#good night queers and peers

[sk3l3t0n444]

ok read all of the tags before coming at me

[local-queer-classicist]

If anybody who sees this post hasn’t seen The VelociPastor please go watch The VelociPastor right now I beg.

[millersfinest]

the thing in your chest that beats ³ | e.w

santa barbara!ellie williams & ex-firefly!reader

wc: 5.3k

mini-series: california | oregon | idaho (you’re here) | wyoming

blurb: you put up a good fight with those rattlers, but it wasn’t good enough—all it got you was strung up near a beach where the sun scorched you dry. abruptly, their set-up gets fucked by their own prisoners, saving your life by only a thread. but the wrath that lingered under your skin was immense, and you’re not the only one to experience that phenomenon. when another damaged soul encounters your brittle state; the dreams that put you in a tough position manifest into reality. along with a few extra miscellaneous things…

cw: angry!r, slow-burn romance, proximity trope, both reader and ellie on a path of redemption, afab body parts mentioned, vulgar language, some joel references, inner guilt, use of ‘y/n’ and ‘woman’, ellie has a panic attack, shambler appearance (ew), and for the fun part… SMUT, switch!reader, oral sex, fingering ( :P ), barely any dirty talk because this is a loving experience y’all (and i don’t really know how to write that lmao), ellie might be a little ooc but i just perceive her to be this way idk.

note: to start… if anyone needs anyone to talk to after hearing the results of the election, please don’t be afraid to direct message me. especially my fellow american queer/trans friends. we are truly in some tough times right now. i hope this chapter can serve as some sort of distraction for what’s going on. as always, enjoyy!

Idaho

Welcome to the Gem State, the sign read when you passed the state line into Idaho a few days ago. The place you’ve been dreaming of was getting closer and closer—that feeling of relief was near! You could feel it bubbling in your stomach, enriching the nerves that ran under your sore muscles.

Since Oregon, you and Ellie had barely shared a full conversation. It’s only been small directions, or helpful interjections with infected, or even, guidance in getting around potentially dangerous people.

This time around, you harbored most of the frustration and anger. Wrath wrapped itself around you once more, forbidding you from wondering what her inquiries meant—what bringing up Honey meant. Ellie tried to service you the best she could, trying to make up physically for what she couldn’t vocally. Resuming her position as your caretaker, but that only made things worse.

The wounds and weaknesses of Santa Barbara were healing but were being replaced by new ones. Surface cuts, sprained ankles, and scorned hearts. Ellie could ask you nothing without the pitch of your voice raising an octave. It wasn’t anything like the character she knew you to be.

Or the months you spent together thus far meant nothing—she never actually knew anything about you.

The annotated map relied in your hands as you approached an administrative building. You had spent the previous night planning the route, instead of engaging in small talk with your partner. You were, somehow, still trying to prove to Ellie that you didn’t need her. Indulging in an individual competition of: who does it better? It was a drastic understatement to call you a competitive person. And her incessant need to make up for the misfortune of her curiosity wasn’t helping.

“Here’s the firm…” You mutter, immediately trotting to the front doors. American Falls Firm. Pulling at the handle, you realized it was locked and barricaded from the inside. Huffing, you folded up the map, sliding it into your backpack. “Looks like we gotta find another way in.” Dusting your hands, you began to survey different sides of the building. She followed behind you, keeping an eye out for lingering infected and any other inhibitors.

Humming to yourself, you squinted at the broken window above you. Turning your head, you peered at the auburn-haired woman who’s back faced you. Your Beretta resided in her hands as she kept a keen eye on the surroundings. Ellie didn’t mind doing that job because it kept her mind from wanting appeal to you. It kept her from wanting to beg for your forgiveness. After all, this was just her doing you a debtless favor. She shouldn’t have been so attached to you anyway.

“Hey,” You waved her over. “I need a boost.”

She met your eyes, nodding with firm lips. “Sure,” Slinging the shotgun around her body, she bent at the knee and cupped her hands low. Placing your hands on her shoulders, your irises danced over her features, briefly. Dirt attempted to blend in with the freckles over her nose, but they didn’t stand a chance—you knew the difference. Her olive eyes did well to avoid yours, feigning a look of impatience. “Up you go.”

Ellie boosted you up toward the window with all the strength she could muster. Fingers catching onto the edge of where the floor and window meant. Using your own strength, you pulled yourself into a room illuminated by daylight. Groaning under your breath from the stretch of your muscles. Crouching, you leaned back down to pull Ellie up.

Her hand attached to your forearm, crawling up the stone wall and into the room. Ellie hissed as she crawled inside, holding her wrapped ankle to alleviate some of the pain. Standing to your feet, you looked down at her with flickers of concern in your eyes.

The other day, she tripped over a thick fallen tree branch from the morning dew—spraining or straining her ankle, you couldn’t remember the difference. All you knew was that she hurt her ankle badly, but it wasn’t broken. Ellie wrapped it herself with athletic tape from your bag; with her back facing you in embarrassment.

“Can we keep going, or do you need a second?” You inquire, avoiding your eyes, dismissively. Like you didn’t care what her response was, even though you did.

“I’m fine…” She stood to her feet, wringing out her foot.

“You sure?”

“I said I’m fine…” Ellie grumbled, walking off to another side of the room.

It was a barren office that the both of you meandered through. Picking at the miscellaneous items that could serve you in any way. There were two desks that occupied the office; decorated with familial picture frames and old-world gadgets that made no sense to either of you.

Slowly, pushing open the door, the entire building appeared silent. Light peaking through broken and foggy windows, greenery growing inside and through the deteriorating structure. You found it rather beautiful that the earth was taking back what was hers—negating the infected, of course. Your fingers traced the vines that grew through the cement. Those plants were living despite opposition; everyone could learn something from that.

Breaking through barriers and walls, despite their resilience.

You glanced at the auburn-haired woman, keeping a safe distance from you, scoping out the place. “What’s the route out of here?” She asks, dragging her sneakers against the cracked floors. There was a slight limp to her gait, but made sure to walk as normal as possible when your eyes were set on her.

Blowing air from your lips, you respond. “The ground floor. There should be a stairwell around here somewhere.”

Usually, lower floors of abandoned buildings worried you. Infected find themselves huddled in their own corrosion. In darker, moister, places they intensified. Some merging to the walls, other growing boils of acid.

When your eyes set on a metal door that led to the floor you needed to get to, your heart pumped blood into your veins. Pounding in your ears as an alarm. Through the window, white flurries fluttered by, confirming the one thing you were concerned about: over-developed infected.

“Mask up. Spores.” You swing your bag around to dig for your mask.

Ellie did the same, with slight hesitation. “Is the this only way through?”

You nodded, tightening the strap around your head. “Yeah, if we still wanna knock off some time.” Opening the door, you armed yourself with the pistol that sat snuggly in the waistband of your jeans. The walls were adorned in the crusty corrosion of the sick, bubbling in corners. You frowned under your mask, stepping slowly down the stairs. Ellie following behind you with the same caution, shotgun drawn.

Errk!

Both of you stopped moving in the stairwell at the sound of a clicker. You swear under your breath, glancing at your partner. “We’ve got company.” She muttered, nodding at you to go forward.

Moments like this was when you relied on her the most, but you’d never admit it. It was nice to not have to endure circumventing infected alone. Ellie was your backup, and you were hers. Even if you were still upset with her—underground that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was staying alive.

Navigating through the dark, with your lights flickered on, the both of you managed to stealthily kill the clickers wandering around. But when a pair of crusted hands leaped from the wall, pushing you onto the ground… Another beast was alerted.

With the sound of Ellie’s shotgun, a loud monstrous grumble rumbled from down the hall. You pushed the stalker to the side, scrambling to your feet. “Ellie, how many bullets do we have?” You asked her, adrenaline pumping through your body.

She checked the chamber, cursing. “Fuck! Three rounds.”

Picking up the pistol from the ground, you checked the magazine. Only a few bullets. The shambler began to stomp, approaching the two of you, increasing into a run. “We gotta go!” You grab her hand, tugging her a tight hole in the wall; tall enough for you to slip through.

Running into the room, you realized there wasn’t an exit. There was only a door, but it led back out into the hallway. The quick call you made to evade the boiling beast, was a mistake. Before you could even regret the decision, the shambler bursted through the wall.

Without command, Ellie began firing the shotgun. First bullet. Second bullet. Third bullet—she was out. It roared, releasing puffs of acid. You both dodged by the skin of your teeth, running around the room like frightened mice. Now, it was your turn to unleash pointless blows to the creature. Emptying the rest of your magazine into the bulbous creature did nothing but anger it. Somehow, it found a way to creep up behind you and Ellie, taking her by the throat.

“Ellie!” You exclaimed, voice trembling in horror. Her hands scratched at its arms, pounding to be set free.

A pipe leaned out of a wall as an escape route, a message from God—fate, prying at you. Using the strength of a scared shitless person, you yanked the pipe free, falling back onto your butt. Quickly, you stood up and began hacking at the thing. Sounds of effort and defensive fear leaving your lips. Dropping Ellie onto the ground, he turned to you, roaring. However, your hacking at his body didn’t stop until he was on his knees. Gurgles left his corroded and bubbled mouth, but you used it as bait to make your final blow.

Heaving over its corpse, your back hunched, the pipe slipping from your sweaty grip. She coughed, reminding you of her presence, slumped against the wall. Her breath began to grow heavy, hand on her chest.

“Oh, my God— Ellie!” You crouched beside her, unsure where to place your shaking hands. She attempted to crack a smile, to pretend she was fine, but she wasn’t. The imperative organ in her chest beat faster than it should have, knocking the wind out of her. She couldn’t breathe—at least it felt like she couldn’t.

Ellie was panicking.

“Hey,” You tried, deepening your eyebrows, sliding your hands from her shoulders to her neck, to her trembling jaw. “Ellie,” Her hand shot up to grip your wrist with vigor, looking into your eyes, intensely. “Ellie, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Your free hand pushed strangling hair from sticking to the plastic of her mask.

The grip on your wrist moved to the entrapment on her face. She began to claw at it, whining. “No…” You attempt to stop her fast, strong movements, but she shoved you away. “Ellie— no! What the fuck are you doing?!”

She peeled the mask off her face, taking the deepest breaths you’ve ever seen. Leaning back, your eyes watered, watching her gasp for toxic air. Ellie pushed the strands of her hair off her face, leaning her head against the cement of the wall. Her heart was settling, but then she looked to you. Olive eyes meeting your teary ones. “What the- what d-did you just do?” You stammered. “Ellie…”

You enunciated her name with such weariness that it made her feel guilty. Still, getting herself together from her panic attack, she felt the need to console you. But she didn’t have the energy.

Breathing heavily under your mask, you watch as nothing happened to her. She doesn’t convulse, choking on the toxic elements in the air. There was nothing different about her. Absolutely nothing.

“I can…” Ellie breathed. “I can explain later. Let’s just get outta here first, all right?”

Having no choice but to believe her, you stood to your feet. Reaching down for her hand. When you pulled her up, her ankle gave out on her. “Shit,” Ellie cursed, furrowing her eyebrows. “The harder they fall, huh?” She dryly chuckled.

You frowned, wrapping her arm around your shoulders.

Unamused, you found a way out of the ground floor. Unmasking at the first sight of daylight. You didn’t have to travel far with Ellie’s arm wrapped around your shoulders. The only place that was able to receive your weak bodies was a little bookstore around the corner.

It was clustered inside. Book aisles placed close together, where only a single body could shimmy through. A pair of metal stairs spiraled up the back of the store, leading to another floor of books. Dropping all of your things, including Ellie’s arm, you stalked up those rusty steps with hot tears welling into your eyes.

Ellie leaned against a bookshelf, pressing her lips into a line. Watching every harsh step you took, ascending up the stairs. Her own eyes began to fill with tears, glancing down at her shaking hands. Before they could fall, she harshly wiped her face and decided to busy herself. It wasn’t a bad time to take inventory.

Upstairs, you found yourself huddled in a corner. Hot tears streaming down your cheeks, weeping as low as you could. The tears falling down your face was a release of fright. You realized something on that ground floor that you wish you hadn’t. That freckled stranger you had come upon, or who had come upon you, in Santa Barbara was becoming a meaningful person in your life. Unbeknownst to you! Ellie had snuck up on you like a rodent in disguise.

That distant figure that once hovered in dim lighting who you didn’t trust has become so much more. You trusted her with your fucking life. And it only took a few months on the road.

Having barely recovered from the threat of that shambler, she snatched her mask off like it was nothing. In those few second, your heart beat so loud it stalled time. You thought she was going to die right in front of you, willingly.

It took you back to a moment in your past—the death of your mother. Before you reached Catalina Island, your mother sacrificed herself to ensure that you made it there. She gave you her mask to take the spores head-on. Promising that she’d hold her breath; at fifteen, you were silly to believe her.

Just then, Ellie’s gasps proved your immediate worries and fears wrong. She wasn’t going to die in front of you like your mother did. The viral spores on that floor didn’t kill her. Making you wonder: who the fuck were you traveling with?

Wiping your face, messily, you wander back down the rusted steps of the bookstore. You spot her with both of your bags opened, going through the supplies you had. Counting under her breath. When her strained eyes caught yours, she ceased all movement.

“You know,” She began, looking at the hand that was missing her pinky and ring finger, massaging her palm. “I think, that was the most you’ve ever said my name.”

You frowned, walking through the aisles, cheeks stained with tears. “What the fuck was that back there?” The sound of your voice was weak and frail.

“A panic attack…”

“I’m talking about the mask, Ellie. You breathed spores…?”

She licked her lips, averting her olive eyes. “I’m immune…”

A beat passed between the two of you, roping around your still bodies.

Ellie watched how your lips quivered, like you wanted to cry. The redness in your eyes made her frown. “I just— in the moment… I couldn’t breathe. I needed to take it off—“

“How do you know?” You abruptly ask. “How do you know that you’re immune? What if it just… I don’t know… Takes longer to develop in your system?”

“y/n…” She remorsefully spoke. “I was bitten when I was fourteen.” Ellie rolls up the sleeve of her jacket, pushing her tattooed arm toward you.

Pressing your lips together, you walk forward, taking her arm in your hands. Her forearm was covered in evergreen ink. Taking your hand, she guided your fingers over the eruptions in her skin. Abrasions. Hidden beneath the adoration of the tattoo. You never noticed this before. “I had a lot of time to know if this was real…” Ellie muttered, peering at you. Insecurity leaking from her pores.

You met her eyes, opening and closing your lips, trying figure out the words you wanted to say. “Who are you?” You examined the features you’ve come to know. “And don’t walk away this time— you have no choice but to tell me.” A chortle falls from your lips, causing her stiffness in her shoulders to loosen.

And so, Ellie told you as much as she could. She told you about how she got bitten. She told you about Riley. She told you about Joel and Tommy—about the fireflies—and about Joel, again. She told you about Dina and Jesse. And then, she told you about Abby. The familiarity of her name caused you to perk up. You knew of her from the resort; it was her and a little boy. However, the version she told you about aligned nothing with the version that you knew of.

“I went to Santa Barbara because I wanted to put an end to my suffering and Tommy’s— I wanted to kill her.” Ellie confessed, leaning her head back against the books pushed into the shelves. The two of you sat opposite of each other in a book aisle, knees grazing every so often. “I thought that would fix everything… But, when I saw her on that pillar…” She shook her head, running her hand through her hair. “For a second, I wasn’t going to do it. She led me to that beach, holding that kid, and I was gonna leave.”

Ellie blinked, remembering that empty feeling she felt on that day. Guilt crawling through her for something that was never in her control. You watched her speak, intently, with deepened eyebrows. “Then, I remembered. I remembered what she did— what she took from me, and I couldn’t let her go. I threatened that little boy, and I made her fight me. She didn’t want to, but I made her.”

“Did you kill her…?” You asked, slowly.

She chortled, wiping her teary eyes. “No. She took my fucking fingers, and I let her go.” The laugh she released was dry, and without humor. “It was like… Everything that I’ve done, leading up to that day, was all for nothing. All the people that I hurt— that I killed just to get to her… It was all for nothing.” Her voice cracked, tears rolling down her cheeks. Ellie couldn’t stop them this time.

You reached for her knee, caressing your thumb over the fabric of her jeans. She peered up at you, through her thick, wet eyelashes with a sort of surprise. Ellie didn’t think you’d stick around after hearing about her truth. You, a victim of the rattlers, empathizing with a murderer.

Before that, though, you were a firefly. You more than just a victim.

“How could I ever think of you as a bad person after what I’ve done?” She pressed her plump lips into a line, shaking her head. “That wasn’t what I meant at all… I was just trying to figure you out. I worded it all wrong— I’m sorry.” Ellie apologized with such frailty, you had no choice but to accept.

“Don’t be sorry, Ellie…”

“I’m beginning to realize I’m not really good with people.”

You squeeze her knee. “That’s not true. I think we get along great.” You shrug, attempting to lighten up the mood. Her lips curled at the corners, reaching for the hand on her knee, placing hers over yours. A silence bounced between you—eyes boring into each other’s, looking through each other. “I also think… You did what you thought was best…” You voiced, nodding affirmatively. “I probably would’ve, somehow, done worse.”

She scoffed, drawing circles on the back of your hand, absentmindedly. “Worse? You couldn’t have done worse.”

“You’d be surprised.” You lifted your eyebrows. “Not to beat a dead horse or anything, but as a firefly… When you’re told to do something, you do it.” Shrugging, you remove your hand from hers, crossing your arms. “I’m not a saint, Ellie. I’ve done loads of shit that I’m not proud of.” You looked down at your knees, frowning. “If some girl killed someone I cared about right in front of me… It would have been the last thing she ever did. Shit, I’ve killed people for less.”

You paused, eyebrows twitching. The image of a guardian angel came into your mind—Honey. “It should’ve been me in that house… In Santa Barbara.” Squeezing your eyes shut, tears began to fall down your cheeks once more. Angry, mourning tears. “It’s like… The Lord gave me second chance to do better— or was it fate? I don’t fucking know…”

Ellie blinked, having a severe déjà vu moment. Somehow the words spoken in her past, have managed to resurface. If somehow the Lord gave me a second chance at that moment, I would do it all over again. Spoken by your pretty mouth, instead of someone else’s. “I’d probably be just like Honey if it weren’t for you— dead. And I still don’t know what makes me worth saving, but I’m grateful. I’m grateful for you.” You sniffed, lips quivering while looking at the auburn-haired woman.

She swallowed, moving from her spot across from you to sit beside you. If only she had the courage to say those words to Joel. If only her resentment didn’t run so deep—perhaps, her guilt for his death wouldn’t be so strong. “Everything about you is worth saving… You’re like a lucky charm.”

You leaned your head back against the books, looking at her. “A lucky charm, huh?”

“Hell yeah! I mean, you totally whooped that shambler’s ass. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Hitting her arm, you giggle, keeping your eyes on the bookshelf in front of you. “Seriously, y/n…” Her humored tone faded as she trained her eyes on the side of your face, urging you to just look at her. To meet her eyes as passionately as she wanted to meet yours. It could’ve been the vulnerability that pulsed around the room, but she needed to see you. Her body ached for touch—perhaps, your touch. Ellie needed consolation for her confession.

Finally, your eyes drift toward hers. Not realizing how close her body was to yours. Shoulders, arms, hips, knees touching as if you were conjoined by the hip. Her eyes were prettier close up. They were greener than the evergreen that grew up desolate buildings. The freckles on her damaged skin could be connected like constellations—how come you never noticed this before? You wanted to trace the scar over her top lip and the one in her eyebrow with your finger, not just with your eyes.

The only thing that could be heard was your uneven, nervous breaths. Ellie moved her face closer to yours, just enough to tease, to ask for your permission without using her words. Her olive eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes. Weakly, you nodded, chewing on the corner of your bottom lip.

Her hands settled on your face, pulling you to hers. Meeting her lips with your lips, softly and patiently. Placing your hands on her wrists, you pull away, analyzing her features. Full lips were parted, wantonly. Pushing forward, you resumed the kiss with more intensity.

Whining against her lips, you got onto your knees, kicking your leg over her legs. Settling on her lap, her hands moved to your hips, kneading them. Her lips beginning to trail down your jaw; they were wet and hot kisses, causing your hips to roll on their own. Pleasured sighs fled from your swollen parted lips, holding onto her shoulders. “Ellie— Ellie, are you sure about this?” You question, with your eyes fluttered shut.

Against the sensitive skin of your neck, she spoke. “Beyond sure…” She muttered, littering your neck with love bites. Then, she pauses, pulling back to look up at you. Her hands still on your hips, pulling them to a stop to get your attention. “Are you sure about this?” Her pupils were blown out, adoringly.

You massaged her tense shoulders, licking your lips. The sight of her made your skin warm and tingly. “I’m fucking sure.” You smiled, playing with ends of her auburn strands. Leaning down, you pressed your lips against hers again, with fervor.

The both of you needed this—human connection. Even if it was short-lived, or temporary.

Ellie pushed at the flannel over your arms, tossing it to the side. Then, it was your knit shirt. She rolled it up from your abdomen, you lift your arms so she could remove it. Lastly, was your sports bra. She pulled it over your head, eyes marveling at the sight before her. Her calloused hands ran down the bare sides of your back, lips trailing down your sternum.

Running your hands over her hair, she latched her lips around one of your nipples. Sucking and nibbling at the sensitive nerves. A moan escapes your throat, arching your back into her. Your hips buck on top of her lap, begging for her touch elsewhere. “My lucky charm…” She mutters against your skin, kneading your other breast.

You end up with your back on the hard floor of the bookstore. Your hands pulling off her clothes like your life depended on it. She pulled your pants off, leaving you both only in your underwear.

Ellie kissed you, again, pressing her chest against yours. Her knee slotted between your legs, pushing her thigh against your clothed core. You could feel her grinding against your propped up leg, moaning into your mouth. Calloused hand gripping the back of your thigh. Sloppily, your lips trail to the side of her face, airy moans releasing beside her ear. “Ellie, please, touch me…” Wantonly, you pleaded, clenching the roots of her hair.

With her hot lips against your jaw, nibbling at your ear, she obliged. Drifting her hand down the center of your bodies, rubbing you over your underwear. Propping herself up on her other arm, she peered down at you. A pout resting on your wet lips, narrowing your eyes at her. One-handed, she slides your underwear to the side, running her middle finger up your center. Spreading your slick over that sensitive bud awaiting her focus. Ellie chews on her bottom lip, watching you shudder under her touch. “Right there?”

You respond with the tremble of your thighs and the heaving of your chest. She cracked a charming smile, eyes hazing at the sight of you.

Slipping two fingers into your cunt, she moans with you, curling her fingers slowly. Your hands roam her toned stomach, squeezing at her breasts, but you were losing focus. “S— So fucking good— ah!” Pulling her fingers out of you, she lowered herself. Kissing the scars and bruises that littered your abdomen. Her movements briefly confused you, until you felt her mouth on the inner parts of your thighs.

She pulled your underwear down your legs, tossing them aside. Then, she was on you, mouth hot over your cunt. Suckling on your clit, thrusting her tongue into you—eating you like she was starving. Your mouth fell ajar, grasping at her hair for something to hold onto. “Fuck, Ellie!” You whine, bucking your hips toward her face.

Her olive irises looked up at you between your legs, glimmering with lust. Arching your back, feeling that tightness coiling under your muscles, a lewd sound comes from your throat. Something between a moan and a yelp.

Sooner than later, your release comes crashing over you. Like a breath of fresh air. Legs clamping around her head, pushing her closer to your heat. Her lips making out with your pussy, bringing you down from your high. “Oh, my God…” You mutter, massaging her scalp with your fingers.

She crawls up your body like a lustrous lioness, letting your taste yourself on her lips. Your hands gripped at the fat of her ass, biting her bottom lip with your teeth. Ellie gasped, angling your face with her hand, groaning against your lips.

Sliding your index finger under the hem of her boxer-short underwear, you yank them down. “Damn…” Ellie mutters, kicking off her underwear the rest of the way. “You’re quick.” She chuckles, as you flip her onto her back. Running your lips down her neck, biting her skin.

“I want you… Can you blame me?”

You gripped at her hips, but when she winced you stopped. Peering down at her hip bone, a stitching remained there. Red and a little irritated. “It’s fine. Keep goin’, please.” Ellie tried, reaching for your hand.

Lowering your body, you kissed around the irritated wound, gently. Ellie watched you, chewing on her lip. Holding onto her hand, you kissed lower and lower. Through the hairs over her mound, the inner parts of her thigh—lightly over her cunt. She twitched, bashfully trying to shut her legs. But your hands braced her thighs.

Breathing her in, you licked a line up her center, making eye contact with her. An airy sound left her parted lips, free hand tweaking her nipples. “Yeah… Yeah…” She chanted, rocking herself against your face. You lick at her clit before sucking it into your mouth, her hips jolting at the feeling. Fluttering your eyes shut, you spend time on her sensitive bud, messily. Your non-dominant hand still holding onto Ellie’s, her grip tightening every second.

Taking your other hand, you insert your middle and ring finger into her core. Looking up at her reaction, while you made love to her clit. “Fuck, yes!” She enunciated her words lustily, drawing them out. Popping her bud from your lips, you begin to curl your fingers. Her wanton moans bouncing off the bookshelves around you.

“You’re so pretty like this.” You whisper, mainly to yourself, as you gaze at her in awe. Ellie was always so rough around the edges, but under you she was different. Her scarred body shook under you, in pleasure. She was in her element.

She moaned your name, riding your fingers. The muscles in her abdomen clenching, the grip on your hand getting harder. Taking that as your cue, you began to make out with her pussy. Only bringing her closer and closer to that breaking coil.

When the sparks in her stomach bursted into flames, a string of curse words fell from her lips. Her back arching off the hardwood floor, fingers pinching her tits. Her slick was all over your mouth, as you crawled back up her body.

Hungrily, she found your lips. Pushing your bare bodies together, you lazily made out—winding yourselves down.

Orange hues of the sun setting peaked through the windows, and the empty parts of the shelves. A burnt orange cast, glazing over your bodies like a blanket. Your legs intertwined, arms draped over shoulders, wrapped around waists; you were comfortable like this. Ellie was comfortable like this.

Parting your lips, she peppered small kisses along your jaw, before laying her head on your chest. “There’s a couch upstairs…” You breathe, playing in her hair.

“You say this now…?” She looked up at you, fingers rubbing circles on your bare hips.

A chuckle fell from your lips, your thumb caressing her flushed cheeks. “Heat of the moment!”

She sucked her teeth, nuzzling her head into your neck. “Whatever, you filthy woman.”

“Hey! You’re the one who took my clothes off.”

“You let me take your clothes off.” She nibbled at the skin of your throat, squeezing the fat of your hip.

You pressed your lips together, amused, running your fingers down her freckled back. “We could go up to the couch now.” You offered.

Ellie shook her head, hooking her leg around yours to pull herself closer to you. “No, just wanna lay here for a while…”

And you did just that. Laid with each other until your backs ached enough to move to the couch upstairs. Only to resume the position on the itchy cushions until the sun came back around to drag you both back onto the road.

[horrorsboyfrie]

Loser!Zandik being crushed on by Popular!Reader

(masc terms on reader+ it's the typical corny social butterfly × weirdo shit, queer edition, honestly + Zandik displays traits of autism + a little murderous♡)

Zandik, as per usual, was spending the night's time in the library. It was quiet, for the most part. While a lot of his fellow peers were focused on finding answers for their own satisfaction, even those who viewed their values and research to be above everyone else's had someone to keep them company; for that reason, they often chose to borrow the necessary books and study in their respective dorms, or the dorms of their friends. Some did indeed prefer the setup of the library's sections and desks, but even so, the peaceful atmosphere was not interrupted by them.

Zandik sat on a table at the very ends of the room. He had a pile of books to his right; some half opened, and others neatly stack on top of each other. He had his notebook and pens nearby, taking notes of anything he deemed crucial knowledge for his personal projects.

Not long had he been entangled in his theories when a specific group of students decided to make an appearance. They could be heard from miles away— and it just so happened that they chose to sit on a table to his right. Malicious intent, no doubt. These people tended to act as if Zandik was some foreign species to be studied; as if he was a sort of a subject that needed constant supervision.

Of any day to endure the constant speculations and disgusted or concerned expressions towards him, today was not the right one. Nothing too horrific had happened to him, not something that would matter to an average person, at least. It's just that he slept wrong, causing him to wake up with slight neck pain, which played a role in worsening his already short temper, which in turn made his sensory issues towards his clothes, especially his socks, far more insufferable than they had to be. He was one unexpected move away from having a meltdown.

Yet again, he managed to ignore the obnoxiously loud 《whispers》 that sprouted out of those filthy rat-filled mouths of theirs, as Zandik's already-overwhelmed mind decided to call them.

Unfortunately for him, the multiple different voices started chanting even more nonsense as you walked towards the table— he could see that you were dreading it. Was everyone so damn bothered by his existence? You were known to be such a sweetheart— contrast to majority of boys there— by those who've interacted with you, but to be fair, none had a reputation quite like Zandik's, so it's no wonder you resented him, as everyone else did.

"Why'd we have to sit here?" he heard you emphasize. He looked your way; he could see the grins on the faces of your friends, the way they seemed to be picking on someone, hushed whispers, mentioning his name time after time, as if he wasn't barely three chairs away. Gods, his patience was running thin.

"Can we just switch seats?" He listened as you practically begged your friend, who was sitting on the complete opposite end of the table. As much as he may have claimed (to himself, seeing as he had none to actually confide in) not be a man driven by emotion, his worse sensory days were tempt to be a catastrophe in every way possible. He left soon after he heard those mumbles; he was too sensitive for his own good, even if he dismissed that fragile soul of his with walls of anger and apathy.

Your friends seemed to notice before you, the fact that he was no longer in the room. All you got was endless teasing about how you've missed your chance or about the fact that you probably 《intimidated》 him. Bullshit, no? You sighed as the group split up again, each going ahead to do their own thing. The only true reason they decided to meet up here was to force you into talking to him. That did not quite work out, it seems.

You hurried to leave as well, when you noticed a small pen on the ground. That must be his; you always see him writing with that specific shade of blue. It's not like nobody else in the whole Akademiya owned the same one, but he was sitting on the table you found it under. You decided to hold on to it. Perhaps it would be an opportunity to finally have a conversation with the guy!

On your way back to the dorms, you noticed him nearing his own room. Maybe now's the time to return him his belongings— especially considering how he seemed to be searching his pockets. His face was indifferent when he realized he didn't have the pen on him, but his hands were trermbling; a hint of anxiety perhaps? One could only speculate. You decided to leave him on his own. He probably wasn't up for company or conversation anyway.

The following few days weren't quite like you expected. Usually, you'd manage to get at least a glance your way by him; laughing at stupid jokes, bumping into people or objects that you could have easily avoided, accidentally saying things a bit too loud. Nothing worked this time. It's as if he purposefully was avoiding you; a fact that got confirmed after you tried walking towards him. He saw you—he made sure you saw his look, he held it for a couple of seconds— and then he walked away. Fuck, there's no way this guy wants anything to do with you.

Weeks later, you had grown to forget ever owning that pen of his; actually, you started using it for yourself. If you can't give it back, then why not use it for yourself?

Zandik, despite trying his hardest to keep his stares away from you and your friends (and pretty much everyone else in that damned building), couldn't help but notice that his long-gone favorite pen is under your possession.

After the very last class of the day, he decided to give you a visit; your fate had been decided by him already. He's done what he's done in the Eleazar hospital and got away with it. It wouldn't be hard to add another body into the endless pile of disappearances; he knew how to keep suspicion off his shoulders.

Perhaps it was a bit too far. He was letting his rage get the better of him; but gods, he really hadn't felt at ease writing with anything else. "His death would make no logical sense to my goals," he sighed as he reminded himself. "What sort of researcher puts his emotions above his values?" He groaned— frustrated both at himself for considering such a solution to his problems, and at the situation itself.

Times like these, he'd go to his special place to sit and think; it was a big tree, near a lake. Children would often talk about their encounters with the Aranara there. At first, he only ever visited that place so he could find one creature and take it for himself, but he grew quite comfortable being there.

He grabbed the opportunity by its hand once he spotted you all alone; sitting with your back against that very same tree that he favored. As if you had a seventh sense, you turned around to see him. He wasn't quite prepared to be greeted with a smile. It caught him off guard; why were you, of all people, showing any form of sympathy for him?

"I was hoping you'd be here" you said, handing him the pen that he has been desperately trying to get a hold of again.

[superhaught]

To Be Another Notch in Your Bedpost

Pairing: Leighton Murray x Reader

Warnings: explicit smut! (18+ MDNI) implied sub/bratty Leighton, implied dom/brat tamer reader, one night stand

(This is my first ever published fic please be gentle! I want to start taking requests for anything Renee/Regina/Leighton so, ya know, tell me if ya like it and wanna see more writing from me)

Word Count: 2700, Part 1/?

Reader has a one night stand with the Leighton Murray.

Explicit Content Below

This party was everything you hated. Loud, unintelligible music. Drunken idiots everywhere. Sticky spills all over the floor and sweaty bodies brushing against you no matter how much you tried to stay out of the way. 

You wouldn’t have even come out tonight if it wasn’t for the fact that your friend basically dragged you kicking and screaming out of your dorm and away from your comfortable Netflix binging. You remained steadfast, though. She could bring you to the party but she couldn’t make you enjoy it. While she danced in the middle of it all, you continued to nurse your one cup of punch against the wall, allowing yourself the guilty pleasure of people watching.

It wasn’t that you thought you were better than your peers, you just couldn’t match their vibe. You couldn’t let go enough. You couldn’t become uninhibited. Your first year at Essex had been an overwhelming one. Making good friends had been hard. Staying on top of your classes even more so. And finding common ground with the legacy and/or wealthy students had been damn near impossible. Your student job in the library was draining, and your dating life had been nonexistent. This party felt like the absolute last thing you needed to decompress. 

You were just about to throw in the towel and say goodbye to your friend when someone unexpected approached you. 

“Hey wallflower,” she said, addressing you, “a few of the Theta guys are concerned that you’re bored or drugged. Either way, they want it to be resolved.”

The girl was Leighton Murray. A rising queen bee on campus. She was deeply connected to the school, extremely popular within multiple social groups on campus, and easily one of the most stunning women you have ever seen by far. 

You chuckle awkwardly and smile at the blonde, “Ah. Well, I am sorry for disturbing the vibe of the party. I know that the frats work hard to make these go well. But truly, I’m neither bored nor drugged, just… not fitting in.”

Leighton raises an eyebrow at you, “I take it this isn’t your usual scene, then?”

“Not at all,” you admit. “I’m much more comfortable in quiet settings with fewer people to worry about.”

Leighton nods and takes a sip from her own drink, glancing over the crowd thoughtfully. She turns back to you, “What made you come, then?”

You shrug, “I was forced by my friend. Apparently my preferred Friday night of watching Queer Eye and baking brownies for myself in the dorm kitchens depresses her.”

Leighton laughs, “It’s not necessarily a bad thing but definitely not how you should be spending your Friday nights in college…” she looks you up and down for a moment, clearly checking you out, “are you… ya know?” She makes her wrist go limp in that recognizable signal and you can’t help but chuckle. 

“What? Gay?” She looks a little embarrassed but you smile warmly and give her a reassuring nod, “Yes, I am. Very much so, don’t worry.”

She nods and takes another drink, and you mirror her. Word spreads quickly amongst the sapphic community at Essex and Leighton had been a big topic of conversation lately. The story was that she had recently come out and was making up for lost time. It wasn’t something that you judged her for, but now that she was here chatting you up, it did make you question the depth of her intentions. 

You tilt your head questioningly at her and decide to be bold, “We haven’t connected yet, have we?” 

Her cheeks flush and she hides her face with her cup again as she responds, “No… we have not…” 

“So were you truly sent by the frat guys to come check on me or did you… maybe volunteer yourself for the task?”

She feigns offense at your question and then shrugs, “I will neither confirm nor deny.” 

You flash her a knowing smirk and take another sip of your drink. You’re more than interested in her, but you’re also more than nervous. Casual hook-ups have never been your thing and Leighton was the type of woman that you’d want to spend more than just one exciting night with. But for all you knew, that’s not what she wanted right now. 

“Well…” she begins quietly, “since you aren’t enjoying yourself here, would it be okay for me to take you somewhere else?”

You slowly nod your head and meet her eyes, “Can I ask you a question first, Leighton?”

She nods back, “Yeah, what’s up?”

“What are you looking for, right now?”

She gives you a confused expression, “What do you mean?”

“Do you want one fun night and nothing more, or someone who might last longer than one fun night?”

She considers the question for a moment, “Is it important for you to know the answer to that before we go further?”

“It is,” you reply, “I just want to manage my expectations.”

She nods in understanding, “You’re the first person who’s actually asked that… honestly, I’m just looking to feel good. Lately, that has resulted in a string of fun nights… but I’m not opposed to having more than that, really.”

“So, you’re saying that if you hit it off with someone and they asked you out, you wouldn’t outright reject them?”

She nods, “Right. Does that… help you with your concerns?”

“Yeah, it does. Thank you.” You smile again and she smiles back, seemingly moved by your tender nature. You hold out your hand to her and finally introduce yourself and she echoes your name back to you as she happily shakes your hand. 

“So… about my offer?”

You giggle and nod, “Get me out of here, Leighton.”

The girl grabs your hand and quickly leads you out of the frat party. You’re able to quickly shoot your friend an explanatory text so that she won’t worry about your whereabouts, and soon enough, you're trailing behind Leighton Murray as she takes you across campus back to her dorm. 

You hold onto her hand the entire time. She swiftly unlocks the door to her suite, which is thankfully empty at the moment, and she pulls you straight into her room, shutting the door behind you. 

You lock eyes and smile, a little nervously on both of your parts. It was comforting to you that there was some anxiety for her as well. But you’ve never been one to let that anxiousness prevent you from taking the lead. You bring your hands up to her cheeks and cradle her softly as you pull her in towards you and close the distance between your lips. Her eyes flutter shut and a small sigh escapes her as you kiss. The softness of her, the lipgloss she wears, the perfume on her neck… all of it completely tantalizes you and you suddenly have no trouble falling into her completely. 

Her hands drift to the small of your back, then she squeezes your ass playfully and yanks you a little closer to her, which prompts you to gently push her backwards so that she’s against the door. Leighton gasps lightly and you smile in the kiss, knowing that your actions have pleased her. Your parted lips give her the opportunity to graze her tongue over your bottom lip and you eagerly accept it and meet her with yours, deepening the kiss. 

You begin to trail your hands down her body, letting your fingertips brush skin where it’s exposed and fidgeting with the fabric of her dress as you go down to her hips and hold onto her firmly. Your touch sends a shiver up her spine and she moans. You pause the kiss for just a moment so that you can take a much needed deep breath, but you keep your nose and forehead pressed against her and meet her gorgeous blue eyes again for a second and you can’t help but be in awe, “fuck…” you breathe.

She nods eagerly and pulls you back in for more. You push her back against the door again, keeping her pinned in place as you gently shift her hair out of the way of her neck and you lean down to place kisses on her skin beneath her jawline and along her pulse point. 

She sighs and melts, biting her lower lip and burying her fingers into the hair at the back of your neck to hold onto you. Your lips and tongue explore her soft, sensitive skin and you playfully nibble at her earlobe which makes her gasp before you return to her lips and continue making out with her. 

You feel her start to rock her hips, trying to grind against you in search of friction where she needs it. You smile and tease her, slowing down your movements and taking your time to worship the other side of her neck and each collarbone. 

She groans, “oh fuck… you… tease...”

You smirk and whisper into her ear, “Feeling needy, Leight? If you want something, you’d better ask for it.”

She whines and bites into her lower lip hard but then indignantly shakes her head, deciding to try to maintain a little bit of brattiness rather than just caving right away. 

Your hands drop down to her thighs and start to toy with the bottom hem of her dress, inching the fabric upwards bit by bit and making her squirm while you kiss her collarbones and as much of her chest as is exposed by the low cut. 

Your fingertips dance over her skin and give her goosebumps as you touch the backs of her thighs feather-light, keeping your pelvis just out of her reach so that when she rocks her hips, she doesn’t find anything to make contact with. You find a great deal of amusement in watching this powerful woman quickly crumble. She pulls your hair harder and gets even more vocal with her whines and groans, cursing in your ear and desperately seeking more deliberate touch from you. 

You keep kissing her neck, touching your lips and tongue softly to her hairline and feeling her pounding heartbeat. You barely hear it, a faint whisper escapes her, “please…” 

You raise an eyebrow and pull back to look at her face, “Hm? What was that?”

Leighton grumbles and whispers it again, “please… please.”

“Please, what?”

“Oh my god please fucking fuck me!” She finally blurts. 

You smile, satisfied, and decide to oblige her instead of gloating any further. You kiss her lips once more before lowering yourself onto your knees between her legs, her mouth falls open and she stares down at you in awe.

You look up at her and maintain eye contact as you hike up the fabric of her dress even more, until it bunches around her hips and exposes her lace panties and an intoxicating inch of skin between her navel and the underwear. You reach your head up and press a soft, cruel kiss to her center over the fabric which makes her jut her hips and groan, falling back against the door a little bit. You can feel how hot and wet she already is and you try not to let that go to your head. 

You slide your hands down the skin of her legs and follow your fingers with your lips, kissing her gently, until your hands reach her heels and you start to take them off of her one at a time while watching her face. 

“You’re so gorgeous, Leighton.” You tell her. 

She just flushes and nods, helping you by kicking her shoes off and out of the way. Your hands return to her thighs and then slowly, you hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties and you start to pull them down. She moans and you feel an overwhelming wave of heat race through your own body and settle between your legs. You watch her eyes as you pull the fabric down and she carefully steps out of it, then you take a moment to admire her like this and you feel like all of this must be a dream. 

“Are you ready, Leighton?” 

She nods emphatically, “God yes… please…”

You nod and help her drape one of her legs over our shoulder as you get yourself into a solid position and bring your face between her thighs.

She leans back, putting more of her weight against the door and with one more affirmative nod, you extend your tongue and drag it along her. 

You hear her moan and can sense her letting her head fall back against the door as she winds her fingers into your hair and holds your head firmly in place so that you are less inclined to pull away. 

Your senses are flooded by the taste and feel of her and your own eyes roll back before you shut them completely and draw your focus into pleasing this incredible woman. Your lips and tongue start to work on her slowly, you moan against her and she grinds against you and you can tell that she’s already anxious for release. 

You drag your tongue languidly through her folds and pause to push it inside of her before returning to her clit and circling the sensitive bundle of nerves with the flat of your tongue. You can easily tell what she likes and wants more of and it doesn’t take long at all to build her up to climax. Your lower face is already drenched in her but you stay in place and maintain the pace and motions that she’s responding to, feeling all of her muscles tense, her breathing quicken and her noises intensify. With just a few more movements of your tongue she finally releases with a long, drawn out moan and you start to slow your ministrations as she rides out her orgasm on your face. She beams widely and laughs joyously through the waves of ecstasy, breathing hard, chest heaving. 

You do your best to clean her up and then you quickly stand and help support her as her legs weaken. With a simple lift, you bring her from the door to her bed and lie her down and she curls up with a big smile on her face and says, “holy shit…” 

You laugh and crawl into the bed next to her and wrap your arms around her while she rests for a moment, catching her breath and regaining her bearings. You spend a few quiet minutes just spooning her and rubbing her back gently and she smiles and hums happily. 

Eventually, she whispers, “You know, I’ve slept with a lot of people recently… but what you just did for me… doesn’t even compare. I feel like you’re on a whole different graph…”

You laugh, “What? That can’t be true.”

“No, I'm being one hundred percent serious. That was insane.”

You smile and get close to her ear and whisper to her, “It doesn’t have to be over…”

“Well right, I need to return the favor…” She starts to roll over toward you but you hold her in place and stop her, leaning over her shoulder and kissing her neck lightly, “sure, you could do that, but I’m talking about it not being over for you…” you whisper against her ear.

“Fuck…” she groans, “are you going for some kind of record?”

“I just want to make you feel good…”

“You’re unreal…”

You flash her a playful smirk and she gets up out of the bed and slips a sock over the door handle to her room, “Bela will understand.”

You both giggle and then she excitedly gets back into the bed with you, climbing onto your lap and immediately capturing your lips in more passionate kisses. 

The night skips on, continuing to excite and pleasure you both, and you remind yourself no short of a hundred times to thank your friend for making you come to the party.

Next Chapter

[scentedpepper]

Cinderellas Slipper

BILLY HARGROVE X MALE READER

Summary: Billy tries to apologize but loses his slipper instead.

Content Warnings: "Queer" used in a derogatory manner. Brief mention of Billy and Reader having sexual relations. Established Relationships/Lore

Other Pairing(s): Steve Harrington x Male Reader, Jonathan Byers x Male Reader, Will Byers x Male Reader, Nancy Wheeler x Billy Hargrove (implied not said)

AUTHOR NOTE(S):

Writing specific scenes that pop into my head is much easier than committing to an entire fanfic :p

Feeling kinda meh abt this one guys idddkkkk

Uhhhhh Billy is gay bc I say so

No but that headcanon really gets my writer loins spinnin

The depth

Anyway

Billy's a wee bit jealous

👍

_________________________________________

Billy's not sure what lead him to this point.

But the moment he steps out of his Camaro he has to pause, place his hands on his hips, and pace. Once. Twice. Three times for good measure before his attention is redirected to his destination.

Depot Central.

"Hawkins for the Family" Or so the sign outside had stated.

It's 4:30 in the afternoon, you've only been on shift for 30 minutes.

Three and a half hours to go.

Billy has memorized your schedule like the back of his hand.

The depot wasn't small by any means, but most of its stores closed at the latest of six due to its small town status. The depot itself mainly used the second story to hoard it's products, what couldn't fit through the windows displayed itself like an open antique shop on the 1st floor, the remaining area that couldn't be utilized by the display lay store merchandise.

This was the third time in a row he'd come back to the depot.

The first time he'd be stepping inside.

If the place had more customers he would've stalled a little longer, maybe considered another 3 rounds of pacing the parking lot but there was no one in front of him when he stood off to the side, peering through the windows.

His hands find his hips again, pressing agaisnt the brown leather belt adorning his dark blue jeans. It was new. He'd went out and bought it a few days ago. Even went as far as hiding between the aisles of the women's section trying to scope out style.

He didn't buy the pink or purple belt, regardless of how "nice" you said those colors were on him. Instead, by a random struck of luck that felt unwarranted, he'd found one even more perfect. One in which the gems were arranged in a way that made it look like the night sky.

Fucking space because you were into that shit or whatever.

Gemstones on top of silver. And Billy felt like a star on the belt, big and prominent.

Maybe that was wishful thinking. He couldn't really reject the feeling of suffocating when the gems shined in the sunlight through the window panes beside him.

Girly.

Feminine.

Queer.

Billy tries to ignore them and in the process, he considers ditching his clothing choices for today and giving in to his original idea. But even so, with all he's been through, Billy isn't really aware that the things he's learned from you have stuck this long.

He'd scrubbed himself raw in the bathroom just 30 minutes ago. And he made sure to perfectly place the top portion of his maroon button up that was peeled open. And he dabbed cologne on every inch of his body, just in case the amount he had initially put on wasn't enough. And while he was driving he made sure to keep the cigarettes in his dash because he knew the smell, reminiscent of your father, was the sole reason you had never picked them up throughout your teenager years. Not even to just try.

So once more, everything right down to his clean socks were an item of scrutiny. He even had spare deodorant in his car if he started to sweat.

And for what? He didn't fucking know.

The urge to repeat his pacing however came and he knew very well what that meant.

He was thinking about turning around.

But to make sure his body isn't going the opposite direction, he checks his front pockets where two cards were securely nestled in.

Dare Billy say he was almost scared.

He feels sweat starting to prick on the back of his neck, underneath his perfectly defined curls –he didn't even want to think about the measures he went to learn how to make them look so pretty– and he ducks back into his car, deciding he should just put the deodorant everywhere.

As he fumbles for the anti perspirant in his dash, feet sticking out of the car and body pressing against the middle console awkwardly, he realizes that he's almost forgotten the singular rose that he specifically taped to head of his passenger seat so he wouldn't forget it.

Quickly, Billy retrieves the rose and proceeds to rub himself down with the light spray of deodorant.

And despite his previous antsy nature, when he finally goes to walk to the entrance of the store, his face is the perfect mix between cool and ready. But his eyebrows are furrowed, a giveaway to the turmoil going on in his head.

Once the doors slide open, the chimes on top barely audible in the distance, Billy's face twitches ever so slightly when he realizes who is bent over the checkout counter, chatting you up, eliciting deep, rumbling laughter from your wide chest.

Steve.

Billy makes sure the displeasure is gone from his face with a blink of the eyes before he's approaching the two with nonchalant grace. He makes sure his gait is perfect and makes no noise against the flooring of the store, this way he can spy on your conversation from behind the taller shelves of canned food.

He listens close enough to pick up the murmurings of some new ice cream recipe you had apparently tried over the weekend with Will and Jonathan. Sounded absolutely disgusting to Billy. There was pecan and raspberry involved, as well as a hint of honey which would be fine if it wasn't inside frozen food.

But Billy found himself not really paying attention to the words being exchanged, moreso the tone.

Or, more importantly– how Steve said them. Emphasized certain vowels that he wouldn't unless he was in the presence of someone really close.

Just the thought tightens his grip on the small rose clasped tightly in between his fingers and he decides to finally make himself known by making a detour into the candy aisle beside the front desk, going over to get a pack of black liquorish and throwing the item down at the counter for you to ring up.

Your eyes fling up in startle, as though you hadn't noticed Billy at all until the very moment he slammed the unsavory candy on the counter, the plastic brushing a strand of Steve's hair on the way down.

Maybe it was a little bit of an overreaction, but he couldn't help it.

There were instances in which Billy acted purely upon instinct or impulse. Moments in which he let those feelings go to his head and not only let it manifest into words, sometimes that energy even moved his entire body without asking.

You had paused mid-sentence to take in the scene before you. How could you not?

Steve was dumbfounded. Not because the candy was an offense to his palate but because the intensity with which Billy pushed the packaged item towards you was a big one.

Steve moved away from the man looming over his shoulder, offended for his friend across the counter.

The first time Steve had walked in on you two, Billy wanted to kill him –almost killed him. Whatever he was about to retort would most likely have the same outcome.

Because it didn't matter how nicely Billy dressed or spoke to you, Steve could still see the shadow of Billy in his mind, a storm all his own lurking underneath flesh.

"We're still talking. " The brunette finally speaks up, motioning back and forth between himself and you.

Billy snorts and rolls his eyes, trying his hardest not to call the boy across from him something more obscene than asshole because he knows it would lose him any chance of speaking to you.

"You're a worker, right? " Billy plants his forearm on the counter, mocking Steve's pervious position.

"Work. " He spits.

You stare back at him pointedly, hands on your waist before you grab the item and run it across the scanner. A green light graces you skin and a beep fills the empty room.

"52 cents, sir. " You retort simply.

Sir.

Sir.

"Sir?" Billy reels, face controrting into disgust. The word burned all over, and surely the older boy in front of him knew how much that word would affect him. He must've known that it'd make Billy Hargrove piss his pants.

You did.

But nevertheless, Billy pulls his wallet out and drops a five on the counter, telling you to keep the rest.

The plastic covering of the candy crinkles under your fingers as you lift it from the counter, passing it back to the blonde.

Your fingers brush beneath the packaging and all air seems to whoosh out of Billy's lung in response.

You meets his eyes in the middle.

It's silent for a moment.

–Save for Steve who's munching on the same type of candy just off to the side.

The blonde blinks, once, twice. His brows raising again like they had in his car. Billy can feel it, and he fights the urge to pull his fingers away but he doesn't, both of your hands just dangling there for a minute longer.

"Mm!" Steve chokes suddenly, wincing right after as the liquorish becomes a glob in his mouth and his body jerks backwards in discomfort.

It breaks the moment but Billy has an easier time collecting himself than his competitor.

"Steve. " You exclaim and you make a move towards him, patting your friends back with exaggerated aggression.

"I'm okay. " He rasps. "I'm okay. " He raises his hands up in the air but his words deceive him as he starts another fit of coughing.

After a minute or so of more gagging and choking and violent beatings on the back, Steve finally manages to swallow, with a loud groan of course.

You manage a laugh at the boys struggle, masking the noise the bell atop the door makes when it flies open.

And when you turn back around, half a grin still on your face, you're met with emptiness.

That, and a singular rose haphazardly placed on the counter.

[thatsmybook]

A few times, I've heard Lisa and Rojda talk about how Young Royals is about the class system and a queer Prince, but also, it's relatable because not only do the cast look like teenagers, they act like teenagers in today's world. So it's also a show about teenagers. With that in mind, I'd like to talk about Simon Eriksson, working class, immigrant, and mixed race student at Hillerska, falling in love with the Prince.

Simon, in S1, deliberately kept any problems about Sara and his life at Hillerska hidden from his mum because he did not want to burden her. He lied to reassure her when she'd get worried about Sara and equally made decisions to help Sara's wellbeing at school. It seemed that he was taking care of his mum and sister when his dad left and after the abusive relationship that seemed to have really affected the whole family. This is why he doesn't share anything bad that he's going through with his mum. He's trying to protect her. He always has.

As to the comments he is getting. I think he is reading them because often they concern his family and are from the people in their town. That, along with the phone calls at night and hate-mail mentioned by Linda at the court hearing in S3 ep1, this means that he's on hyper-vigilance about threats to him and his family. So, my theory is that he is monitoring his comments and engaging to try to defuse things. But just like in all 3 seasons, his actions often lead to more problems.

This is a 16 year old kid, the youngest in his family, doing things an adult should be doing. This is very relatable for many working-class single parent families. Something to add about first-generation kids of immigrant families, having an extra layer of working to help the family navigate the country and society they're in.

Also, as to the comments, there have been many real life incidents, unfortunately , of teenagers getting hate comments online from their peers and bullied to the point of taking their own lives. Simply telling them not to read the comments may not have worked for them. (Yet so many reactors to this season think it's that simple).

Simon is getting a volumous amount of hate comments, which started right after the sex video was released in S1. At that point, the comments were in the print media.

He needs actual support, less obliviousness from the adults in his life about what is happening to him (that includes the Royal Court), and understanding about the actual effect of comments on his mental health from everyone around him. He is a victim of actual hate, and when I hear about any child going through that kind of regular abuse, my heart goes out to them.

Seeing how supportive Simon's dad could be in this 3rd season in his conversations with Sara, we can see how much Simon actually misses his dad. Because had he had a relationship with him, without the baggage of Sara's need for distance, he would have probably noticed that Simme needed help and been quite good at it, when he could manage it.

However, we as the audience seem to be blinded by Wille's more important problems, partly because the show is largely from his POV, but also because his pressures seem bigger. As a result, I've seen fans come down on Simon for not putting his life's woes in perspective to support Wille more. We start to see big cracks in their relationship and start to feel that they just won't work out.

But, they're also just kids in their first relationship. Miscommunication is completely normal at that age. They've only just been spending actual time with each other this season and getting to know each other. Yet they are dealing with adult problems, and so many of us fans are shouting at the screen - talk to each other! I feel like, if I were one of them, there is so much weight on me that I'd be too scared to open the floodgates and actually tell my boyfriend what's happening because I don't want to scare him. And no wonder they spend most of their time making out. It's the easiest part of their relationship and what gives them actual joy at the moment.

So I give grace to these characters and kudos to the creators of the show, for showing ACTUAL teenagers dealing with real life problems, amplified for drama because of the dichotomy of being a Prince and a commoner. But, I don't judge ANY of the characters when I apply the same analysis I've given here to Simon to all the other four characters. What this show requires of us adults is empathy for their plight and maybe a closer look at the teenagers in our lives. What it does for the teen audience is show them that they're not alone when they mess up or are dealing with life pressures. We as a society won't judge them. We will work to understand them and share their burdens.

[iheartbrink]

it will rain — chap. 1

 ⠀ ── ⠀ pair: pastors daughter!stewie x oc

 ⠀ ── ⠀ warnings: extremely heavy religious talk, religious guilt, talks of conversion camp, all the things, this is wordy and too long.

 ⠀ ── ⠀ a/n: my brain is fried from writing this.. not proofread whatsoever.

Breanna knew what she was doing was wrong. Every fiber of her being screamed it. She knew that by crossing this line, she was damning herself. Damning herself not just in the eyes of her parents, her church, or her peers, but in the eyes of God. The teachings she’d grown up with were clear: girls like her were not meant to love girls like Madison. They were meant to confess these urges and purge themselves of these sinful desires. Yet, here she was, on the precipice of something that could never be undone.

She knew, with bone-deep certainty, that if her mother—let alone her father—ever found out about what she was doing, she would be sent away. There would be no forgiveness, no understanding, only punishment. Maybe she’d be shipped off to one of those camps. Or perhaps they’d try to “pray the gay away” during one of the church’s all-night revival sessions. Either way, Breanna wouldn’t be allowed to stay.

She would be sent away.

Sent away from the one person who had ever truly seen her. Sent away from the only person who made her feel as though she wasn’t walking through life with a mask on, pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Sent away from her first love, her real love. The one she’d never expected, and yet couldn’t deny.

But what if she wasn’t sent away? What if her secret remained? Could she live with it, knowing it defied everything she had been taught? What would it mean for her, and Madison, if they managed to keep this under wraps? Would the love they shared be worth the risk of eternal damnation?

 ⠀ ── ⠀

Rosewood, California, wasn’t exactly a place for people like Breanna. Not for a queer girl growing up under the suffocating expectations of the church. Certainly not for the daughter of Pastor Stewart, who led Rosewood Catholic Church with an iron grip on morality. In this small town, Breanna was not just Breanna Stewart. She was the Breanna Stewart—church princess, moral compass for others, and the girl who seemingly had it all figured out.

But no one knew about the unrest raging beneath her exterior. Not her father, her mother, or even Lucas—the boy she was supposed to be in love with.

Lucas was a nice enough guy, she supposed, but Breanna couldn’t help the gnawing emptiness she felt whenever he kissed her. There was no spark, no fire, only an odd sense of obligation. She tried to convince herself that this was just how things were meant to be. That she should feel lucky to have a good guy like Lucas, but deep down she knew it was a lie.

Because whenever she looked at her best friend, Madison, her heart surged in a way it never did for Lucas. The way Madison laughed, the way her hair fell in waves over her shoulders, the way she smiled at Breanna like she was the most important person in the world—those things ignited something within her she could not deny.

Breanna had convinced herself for so long that she wasn’t gay. She wasn’t. She couldn’t be. After all, being gay was a sin, and Breanna Stewart didn’t sin. At least, she wasn’t supposed to. But the feelings she had for Madison were impossible to ignore. She could push them down, try to hide them away, but they always resurfaced, stronger each time.

And tonight, they were about to come to a head.

 ⠀ ── ⠀

Breanna knew that coming to this party was a terrible idea. She knew the moment she stepped through the door that she should’ve turned around and gone home.

She had told herself she would stay for an hour, just long enough to show her face and then leave before anything went too far. But somehow, she found herself drawn into a circle of friends playing Seven Minutes in Heaven, a game she had heard about but never dared to play. Not with Madison sitting right next to her, her best friend, her not-so-secret crush.

Now, she was about to enter that dark, claustrophobic closet with Madison. Seven minutes. Alone. With the one person, she had forbidden herself from ever thinking about this way. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she stood up to go inside, the air in the room feeling thick and oppressive.

“This is a bad idea,” Breanna thought, over and over again. But her feet kept moving, carrying her forward. She told herself it was just a game, just an innocent little game. She could kiss Madison, prove to herself that it wasn’t all that. Prove to herself that this was nothing more than a phase.

“Kiss her once, show yourself how horrible it is. Then you’ll never crave it again,” Breanna whispered under her breath as they stepped inside the cramped space together.

But the moment Madison’s arm brushed against hers, doubt crept in. The warmth of her skin sent a shiver down Breanna’s spine. The familiar scent of Madison’s perfume filled the small closet, making it hard to breathe.

What if this wasn’t as bad of an idea as she had convinced herself? What if kissing Madison wasn’t a mistake, but rather, the thing she had been denying herself for so long? What if, instead of pushing her further away, this kiss brought them closer together?

She swallowed hard, torn between the pull of desire and the fear of losing everything she had built with Madison.

“Just a quick kiss,” Breanna murmured, the words barely a whisper, her voice unrecognizable to her own ears. Madison’s eyes widened in surprise, searching Breanna’s face for any sign of uncertainty.

“Are you sure?” Madison asked, her voice soft but filled with concern, her breath warm against Breanna’s cheek.

Breanna nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. “Yeah. Just this once.”

Madison hesitated for a moment, and then leaned in. Their lips met softly at first, a gentle touch that sent a shockwave through Breanna’s entire body. Her breath hitched, and for a second, she thought about pulling away. But something deeper took over, and before she knew it, the kiss deepened.

Time seemed to stop. There was no party, no game, no world outside of this kiss. There was only Madison. And as their lips moved together, slow and tentative at first, then more confident, Breanna felt something ignite within her that she hadn’t known was there.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, Breanna knew in that instant that this wasn’t just a moment of weakness. This wasn’t a mistake to be buried and forgotten. This was the beginning of something far bigger, something she could no longer ignore.

It wasn’t a sin. It was love. And love, no matter what they said, couldn’t be wrong. Could it?

[kallisto-aglaia]

I guess I'll post this here, as well

I, like most of you, am not thrilled with the results of this election. Of course, I was incredibly optimistic; even arrogant at times in my assertion that we would be seeing our first female president. But, America let me down.

That's not to say I'm surprised that America let me down; it's only the truth. I won't use this to speak in Hyperbole and throw out extreme hypothetical scenarios that the left are clinging to in order to guilt trip and scare people (ie, the Handmaidens Tale, the Holocaust, etc), but I will instead repeat what a good friend of mine said last night:

"America loves fascism as long as the trains arrive on time (and the milk is 34¢ cheaper)."

I won't necessarily say that I'm scared, because we've done this before, and truly, four years is really not a huge amount of time in the grand scheme of things. But, as a superstitious woman, I can't help but think of the Oracles I received yesterday.

"Be brave. Do not let Death weigh on your mind. See, I nod my head so you can trust me."

Strap in, hold on tight, cling to your community and to the people who love you. We will get through this. The minority people of the United States are--of course--minorities, but we are pretty damn perseverant and strong. Civil rights, female liberation, black liberation, and the decriminalization of queerness were not achieved overnight.

I'll leave with these words:

يٰۤـاَيُّهَا الَّذِيۡنَ اٰمَنُوا اصۡبِرُوۡا وَصَابِرُوۡا وَرَابِطُوۡا وَاتَّقُوا اللّٰهَ لَعَلَّكُمۡ تُفۡلِحُوۡنَ

"Oh, you who believe! Persevere in patience and consistency. Vie in such perseverance, strengthen each other, and be pious so that you may prosper."

Ἡττῶ ὑπὸ δικαίου

Be overcome by Justice

Ὕβριν μίσει

Despise insolence

Εὔχου δυνατά

Pray for things possible

Ὁμοίοις χρῶ

Associate with your peers

Ἀλύπως βίου

Live without sorrow

Πόνει μετ’ εὐκλείας

Struggle with glory

Πρᾶττε ἀμετανοήτως

Act without repentance

[chargoeson]

Hello! Writeblr re-Introduction

hiiiii pals! I made my writeblr introduction last year and it was such a good intro to the community! but as time goes on and organizations fall i want to re-introduce myself and my writing without any associations.

my name is Charlotte, but you can call me Char as well. She/Her, I'm 25, queer, and live in the Pacific Northwest of the United States.

I write literary fiction with a special affection for surrealism and dream-like vibes. I do have a couple soft fantasy and short story projects that I've made posts for, but I'll stick to my litfic on this pinned post as they are my passion projects!

themes I often explore in these books are: isolation, anxiety, complex relationships between mothers and daughters, bisexuality, winter, dissociation, and overall rural misery!

I have a bachelor's degree in English Language and Literature and paid special attention to Gothic and Romantic movements.

on top of writing, I also love quilting/sewing, collage making, playing Stardew Valley and Baldur's Gate 3, and doing DIY home renovations.

Reading is my passion, even more so than writing! My favorite authors are Murakami, Mieko Kawakami, the Bronte sisters, Iain Reid, Han Kang, and Ottessa Moshfegh.

my three main WIPS can stand alone but are technically a trilogy. read about them after the cut!

The Ballad of a Blue Whale-- This novella was written in November, 2023. It follows Maren Hara, a recent college graduate who has to move back in with her father, a rigid and unfeeling doctor. To cope with the emotional distance of her father and the slow dissolution of her relationships she begins walking through the night. Both to be away from home and removed from her current life. It’s during these walks she finds a jazz bar in an adjoining city. The patrons, and especially the owner of this bar, captivate her. At the core of the narrative is her inability to open herself to others, and how attempts to do so are physically and mentally cataclysmic, although necessary. As she finds herself, she loses both her old life and this interim space. 

I Want to Build a Home with You-- This novel is in the first draft/development stage. I began in December, 2023. Its events follow Leonie Richards as she walks her grandmother, famed novelist Hellen Barnaby, through the final weeks of her life then inherits her home. Leonie, once an infamous performance artist, decides to settle into a life of portrait painting for a small but wealthy pool of clients left to her by her grandmother. Her old peers. After Hellen’s death, Leonie’s final connections to the outside world are her strange clients, the art store clerk, and her uncle Ox who is embittered by his lack of inheritance. The longer she stays in the home, the stranger things seem to be. She wakes up ragged, dirt under her fingernails with memories of a rock formation in the forest she has never seen. Forest spirits or generational curse, there is a limerence threatening her life. 

No Glory-- Special Agent Seth Barnaby has been tasked with investigating the mysterious, possibly cult-associated murders of young women across the state, but this one could be the key. To decode the newest set of clues he teams up with Director of Anthropology Dr. Miel Noh and they get into the field. The small town misleads them at every turn, from an odd boy named Calf to the corpse of a girl who was staying in his family’s motel. With Seth’s checkered past he recognizes the patterns, but time is of the essence and if they don’t find answers another woman could die. With no way out, they return to the only lead Seth knows: an institutionalized man who confessed to the first murder that brought Seth to the FBI years ago.

and that's a wrap! thank you for reading, would love to reconnect with writers from last year as well as new friends. feel free to slide into my asks, follow, or join the tag list.

tags: @annlillyjose @coffeeandcalligraphy @subtlefires @belovedviolence @onomatopiya @thelaughingstag

[ohdorothea]

This tournament is being run by and for queer fans so please keep that in mind! Homophobes will be blocked on sight <3 More polls here and more info here! Lyrics for the songs and FAQ under the cut!!!

Midnight Rain lyrics

Rain

He wanted it comfortable

I wanted that pain

He wanted a bride

I was making my own name

Chasing that fame

He stayed the same

All of me changed

Like midnight

My town was a wasteland

Full of cages, full of fences

Pageant queens and big pretenders

But for some it was paradise

My boy was a montage

A slow motion, love potion

Jumping off things in the ocean

I broke his heart 'cause he was nice

He was sunshine

I was midnight rain

He wanted it comfortable

I wanted that pain

He wanted a bride

I was making my own name

Chasing that fame

He stayed the same

All of me changed

Like midnight

It came like a postcard

Picture perfect shiny family

Holiday peppermint candy

But for him it's every day

So I peered through a window

A deep portal, time travel

All the love we unravel

And the life I gave away

'Cause he was sunshine

I was midnight rain

He wanted it comfortable

I wanted that pain

He wanted a bride

I was making my own name

Chasing that fame

He stayed the same

All of me changed

Like midnight

Rain

He wanted it comfortable

I wanted that pain

He wanted a bride

I was making my own name

Chasing that fame

He stayed the same

All of me changed

Like midnight

I guess sometimes we all get

Just what we wanted, just what we wanted

And he never thinks of me

Except when I'm on TV

I guess sometimes we all get

Some kind of haunted, some kind of haunted

And I never think of him

Except on midnights like this

Midnights like this

🫶🫶🫶

Bejeweled lyrics

Baby love, I think I've been a little too kind

Didn't notice you walking all over my peace of mind

In the shoes I gave you as a present

Putting someone first only works when you're in their top five

And by the way

I'm going out tonight

Best believe I'm still bejeweled

When I walk in the room

I can still make the whole place shimmer

And when I meet the band

They ask, "Do you have a man?"

I could still say, "I don't remember"

Familiarity breeds contempt

Don't put me in the basement

When I want the penthouse of your heart

Diamonds in my eyes

I polish up real

I polish up real nice

Nice

Baby boy, I think I've been too good of a girl

Too good of a girl

Did all the extra credit then got graded on a curve

I think it's time to teach some lessons

I made you my world

Have you heard?

I can reclaim the land

And I miss you

But I miss sparkling

(Nice) Best believe I'm still bejeweled

When I walk in the room

I can still make the whole place shimmer

And when I meet the band

They ask, "Do you have a man?"

I could still say, "I don't remember"

Familiarity breeds contempt

Don't put me in the basement

When I want the penthouse of your heart

Diamonds in my eyes

I polish up real

I polish up real nice

Nice

Sapphire tears on my face

Sadness became my whole sky

But some guy said my aura's moonstone

Just 'cause he was high

And we're dancing all night

And you can try

To change my mind

But you might have to wait in line

What's a girl gonna do?

A diamond's gotta shine

Best believe I'm still bejeweled

When I walk in the room

I can still make the whole place shimmer

And when I meet the band

They ask, "Do you have a man?"

I could still say, "I don't remember"

Familiarity breeds contempt

Don't put me in the basement

When I want the penthouse of your heart

Diamonds in my eyes

I polish up real (Nice)

I polish up real nice

And we're dancing all night

And you can try

To change my mind

But you might have to wait in line

What's a girl gonna do?

What's a girl gonna do?

I polish up nice

Best believe I'm still bejeweled

When I walk in the room

I can still make the whole place shimmer

🫶🫶🫶

The question is which song is queerer to you! Queerer can mean whatever you want it to mean; you might consider a song queer because you think it was written that way, or because of Swiftian lore. It might be queer to you because of how you relate it to your own life. Maybe you think from a purely literary standpoint the lyrics have queer themes; maybe you're just thinking about vibes!!!

If you’d like to send in interpretations or propaganda for a specific song you can send them to my inbox! All interpretations are welcome and let’s be open and kind in response to all interpretations <3

[sixhours]

our endless numbered days

A continuation of the events in who knows where the time goes and reprise from the i know you by heart universe. This will make more sense if you've read those, but you do you.

This fic has everything! A dash of angst (forgive me, I can't write Joel without at least a little angst), nosy Tommy, a Joel/Tess interlude, family time with the kids, a slightly drunk Ellie, and two middle-aged dudes making out. What's not to love?

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut. Words: 12k Tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Prospect, Joel Miller x Ezra, Joel & Ellie, Ezra & Cee, Joel x Tess, Tess Servopoulos, Tommy Miller, idiots in love, Joel is bad at feelings, Ellie is a little shit (affectionate), Cee is also a little shit (affectionate), fluff!, soft fluff!, a dash of angst because I can't help myself, SMUT, gay sex, bisexual!Joel, period-typical homophobia, light angst, happy ending, romance, soft queer dads being so soft, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

Notes: For @jessthebaker. <3 Merry Christmas from your AWLJM Secret Santa! You once said you’d read anything with these two, and you asked for Miller-family-in-Jackson shenanigans, so I hope this hits the right notes. Thank you for being such an avid supporter of this fandom and this series. <3

The title comes from the album of the same name by Iron & Wine, and specifically the song Passing Afternoon which gives me cozy Jackson vibes.

Joel wakes early, curled up against Ezra’s naked back. The other man’s ability to hog the damn bed is impressive–his arm hanging off the side, one long leg stretching to the opposite corner–but the chill in their room has Joel grateful for his closeness. They’d moved from the couch when it became obvious they were too fucking old to manage a night on the furniture, and his knees are still complaining, but there’s a giddy seed of happiness in his chest.

Outside, the fresh snow has gathered in drifts, wind-blown. They’ll need to shovel out at some point, and they’ll probably be called up to clear the town walkways later, but for now, Jackson sleeps under a pristine white blanket.

It’s a good day for pancakes.

Half an hour later, he’s donned his thermals under a pair of flannel-lined jeans and a wool sweater, built up the fire in the woodstove, and picked up their clothes off the living room floor. He’s working on coffee and the pancake batter when there’s a frantic knock at the front door.

Joel goes to open it, finds Ellie shivering on the porch in her pajamas.

“You have a key,” he grouches, ushering her inside. “The hell’s your coat, anyway?”

“Didn’t think I’d need either, you never lock it,” she says, stamping her feet to shake off the snow. She glances into the living room, squints at something. “Dude…I’m not gonna ask why there’s a pair of boxers under the coffee table.”

Oops.

“Good,” Joel says, keeping his back turned so she won’t see him blush. “Then I won’t ask why I found your damn bra in the couch cushions last week.”

“If you had to wear one of those torture devices every day, you’d take it off the first chance you got, too,” she shoots back, then looks over his shoulder at the kitchen. “Ooh, pancakes? Did I miss a birthday or something?”

“Don’t need to have a birthday to have pancakes.”

“Yeah, but usually they’re just for special occasions or Sundays or whatever.”

“Just seemed like a good day for it. Snow day n’ all.”

She peers at him suspiciously. “Huh.”

“What?”

“You’re just unusually chipper for someone who’s gonna have to spend the day shoveling this shit.”

Joel snorts. “Don’t remind me. D’you want pancakes or what?”

“Uh, duh .”

“Then make yourself useful an’ set the table. Think we still have some strawberry preserves left over from the summer in there, too.”

“Yes, sir!” she mock-salutes, heading for the fridge.

The first pancakes are ready to be flipped when he reaches across the counter to grab a spatula. He crosses Ellie’s line of vision as she’s putting butter on a small plate and suddenly she’s grabbing at his hand.

“The heck are you–oh.”

She’s staring, bug-eyed, at the simple gold band on his finger.

“What the–where’d this come from?”

She really does notice everything.

“Uh–yeah, guess we, uh…need to talk about that.”

She blinks up at him incredulously. “Is this what I think it is?”

Joel rubs at the back of his neck. “Well…we kinda–”

“Are you two–did you get engaged?”

“We mighta skipped that part…”

“You got married ?” she half shrieks.

“Uh–”

“And you didn’t tell me ?”

“I–ah shit!” Joel hisses.

Smoke wafts from the pan. He grabs the spatula but the first batch is a lost cause.

“I think what your surrogate father figure is trying to say is, it was a spur-of-the-moment lark, gem. Nothing planned, and certainly nothing we intended to keep from you.”

Ezra has appeared at the kitchen door, leaning against the frame in his sweatpants and a flannel that looks suspiciously like Joel’s. Between Ellie and Ezra, Joel’s wardrobe is slowly being co-opted into a family affair.

Fuckin’ communism.

“What he said,” Joel sighs, flipping the burnt pancakes into the trash and fiddling with the heat before adding fresh batter to the pan.

“Seriously?” she gapes, looking back and forth between them, settling on Ezra. “Oh my god, do I have to call you ‘dad’ now?”

“You don’t even call me dad,” Joel grumbles.

“Dude, shut up, I’m talking to my evil stepmother.”

“Been watchin’ too many Disney movies. Mornin’, by the way,” he say, smiling wryly at Ezra. “She knows, I guess.”

“Dude! Wait, who asked who? Did you get down on one knee?”

“He asked me, but the sentiment was mutual,” Ezra says. “And…no. Not exactly.”

Joel waits for the inevitable joke about his knees cracking, but Ellie is too entranced by this new development to make one. Small favors.

Soon he doles out the pancakes onto three plates and brings them to the table, dropping a kiss at Ezra’s temple before taking his usual seat.

“Huh. Still gross,” Ellie says mildly, prompting a revenge forehead kiss for her, too. She wrinkles her nose and pretends to push him away, but she’s grinning, reaching for the syrup. Like another child Joel adored, she pours the stuff over her pancakes until they’re practically swimming.

“Better not be wastin’ that syrup, kid.”

“You know I won’t,” she huffs, cutting into the stack and taking a giant bite before he can remind her to go easy. Practically eighteen and she’s still a tiny thing who eats like she’s starving. It’s a wonder she hasn’t choked to death.

“Sh’iz so fuckin’ weird,” she says, words muffled by her chewing. “Don’t you have to, like, register with the council or something? Say some vows? What about the cake?”

“Uh, no,” Joel says. “Don’t have to do any a’that.”

“Why the hell would you get married if you don’t even get to have a fucking cake?” she says.

“There used to be certain legal benefits,” Ezra muses. “In this day and age, it’s more a…show of commitment.”

“Right,” Joel mumbles. “Don’t need to be a big deal.”

“Hmm. I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Ezra offers thoughtfully. “It’s a very big deal. Especially when you consider the history, the matrimonial bond for same-sex couples back in the day was a pretty sad state of affairs…and Jackson is the exception to the rule. I don’t recall FEDRA giving out marriage licenses to queer folk.”

“I don’t–I just meant…we don’t need to make a show of anythin’.”

“And what if I wanted a bit of fanfare, hm?” Ezra asks nonchalantly, gesturing with his fork. “The wedding of every little boy’s dreams? Flowers, champagne, a sparkly white dress–”

Ellie giggles. “Dude.”

“I could pull it off,” Ezra smirks.

Joel barely hears any of this. He fumbles for his coffee and tries to clear his throat.

“I–you–you do? I mean, do you?”

Had he fucked this up already? He’d been enchanted, dopey with lovestruck affection and not thinking entirely with his brain when he’d presented the rings. Truly, he hadn’t been thinking much at all, warmed by the fire and the thought of his future husband’s hand in his and then, well, everything had turned very–

“Awwwww-kard,” Ellie says through a mouthful of pancakes, and Joel shoots her a look.

“Kid–”

But Ezra is grinning, watching Joel get more and more flustered. “I’m pullin’ your leg, songbird. No fuss necessary on my account.”

Joel returns to his food, still nursing a seed of discontent when his thoughts are interrupted by slurping, Ellie having tipped up her plate, licking it clean.

“What!?” she says off his look, wiping the back of her mouth with her sleeve. “Told you I wouldn’t waste it.”

“Raised in a goddamn barn,” Joel mutters, looking to Ezra for sympathy, only to find him doing the same thing.

“Waste not, want not,” Ezra chirps, and Joel doesn’t miss the wink he gives Ellie across the table.

They’re already ganging up on him. Christ .

Later, after Ellie has bounced out the door with a promise to help shovel, they’re dressing to go out and brave the snow, pulling on thick coats and gloves.

“Hey,” Joel tries. “I, uh…about the whole, uh, wedding…thing. If you wanted…somethin’ more...I guess I prob’ly shoulda asked, but I wasn’t, uh…”

He rubs at the back of his neck, feeling just as awkward and fumbling as he had the day they first met. Two years together and the man can still turn him into a bumbling idiot. He’s fuckin’ hopeless.

Ezra’s expression softens. “I genuinely had no expectations…ceremonial or otherwise.”

“You sure? ‘Cause we can…if you–”

Ezra shakes his head firmly. “I’m certain. This,” he murmurs, reassuring him with a soft kiss. “This is more than enough.”

Joel is clearing the walkways in front of the Bison just before lunch when Anders walks by and claps him on the shoulder in passing.

“Congrats, man!”

It takes him several minutes to puzzle out what the hell he’s being congratulated for.

By the end of that day, enough of their neighbors have extended well-wishes that Joel knows Ellie must have talked to someone. Probably Dina, the unofficial Jackson town crier. When there was local news to share–and a couple making it official in their tiny community was exactly the kind of gossip that spread–Ellie and Dina were more efficient than a local news broadcast.

Tommy’s shit-eating grin the next morning at the stables is enough to confirm his suspicions.

“Heard congratulations are in order, big brother.”

“Ellie told you, huh?”

“Yup. But why the hell am I hearin’ about it from your kid and not you?”

Joel shrugs, smiles to himself. “Seem to remember you getting hitched without tellin’ me. Among other things.”

“You ever gonna consider letting me live that down?” Tommy asks cheerfully.

“Don’t reckon so.”

“Well, I’ll be the bigger man and forgive you,” Tommy says. “And I’ll do you one better and warn you; the girls are fixin’ to throw you two a surprise party.”

Joel groans, starts to open his mouth to protest, but Tommy holds up a hand.

“Look, you didn’t hear it from me. But don’t bother tryin’ to fight ‘em on this; Ellie’s invested and Maria’s always lookin’ for an excuse to lighten things up around here. I made ‘em promise to keep it small, but…”

He shrugs as if to say What can you do?

Joel huffs, tightens the strap on the saddle and tugs on the reins to lead Old Beardy out. Tommy follows with Justified, and soon they’re mounted up and riding through the gates.

“Gonna be a helluva week,” Tommy mutters. “Got half the crew off with that flu thing goin’ around. Think I’m on the damn schedule every day ‘til March.”

Joel grunts. “Yeah, me too.”

“Gonna make for a short honeymoon, huh?”

“Jesus Christ,” Joel mutters, urging his horse to pick up the pace amidst Tommy’s delighted laughter.

It’s an uneventful if slow ride, the trail soft and not yet packed down after the storm. They take out a couple of runners from a distance–can barely be called runners, though, forced to shuffle and stumble through drifts, making them easy targets. Tommy’s in a chatty mood, and Joel is content to let him hold up the brunt of the conversation, business as usual. They’re taking lunch after clearing the outpost just outside Wilson when Tommy brings it up again, the serious note in his voice immediately setting Joel on edge.

“Y’know I’m happy for you, right?”

“Uhhh…yeah,” Joel says, opening the logbook.

“Think Sarah woulda got along real nice with y’all.”

The thought doesn’t stir the same hurt it used to, doesn’t bring him to his knees with grief, but his brother’s doing that thing he does with his hands when he wants to say something and doesn’t know how. He frowns.

“Sure…”

“I don’t–uh…I mean, I knew you weren’t…y’know. Glad it’s…glad Ezra’s good. Good for you. Even if he’s not, uh…not who I woulda…I just–”

Joel fixes him with a blank stare. “Spit it out, Tommy.”

His brother rubs at the back of his neck. Joel tenses, waiting for some just-shy-of-homophobic remark, the kind he’s grown all too familiar with over the last couple years. 

You don’t look like the type.

Joel Miller? I never would’ve thought.

Although he’d really hoped never to hear it from Tommy, who, until now, had kept silent about his brother’s inclinations. As he damn well should.

But he remembers all too well where they grew up, and old habits are hard to break.

Tommy sighs. “Haven’t seen you this happy since…since Tess, is all.”

Hearing the name jars him, his pen stuttering over the page, marring his signoff. He swallows the sudden lump in his throat, feels the weight of the new ring on his finger acutely. Just like his brother, to poke at a sore spot he didn’t even know he had.

“Yeah,” Joel mutters, slapping the book shut. “Thanks.”

“Sometimes I wonder what she’d make of all this,” Tommy says, chuckling, running a hand through his curls. “Communism. Fuck, she’d think we lost our damn minds.”

It occurs to him, probably two years too late, that Tess was just as much Tommy’s friend as Joel’s. Even if they weren’t exactly on speaking terms by the time Tommy ran off with the Fireflies, the three of them had once been close enough to be called family.

“You ever think about her?” Tommy asks when they’re mounted up and headed back toward town. There’s an edge to his voice that tells Joel he knows he’s treading dangerous ground.

“Not much,” Joel says tightly. Truth be told, it was closer to not at all until today, but like hell he’s going to tell his brother that.

You don't bring up Tess, ever .

Seems like he did a damn good job of taking his own advice, for once.

“Huh,” he says, too lightly. “Well…I think she’d be happy for you, too, big brother.”

Joel grunts and says nothing, stares straight down the path in hopes of ending this conversation right fuckin’ now. It works, and Tommy’s usual chatter dies down to the occasional comment on their surroundings.

But the damage is done and a slow-festering guilt has already begun blooming behind Joel’s ribs at the mention of her name.

It’s a long, cold ride back to Jackson.

Tommy’s not wrong about the patrol schedule. For the next ten days, they’re on duty from sunup to sundown. Thankfully wintertime means they’re mostly uneventful rides, but he puts in a lot of miles, the kind of days that leave his back achy and his ass and hips sore. Most nights he comes home bone-tired, with just enough energy to eat something and shower before falling into bed.

For his part, Ezra waits up for him to make sure he has a hot meal, teases about becoming a “proper little ménagère, ” and threatens to find a frilly apron at the trading post to complete the look. Meanwhile, Joel just tries not to fall asleep on the couch…and fails most of the time.

All the while, riding the trails with his patrol partners, he has too much time to think.

And for the first time in years, he’s thinking of Tess.

Fifteen years as partners. Two months traveling together before they’d fallen into bed and swore to keep each other’s secrets. It was more than he gave anyone back then, but it had never really been enough.

She asked once. Just once.

And he’d turned away. Got shitfaced. They never talked about it again, but she still came home to their bed every night.

…not to feel the way I felt.

And it wasn’t like she’d asked for much. Certainly nothing as formal as a proposal or a ring or even a promise. Just his heart, shattered as it was, and he couldn’t even manage that.

Then it was too late. Made him promise to save who he could and sacrificed herself for him, for Ellie, for the hope of a future she would never see. She would never know what she’d done for him.

Her memory haunts him, nags at him, makes a home under his skin like a splinter. She’s there, hovering at the edges of his consciousness, a ghost in his peripheral vision. He sees glimpses of her on patrols, in the lurch of a small, slight woman in flannel, infected; in someone’s long, red-auburn hair at the stables; in a rough laugh amongst the crowds at the dining hall.

And then one night, he dreams. The kind of dream he hasn’t had in months, the kind of dream he used to have over and over, but this time it’s Tess instead of Sarah.

Tess, yelling at him to help her, goddammit, there’s gotta be something .

Tess, pulling back her collar to reveal the bite with one already twitching hand.

Tess, twisted and gnarled with infection, caught in a sea of flames.

He wakes sweating and panting with a scream stuck in his throat and her mutilated face burned into the backs of his eyelids.

“Joel? Wha-happened?”

Ezra stirs at his side, voice thick with sleep.

“It’s…it’s nothin’,” he says roughly, still trying to catch his breath. “Go back to sleep.”

Then there’s a hesitant hand on his shoulder, and he lets himself be pulled down and pressed into the cradle of Ezra’s good arm. Soon his breath flutters the hair at his temple, slow and even, but Joel doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

Five years earlier

“Shouldn’t have turned around,” Joel grumbles, hissing as he puts more weight on his bad leg. “We coulda made it.”

Tess looks up at him from under his left arm; he’s been using her as a human crutch for the last quarter mile.

“Sure,” she says drily, grunting as they take another uncoordinated, shuffling step. Behind them, black storm clouds are rolling in faster than they can walk and the wind has already picked up, whipping the first drops of rain hard enough to sting their cheeks. “You wanna get caught in this shit, be my guest, but I’m not gonna get soaked on your account, and you can’t fuckin’ walk.”

“Gonna be late. They won’t let us in.”

“Frank won’t care.”

“Bill will.”

 A dry chuckle. “Yeah, well…we both know Bill’s not in charge.”

They’d done the trip from Boston to Lincoln dozens of times without incident, but today, the raiders took them by surprise. It was rare to find a group so ballsy as to fuck with Joel and Tess. Their reputation extended well beyond the walls of the QZ, but apparently these folks hadn’t heard about them, or they were feeling brave, desperate, stupid, or some combination of the three.

All four men were now littering the side of the road about half a mile back, but Joel took a bullet to the calf for the trouble.

“Just a graze,” he’d said tightly, blood pooling sticky and warm in his boot, but Tess took one look at the damage and shook her head in disgust. They were a mile past one of their cache houses, and Lincoln was at least six miles down the road.

“We’ll get to the safehouse, get that bullet out of your leg, wait out the storm,” Tess said in a voice that suggested the decision was final.

It usually was with her.

The safehouse is an old hunting cabin off a logging road. They’d set it up as a cache years ago but hadn’t had much need for it given the proximity to Lincoln. The rain has begun in full force and they’re already soaked by the time Tess confirms the place is clear, Joel sagging against the side of the building to keep watch.

Once they’re safely inside, Joel collapses onto the cabin’s only piece of furniture, a decrepit sofa. Tess is rummaging around in her pack and pulls out the first aid kit– a box of cloths, a flask of alcohol, a needle and thread, a lighter, and a roll of duct tape.

“Pants off, Texas.”

He’s in too much pain for innuendo. Tess unwraps the makeshift bandage, already soaked with blood, and he slides his jeans down with a groan and a muffled curse. Then she unbuttons her short-sleeved button-down, stripping down to her bra.

“What?” she says off his incredulous look. “This is my favorite shirt, not gonna get it all bloody. On your front.”

He obliges, rolling until he’s face down on the couch so Tess can examine his leg.

“Huh,” she says. “Never gonna believe this.”

Joel grunts. “Try me.”

“Went clean through.”

“Lucky me,” he grits his teeth.

“You are,” she says. “Few inches off and we’d be having a very different conversation. Alright, might wanna bite down unless you want every infected in a half-mile radius finding us.”

“I’ll be fine. Just do it.”

The alcohol burns like a motherfucker, but at this point, the pain is barely a blip on his radar, more of the same. The stitches are a different story. He ends up grabbing his belt, doubling it up and sinking his teeth into the sweaty, sticky old leather as Tess finishes sewing up the wounds.

“Not my best work, but it’ll hold until we can get Frank to take a look. Pretty sure Bill still has a stash of antibiotics,” Tess murmurs, digging in her pack for a fresh cloth to wrap it. “Just gonna tie this. We have the oxy–”

“Ain’t tradin’ that for antibiotics.”

Tess huffs. “No, Frank won’t let him trade for those, anyway. But you might want the oxy later. Don’t know how long the storm is going to last and you’re shaking.”

He is; he hadn’t even realized it. He’s trembling and his skin is dewy with sweat.

“Shock,” he mutters. Not the first time he’s been shot, after all.

“Uh-huh. Alright, you can roll over.”

He does, with some difficulty. Outside, rain lashes at the windows, lightning cracks and fills the room with bursts of light. Joel shivers, teeth clattering.

“Shirt off,” she says. “You’re soaked, that’s not helping.”

He tries, but his fingers are shaking too hard to undo the buttons. She pushes his hands gently away and does them herself, urging him up to take the wet flannel off, then unzips his bedroll and tucks it around him. Then she places two white pills in his palm.

“Don’t need ‘em,” he grits out. These are the good pills and he’s thinking of all that profit gone to waste for a stupid fuckin’ graze.

She doesn’t give him the satisfaction of an argument, just wordlessly holds out the flask. The shaking is making his damn leg hurt even worse. He swallows the pills with a mouthful of booze exactly as she knew he would.

The pain slowly ebbs, replaced by a fuzzy, uncaring feeling he recognizes all too well. He’s drifting on that high as time spreads like liquid honey, faintly aware of Tess’ movements about the room–digging under the floorboards to examine their cache, replenishing their ammo, checking the windows and exits, still only half dressed. At some point, she lets her hair down, damp and darkened from the rain, and combs it out with her fingers. A shorter cut would be easier to maintain, less likely to attract unwanted attention, but it’s one of the few vanities she allows herself and he secretly loves it. It always smells like her, soft burnt gold and sweet no matter how many miles they’ve covered.

Eventually, she settles on the floor next to the couch, sipping at the flask with her gun at hand.

“Sleep,” she all but orders, and he does.

When he wakes, it takes his eyes a moment to adjust. It’s night. The sounds of thunder and the roar on the roof overhead tells him it’s still pouring. Tess is silhouetted in the window, the orange glow of a cigarette moving in the dark.

His leg throbs and he can’t hold back a grunt of pain. The drugs have worn off, but he’s not going to take more if he can avoid it. She notices, though, and turns.

“Should get away from the window,” he says. “Someone might see the light.”

A deep inhale. “Not in this shit. Can’t see two feet in front of your face out there. How’s the leg?”

“Fine,” he mutters, trying to sit up, grimacing, hoping she can’t see his expression in the dark.

“Clothes should be dry,” she says, moving to his side, the smell of smoke wafting over him. Another rare indulgence, soothing her overtaxed nerves. She hands him the flask and he accepts it gratefully. Her hand is firm on his shoulder as she eases down to the floor.

“All’s quiet,” she murmurs, stubbing out the cigarette on a piece of foil. She leans her head back against his thigh and his hand finds its way to her hair, rubbing circles into her scalp until she hums.

“I can take watch,” he says roughly. “Let you get some rest.”

“You’re in no shape. We’re fine,” she says, then softens. “Was looking forward to one of Bill’s meals. Heard they found a contact and traded for a share of beef. Real steak.”

“End of the goddamned world and Frank’s still holdin’ dinner parties,” Joel mutters.

His hand drifts lower, callused fingers dragging over the back of her cheek, feels her smirk.

“He offered us a place.”

“Huh? Who?”

“Frank. We’d have our pick of houses within the perimeter. Share the work, share the supplies.”

“...and Bill’s alright with that?”

“I don’t think Bill knows.”

“What, uh…what’d you say?”

She shrugs, a non-answer. The silence grows heavy and he lets it lie. Often he doesn’t need to wait long before Tess takes control of the conversation, anyway, and he’s too stunned to find the words.

“I think Frank is worried about Bill,” she says softly. “What happens…after.”

After.

Frank has been sick for months. They’ve managed to trade for certain medications that help control the symptoms, but there is no cure, no coordinated treatment. The last time they made the hike from the QZ, roughly six months ago, Frank was no longer able to get out of his wheelchair.

“Can’t say I blame him,” she continues, frowning, picking at something on the floor. “There’s strength in numbers.”

Joel grunts, noncommittal. He’d rather have his leg amputated with a rusty hacksaw than live within ten miles of Bill.

“I keep thinking about it,” Tess says. “No more FEDRA, no Fireflies…no getting shafted on trades, hunting these assholes down–”

Joel blinks, wiping his hands over his face, trying to clear his head. This conversation feels like a dream, like it’s not really happening, and he wishes he had a couple more oxy so he could blame the drugs. Tess, the woman who had him break a guy’s fingers for shorting her three cigarettes–one finger for each. The woman who just murdered four people because they made the lethal mistake of shooting first. Tess– his Tess–talking about settling down.

“Can you even imagine?” she sighs.

He grunts again. She turns to look at him but he can’t meet her eyes.

“Aren’t you tired, Joel?”

Tired? Of course he is. His back hurts, his knees hurt, everything fuckin’ hurts. He hasn’t slept a day without booze or pills in years. But the hurt keeps him grounded, keeps him going, keeps him from feeling…everything else.

“So you wanna quit?” he says flatly.

“What is there to quit?” she scoffs. “We were never going to settle in Boston, we said it was temporary–”

“It’s been ten fuckin’ years.”

“Yeah, and we had plans, remember? Get out of the city, away from FEDRA. This could be our chance.”

“That was before. There were more of us. An’ Tommy…”

“Tommy,” she sniffs. “You really think he’s coming back?”

No, he doesn’t. Their once-weekly radio messages are growing further apart as they have less and less to say. The thought sets an aching fire in Joel’s chest and he takes a long swig of the whiskey. It burns the same, but at least it’ll get him drunk enough to forget.

“Look,” she tries again. “We go to Bill and Frank’s, we can retire. I sure as hell wouldn’t mind taking it easy for once. We’ve spent half our lives running, we’re getting too fuckin’ old for this–”

The windows flash, thunder rumbles, and he can see the lines around her eyes in harsh relief. He hates her for bringing this up, hates himself even more for the anger it stirs in him.

“Y’don’t retire from this,” he says. “That ain’t the world we live in.”

Her derision is palpable. “Just what I thought you’d say.”

He shifts on the couch, tries to stretch his busted leg and hisses at the stabbing, lancing pain. “What do you want, Tess? You wanna, what…plant a garden? Grow fuckin’ tomatoes? You can do that just fine in the QZ.”

“No, I–”

“You wanna spend the rest of your life drinkin’ shitty wine over hors d’oeuvres in Frank’s backyard like some post-apocalyptic Martha Stewart?”

He’s being cruel and he knows it, but he can’t seem to shut his mouth. Under any other circumstance she’d probably haul off and punch him and that would be the end of it, but she’s strangely subdued, almost melancholy. It’s unsettling, unnerving, makes his jaw ache from holding it tight, waiting for the strike that won’t come.

“I want to live , Joel,” she snaps. “I want more than this. Shitty fuckin’ apartment, living off rations, in lockup every other week for the dumbest shit. This isn’t a life! It’s fuckin’ purgatory.”

“I can’t do that, Tess,” he spits. “You get…you get what you get with me. I ain’t gonna settle down in some shit suburb an’ play fuckin’ house.”

“Just…fuck it. Fine,” she snaps. “Forget it. You’ve made your point. We stay in Boston.”

He takes another long, unsatisfying drink and silently begs for it to take hold, to take him past the point of caring. They stay like that, quiet and rigid in their anger, until the weight of her head against his thigh is barely there, until he can’t pin his thoughts in place long enough to let them sink their teeth in. He’s drifting and dozing when she nudges him awake.

“Move over,” she mutters, and he does.

She crawls under the blanket and tucks herself against his side. This is how they work–quick to anger, quick to forget. She’s warm and soft against his bare skin and he’s able to momentarily shut out the pain. Not just his leg, but all of it.

Sarah.

Tommy.

Everything they did to get to this point.

She makes it easy to forget.

“You’re right,” she says softly, fingers skimming over his chest. “But…we can’t keep going like this, Texas. One of these days, our luck’s gonna run out.”

Later, she shucks off her jeans and briefs and straddles his hips. Her hair falls around him, featherlight and sweet against his cheeks, forming a curtain as their lips meet. She tastes of liquor and smoke and desperation. Tight and hot, blunt fingernails digging into his pecs as she rides him slowly, grinding down to hit just the right spot, using him. But that’s fine, she’ll get what she needs, what little he can give. A warm body on a cold night, another set of eyes on her six, the brains to his brawn. Two halves unable to make a whole.

Lightning flashes and she hovers over him like an angel, haloed by the light as she comes, and he follows her into the dark.

Present day

Two weeks after his impromptu proposal, Joel comes home with a spring in his step. He’s exhausted, just about worn down to the marrow, but he’s home for dinner and the patrol schedule has loosened up. He has two whole days off.

He’s going to sleep. He’s going to spend time with his kid. Maybe pick up his guitar for the first time in weeks. And he’s going to spend at least one of those days with Ezra, because it’s been way too fuckin’ long. 

There’s music on the record player and the smell of something cooking. He half expects to see a frilly apron, too, but no, it’s just Ezra in an undershirt and dark jeans standing at the stove. Joel stops in the doorway to admire the sight–bare shoulders and biceps, the dark curl of hair at the nape of his neck, the easy confidence in his movements.

“Hey,” he says in greeting, suddenly itching to touch him, to ground himself in the warmth of his body. He moves in and wraps his arms around Ezra’s waist and presses his cheek to his back. Home.

“Exercise caution, songbird, there are hot things afoot,” he says. “And a stew.”

Joel muffles his groan and mutters into the back of Ezra’s neck. “You’re terrible.”

“Terribly charming, I agree. The stew should be moderately edible, if my culinary talents haven’t failed me.”

But Joel finds he isn’t much interested in the food. The sight of all that bare skin has him wanting.

“Supper can wait,” Joel murmurs, drawing his hands across Ezra’s stomach, his hip, swaying a little. “S’go to bed.”

“As much as I would love to indulge, I’m afraid we have social obligations,” Ezra sighs.

Joel pulls back, frowning. “No.”

“We’re due at the Bison in an hour.”

“Shit,” Joel grumbles. “This what I think it is?”

“I’m afraid so,” he says, turning around. “And it would be in poor taste to miss our own party. Go clean up so we can eat.”

“Thinkin’ I’m about to have a bad case of the shits,” Joel mutters, but he turns away and heads for the stairs. Poor taste aside, he has no desire to face Ellie’s wrath…let alone Maria’s.

Later, showered and dressed in one of his nicer flannels, he finds Ezra still in the kitchen doling out bowls of stew, a clean, pressed button-down shirt over his undershirt. The empty sleeve has been carefully tailored to Ezra’s form, no hastily tied knot or cut-off sleeve, and the color makes his dark eyes look even darker.

Joel swallows past the lump in his throat.

“Seems a bit unfair for you to look this good when I can’t do a damn thing about it,” he says, voice low.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, but we’re still going to the party. Eat.”

He does, and the stew is more than edible, but he can’t eat much. He’s distracted and restless, finds himself irrationally jealous of Ezra’s spoon.

“Don’t forget to pretend to be surprised,” Ezra says, adjusting Joel’s collar at the door. “And try to enjoy yourself, hmm? I’ll make it up to you.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “But you smash cake in my face at any point, you lose your other arm.”

To Ellie’s credit, it’s nothing fancy. Sure, they’ve turned the fairy lights on at the Bison and there’s a cake on the bar, but they kept it small–which, in Jackson, means only a quarter of the town. God knows they’ve earned the right to enjoy themselves and Joel doesn’t mind being half the excuse, even if it means blushing his way through a few awkward toasts.

He remembers his first wedding, not much bigger or more extravagant than this one. At least this time Tommy isn’t 15 years old and drunk as a skunk, vomiting in the ladies’ room because the men’s room at the Elks Lodge was out of order. His new bride had been vomiting in the ladies’ room, too–for a different reason.

This is definitely an improvement. In fact, he’s almost enjoying himself when Ellie sidles up to him, looking far too pleased with herself.

“How’s life with the ol’ ball n’ chain?”

Joel sips his beer. “The hell d’you come up with this shit?”

“Dina’s got us watching old episodes of Cheers ,” she says, wrinkling her nose. Then she grins, gesturing to the room. “So, whaddya think? Not bad for a reception, huh?”

“Not bad,” he admits, hugging her to his side, relishing the way she hangs on for a second longer than usual. “Thanks, kid. But no more surprise parties or you’re grounded ‘til you’re 30.”

“Better not get married again, then.”

“Don’t intend to,” he murmurs, watching Ezra talking to someone across the room. He can’t see her face, but her hair shines under the lights and she laughs at something Ezra has said, and in a flash of painful nostalgia he can only see Tess.

She’d never asked for anything like this. Probably would have laughed in his face if he’d proposed, not that he’d ever been inclined to. But there had been a time when she’d suggested something more permanent. Something more defined. Something much like the home he shares with Ezra. And he’d turned away, unable to think he deserved to be happy after a lifetime of brutality.

When Tess died, he’d told Ellie not to talk about her, and then he’d locked her memory away with Sarah’s. But Sarah had come back to him, with time and patience and Ellie’s influence.

Tess hadn’t. And somehow, in the scant three years since her passing, he’d managed to keep her tucked away, secreted at the back of his mind in that dark, lonely place. Nothing but a shoddy stone cairn somewhere in Western Massachusetts to show for it. But something in him has reawakened, Ezra bringing it out in him, and now–

“Joel?”

Ellie is looking up at him with concern. He blinks, squints, and the woman turns so he can see her profile–not Tess, not even close. Her hair is too short, her laugh too modest, her nose too long.

But he can’t convince his damn heart.

“I’m–uh, I just–gimme a minute,” he whispers hoarsely.

He doesn't even realize it’s happening until the panic is on top of him, until he tries to take a breath and his ribs feel bound in iron. Abandoning Ellie, he makes it to the door, slips outside without his jacket, the cold air hitting his lungs like a bomb.

He leans against the wall in the alley, willing his lungs to inflate. They do, just not as fast or as fully as he’d like. Jesus, he hasn’t had one this bad in months. Not since before Ellie and he–

A hand between his shoulder blades, a familiar voice at his shoulder.

“Breathe, love.”

“Shit,” Joel croaks, half startled, half relieved.

“Our young prodigy sent me,” Ezra murmurs. “Said you looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

Joel can’t find the breath to answer, so he just nods.

“Should I be concerned?” Ezra is peering at him. “Are you chasing spirits, songbird?”

“Think they’re chasin’ me,” he rasps.

Ezra nods, draping Joel’s coat over his shoulders before his hand resumes its careful path up and down his spine.

“You know,” he says casually. “Normally one gets cold feet before they’ve exchanged rings.”

A laugh bubbles up from Joel’s throat–more a barking cough under the circumstances–but something in his chest relents.

“It ain’t that,” he mutters when he’s caught his breath. “Jus’...too much goin’ on in there.”

“Should we perhaps take our leave?”

“God yes,” Joel breathes. “Please.”

“Come,” Ezra says, threading his arm through Joel’s. “The merriment is for their sake. I doubt we’ll be missed.”

Joel isn’t so sure about that, but he lets Ezra lead him without protest, still trying to calm his heart. It’s a short walk and soon they’re standing on the porch at Ezra’s old house. He lets them in with the key Cee keeps under the mat.

“I suspect they won’t think to look for us here,” Ezra says. They shrug off their jackets and hang them in the hall, leave their boots at the door, and Joel feels a powerful sense of déja vu walking into Ezra’s office. The room is sparse now, most of the record collection having been moved to their shared house. There’s a plant in the corner on the pedestal where the record player used to be and a few books line the shelves. It’s less inhabited, less personal, but his memory fills in the blanks.

“I’m going to investigate the coffee situation,” Ezra says, leaving Joel with a pat on the shoulder.

Joel sinks into the loveseat across from Ezra’s usual chair. He hears him moving around in the kitchen down the hall, the sounds of water running. His head still feels fuzzy, but at least he can fuckin’ breathe. He closes his eyes, sags into the cushions.

Ezra comes back with two mugs and sets them on the coffee table, then moves to take his seat across the room before stopping himself. He glances back at Joel, smiles faintly. Not the only one having déja vu, apparently.

“Apologies. Old habits,” he murmurs, taking the seat next to Joel instead. “Drink.”

Joel does, relishing the warmth of the coffee despite the wood-like taste of the chicory. Ezra is watching him intently, his expression carefully neutral.

“It ain’t–it’s nothin’ bad,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “It’s, uh…all this has me thinkin’ about someone I knew…before.”

Ezra frowns. “Your…wife?”

Joel shakes his head, realizing with a further pang of remorse; he’s never talked about her, never even said her name aloud. “That was before…Before. Tess was my…business partner. Back in Boston, we uh…we were…”

“Attached?” Ezra offers.

Joel snorts. “Yeah. Yeah, we were…together. More or less.”

Ezra leans back into the cushions, takes a long sip from his mug. Joel searches his face for jealousy or anger, any kind of sign he should stop. But Ezra has the almost infuriating ability to detach, and his expression gives nothing away.

“Ain’t a big story,” Joel mutters. “We worked well together. Survived a hell of a lot. It was kinda…kinda an unspoken thing. Happened without us meanin’ it to, I think. Spend fifteen years with a person…you get to know ‘em. We shared everything–the best and worst, I always had a partner through it. Guess it was kinda inevitable, but…but she, uh…”

“You loved her,” Ezra prompts softly. Joel looks down, realizes he’s taken his hand.

“Yeah,” he rasps. “But I couldn’t…I couldn’t. She was bit ‘fore we came out here. She saved my ass one more time, then she was gone. Told me to take the kid and…and make it up to her.”

“Which…you did.”

Joel nods, throat going tight at the thought. He’d saved Ellie, Ellie had saved him. He thought he’d done his duty to Tess, but now he’s not so sure. The ring on his finger feels heavy again, like a broken promise.

“I guess all this…just catchin’ up to me,” he murmurs. “Didn’t even say goodbye. All happened so fast. And then…then I had Ellie to think of. And Tess died…not knowin’ I…how I…”

He trails off, unable to continue. He closes his eyes and all he can see is Tess standing in the warm evening light of the State House, telling him to save who he can save.

“Lately…I keep thinkin’ I see her,” he rasps, swiping at his eyes. “Around town, on patrol…she woulda got along real nice here. Made a good life for herself. But she never got a chance.”

Ezra brings his arm up to cradle the back of Joel’s neck, guides him gently down against his shoulder so he can bury his nose in the crook of his neck, the earthy scent of his shaving lotion a distant comfort. He wraps his arms around his waist.

“She knew,” he murmurs against his ear.

Joel shakes his head, clutches at the fabric of Ezra’s shirt, presses his face more firmly into his collar.

“She did,” he insists, gentle but firm. “And I know this because I know how you love, I have been…the recipient of said attentions, and I’m certain that even in your somewhat emotionally repressed state–”

Joel shudders, a dry laugh through his tears. Somewhat emotionally repressed couldn’t begin to describe how closed off he’d been. But then, Tess had her own demons, her own hard, impossible shell. They were as bad for each other as they were good, so many times they were the salt in each others’ wounds. But over time she had warmed, loosened, become more pliant. Somewhere along the line, she’d forgiven herself, while he continued to wear his self-hatred like armor.

Ezra pulls back, looking at him curiously.

“Y’don’t know, Ez, you don’t–I wasn’t…like this,” he says thickly. “Was barely alive.”

“But you are now. What she saw in you was worthy, so you live for her.”

“Sometimes I think…I don’t…don’t deserve to.”

“Whether any of us is deserving is beside the point,” he says gently. “You’re here, so you live for the ones who couldn’t.”

Joel huffs softly and Ezra leans in, presses a long kiss to the furrow between his brows, resting forehead to forehead, sharing breath. There’s an ache in his chest with her name on it clamoring for attention, a grief mixed with shame and hope and all the leftover love that had nowhere to go until now. A rough thing worn smooth over time.

Wasn’t time that did it , he thinks dully.

When their mouths meet, it’s hard and frantic and needy, pent up desire and sadness, a need to prove something. It’s been too long and there’s been too much and he needs to forget, so he lets Ezra ease him back, knee between Joel’s thighs, both of them sliding down into the cushions.

“Aren’t we getting a bit…far in years…to be doing this kind of thing on the couch?” Ezra murmurs between kisses, lowering himself onto Joel with a groan.

“Weren’t complainin’…last time,” he grits out, just as Ezra’s tongue traces the seam of his lips, delves deeper, stealing both his ability to speak and his last coherent thought.

“Touché.”

Ezra’s hand fumbles between them, untucking his shirt. Joel growls into his mouth as his husband finds warm flesh, takes the meat of his lower lip between his teeth and tugs gently, then soothes the bite with his tongue. It’s all desperation, a hiss as Joel rakes the shirt up Ezra’s back, rewarded with the warm expanse of bare skin.

They’ve barely managed to find a rhythm before the front door opens and Cee’s voice rings out in the hall.

“Hello?”

“Shit,” Ezra hisses as they scramble apart. “Just us, birdie,” he calls, jumping up with a blush of pink across his cheeks. He’s smoothing his hair back, subtly trying to adjust himself. Joel bites back a chuckle. Hasn’t been caught out like this since he was a goddamned teenager necking in his dad’s pickup.

He hastily tucks his shirt back in and follows Ezra into the hall where Cee is unwinding her scarf, hanging it alongside their coats.

“Saw the light,” she says, nodding toward the office, looking back and forth between them. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, no,” Ezra says, sounding as out of breath as Joel feels. “We simply required a moment of respite from the festivities.”

“Yeah, I get that,” she says with a wry smile. “Don’t worry, I think Ellie’s telling everyone you two left to…y’know. Honeymoon.”

“Christ,” Joel mutters, ducking his head, warmth creeping up the back of his neck. Thankfully Ezra is quick to change the subject.

“And where is your gentleman friend this evening?”

She rolls her eyes. “‘Gentleman friend?’ Really?”

“Your…lover?” Ezra tries, grimacing even as he says it.

“Gross, please don’t ever say that again,” she shudders. “ Luke is on the wall tonight, but he sends his congratulations.”

“Aha. Well, I suppose if you’re in for the night, we should take our—”

“Actually,” she says, drawing out the word. “I skipped dinner at the caf…and I have everything for grilled cheese…”

Joel recognizes her doe-eyed expression. He’s seen it on his own kid often enough when she’s asking after something, but Ezra doesn’t seem to take the hint.

“Oh,” he frowns. “We wouldn’t want to intrude on your dinner.”

“No, I mean–you make the best grilled cheese. Plus maybe I wanted to, y’know, spend time with you?”

Ezra shoots him a look. “Oh, I–I, uh–I’m not certain we’re exactly–”

“I could eat,” Joel cuts in, reassuring him with a nod, relieved to have the focus off his shoulders for the time being.

“Well, then…save the butter for your bread, birdie,” Ezra grins. “We’d be delighted to keep you company and share a meal. Let’s introduce my husband to a…family tradition of sorts.”

Which is how Joel ends up at the kitchen table watching Ezra and Cee working together at the counter. They banter and trade gentle barbs side by side, and Joel finds himself relaxing into it, happy for the distraction.

“When we first moved to Jackson, I couldn’t sleep,” Cee explains, scraping butter from a brick and dropping it into a pan to melt. “Had a lot of bad dreams. Ez was usually awake, too, so we’d meet up in the kitchen.”

“Cee neglects to mention that we were also half starved at the time. Access to a full pantry was an extravagance neither of us could have imagined…I suppose it’s no small wonder we sought solace in sustenance.”

It’s easy to see how the two made it together; they work as a team in the kitchen just as they must have worked together to survive outside the walls. But something about watching him with Cee tugs at Joel’s heart. Ezra has always been comfortable in his own skin, but with Cee he’s even softer, even more himself.

“Didn’t have much in the way of culinary experience between the two of us,” Ezra says, frowning in concentration while cutting thin slices from a small wheel of cheese. Cee begins peeling a clove of garlic. “But we had plenty of time on our hands to learn–isn’t that right, birdie?”

“Yep. Can you believe I’d never even had this stuff before?” Cee asks, looking over her shoulder and holding up the peeled clove, and Joel shakes his head. “I had no idea what I was missing. Anyway. Ez here got really good at making cheese sandwiches and that kinda became our thing. Bad dream? Grilled cheese. Rough day? Grilled cheese.”

“Sometimes it seemed that was the only thing I could get you to eat with any regularity,” Ezra says.

“Yeah, well…some days were bad ,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“But…it got better.” Ezra looks over at her, and Joel can hear the uncertainty in his voice. It’s a question as much as a statement.

“Yeah,” she says, smiling. “Yeah, it did.”

Joel thinks of his early days in Jackson, Ellie’s nightmares, the gun under his mattress. The constant fear he was failing her. How they picked up the pieces and turned them into routines, rituals, things to get them through the hard days. Built something from two patched-together lives. Found their people.

Movie nights or grilled cheese sandwiches, they figured it out.

“This is cool,” Cee says to Ezra as they bring the food to the table. “I almost miss having you around here. Almost,” she teases.

“I’m sure it’s much–”

“Quieter?” Cee offers with a smirk, and Joel has to hide his own with a cough.

“I was going to say ‘less lively’ but fair enough,” Ezra mutters, then softens. “I’ll make dinner for you anytime, birdie. Just say the word.”

The food is good, but the company is better. Ezra and Cee carry the conversation while they eat and Joel lets them reminisce, contributing the occasional nod or grunt of agreement. If Cee thinks he’s quieter than usual, if she notices his eyes are still a little red, she’s kind enough not to mention it. More than anything, he wishes Tess could be here, wishes she could have had this, too.

At one point, Ezra takes his hand under the table, sensing his need for an anchor. He answers his questioning look with a squeeze, soaks in the sound of Cee’s bubbling laughter and the adoration in Ezra’s eyes, decides there might be something to Ezra’s words after all.

He may not deserve it, but he has it all the same. Shame to let it go to waste.

It’s late by the time they take their leave, bundling up at the door.

“Thanks for the sandwiches,” Cee says. “And for, y’know, not forgetting about me now that you’re all domesticated and shit.”

“I could never,” Ezra says, enfolding her in a tight, one-armed hug, offers his usual departing words of wisdom. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, birdie.”

“What, like get hitched?” she says drily.

Joel urges him out the door before that can fully sink in, has Ezra stopping in his tracks and turning around.

“Wait–”

“Relax, Ez,” Joel mutters.

“Did you–she said–”

“Uh-huh, I heard what she said.”

“But–”

“C’mon,” he says, tugging at his hand. “S’too fuckin’ cold out here.”

Ezra relents with a soft grumble, one last worried glance over his shoulder. Joel bites his lip on a smile. That girl sure knows how to push his buttons.

“Thank you for…indulging me,” Ezra says after covering some ground in silence. “I confess I…I don’t think I realized how much I missed our time together. It was just Cee and I for so long…”

“She still needs you,” Joel says, nudging him lightly before taking his hand. “An’ I don’t mind sharin’.”

The night is bitter cold and the wind forces them to hurry toward home. Ellie, loud and slightly drunk, if Joel had to guess, is just turning onto Rancher Street as they get there.

“Dudes! You missed a great party.”

She stumbles a little, giggles, and Joel reaches out to steady her.

“You owe me, fuckers. I covered for you. Even saved you some cake before the rest of the vultures got to it,” she says, just this side of slurring as she hands him a bundle of waxed cloth. “It’s super fucking good.”

“Uh-huh,” Joel says. “How much did you have to drink, kid?”

“Only three! Or wait…four, maybe? I dunno, Cat says m’a lightweight, whatever that means.”

“Three what? Fifths?” Joel asks incredulously.

“Just beer,” she wrinkles her nose. "Maria wouldn’t let me have the hard stuff even though I told her I can take it, that bi–”

“Gonna stop you right there,” Joel says, shooting Ezra a look over her head. Now it’s his turn to smother a laugh. “Remind me to thank her tomorrow.”

Ellie grunts and inserts herself between them, looping one arm through each of theirs for the short walk to the end of the street. She leans a little heavy on Joel’s arm, plunks her cheek on his shoulder. She’s running on beer and cake and probably not much else as they make it to the house.

“I’ll be right in, just, uh…gotta get this one settled,” he says to Ezra, handing him the cake.

“Hydrate, young prodigy,” Ezra advises her, and Ellie sticks out her tongue, follows it with a raspberry.

Joel walks Ellie into the garage room and she plops down on her bed with a grunt. Joel goes to the little standalone sink, fills a cup with water. By the time he places the cup on her nightstand, she’s already curled up on her side.

“C’mon, kid. Can’t sleep with your damn boots on.”

“Can too.”

Joel sighs and unlaces her boots, gently tugging until they come loose. She giggles, tries to help, only ends up kicking him in the arm, which makes her laugh harder.

“Wanna watch those space wars movies. Y’know, those ones with the robots? Are-too somethin’ and see-pee-oh.”

He cocks his head. “Y’mean Star Wars?”

“Yes! And the brother who kisses his sister,” she says, then laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “Pew-pew, motherfuckers.”

“You’re full of it tonight,” he sighs, pulling the crumpled blankets out from under her and over her shoulders before kneeling by her side. “Think you need a bucket?”

“Nah,” she yawns. “M’fine.”

“Alright. Drink the water. I’ll check on ya in a bit.”

Before he can stand, her arm wiggles out from under the blanket and wraps around his shoulders, pulls him down into an awkward hug that melts him. He closes his eyes, holds her tight, drops a kiss in her hair.

“You’re goin’ soft, old man,” she mutters, but she’s still holding on.

“Uh-huh,” he says, throat tight. “Love you.”

When she finally pulls back, she smirks up at him with all the confidence of Han Solo.

“I know.”

Inside, Joel shucks off his coat to the sound of Ezra rummaging through the kitchen drawer. He’s unwrapped the cake Ellie saved, now slightly squished and sitting on the counter.

“Has our girl found the answers at the bottom of a bottle?”

“Found an attitude, more like. She’ll be fine, just needs to sleep it off. Still hungry?” Joel asks, nodding toward the cake.

“Ah. Thought I’d see what all the fuss is about,” Ezra says, bringing out a knife and aiming to cut a slice.

“Ain’t we supposed to do that together?”

Ezra’s grin is a slow, sweet spread thick as buttercream. “I thought you’d never ask.”

They share the knife and cut into the cake, Joel’s hand warm over Ezra’s. It’s an impressive dessert by Jackson standards. Real frosting–god knows where they found icing sugar–and the center has a layer of strawberry jam. Joel isn’t much for sweets, but he takes a bite when Ezra offers. It makes his teeth ache.

“I know you said no cake smashing, but–”

Before he can duck away, Ezra has swiped a fingertip of jam and smeared it lightly across Joel’s cheek. His eyes flash with mirth as he leans in, meaning to lick up the mess he’s made with the tip of his tongue.

It snaps the band of tension that’s been simmering all night.

Joel turns his head before Ezra can finish his cleanup and crashes their mouths together in an inelegant kiss. His hands find the collar of his fancy shirt and holds him, walks him back until he’s crowded against the counter and licks into him, tastes the remnants of vanilla sugar on his tongue. He only stops when Ezra yelps, having almost knocked the remaining cake off the counter in an effort to brace himself.

“Shit, sorry,” Joel pants, half laughing, half delirious with it, suddenly lighter than he’s felt all week.

Ezra grins, tongue darting out to wet kiss-swollen lips before cupping his cheek, leaning in to nip at him. “I suppose I did say I’d make it up to you. You’ve always been a touch…impatient.”

“ I’m impatient?” Joel growls, pressing his thigh tighter to the growing hardness between Ezra’s legs to emphasize the point. There’s still strawberry jam drying sticky on his cheek. He doesn’t care. “Finish your damn cake, Ez. Let’s go to bed.”

So they do, curled up naked under the quilt. There’s the hint of something more, something wanted, limbs entwined and hands exploring as they share slow, lazy kisses. What started as a fire mellowed somewhere between downstairs and the bedroom, and the pull of sleep is strong, exhaustion settling heavy around Joel’s shoulders. The mind is ready but the body is unwilling.

“Sorry,” he sighs into Ezra’s neck when it’s clear they’re not getting anywhere.

“No rush,” Ezra murmurs, stretching out with Joel’s head on his shoulder. “There’s time.”

They stay like that for a while, Joel drifting on the verge of sleep while Ezra strokes his hair. He finds himself thinking of Tess again, of all the moments they missed because they were too busy scraping by. How this was all she’d asked of him, and he’d turned her away because he couldn’t imagine deserving such a life.

“Songbird?” Ezra’s voice is a low rumble in his chest, and Joel tightens his grip, nuzzles closer.

“Mmm?”

“The other morning over breakfast…when you asked me if I wanted…something more…”

Joel’s stomach sinks. “Yeah.”

Ezra hesitates and the silence only serves to tighten the knot in Joel’s chest. He feels the jumpy thrum of Ezra’s heartbeat against his cheek, waiting for him to deliver the letdown. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and rich and close to Joel’s ear, a whispered confession.

“I have never…had this. Men with my proclivities didn’t have a dearth of options before, and that became even less likely after…well. The life of a raider does not endeavor itself to…romantic entanglements. Not to say I’m inexperienced, but in matters of the heart I am woefully naive.”

In the dark, Joel can barely make out Ezra’s features, feels the tips of his fingers carding absently through his hair, skimming the shell of his ear, warming the back of his neck.

“Which is to say…I’ve known my share of lovers, certainly…but not…love.”

It takes a moment in Joel’s near-sleep-addled state to fully grasp his meaning. “Oh…”

Ezra tips his chin up, almost prideful. “I had long ago come to the conclusion that I wasn’t worthy of…something like this. I’d made my peace with that. You spoke of not being…deserving…and I know all too well what that’s like.”

His voice dips low, tugs at the meat of Joel’s heart. 

“I don’t tell you this for pity’s sake,” Ezra continues. “Just to ensure you understand that I…this is…more than I could have hoped for, songbird. I don’t take this commitment lightly.”

Times like this, Joel wishes he was better with words. As it is, all he can manage is to grasp Ezra’s hand and hold on, press a kiss to his knuckles.

“I know,” he whispers. He’d been so caught up with his ghosts, he hadn’t stopped to consider Ezra might have some of his own.

Later, he’ll put on his sweatpants and boots and wrap himself in a robe and go outside to check on Ellie, peer in through the frosted glass pane to find her where he left her, curled in bed and sleeping soundly. But for now, he’s content to stay like this, wrapped in his husband’s embrace, sheltered from the cold.

Maybe they didn’t have to do it alone.

Joel wakes to a huff of breath against his shoulder, Ezra wrapped around him like a second blanket. He’s nuzzling at the base of his neck, tickling the hairs there, peppering his upper back with kisses.

“Songbird,” he hums, tightening his arm low around Joel’s hips, nipping at the muscle along the ridge of his shoulder, clearly hoping to finish what they started last night. In the light of day, with a good night’s sleep behind him and no plans for the morning, that looks all the more likely.

“M’awake,” Joel grunts, turning over, doesn’t even have time to open his eyes before their mouths meet, hungry and wanting. Ezra’s soft moan resonates between them, hips hitching slightly, already hard and pressed tight to Joel’s thigh. It’ll take a little longer for Joel to get there, but not by much.

“Do you remember when I first…had you in this bed?” Ezra asks, pulling back, panting slightly.

Joel swallows hard, nods, still dizzy from the kiss and blinking sleep from his eyes.

“How I took you apart on my tongue? Hmm?”

Ezra on his knees at the edge of the bed, Joel’s torso bared and his jeans around his ankles, in too much of a rush to fully undress, glow of the golden hour slanting through the window. The memory sparks a pang of longing so strong it physically aches, sends a groan rippling up from Joel’s throat and a pulse of heat through his gut.

The body is more than willing this morning.

“I remember thinking to myself…that I had never witnessed a sunset more beautiful…had never experienced the majesty of a billion stars in the bliss of night, or watched the arc of a dove across the morning sky…than when you reached the apex of your enjoyment.”

Joel can’t speak, can’t breathe, fixed in place by Ezra’s dark eyes and his husked voice as his fingers trace the hollow at Joel’s throat. Their noses touch, the last words felt as a featherlight brush against his lips as much as heard.

“And I thought…in my haze of pleasure…that I want to be the reason you look like that. I want to watch you come apart every damn day for the rest of forever. And I will be there to put you back together again.”

Anything Joel might have thought to say, inadequate as it would have been, is quickly swallowed by Ezra’s kiss. His tongue skirts the pout of his lower lip and then they’re sinking into each other, a consummation of Ezra’s unexpected vows.

“Jesus,” Joel breathes when they pull apart. “You stay awake all night comin’ up with that?”

Ezra arches an eyebrow, eyes shining. “Did it work?”

With an agility that surprises even himself, Joel growls deep in his chest and rolls Ezra under him, pinning his willing form with his weight. His mouth finds the hinge of Ezra’s jaw, the freckle behind his ear, the ridge of his collarbone. The want is back, that old friend, and he gives into it, lets it lead him.

Down, teasing the ridge of a pebbled nipple with his teeth, down, lapping at the hollow of his breastbone, down, dipping his tongue into the soft circle of his navel and swirling, eliciting a stifled gasp, stomach twitching.

“You know I’m ticklish, cher ,” Ezra huffs, and Joel grins, does it again just to make him squirm before soothing the overstimulation with a gentle, firm bite to the softness at the base of his stomach.

He drags his scruff along his Adonis belt, teasing him with the heat of his breath, the slick muscle of his tongue lapping, sucking a mark into the curve at his hip. He admires the flush on his skin where he’s bruised him, the red scratches his beard has left behind, revels in the lightly painful tug of Ezra’s fingers in his hair, urging him on.

When he finally takes him in, the familiar taste and weight of him on his tongue is almost as delicious as the sound Ezra makes. It’s a whimper, a breath of equal relief and anticipation, soothing the ache while stoking the fire. It’s a heady rush, that first taste, the salt-tang of him, an invitation to see how much pleasure he can wring from his body.

Joel looks up, finds Ezra watching him intently, hungrily, head cocked to one side, chest flushed and heaving. He has to admit, the view ain’t half bad, stokes the heat roiling in his belly, and he grinds down into the mattress to find some relief. He takes him deeper, traces the ridges and veins with his tongue on the way back up, revels in the broken sounds he draws from Ezra’s lips.

“Songbird–your mouth, divinity itself could–could not–ohhh–”

He cuts himself off with a moan as Joel’s tongue circles and flutters, as his free hand grips him at the base and begins a firm stroke to help things along.

When Ezra’s hand pulls away, seeking purchase in the tangled mess of their bedding, Joel grabs for it instead, reaches up to lace their fingers, resting them on Ezra’s stomach and lightly holding him down. The intimacy is almost too much.

“Oh, oh love, you–I’m–”

Joel pulls off, still stroking, teasing. “You gonna come?”

Another throaty whimper, back arching into it. It doesn’t take long, they’ve been dancing around this for hours. He watches as Ezra comes apart in his hand with a choked gasp, spilling over his knuckles and onto the wiry curls at the base of his stomach, a breathed oh oh yes oh , and the power is a heady, giddy rush.

Every damn day for the rest of forever, indeed.

He crawls up the bed and settles on his side, allowing himself a moment of smug self-satisfaction. He’ll never match Ezra’s eloquence or even his energy, but he can manage this. Have him blissed out and shuddering in his arms, gazing up at him from under dark lashes, rendered monosyllabic. Has him curling into him, lips pressed to Joel’s throat and mumbling in French, legs tangled, arm cinched around his waist. He can hold him through the come-down. Can love him the way he deserves.

There’s quiet in the aftermath, Ezra nuzzling tenderly at Joel’s throat. His voice is all grit when he speaks.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel smirks, absently rubbing the back of Ezra’s neck. “Like you needed a reason to talk.”

“You love it,” Ezra whispers, peppering small kisses across the ridge of Joel’s jaw.

“Hmm. Reckon I do.” 

Ezra’s ministrations at his throat become more urgent, the graze of teeth and lips and tongue. Joel’s cock kicks against his stomach as Ezra sucks at his collarbone hard enough to leave a mark. His hand slips between them and then he’s teasing with his fingers, stroking him without pressure, cupping and petting him until he’s aching. Joel watches, drowsy with lust, as Ezra gathers his own slick spill in his palm before wrapping it around Joel’s cock to mingle with his precome, easing his movements considerably. The sight is enough to make him shudder. He thinks he hears Ezra murmur something over the rush of blood in his ears, something that sounds suspiciously like waste not, want not , and Joel thinks there’s still plenty of want to go around.

“Fuuuuck,” he breathes into Ezra’s neck, and it’s a syrupy hot slide into the tight wet clutch of his fist.

Joel lets himself sink into it, lets the tension coiling in his gut unfurl and bloom as Ezra strokes him. He fumbles for something to hold, hand finds the meat of Ezra’s ass, the back of a thigh, hears a low chuckle in his ear as he gasps and pulls him close. Soon he’s panting into the warm crevice of Ezra’s throat, unable to form more than hollow sounds of pleasure and want as Ezra works him through it.

“Like that?” he murmurs, the words like velvet, and Joel can barely manage a nod. Somehow his lips find Ezra’s and it’s a long, broken moan into his mouth as he feels the band at the base of his groin tightening, tightening, ready to snap. There’s only the sound of his own heavy breathing and the slick slide of Ezra’s hand on him and then he’s pulsing, throbbing, falling apart with a cry.

They’re tender and warm in the afterglow, taking advantage of a rare quiet morning to laze in bed while the sun rises, but Joel finds himself distracted, that nagging doubt creeping in to fill the space created by their lovemaking.

“Tell me about her,” Ezra murmurs, sensing his disquiet. “Tess.”

He hesitates.

“You sure?”

Ezra kisses him softly. “Memory poses no threat to my affections, songbird.”

It should be awkward, Joel thinks, but the words come easily. She’s been at the forefront of his mind for so many days, it’s a relief to lay it all out.

And when he’s told him as much as he can remember, and the sun is much higher in the sky, Ezra strokes his cheek with his thumb and offers a simple truth.

“I have her to thank for your being here.”

And he does, Joel supposes.

For giving him one last kick in the ass. 

For insisting he carry her hope for a cure, a future, and a life beyond the QZ.

For giving him a daughter.

For giving him a second chance.

He cups Ezra’s face in his hands, kisses him soundly, and silently promises he won’t let it go to waste.

[wonder-farm-hc]

Elliott headcanons!!

Just some general headcanons, cw for mentions of homophobia

The post was a bit long, so I ended up putting a "read more" banner, but nothing explicit is mentioned!

Requests are open!

-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-

❤️ He struggled many years with a speech stutter, but eventually was determined enough to overcome it (he practiced, a lot, in his mirror)

❤️He’s an only child, and up until middle school he was homeschooled. For this reason, he was always a bit more awkward than other kids, never made friends easily

❤️ Although part of why he didn’t make friends easily was because he was always true to himself: he had a fancier style than most, he liked to play piano and write, stuff that many of his peers didn’t find interesting or fascinating. That said, he never tried to fit into the mold, preferring to remain true to himself rather than dulling his lifestyle

❤️ As he lives on the beach, he observes the small creatures such as crabs, starfish and others. He often ends up chatting with Willy over the local sea population, and they’ve become somewhat good friends

❤️ When he arrived in the valley, the first person he bonded with was Leah: they bonded over being artists (although very different ones) and living alone in nature

❤️ They often have debates on art, philosophy, music: they prefer different things, with Elliott being less chaotic than Leah in his art, and tastes as well

❤️ He sometimes stays up until very very late. One time Willy (who was coming back from a night time fishing trip) spotted him awake at night. As Willy noticed the tension in Elliott’s speech and manners, he tried to be there for him, and the best way he could do that was to show him how to light the fireplace, in case he wanted some warth

❤️ He suffers from insomnia, that’s why he was up

❤️ Now, from time to time, Elliott lights it up when he can’t sleep. Not that it helps him sleep, but he find the crackling of the fire to be relaxing

❤️ Elliott and Shane, strangely enough, sometimes do get along. Elliott is one who, ideally, likes to provide for his loved ones and such, and that’s something that Shane understands very well (as he is protective towards Jas).

❤️ Plus, Elliott often spends time in the library, and therefore watches many lessons that Penny gives to Jas and Vincent (sometimes, he even helps Penny, or accompanies home the kids). Getting to know Jas automatically means to hear a lot about Shane, as he’s important to her

❤️ Elliott has refined tastes, that’s for sure, but he’s not squeamish as one may assume: quite the opposite

❤️ He realized he was queer later in life, when he got a crush for a friend of his. To this day, he’s not 100% confident in his queerness

❤️ He came out to Leah, one day while they were in her cabin. He simply whispered “I don’t think I’m straight” during a quiet moment, and she sensed his tension immediately

❤️ She helped him overcome a lot of the internalized homophobia he had (turns out kids joking about your interests being gay does leave a mark, even if you don’t notice it) and, ultimately, he decided to not put a label on himself

❤️ He likes the Hamilton musical, a lot (but it’s a secret)

-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-

This was fun to write! Although Elliott isn't one of my favorites, he's very cool to write about, and explore as a character in general!

I hope you enjoyed my silly little writing thing :)

[erynshouseofhorrors]

My Queer Marble Hornets Headcanons

This is mostly going to be Alex, Jay, Brian, and Tim since I'm not as familiar with the other characters. Jessica's at the end but there's not a lot, so I welcome people to add on!

Warning: Tim/Brian/Unnamed OC, Jay/Alex, Amy/Jessica, and mentioned Alex/Amy. Obviously very little of this is canon lol.

Jay Merrick

Jay is canonically gay and I think that just fits. He didn't find out he was gay until their junior year of high school, thanks to a guy whose name he has long forgotten.

Jay is definitely transmasc. I don't think they're entirely male, but not exactly both male and female. He's somewhere in-between male and neutral. I purposefully left their AGAB up to interpretation, I think it could go either way. Transmasc just means identifying with a masc gender that you weren't assigned at birth.

Jay uses he/they pronouns.

The first person outside of Jay's family that they came out to was Alex during their sophomore year of university. Alex is also the only one of his friends aware of Jay's struggle with gender identity, making their bond extra special. Eventually Jessica would also be looped in on that secret.

He thinks about using makeup, but they're too scared to actually buy himself anything in fear of judgement... until Alex bought him an eyeshadow palette.

They actually got pretty good at applying and styling makeup, and he helped Alex out by being the makeup artist (and script supervisor) for Marble Hornets.

Alex Kralie

I can't picture him dating a girl and actually enjoying it. His relationship with labels is difficult, because he struggles to tell the difference between romantic attraction and platonic love, which is mostly why he got with Amy to begin with. They broke up because Alex wouldn't take their relationship past a kiss on the cheek and arm around the shoulder.

When he met Jay his freshman year of uni, that was the first time he felt physically attracted to someone. The weeks to follow were filled with "am I gay" quizzes and articles.

Alex only settled on the gay label for the sake of convenience. He doesn't mind going unlabeled or switching labels around as things change and his relationships grow.

He probably doesn't know this yet, but he's definitely on the asexual spectrum. He feels sexual attraction, but only sometimes. I hc him as either greyace or demiace.

Alex uses he/him pronouns.

Brian Thomas

Brian uses both pansexual and bisexual to describe his sexuality. "Ass is ass, man. I don't care."

His sexuality has never been something he hid, but it also wasn't obvious to his straight peers. He'll casually bring up an ex-boyfriend or first kiss and everyone has their jaw on the floor. Almost everyone. Tim's usually in the corner of the room, smirking at their obliviousness.

Brian uses he/him pronouns, but he won't flip his lid if someone calls him something else. He knows his identity isn't defined by how others choose to perceive him.

He's definitely that friend who's known they were gay since grade school, so he's well educated on queer history and terminology. He even helped Alex and Tim out while they were questioning.

He dated Tim in their early years at uni, but split up after Tim had a mental breakdown and ghosted him for a few months.

Brian is also ambiamorous, which means he's okay with being in a monogamous or polyamorous relationship. This is partly why he wasn't too upset when Tim moved on and started dating a girl from another town. Why try bagging your ex when you can bag him and his new girlfriend, am I right?

Tim Wright

Tim never bothered with sexuality labels until he was finally free of psychosis and constant hospital visits. He was too busy fighting for his life to think and fantasize about love interests.

He was completely convinced he was straight until he and Brian shared a drunken kiss the night after final exams. After that, he and Brian were hooking up in secret, and Tim was having an identity crisis behind the scenes.

Tim and Brian were together for at least a few months before Tim ghosted him. It wasn't his fault, or Brian's. Tim's psychosis had been coming back, causing him to self-isolate out of paranoia. Whenever Brian tried reaching out, Tim replied with radio silence.

After getting better (again) he was too scared to contact Brian, so he forced himself to move on. And he did! He started dating a girl he met while working, and things just kind of took off. And then Brian enters his life again.

His girlfriend, surprisingly, was amused by Brian's flirtatious remarks toward her and Tim, and even teased back. After a long conversation with Tim, they decided to ask Brian out.

Tim still doesn't care for labels, but when asked he'll say he's bisexual and ambiamorous. Also he uses he/him because I forgot to mention that.

Jessica Locke

I believe someone working with Troy on the comics believes Jessica is a lesbian and honestly I love that interpretation. Nothing about her screams "straight" to me.

I truly, truly believe Jessica is trans MTF. She does voice training every morning to get better at sounding feminine, mostly to avoid harassment from her peers.

She's incredibly skilled with makeup, since she's had lots of practice in middle school. She was the one Jay came to when he got his first eyeshadow palette from Alex.

Jessica was there for Amy when she and Alex split. They had a sleep over for three nights in a row, ignoring the fact that they were roommates and already slept in the same building. They switched back and forth between Jessica's room and Amy's, making pillow forts and watching cartoons until all thoughts of Alex were gone. A month later, Amy asked Jessica on a date.

Honestly I think she'd be okay with any variant of she/her, so get creative.

aaaaaaa I hope you enjoyed! I haven't posted any headcanons before so I am nervous lol also fyi I didn't proofread this so oh well

[aziraphales-library]

hello lovely people!

i was wondering if there were any historical fics that specifically look at queer history? it could be just aziraphale or just crowley, them together or not together. it could be as far back as sappho and as recent as legalisation of gay marriage.

thank you!

Hi! We have #queer history, #pride parade, and #queer guardian angel aziraphale tags on which you will find fics of interest. Here are more to add to the queer history collection...

An Angel and a Demon Walk Into a Bar- and there is No Punchline Because this is the 80s and Everyone is Sad, Gay and Repressed by DontOffendTheBees (M)

“So you’re not here to dance.” Crowley ducks his head, his long and impressively voluminous hair tumbling about his face as he nudges his aviators down his nose, peering at Aziraphale with those cunning yellow eyes over the top of them. He smirks like the wily old serpent he is, savouring the next words he speaks. “Now, what else could possibly lure a confirmed bachelor such as yourself to an establishment like this?” In which Aziraphale gravitates to the comfort of a queer space, and winds up in need of further comforting.

and at least in this lifetime (we're sticking together) by vivelegalite (T)

[GOD, NARRATING] People tend to be torn as to which side could be credited with legalisation of gay marriage across all of the United States of America. Most people consider it an act of Good, which it is of course, and attribute it to Heaven. Some, a much less pleasant lot, argue it to be the work of Hell. They tend to back their claims up with improperly translated lines from a book the Almighty had never actually written or even really bothered to read through — I tend to outsource that kind of work — and speak of God’s will and whatnot. Both groups are, however, mistaken. The legalisation of gay marriage across all of the United States of America was brought about not by Heaven, not by Hell, but by a tragically smitten demon with a rather high alcohol concentration and a plan.

Eziraphael's Gifts: A History of Queer Faith and Longing, by Natasha Marie Johnson (Beacon Press, 2019). by actualbat (G)

"If Eziraphael has come to be known--in today's language--as the 'guardian angel of sad queers,' then it makes sense for him to have shown up more regularly in the past once that became a recognizable historical category." Natasha is really glad that she's given this talk enough times to be able to do it on autopilot, because those two funny-looking men in the back just made the most absurdly astonished faces. (Or: Not all historians ignore gay subtext, and not all immortal celestial beings have their shit together. Also, voodoo.)

it's the light (it's the obstacle that casts it) by bibliocratic (T)

It's like having a curtain pulled back on something he wasn't expecting to see. A surprise punch-and-judy at an up-scale restaurant, a lobster thermidor when he's ordered an ale. Crowley's gleefully trying to wrap his head around the fact that Aziraphale is speaking Polari. Because of course he is. Or: The Patron Saint of London's LGBT Community is real, and he lives in Soho.

Under the Blazing Sun, Thy Footsteps Track by Elfgrandfather (T)

Aziraphale and Crowley keep finding themselves mixed up with a rather queer lot, and eventually have to contend with what it might mean, both about their own identities and their relationship to each other.

Surpassing All the Stars by KannaOphelia (M)

There was a faint tracing of scales along the woman's cheekbones, tracing down her thin arms and lean thighs. The nipples on her pale, almost flat breasts were dark as night. Fiery red curls fell over dagger-sharp shoulders sprayed gently with more black scales, and the golden eyes were wide and snake-like. The woman was beautiful, but hardly human. "Crawly," the woman said with disgust. "Was that the best you could do, angel?" "I said I didn't have much imagination." Aziraphale's lips were heavy, and she was almost sure she wasn't forming the words properly. There was some kind of spell over her, holding her almost immobile. The venom must have been paralytic. If she had been human, she supposed she would have been dead. Her corporation didn't like it much either. "What name would you prefer I use for you?" The stranger tipped her head on one side, considering. "Crowley?" Aziraphale almost laughed. The whole situation was simply too irritating. If she was to die now, at the hands of some local deity, the paperwork hardly bore thinking about. And her precious work on Sappho's poetry, gone. "Crowley, then. You're a nymph of some kind, I take it?"

- Mod D

[majnoonathelibrarian]

Writers Guild Presents - Good Works Chapter 14: Good Company

 Good Works Written by Majnoona

Rating E for future chapters. These will be (skippable) self contained sections. Tags will be added as we get there, as well as per chapter warnings.

Summary:

It's 1987 London and anti-gay sentiment is on the rise ahead of the government's push to pass Section 28 to prohibited the "promotion of homosexuality" by local authorities -- including banning books and education in schools.

Why do Fell, low level government administrator, and Crowley, a "fixer" for a nefarious consulting company and reluctant queer community organiser, keep running into each other -- quite literally? Is it just romantic fate bringing together two middle aged "confirmed bachelors" who thought it was too late to find love, or is there some other connection? Can they figure it out? (Are they sure they want to?)

Chapter Excerpt:

​​The foyer of the B&B was paneled in dark wood and softly lit. Crowley appreciated the sparse decor– a few bland landscape paintings, a single vase of dyed green carnations adding a flash of color to the registration desk. Too many B&B’s had white doilies littered everywhere and too much fucking pink – made him feel like he was at someone’s Nan’s. This place had just enough personality to be inviting without making Crowley choke on any words like “quaint” or “charming.”

“Mr… ah, yes,” The man behind the desk peered at the registration book. “Mr. Andrew J Crowford and guest, ” he read in a very refined Scottish accent, miles from the rough dialect Crowley had shown off earlier. He wore a pinstripe suit, tailored within an inch of its life, and a small brass name tag which read, “Mr. Mutt, Sr. Night Mgr.”. 

Crowley felt Angel shift on his feet beside him at the unfamiliar name but, when he turned, there was only a bland look of polite interest on his face. He was a quick study. 

Continue reading Chapter 14 on AO3

Or start from  Chapter 1 - The 24 Hour Print Shop, July 1987

Special thanks for multiple rounds of excellent beta input from On1occasionfork !  @goodomensafterdark