to be okay?” 

You want to assure him. You look at their newborn baby sleeping in the bassinet in the corner. You don’t know when he was moved and it doesn’t matter. You want to promise Tommy that he’s not going to be a widower, that their son won’t be motherless, but you can’t. 

“I don’t think she’s going to die from blood loss anymore.”

It’s a small assurance, but it’s all you have to give. When you attempt to remove the needle from Joel’s arm this time, he lets you. The bandage feels so delicate and small compared to the trauma you just dealt with. You struggle with it. Joel takes over for you. 

“You need food, something to drink,” you say. 

“I’ll get it,” Joel says. 

You push him back into the chair. “You’re in no condition to walk downstairs.”

“Neither are you.” He says, eyes traveling over your frame. 

You furrow your brow. You don’t understand. You don’t see or feel the blood that dresses you, not yet 

“Ellie!” Joel yells. 

It’s a stark contrast to the quiet encapsulating the room. You hear her footsteps up the stairs. She enters, eyes going wide. She surmised something wasn’t right, but the copious amounts of blood are startling. “Holy shit.”

“Will you bring up some food? Water?” Joel looks to you to confirm. 

“Fruit.” 

Joel nods. “And then take Carter home?”

“I should-” you go to say. 

“No.” Joel cuts you off. He takes your hand, thumb running over your knuckles. “Not tonight.” 

Ellie nods. She knows now is not the time for the many questions running through her mind. “Yeah, of course.” 

Tommy clears his throat, still searching for answers. You sigh. “I can’t promise anything, Tommy. There’s still so much that could happen, but she’s strong.” 

“I know how strong my wife is. I need to know that she’ll be okay.” He’s still pushy and you don’t blame him. You’re all on edge. 

“I don’t know!” The world blurs before you. “The risk of infection is high, she- she could have complications from-” Your chest rattles. Joel’s hand settles on your back. Tommy can’t look at you. “She’s my best friend, Tommy. I’m doing everything I can.”

Tommy nods. He knows it’s true, but he’s scared. This is Maria. She keeps Jackson going. She keeps you going. 

Ellie brings up the food. She wants to do more, you can see it in her eyes. You can’t pull the words out anymore. 

“Thank you, kiddo,” Joel says. 

Ellie makes a face at the name. She shoves a strawberry in Joel’s face. “Eat this, you look like a ghost.” 

“Carter?” You ask.

“Passed out on the couch,” Ellie smiles proudly. You need the relief, you just hate that the 15-year-old bears that responsibility. “Glad he’s potty trained.” 

“Thank you, Ellie.” 

She nods at you. There’s some hesitation like she might wrap her arms around you for a second time that day. Was that really only hours ago? But she ducks out of the room instead. 

You make sure Tommy and Joel eat. You’re amazed that the newborn still sleeps. His chest rises and falls and from your check-up, he seems to be healthy. You check Maria’s blood pressure and heart rate again. It hasn’t gotten worse. 

You clean up as best you can without jostling Maria too much. Tommy joins in, working silently alongside you. Much to his displeasure, you make Joel stay seated. It’s another long silence before you’re finished. 

“Sweetheart, you need to go home.”

You’re dead on your feet. Your arms feel like lead at your sides. It’s so apparent in all of your movements, but you don’t feel like you can leave her side. Fear flares up in Tommy’s eyes and then he takes in your appearance. 

“He’s right,” Tommy says. 

You intend to put up a fight, but it doesn’t happen. You feel the exhaustion in every fiber of your being. You’re not sure you won’t collapse at any minute. 

You pull out a bottle of antibiotics. Maria would hitch a fit you know, but you don’t care. You’ll do anything you can to make sure she recovers, and you can’t keep the medicine forever. It’s going to be fancy water eventually if it isn’t already. You hand the bottle to Tommy with careful instructions. “If her breathing changes, or she starts bleeding, come get me immediately.” 

He nods. “Of course.”

“We’ll stop at Paul and Lindsey’s, she’s still breastfeeding. Little man is going to want to eat any minute.” 

Tommy nods. Joel’s arms come around you, supporting you from behind. Your legs attempt to fold but you regain your balance with his help. Glancing between Tommy and Maria, the urge to stay inflames again, but Joel is leading you out of their home before you have time to comprehend it. 

He leaves you on the front steps, approaching Paul and Linsey’s on his own. You’re worried about him, sure he gave too much of his blood tonight, but he comes back a few minutes later.

Joel leads you through your house. You want to collapse into bed at first sight, but he tugs you back. “Shower first.”

The small protest dies on your lips the moment you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. You look like you have stepped out of a horror film. You don’t even recognize yourself. Blood, Maria’s blood, coats your shirt and arms. Smudges streak your cheeks. Some of it’s in your hair. It’s endless. Your body begins to shake. You don’t think it’ll ever stop. You lean against the vanity for a semblance of stability. It’s useless. You stare at it all, taking it in, but it doesn’t look like you. It’s like you’re in some faraway space floating around, not connected to your body.

Joel tears your shirt down the back. He’s quick and gentle about it. Your bra is next. He slips off your shoes and then your pants until you’re completely naked. Steam fills the room. Blood soaked through your clothes in some places, painting your skin like modern art. Joel backs you into the shower with ease. You’re pliable, muscles turned to liquid. 

Hot water cascades over your body, flooding your eyes. It’s suffocating until Joel pushes your hair out of your face, redirecting the water with his hands. His fingers massage at your scalp over and over. He adds soap to your hair, pulling it through until the grime and blood are gone. 

There are no noises, no tears, but you can’t stop the shaking. You must look pitiful standing under the water like a limp doll as you lose control of your body. 

Joel scrubs your body clean, and then he does it a second time for good measure. When he finishes, his fingers trail up your arms and neck until he cups your cheeks firmly. Your eyes finally focus on his, pulling you back into yourself with a thud. You feel it all at once, his hands on you, the rawness on your skin, the hot water pounding down on you. Joel sees it happen, his hands slide under your arms as your knees give way. The tears fall. Your back hits the cool tiles. Joel presses against your front, keeping you up. 

Finally, tears wet your cheeks. Sobs leave your chest, and your brain spirals through it all: Maria okay one minute and bleeding out the next. The fact that it stopped was little comfort now. So much could still go wrong, and you can’t lose Maria. She’s your rock, probably the only reason you’re alive today. Losing her would be harder than losing Gabe. 

If she dies, it’s your fault because you couldn’t save her.

Your chest constricts with a tight, wheezing inhale. The tears stop as you struggle to breathe. Joel takes your hand, laying it over his chest. “Breathe, I’ve got you, Sweetheart.” 

He models it. You see and feel the slow rise and fall of his chest. His hand stays over yours until the ache in your chest eases and the water runs cold. 

Joel picks you up, tugs a soft shirt over your head, and crawls into bed behind you. He’s solid and warm against your back. You’re locked against him. His fingers dance across your stomach, lips brush against your ear. You lean into him. In such a short time, he’s come to know you so well. Maria is your rock, but Joel is your support. He tore down your walls like cheap construction and built a fucking shelter to keep you warm. You let your brain take you away before the rest of it can sink in because loving Joel Miller would be wonderful, but losing him would kill you.  

He whispers in your ear. “What do you want?” 

Your eyes won’t stay open anymore between the exhaustion and Joel clouding your senses. 

“Stay,” you fumble out. You don’t know if it’s decipherable but it works. 

For the first time, Joel stays the night in your bed. 

[wannab-urs]

Red Right Hand

Summary: You and Max have dinner and then you get freaky. It’s almost too much for poor little Maxxie to handle. 

Pairing: Sub!Max Phillips x Vampire!Dom!f!reader

Warnings/content: Pure porn, pwp, Blood drinking (they’re both vampires), minor character death (your victim lol), murder… obviously. sub!Max, Dom!reader, unprotected PiV (they’re vampires, you are not), uhhh blasphemy probably, face riding, cum eating, Max’s vamp face, oral m! and f!receiving, overstimulation m!receiving, multiple male orgasms, refractory period nonexistent due to vampire fuckery, ass play m!receiving, praise kink, use of pet names/titles (Mistress for reader/ baby boy, pet, Maxxie, and one surprise for Max), aftercare, no use of y/n. Lemme know if I missed anything! WC: ~2k

A/N: I read this post about male overstimulation and fucking loved it. So then I decided I Bite Back needed a sequel (but this can be a standalone). Reader is a vampire just like Max. More notes on their dynamic at the end. Thanks to @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin, @atinylittlepain, @beskarandblasters and @theywhowriteandknowthings for betaing for me <3 Also for another pathetic sub!Max and a big inspiration of mine, check out @butchmandalorian’s A Little Lipstick Never Hurts (now featuring Dieter).

Smut below the cut

Crimson coats your lips, your chin, runs down your neck and in between your breasts. You fall back onto the bed, your victim’s blood rushing through your veins and lighting up nerve endings as it goes. You’re half drunk on the pretty thing… she was so sweet.

You reach up with one arm, slide your fingers into your lover’s hair and tug gently. Max drags his mouth away from your victim’s jugular with a questioning whine. “She’s empty, pet. C’mere,” you slur. 

“I wasn’t finished,” he grumbles.

“Max. Now.”

Max reluctantly lets go of the girl, and she crumples to the floor in a heap. He crawls onto the foot of the bed and kneels between your legs. As his face smooths out and his fangs recede, you notice a gorgeous flush in his cheeks and down his bare chest. He’s not nearly as messy an eater as you, but his plush pink lips are tinged red with your dinner. He looks down at you with hunger in his dark eyes, a different kind of appetite taking over now that you’ve both had your fill. “Kiss me, Maxxie.” 

Max settles over you on hands and knees, dropping his mouth to your sternum and dragging an open mouthed kiss all the way up to your neck. You let out a near delirious moan and wrap the short strands of his hair around your fingers. He slips his tongue along your jawline, licking up the mess you made, before finally melding his mouth with yours. 

You hook a leg behind Max’s knee, using the leverage and your grip on his hair to flip him underneath you and he yelps. You settle on his thighs and wrap your fingers loosely around his cock. “Want me to ride you, pet?” He nods enthusiastically. “Hands by your sides.” 

You spit in your palm and slick up his cock, dragging your palm up and down him slowly and barely giving him any pressure at all. Just as it looks like he’s going to beg, you slide forward, dragging your pussy lips along the length of him and trapping him against his stomach. You keep up the tease until he breaks. 

“Fucking please, Mistress,” he bucks his hips and whines. “Let me feel you.” 

“Only because you beg so pretty for me, Maxxie.” You lift up on your knees and notch him at your entrance. You groan low and long and as you sink down on his impressive length. You let your head fall back between your shoulder blades and dig your hands into the meat of his thighs. He’s so deep inside you at this angle, hitting spots that white out your vision. You bounce on his cock, grinding your clit against the neat curls at the base on every downstroke.

Max’s hands slide up your thighs and settle on your waist. You’re so lost in your own pleasure, you don’t reprimand him. Not even when he starts meeting every bounce with his own sharp thrust. “Max, fuck!” You feel your core tightening, you’re so close. You bring a hand to your clit, rubbing circles in time with Max’s thrusts.

 That ever tightening coil in your core snaps with mind blowing ferocity. Your whole body tightens up and you scream Max’s name as he fucks you through it. You slump forward, burying your face in the crook of his neck. You feel a little more wet between your thighs than you would expect. 

“Maxxie baby?” You let it drip with false sweetness. There’s a pause, long enough you don’t even need to ask what happened. You do anyway. You sit up, grabbing his jaw and forcing his gorgeous brown eyes to meet yours. “Did you come?” He has the decency to look ashamed. 

“Yes, Mistress,” he whispers hoarsely, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“You will be,” you growl into his ear. You give his face a quick pat and sit up, letting his softening cock slip out of you. Your legs are still a little shaky as you crawl up his torso until you’re hovering over his face. “Clean up your mess, Maxi Pad,” you command, voice coated in condescension 

His mouth falls open, tongue out, and you drop your hips, letting your clit settle against his curved nose. His tongue is heavenly, but the noises he makes into your dripping cunt are sinful. His tongue dips inside you over and over again, lapping up your combined release like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. “G-Good boy, Maxxie, fuck,” you stutter as he groans into your pussy. 

The vibrations of his deep voice against you, his nose grinding into your hypersensitive clit, and his tongue lapping at you have you on the edge of coming again. Max can feel your walls tightening around his tongue and he burrows his face impossibly deeper into your cunt in response. He wraps his hands around your thighs, holding you in place as he devours you. You feel like you’re being consumed by holy fire, burned up from the inside out. You come with an incoherent cry, grinding down on Max’s face so hard it has to hurt a little. Good thing vampires don’t need to breathe. 

You finally slump to his side, giving your legs a rest. You consider stopping, the both of you sated and Max properly punished for his mishap. But then a little whimper slips from your pet’s lips and you notice his cock is hard and leaking against his stomach again. “Maxxie? Did you touch yourself?” He couldn’t have, his hands were on your thighs. 

“No, Mistress,” his voice is breathy and his hands twitch by his sides. He clearly wants more. You push yourself off the mattress and settle between his legs. You form a plan, a way to have him whimpering and begging for you in a way he never has before. You take him in your hand and kiss the tip of his cock. 

“Now, Maxxie, you can come whenever you’re ready, okay? Don’t have to ask.” He looks a little confused but also grateful. 

“Thank you, Mistress.” 

You suck him down in one go, relaxing your throat. Max groans, low and gravelly, fisting the sheets in his big hands. You allow him to thrust into your mouth once, before grabbing his hips and forcing him down into the mattress. You bob your head up and down at a steady rhythm, swirling your tongue around his tip on every upstroke. 

When his legs begin to shake, you gently hold his balls, rolling and tugging them lightly. You can tell he’s close. His chest is heaving despite the fact he doesn’t need air (habit, you guess), and his head is tipped back into the pillows, exposing the long thick column of his throat. You slip one finger behind his sack, pressing into the sensitive spot you know will push him over the edge. He shouts your name so loud it’s nearly a scream and comes down your throat, hips still attempting to thrust deeper into your mouth. When his cock softens, you hollow your cheeks and pull off him with a pop, drawing out another pathetic whimper. 

“Do you feel good Maxxie boy?” 

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you.” He’s being so good you almost feel bad about your plan. Almost.

“Get hard again.” 

“What?” He looks horrified. 

“You heard me, Max,” you say sternly, sitting up on your knees so you tower over him. “Don’t make me ask again.” 

“But it’ll hurt!” he whines. “Let me make you feel good again, Mistress. Please.” God, he’s pitiful… you can make him worse though. 

“You know what would make me feel good, pet? If you did what you were told instead of being a brat.” He pouts and you slap his inner thigh, hard enough to sting.

 He flinches and whines, but you see his spent cock twitch. He can play like he doesn’t like it, but you both know he does. His brow furrows and he closes his eyes in concentration. You watch his cock fill, untouched, as he focuses on sending blood to it. 

“Good boy, Maxxie.” You bend over and kiss his still pouty lips. You replace your lips with two of your fingers. “Suck.” He eagerly pulls your fingers into his mouth, sucking them down to the knuckle and laving your digits with his tongue. 

You pull your fingers from his mouth, patting his pretty cheeks with them. “Good boy.” You get back between his legs and wrap your dry hand around his cock, using your left over and mostly dried saliva as lube. You place your wet fingers against his hole and feel him jolt away from you before he settles and pushes his ass toward you instead. All at once, you push your fingers into him and drag your hand up his length, twisting your wrist at the top. He howls and you watch his face morph, smooth olive skin turning red and wrinkled. His mouth opens wide and you watch his fangs descend, little growls leaving his throat. You think both his faces are beautiful, but he knows better than to change when you’re in charge.  

You let your fangs descend and snarl at him, pressing down on his prostate at the same time. His growl tapers into a whine as his face returns to its human form. You retract your fangs and take his tip in your mouth, pumping your fingers in and out of him.  He grabs the sheets and pulls so hard you hear the threads ripping. His beautiful broad chest is again heaving with the effort of dragging in unnecessary breaths. 

“Mistress pleeeeease. Stop. Please. Fuck. Please, stop. I can’t take it,” his voice is high and whiny, rambling and begging and pleading with you. But he doesn’t say the safeword (crucifix) so you don’t intend to stop. Max bucks his hips into you, forcing him further down your throat. He quickly pulls back, trying to escape your mouth, only to push himself farther down on your fingers. You don’t think he knows if he’s trying to get away from the sensations or if he’s chasing them, but he obviously doesn’t want you to stop.

His eyes roll back into his head and he lets out a strangled moan. “Fuck!! Mistress please, can I come, please please.” He’s writing and tugging on the sheets so much they’ve come off the bed. You sit back on your heels, relieving him from the overstimulation of his cock, but press your fingers against his sensitive spot again. You see tears in the corners of those pretty, lust blown eyes, and know you achieved your goal. 

“Come for me, baby boy” You don’t even have to touch him again. He explodes all over his cute little belly, scrunching his eyes closed and moaning low and long. You work his prostate through it, then remove your fingers from him. You let him be for a moment, not moving away, but not touching him either. 

“You did so good for me, baby boy,” you praise him. “Can I clean you up now?” He nods slowly, still riding the high from his intense orgasm. You lick his cum off his stomach, drying the rest with a blanket, and lay on the bed on your side facing him.

 “Come here, Maxxie,” you whisper gently. He sort of flops over to face you and you pull him fully against you and cradle his head against you. “Good boy, Maxxie. You looked so pretty whining and begging for me. Do you feel good?” He nods sleepily into your chest. “Good,” you whisper. You press kisses to the top of his head and run your fingers through his hair as he falls asleep. Your mattress is exposed where he ripped the sheets off and there’s a dead body on the floor, but you really could not care less right now.

You’ll worry about cleanup tomorrow. 

–----

Endnotes: my headcanon for why she doesn’t let him “vamp out,” as I call it, is that they are in reality very equally matched strength/power wise, but this dynamic is obviously dependent on an imbalance of power, so she wants him to appear human when she doms him. I also think he turned her when he was doing a corporate takeover and she went from human secretary he harassed to vamp secretary he fucked. Then she got tired of his attitude and decided to put him in his place. 

------

Thanks for reading <3

[planet-marz1]

what’s ur joel rec list for fics with angst and some smut 👀👀👀

congrats to you on 100💗🥳

Hiii Becca! tysm 💗 here's some recs for you:

*some of these have both angst and smut, others are just smut or just angst*

Sensational by @sinsofsummers

Fear of God by @netherfeildren

Someone's Wife In the Boat of Someone's Husband by @netherfeildren

I urge you: bite me by @netherfeildren

I know it when i see it by @bageldaddy

Bloodshed, crimson clover by @morning-star-joy

Linger on by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

John Wayne by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

Stay by @darkroastjoel

We need you by @darkroastjoel

Happy Ending by @joelmillersmistress

Eat by @notjustjavierpena

Sun bleached flies by @breakfastatjoels

March by @the-widow-miller

I know the end by @mondaychildsworld

hope you enjoy!

100 follower celebration

[galacticrambler]

I was a ruined mess at the end of this week’s episode of Shōgun titled “Abyss of Life”. This was an absolutely heartbreaking episode, and it was perfect.

I don’t know how to talk about this episode without spoiling things, so let’s get to it: Hiromatsu commits seppuku after publicly disagreeing with and defying Toranaga in the meeting with the other vassals. He had his son Buntaro second him and remove his head.

Sitting there on the couch in front of my TV… I was shaken. Stunned. From Hiromatsu’s guts coming out to his head being removed and rolling right toward Toranaga… This was hard. It hurt. I really liked his character.

Then! The big reveal at the end from Toranaga to Mariko that he and Hiromatsu had, in fact, planned this to truck Ishido and everyone in Osaka that he was really planning on turning himself over for execution. My gods. Just a brutal reveal, but also made me glad that they weren’t mad at each other.

This episode was clearly seeing the stage for the next episode when Toranaga goes to Osaka, and it is turned “Crimson Sky”. I expect fireworks. And death. Lots and lots of death.

I maintain that week after week this is the best show on television. From the writing to the set design to the acting, everyone is operating at a peak level. It’s beautiful to see, and I can’t wait to see how this show is going to end. There are only two episodes left.

[magnificentsapcaddy]

This is the day of the expanding man. That shape is my shade, there where I used to stand. It seems like only yesterday I gazed through the glass at ramblers; wild gamblers. That's all in the past. You call me a fool, you say it's a crazy scheme. This one's for real, I already bought the dream. So useless to ask me why - throw a kiss, and say goodbye. I'm ready this time. I'm ready to cross that fine line. Learn to work the saxophone - I play just what I feel. Drink scotch whisky all night long, and die behind the wheel. They got a name for the winners in the world; I want a name when I lose. They call Alabama the Crimson Tide. Call me Deacon Blues, Deacon Blues. My back to the wall, a victim of laughing chance. This is, for me, the essence of true romance - sharing the things we know and love with those of my kind: libations, sensations that stagger the mind. I crawl like a viper through these

SUBUUUUUUUUURBAN

streets - make love to these women, both languid and bittersweet. I'll rise when the sun goes down, cover every game in town. A world of my own - I'll make it my home sweet home. Learn to work the saxophone - I play just what I feel. Drink scotch whisky all night long, and die behind the wheel. They got a name for the winners in the world; I want a name when I lose. They call Alabama the Crimson Tide. Call me Deacon Blues, Deacon Blues. This is the night of the expanding man. I take one last drag as I approach the stand. I cried when I wrote this song; sue me if I play too long. This brother is free. I'll be what I want to be. I'll learn to work the saxophone - I'll play just what I feel. Drink scotch whisky all night long, and die behind the wheel. They got a name for the winners in the world; I want a name when I lose. They call Alabama the Crimson Tide. Call me Deacon Blues, Deacon Blues.

[maudeboggins]

Photograph by F A Paneth, Crimson Ramblers, c.1915, autochrome

[taxidermiedfawn]

In a little trellised arbour there was a tea table set out with a white crochet cloth and a deck chair with a heart-shaped red velvet cushion for the visitor. The lamb was sitting up in a froth of muslin and lace and scarlet ribbons under a canopy of crimson rambler roses, which somehow reminded the young man of his sisters' Valentines.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Excerpt from Picnic at Hanging Rock by Joan Lindsay.

[thedorkofheart]

I’d probably be a Pegasus (because god, i yearn to fly) with a pen and paper cutie mark, because I’m one hell of a rambler in written form. Probably a winged pen though, because Pegasus variant and all that.

Also, if we’re going for colors, too, I’d love to have a dark red mane and tail with either dark blue or dusty pale blue fur. Maybe the mane and tail could have the either pale or dark blue that my fur doesn’t have. As well as either crimson or sky blue eyes, depending on what matches best. It’d look neat and make for a good color contrast in my humble opinion.

what kind of cutie marks would you guys have... be honest

[violettesiren]

When Betty makes a garden, With shrubs and bushes planned, I’d like to be upon the spot, And lend a helping hand—

For when the Spring and Summer Call forth the blossoms there, I know in Betty’s garden I’d surely have a share She’d give me showery wattle, As gold as dawning day, And Crimson Rambler roses warm, And cool and snowy May;

Long chains of bright Laburnum, And butter-coloured Broom, And thus would Betty’s garden Make sunshine in my room.

If I were Betty’s neighbour, And full her garden grown, I’d sniff the breathing odours rich In through my window blown, From Loquat flower and Almond, And Oleander tall, From Laurel and from Lilac, The dearest of them all.

Yes, straight from Betty’s garden She’d bring me Lilac flower, In mauve, like stately lady In old-time lady’s bower; And wreaths of Honeysuckle She’d pilfer from the bee, And Jasmine from the trellis, To share them all with me.

When Betty makes a garden For shrubs and bushes planned, I’d like to be Godmother there, And name the lovely band— Thus I in Betty’s garden Would have a rightful share, And in my quiet chamber I’d breathe its incense rare.

When Betty Makes A Garden by Matilda Ann Aston

[orpheusterminals]

Deacon Blues

This is the day of the expanding man That shape is my shade There where I used to stand It seems like only yesterday I gazed through the glass At ramblers, wild gamblers That's all in the past

You call me a fool You say it's a crazy scheme This one's for real I already bought the dream So useless to ask me why Throw a kiss and say goodbye I'll make it this time I'm ready to cross that fine line

Learn to work the saxophone (I) I play just what I feel Drink Scotch whiskey all night long And die behind the wheel They got a name for the winners in the world (I) I want a name when I lose They call Alabama the Crimson Tide Call me Deacon Blues (Deacon Blues)

My back to the wall A victim of laughing chance This is for me The essence of true romance Sharing the things we know and love with those of my kind Libations, sensations That stagger the mind

I crawl like a viper Through these suburban streets Make love to these women Languid and bittersweet I'll rise when the sun goes down Cover every game in town A world of my own I'll make it my home sweet home

Learn to work the saxophone (I) I play just what I feel Drink Scotch whiskey all night long And die behind the wheel They got a name for the winners in the world (I) I want a name when I lose They call Alabama the Crimson Tide Call me Deacon Blues (Deacon Blues)

This is the night of the expanding man I take one last drag as I approach the stand I cried when I wrote this song Sue me if I play too long This brother is free I'll be what I want to be

I'll learn to work the saxophone (I) I play just what I feel Drink Scotch whiskey all night long And die behind the wheel They got a name for the winners in the world (I) I want a name when I lose They call Alabama the Crimson Tide Call me Deacon Blues (Deacon Blues)

[peaceinthestorm]

Gari Melchers (1860-1932, American) ~ Crimson Rambler, 1914-15

[Source: garimelchers.org]

[minuty]

[galacticrambler]

In an episode filled with political machinations, Toranaga looked to outmaneuver Ishido and Ochiba no Kata at every turn. I would run through a wall for Toranaga-sama. Shōgun is the best.

I’m not even kidding a little bit. I’m getting ready for it now. I will run through that wall.

Hiroyuki Sanada is an absolute gift to our television screens. The man lends his gravitas to everyone with which he shares a scene and makes everyone better. We’re truly blessed.

Tensions are rising throughout Japan in this episode. In Osaka, Ishido and Lady Ochiba no Kata are scheming ways to quickly:

Find a person to be the new Regent

Vote that person to officially be a Regent

Vote to impeach Toranaga

Obviously, there are some brutally murdered dead bodies bumps in the road, and things didn’t go exactly to plan. Then, Toranaga gets word of their murder of Sugiyama and declares that they will now strike with the battle plan “Crimson Sky” which I hope is as dope as it sounds.

Elsewhere, Toranaga reveals the truth to Mariko about why her father had her marry Buntaro was to protect her and so she could help finish his mission of protecting Japan.

The scene between Mariko, Fuji, Blackthorne, and Kiku was fantastic. The side eye and tiny smile that Fuji gave when Kiku said that Mariko and Blackthorne are together a lot was hilarious.

Look, I’ve made it no secret that I love this show. It’s another week with another great episode. I hope this show wins all of the awards.

[livingbreathingdreams]

Period Comfort Fics 🩸

• DIN DJARIN • JOEL MILLER • JAVIER PEÑA • FRANKIE MORALES • DIETER BRAVO • JAVI GUTIÉRREZ • BUCKY BARNES  • CAPTAIN SYVERSON • HARRY STYLES •

🌶 Spicy, consume at your own risk

//

Din Djarin

❤︎ Softer @thatredheadwriter

❤︎ relax @guess-my-next-obsession

❤︎ Embarrassed @crumbledcastle28

❤︎ a little tender @lavendertales

❤︎ cycles @bits-and-babs 🌶

❤︎ Is…is this okay? @stardustdiaries

//

Joel Miller

❤︎ For Science @strang3lov3 🌶

❤︎ Seeing Red @strang3lov3 🌶

❤︎ Can you see his silhouette? @psychedelic-ink

❤︎ periodically @rocketrhap3000

❤︎ Heating Pad @aangelichaos

❤︎ Joel when you're on your period @lumoverheaven

❤︎ Handsy @ovaryacted

❤︎ Sweet Creature @alrightieaphroditie 🌶

❤︎ Blood Within Me @starry-eyes-love

//

Javier Peña

❤︎ recommended dose of dick @palioom 🌶

❤︎ Anything @wheresarizona 🌶

❤︎ I Want to Watch You @katareyoudrilling 🌶

//

Frankie "Catfish" Morales

❤︎ Love me tender @lavendertales 🌶

❤︎ Here For You @guess-my-next-obsession

❤︎ The Heating Pad @astoryisaloveaffair

❤︎ Be There @psychedelic-ink 🌶

❤︎ At your service @pimosworld

❤︎ warm water @5oh5

//

Dieter Bravo

❤︎ Unwind @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

//

Javi Gutiérrez

❤︎ Crimson and Clover @gasolinerainbowpuddles 🌶

//

Pedro Calls - Apple TV

❤︎ Massage for Relieving Period Cramps @oonajaeadira 🌶

//

Bucky Barnes

❤︎ My Favorite Place to Be @jobean12-blog

❤︎ Crimson Wave @invisibleanonymousmonsters

❤︎ Metal Arms and Cramps @whatrambles

//

Captain Syverson

❤︎ The Red Army @sillyrabbit81

❤︎ Blood Hound @sillyrabbit81 🌶

//

Harry Styles

❤︎ Citrine Period Blurb @moonchildstyles

❤︎ Aster Period Blurb @moonchildstyles

❤︎ Periods and stained bed sheets @littledreamybeth

❤︎ Let it bleed @songbirdstyles 🌶

❤︎ Large, Warm Hands @watermelonlovershigh

❤︎ Lead Me @freedomfireflies 🌶

//

[spirit-of-art]

Philip Leslie Hale, The crimson rambler, 1909