#forget secondhand embarrassment is there such a thing as | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lambcultist · 2 months ago

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in bloom. 𝐸.𝒲.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — ‧₊˚ ⋅ ellie is struggling to come to terms with the reality of her immunity, and you are struggling with heeding everyone's warnings about her.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — ‧₊˚ ⋅ MINORS DNI ( 18+ ) mean!jackson!ellie x shy!sweetheart!reader. ellie is the local bitch in town, reader the sweetheart. canon divergence. ellie is struggling a lot with depression, insecurity, worthlessness, panic attack. mentions of reckless behaviour due to said mental health issues. heavy mention of ellie's difficulty regarding her and joel's relationship. reader is extremely shy. awkward x awkward tbh. probably lots of secondhand embarrassment. lots of pining, slow burn. hurt / comfort. some angst. explicit death, infection, killing, etc. tooth-rotting fluff and some cliche. lots of canon elements skewed and played with to fit the mean trope, though she's barely even 'mean', she's just misunderstood. follows ellie's pov more. protective + jealous ellie... cat mentioned. dina and jesse are dating. ellie has pollen allergies. pet names (baby girl, kitten, darling). sex — dom!ellie, sub!reader. virginity loss. oral + fingering (r), tribbing. reader cums prematurely and is insecure/embarrassed. lots of praise.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — ‧₊˚ ⋅ omg !! i've been working on this for so long. i'm so happy with how she's turned out. it's a long one, so, strap in. there's a bit of a bigger focus on exploring ellie's point of view as i wanted to focus on her emotional state. all in all, i feel so sad for my girl, like, she feels worthless and that's not okay. so i wanted to write about her realising she means something to someone. you can also read on ao3.

　　　　m.list　wc — 18.4k　mdni, please ♡

　　　　　　　　　WINTER.

"aww, grumpy decided to show face."

with a soft rolling of her eyes, ellie purses her lips and lets out a sigh. she could recognise the voice anywhere, jesse's remarks so typical and yet never any less annoying.

"yeah, well i'm regretting it," ellie replies, glancing up at her friend. "i hate these things."

"that would be because you're a lonely sack of shit," jesse points out.

to that, ellie just scoffs and looks into her half-empty glass, the amber liquid swirling as her thoughts often do. the string lights above twinkle like stars, and the room is alive, so alive, with laughter and love. it's all what ellie wishes she had, along with the ability to forget about life's burdens for even a few hours. she fucking wishes it were possible for her.

from the children outside pretending to be the most gruesome and unsightly monsters in games of tag, to the elders and adults with a buzz warming their aching bones, everyone in jackson seems comfortable enough to make some light of the world outside the walls. it seems that easy for them to leave behind the troubles faced.

"come on," jesse relents, firmly patting her shoulder. ellie's silence speaks more than her voice, and if there's anyone who knows it, it's him. "i'm glad you showed up for once. i worry. so does dina. and joel."

"yep." for a moment she allows her face to soften, though her eyes narrow at the last addition: joel. "he's talking to you about me? again?"

"just the usual," jesse admits. "patrol. he suddenly gets a lot more involved in the planning process when it comes to your patrols."

"well he's going to stop it soon, i promise you that."

jesse chuckles quietly and shakes his head. "no need. i understand."

"no, he'll stop bothering you about it," ellie assures. "i'll talk to him."

it's deeper than bothering jesse. it boils down to ellie wishing for some more control. joel is more than just a thief to her life's purpose. his protection is unwarranted, his attempts at repairing what's lost simply a waste of time in ellie's eyes. there is no fix.

"so, dina's talking to your little friend over there," jesse says gruffly, nodding his head across the room to where you and dina rest at a table. you look meek, and dina acting of her usual high enthusiasm—if a little more intense than usual, thanks to the alcohol. she's ranting and raving, and you're nodding along. a change of subject was needed.

"she's not my friend," ellie mutters, doing her best to avoid looking, or at the very least, making it obvious that she is looking. her eyes steal fleeting glances every so often.

"i'm not sure how you managed this, but she is your friend," jesse says. "whether you like it or not, she sees you as a friend. that would be because you don't act like a dick around her. almost as though you might be... trying to impress her?"

"you're unbelievable." ellie shakes her head and her fingers tighten around her glass for a moment. "she's just.. not... she doesn't deserve me being a dick. she's the only person around here who's nice to me.. it doesn't mean anything."

"hey guys, are we having fun being antisocial wallflowers over here?"

dina suddenly appears in front of jesse and ellie, you attached to her arm like a kitten held by the scruff. immediately, ellie straightens her posture, downing the last of her whiskey. as it burns her throat, she fixes her collar, fumbling with the blue flannel before finally looking at you.

all the laziness leaves her body when you're around. maybe jesse is right. jesus, she actually wants to impress you.

the band strikes up another song and lightning fast, dina takes jesse by the arm. "it's our song! come on stupid."

that goddamn wink and smirk as she guides him away, leaving her alone with you, makes ellie feel a pit in her stomach. fuck, those idiots planned this. was dina giving you a goddamn pep talk before?

"hi."

"hey," ellie murmurs, eyes shifting from your face, to your dress, and to the stack of small papers in your hands. odd, but you're full of odd behaviours and quirks that make her smile. almost. "how's your night?"

"i— huh? oh— that's not—" you stare at your cards, your own handwriting seemingly illegible at this moment. it's worse with your hands trembling, and you sift through the cards, only to come up with nothing. you didn't plan a response for that. "you went off script. don't do that."

"off script?" a beat passes before ellie laughs a little bit, abruptly stopping when she realises it's upsetting you. you're actually stressed, clearly with something to say and not the guts to speak up. "sorry, i'm not laughing at you. sorry, sorry. i'll... stay on script this time."

oh shit. is this what i think it is?

ellie's heart is pounding. she knows what's coming. the inevitable confession she never wants to hear, especially not from you. don't. i'll only get you hurt.

"okay," you reply. you heave a breath before beginning to read your cards. "um, i hope you're doing good and that i'm not bothering you too much right now—"

"why would you bother me?"

"don't interrupt me, that's not in the script."

"sorry." she clears her throat, nods solemnly and stares over you.

internally, she's begging for this not to happen—because what is she to do? hurt your feelings and say no? or give in to selfish desires, only to hurt you deeply somewhere down the line? it's a lose-lose.

you resume; "i hope i'm not bothering you by saying this, but— oh fuck, no, wait."

you drop your script, papers falling to the floor like a house of cards. you crouch down to try and retrieve every piece but everything is out of order. your hands dig frantically around ellie's shoes for your cards, your senses only brought back once her hand takes your wrist.

reassurance is on the tip of her tongue and yet fails to make a sound. ellie just crouches in front of you and picks a card up from the floor, skimming the words on it.

thank god, it's not at all what she thought. such a simple, sweet request.

"you want to dance?"

"i, uh.." your eyes open wide and panicked. but looking at ellie's warm, flushed cheeks and what seems to be openness on her features, you'll happily go along with it. "yeah."

"we can do that," ellie replies. it feels wrong, unfamiliar, to smile in a public place, but she cracks the corners of her lips up and pulls you to stand. she is relieved that perhaps she was wrong, this wasn't a confession. she can indulge in this one moment and dance with you, but you'll be safe from her in the future. "you won't be needing these anymore."

you can't protest before ellie snatches your cards and pockets them. she pulls you up alongside her. the world spins around you, a dreamlike feeling casting over you. warmth in your cheeks and a tingle in your toes as she guides you further from the bar and into the crowd of dancing couples. teens leaving room for jesus, elders grateful to spend yet another night with their beloved after decades of survival without hope, and now, you and ellie, fill the space.

maybe it's the whiskey, but ellie's muscles are lax and she's content with your arms encircling her shoulders. she considers pulling you closer, but people are already staring. so, her hands settle for your waist and she glares at the floor, the tips of her ears a blazing red.

ellie should not be anywhere near you. the resident sweetheart of jackson hole, wrapped up in delicate fabrics and scuffed mary janes, should not be concerned with ellie williams. your big eyes and timid smile, the kind that both comforts and petrifies her, it's magnetic in a sense.

she doesn't even pick up on your worried look, she doesn't realise that her own expression has turned grim. her eyes widen, your fingers tuck a strand of her behind her ear. that puppy-like head tilt and the slow sway of your hips...

she's a goner.

and everyone in this fucking room is staring at you—probably wondering what the hell has gotten into you. even ellie wonders.

the fear of looking like a threat is getting to her; maybe her attempts not to look like a threat are making her look all the more suspicious right now.

the entire night plays back like a movie in her head.

ellie's garage is cold. even with the heater on and her mountainous piles of blankets, she cannot shake the blues away. she felt a girl's love for a few minutes—of course, these minutes felt like a century in her mind—and once the ballad had come to a close, she forced herself to step away. one three minute song is all she will allow.

her journal learns all about it. the memory is fixed in messy handwriting and scribbles of your face. she cannot capture the look the way that she wishes to. every time that she tries, ellie is reminded of the fact that you were the only person in that space to look at her so fondly.

she jots down the lyrics to the song that played. she attempts to write exactly what your little 'script' had said, and that's when it hits—she pocketed them. ellie has a physical keepsake.

she fishes through her pockets and pulls out the pile of cards. she shuffles through for your invitation to dance. the important part, that is. your handwriting is rather pleasant, she thinks, a smile on her face. it's not like her own.

a card drops onto the journal spread and ellie sighs, lithe fingers reaching for it—her heart stops.

'i really like you, and i wanted to ask if you would be interested in spending some more time together. and not really in a friendly way.'

"oh fuck." ellie's throat feels so tight, as though choking on air. fuck, this can't be. her eyes scan the cards for any other possible intention. she reorders them, rereads it until she has the entire speech locked in her mind.

there is no other possible meaning to this.

you were shy, you were nervous, and giggling, and trembling, and stuttering, all because of her.

"not happening," ellie mutters, abruptly leaving her desk. "stay away from me."

the cards lay sprawled across her journal, lamp light cast over it.

the sun rarely shines as bright as this in jackson's colder months, and although today the sky is muted, the snow-covered ground is glistening beneath the early morning sun, pristine white.

you are not invincible against the cold biting at your skin, nor the way your eyes wish to rest a few more minutes. but if there is anyone in this town who will happily ignore it, it is you. up bright and early day in and day out to assist in the daycare, greeting others with smiles or compliments to ease the burden of the morning on them.

only today it is intolerable. your night continued into rather late hours at home, teardrops falling into your hands over the mere fact that your plan to confess was foiled. the world keeps spinning and after all, there are positives to the situation. you held yourself as you slept, hand on your hip in just the same way that ellie's had been there hours prior—you swore you could still feel her warmth.

your embarrassment could be easier to deal with if it weren't for the public opinion. quite shocking that ellie has such a reputation. her name circles town daily, and now, you are being told about her in quite egregious detail by whoever you stumble upon; you're being warned about her.

she looks like she's hiding. streaks of auburn darting down the street, jesse in tow. she takes the long way to the stables, you guess, and makes a wide birth around the daycare. it stings. what the hell happened? did you mess up this bad?

clammy little hands wrap around your legs and your attention is taken to chubby red cheeks, young oscar all smiles to see his favourite daycare attendant this morning.

"hey buddy," you murmur. the sudden feeling that you are being watched makes you look up, and it's then that you meet a flash of thyme green eyes; ellie. unfortunately she disappears quicker than she had appeared.

"are you okay?" oscar's mother is a short woman, often as flushed in the face as her boy. she looks over you pointedly, your confusion evident. "i suggest you don't get involved with that girl. she's trouble. that's all. we all make mistakes at your age."

"oh, i..." your brows crease at the notion of ellie being troublesome, when you've known her to be anything but. you have heard their reasoning and nothing quite stood out to you. "i think i'll be all right, thank you dawn."

she parrots just about every other person you've seen today.

"don't thank me, just listen. stay away from her."

bizarre.

"so, last night... you were getting pretty cozy with—"

"no, i was not."

jesse and dina's efforts to find out what happened last night are all but successful. ellie has shut down any mention of it as soon as the words leave their mouths. jesse accepted that ellie was too cranky and sleepy this morning to kindly explain why she's the talk of the town again. dina isn't having much luck either.

"listen, it's just— it's no big deal," ellie says, resigning herself to the topic. "town's just making something outta nothing. like they always do."

"yuh-huh, seems people are pretty crazy over their darling," dina comments. she falls back so that her horse can trot in pace with ellie and shimmer, looking over curiously. "but tell me about... last night. what happened?"

"nothing." ellie's blunt response makes even shimmer huff, the horse shuffling through piles of wet snow. "she asked me to dance."

"with or without the palm cards?"

ellie snorts, shaking her head slowly. "you helped her."

there's a beat of silence, maybe hesitance, before dina nods. "i did. she's a sweet girl, y'know, i think she's good for you."

"are we going the right way?" ellie interrupts. the creek ends just nigh of where the two ride, no lookout in sight. she feels a challenge in leadership when taking an unfamiliar route on patrol, and this conversation is bound to give her a headache.

"yes, we are. the lookout's just over that hill." dina pauses again. "did she say anything else last night?"

ah. great. "no. she dropped the cards and gave up on whatever they said." ellie clears her throat, looking away. "i kept them, and i read them when i got home."

"right." dina lets out a sigh, now trying to gauge ellie's opinion. she doesn't sound too positive or too negative. "so you're avoiding her now? because that's what i've gathered. what's the deal surrounding—"

"i'm not.. avoiding her, i'm just playing it safe. not going to say anything about it, not gonna embarrass her. there. is that what you're interested in hearing?"

"ellie," dina scolds, "what's your goal here? eternal loneliness? is this about cat?"

ellie comes to a screeching halt at that, shimmer whinnying. "what? fuck no. i was over her before it ended."

"yeah, figured. i never really thought she was your style... too abrasive, you guys kinda clashed a little, you know, she's not like—"

"dina."

and there she goes; dina lists off your many qualities, every one oh so perfect. a list of every reason ellie wants you, and they are all reasons why she should not dare touch you.

"can't you see it? i see the potential for something great," dina boasts. "she's real into you. you're so nice to her."

"that's, like, the bare minimum."

"for you, though, it means a lot."

finally the lookout comes into view. ellie braces herself to make an abrupt end to this conversation, she's ready for this to stop.

"lookout's just ahead, we can tie the girls up here and head inside," dina confirms, sliding off her horse and watching as ellie does the same. "i'm serious, though. jesse and i worry about you and, i mean, what is it that's stopping you from asking her out?"

"dina, listen." ellie makes a serious effort to avert eye contact, to hide her expression, and even the ache in her voice. "you seen her? she's like those little fuzzy flowers that even the wind can blow away. she'd wither away if she spoke to me for more than a second. i kinda have to be nice to her."

"damn," dina says, humming softly. "that's a lot of words that sound like nothing to me. you're lying to me and you're lying to yourself. you tell little kids to fuck off, but you can't resist smiling at this girl?"

ellie's biting the inside of her cheek, following dina into the lookout. she is being sincere. it's just that dina doesn't quite know the depth of ellie's misery. she is a mystery.

ellie does not believe for a second that she will not hurt you. she is the strike of fire, an unstoppable force that can only destroy. too easily, her rage is a blaze that burns all in its path. she's sickening. she'll poison you, you'll spit her out and leave like all the others do.

"i don't know what she sees in me," ellie admits after a moment of ponder. "i'm just some asshole."

"that you are, but i think she sees what me, jesse, and even joel, see in you. you don't let anyone else in, ellie. don't you dare ice her out too."

you're like her shadow. you are just unavoidable, either by thoughts of you creeping into the corners of her mind, or just by coincidence. on days where nobody has uttered even a word to her, you never fail to wish her a good afternoon or ask how she's doing. she keeps it brief, despite her yearning to know you better.

it takes a great deal of self discipline. ellie must control herself around you. your stupid palm cards weigh on her mind all the time, those feelings you've been resigned to keeping to yourself without knowing that she knows. if ellie weren't such a goddamn coward, she could pounce. you'd be hers.

"good morning, ellie," you call, and it's early enough for ellie to internally groan but your voice is like that of a bird's aubade. "do you have a minute?"

"hm? suppose," ellie murmurs, shoes shuffling against the floor of the tipsy bison awkwardly. she's regretting her choice of converse this morning—hopefully you'll make this quick and she can run back to grab some boots before patrol. screw breakfast. "what's up?"

part of her hopes that you take as long as you like. she'd like to lose herself in your kindness before she heads out into the mountains on this brutally cold day. actually, she would like to lose herself in your kindness forever; you make ellie want to be kind, but it feels as though she lost that part of herself many years ago. she doesn't know how to be like that anymore.

she should be staying away from you. none of this hopeless searching for a piece of her old self in you.

"well, i have some questions and figured you'd be the right one to ask."

"oh? me? i'm... i mean, yeah, sure," ellie says, looking down at her fidgeting fingers. "what's it about?"

"well, you're into dinosaurs and stuff, right? what's the word again? paleon..."

"paleontology," ellie corrects, nodding her head. "who told you i'm into that?"

"uh... dina."

of course. ellie refrains from shaking her head in annoyance and lets you continue, although she is a little in her head at the moment.

"there's a couple kids showing interest in all that stuff at the moment," you say, "i was wondering if you could give me a lesson? or some reading material, if you've got any? i want to plan some activities for them."

"oh, uh, yes, uh, sure, i guess. yeah." ellie responds with a lame shrugging of her shoulders and picks at some skin around her fingernails, holding her breath as to not completely fucking freak out. this is such a dumb thing to get worked up over. your hopeful smile is everything right now. "i mean, not to brag but i've got a pretty neat collection of stuff."

seriously? way to go. ellie's aware she sounds nothing short of embarrassing right now, she's unable to resist the pull towards dumping all of her knowledge onto you. i sound sooo tough right now.

"oh, really? well i'm interested in seeing it then," you reply, giggling. "when's a good time for you to show me?"

and, just like at the dance, it feels as though everyone in this diner is staring at ellie. she knows she shouldn't be talking to you. she forgot for a moment. she forgot that she's a danger to you.

the cutting, unforgiving stare of frail mrs. brown has ellie lower her gaze, shifting on her feet again. "mm, maybe tomorrow," she mutters. "i've got patrol. i.. should probably get going. i'm gonna be late again."

"oh." you pause, somewhat puzzled by ellie's sudden nerves, how eager she is to get going. was that your fault? maybe she doesn't want to spend time together after all.

"see you later." it's offhanded and with little caution. ellie tries her damndest not to look back at you, and also to avoid eye contact with the others in the diner.

a sudden outburst directs your attention to ellie again, with her way out blocked by a self righteous mrs. brown.

"you leave that poor thing alone."

ah?

"mrs. brown, please, ellie means no harm," you say assuringly, although there is a twinge of something in your voice. something mrs. brown cannot grasp. you're not sure where this bite to your voice came from.

but it has something to do with the way ellie doesn't even look twice at you. she just slips out the door and hurries away.

"watch yourself around her, sweetpea," the older woman says to you. "she's not the kind of person to be hanging around the likes of you. not sure whether she was raised in a barn or if she's just born wrong."

"nobody is born wrong," you say. "that's horrible. you've misjudged her."

"you're naïve," mrs. brown replies sincerely. it seems like she is trying to be sincere at least—it only makes you feel small.

nobody is born wrong. nobody is bad. ellie is not bad. and nobody shall ever be able to tell you otherwise. it simply isn't true.

"we got reports of infected out west of jackson. there's a few places out there we haven't searched in a long time, maria wants it done."

jesse is already addressing the group by the time ellie rocks up, attempting to sneak in undetected with shimmer in tow, but unfortunately for her, she's served a disappointed look and handed a bolt action. he doesn't pause his speech, and honestly, it's more humiliating that way. ellie partly wishes there was some sort of remark made.

"stay with your groups, don't be an idiot, if there's anything you can't handle you come back to base. these places could be rife with infected, so be careful. are we clear?"

ellie's still rubbing sleep out of her eyes and blinking at the ground, her mind is somewhere else. you stood up for her. you did that, and she still feels so warm. you should not be wasting your time with her. she will never understand why you do.

"ellie—"

"huh?" she looks up, gaze flicking between jesse and the others around her. you've gotta be shitting me. half of these people are new to patrols. if she's got to babysit newbies this morning, she's—

"you and i are taking max, amelia, and jacob out to that great big music store by the lodge. might dig into the motel if we've got time."

"seriously? that motel's fucked. joel and i went like, what, two years ago? can't see the music store being any better," ellie protests. "why are we taking new recruits out to these shitty areas? you think they're not gonna shit their pants if they encounter a bloater?"

"ellie, calm, will you? maria wants this done, we've held off on clearing these places for a little too long. we drag our feet and eventually it will have consequences. so, we're getting it done," jesse says. he notices the others share bristling looks amongst each other and grunts. "there will not be a bloater out there. ellie's overreacting."

"oh yeah, not like joel and i killed one last time we visited the motel."

"oh good. so like i said, there won't be any bloaters out there, thanks to ellie and her old man's efforts." jesse shoots ellie one final glance of warning before readdressing the group. "are we ready to leave?"

"i'll hang back, make sure nobody's gettin' lost," ellie says. she's a lot more reserved now, the telltale sign to jesse something is truly off about his friend this morning. because ellie typically rejects any and all authority, even jesse. even joel, nowadays.

shortly after, jesse kicks off and the group follows. ellie rides behind them. shimmer gallops over yards of snow, the wind blowing back wayward strands of ellie's hair and chilling the hot blush on her cheeks. today is turning out to be a pretty shit one, but at least she has this. riding on the back of her horse will never not be soothing to her tortured soul.

as the motel comes into view, ellie lets out a sigh. as picturesque a view it is, shrouded by thick pines and sitting in solace, it leaves ellie so conflicted. it looks worse in the cold, the dilapidated building left for dead and covered in a blanket of white. whatever horrors have crept into it since her last visit, she doesn't want to know.

ellie doesn't want to visit the music store. she never got to see what was in there with joel. even thinking about it makes her stomach lurch, and if it weren't for her skipping breakfast earlier, she would be struggling to keep it in. fucking joel.

this place is a myriad of discomforting memories.

"ellie, is it really true that you and joel found a bloater in that motel?"

jacob has slowed his pace to match her, looking on with a glimmer of what looks like excitement in his eyes—ellie hopes it's not excitement. else this kid's looking to get killed.

"yes," she mutters, brows knit and eyes narrowed into slits. "we dealt with it. these things are rare, y'know, and there's nothing to be excited about. unless you want your head ripped off."

"holy shit." he giggles through the curse, his enthusiasm unmatched by amelia and max's unbridled terror. "sounds gnarly."

"sure." ellie scoffs, looking away. can't stand to watch this kid act so stupidly, can't even stand to bitch at him for it.

if only she weren't so privy to the grim sights of this world. must be nice.

jesse comes to an abrupt stop, looking back at the group. "you hear that?"

from a small cluster of retail stores, a nefarious rattling echoes the courtyard. ellie meets jesse's eyes and nods. "clicker."

"how many? we should probably clear this place out, right?" jacob cuts in, his boisterous voice startling the whole group.

"will you shut the fuck up?" ellie glares at jacob.

"there might be some supplies inside," amelia suggests, and she does not want to run the risk of pissing ellie off either, so she keeps her voice down.

"sounds like it's not too hectic. we'll take a look," jesse decides, steering the group towards the stores, where they all get down and begin to scope out the area.

ellie is eternally thankful to have a slow start to patrol today. two clickers, one runner, and a group of four on patrol with her—that's nothing special to start with. the threat is eliminated in no time, and now's only a matter of looking for supplies or interesting items to take back.

nothing is of much interest to ellie. it's an odd combination of stores; some kind of boutique, an overgrown flower shop, and a pet store.

ellie cannot help but think of you when her eyes first take in the flower shop. sage vines covering the walls, inside and out, the flowers rotted. it's all dead, which gives her a little jolt and she makes a quiet but self deprecating remark about how much of an idiot she is—such a romantic, huh?

but that's it, isn't it? she can't resist any longer. this place would be utterly bewitching in the springtime. she knows without a doubt in her mind you would love to see it. she remembers that you once said you've not left jackson's walls since you arrived some years ago.

now she feels this devastating pull towards taking you here one day. perhaps when the weather's warmer, she'll ask. you would like that. she might need some liquid courage to do so, if the dance last week says anything about how suave ellie can be.

"i'm such a fucking loser." ellie does her best to shake the thoughts of you away. but one step inside the boutique and new thoughts flood in. many of the pieces in here are barely intact, barely any of it to her personal tastes. but she knows someone who would love it.

a shade of baby pink catches her eye and she reaches out to look at the sundress, fingers travelling down the side seam. it's in the clearance section, a ripped up sign reading, 'end of summer sale' above the hanger. she snorts, yet pulls away from it like it's stung her, or as though she fears she's tarnished the dress somehow.

"what an ugly piece of fashion," she murmurs, laughing shakily as if her face is not blooming the same colour as the dress; leaving it behind as if she didn't just picture you wearing it.

when she walks out of the boutique ellie hears amelia ask jesse if they're ready to head to the music store finally. she sighs heavily and climbs onto shimmer's back, staring ahead blankly as they set off once more.

this is when things become troublesome, she already knows it. the music store creaks and rickets by just the breeze hitting it, and she can already hear the strangled cries of runners and clickers hanging out inside.

"there's a mighty old checkpoint in that cabin to the right," jesse comments, sliding off his horse and looking to the group. "ellie, can you take someone to sign us in?"

"yeah. sure. whoever's coming, i don't care, just follow me."

jesse scowls as she simply starts riding to the cabin. he calls after her quickly, "join back as soon as possible. amelia's coming."

that was, at least, the best option out of the three. amelia isn't insufferable. she seems to handle patrol with the level of sensibility it requires.

"so did you and joel clear the music store too, or just the motel?" amelia asks, watching ellie dust off the logbook.

"nah, just the motel. we were trying to get here, didn't make it. found some bodies, went straight home."

ellie cringes, quite visibly at that, remembering the day in such detail. her heart ached as though she was burning alive. she knew he was lying.

"oh, right, i remember that," amelia says. "that was tragic."

ellie doesn't say anything. the room falls silent as she signs the logbook, once again tripping over the never ending trails of thought that appear in her mind. if only they were immune, right?

it's significantly more troubling to cope with these thoughts in her head because nobody else even knows. nobody gets it. there's no other person on earth with the same questions as ellie, and the only person who could answer some of her questions dismisses them within an instant.

she can't help but feel hate for joel for what he did. he took away her birthright; he ruined the sole meaning of her life, and she'll never quite understand why.

ellie wanted to save people. she is beyond just worthless now that joel has taken this from her—she's a ticking time bomb. she hurts people, she hurts herself. with less than ten percent of jackson's population actually willing to befriend her, ellie does the most that she can to protect them now.

it's why she throws herself into the most unsavoury, unsafe situations on patrol.

she can't help but wonder what the lives of everyone she knows would be like if she had been given her choice.

"hey you." jesse's waiting by the door of the music store when ellie and amelia arrive back.

"what's the situation?" ellie asks immediately upon catching her friend's worried look, the way that he stands with his back straight and shoulders tense.

"runners and stalkers around every goddamn corner. we were waiting for you two to come back so we can take care of it. we're debating whether or not to call for backup. i heard some clickers, it just might be too intense for these guys alone."

"ah." she takes note of max and jacob, conspiring something quietly together (rather, jacob elbowing max, and max replying in anxious whispers). "hey, the fuck's your deal?"

"someone's scared," jacob teases, giving max an aggressive noogie on the head. "i think we should just go deal with it. it's not a big deal. max is too much of a pussy."

"jacob, stop it man," jesse mutters, his eyes reading of warning.

"it'll be much quicker if we just handle it now," he replies errantly. "let's go."

"no, let's—"

without waiting, jacob drags a thrashing max past the doorway and into the shop. instantly the screams of infected sound like an alarm and the group is forced into action, ellie throwing herself in first.

violence consumes the area in sound, in sights, in the adrenaline that courses through ellie's veins. not only is it a handful of rogue runners and stalkers, but the familiar, uncouth screeching of a clicker grows closer. her ears ring, gunshots bouncing off the walls, her heart pounds, each step forward thudding against bloodstained hardwood.

"over here! help!"

ellie's eyes dart across the room and max is struggling against a runner, too busy fighting the crazed monster to reach for his gun.

when ellie reaches the boy, she yanks the runner and the barrel of her pistol meets his head. everything in the room is eerily silent now, nothing but panting breaths, and max falling on the floor in front of ellie.

"all quiet," jesse says with a sigh. he's wiping blood off his face and checking with amelia and jacob before they hear a gun cocking, a sudden commotion.

"no, no, please!"

it's max, scrambling away from ellie, whose gun is pointed at his face. the reason why she is doing this is bleeding. jesse can see it too, on max's hand; bright red puncture wounds, dripping onto the floor.

he's bit.

and he's begging.

"woah, woah, woah, let's handle this appropriately—"

the boy begins to cry. max is cowering. if only he were immune, right?

if only.

it's too much for her. ellie looks away, and she pulls the trigger. she grimaces as the cries silence on instant, nothing but a vile gurgling echoing. she doesn't dare to look down at him, she doesn't want to see his brain matter against the drum set behind him, nor the way his blood oozes out and seeps into the floorboards.

she's not even brave enough to look at the rest of the group—the living ones—she's done this in front of them. this boy didn't get to go out with dignity, she took out her own fury on him. he doesn't deserve that.

"fuck, i—"

"it's okay, ellie, look at me," jesse coaches, slowly stepping closer. he takes the pistol from her. it's not okay.

"what the fuck is wrong with you man?" jacob storms over, a mask of anger in his narrowed eyes, but he's shaking too. everyone's fucking scared of her. she fucked up. "you don't get to—"

instead of succumbing to letting this teenager scream at her, ellie defies him, jabbing a finger in his direction immediately. "don't you take that tone with me. if you never pushed him in here, he'd still be here."

"hey, hey! calm. everyone. let's just go back. we'll take max home."

ellie wonders if jesse likes her a little less now. he's never seen her do something so cruel. she barely listens to him speak. she feels such a failure.

amelia won't look at her. jacob looks as though the scene has aged him years.

god, ellie thinks, i fucked up.

ellie gets home. she stands in front of the medicine cabinet, swiping a damp cloth over her cheek. she watches the blood spray disappear from her skin, and she can't look herself in the eye.

she may be immune, but she's still infected. where is her humanity? why was it her? at this rate, what is she here for? what makes her any different from the infection that would have claimed max? ellie was supposed to save people. she was supposed to be different. but she feels the same as them—everywhere she turns, someone is hurt or killed, it often tends to be at her own hand.

she is a monster.

she doesn't hear the door creak open, so the call of her name surprises her quite suddenly. it's a voice she has no interest in hearing from right now—it's southern, gravelly, and low.

"so i heard about what happened, and uh... had to come check on ya."

"i'm fine, joel." he gives her that look she is, unfortunately, used to seeing from him. the honest disbelief. so ellie opens her mouth again and this time it's with a little more sternness. "seriously."

god, she's sick of the pity. joel suffocates her. however well he means, ellie can't trust him anymore. she can't just forget, and this is the first time he has ever disrespected the space she's put between them. "well, i just... carryin' out an execution... it's hard. i know. and however the town may try to spin it, it don't mean—"

"joel, i need you to stop," ellie warns. she turns away but she still sees him in the mirror. she still sees herself in the mirror. her brows carve a nasty, cold look into her gaze, her lips almost snarling.

that boy was going to die whether or not ellie had interfered. but what messes with her mind the most is how indecently she did it. he was crying. she didn't let him say goodbye, nor write sentiments to his family. she shot him like a dog. she killed him as though he had already turned.

"you are awfully quiet these days ellie, i'm just worried about you and—"

"i'm supposed to be dead, joel," ellie growls. her hands grip either side of the sink and she leans against it, looking at the discarded face towel. "this would've never happened if you never— if you never—"

"but you're not dead, now don't you talk like that." joel's voice is getting harder and he's leaning against the doorway now, suddenly closer than ellie thought. "none of this is on you. it was never on you. this is just life. and you keep findin' purpose. these things, they happen to everyone. it is not on you."

"no," ellie whispers. "it's on you now. you fucking— you did this. he would be cured if you left me in that stupid hospital."

joel stares at the side of ellie's face. he catches the way her lips quiver and she's shut her eyes now. he sighs very softly, almost as if he doesn't want to upset her any further, and then looks at his shoes.

"i'm not gonna go over this again," ellie says, standing straight again. "i never wanna talk to you. we're done."

joel pauses, opening and closing his mouth. there is so much to say. when you have spent two years like him, thinking, wondering what he could even say to make her feel better, there is a lot on the tip of your tongue. but she doesn't want to hear it, and joel knows that. so he nods.

"all right."

the snow around ellie's garage is tracked with large footprints. your gaze follows them to mr. miller's porch across the yard and your brows raise as you realise he's sat there with his legs kicked up and a warm drink in hand, a misty cloud of steam billowing out of the mug. he nods in acknowledgement of your presence, and you respond with a friendly smile, before taking a small breath and knocking on ellie's door.

"ellie?" you call hesitantly. finally you hear some noise from inside, as if she'd been holding breath and trying to pretend she wasn't there in the first place.

the door pulls back and ellie looks at you unsurely. she looks tired. sheepish.

"hi, are you doing okay?" truth be told, the news of what happened on ellie's patrol today has shaken you. it's spread around town like fire, and the story seems to be getting more and more hyperbolic along the way. so, you've come to the source. "i heard about what happened, and—"

the frigid wind creeps into ellie's place and a shiver runs down her spine. she crosses her arms to preserve her own warmth, observing you and your persistent trembling, along with joel on his porch. she grunts, taking you by the arm and pulling you inside.

"it's, y'know, cold out there," she mutters, closing the door behind you and sighing. "just, uh, sit down."

your eyes follow ellie's hand, gesturing to the tattered grey loveseat, close to her heater and looking pretty cozy. you sit, and ellie stares at your poor choice of attire—it looks like you did nothing but layer a pink parka over your pyjamas. she's running on fumes but still makes quick work of grabbing a blanket. she doesn't want to startle you with it, and instead keeps her hands as light as possible when covering your legs with it.

"it's pretty cold, huh?" she murmurs.

it's nice. you want to put your hand on her wrist and bring her closer, to offer something sweet, but she looks so discontented. uncomfortable.

"are you doing okay?" you ask again. no matter how hard you try to catch her earthy eyes with yours, she dodges. she's shifty. "um, about what happened on your patrol... i don't really know the full story, or if what everyone says is even true... but i don't like to let what other people say impact my judgement of someone's character."

"it's not— i mean, i— you know, everyone's right. i'm an asshole," ellie mumbles, crossing her arms again, but this time it's a more desperate grabbing of her hoodie, as though comforting herself. or attempting to.

because you're so close, but she feels like you are just out of reach. she can't seek comfort in you. she wants to. but her mind tells her that is not a good idea.

"oh, ellie... no," you whisper. "you're not."

"you don't know me," she replies. perhaps if she is earnest about who she is to you, it will scare you away. it might save you. no more pretending to be nice just to keep you.

"i know more than any of those people who spread rumours about you." you stand up and the blanket falls forgotten on the ground. her eyes widen as you come closer, and she takes a step back. "but you hide yourself, that's why nobody sees how great you are. even me, i.. wish i could know you better."

what ellie wants to say, is no, you don't want to know me better. you shouldn't. there is no greatness, only fragmented pieces of what once was someone bright and empathic, someone who still had hope. maybe she didn't turn in the physical sense when she was infected. but her life went through a turning of its own, her mind suffering the worst of it.

maybe the only difference between her and those things outside is that she doesn't sprout colourful tendrils. she's as dangerous and as deadly as they are. she bites, too; her words hurt, and she has become apathetic.

and the reason she can't let you in—well, she won't be able to let go of you once she gets her hands on you. she'll eat you up and what she fears the most is that you'll run away hurting. you'll leave her, and she'll have maimed you.

and to be the one to have maimed you will be the worst of it all. ellie is still feeling every ache from her past, and she finds you so refreshing. you're a clean slate, like fresh soil in early spring, untainted and full of potential. she doesn't want to turn you into her.

she might not be contagious, but the chaos that surrounds her is. at the softest, your reputation will be destroyed by her mere presence, and at the strongest, you will be wilted.

"i take it that maybe you've been hurting before," you say, filling the silence she had contemplated through. "i don't want to overstep. i just wanna be there for you. like— y'know, like, you don't have to talk about it. but you have me."

after a beat, ellie quickly responds, nodding, but staring at the floor. "thanks."

"and about today; it doesn't change my opinion of you. these things happen. it's sad. i knew him... but i know he would've rathered you do what you did, than turn into one of those things." you nod back, very affirmatively, and try a small smile, even if she won't see. "going on patrol is a great service to our community. it's really great that you do. it's one of the hardest jobs and it puts you in situations that require quick decision-making. people focus on the negatives all the time, like what happened today—but they don't focus on the fact that you're protecting us all the time."

when ellie glances up, mainly out of some surprise, she finds that your smile matches the sweetness of your words exactly. it's... puzzling. it challenges the chill in the garage, because ellie can feel her cheeks getting warm. and she absolutely fucking hates that.

blushing in front of you. blushing because of you. the more she thinks about it, the more she's probably reddening. like a rose.

"thanks, again, i, uh..." she trails off, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with a shaking hand. she sniffles awkwardly and then coughs to attempt at covering it up. she feels juvenile like this. "anyway... so, how about... i give you a crash course on dinosaurs?"

caught off-guard, only to remember early in the morning when you had asked ellie to indulge in a tutorial on paleontology so you could better interact with the little ones in the daycare. "yes! yeah, of course."

she chuckles lowly, rubbing her eye quickly as if trying to regain her stoicism. "cool, let's—"

you couldn't help it. you know when someone needs a hug, and you feel ellie needs one more than anyone else. especially in this moment. so you rushed forward, and now your arms are around her shoulders, and your head on her shoulder. she's like a statue, her hands raised with hesitance. they twitch. it's with the need to grab your waist, but the fear of letting herself get too addicted.

she gives in. maybe it would hurt you more if she didn't, than if she did. is she a monster for it if you were the one to initiate it?

her nose rests in your hair, her arms squeeze you tight. she doesn't let it go on for too long, patting the curve of your lower back gently and pulling back to grab some of her dinosaur books.

the hour that follows is the easiest and fastest of her entire life. you look at ellie like she hung the stars in the sky. she likes that you listen, and that you ask clarifying questions, and that your thighs are touching hers. she makes you laugh, and she can't stop, because she likes it.

when ellie climbs into her bed after walking you back home, she finds herself surprised, and maybe a little hot on the temper. joel's voice plays like a tape on repeat. irritating. and starting to make sense.

"this is just life. and you keep findin' purpose."

　　　　　　　　　SPRING.

birds chatter in the sky. it's warm out. the kind of warm that is just right, where the sun highlights the shapes of the trees and shines through the leaves. it's only early in the season, still breezy most days, but the snow has melted, and the flora is beginning to maintain itself again, colour crawling back into jackson.

this is so fucking stupid.

"ellie! hi!" the familiar chirp of your voice brings heat to ellie's face, even in the dying chill. you have such a pleasant, polite lilt, it's no wonder you are beloved around here. "...you're loitering."

"what? oh. uh— yeah. sorta." she needs to be more careful, too much staring and not enough vigilance. ellie realises she looks odd standing outside the kindergarten house. "i just.. do you have a minute?"

"me? of course."

and ellie doesn't hear you, but she gets the point anyway. she is really too busy eyeing your lips and the small smile on them as you lead her to a blind spot.

"how's your day?"

is she really doing this right now? like, really? does she need to? the town notice board suddenly feels a lot more interesting now that you're in front of her. that, or the fresh leaves hanging by threads on the trees nearby. ellie has a deep appreciation for the new colours that bloom during springtime and—

"ellie? i asked how you're doing. are you okay?"

she's stalling this conversation.

"oh. oh! yeah, it's uh, it's alright." she scoffs awkwardly and rubs the back of her neck. "i just... well, i made something for you, thought you'd like it. i hope you like it."

"wait, really?" your eyes light up like a sky full of stars, but ellie thinks they're even prettier than that. "that's so sweet of you. can i see?"

sweet. you think she's sweet. shit. "yeah, yea, here."

without wasting more time fumbling over words (in reality, ellie forgot the speech she made up for this occasion—maybe she could've used your scripting idea right now) she hands over the gift, free hand rubbing the back of her neck as she pretends to nonchalantly stare elsewhere, yet her eyes flick towards you obsessively. please like it.

it's a watercolour piece. the colours are subtle, muted greens and browns, the rest varying shades of white, grey, and black, plus a pop of pink. depicted is a lush garden, pink flowers dotted between weaves of grass, and in the centre, two rabbits.

it isn't her usual style. ellie's appreciated landscapes before, but something so simple, so clean and contained, she's never been into. but she wanted to give you something she knew you'd love.

your brows raise and you cover your mouth, letting out a gasp. your eyes don't leave the paper, staring at every detail. you couldn't find an imperfection even if you tried.

"this is beautiful."

"yeah..?"

"i love it." your lips curl upwards and you're pretty much bouncing up and down on your heels. "it's so cute! i love the colours, and the flowers too! i love flowers. did you know there's a whole flower language?"

"uh, no," ellie murmurs, "what's that about? how does one talk through flowers?"

the word cute runs through her mind. of course you'd know about a 'flower language'.

"well, each flower has symbolism tied to it. even the different colours—a pink rose means something different to a white rose, for example," you explain. "my grandma taught me when i was younger. she gave me a book about it."

all this talk about flowers reminds ellie of the overgrown shop she saw on patrol a few months back. the day was dark, but you made it better. even the few moments she had thought about you were memorable.

like that sundress. in fact, she still thinks of it often.

"huh. sounds interesting," ellie replies.

"most red or pink flowers symbolise some kind of love. roses are the most romantic of all."

oh. ellie glances down to the paper in your hand, at the pink flowers she had so carefully dabbled into the picture. she hopes you won't read into that too much.

"thank you for this," you say, interrupting her mini-panic. "this painting is so pretty. you're a talented artist."

"ah, it's nothing," ellie says softly back.

"hey, i remembered your birthday's coming up soon. you don't have any plans, or..? any presents you'd like to receive?" you ask. "i love that you're a spring baby. that's so cute."

what? ellie chokes a little, for no reason other than lame shock, and shrugs her shoulders. "ah, i dunno, not really. i never do anything. don't care about gifts."

"reaaaally?" you ask, huffing in disappointment. although, an idea is beginning to thread itself together.

"yeah, i'm not really big on that stuff anymore," ellie says, waving off your concern. "anyway, ah, i should let you get back to the kiddies."

"yeah, of course."

you look like you're going to come close, and ellie's started to recognise when you're wanting to hug her now. she lets it happen. she actively ensures that you know it's okay to do that. as long as there's nobody around to see.

and right now, just as you pull her close, the moment coincides with the children being let out to the playground for recess. fucking goddamnit. she flushes instantly and almost pushes you away.

when she dares to open her eyes, the attendant on the duty of watching the kids is watching you more than them. it's disconcerting. but it has an adverse effect on her. she squeezes you tighter, and closes her eyes.

she's becoming what she feared. she wants you, and she's letting herself indulge. she's gluttonous. or is she? for no longer denying herself the pleasure in holding you for a few moments longer than usual?

"you made her so happy yesterday."

"huh?"

"dina and i heard all about it."

"what the fuck are you talking about?"

"you know exactly what i'm talking about," jesse answers, a smug grin on his face. ellie's only filled with dread.

her hackles are raised, she's rushing to defend herself. such a strong reaction, and it leaves jesse with more questions than answers, but answers are rare with ellie in the first place. "yeah, so what, i drew something, and i gave it to my friend. you can't give me shit about that."

he nods his head to ellie's place at her desk, where she has an art book open and a few discarded sketches strewn about that clearly she deemed unworthy of your viewing.

jesse snorts. "i'm not giving you shit about it. i'm just saying"—he elbows ellie lightly—"that it made her really happy. and it looks like... you're making her another one."

she rubs her side, frowning, and tilting her head. "it wasn't too intense? didn't freak her out?"

"giving a girl you like a painting is the least intense move you could possibly make."

"i do not like her like that," ellie mutters, scowling. "don't you have something better to do than to harass me?"

looks can betray words sometimes. that is exactly what is happening here; ellie's freckles are dusted pink, the colour blooming all the way towards the tips of her ears.

"you like her," jesse insists. "you know, when you're so deadpan about everything it makes it all the more obvious you've got a crush. you didn't even act this way around cat."

"because i barely liked her," ellie mutters bluntly, "we dated out of convenience."

"and now..." jesse continues, leaving room for ellie to fill in the blank, but she rolls her eyes and he chuckles before finishing the sentence himself. "you've got a crush on the little ol' sweetheart of jackson."

"okay, and what am i supposed to do when everyone tells me to stay back? i'm not right for her," ellie replies. her voice is subdued in such a way jesse's never heard before. it's so honest. ellie realises it too. she's being open, for once.

"you care too much what others think," jesse says. he leans against the desk, arms crossed. "if their opinions mattered, she would've taken their advice and avoided you like the plague."

"i think the girl's fucking insane, personally." ellie clicks her tongue, dropping her pencil reluctantly. she knows why you don't listen to anyone else. you've told her many times, yet she still thinks you're a little crazy for that. stubborn, at the very least.

"what's this?" jesse asks, picking up a forgotten sketch by ellie's arm. "this is... not your style."

ellie glances up, and grunts softly. "no, you remember the dress store out by the motel? i saw this dress there. i think it would look real nice on her."

"oh... yeah? yeah i can see that," he comments, looking at the sketch. "what do you say we go back there and get it?"

"i don't want to go back there."

"not even for something you know she'd really love? come on... we won't take a group this time, it'll be you and me. we'll grab the dress and come back," jesse says. "i'll rearrange the roster tonight and have us take that route in the morning."

"you are shit at persuasion," ellie grumbles, "you're just forcing me."

"it's for a good cause," he replies, patting her on the shoulder quite firmly. "head to bed now, we're up early tomorrow mornin' so get some rest."

ellie sighs deeply, not bothering to look back as the door closes. "dick," she murmurs, yet her eyes fall back to the paper jesse had left on the desk.

she imagines it again; the pink sundress, flattering your body, how your eyes would twinkle and face would glow in it, and how the skirt would flow if you twirled. unfortunately, it's not a want anymore; it's a need.

she's admitting things now. ellie likes that you are open. she'd like to let herself be vulnerable like you.

"are you sure she's going to like it?"

dina scoffs at the question, an incredulous look in her eyes as they meet yours. "are you serious? of course she will. you've overanalysed this so much that there is no room for improvement."

your shoulders drop and you remind yourself to unclench your jaw, take a deep breath. "i know, but i just want to be sure. what if she doesn't want to be taken by surprise?"

"she likes surprises. used to, anyway. i doubt that has changed," dina says coolly. "last time she ever had a birthday she really enjoyed was her sixteenth. joel took her to this sick museum outside of town."

you nod along. "yeah, i know. she told me about it. a few times, actually. i don't want anything too big and crazy because it might overwhelm her, but i— i can't just let her do nothing on her birthday."

"and you've achieving that perfectly," dina reminds you. "it's low-key. it's at her place. you're making her a cake. you've invited... who? me, jesse, and yourself?"

"well, i was thinking about inviting joel." you bite your lip, wringing your hands together. "is that a bad idea?"

dina doesn't seem to hear you. she's messing with her beat up record player, groaning and muttering curses over the fact that it won't work.

so much of your attention since yesterday has been held by this idea. you quickly asked dina and jesse their thoughts, assuming they know the girl better than you do at this point. every aspect of your plan was approved of. because the plan is derived from every little thing you have learned and internalised about ellie.

she's quiet, she's private, and not interested in doing much. therefore, something small at her garage will do. she's into action movies, so a movie marathon is perfect. you're going to craft some paper crowns with dina as she mentioned that was a win on one of ellie's previous birthdays, although you initially wanted to make her a flower crown.

when you aren't spending exhausting hours with small children at the daycare, all you really have left to do in your life is think. it's so quiet.

ellie gives you a lot to think about. when you bake a new recipe, you wonder if she'll like it. when you ever feel a little lonely, you wonder if ellie would let you hug her for as long as you needed.

they say a friend to all is a friend to none, and you feel it's true. are you interesting enough? are you too soft, too tame for anyone to befriend? what started a simple crush—thinking she's pretty, wanting to learn everything about her—snowballed. ellie's the closest thing you have to what you need. she fills a hole that was dug years ago. you feel it has potential. it's like a rich soil, seedlings sown, and desperate to be watered. you know the finest rose garden could grow from it in the colour of blush.

wanting to give her a good birthday is a no-brainer.

on your way back home, a bag full of crafting materials and some flour and butter you picked up from the twin sisters grocer to bake the cake with, you take in a breath of spring air. it's fresh. excitement buzzes in your bones. you want to see her smile.

you stumble upon joel as you make your way down your street, lugging a backpack with him, and you think that perhaps he just got back from patrol. that means ellie might be back, too. it's late afternoon, but the sun hasn't set yet—days are starting to grow longer again.

"mr. miller! how are you?" you ask, stopping before him.

"not too bad," joel replies. "feelin' my age after patrol, you know how it is... and how are you?"

"i'm good," you say, nodding.

"and ellie? you two are friends and i ain't seen her much lately, so i, ah... had to ask."

a more reserved smile falls on your lips and you nod again. of the many mysteries you still haven't been able to sleuth out about ellie, the one that puzzles you most is joel. is it overstepping to tell joel how she's doing right now? is it an even bigger mistake to invite him to her birthday..?

he cares so deeply about her.

"she's doing alright," you say. "about that, i'm planning a little surprise get-together for her birthday, only a few of us are going, and you could come too, if you'd like?"

"ah, no, no, that's okay." joel shakes his head and looks down at you. he couldn't be more satisfied with anyone storming their way into ellie's life than you. "you kids have fun, i'm not sure it's my place to go."

you blink, but nod. "of course. it would still be fun if you came along! but it's up to you."

"yeah, i'll think about it. uh... you take care of her for me, okay?"

this time, you nod firmly. "i will."

going back to the boutique felt like closure.

ellie had tossed and turned all night, memories of death and infection filing in with unstoppable force. she worried something could go wrong again. she worried her mind wouldn't be in the right place to be on patrol. but numbers of infected always seem to dwindle in warmer months, and these buildings were cleared months ago now. all she and jesse had to handle today were two runners.

it was relaxing, actually. it was slow. ellie packed the dress carefully into her bag, made sure nothing could soil it or tear it, not even her own fingerprints, as she had made sure to clean them before touching it.

and she was right, the flower shop in spring was blossoming with colour. it solidified a goal in her mind—she will make sure that you see it before the season ends.

this is the difficult part. the hardest part of the entire day, to be honest; giving you the dress.

"i hope that this isn't too weird," ellie mutters, rubbing the back of her neck. her sheepish face tints red, and she chuckles awkwardly. "i found this on patrol and i thought you would really like it. i thought you'd look.. pretty.. in it."

the second she hands it to you, you gasp. it's just like with the painting—good signs immediately. and ellie almost doesn't want to let go of the dress, but she lets you take it from her.

"ellie! this is gorgeous! thank you, thank you, thank you—" you're hugging the goddamn dress, and she laughs a little, only to be hugged with such force it feels like more of a tackle. "i've never seen anything like it!"

she knows you. that's the real gift. she knew you'd love it. she gave you a painting she knew you would like. she looks for things you'll like. you hope that she'll understand the thought behind her party tomorrow the same way you understand the thought behind her small gifts, too.

ellie buries her smile into your hair, holding you close. "i'm glad you like it."

"you're acting so weird today," ellie says, narrowing her eyes at jesse. "by the way, have you seen—"

"no idea where she's at," jesse mumbles, yet the dumb smile in his voice reveals more than intended.

"you're up to something weird," ellie says with a scoff.

"i am not, how dare you suggest that?" jesse gasps melodramatically, pushing ellie along the sidewalk. "come on stupid."

ellie doesn't look forward to her birthday so much anymore. it's the same every year now. but she can't lie and say she wasn't looking forward to seeing you today, knowing you'd sweeten it.

but she hasn't seen you all day, that's the thing—ellie hasn't made it this long without talking to you for a long time. even in the mornings before her longer, more strenuous patrols, she passes by the kindergarten house to see you.

she's almost feeling a withdrawal right now.

"we're watching every curtis and viper movie in chronological order," ellie declares as they reach joel's backyard, mere feet away from the garage. "hey, is dina coming too? i haven't seen her either. everyone's... quiet."

"i don't know."

"you're— she's your fucking girlfriend, buster, how do you not know where she is?" ellie pokes jesse's shoulder and he snorts.

"i don't know."

"you won't know anything anymore once i punch you in the face," she mutters. "you're not slick. you're up to something."

jesse chuckles again and shoves ellie up to her door. "hurry up. maybe you're about to find all the answers to your questions."

ellie pushes jesse back—because she needs the last laugh in every encounter—and then finally grasps her doorknob. she all but charges in, then stops in her tracks.

forget dina, forget the cake, forget the awkwardly cheered 'happy birthday', her eyes are on you immediately.

in the dress she gifted you.

the fabric cascades down to your ankles, the milkmaid bodice laced tight. ellie's never seen this style of dress around jackson before. it's something unique, something rare.

you look even more delicious than that cake. she's hot under the collar, rolling up the sleeves of her flannel and smiling shyly.

"hey, guys... what the fuck?"

"surprise?" you say, giggling a bit. and never does ellie want to act like this in front of jesse and dina, but it's her damn birthday, so she'll let herself have this—she rushes forward to hold you close. it makes you giggle even more. she giggles too.

dina approaches with two of the paper crowns, already wearing one herself, and places one atop your head, and hands you the other when ellie finally lets you go. you're quick to crown ellie, pushing some hair out of her face.

she can't remember a time she grinned or laughed as much in a long time. it feels like her heart is swelling in her chest, and it's a little sickening. the heavy ebb almost distracts her, but she doesn't get too lost before you're handing her a knife and leading her to the cake.

"cake and a movie marathon sound good?"

even looking at the cake makes ellie feel full. it's a simple spongecake with a jam and cream filling, some white icing over the top with a heart painted on top out of jam.

"you made this?" she clarifies. when you nod, she does the same. "fuck yeah. you're the best baker i know."

"thank you," you mumble. "hurry; make a wish. i'm gonna light a candle."

ellie watches you dig a little candle into the centre. you can feel her, those leafy eyes boring into your figure as you take a lighter to the wick. you hope she makes a wish as she closes her eyes and blows softly.

ellie, jesse, and dina sit on the bed with a plate of cake each. you haven't got yourself a slice yet or even sat down, busy doting on them and putting on the first movie.

you take jesse and dina's empty plates back to the sink, washing them hastily before coming back to see if ellie's finished yet. instead, she pats the spot on the bed beside her. her slice is half-finished.

"come here and relax," she murmurs. "off your feet."

you shrug your shoulders and sit on the edge of the bed. there's this sudden shyness, and ellie realises you've been on your feet tending to everyone's needs because you physically can't help yourself from it.

she's right on the money. there's some anxiety in not being able to satisfy everyone.

"you've done enough." ellie takes your arm and pulls you closer, then takes her spoon and scoops up a bit of cake for you. "here."

you snort softly, parting your lips. she feeds it to you with gentleness, a focus more on you than the movie. and she can't help shivering at your frosting-covered lips or the way you look in that dress. like a rose, radiant and well cared for.

ellie sets the empty plate on her nightstand when she's done feeding you, and she strategically wraps her arm around you so that you won't get up again. it's quite funny how the action makes you sink into her chest. she hopes that you can't hear how fast her heart is beating.

ellie hopes for a lot of things lately, and it's all to do with you.

"you're cuddly," she whispers. "like a little kitten."

you let out a quiet chuckle in response to that, nuzzling closer. ellie's so warm. her hands are warm, thankfully not clammy, though. her breath on the top of your head is warm. her damn face is hot again. flushed.

she hasn't thought about her immunity at all since the party started. you make her feel normal.

the sun bleeds through the trees that line the park, a slight warmth cutting into the crisp air that you wish you could bathe in until the end of time. ellie stands a hairsbreadth away from you, walking side by side in slowness and silence.

after five lame eighties action movies, dina and jesse decided to head off on their own late into the night. they had left you with ellie, who couldn't keep the smile off her face when you said you wouldn't mind watching one more for her.

life in jackson is busier than it looks and you as well as ellie are accustomed to waking quite early. she needed to clear her head, and you invited her along on a morning walk. ellie said yes, and now realises that she severely underestimated how hard it would be to stop herself from holding your hand.

you spent time on her. effort. it was small, but more than she anticipated, and she can't help but think, why? why would you waste your time like this? on her?

"are you okay?" you ask, breaking the quiet with a light voice, but a heavy question. "did you like the party thing? i wasn't sure..."

"oh, you're kidding? i loved it, kitten. i promise." kitten. it's a thing now, ellie announced it when you woke. she smiles your way, stopping so you can catch up to her.

you let out the breath you're holding, nodding. your expression feels flatter than usual, noticeable enough for ellie to pick up on, and she moves closer. she's never seen you down. maybe down isn't the right word—what ellie grasps is some kind of insecurity.

"hey, what's wrong?"

her arm passes over your shoulder and she tugs you into her side. it's so gentle, like you're being wrapped up in a blanket. that's how she makes you feel sometimes. ellie's like a fire, the comforting crackling and passionate heat that makes you feel safe in the winter. she's like a bed, cozy and protecting—maybe a fort is a better analogy. she's built these unbreakable walls around her that block others out, and confuse you, but she's opened the stronghold to you.

"it's okay," you say, leaning closer into her arms. your hand squeezes her bicep, and in turn she holds you tighter. she cups the back of your head in her palm. "you're really quiet all the time, you know..."

"oh," ellie murmurs. as much as she loves this—listening to you, holding you, thinking of you—she's on the lookout for prying eyes. it isn't because she hates to be seen this way, not anymore. it's because she can't. she can't bear to let another person see her with you anymore. they think she's hurting you, and she'd like to believe she isn't, but she's not sure anymore. "uh... i- i just... don't know what to say."

"i like it when you tell me what's on your mind," you say. it's just quietly whispered against her ear, it tickles her neck. your nose rubs against the bristling skin, and she feels how you inhale her scent. "can you do that for me?"

ellie feels her heart stutter. you feel it too, and feel the most minuscule pang of regret for asking something like that of her. of course you know it's hard for ellie to do. but that doesn't put your mind at ease.

"do you.. wanna sit down? there's a bench... just over there, let's go sit down." ellie rushes you to the park bench, sitting beside you. she runs a hand through her hair, opening and closing her mouth a few times. she knows you're waiting for something. anything. "you know, maybe i'm just not used to people wasting their time for me the way you do... and you keep ignoring every warning. maybe i shouldn't have let you get close."

you were going to let her speak. you honestly did want to hear whatever she has to say—but this?

"that's dumb," you mutter. "those people don't know you. i mean— they don't know me either."

"but they know that i'm an asshole," she counters. "and you're not. i'm... i'm sorry, okay?"

"for what, ellie?" you ask softly. you tilt your head to catch her gaze when she lowers her head to the ground. "there is nothing to be sorry for. those people don't know anything about either of us. it's not their place to decide if you're allowed to touch me. god, they act like you're— you're sick, or something. infected."

"yeah," she sighs. she glances up at you again, shrugging her shoulders. "i guess i'm worried that i'm hurting you somehow. that i might, in the future, hurt you."

"i don't think you're capable."

ellie sighs again. she looks at you, the stubborn knit of your brows close together, the small frown on your lips. "i don't want to hurt you."

"that's all i care about," you reply. "i know you don't want to. i know you. and i want to know more. but i can only know as much as you'll let me. i want you to tell me what's on your mind. to just— try. please?"

she nods. "okay."

there's so much that ellie wishes she could tell you.

she clears her throat again, vision focusing on your fidgeting hand. she thoughtlessly covers your hand with her own to stop you, her thumb rubbing over your cool skin. "i don't mean to make you confused. it's just that i'm, you know, confused? my head doesn't make a lot of sense. i write it down, sometimes that helps."

you nod. "yeah... you do a lot more than just confuse me. you make me feel all the feelings."

"all of them?"

"all of them." the corners of your mouth tilt up and you look across the park. there's nobody around at dawn. it's you and ellie, alone, with the birds, the trees, the grass, the feelings. "but i never feel hurt. i feel very safe. i've never had someone like you before. it feels like you understand that there's more to me than what other people see."

ellie exhales, a long and deep breath. she turns to you, brows upturned and a blush painting over her face. "yeah, well... i do my best to keep you comfortable."

"that makes me happy," you say. "and you..? do you feel..?"

"oh," ellie lets out a breathy laugh. "me... i feel good."

the word's on the tip of her tongue. but she doesn't say it. she doesn't even want to accept it; ellie feels purposeful around you. she's a protector. she's... not a lover, but surely something like that. she makes you feel happy. comfortable. safe. like watering a garden of roses.

ellie's voice gets raspy as she continues. "i feel seen."

"i'm really, really glad," you reply. she looks at you and smiles a bit, biting the inside of her cheek. there's a heat flowing through your body. you guess ellie feels the same, because her face is reddening more and more.

"so, kitty... should we get back soon?" ellie asks, looking around again—as if to play off the nickname. the shape of it in her mouth still feels a little weird, but she can't think of anything better. when you asked why, all she said was that sometimes, she swears you might start purring when she hugs you.

"yeah," you murmur distractedly. she looks back at you with concern, and your eyes are on her lips.

oh.

she doesn't feel scared. not exactly the way that she thought. she's not contagious. her burdens are not something she can share to you. you told her so, be it indirectly of course, but you still told ellie she couldn't hurt you by existing. you're comfortable; comfortable enough to want to kiss her.

so when you lean in, ellie does too.

your lips, plush, sweet, shy, meet hers. she is as shy, but quickly succumbs to the feeling. it's pleasant. she rubs her hand over your arm in a light motion, a full grin softening her face.

she'd like to do it again. ellie would love that, actually. sometimes when she thinks about you for too long, she starts to think about all those things you can do to a girlfriend. fuck. she's being selfish again. she's being crude.

"hey, so..." ellie sighs, leaning against the back of the bench and rubbing the back of her neck. "i know a spot just outside of jackson. it's real pretty out there. i can ask maria to let us out for a day? i'll take you there."

you hold fistfuls of the sides of ellie's shirt, holding on tight as she steers shimmer up a hill. she wants to, but she's barely paying attention to your murmured comments of amazement at how beautiful the woods are at this time of year. she's nervous. really.

"we're almost there," ellie announces. "you okay back there baby girl?"

"mm-hmm." you hum, leaning your head against the back of her shoulder, hiding your burning hot face. these little nicknames knock you pretty hard, and the moment ellie discovered so, she wouldn't let up.

"good," she whispers, biting back a smile at your bashfulness. "we're almost there. close your eyes, maybe. don't look until i tell you to. it'll be worth it! i promise."

"i trust you," you reply, laughing quietly and letting your eyes flutter closed.

it smells fresh outside of jackson. a light rainfall had occurred overnight, not only is there an earthy scent left behind—you can smell wet bark and leafy grass—but shimmer's hooves crunch mud and twigs, the sound crisp. the sky is clear of clouds, it's bright and balmy.

shimmer comes to a halt and ellie slides to the ground, catching your hands. she discretely checks the area for any infected as she talks. "alright darlin'. down we get. and no peeking."

"i'm not gonna peek," you giggle, stepping down with some help from ellie.

she slowly guides you forward, one hand over your eyes to really make sure you won't cheat, and the other on your waist.

"okay... are you ready?" ellie asks, removing her hand from your face finally. "you can look."

you blink, readjusting to the light around you, and once your vision clears you are met with what you could only describe as some kind of fairytale hideout—a charming little building, overgrown and yet it's aglow with colour. lush, emerald ivy crawls up the walls, wild and untamed. the flowering plant covers the faded awning, the walls, the broken window. a rusted gold bell hangs over the door, glinting in the sunlight. the dilapidated sign on the wall reads 'marybeth's flowers, est. 2006'.

"oh.. my..." you take a shallow breath before running up to the shop, mary janes squelching wet grass under them. ellie chuckles before chasing you, grabbing your wrist tightly.

"careful, baby. i'm ninety percent sure a patrol came through this morning so there should be no danger but we don't know for sure. don't run from me, okay?"

she's not surprised when her warning gets aired.

"this is beautiful," you say, looking around awe-struck. "you know, sometimes life feels so bleak because of the infected. but things like this make you realise... it's not so bad."

"yeah," ellie murmurs. she follows your gaze to the streaks of light glaring into the flower shop. another small victory for ellie—she knew you'd love this. while she was never one to appreciate the silence of abandoned buildings, succumbed to nature, she knows you fall the opposite way. likely because you seldom see sights like this after settling in jackson. all she ever wanted was to restore society. but your fresh eyes make the gears in her brain turn a different direction every now and then.

but she can't celebrate her success yet. she got you excitedly wandering the shop, a smile on your face. she still has another goal to complete today. and she shall stall it for as long as she can.

"these flowers! they're so happy, look at them," you chirp, dragging ellie through the shop. her nose tickles at the scent of strong pollen, but she tries to ignore it. and the watering of her eyes. what a dumb idea, bringing you here when she has allergies? somehow it hadn't even crossed her mind in the months she'd dreamed of this day. maybe it was a subconscious thing. she's willing to bear it just for you.

"happy flowers..?" she mutters. "i like you."

you stop by a pocket of pristine daisies and tilt your head, taking a soft inhale of the flowers. almost comically, ellie sneezes into her elbow, shaking her head.

"fuck, these things mess with my nose."

"aren't they pretty, though?" you ask, looking back at she who looks away in embarrassment. "they're said to represent new beginnings and love."

"yep. yeah, that's— cute." ellie nods, covering her nose. hopefully later on, she can get more than a word out without sneezing. she has something very important to ask. "i'm fucking dying."

"the hydrangeas! look at these," you gasp, rushing over to the bursts of coloured flowers. "they smell divine."

"what do these ones mean?" ellie asks, rubbing her nose with her free hand. the hydrangeas don't irritate her as much. thank god.

"well, the blue ones symbolise forgiveness and regret, or an apology to someone. the pink are about love. and white is purity," you explain. you don't see ellie nodding along behind you. "i've never seen so many of them. it's so tame in the greenhouses at home—these different species look like they're just.. fighting for space."

ellie's eyes land on a rose bush crawling up the wall. she lets out a puff of air before attempting to pluck one off the vine. a thorn pricks her thumb and she utters a curse before taking her knife to the stem. she feels weird holding it.

she catches your attention by clearing her throat, and holds it out to you on a whim. "these mean love too, don't they?"

you turn your head and, as your eyes lay upon the delicate pink hue of the rose in her hand, you draw your lip between your teeth and take it from her. "yeah. they do. i might take this home with us and press it."

"oh, yeah? that'll be nice," she replies.

"yeah, i think so," you say. it's almost a question. ellie just looks like she has something to say. but she won't say it. in turn, it makes you nervous as well.

ellie looks down and laughs breathlessly, her hand reaching towards her back pocket to pull out a few small cards. you recognise it, it's similar to your method at the winter dance.

"so... we both know i'm not the best at talking about my feelings," she starts. "so i stole your idea about the palm cards. y'know. hopefully i don't drop my shit on the floor like you did."

"hey—"

her voice is shaking. an undeniable waver, that makes your stomach flip with worry. "i appreciate you a lot. i've struggled with, um— i mean, fuck. this is stupid, i'm sorry, i'm just gonna freestyle this."

you giggle, tenderly touching ellie's forearm with the hope of relaxing her. "take your time, els."

"i've felt stranded since getting to jackson." ellie rubs her nose again with her sleeve, and then looks at the rose hanging candidly in your hand. "i really appreciate you for seeing me, and... believing me. nobody else really does. i just— can i... call you my girlfriend?"

you face splits into a wide smile, though she doesn't see. she's holding her breath, staring at the rose, when your pillow-soft palm cups her cheek.

"i would love that," you whisper, finally leaning in. you kiss her slowly, and ellie reciprocates immediately, hands grabbing at your body to pull you closer. sometimes she feels she can't get you close enough.

there's that selfishness again. but if you're her girlfriend, she can be as selfish as she likes.

she doesn't regret it. it's not regret. it's something cold. this pit in her stomach.

she's keeping you warm, got you tucked under the comforter and your face buried against her chest. ellie's fingers scratch softly at your scalp, and she watches your closed eyes flutter with dream, a calm look on your face.

maybe she shouldn't have asked.

you're hers now. she's over the moon, no doubt about that. maybe right now it's your quiet breathing as you sleep in her arms, the trees outside the garage that whisper in the wind, and, of course, her restless thoughts, that allow for ellie to question herself.

she hasn't had thoughts like this in a few days, though. she was running on the high of your affections, and now she's got this downtime to think about the week she's had.

you sleep so prettily. ellie maintains a steady, slow breathing pattern as if afraid she'd startle you otherwise. she watches you stir. you roll even closer to her and she bites her lip, wrapping you up as tight as can be. all this fear of harming you—this is what it stems from. ellie looks at you and she thinks about what a perfect girl this is. something about you stops her dead in her tracks, makes her change her tune.

and she tries not to care about what others think of her. ellie accepted that she is, inherently, the cause of catastrophe for many people. she even played into it.

ellie's lost so many loved ones. she swore she wouldn't lose you, because if she never had you to begin with, there was nothing to lose.

she fucked up.

she's at war with what she wants and what she fears most. how can that be? where has her self control gone? because the side of her that is wanting is starting to win.

she awkwardly swallows back a cough, burying your face into your hair, salt soaking into the strands. she slides her hand to the small of your back and pushes you closer, as though your warmth will ease the strain on her heart. she squeezes tight, starting to tremble. illness ravages her body.

you whimper out into the silence, tugging on the fabric of her hoodie.

"i know kitten," she whispers, "go back to sleep, i'm here."

"there. are you comfy?" ellie asks, rubbing circles into your skin beneath your shirt. she's got you sat on her lap beneath a tree in the park, having fussed about how you were getting your clothes all dirty by sitting on your own.

"yes. very." you nod firmly and lean against her, closing your eyes. the sun weaves between the leaves of the trees and hits your face just right, warmth coating your features.

ellie, on the other hand, is busy fixing you up. she wipes the grass off your knees and pulls your socks over your calves after sensing they'd fallen. she's got into this habit of silently tending to your appearance, be it tightening the ribbon in your hair or pulling your skirt down if it rides up too high. it's just an excuse to touch. to keep you in good condition.

these are the things nobody else sees or notices. ellie tends to you like you're a garden of rich flowers, the minute she sees any sign of wilting she must fix it. she also, recently, has taken it upon herself to protect you from parasitic public opinion. gossiping swirling around town in storms, which had been a fear of hers by touching you—she does everything possible to shield you.

"some privacy, how 'bout that?" she mutters, petting your arm. "nobody around to judge."

"yeah," you say. you pull ellie's other arm over your waist to anchor yourself against her body. "you didn't have to make such a big deal earlier, though."

"i absolutely did," she says, laughing. the noise vibrates in her chest. it's a soothing feeling. "look, i don't care what people think of me, but you? they're not allowed to talk shit about you because you're with me. and if anyone says shit like that to you, you tell them to fuck off, or you tell me, and i'll tell them to fuck off for you."

"well... i dunno," you reply, nudging ellie. "i can handle it. because i know that what they say isn't true. why would i value the opinions of people who change their tune depending on who i spend my time with?"

ellie scoffs softly and rests her face atop your head, lips against your crown. "i don't deserve you."

she's not sure what led her to saying that. it is how she feels inside, but she's been hellbent on keeping that from you. she's found that she talks a lot more freely these days. it's partly to compensate for the guilt she feels in what she can't say—like telling you she's immune, or that she wished she was dead for a very long time—lately, she hasn't thought about those things as much. she can see herself, one day, telling you about her immunity. she'd like for you to feel a sense of comfort in it.

"don't say that stuff," you scold gently, squishing ellie's wrist in your hand. your fingers slide down the pale skin to her knuckles, red-raw and bruised from an altercation. "maybe those people shouldn't try to provoke you, and they'd be a lot happier minding their own."

"i lost my temper and punched someone," ellie says, "it's embarrassing."

"well... i agree that you didn't really need to do that," you say sheepishly. "but you were defending yourself. you fuck around and you find out, you know? jacob was being nasty on purpose."

she snorts, shrugging her shoulders and squeezing your waist. "yeah, i guess. it was only when he brought you into it that i got mad, okay? i'm trying to handle my emotions better. and he just gets on my nerves because he's such a little dick."

"well, i'm glad you stood up for me, either way," you say. "thank you, els. i'm not good at that stuff. people hurt my feelings all the time without realising it and i don't do anything about it."

"yeah. i promise he was just talking out of his ass, baby, please, don't take what he said seriously."

ellie knows you; she knows you're capable of handling yourself, but you are also a highly sensitive person, who has only ever known how it feels to be on people's good sides. being compared to a doormat, a lamb to the slaughter, or as jacob called it today, you being 'walked like a dog' by ellie, it must hurt. there must be doubt somewhere in your mind.

"it's okay," you say hesitantly. "i'm not."

"he doesn't know us," she murmurs against your ear. she moves her lips to your temple, rubbing down your side with her hand. "and he was so wrong, anyway. you're my kitten."

"were you still wanting to hang out with jesse and dina later? we can get ready and go soon," you say quietly, glancing over your shoulder at ellie as you reach for your shoes. she's still sitting on her bed, leaning against the headboard casually. that's a no.

"i just... after today, wanna be with my girl, okay?" ellie murmurs. she shifts her eyes away immediately after telling you this, like she's embarrassed—and you laughing doesn't make it better. "i doubt those two feel like doing shit right now anyway. and you look exhausted, so..."

"okay miss suave," you tease, raising your eyebrows at her tough act. "what are you doing?"

"trying to be a good girlfriend," ellie says back. she opens her hands in an encouraging fashion, as if to beckon you to her lap.

lips parted in bewilderment and words escaping you for a moment, your body still seems to move with its own mind and you're soon perched on ellie's thigh, facing her. her hand finds home on your waist, the other on your knee. "you already are a good girlfriend, silly."

"yeah, well— i just think i wanna appreciate you a little more, kitten. some proper alone time, you know? just us. and our feelings. and..." ellie can't even look at you. it's strange, because for the first time, she isn't afraid of making a move. she's just unfamiliar with it. "i— maybe, you know... i can just show you what i mean. if you trust me."

you take a pause at that. you tilt your head and catch her gaze, stammering slightly. "hm?"

"do you trust me?"

"yeah," you reply, the breathless word pleasing ellie more than you could imagine. "can you be a little more direct, please?"

ellie swallows thickly, looking you in the eyes with a fiery certainty. "i want to touch you. are you ready for something like that?"

you weren't sure at first if you had read the situation wrong, but you're right. and whilst nervous, you're so, so ready.

"yeah, please." your insistence causes ellie to grow in confidence, a hand slowly snaking from thigh to your cheek.

"okay," ellie says. "it's your first time, yeah?"

"yes."

you avoid her gaze this time. ellie's not used to this anymore. you haven't been so shy since the first few times you roped your way into speaking to her. she was always so endeared by your shyness. right now, it's just what she needed. ellie wants you to be the nervous one more often. she likes it. feeling like a protector.

"don't be scared, kitten." ellie gives you a reassuring smile, her thumb rubbing over your lower lip. "it's only me, you know? i'll take care of you."

your stomach feels tight suddenly, a rush of warmth between your legs. it is just the thought of what she'll do, how you know ellie will take care of you. it has you worked up. already.

ellie's free hand roams up and down your back, the one cupping your cheek now bringing you closer and closer. you brace yourself by basing your hands on her shoulders, certainty in both of your nearing smiles—her lips are on yours in seconds, and as fast as they had met, the passion increases.

silence and heavy breath. your lower lip between her teeth. ellie's hand pushing you closer by the ass. she touches you with far less of the hesitance you find yourself with, letting out a quiet and pleased hum against her mouth as you find the courage to palm her chest.

your hips rolling into her is what pulls her away for a soft laugh, fingers languidly messing with the hem of your top. "you're okay? you cool if I take this off'a you now?"

you lean forward to give her another kiss, over-eager and making her chuckle again. she takes that as a yes and begins to pull your top up, focused on you as the fabric is discarded somewhere on the floor.

the goosebumps beginning to prick up along your tummy and arms sweeten the sight even more, her hands sliding up your sides and holding you firmly. she almost doesn't know how to proceed, heat building in her boxers and gaze frantic—where to look, where to look? your stomach, or your bra, and the way it hugs your tits?

nimble fingers graze the cups of your bra, a slight touch just to test the waters.

"shit, you are so perfect." ellie whispers it like she can't even believe the beauty sitting in her lap right now, her already pink cheeks turning darker. crimson billowing up her neck, settling beneath smatterings of freckles.

while she moves toward the clasp of your bra, she leans forward to kiss you again, tongue pressing into yours. ellie snaps your bra open and you let it slither down your arms, baring your chest. the air has a bite to it, but ellie takes hearty, warm handfuls of your tits, watching you shiver.

she now trails her lips down, down, down. neck, collarbone, tits. she has half a mind to tease you, avoid where you want her most, but she can't bring herself to.

too happily, ellie swallows up your stiff peak, and you arch your back into her. She fondles you with gentleness, lips switching between both sides and wrapping around your nipples. her free hand strokes up your spine, every action unscripted but full of intention.

hearing your tiny coos and panting gets ellie pent up. the upturning of your brows and how you draw your lip between your teeth to muffle the pleasure in your voice, your hips rolling and squirming, hands fidgeting, it's a masterpiece. ellie has got to draw you like this—she will, if she can even remember it later.

finally, ellie's fingers nudge at the fly of your shorts, her forehead resting against yours. "lay down baby girl, i got you."

"mhm."

you shimmy out of your shorts quickly, crawling onto ellie's bed. it feels unfamiliar and yet comforting to gather pillows and place them against the headboard, resting back on them.

ellie helps you shortly, then starts to throw off her own clothes; shirt and jeans off, and only her boxers and bra on. you want to stop and stare but she's throwing instructions at you before you get the chance to.

"lift your hips up babe, let me put this down."

you feel soft.

ellie had, of course, taken note of your smooth skin, pillowy lips. in the physical sense, you are so soft. but on the inside, you're melting over her. softening and shying away over the reassurances slipping into conversation, the fact that her callouses feel so much fainter thanks to her light grip.

it makes you feel somewhat lightheaded. head in the clouds.

ellie quickly crawls over you, pressing a firm, steady line of kisses all the way from your jaw to your tummy, occasionally nipping flesh between her teeth.

"and are you gonna let me take these off?" ellie asks, rubbing circles over your hips where pink cotton covers you.

"yeah," you murmur, laughing quietly, looking down and matching ellie's small smile with one of your own. "please.."

she takes her time as she slides the fabric down your legs. she can feel your nervousness, and attempts to drown out the silence in the room by cooing at the sight between your legs.

"wow, look at you… all wet for me, hm?"

ellie parts your legs with her hands and lies on her stomach, eyes closing as she leans down and tenderly kisses your clit; your jolt makes her stop and grin upwards, hand splaying over your pelvis. her thumb rubs slow, languid circles on the thumping bundle of nerves, the other hand demanding your legs to remain open.

tremors run through your thighs. ellie feels them against her, and she likens them to adorable electric shocks. your chest heaves. she's barely touched you yet.

"so beautiful," ellie whispers. she's looking more at the folds of your cunt than she is at you just now, struggling to believe she is the only person to see you like this, let alone touch you like this. what'd she even do to deserve this? gorgeous skin glistening, musky scent hitting her nose…

it's all hers. how did she get so goddamn lucky?

your hips buck into her hand. frankly, ellie cannot hold back anymore, itching for a taste, and of course in a kinder sense—she doesn't want to keep you waiting too long.

it starts in long, deliberate strokes of her tongue. up and down, from hole to clit. a whiny sound falls from her lips as she finally learns your flavour.

but you sound perfect. your voice strained, noises slipping out of your lips free of intention. ellie listens to it all. she smiles when the sounds change, when her tongue focuses precisely on your swollen clit. it's slow, sensual, but fervent. it's almost torturous for your sensitivity, the newness of it all leaving you with difficulty focusing on anything at all.

you hold yourself together so well, and ellie's never seen you truly fall apart like this.

your body is fighting itself. leaning into ellie's mouth, then trying to move away—which she doesn't let happen—and you tense up, squeezing a pillow tightly over your chest.

"mmh— ellie! it's too much."

"shh, i got you baby girl. look at me," ellie whispers, plump lips shining with your essence over them.

you open your eyes a smidge and look down, almost mortified by the lewdness of her between your legs. as she distracts you with a gentle flick of her tongue, you feel a slow but pleasant burning sensation, the insertion of her finger—that's when too much becomes too much.

your entire body is startled by a wave of shock, breathy whines falling out of you without control. ellie has to fight to keep your squirming body still, though she squeezes her own thighs together at the scene. the feeling of you clenching so tight on her finger, and your clit twitching under her tongue...

"aw, baby girl, what happened?" she teases, looking up through half-lidded eyes. "do i have a magic touch or something, huh?"

"you are so mean," you whine.

"mean? i can get meaner if you want me to," she whispers, finger starting to pump in and out at a slow pace. "don't be embarrassed. i did the same thing my first time."

when her finger begins to move, you bite back a light whimper and squeeze the pillow harder in your hands. "no you didn't. and don't be meaner."

"i didn't," ellie concedes, laughing softly. "i'm just trying to make you feel better. there's nothing to be embarrassed for. that was the prettiest thing."

ellie slides her finger out of you and leans over to give you a soft peck on the lips, not before sucking her finger clean of course.

"you're so lucky i can't be mean to you, because you taste so good i wanna stay down there forever."

you huff softly, pushing frizzy hairs out of ellie's face. "did i ruin it?"

"no." ellie scoffs at this, leaning lower to bite at your neck like it's some kind of reprimand. "that was beautiful, and i'm not done, anyway. just letting you recover a little right now."

she doesn't feel bad this time around for being greedy. she licks the spot she bit, only to make another attack on your neck, sucking the skin between her teeth. ellie's being so selfish, she's eating you up and putting her hands all over you and it's disgusting, and you like it. it's making you feel good. she's not afraid that she might hurt you. she feels so much control over herself right now, so comfortable in your presence.

ellie pulls her boxers down quickly and tosses them to the floor. this time it's your turn to not know where to look—the trail of dark red hairs that lead from her navel to her mound, or the small, perky tits that she uncovers finally.

"don't," she whispers, grabbing your wrists and pinning them by your sides the moment you try to reach out. "just spread your legs for me."

you give a sort of choked moan in response, opening your legs. ellie bites her lip and moves slowly without wanting to overwhelm you, but sits so that your legs are interlocked, her cunt right on top of yours. you both moan, ellie a little quieter than you, as she starts to move.

and it's not slow. her clit kisses yours over, and over, and over, her clammy knuckles whiting as she holds your hands into the bed. she uses it as leverage to move herself over you, panting heavily over your face. everything's slippery, sweaty, hot, as though you're running a fever.

"you take it so, so well, kitten," ellie says lowly, forcing her eyes open to watch your wrecked expression. "so good for me, my one and only."

"mmh, els, i love you," you whimper. you recognise the buildup to your orgasm this time, it's still quick but it doesn't take you by surprise so much like earlier. between shrieks of delight and your hips bucking into hers, you chant a mantra. "i love you, i love you."

"i love you too— i really do," ellie rushes out. she's overwhelmed with it, and never has she come so quickly before, but your needy cries satisfy her more than anything. she could honestly get off to just that sound.

"shh, shh, you're okay," she whispers after collapsing over you. she's shaking hard, blistering skin burning yours, but in a sensitive way; it's almost addictive. she cups your cheek to lift your face, almost like she has to check that you're still functioning. it's the slightest worry she might have broken you—not that that would be a bad thing anymore. not like this. "look at me, pretty girl. there she is. hi."

"hi," you reply, still breathing heavily, but managing a light smile. ellie grins back, leaving a kiss on those soft lips before rolling over to hold you in her arms.

"did you get what i was wanting to show you? i think you did," she says.

you nod, pressing your mouth against her collarbone, the skin hot and moist. "i love you, and you love me."

"clever kitten," ellie murmurs, rubbing the back of your head. "you get me like nobody else."

she has succeeded. she makes you feel safe. she's good for that—protecting. she was used to treating her immunity as a superpower of sorts, to throw herself recklessly into patrols to guard jackson. things are simpler now; ellie is more responsible now, she wants to return home safely for your sake. if she were gone, you'd be hurting.

it's something ellie resigned herself to thinking she'd never have. you trust her. she knows you. she knows nearly everything there is to know. she never thought herself to be anything but destructive, but she's grown under your wing. her fire is contained to that which emits smoke into a chimney on a rainy day, keeping you warm.

she's attached herself to you; she's the thorns on your stem, the water that keeps you happy, and the sun that nourishes you all at once.

ellie has a new purpose.

🏷️ @abbysdollie @valeisaslut @eriiwaii @emmap3rkins @ellieshothousewife @piercedome @therealhexstrap @jinxedbambi @heyimrye @rhian88 @g4ys0n @yoosohh @marvelwomenarehot0 @l0veylace @marieeeluvsyou @losing-it-lately (if you aren't usually on my tag list but got tagged, it's because you showed some interest in the fic and it really motivated me to keep going ♡) thank you for reading ♡♡ btw i have headcanons + spin-off content planned for this au so be on the lookout !!

#.ellie #mean!ellie #sweetheart!reader #mean!jackson!ellie #ellie willams x reader #tlou2 x reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #tlou x reader #ellie williams x fem reader #ellie williams x you #ellie x you #femme!reader #.in bloom #mar's stories †#.tlou

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aventurineswife · 1 month ago

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jingyuan, dan heng, aven, and jiaoqiu where they have like a bunch of different albums if their wife with different expressions. Like theyrs one album named flustered reader, sleepy reader, cute reader, etc, and i imagine that like one day they forgot their phone so they return home to get it only to find a veyr foustered reader whos going through all the albums and she slike wth is this??

Every Shade of You

Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Fluff, Established Relationship, Domestic Bliss, Romantic Comedy, Slight Crack, Soft Moments, Light Teasing, Photography Shenanigans, Slight Embarrassment, Love-Struck Partner, Affection Overload.

Warnings: Mild suggestive themes (nothing explicit), Secondhand embarrassment (for the reader), Slight possessiveness (but in a loving way), Soft emotional moments.

Jing Yuan had barely left the house when he realized he had forgotten his phone. With a small sigh, he turned on his heel and headed back, his pace unhurried. The Luofu was peaceful today—no urgent matters required his immediate attention, and so, he allowed himself this rare moment of leisure.

What he did not expect, however, was to return to the sight of you sitting cross-legged on the bed, his phone in your hands, your face burning crimson.

"Ah," Jing Yuan drawled, leaning against the doorway. "I see you've found my little collection."

You snapped your head up, looking utterly scandalized. "Little collection?!" You gestured wildly at the screen, still open to an album titled Flustered (Beloved). "Jing Yuan, what is this?! Why do you have, like, fifty pictures of me looking—" You hesitated, glancing at the next album. "Sleepy [Name]?! Pouty [Name]?! [Name] Eating Cute Things?! What is this madness?!"

Jing Yuan chuckled, his golden eyes brimming with amusement. He stepped forward, plucking his phone from your hands before casually scrolling through the albums. "Ah, memories," he mused. "You look quite adorable here, you know? This one was from the time you got startled by that tiny bird outside the tea house." He turned the screen toward you, displaying an image of you, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide with shock.

Your embarrassment doubled. "Why do you have entire folders dedicated to my expressions?!"

Jing Yuan hummed thoughtfully before sitting beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Because, my dear, every single one of them is precious to me," he said smoothly, brushing his lips against your temple. "Your every mood, your every glance—I like keeping them close."

You buried your face in your hands. "You're unbelievable."

"And you're unbelievably adorable," he countered, smirking as he placed his phone back into his pocket. "Now, since you've already seen them… Shall I take another picture for my Embarrassed [Name] album?"

You let out a groan. "Jing Yuan!"

Dan Heng wasn’t one to be forgetful, but today, he’d left his phone behind. He barely stepped back into your shared quarters on the Astral Express before hearing a gasp.

His eyes narrowed as he followed the sound, only to find you sitting on the edge of the bed, his phone gripped in your trembling hands. Your expression was a mix of horror and overwhelming embarrassment.

Dan Heng froze. His phone was unlocked. You had seen—

Oh.

You looked up at him with wide, mortified eyes. "Dan Heng… what is this?" Your voice was barely above a whisper.

He swallowed, keeping his composure. "...My personal records."

"Personal records?!" you repeated, incredulous. "Why do you have entire albums labeled things like Grumpy [Name], Sleepy [Name], Soft Smiles [Name]—oh my god, Dan Heng, there’s a whole album just called [Name] Holding Books Lovingly—"

Dan Heng crossed the room in two strides, gently taking his phone from your hands before you could read any further. His ears were faintly pink, but his voice remained calm. "I… like keeping track of things that matter to me," he admitted. "You matter to me."

Your heart skipped a beat. "But this is—!" You covered your face, trying to process the fact that Dan Heng, reserved and composed Dan Heng, had been secretly hoarding photos of you in various moods. "How long have you been doing this?"

Dan Heng averted his gaze for a moment. "...Since we met."

"Dan Heng!" Your voice cracked with disbelief.

He sighed, pressing a kiss to your forehead before murmuring, "I just… wanted to remember every version of you." His fingers brushed your wrist. "If it bothers you, I’ll delete them."

You groaned, flopping back onto the bed. "No… it’s… kind of sweet. But I can never look at you the same way again!"

Dan Heng smirked ever so slightly. "Should I take a picture for the Overwhelmed [Name] album?"

"Dan Heng!!"

Aventurine had been out for less than ten minutes before realizing he'd forgotten his phone. With a smirk, he turned back, ready to retrieve it—only to hear an amused but very flustered sound from inside your shared suite.

Curious, he pushed the door open and was greeted with a sight he would never forget.

You, sitting on the couch, his phone in your hands, face beet red.

His smirk widened. "Well, well, well," he drawled, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. "What do we have here?"

You jerked your head up, looking equal parts mortified and accusing. "Aventurine." You pointed at the screen. "Explain."

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Explain what, my dear?"

"The albums!" You gestured wildly. "Why is there a Flustered [Name] album?! And a [Name] Smiling Just for Me album?! And—oh my god—[Name] in My Jacket?! When did you even take these?!"

Aventurine chuckled, leaning over the couch to glance at the images. "Ah, now this is priceless." He tapped a picture of you, fast asleep, wrapped in his oversized coat. "I remember this one. You looked so cozy. And this one—ah, my personal favorite—[Name] Blushing at My Compliments."

You let out an embarrassed groan. "You named them?"

"Of course," he said, sitting beside you and slipping an arm around your shoulders. "It’s a collection of my most treasured winnings."

You hid your face in his chest. "You're insufferable."

"And you," he said smoothly, tilting your chin up, "are the most exquisite subject I’ve ever had the pleasure of capturing."

"...Shameless."

"Only for you, sweetheart."

Jiaoqiu rarely left his belongings behind, but today was an exception. He returned home earlier than expected, stepping inside quietly—only to see you hunched over his phone, completely still.

His keen eyes caught the screen's reflection. The moment realization dawned, his tail flicked in amusement.

"...Ah." His voice was smooth, warm with quiet amusement. "I see you've found my private collection."

You yelped, spinning around. "Jiaoqiu!" Your face was burning. "Explain this!" You held up the screen, displaying albums titled Pouting [Name], Sleepy [Name], Embarrassed [Name], and—dear heavens—[Name]’s Hidden Smiles.

Jiaoqiu chuckled, stepping forward and gently plucking the phone from your grasp. "Would you believe me if I said it was for medical research?"

You shot him a glare. "Jiaoqiu."

His fox ears twitched in amusement. "Fine, fine. I just… like capturing your different moods," he admitted. "Every expression, every glance—you have no idea how precious they are to me."

You covered your face. "I can never live this down."

He hummed. "In that case… Shall I take another for the [Name] Utterly Mortified album?"

You threw a pillow at him. "JIAOQIU!"

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strnilolover · 7 months ago

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Fic where Chris is obsessed with !Readers ass like he slaps it, lays on it, hugs it, and subtly touches it just because it's basically a fixation and they find it normal by now but when he does it in public he gets weird looks especially in-front of their friends 🙂

chris had always been a hands-on kind of guy. but when it came to you, specifically your ass, it was less of a habit and more of a full-blown obsession. at first, it had been playful — a teasing slap here, a cheeky squeeze there, something you’d laugh at or bat his hand away from. but as your relationship grew, so did his fixation, and now? it was a part of your daily life.

he’s find any excuse to touch it. if you bent over to grab something from a cabinet, his hand would automatically reach out, giving you a sharp smack that left you yelping. if you were lying on your stomach watching TV, he’d flop down right on top of you, his head resting on your backside like it was a pillow. and if you were cooking or standing in the kitchen? forget about personal space. chris would come up behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist, his hands slipping down as he hummed contentedly like it was the most normal thing in the world.

at this point, it kind of was — for you, at least. you barely flinched anymore when he randomly grabbed you or hugged your hips with his face buried in the curve of your back. It was just chris being chris. but for everyone else? it was a lot.

like tonight, for example.

nick and matt had wanted you both to watch a movie with them for the night. you’d been in the kitchen, grabbing drinks from the cooler, when you felt the all-too-familiar sting of chris’ palm landing on you.

“chris!” you hissed, nearly spilling the drink in your hand as you turned to glare at him.

“what?” he said, his tone so casual it was almost infuriating. he leaned against the counter, grinning like he didn’t just embarrass the hell out of you.

matt’s jaw had dropped, and nick looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or leave the room. “dude,” matt said, his voice full of disbelief, “do you have to do that every five minutes?”

chris shrugged, completely unbothered by the attention. “what? it’s my girl. you think I’m just gonna ignore her when she looks this good?” you groaned, your face heating up as Nick rubbed his temples.

“it’s not normal,” nick muttered, shaking his head. “you’re obsessed.”

“not obsessed,” chris argued, coming up behind you again. his hands landed on your hips, squeezing affectionately. “just appreciative. big difference.” you shot him a look over your shoulder, muttering, “you’re so embarrassing,” but all chris did was smirk and press a quick kiss to your cheek.

“don’t act like you don’t love it,” he whispered, low enough that only you could hear, before giving you another playful tap. by the time you returned to the living room, drink in hand, chris had taken a seat on the couch. but instead of sitting next to him, you stopped in front of the coffee table to grab the remote.

big mistake.

you heard the sharp slap before you even felt it, followed by the sting radiating across your skin. “chris!” you yelped, whipping your head around to glare at him — your hand rubbing your backside from the sting.

“what?” he grinned unapologetically as you turned to glare at him. nick and matt, meanwhile, were staring at him like he’d lost his mind.

“bro,” matt finally said, shaking his head in disbelief. “in front of us?” chris leaned back on the couch, arms stretched out, looking completely unbothered. “y’all don’t appreciate greatness when you see it,” he said smugly, gesturing to you with both hands like you were some kind of trophy.

you buried your face in your hands, groaning in secondhand embarrassment as nick muttered something about needing better friends. meanwhile, chris just reached out, his hand sliding along your hip as he gave you an affectionate squeeze.

“don’t worry,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. “they’re just jealous they don’t have someone as perfect as you.” you couldn’t decide whether to laugh, roll your eyes, or bury yourself in the couch cushions. by now, you were used to it — but that didn’t make his shamelessness any less mortifying.

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darlingdaisyfarm · 6 months ago

Text

───୨ৎ praise that old man, girl!

a/n: i adore Stanley Pines and apparently im not alone because the amount of asks i got for nsfw with this man?? who am i to deny the people what they want?? also one anon asked for public sex with Stanley sooo here you go angel!

tags: nsfw, smut, vaginal and oral sex (f receiving), age gap, dirty talk, older man/younger woman, degradation + praise, size kink, dumbification, public sex, rough sex, breeding kink

You hadn’t exactly walked into the Mystery Shack with dreams of employment. Stan had hired you on the spot, half-serious when he said he couldn’t afford to be picky. “you got a pulse? can count to ten? good, you’re in,” while shoving a broom into your hands.

You’d been working here for a while now and Stanley Pines had somehow, against all reason, taken a liking to you. You weren’t like the other employees, you were sarcastic and always ready with a quick comeback. It didn’t take long for Stan to notice and he loved the fact that you didn’t take his shit. He loved how you could dish it out just as good as he could.

You genuinely liked your work. The old place had its charm and Stan, despite his grumpy act, was actually funny in his own way.

You were sharp, quick with the same kind of deadpan humor Stan wielded like a weapon. when tourists asked the weirdest and dumbest questions as “how does this yeti paw feel so real?”, you’d shrug and go, “oh, Mr. Pines wrestled the guy for it last spring! you should’ve seen him in the ring.”

And somehow, your nonsense never grated on him.

He’d grumble about you “driving him crazy,” but the truth was, he admired how you handled people, how you could spin up a lie on the spot and sell it with a sly smirk. Even when you worked him up, you had a knack for knowing how to make him laugh before he could stay mad.

Like the time you’d swapped the “do not touch” signs in the gift shop with ones reading “please steal this.” When Stan stormed out of his office, you barely flinched. “don’t blame me. Soos did it,” you’d said again and he’d folded his arms, sighing.

“Kid, you’re gonna give me an ulcer.”

“Then you’ll get to take a vacation, Mr. Pines.”

You had a way of making him feel younger, somehow. Not just the old man with a bad back and a million regrets. Around you, he felt like the guy who still had a chance to make someone smile. And god, he loved that.

Because, god, you talk back, crack jokes, get in his face with that stupid grin of yours. And he knows you know how to get under his skin. It’s annoying and hilarious at the same time.

You’re a disaster of a worker. He’ll admit that to anyone, but for some reason, Stan forgives you. every time. “who did this? who messed up the brochures?” and you always say the same thing “Soos.”

And fuck, he adores it, the way you lie so easily and confidently. He's not mad, but charmed by it. And maybe a little turned on too, but he’ll never admit that out loud.

“You know, i should fire you, right?”

“Yeah, but you won’t, cause i’m too cute, Mr. Pines.”

Stan had wanted to stay mad, but how could he? Every time you messed up, he found a way to let it slide, not because you were good at covering your tracks, but because you always knew just what to say, how to make him forget the shit you’d done. You made it all worth it.

The pick-up lines started a few weeks in. At first, they were awful, so bad that you’d nearly die of secondhand embarrassment. “you must be tired, ‘cause you’ve been running through my mind all day, doll,” he'd say with a lazy wink. and, of course, you’d always have something ready: “you should probably take a nap then, Mr. Mystery, you’re getting old.”

The first time Stanley tried to flirt with you, he didn’t know how it’d feel. He was always smooth, always had a line ready, but it always went wrong with you. “you know, i must be a snowflake ‘cause i’m falling for you.” but before he could even get the whole line out, you shot back, “snowflakes melt. Is that really how you want to end up?”

He’d blink, caught off guard, then chuckle. “smartass.”

But Stan, the bastard, he loved that about you.

He loved how you never pretended to be anything you weren’t. No frilly nonsense or sugar-coating, just honest humor that reminded him of his own shitty jokes. You didn’t back down, never tiptoed around him, and he couldn’t even be mad when you lied about the mess-ups.

His flirts were always the same, predictable, corny, but somehow, Stan delivered them with the precision of a seasoned performer. He would laugh at your attempts to flirt back what made you want to punch him and kiss him all at once. “you’re cute when you’re trying to be a romantic,” you say as you lean against the counter with a teasing grin. “but i’m still gonna need a drink to believe you.”

Stanley grew bolder though. “if I were a few years younger. . .”

“You’d still be a pervert?”

“Nah, just a smooth talker, toots,” he’d grin, trailing his fingers over a stack of papers as you walked past, brown eyes never leaving you

The more you two exchanged these ridiculous lines, the more the tension built. The fake flirting, the dumb compliments, it was a game to both of you and neither of you could stop playing.

The shack is empty, just for now. It's an early morning in Gravity Falls, the aroma of coffee that Stan insisted on brewing too strong fills the air. He was at the counter, organising some brochures for the tours, his usual tourist-trap grin nowhere to be found yet.

Tourists haven’t arrived yet.

You were running a little late today, again. Not that Stanley really cared, but he always pretended to. The man was predictable like that. By now, you’d learned that his bark was worse than his bite, though sometimes, you didn’t mind the idea of getting a little bitten.

You walk into the Shack with coffee in one hand and bag slung over your shoulder, the creak of the floorboards greeting you. Stan was leaning against the counter when you came, scribbling something on his clipboard, his back turned to you. And that’s when you saw it.

He wasn’t wearing his girdle and it was impossible not to notice the soft swell of his stomach beneath his shirt.

Fuck. You swallow hard, trying to act normal, but there’s no stopping the heat pooling low in your belly. Mr. Pines, all thick and broad, strong arms, messy morning hair, his belly curving under his chest, that's just too much

And while anyone else might have held back, might’ve thought better of sneaking up on their boss, you didn’t hesitate. The moment you saw him, your lips curled into a smirk.

He hasn’t noticed you yet.

Stepping closer, your let your hands slide over his clothes until your palms rested against the warm curve of his belly. He jumps immediately, his hand jerking across the paper, leaving a thick, jagged line of ink.

“What the— hey! what’re you doin’, kid?!”

“Just admiring my boss?” you grin wider, leaning into him.

Another grumpy “pfft. yeah, right.” comes your way when Stan moves to brush your hands away, but you just dig your fingers in harder, letting your breasts press against his back.

“You’ve been hiding this from me all this time? What a shame.”

His face burns instantly, bright red flushing up his neck. “dammit, don’t go grabbin’ me like that! i’m too old for—”

“Oh, come on,” you cut him off, crowding him against the counter. “you’re not too anything. in fact,” your fingers dip just slightly below his beltline, teasing. “i think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Perfect? hah, are you outta your damn mind? Look at me! I’m no spring chicken, alright? i’ve got—”

“Got what, Mr. Pines?” you interrupt. “nice body?” your nails scrape lightly against your boss, earning a shaky exhale from him. “i like it. a lot.”

“Cut it out, kid, this ain’t the kinda body women go crazy for. You’re wastin’ your time”

You frown. “says who?”

He huffs in embarrassment. “C’mon, you've seen it. I'm too old and- and uh, rough around the edges?”

“Damn, exactly what i like,” his whole body stiffens under your touch. “big strong hands, broad chest and this belly, i want all of it, Mr. Pines.”

“You got a filthy mouth, y’know.”

“Oh, i had a good teacher.” you giggle, feeling him already getting hard. “you ever been touched like this, Mr. Pines?”

Stan exhales hard, irritated and flustered. “‘course I have, don’t talk like I’m some goddamn virgin.”

“Thats not what i meant.” your nails scrape, dragging slow over his belly, over the dips and curves.

He tries to change the tactics then. “listen, sweetie, i’m too old for this shit, alright? you- you deserve some young, pretty guy who—“

“Who what? who doesn’t look half as good as you? who can’t make me laugh the way you do? who doesn’t make me want to do this? i like it thick, broad, strong. You could just throw me around and have your way with me, Mr. Pines.”

Stanley fucking stops breathing. Hes hesitating because he doesn’t want to admit he’s just as fucking hungry for this as you are.

He runs a hand over his face, trying and failing to keep his composure. “You- you’re crazy, y’know that?” but you always knew how to get under his skin.

“Admit it, you’d miss me if i wasn’t here to keep you on your toes.” your fingertips graze his bulge once more and that's it. Stan’s breath stutters in his throat.

“Hot belgian waffles, you better be serious, sweetheart.” he’s already turning, crowding you against the counter, gripping your waist, your hips, your ass.

“Why wouldn’t i be?” you gasp after you say the last word when he palms your tits, kneads them roughly.

“You wanna be fucked like that? like a real man oughta do it?” he leans closer to your face. You nod too eagerly and Stan doesn’t waste a second “we better make this quick,” while his fingers already yanking at your clothes, dragging you onto the counter, pressing his mouth to yours.

Quick. Ha.

Stan kisses like he’s trying to eat you alive, pushing his tongue into your mouth. You moan, grinding against him, feeling the hard length of his cock pressing into your stomach

You should have known better. Should’ve known better than to touch him like that, to let your fingers linger on the soft curve of his belly as he stood there, all unbuttoned and exposed. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because the moment your hands landed there, the pull was too strong, and you knew that if you didn’t take it now, you’d burn up inside.

“You sure you want this, baby? ‘cause once i start, i’m not stoppin.” you nod, gasping for breath, and that’s all he needs. “good, i’ve been holding back long enough.” he gropes you, touches you everywhere, his hands roaming over your back, squeezing your ass.

“Fuck, these are perfect,” your bra is barely on you before he’s palming your tits, squeezing rough, thumbing your nipples, watching them peak.

He licks his lips, then leans down and latches on. Wet, sucking, pulling noises fill the Shack. You arch, whimper, push into his mouth and he groans. “needy little thing, ain’t ya?” he switches breasts, drags his tongue over the swell, teeth scraping before sucking your nipple into his mouth, rolling it, flicking it.

Stanley Pines, despite his gruff exterior, is a sweaty mess in front of you. A man that had given up, probably, on ever being seen as sexy. That’s what made it so deliciously easy to shatter him. To break that cold shell. Because he didn’t see it, did he? He didn’t see how much his body, his age, even his wrinkles, didn’t matter to you. You just want him to feel it. You want him to feel desired, so badly.

“Fucking hell, yer driving me insane, toots.”

You laugh breathlessly. “don’t be so dramatic, old man. You’re tougher than you look.”

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that one,” he growls as he pushes you back against the counter, gripping your thighs.

His mouth is on you again, kissing down your neck, biting, his tongue leaving hot scorching wet trails that fill your stomach with butterflies. You grind against him, feeling the press of his cock through his pants.

“You want this, huh? want me to fuck you right here, where anyone could walk in?”

“Yes, i need you, Mr. Pines.” your hands grip his shoulders, pulling him closer.

Stanley presses his thick fingers against your underwear, circling your throbbing clit through your panties, drawing soft sounds from your lips.

“Already so wet. Hell, you’re gonna take me so good, aren’t ya? this tight little pussy’s gonna feel so fuckin’ good around my cock.”

You moan, your head falling back, your body arching against him as he works you with his fingers faster, harder.

“Please, please, please, need you!” then, out of the blue, or maybe because you're too lost to even care so you'd mumble everything that comes out of your mouth, you quietly admit. “Mr. Pines, f-fuck, ive touched myself to the thought of you—”

Stanley looks at you. “say that again.”

“I've thought about you, i fingered myself imagining it was your cock.” you say quietly, looking at him with little hearts in your puppy eyes.

“Jesus christ, you filthy little thing.”

“Stan—”

“Mr. Pines.” fuck. the way he corrects you, heat coils in your stomach, between your legs. “You wanna get fucked good, you use the right name.”

“M-Mr. Pines—fuck, please—” his fingers press harder, rubbing slow, teasing circles over your clothed clit.

“Soaked. And i ain’t even touched you yet.” you whine, pressing into his hands, your hips twitching. And that bastard laughs. “poor thing, you really need it, huh? sweetie, you’re lucky i’m not makin’ you beg for it.” yet, he forgot to add.

You’re about to retort, but then his fingers slide your panties to the side, spreading your folds, dragging through your wet slit.

“Fuck, baby, dripping all over my fingers.”

“N-need you—”

“Aw, yeah? that so?” he pushes a finger in your pussy so fucking slow, savouring the way your little cunt takes his thick digit, already imagining how perfect it'd be with his cock instead. “tight angel, fuck, so tight.” Stan manhandles you roughly, spreading your legs with his hands, kneeling in front of you, about to devour you whole. You feel his hot breath against your core and when he leans in and his tongue finally licks a long, slow stripe through your folds, you swear you see stars.

“Taste even better than i thought,” he groans, voice muffled against your pussy. His big hands grip your thighs, holding you open as he buries his face between your legs, licking and sucking like a man starved.

“Mr. Pines—oh my g-god—” Stanley keeps grunting and moaning, the vibration sending shocks through your body.

“Fuck, keep sayin’ my name like that. Can’t get enough of you, doll.” his warm tongue flicks your swollen clit and he slides two fingers into you, curling them, scissoring. Your hips buck against his face, but he holds you down with one arm across your stomach. “Stay still, princess, let me take care of you.”

You’re already close and he knows it, his fingers pumping into you faster, his mouth relentless on your clit. You fall over the edge with a cry, your thighs trembling as he works you through it, fingers still moving, tongue still teasing, until you’re begging him to stop from overstimulation, tugging his hair. Stanley pulls back, lips and chin glistening and grins like the filthy bastard he is. “cant believe i’ve been missin’ out on this.”

He stands, towering over you and you reach for him, fumbling with his belt. When the metal buckle clinks loudly in the quiet of the Shack, Stanley impatiently shoves his pants down to free himself.

Your gaze drops and your eyes widen. Jesus christ.

“Like what you see?”

“I’d be stupid not to,” you grin, reaching out to wrap your fingers around him, making him curse under his breath, his hips jerking into your hand as he grabs your wrist, guiding you to pump his hard length slowly.

But you two don't have much time so he holds your panties aside with one hand, lining himself up with the other and with a single thrust, Stan buries himself inside you, stretching you so perfectly it makes your vision blur.

“Fuck,” his hands grip your hips so hard you were sure there will be bruises. “you’re so fuckin’ tight and warm. Goddamn, sweetheart.”

Your response breaks off into a whimper as he starts moving, slow at first to let you get used, his hips rolling into yours smoothly.

“That’s it, take it, baby, all of me.” you let out a soft moan, looking down where you both connected and he grins, pressing his hand against your stomach, where the outline of him bulged beneath your skin. “look at that, i’m so fuckin’ deep, i can feel myself here. You feel it, baby? feel me stretchin’ ya open?”

You nod frantically, your head spinning with every relentless thrust as he stretches you in ways you didn’t think possible. You cry out, your nails raking down his back, your body arching against him as he sets a brutal pace, driving into you over and over again.

“Such a pretty little thing, lettin' an old bastard like me ruin ya.”

You can only nod, your needy voice lost to the pleasure as youre getting fucked that good, right here in the Shack, where anyone could walk in.

He’s watching you, watching your pussy stretch around his fat cock, watching the way you tremble. His big hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, forcing you to take all of him.

“Bet no one’s ever fucked you like this before, huh?” he slams into you again, making the counter creak beneath you. Using his strong hands he keeps you in place as his cock drives in and out of your dripping, swollen cunt.

“C'mon, answer me, baby,” he growls, his hand sliding up to grab your jaw, forcing your glazed-over eyes to meet his. His cock buries deep, hitting that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble. ”didn’t ask for silence. you ever been fucked like this before?”

Your eyes are closed as you shake your head, whimpering. “n-no.”

“No, what?”

"N-no one’s ever fucked me like this, Mr. Pines—”

“Good girl, use your words,” Stan grips your chin and forces you to meet his gaze. “tell me how much you love this cock.”

“S-so much,” you manage to choke out between pathetic whines and mewls, your brain turning into useless mess. “i love it, i love you, Mr. Pines, don’t stop!” tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

“Poor thing, all those boys before me and none of ‘em knew how to stretch this perfect cunt open right.” he shifts his hips, grindings his cock against your walls, making you sob. “bet they didn’t even know how to fuck you proper, huh? didn’t know how to make ya beg?”

You shake your head and gasp, clinging to him.

His hand slides down your body, rough fingers rubbing over your swollen, sensitive clit. “owwh, they never even made ya cum, did they, sweetheart?”

“No, they didn’t, Mr. Pines.”

“Fuckin’ shame. all those useless boys, never knew what they were missin’.” his thumb circles your clit. “but don't worry, this pussy’s mine now, ya hear me? No one else’s. I’m the only one who can fuck ya like this, make ya feel this good.”

“Mr. Pines, ple-please. . .’

“Please what, sugar?” he pants, fucking you so deep you swear you feel him rearranging your insides.

You sob, tears spilling from your pretty eyes. “p-please, make me cum—” Stan doesn’t let up, not even for a second. His cock is buried so deep inside you that you can barely breathe and think, barely do anything but moan and take it like the filthy little thing you are.

“Aw, baby, you gonna cum already? just from my cock stretchin’ ya open like this?” you nod, your body tightening around him. “fuck, that’s right, sweetheart, squeeze me just like that. Never thought i’d get to ruin somethin’ so perfect.” his pace picks up, his cock pounding into you so hard you’re sure the counter’s going to break.

You were supposed to keep it quick. just a little pre-tour fuck as you both said.

But thirty minutes turned into sixty and sixty turned into absolute depravity.

The counter was first, but then Stan couldn’t stop. His cock is buried deep inside your soaked, needy cunt as his hands hold you while he thrusts into you.

"Fuckin’ christ, doll, this pussy’s gonna be the death of me."

You had your legs around his waist, arms locked around his neck, Stanley fucking into you so deep you felt like you’d pass out. But then he lifted you up, didn’t even bother pulling out, just carried you like you weighed nothing, still fucking up into you, and took you across the shack like a man possessed.

“Mr. Pines!” and “so good!” were the only words you knew.

“Thought we were keepin’ this quick, huh?” he grunts. “then why the fuck can’t i stop?”

You can’t even answer because your mouth is too busy moaning, gasping, babbling absolute nonsense while he splits you open, every inch pushing against your soft, sensitive walls, stuffing your tight pussy full.

You arch your back, sobbing, because you need it fast again, rough again, animalistic again. And he fucking gives it to you, by grabbing your thighs, folding you in half and absolutely destroying you.

“Fuckin’ filthy girl, letting an old bastard like me ruin this tight little pussy. Even dreamed about this, ugh, layin’ awake at night, fingers buried in that needy little cunt, wishin’ it was me.”

What can you say except loud “yesyesyes!” gasps? However, Stanley is satisfied with that.

“Yeah? bet you’re never gonna want anyone else fuckin’ you again.”

He doesn’t stop. Every display case. Every fake cryptid setup. Even the damn vending machine.

“You're so fuckin’ wet, doll, i could slide into this little cunt with no effort at all.”

Fake exhibits? fucked over them. That fake monster cage? Bent over it. That dusty-ass animatronic Stan managed to steal? yeah, he fucked you right in front of it, hands gripping your ass, hips slamming into yours so hard the damn thing started moving

Stan literally punched it to shut it up.

But did he stop? no.

“Shut the hell up, buddy,” he muttered to the machine, before shoving his cock back inside you and making you scream.

but the final round?

Staff room.

Both of you panting, sweaty, while he takes you from behind, balls slapping against your throbbing clit, the slick sound of skin on skin echoing through the empty Shack.

Or, well, not so empty anymore, because suddenly you hear the honk of a tourist bus outside.

Stan’s head snaps up. “oh, you gotta be fuckin’ kidding me—”

His eyes dart to the stupid clock on the wall and he actually freezes for a second.

“We— we were supposed to open, like—shit, twenty minutes ago.”

“So? keep going.” you say lazily under him.

“Oh, you’re gonna get me in trouble.” but does he stop? does he fucking stop?

No, no he does not. Instead, he fucks you harder.

“I'm gonna make this quick, baby, gonna fill you up real nice, then i gotta—fuck—gotta get to work—“

But then— “uh, Mr. Mystery?”

fuck.

Stan’s body locks up and you both freeze. The voice is right outside the door. Stanley lets out the deepest, most exhausted sigh. “Uh, yeah?”

The tourist hums. “sooo i was wondering, when does the tour start? we’ve been waiting outside for a while.”

Stan closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “yeah, yeah, uh, give me five minutes, kid, i got, uh, got a bad back today, y'know? just need a second to—uhhh—” you clench around him, tight, so fucking tight and his words cut off in a groan.

He glares at you. you just smirk.

“You okay in there, Mr. Mystery?”

Stan forces his voice steady. “yeah, yeah, just—” he grits his teeth. “just need a minute to stretch it out.” he snaps his hips forward, stuffing his cock back into your cunt, deep and slow, forcing you to feel every thick, throbbing inch

You whimper, just to fuck with him because this old man is so funny when annoyed.

“Fuckin’ hell, stop that.” he growls under his breath at you.

But the tourist won’t leave.

“So, uh, what’s the official policy on taking pictures of the fake exhibits?”

Stan’s eye twitches, his hips jerk forward involuntarily and you let out a choked gasp.

The tourist pauses.

“Mr. Mystery? are you sure you're okay?”

Stan immediately shoves a hand over your mouth. “Told you, just back’s actin’ up, kid.”

The tourist keeps talking.

“What do you think the likelihood is of alien activity in oregon? because personally, i think—”

You clench around him again. Stan chokes on a groan, his cock throbbing inside you as he tries to keep his voice normal.

“Listen, kid, why don’t you, uh, go look at the gift shop or somethin’, huh?”

“Oh, but i wanted to ask about—”

Stan loses it

“NOT NOW, KID. TOUR STARTS IN TEN MINUTES. LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE.”

“Ohh. . . Okay?” fucking finally, you hear footsteps and door creaking, that idiot leaving

Stanley slumps forward, forehead against your shoulder.

“Poor Mr. Mystery,” you tease, moving your hips. “just trying to do his job, but this damn girl won’t stop teasing him—”

“Ohhh, you thought you were so fuckin’ cute, huh?” the deep rasp of his voice sends shivers down your spine. His chest is pressed against your back, his weight holding you down while his cock still stuffed inside your ruined cunt. “moanin’ all pretty while i was tryna talk? teasin’ me in front of that dumbass tourist. Makin’ those fuckin’ sounds on purpose. Thought i wouldn’t do somethin’ about it?”

You yelp when his hand grips your hair, yanking your head back just enough to whisper against your ear. “you wanna act like a dumb little slut? then i’m gonna fuck you like one.” after that, Stan pulls out slowly, torturously just to slam back in.

You cry out. No, the sound you make would be better described as pathetic loud whine.

But Stan slaps a hand over your mouth, pressing you into the couch. “uh-uh, pretty, you don’t get to be loud now. you lost that privilege.”

His cock is so deep, stretching your cunt open, filling you completely. Every thrust is hard, brutal, messy, wet. Your pussy clenches around him, sucking him in, greedy for more as you whimper into his big palm. The couch creaks under you, the whole room still eerily silent except for the filthy, wet sounds of him using you.

“Aw, what’s wrong, baby? thought you liked teasin’ me. now you can’t even take my cock?” as you nearly fall from the fast rhythm. Stan laughs against your ear. “thought you wanted me to fuckin’ ruin you, huh? turn this sloppy little cunt into my personal fuckhole?”

You can't even moan as Stan snaps his hips up, hitting so deep it knocks the breath from your lungs.

“What’s the matter, princess? feelin’ a little too full?” his belly presses against your back, his size overwhelming you, his weight pinning you down, making sure you can’t run from him as he grabs your waist, pulls you back onto him, forces you to take every inch. “ this little cunt’s gonna take every last drop, huh? ‘cause that’s what you are, ain’tcha?”

His fingers grip your jaw, turning your head so he can look in your glassy eyes.

“Say it, sweetie. Tell me what you are.”

Your brows knit together. “m’ your dumb little slut, Mr. Pines. . .m’ made to take your cock—” words come out barely coherent through the lewd slap of skin-on-skin filling the room.

Damn right. His hand slides down, finding your clit, rubbing it fast. Your body jerks, overstimulated.

“Too much?” his voice is mocking. “too fuckin’ bad, baby. Shoulda thought of that before you started actin’ like a brat.”

You’re already close again, what is it now, your sixth orgasm? Eighth? You shake too hard in his hands as your cunt spasms around his cock.

“Gonna fill you up, doll. make you fuckin’ mine. you want that? lemme hear you beg.”

”P-please. . . ple, mhm. . .hhng . .” your words muffled against his palm.

“Please what?”

“Please—please breed my messy cunt, Mr. Pines—please, please—”

“Holy shit, baby, you want me to breed this little pussy? want me to fill you so full you’ll be drippin’ down your thighs all day?”

You nod frantically and Stanley feels you smile widely against his skin what makes him laugh. Such a dumb slut you are.

“Greedy little thing. y'know i gotta work today, right?” his cock throbs inside you, stuffing you so full you can feel him in your stomach. ”but fuck- fuck, baby, can’t help it.” his hips snap forward, burying himself completely as he cums, making you feel every pulse, every throbbing rope of his hot seed spilling inside you, flooding your pussy.

Your own orgasm hits so hard your vision whites out, your cunt clenching tight, squeezing him, milking him dry.

“Oh, that's it, baby, there it is. Good little slut.” you collapse, trembling, fucked-out and absolutely ruined.

Stan stays inside you, catching his breath, watching as his cum spills out, dripping down your thighs. He leans down, kisses your neck. “gonna clean you up, sweetheart.”

You blink up at him through tired eyes, dizzy. “with what?”

He smirks. “my fuckin’ tongue.” uh oh, you guess Mystery Shack is gonna open late today because even though Stanley Pines has a job to do, first he’s gotta make sure his messy girl is properly taken care of.

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nocturnebite · 2 months ago

Text

Talk flirty to me 𝜗𝜚

(i didn’t mean to text you. okay, maybe i did.) - crush! enha (ot7) x drunk(then sober)-fem! reader

synopsis: You didn’t mean to text them. Not like that. But tipsy you has feelings—and zero filter. fic notes: alcohol use || drunk texting || light profanity || romantic tension (theres like one v small kiss) Nothing heavy, just a lot of secondhand embarrassment and unfiltered feelings from 1AM-2AM. wc: average ab 430ish per member (3.11k total)

ash's notes: i've seen so many of the smau text chain fics about these scenarios and i wanted to try my own so bad.. but i wrote it instead. here's what i think the men would do after you talk flirty to them while drunk.. ENJOY!! <3

[HEESEUNG]

You knew you shouldn't be texting anyone.

The room was spinning just a little, the warmth of the alcohol still buzzing pleasantly through your veins as you flopped back on the couch. Music pulsed low in the background—someone had put on a chill playlist, probably trying to wind the night down—but your brain was still humming, still restless.

And your phone was right there.

You blinked at it like it had offended you. Or maybe like it was promising something. Like an answer. A solution. A possibility.

Heeseung’s name was already in your recents. You’d clicked it without thinking. Staring at the chat window now, thumb hovering.

"Don't do it," your friend mumbled from the floor next to you, eyes half-closed. "You're gonna regret it."

"I won't," you said, way too confidently. "It's just a compliment. It's not like I'm proposing."

In your head, this made total sense.

Because here’s the thing: you’d been thinking it for a while. That if you ever let yourself fall for someone completely—messily, irreversibly—it’d be Heeseung. The way he always listened like what you were saying actually mattered. The way his laugh could make you forget your own name. The way he looked at you like maybe he saw everything and still didn’t look away.

Yeah.

Dangerous.

So maybe it was the vodka talking, or the tequila, or that one mystery shot someone handed you while laughing like a villain. Whatever it was, it shoved your self-control into a closet and locked the door.

Your thumbs moved faster than your brain.

"u’d be soooo good to me if i let u. too good. like. future husband good. fck."

The moment you hit send, your eyes went wide.

“Oh my... No no no—” You grabbed your phone like you could take it back, but it was too late. The tiny "Delivered" status stared back at you with betrayal.

You launched yourself off the couch, half-tripping over a pile of blankets. "I SENT IT. I SENT IT."

Someone in the room cheered. “Iconic!”

You considered throwing yourself into the nearest trash can.

[The Next Morning]

Heeseung didn’t sleep.

Well, technically, he tried. But after getting your text, he just lay in bed like a Victorian widow, eyes wide open, clutching his pillow like a lifeline.

It wasn’t even the words that killed him.

It was the way they felt like truth. Like the kind of thing you only say when your guard’s down. Or when you want to say it but never thought you’d be brave enough.

So now, sitting across from you at brunch, he’s malfunctioning.

You seem fine. Hungover, yes. But casual. Untouched by the emotional earthquake you dropped into his inbox like a shot glass off a balcony.

You sip your iced coffee, completely unaware.

Heeseung, meanwhile, is sweating bullets.

You look up. “You okay?”

He panics. “Do you really think I’m ‘husband good’ or were you just drunk?!”

The fork freezes halfway to your mouth.

“…Wait,” you blink, “I actually sent that?”

He just nods.

You groan and immediately hide your face behind your hands. “No. Nope. I’m deleting my number. I’m leaving the country. I’m—”

He cuts you off, voice cracking: “But like… did you mean it?”

You peek between your fingers. “Do you want me to have meant it?”

“Yeah,” he says, way too fast. Then adds, softer, “Yeah. I really do.”

You go quiet.

Then you toss your napkin at his face. “Okay. But next time I say something stupid like that, pretend I didn’t. Unless I say it sober. Which I might. Later. Maybe.”

Heeseung grins so hard he can’t stop. “So… dinner tomorrow?”

You sigh dramatically. “Fine. But only because you're husband good.”

[JAY]

You weren’t supposed to text him.

You even said it out loud—“I’m not gonna text him.” You looked your friend dead in the eyes and promised. But that was three shots ago.

Now, you’re leaning on a sticky bar table, warm with tequila and terrible judgment, staring at Jay’s contact name like it personally offended you.

He’s just so… rude.

For existing. For being that effortlessly hot. For wearing those stupid button-downs like he doesn’t know what they do to you.

You bite your lip. Squint at your phone. Your thumbs move.

“you’re so hot it’s rude.”“if you called me baby just once i’d combust.”

Send.

You blink.

Your friend next to you lets out a horrified gasp. “YOU DIDN’T.”

You grip her arm. “I DID.”

You both scream into the void of your jackets.

[Meanwhile: Jay]

Jay’s at home. In bed. Reading a book like a responsible adult. Literally sipping tea.

And then—

Buzz.

He glances at his phone. Sees your name.

Unlocks the screen. Reads. Stares.

He sits up so fast he spills his tea.

“Excuse me??”

He reads it again. Then a third time. Then he sets his phone down and just stares into space like the ceiling will have answers.

You. Called him hot.

You. Want him to call you baby.

His brain blue-screens.

But instead of replying like a normal person, Jay decides to play the long game. If you wanna combust?

Fine.

He’ll light the match slowly.

[The Next Day]

You’ve mentally prepared to be ignored. Ghosted, maybe. Or worse—laughed at.

Instead, Jay is completely… normal. Maybe too normal.

“Hey,” he greets when he walks in, casual, like you didn’t tell him you wanted to explode over one word.

You try to act cool. You’re failing. “Hey.”

He sits next to you. Says nothing suspicious. You start to relax.

And then, out of nowhere—

“Hey, baby—pass me that bottle?”

Time stops.

Your hands freeze mid-air. Your breath catches. You whip your head toward him so fast it’s a miracle you don’t get whiplash.

He’s not even looking at you. Just sipping from his water bottle. Calm. Untouched.

You hand him the bottle with trembling fingers.

He meets your eyes. Smirking.

“What? That’s what you wanted, right?”

Your soul LEAVES your body. You’re floating. Ascending. Actively combusting.

Jay just leans back and adds, casually, “Guess I’m kinda rude like that.”

You want to scream. Instead, you knock back the rest of your drink and mutter, “I hate you.”

He grins. “You love me.”

You don’t answer.

Because yeah.

Yeah, you do.

[JAKE]

The night started normal.

You weren’t even that drunk. Just enough to feel brave. Warm. A little too in love with the sound of Jake’s laugh in your memory. And definitely a little too in love with the way he looked earlier that day—smiling at something on his phone, lips all plush and pink, like—

No. Nope.

Bad idea.

You shouldn't text him.

So, naturally, you do.

“thinking about how kissable your mouth is. don’t hate me.” Sent: 2:13AM.

You immediately throw your phone under your pillow like it might explode.

[Meanwhile: Jake]

Jake is a soft sleeper. Usually. But his phone buzzes and something makes him check it, just in case it’s you.

It is.

He unlocks it. Reads the message.

Then reads it again.

Then sits up so fast he smacks his head on the headboard.

“…kissable??”

He stares at the message like it’s a bomb.

His heart is racing. His whole face is burning. He starts typing.

"hey i—" No. Delete. "you’re drunk lol—" Delete. "😳" Delete. Immediately.

He flops onto the floor and starts doing push-ups.

For no reason.

Then lies there in existential agony for twenty full minutes.

[The Next Day]

You wake up, check your messages, and nearly perish on the spot.

“thinking about how kissable your mouth is. don’t hate me.” Sent 2:13 AM.

Oh god. Oh god. You sent it. It wasn’t a dream. It’s right there. And worst of all?

He didn’t reply.

You put your phone face down and spend the entire day pretending nothing happened. If you don’t acknowledge it, maybe it’ll disappear. Maybe you’ll disappear.

Jake, on the other hand?

He hasn’t stopped thinking about it since 2:13AM.

He glances at you a dozen times. Opens his mouth to say something. Closes it. Runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to physically shake the blush off his face.

But finally, when you’re alone, it happens.

You’re reaching for something—completely casual—when his fingers wrap gently around your wrist.

You freeze.

He leans in, voice barely above a whisper.

“…did you mean it? The text?”

You want to lie. To laugh. To fake a glitch and throw yourself out a window.

But something in his eyes stops you.

So you nod. Tiny. Embarrassed. Absolutely dying inside.

Jake’s lips part like he’s gonna say something—and then he doesn’t.

He just smiles. All sweet and pink-cheeked and sunshine-soft.

“Cool,” he murmurs. “Because I’ve been thinking about kissing you for, like… a year.”

You black out for approximately three seconds.

[SUNGHOON]

The party’s over. Most people are gone. You’re curled up on someone’s couch with a blanket draped over your shoulders, head just fuzzy enough from the drinks to feel bold. Loose-tongued. Dangerous.

Your friends are whispering, laughing about their own drama, and all you can think about is him.

Sunghoon.

The way he looked earlier—black hoodie, hair a little messy, that lazy smile that made your heart skip so violently you almost tripped over your own feet. He always gets to you like that. It's unfair.

You reach for your phone before your brain can stop you.

“if we kissed rn i’d literally melt into a puddle. you’re my crush fr.” Sent: 1:49AM.

You stare. Blank screen. No reply. A tiny voice in your head screams.

You immediately toss your phone across the room like it bit you.

“WHY DID I DO THAT,” you whisper.

No one hears you. You sink deeper into the couch like maybe you can dissolve from shame.

[Meanwhile: Sunghoon]

Sunghoon’s in bed.

The room is quiet. He’s mid-scroll, not even thinking, when his phone buzzes.

He sees your name and sits up straighter.

Then he reads it.

Once. Twice. Ten times.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just stares at the screen like it's a hallucination.

“you’re my crush fr.”

His brain blue-screens. Full system shutdown. He throws his phone across the bed. Paces. Picks it back up. Drops it. Groans into his hands.

No response. He doesn't know how to respond. Anything he writes feels like a mistake. So he just... doesn’t.

[The Next Morning]

You show up like nothing happened. Clean face. Calm voice. Holding a drink like you didn't drop a nuclear-level crush confession at 2AM.

Sunghoon?

He’s suffering.

He’s fidgety. Red in the ears. Won’t meet your eyes. Every time you speak, he looks like he’s being punished.

You try to pretend nothing happened, but the tension is suffocating.

Finally, he snaps.

He pulls you aside, hand gentle but firm on your arm. You blink up at him, and his eyes are serious.

“You can’t just call me your crush and then act normal.”

You freeze.

“Now I’m gonna think about kissing you all the time. Is that what you want?”

Your heart stops.

His voice is quiet. Honest. It doesn’t sound like teasing. It sounds like a confession he didn’t mean to let slip.

You don’t answer.

You just step closer.

Lift your hand to his jaw.

And kiss him.

It’s soft at first—tentative. Questioning. But he kisses you back like he’s been waiting for this for months.

Like he’s melting, too.

[SUNOO]

You’re lying on the floor at a friend’s apartment, half-wrapped in a blanket, heart full of secrets, and head full of wine. Everything feels fuzzy around the edges. Soft. Warm. A little too honest.

Your friend is talking about their ex or their situationship or their ick list—you’re not really listening. Because all you can think about is him.

Sunoo. With his annoying-cute laugh and perfect skin and the way he always makes you feel like you’re the main character even when you’re doing something stupid, like eating cereal out of a mug.

You pull out your phone and type without thinking.

“you’re like… soulmate coded. i’d marry u. i’m not even kidding.”

You stare at the message. Nod. Drunken logic says this is completely reasonable.

Then you send it.

And roll over like nothing happened.

[Meanwhile: Sunoo]

Sunoo’s phone dings.

He’s mid-skincare routine, face mask on, vibing to his playlist. He glances at the screen, sees your name—and pauses.

Reads the message.

“you’re like… soulmate coded. i’d marry u. i’m not even kidding.”

He screams.

Like, actually screams. Loud. Hands over his face. Pacing like he’s in a K-drama montage. Whole monologue happening in his head:

“WAIT WHAT? SHE SAID MARRY. MARRY???”

He clutches his chest. Looks in the mirror. Whispers, “Don’t make it weird. Be normal. Be normal.”

He is not normal.

He doesn’t reply.

He needs time to process.

[The Next Day]

You wake up, mildly hungover and completely in denial. You check your messages, see the text, and feel your entire soul evacuate your body.

No response. Thank goodness. Maybe he didn’t see it.

You go about your day pretending it never happened. Totally fine. Not spiraling. At all.

Then you walk into the room—and he’s grinning.

Sunoo sidles up to you, all innocent eyes and sunshine mischief.

“…so when’s the wedding?”

You choke.

Your brain short-circuits. You blink at him.

He giggles like it’s a joke. Like it’s nothing.

But then—

He stops. Looks at you properly.

And in the softest, most genuine voice you’ve ever heard, he says:

“But for real… do you like me? Because I’ve liked you forever.”

The world goes quiet.

No teasing. No drama.

Just the boy who’s always been there, waiting for you to notice.

And you?

You nod. Speechless. Stupidly, hopelessly, incredibly in love.

[JUNGWON]

You don’t plan to get drunk tonight.

It’s just supposed to be a casual thing—laughs with friends, a drink or two. But three drinks in, you’re warm and soft around the edges. The music feels louder, your heart lighter. Someone mentions crushes, and you laugh along, but your mind is elsewhere.

It always is.

Jungwon.

His name hasn’t left your thoughts all night. You think about how his smile looks when he’s trying not to laugh. How he always remembers the little things—your favorite snack, that one song you like, the way you hate your coffee too sweet.

And it hits you all at once. This ache. This gnawing little thought that’s been building for months now.

He isn’t yours.

You want him to be, more than anything. But he’s not.

And that’s when you pull out your phone.

You hesitate. Fingers hover over the screen. You know you shouldn’t. You know.

But the wine says, “What if he feels the same?”

And that tiny hope wins.

“dreamt u were mine. woke up mad. why aren’t u mine???” Sent: 1:06AM.

You drop your phone like it’s on fire. Bury your face in your hands.

“Oh my gosh. Oh my GOSH—”

You don’t check if he sees it. You don’t even say goodnight. You just stumble home and crawl into bed, praying the earth swallows you before morning.

[Jungwon]

He’s in bed when it lights up.

He sees your name and smiles instinctively. He always does.

Then he reads the text.

And the smile drops.

“Dreamt u were mine… why aren’t u mine?”

He blinks. Reads it again.

Then again.

He sits up slowly, like the words physically hit him.

His chest tightens. His heart’s racing. He tries to think of what to say—how to answer—but every message he drafts sounds either too casual or too desperate.

He wants to call you.

Wants to knock on your door and say, “Me. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”

But he doesn’t.

He just sits there, re-reading those words, like they’re a secret he’s been waiting his whole life to hear.

[The Next Time You See Him]

You pretend nothing happened. Try to act normal. But your stomach is twisting in knots every time he looks at you—and he’s looking at you a lot.

He’s fidgety. Not his usual calm, polished self. He stumbles over his words, drops his phone twice, nearly walks into a wall.

You finally corner him.

“Are you okay? You’re acting weird.”

He swallows. Hard. Doesn’t quite meet your eyes.

Then quietly, like he’s been holding it in all day:

“Do you really want me to be yours?”

You freeze.

He’s blushing, but he doesn’t back down. He finally looks at you—open, uncertain, hopeful.

“Because… I already am. I just didn’t think you felt the same.”

And it’s so simple. So honest. No games. Just him.

You step closer.

And all you can think is, mine.

So you whisper:

“I do.”

And the way he smiles—like the sun finally came out—it feels like a dream.

Only this time, you’re both awake for it.

[NI-KI]

It starts, as it always does, with a drink. Then two. Then someone dares you to send a risky text.

“Bet you won’t.”

You scoff. You will. Of course you will.

Unfortunately, the person your wine-soaked heart chooses is Ni-ki.

Tall. Chaotic. Unfairly attractive Ni-ki who always knows exactly how to get under your skin—and worse, knows he’s hot.

Your brain is like: “Don’t do it.”

Your fingers are like: “Too late.”

“heyy hottie. u’re so fcking hot i hate u. hot hot hot. it’s stupid how hot u are. stupidly hot.” Sent: 1:04AM.

You toss your phone across the bed and scream into your pillow.

He doesn’t reply. Thank god. You can pretend it didn’t happen.

(You absolutely cannot pretend it didn’t happen.)

[Ni-ki, Upon Receiving This Work of Art]

He’s gaming. Mind completely elsewhere. Phone buzzes.

He glances at the screen. Sees your name. Smirks.

Then reads the message.

“hottie. hot. hot. hot. hot. stupid. hot. stupidly. hot.”

He scrolls.

Counts.

Seven times.

“Damn,” he mutters, grinning.

He doesn’t reply. He waits. Lets it marinate. He knows you’re spiraling.

And he can’t wait to see you.

[The Next Time You See Him]

He’s already smiling when you walk in.

Smug. Smirky. Arms crossed.

“Hey…”

You narrow your eyes. You know that tone.

“Am I still stupid hot? Or did you sober up?”

You groan. Cover your face. “I hate you.”

He just laughs—so proud of himself.

“You said it SEVEN times.”

You smack his arm. He lives for it. Leans in close, voice dropping just enough to make you nervous.

“For the record… you’re hot too. Ridiculously.”

You freeze.

He grins.

“What? Gotta even the score.”

And before you can recover, he’s already walking off, calling over his shoulder—

“Let me know if I hit eight next time.”

You might actually combust.

tl: (read rules before asking to be added to any list ᥫ᭡. )

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ferigrievous · 3 months ago

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attractive things they do ; karasuno ver . ⋆˚࿔

hinata ; gets excited over the little things. it could be the most mundane thing ever and he’d still get all happy about it. that person who hypes up the ‘weird’ kids in class but genuinely means it. being around him feels like remembering how to love the world again. he makes even the boring parts feel like a celebration.

tsukishima ; knows when to shut up. doesnt talk to talk. if he says something, he means it, in that weird fucked up way of his. doesnt do small talk, doesnt beat around the bush. talking to him is walking in a straight line. doesnt argue for the sake of arguing, too. if he knows he’s wrong, he wont necessarily apologize, but he wont beat a dead horse.

kageyama ; tries really, really hard. he might not always get it right—social cues, compliments, emotions—but he tries so hard. he’s awkward and quiet and a little off putting, but he’s also earnest in a way that makes your chest ache. he wants to be better. not just as a setter, but as a person.

yamaguchi ; being quietly brave. he still has anxiety, and it still affects him, but he does what he can. he orders for the both of you and takes the lead in crowded places, even if youre more extroverted than him. he doubts himself constantly, but he still shows up, even if he feels like hes about to throw up.

daichi ; being reliable. he’s the guy you go to with everything. when your trains delayed, or you’re drunk on a night out. never forgets a birthday, an anniversary, and definitely not the homework. he doesn't need to prove anything to anyone, because he already is that guy.

sugawara ; always watching. not in a creepy way, but he wants to know everyone else is doing okay before moving on to something more ‘trivial’ like what he’s going to eat for dinner after school. he notices when you’re tired before you realize it yourself.

asahi ; overtly careful. its somehow very endearing seeing someone like him, who most people consider as intimidating or even scary, handle everything as if it were made of glass. he double-checks expiration dates, gently folds his laundry, and unpacks his bag so it doesn’t wrinkle.

nishinoya ; never hesitates. acts first, thinks later. kind of a pet peeve at first, but it amazes you how he always lands on his feet. it could be the worst idea you’ve ever heard in your life, and he somehow achieves it everytime, at 110%. this includes putting all of his trust into you, even if you think you dont deserve it.

tanaka ; shamelessly himself. hes loud, and boisterous, and you cant go one minute with him without getting secondhand embarrassment, but hes real. he doesn’t hide parts of himself to seem cooler. he doesn’t pretend. and that kind of raw honesty is more attractive than whatever stupid pick up line he’s trying this time.

ennoshita ; knows when to step up. he doesn’t crave leadership, but he steps up when no one else will. he watches, listens, and steps in just before things fall apart. he notices you’re overwhelmed and changes the subject without making a show of it. doesnt talk over people, doenst make a scene out of thing. gets it done, and gets it over with.

kinoshita ; good memory. its a miniscule thing, but he remembers every single order youve ever made at any restaurant. he brings your coat when you two go out because he knows you’ll forget it everytime, even if he knows you purposely forget it so that he can bring it for you.

narita ; finishes what he starts. he doesn’t leave things halfway. doesn’t ghost, doesn’t flake, doesn’t quit unless he absolutely has to. you never have to wonder if he means what he says—if he says he’ll be there, he will.

#✶ greywrites #haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #karasuno #hinata shoyo #kageyama tobio #tsukishima kei #yamaguchi tadashi #sawamura daichi #sugawara koushi #asahi azumane #tanaka ryuunosuke #nishinoya x reader #ennoshita chikara #kinoshita hisashi #narita kazuhito

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godricgryffinsnore · 3 months ago

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A Universe In Your Smile ♡ : A James Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : James Potter x female!reader

summary : A fluffy, poetic friends-to-lovers tale where James Potter and a hopelessly smitten reader stumble through longing, laughter, and chaos—too in love to admit it, until they finally do.

warnings : Excessive fluff, Mutual pining / yearning, Jealousy (mild), Idiots in love, Sirius and Remus suffering secondhand embarrassment, Soft romantic tension, Overuse of the word "darling" (sorry, not sorry), May cause uncontrollable smiling and heart-squeezing feelings. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

word count : 0.8k

main master list <3

banners : @dollywons and @roseschoices

It was widely accepted at Hogwarts that if you found James Potter, you’d find her. And if you found her, James wasn’t far behind—carrying her books, stealing her quill, or whispering something ridiculous in her ear to make her smile when she didn’t want to.

They weren’t dating. Merlin, no. They just did things like feed each other chocolate frogs and wear matching socks and fall asleep on the Gryffindor common room couch, tangled like ivy vines grown too close over too many years.

No, definitely not dating. Just… being ridiculous.

── .✦

The thing was—James Potter had always looked at her like she’d hung the stars, even when they were eleven and she punched him in the arm for hexing her hair blue. And now, at seventeen, he still looked at her like she was the sky itself. A breathless kind of awe in his gaze when she tied her hair up, or laughed too hard at one of Sirius’s jokes, or fell asleep with her nose in a book beside the window seat in the common room.

The world faded a bit when she wasn’t around.

And professors—bless them—caught on quickly. “Potter, where’s your other half?” And James, wide-eyed and traitorous smile on his lips, would answer, “Oh, you mean her? She said she’d meet me here—wait, why do you think I know where she is?”

“Because you always do,” Professor McGonagall deadpanned. “You practically breathe in sync.”

── .✦

Sirius was done. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, just snog already!” he groaned one night as James and the reader argued over who would get the last of the pumpkin pastries. “It’s not snogging if you’re feeding it to her like a lovesick kneazle,” Remus added, not even looking up from his book.

James blushed crimson. “I’m not a lovesick kneazle.” “You purred when she scratched behind your ear last week,” Sirius muttered. “That’s a reflex!” “She was laughing in your lap,” Remus pointed out. “While you pouted. Like a cat.”

── .✦

But James—brilliant, chaotic, brave-hearted James—was oblivious. Or perhaps too aware. Because sometimes their pinkies would brush beneath the table and he’d freeze like she’d set his skin on fire. Sometimes she’d look at him like he’d handed her the sun, and he’d have to look away before he did something stupid like tell her he loved her. Again.

He did, of course. Loved her. Every version of her. Her morning yawns. Her ink-stained fingers. Her star-gathered eyes. Her laugh when he tripped over his shoelaces. Her fierce way of defending the underdog. Her quiet strength. Her chaotic mind. She was poetry in freckles. A heartbeat he’d memorized.

── .✦

And she? She was wrecked for James Potter. It was humiliating, really. He’d touch her shoulder and she’d forget her own name. He’d grin, and she’d want to bottle it, drink it, wear it like perfume. He’d call her “love” or “darling” in that stupid, careless way and she’d have to resist the urge to scream into her pillow for an hour.

And when he wrapped a scarf around her neck because “It’s bloody freezing, you’re going to get sick again,” she melted. Her friends were no help.

“You two need therapy,” Lily said, not unkindly. “Or a closet and seven minutes.”

── .✦

And then… Then came Amos Diggory.

A charming Hufflepuff. Too smooth. Too clever. Too tall. Too good-looking. Too close.

He was leaning a little too far into her space near the library shelves. His laugh too loud. His hand brushing her wrist. And James—James Potter saw it from across the room.

Something primal clawed in his chest.

He stormed over, heart roaring, fists clenched, wearing jealousy like a second skin. “Hey, mate,” he said, too loudly, too cheerfully, slipping between them with the grace of a bullfrog. “Didn’t know my girl needed help finding Charms.”

Your. Girl.

She blinked, stunned. So did Amos, who looked from James to her with the wary expression of someone who’s realized they’ve stepped into a dragon’s lair.

“She’s not—” she started to say, cheeks flaming.

“Am I not?” she whispered back.

And James—bless him, stupid, sweet boy—froze. Because he’d said it. Finally. The quiet truth soaked in years of almosts and pinky brushes and shared sugar quills.

“You are,” he said softly now, voice low and reverent. “If you’ll let me be yours.”

She stared at him.

Then she laughed. And hit his chest. “You idiot. Of course you’re mine.”

── .✦

Their first kiss was on the Astronomy Tower. She kissed him first. He kissed her second, third, and fifth.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

The world tilted and shifted like it had been waiting for them to stop being stupid and finally admit that their hearts beat for the same ridiculous, poetic kind of love.

── .✦

The next morning, when James wasn’t in class, the professor didn’t even blink.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” She smiled.

“Probably stealing my quill again.” “Tell him to at least show up with you next time.” “Yes, Professor.”

(He did. With her hand in his. Pinkies entwined. Eyes soft. Stupidly in love.)

── .✦

And Sirius? “I’ll pay someone to jinx me into unconsciousness if I have to watch them cuddle again.” “I think it’s sweet,” Remus muttered. “You would.”

But they didn’t mind. Not really. Because James Potter had finally found his home—in her laugh, her smile, her love.

And she?

She’d been his all along.

#𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 della 𝄞#james potter imagine #fluff #drabble #marauders #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter x y/n #marauders era #the marauders #james potter x fem!reader #james potter fluff

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ellieinink · 5 months ago

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The Trouble with Admitting Things

Baek Kang-hyuk x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Humor, Light Slow Burn

Warnings: Mild teasing, secondhand embarrassment

Word Count: ~6,500

Synopsis: After a grueling shift, you accidentally admit to admiring Dr. Baek Kang-hyuk—big mistake. He seizes every chance to tease you, turning your embarrassment into daily entertainment. But when the teasing gives way to unexpected sincerity, you realize admiration might not be so one-sided after all.

You should have known better than to let your guard down around Baek Kang-hyuk.

Especially not when you were running on fumes, too exhausted to keep up your usual defenses.

It had been a brutal shift at the trauma center—back-to-back emergencies, rushed procedures, and a never-ending stream of critical cases. The air had been thick with tension, every second spent making life-or-death decisions. But despite the chaos, the team had worked together like a well-oiled machine, with Kang-hyuk at the helm, cool-headed and sharp as ever.

And now? Now you were all slumped in the break room, desperately clinging to the last ounces of energy in your bodies.

The scent of instant coffee mixed with antiseptic filled the air, and you nursed your mug as if it held the key to your survival. Across from you, Dr. Park Gyeong-won sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples.

“I think I lost about five years of my life in that last hour.”

Jang-mi, one of the trauma nurses, groaned. “Forget years, I think my soul left my body when that last code was called.”

There was a chorus of agreement.

And that was when your sleep-deprived brain betrayed you.

“Honestly,” you muttered, stretching your sore neck, “if it weren’t for Dr. Baek, half of us wouldn’t have made it through that shift.”

The moment the words left your mouth, the room fell eerily silent.

You blinked, sluggishly registering the amused looks being exchanged.

Gyeong-won raised an eyebrow, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “Oh? Is that admiration I hear?”

Jang-mi, who had just taken a sip of tea, nearly choked. She slammed her cup down, eyes wide with exaggerated shock. “Wait, wait—our Dr. Baek?” Her gaze snapped to Kang-hyuk, who was leaning against the counter, watching the scene unfold with an infuriatingly smug expression.

“Did you hear that?” she gasped.

Dr. Yang Jae-won, who had been lazily sprawled in his chair, perked up. “Wow, (Y/N). That’s high praise coming from you.” He smirked. “You usually just call him an insufferable ass.”

Your stomach dropped. Oh, no.

“I meant professionally,” you blurted, suddenly very aware of how hot your face felt.

Kang-hyuk chuckled, arms crossed, his smirk widening. “Professionally, huh?”

You shot him a glare, but he was enjoying this way too much.

Unfortunately, so was everyone else.

“Oh, don’t backtrack now,” Jang-mi teased, practically vibrating with excitement. “We all heard it.”

Gyeong-won leaned forward, chin resting on his hand. “So, tell us, (Y/N). What exactly do you admire about Dr. Baek?”

You swore you felt your soul leave your body. “Can we not—”

Jae-won smirked. “Is it his surgical skills? His confidence? His broad shoulders?”

Jang-mi gasped. “His hands, maybe?”

“Oh my God, stop—”

“Or is it,” Kang-hyuk drawled, tilting his head, “my charming personality?”

Your entire face went up in flames.

Kang-hyuk took a slow step closer, voice rich with amusement. “Why are you blushing?”

“I am not—”

“Are you embarrassed?”

“No—”

“You are.”

“I swear to—”

Jang-mi gasped again, dramatic as ever. “Oh no. What if it’s actually his hands?”

Gyeong-won feigned deep thought. “It’s the hands, isn’t it?”

“I HATE ALL OF YOU.”

Kang-hyuk grinned, full-on thriving in your misery. “So, (Y/N),” he mused, “do you admire my hands?”

You considered throwing your coffee at him.

The problem with Baek Kang-hyuk was that he never let things go.

Ever.

For the next week, he found every opportunity to remind you of your unfortunate slip-up.

During morning rounds: “(Y/N), you seem distracted. Thinking about my hands again?”

During surgery: “You’re staring. I get it. My technique is admirable.”

Even in the middle of a high-stakes procedure: “Focus, (Y/N). Just pretend it’s me guiding you with my admirable skills.”

It was relentless. And the worst part? Everyone else was in on it.

Jang-mi started taking exaggerated notes whenever Kang-hyuk spoke, dramatically whispering, “Such admiration,” under her breath.

Jae-won? He would randomly sigh in the middle of conversations and lament, “If only someone admired me the way (Y/N) admires Dr. Baek.”

Even Park Gyeong-won, who was usually the most mature of the bunch, just smirked whenever you shot him a pleading look.

You were never going to live this down.

The tipping point came when Kang-hyuk—absolute menace that he was—walked into the break room while you were alone, arms crossed, looking far too amused.

“You know,” he started conversationally, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh no.”

He ignored you. “Since you admire me so much, maybe I should return the favor.”

You groaned. “Please don’t.”

“But there’s just so much to admire,” he continued dramatically. “Your sharp tongue, your ability to withstand my teasing—”

You threw a napkin at him. He dodged easily.

“See?” he grinned. “That resilience. Very admirable.”

You contemplated homicide.

It all came to a head late one night.

You were in the on-call room, exhausted, head resting against the back of the couch. The door creaked open, but you didn’t bother looking up.

“If this is about my admiration comment,” you grumbled, “I am going to scream.”

A chuckle. “Relax. It’s just me.”

You cracked one eye open to see Kang-hyuk standing by the door, hands in his pockets. He looked… different. Less teasing. More thoughtful.

You frowned. “What?”

He hesitated before stepping inside, closing the door behind him.

“Listen,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I know I’ve been messing with you a lot, but…” He exhaled, looking almost—shy? “It actually meant something.”

Your breath caught. “What?”

“What you said.” His voice was quieter now. “That you admired me.”

You swallowed, suddenly unsure where this was going.

He let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle. “I don’t really hear that a lot. Not from people who—” He trailed off before shaking his head. “Anyway. It was nice. Coming from you.”

Your heart did something funny in your chest.

“You admire me?” you repeated dumbly.

His lips quirked. “Someone who keeps me on my toes? Someone I—” He paused before smirking, voice dropping to something softer. “—also admire.”

Your brain short-circuited.

“I—what—”

He chuckled, stepping closer. “Relax, (Y/N). It’s just admiration.”

Your face burned. “You’re the worst.”

“I know.” His grin widened. “But at least now we’re even.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands.

Baek Kang-hyuk just laughed.

I’ve got a Yang Jae-won fic cooking in my drafts… should I??? 👀👀👀

taglist: perm @missroro @study-with-reine234

#baek kang hyuk #baek kang hyuk x reader #baek kang hyuk x you #baek kang-hyuk #baek kang-hyuk x reader #ju ji hoon #ju ji-hoon #ju jihoon #ju jihoon x reader #kdrama #netflix #trauma code: heroes on call

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mrs-delaney · 5 months ago

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Hide | The Set-Up | Chapter One

Summary: Joe Burrow never liked talk shows, but a post-Super Bowl appearance on The Tonight Show was part of the job. He expected scripted questions, football talk, and a few forced laughs with Jimmy Fallon. What he didn’t expect? A surprise guest—Riley Carter, the lead singer of The Rambles, a band he’s quietly admired for years. A harmless game of “Love Match” turns into national TV humiliation when Joe picks Riley over every celebrity presented—only to have her walk out onto the stage moments later. What started as his worst nightmare might just turn into something much more interesting.

Pairings: Joe Burrow x Riley Carter (OC)

Word Count: 5.6k

Requested: No | Yes

Warnings: Mild language, talk show ambush, secondhand embarrassment, and undeniable chemistry

This story is ONLY posted on Wattpad and Tumblr under miss_delaney. If you see it anywhere else, it has been stolen. Do NOT copy, repost, translate, or distribute my work on any other platform. Please respect my writing.

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Author’s Note: And so it begins! I wanted to set the stage for Joe and Riley’s story with an unforgettable (and hilariouslyuncomfortable) first meeting. Their chemistry is immediate but unexpected, and this talk show moment will definitely be something neither of them forgets. Buckle up—this is only the beginning! Let me know what you think! 😊💛

The air in the greenroom was stuffy, the leather couch sticking to Joe's palms as he shifted uncomfortably. A half-empty bottle of water sat on the glass table in front of him, condensation pooling around its base. He glanced at his phone—thirty minutes until showtime. Thirty minutes until he would be paraded out in front of a live studio audience like some kind of trained animal, expected to perform and charm and be witty.

He knew when he signed up to be a professional football player that there would be specific commitments he'd be uncomfortable with. At the top of that list? Talk show interviews. Yet, here he was, just weeks after his team's heartbreaking Super Bowl loss, sitting under the fluorescent lights of a Tonight Show greenroom, mentally preparing himself to face Jimmy Fallon and millions of viewers.

Joe ran a hand through his hair, carefully styled by the show's hair and makeup team despite his protests that he "looked fine." In his navy blue varsity-style sweater with white collar, dark blue pants, and silver Converse sneakers, he felt more comfortable than he would have in a suit and tie. He liked to keep things casual, understated—nothing that would draw unnecessary attention. His personal style was cool and effortlessly stylish, and thankfully his stylist had allowed him to wear his own clothes rather than forcing him into formal attire for this appearance.

"Ten minutes, Mr. Burrow," a production assistant called, poking her head through the door with a clipboard pressed to her chest. "Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?"

"I'm good," Joe said, forcing a polite smile. "Thanks."

As the door closed again, he exhaled heavily. Why had he agreed to this? It wasn't that he disliked Jimmy—by all accounts, the host was a decent guy. But there was something about these talk shows that made Joe feel exposed, vulnerable. Football was different. On the field, he was in control. He knew the plays, understood the game, could anticipate the defense's moves. But talk shows? They were unpredictable. And Joe Burrow didn't do unpredictable if he could help it.

His phone buzzed with a text from his mom: *Good luck tonight! We're all watching!*

Great. More pressure.

The same PA appeared again, this time with more urgency. "Mr. Burrow? We're ready for you."

Joe stood, straightening his sweater and taking one last deep breath. Game face on. Just like preparing to take the field, except the arena was a brightly lit stage, and the opponents were awkward questions and his own social anxiety.

As he followed the PA through the maze of corridors, the dull roar of the audience grew louder. The studio was packed, every seat filled, the energy palpable even from backstage. A makeup artist rushed over for a final touch-up, dabbing powder on his forehead with practiced efficiency.

"You're on after the monologue," the stage manager explained, positioning Joe just offstage. "When Jimmy introduces you, just walk out, wave to the audience, and take a seat on the couch."

Joe nodded, his throat suddenly dry. Simple enough.

The show's theme music blared, and Joe could see Jimmy bound onto the stage, his trademark enthusiasm drawing immediate cheers from the audience. As the host launched into his monologue, Joe tried to focus on his breathing, on the solid ground beneath his feet, on anything but the fact that in a few minutes, he'd be on national television.

The audience's laughter ebbed and flowed with Jimmy's jokes, a few about the Super Bowl making Joe wince internally. Still too soon.

"Our first guest tonight is one of the NFL's brightest stars," Jimmy was saying now, his voice cutting through Joe's thoughts. "Quarterback for the Cincinnati Bengals, please welcome Joe Burrow!"

The audience erupted, and Joe stepped onto the stage, the bright lights momentarily blinding him. He raised a hand in greeting, mustering a smile as he crossed to Jimmy, exchanged a brief handshake and half-hug, then settled onto the couch.

"Joe Burrow!" Jimmy exclaimed, as if they were old friends reuniting after years apart. "Man, it's great to have you here. How are you feeling after the Super Bowl? You guys played an incredible game."

And so it began—the usual questions about the season, about his teammates, about his plans for next year. Joe fell into the familiar rhythm of athlete interviews, giving just enough to seem engaged without revealing anything too personal. Always polite, occasionally funny, but careful. Measured. The Joe Burrow the public knew and the media expected.

Jimmy was mid-monologue when Joe realized this was going to be far worse than he thought. The host's expression shifted into something mischievous, a clear signal that the carefully structured interview was about to veer off course.

"So, Joe, we're going to play a little game tonight. I think you're going to love it. Or hate it. I don't know—you tell me after."

Joe's shoulders tensed, his fingers curling imperceptibly into the couch cushion beneath him. This wasn't part of the prep his publicist had gone over. "Uh... okay?" he managed, already feeling a cold sweat forming at the base of his neck.

"It's called Love Match. It's simple—I'll show you two people, and you pick who you'd rather hang out with. No pressure, totally harmless."

The audience tittered with anticipation, and Joe felt his pulse quicken. He hated these kinds of segments—the ones designed to create viral moments at the expense of guests' dignity. But there was no graceful way to refuse now, not with the cameras rolling and millions watching.

Joe wiped his palms on his jeans, the denim rough against his clammy hands. He was already regretting saying yes to this interview, already calculating how he'd face his teammates after whatever embarrassment was about to unfold. "Sure, let's do it," he muttered, earning knowing laughter from the audience who clearly recognized his discomfort.

Jimmy grinned and turned to the screen behind them, clearly enjoying himself. "Alright, first up—Bella Hadid or Riley Carter?"

Joe blinked, the name triggering an immediate reaction he couldn't control. Riley Carter. The name hit him like a freight train, derailing his carefully maintained composure. He knew her. Well, he didn't know her, but he knew *of* her. The lead singer of The Rambles, a band he'd been following since his college days. Her voice had been the soundtrack to some of his most significant moments—draft night, his first NFL win, even the quiet moments on the team bus when he needed to center himself.

It was more than just appreciating her music. There was something about her that had always caught his attention. The raw honesty in her lyrics, the way she carried herself in interviews, a confidence that seemed effortless and real. She was stunning too—blonde hair that fell in perfect waves, piercing blue eyes that always seemed to be looking right through you, a smile that could light up a room. It was a crush he'd been keeping to himself for a long time, not even sharing it with teammates during those late-night conversations when everyone else revealed their celebrity fantasies.

"Uh..." He shifted in his seat, stalling as his mind raced. He could lie, pick Bella Hadid like most guys probably would. The safe choice. The expected answer. But something made him hesitate. "Riley Carter," he finally said, the name feeling strange to say out loud in this context.

The audience cheered, and Jimmy's eyebrows shot up in exaggerated surprise. "Interesting! Alright, Riley Carter or Zendaya?"

Joe gave a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck as he realized he was now committed to this path. "Riley Carter."

"Oh, wow, she's on a roll!" Jimmy teased, clearly enjoying Joe's discomfort. "Alright, Riley or Kendall Jenner?"

Joe shook his head and smiled to himself, resigned to his fate. If he was going to be embarrassed on national TV, he might as well be honest. "Still Riley."

Jimmy leaned back in his chair, feigning shock as the audience's cheers grew louder. "Well, folks, I think we've found the most loyal man in Hollywood. Joe, it seems like Riley Carter's got your full attention!"

Joe tried to laugh it off, though he could feel the heat rising in his face, the telltale warmth that he knew meant he was turning crimson. "Yeah, I guess so," he managed, trying to seem casual despite the fact that his heart was pounding against his ribcage.

Jimmy glanced offstage with a sly grin that immediately set off alarm bells in Joe's head. That look—he'd seen it before on other talk shows. It was the look that preceded the ambush, the surprise that made for great TV but terrible personal experiences.

"Well, that's convenient because—surprise—I happen to know Riley personally. In fact, I invited her to the show tonight. Everyone, please welcome Riley Carter!"

The audience roared, a wall of sound that seemed to fade into the background as Joe's world narrowed to a single point. This couldn't be happening. His private admiration—not even admitted to his closest friends—was about to be thrust into the spotlight in the most mortifying way possible.

And then she was there, emerging from the wings, walking toward him with the easy grace he'd only seen in music videos and concert footage. Riley appeared from backstage, looking effortlessly stunning in a white silk crop top and high-waisted flared pants that accentuated her figure perfectly. Her blonde hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, framing a face that was even more beautiful in person than on screen. The studio lights caught the subtle highlights in her hair, the gleam of her simple gold earrings, and the soft pink of her lips.

Joe's stomach dropped, a physical sensation like missing a step on a staircase. Pure, unadulterated panic coursed through him as the distance between them closed. He shot to his feet, operating on autopilot, his mom's voice in his head reminding him to stand when a woman entered the room.

She approached with a smile that seemed genuinely warm rather than the practiced expression of a celebrity forced into an uncomfortable situation. Up close, Joe noticed details he'd never been able to see on screens—the light dusting of freckles across her nose, the striking blue of her eyes, the small scar near her left eyebrow.

"Hi, how are you?" she asked as she leaned in for a quick hug, her voice softer in person than he'd expected.

The scent of her perfume—something subtle and warm, like vanilla and bergamot—briefly surrounded him as they embraced. Joe's brain short-circuited, processing the surreal reality that Riley Carter—*the* Riley Carter—was hugging him on national television after he'd just admitted to basically having a crush on her.

"Good. Huge fan, by the way," Joe managed, his voice slightly shaky, aware of how utterly inadequate the words were. *Huge fan*? Could he sound any more like a cliché?

"Thanks," Riley said warmly, showing no sign that she found this situation as bizarre as he did. She took her seat on the couch beside him, close enough that he could see the delicate gold bracelet on her wrist, could smell that subtle perfume again.

Jimmy clapped his hands together, clearly thrilled with the success of his surprise. "Alright, Joe, Riley, this is already off to a great start. Riley, I hope you don't mind, but I've been telling Joe all about you."

Riley turned to Joe, her brow raised playfully, a hint of mischief in her striking blue eyes. "Oh, really? Should I be worried?"

Joe chuckled nervously, hyperaware of the cameras capturing every expression, every movement. "Probably."

Jimmy laughed, leaning forward in his chair. "Joe's been very consistent tonight, Riley. Picked you over everyone. Kendall Jenner? Nope. Zendaya? Nope. It was Riley Carter every time. You're basically his MVP."

Joe fought the urge to slide down into the couch and disappear. This was beyond embarrassing—it was excruciating. Having his private thoughts broadcast not just to an audience but to the very person those thoughts centered on made him want to evaporate on the spot.

But Riley seemed to take it all in stride, grinning as she looked over at Joe with what appeared to be genuine amusement rather than discomfort. "Well, loyalty is important, right?"

Her easy response gave Joe a lifeline, something to grasp onto in this sea of mortification. "That's what I was going for," he replied, a small smile finding its way to his lips despite the circumstances. Maybe, just maybe, he could survive this.

Jimmy leaned forward, his voice dropping as if sharing a secret, though of course his microphone ensured the entire studio audience—and millions of viewers—could hear every word. "You know, Riley, Joe told me earlier that this is his worst nightmare."

Joe groaned, running a hand down his face, wishing he'd never confided that particular fear to the host during their pre-show chat. "Jimmy, don't do this to me," he pleaded, but there was no stopping the train now.

Riley laughed, the sound light and musical, clearly enjoying his discomfort but not in a malicious way. "Oh, really? And why's that, Joe?"

He glanced at her, his cheeks tinged red, feeling like he was back in high school being called on in class when he hadn't done the reading. "Uh... because now I look like a total idiot?"

"You're doing fine," she said, her voice soft and reassuring in a way that suggested she understood exactly how uncomfortable he was.

Jimmy clapped his hands, clearly pleased with the chemistry unfolding before him. "See? She thinks you're doing fine. That's progress! Alright, we've got to take a quick commercial break, but don't go anywhere—we'll be back with more from Joe Burrow and Riley Carter!"

As the red light on the main camera switched off, signaling they were no longer live, Joe exhaled heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly with the temporary reprieve. The studio lights remained bright, the audience still watching expectantly, but at least they had a moment's pause from the national spotlight.

The camera crew moved into position for the commercial break, adjusting equipment and checking angles. Jimmy turned his attention to a producer who had approached with a clipboard, leaving Joe and Riley with a moment to themselves on the couch.

Riley leaned slightly toward Joe, her voice low enough that only he could hear. "So, this is your worst nightmare, huh?"

The proximity, the subtle scent of her perfume, the direct eye contact—it was overwhelming in the best possible way. Joe exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You have no idea," he admitted, surprised by his own honesty.

She laughed softly, the sound more intimate now that it wasn't performative for an audience. "You know, I think it's sweet. I mean, you didn't know this was going to happen, right?"

Joe met her eyes, grateful for the understanding he found there. "Not at all. I thought I was just playing a dumb game for laughs. I didn't think you'd actually be here."

"Well, surprise," she said, smiling, a genuine warmth in her expression that made his chest tighten strangely. "It's not so bad, is it?"

Joe shrugged, a small grin tugging at his lips despite himself. "It could be worse. You could've said I was weird or something."

Riley tilted her head thoughtfully, her eyes studying his face in a way that made him feel simultaneously exposed and seen. "Weird? No. Nervous? Definitely. But it's kind of endearing."

The compliment caught him off guard, and Joe chuckled, running a hand through his carefully styled hair, probably ruining the makeup team's hard work. "Yeah, well, it's not every day you get ambushed by your celebrity crush on national TV."

The words escaped before he could filter them, his usual carefully maintained guard momentarily lowered by the surreal situation and Riley's disarming presence. As soon as he said it, he wished he could take it back, stuff the admission back into the private corner of his mind where it belonged.

Riley blinked, caught off guard by his honesty, before her lips curled into a slow smile that transformed her entire face. Something playful and pleased sparked in her blue eyes. "Celebrity crush, huh?"

Joe's face turned bright red, the heat spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. He looked away, focusing on a random spot on the stage floor. "I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

"Just a little," she teased, her voice laced with amusement but no judgment. "But don't worry—I'm flattered."

Before Joe could respond, Jimmy returned, clapping his hands together with renewed energy. "Alright, we're back, folks! Let's jump right back into it!"

The red light on the camera blinked on, and just like that, they were live again. Joe straightened slightly, trying to regain his composure as the interview continued.

The rest of the segment flowed more easily than Joe could have anticipated. The initial shock had worn off, and there was something about Riley's presence—the way she effortlessly filled silences, laughed at the right moments, and occasionally glanced at him with what seemed like genuine interest—that made the experience almost... enjoyable?

Riley talked about her new album and upcoming tour with her band, her passion evident in the way she leaned forward, hands animated as she described the creative process. Joe found himself watching her more than he should, captivated by the little details—the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was thinking, the slight crinkle around her eyes when she smiled genuinely.

When the conversation turned to him, Joe surprised himself by opening up about his plans for the offseason, including a long-overdue vacation in the Bahamas with his family. Normally, he kept such details vague, offering just enough to satisfy the question without revealing anything too personal. But something about the night—maybe the fact that his carefully constructed wall had already been breached—made it easier to share.

Despite his earlier nerves, Joe found himself relaxing more as the conversation went on. Riley laughed at his jokes, even the bad ones, and they shared a few lingering glances that left him wondering if she might actually be into him too—a possibility so far-fetched he could barely allow himself to consider it.

By the time the segment ended, Joe felt almost disappointed. He'd survived what he thought would be a nightmare, only to find it had transformed into something unexpectedly pleasant.

Jimmy stood to thank them both, his expression satisfied—he'd gotten exactly the kind of segment producers dream about. "Alright, let's give it up for Joe Burrow and Riley Carter, everyone! Thanks for being such good sports tonight!"

"Thanks for having us," Riley said with a bright smile, the picture of graciousness.

Joe, finding a bit of his usual humor despite the circumstances, added, "Yeah, this was... something. But I think I survived."

Jimmy laughed, already angling for a follow-up story. "You did great, Joe. Just make sure I get invited to the wedding someday."

The audience roared with approval, and Joe shook his head, laughing despite himself. "Yeah, we'll see about that."

As the cameras stopped rolling and the show moved to its next segment, Riley turned to him, her expression unreadable for a moment. Joe braced himself for the letdown, for the polite but distant thank you and goodbye that would signal the end of this strange interaction.

Instead, she surprised him. "See you backstage?" she asked, her voice carrying a hint of hopefulness that sent a rush of something warm through his chest.

Joe nodded, trying not to look too eager. "Yeah. Definitely."

As they both rose and made their way off the stage, Joe felt a strange mixture of emotions—lingering embarrassment from the ambush, adrenaline from the live performance, and something else. Something that felt dangerously like hope.

Joe was a private person; this was something he worked very hard to maintain. Despite his career, he tried to keep his life as normal as possible. He carefully separated Joe Burrow the quarterback from Joe Burrow the person. He limited his social media presence, declined most endorsement deals that would put him in the spotlight more than necessary, and cultivated a small, tight-knit circle of trusted friends.

So, as he left the stage after what was probably the most humiliating interview of his life, Joe was crossing his fingers that Riley wasn't just pretending not to be weirded out by the whole thing. If she was weirded out, he'd have to retire immediately, move to a remote island, and never show his face in public again.

Okay, maybe that was a little dramatic, but he was certain of one thing: he would never agree to another talk show again. No matter how much his agent insisted it was "good for his brand."

The backstage area was a maze of corridors, production equipment, and busy staff members. Joe nodded politely to various crew members as he made his way through the hallways, his signature navy varsity sweater with white collar and blue pants making him easily recognizable despite his attempts to slip by unnoticed. He grabbed his duffel bag from where his assistant had left it backstage, slung it over his shoulder, and considered his next move.

The logical thing would be to head straight back to his hotel, call his agent to complain about the ambush, and try to forget the whole embarrassing episode. But the thought of leaving without talking to Riley again felt wrong somehow.

As Joe rounded a corner, he spotted a sign with Riley's name on a dressing room door at the end of the hallway. He paused, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Inside, he was a mess of nerves and uncertainty, but outwardly, he maintained the same cool composure he carried onto the field before big games. It was a skill he'd perfected years ago - never let them see you sweat.

Meanwhile, back on the stage, Riley turned to Jimmy with a playful but pointed glare as soon as the cameras were off.

"Alright, Jimmy, what the hell was that?" she asked, crossing her arms with a look that was half-amused, half-exasperated.

Jimmy laughed, throwing up his hands in mock defense, his expression utterly unrepentant. "Hey, don't blame me! I wasn't planning for things to go that well. I just thought it would be a fun little game—Joe's the one who went all-in on picking you every single time."

Riley shook her head, clearly flustered but unable to maintain real anger at the host's matchmaking attempt. "I mean, yeah, but still. You didn't warn me this was going to turn into a matchmaking ambush on live television."

Jimmy leaned in with a knowing grin, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Come on, admit it—you were into it. He was practically blushing the entire time! And don't think I didn't notice the way you kept sneaking glances at him."

The observation hit closer to home than Riley was comfortable acknowledging. She'd been genuinely charmed by Joe's obvious nervousness, by the unfiltered honesty that had slipped out when he admitted to his crush. It was refreshing—most men she met in the industry were all polished lines and practiced confidence. Joe's authenticity had caught her off guard in the best possible way.

"Jimmy," Riley groaned, wanting to end the conversation before the host could see too much in her reaction. "I am never coming on this show again."

"Oh, sure," he teased, clearly not believing her for a second. "Just make sure to thank me in your wedding toast."

Riley rolled her eyes, already heading for the door, but she couldn't quite suppress the smile that threatened to break through. "Goodbye, Jimmy."

"Goodbye, Riley! Love you!" Jimmy called after her with a laugh that followed her down the corridor.

As soon as Riley stepped into her dressing room, she was ambushed by her publicist, Jesse, who had been watching the segment on the monitor and was practically bouncing with excitement.

"Riley! Oh my God, that was amazing!" Jesse exclaimed, her dark curls bobbing as she gestured enthusiastically. "The way you two kept sneaking glances at each other? And the blushing? I mean, seriously, the entire audience was eating it up!"

Riley groaned, collapsing onto the plush couch as she covered her face with her hands, the cool metal of her rings pressing against her warm skin. "Please tell me it wasn't as bad as it felt."

"Bad? Are you kidding me? That was the stuff rom coms are made of," Jesse said, sitting on the armrest of the couch with a dramatic flourish, her tailored pantsuit crinkling slightly. "You were charming, he was adorable—it was perfect. Social media is already buzzing, by the way. 'Riley Carter and Joe Burrow' is trending."

Riley peeked out from behind her hands, narrowing her eyes at her publicist and longtime friend. "Seriously? That fast?"

"Uh, yeah." Jesse held up her phone, the screen illuminated with a flood of tweets and Instagram posts. "The second he turned bright red when you walked out, it was over for him. Everyone loves it. But forget Twitter for a second—did you see the way he looked at you? Riley, the man is smitten."

The thought sent a strange flutter through Riley's stomach, one she hadn't felt in a long time. She'd met plenty of attractive men over the years—fellow musicians, actors, models—but there was something about Joe Burrow's unassuming charm, the way he seemed almost reluctant to be in the spotlight despite his career, that intrigued her.

"Oh my God, Jesse, stop," Riley said, half-laughing, half-groaning as she pushed herself up from the couch.

Jesse smirked, smoothing her blazer as she stood. "Alright, fine. I'll stop. But only if you march down to his dressing room right now and give him your number."

Riley's eyes widened, a rush of unexpected nerves flooding her system. "What? No. That's not happening."

Despite her words, a part of her considered it. What was the harm? If nothing else, she'd have a funny story about the time she gave her number to Joe Burrow after Jimmy Fallon tried to set them up on national television.

"Okay, fine," Jesse said, crossing her arms with a determined expression that Riley recognized all too well. "Then he can come here. Either way, this is happening, because the energy between you two was insane, and if you don't do something about it, I will."

Riley opened her mouth to argue, to tell Jesse that she was being ridiculous, that whatever chemistry the audience thought they saw was just the product of an awkward situation handled with mutual grace. But before she could get the words out, there was a soft knock at the door.

The sound sliced through the room like a thunderclap despite its gentleness. Both women froze, staring at the door as if it might reveal its secrets without being opened.

Jesse's eyes lit up, and she gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. "Holy shit. What if it's him?"

"Stop," Riley hissed, suddenly feeling very aware of how fast her heart was beating. She sat frozen for a moment, her stomach doing somersaults, caught between hoping it was Joe and hoping it was literally anyone else.

"What are you waiting for? Go open it!" Jesse urged, waving her toward the door with frantic gestures.aving her toward the door with frantic gestures.

Taking a deep breath to calm her inexplicably racing heart, Riley stood, smoothed her hands down her pants, and crossed to the door. Her fingers hesitated on the handle for just a second before she pulled it open.

Standing in the hallway was Joe Burrow, his navy blue varsity-style sweater with white collar, dark blue pants, and white Converse sneakers making him look effortlessly cool. His stance exuded quiet confidence - one hand casually in his pocket, shoulders relaxed, posture perfect - the same easy self-assurance he displayed walking through stadium tunnels before games.

Inside, Joe's panic was at maximum level, his heart pounding against his ribs like it was trying to escape, thoughts racing through his mind at lightning speed. But none of this showed on his face. Outwardly, he maintained perfect composure, the same unflappable demeanor he'd perfected for high-pressure game situations. He leaned slightly against the doorframe with practiced nonchalance, his expression giving away nothing of the chaos inside.

"Hey," Joe said, his voice smooth and controlled, with just the right balance of confidence and warmth. "I, uh, just wanted to come by and say I'm really sorry about what happened out there. Jimmy kind of blindsided me."

Riley leaned against the doorframe, a small smile tugging at her lips. She was conscious of Jesse hovering just out of sight, no doubt drinking in every word of this interaction for future teasing material. "You don't have to apologize. Honestly, I thought it was kind of sweet."

Joe blinked, relief flickering across his face, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "You did?"

"Yeah," she said, her smile widening. "I mean, it was awkward, sure, but in a cute way. You handled it way better than I would've."

Joe laughed softly, glancing down at his shoes—expensive-looking leather loafers that somehow didn't seem like his style. "Well, I seriously considered running for the exit at one point."

Riley laughed, the sound genuine and unrestrained. "I believe that."

The moment felt lighter now, the initial awkwardness dissolving into something more comfortable. Joe looked back at her, a playful glint in his eye that she hadn't noticed during the interview. "So... I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that Jimmy was basically narrating my humiliation out there, but you seemed to handle it like a pro."

"Are you kidding? I was dying," Riley said, grinning. "You're the one who stayed cool the whole time."

Joe tilted his head, raising an eyebrow in a way that transformed his face, adding a mischievous quality to his otherwise clean-cut appearance. "Pretty sure sweating through my shirt doesn't count as staying cool."

Riley laughed again, shaking her head, one hand reaching up to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Fair enough. But still—it was fun. In a totally ridiculous way."

Joe rubbed the back of his neck, his smile softening into something more genuine, less performative. "Yeah, ridiculous sounds about right."

There was a beat of quiet between them, not awkward, but charged in the best way. The kind of silence that felt like its own conversation. Finally, Joe broke it, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"So, uh..." He hesitated, then let out a small laugh that betrayed his nervousness. "Man, I'm terrible at this."

"At what?" Riley asked, tilting her head, though she had a pretty good idea of what was coming next.

Joe took a breath, his gaze meeting hers directly, a determined set to his jaw like he was facing down a defensive line rather than asking a simple question. "I was wondering if maybe you'd want to grab dinner sometime. While you're in town, I mean."

Riley blinked, caught off guard but pleasantly surprised by his directness. She'd expected more hesitation, maybe even a non-committal suggestion to "keep in touch." "Dinner?"

"Yeah," Joe said quickly, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets, his eyes searching her face for clues to her thoughts. "No pressure or anything. I just thought... if you're free, maybe we could—"

"I'd love that," Riley interrupted, her smile soft but genuine. The decision felt right, spontaneous in a way she'd been trying to embrace more lately.

Joe paused, clearly not expecting that answer, his eyes widening slightly. "Really?"

"Really," Riley said with a small laugh, amused by his surprise. Was it so hard to believe she'd want to have dinner with him?

Joe's face lit up, a smile spreading across his features that transformed him completely. Gone was the careful, controlled athlete from the interview; in his place was someone younger, more open, almost boyishly pleased. He pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocking it before handing it to her. "Here, put your number in?"

Riley took the phone with a nod, quickly typing in her number before handing it back to him. Their fingers brushed in the exchange, a brief moment of contact that shouldn't have registered but somehow did.

"There you go," she said, her tone teasing but kind.

Joe stared at the screen for a moment, her name now sitting there in his contacts, as if he couldn't quite believe what had just happened. "Thanks. I, uh... I'll text you soon. For real."

"I'll hold you to that," Riley said with a smile that felt more genuine than most she'd given that day.

Joe hesitated for a moment, a brief internal debate playing out in his eyes, before he leaned in and pressed a light kiss to her cheek. The gesture was sweet, unexpected, and over almost as soon as it began. "Goodnight, Riley."

The brief contact left a warm spot on her skin, and Riley found herself momentarily at a loss for words. "Goodnight, Joe," she managed, her voice warm despite her surprise.

As the door clicked shut behind him, Riley leaned back against it with a soft sigh, her lips curling into a smile she couldn't fight if she tried. Behind her, Jesse let out a gleeful squeal that Riley chose to ignore, too caught up in replaying the last few minutes in her head.

A talk show ambush, a mutual admission of attraction, and a dinner date—all in one night. Not at all how she'd expected her evening to go when she'd agreed to appear on The Tonight Show.

But as she touched her fingers lightly to the spot where Joe's lips had brushed her cheek, Riley found herself looking forward to what might come next.

#joe burrow #joe burrow fanfic #joe burrow fanfiction

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