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joelsrose · 3 days ago

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First Date? Part 5

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

My masterlist!

I KNOW CHRISTMAS IS OVER BUT ITS OK PRETEND ITS NOT i'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, i have split the last part into 2 because i wanted to give yall something - multiple crying emojis. I LOVE YALLLL AND AGAIN I APOLOGISE

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Maria had asked you to meet her at the greenhouse under the pretense of planting seeds, but you couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to her invitation than pulling weeds.

She knelt beside you in the soft earth, her hands deftly working to clear the tangled mess of weeds from the fragile seedlings. Her movements were steady and deliberate, but her sharp, watchful eyes weren’t focused on the plants—they were on you.

The silence hung heavy, thick with unspoken tension, until Maria broke it, her voice deceptively casual. “So,” she drawled, her tone light but her gaze cutting. “Tommy told me about yesterday.”

Your hands faltered for just a moment, the weeds slipping from your fingers before you quickly resumed, feigning nonchalance as her words hit their mark. “What about yesterday?” you asked, keeping your voice steady, though your chest tightened.

“You know,” she said, her tone deceptively casual, “in the dining hall. With Joel?”

“I already told you what happened,” you muttered, your focus dropping to the soil as if it could shield you from the conversation.

“Yeah, you did,” Maria replied, sitting back on her heels, her expression impossible to read. “But you left out the part where Joel nearly took some guy’s head off. For you.”

You exhaled, leaning back and brushing dirt off your hands. “Maria, it’s just… Joel being Joel,” you said, your voice quieter now. “He’s protective. That’s all.”

“Protective?” Maria’s laugh was louder this time, tinged with incredulity. She shook her head, reaching for another weed. “Honey, Joel doesn’t just get protective over people. Not like that.”

You busied yourself with the watering can, your fingers tightening around the handle as you avoided her gaze. “He does it for Ellie,” you said, your tone defensive. “And Tommy. And you. It’s not—”

“Not that special?” Maria cut in, her voice sharper now, though there was no malice in it. She leaned closer, brushing a hand against her knee to wipe off the dirt.

“This is different, and you know it. Joel Miller doesn’t make a scene unless it’s life or death. And yesterday?” She shook her head, her gaze unwavering. “That was a declaration.”

Your breath caught at her words, your hands tightening on the watering can as you tried to focus on the steady stream of water pooling at the base of the plants. “It wasn’t a declaration,” you said softly, almost to yourself. “He just… cares. That’s all.”

Maria’s brow lifted, her eyes narrowing like she was trying to puzzle you out. “Oh, he cares, alright,” she said, her tone softer but no less sure. “But this isn’t the kind of caring he shows for Ellie, or Tommy, or anyone else. This isn’t just Joel looking out for you. This is Joel claiming you.”

Your heart skipped, the word hitting you like a jolt. “Maria, stop—”

“I won’t,” she interrupted, her voice firm but gentle, her gaze steady as she gestured toward you. “Because someone has to say it. Joel didn’t just stand up for you yesterday. He didn’t just step in. He made it loud and clear to everyone in that room that you’re his priority. You think that’s nothing?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words tangled in your throat. Maria’s expression softened, her voice dropping just enough to make you listen.

“That’s Joel Miller’s language for ‘I care more than I know how to say,’” she said, her eyes locking on yours with quiet intensity.

You sighed, setting the watering can down and wiping your hands on your thighs, your gaze fixed firmly on the uneven soil in front of you. “It’s… complicated,” you murmured, the words heavier than you’d expected.

Maria didn’t back off. She shifted closer, her sharp gaze unwavering, her fingers pausing their methodical tugging at weeds. “So tell me,” she said softly, her tone gentle but edged with curiosity. “What’s so complicated about it?”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, the loose thread unraveling under your touch as you tried to find the words.

How could you explain it? How could you possibly articulate the way Joel made you feel—like standing on the edge of a cliff, the wind catching your breath, thrilling and terrifying all at once? How every gruff word, every lingering glance, every unspoken act of care felt like something delicate and fleeting, something you were too scared to hold for fear it might break.

“I don’t know,” you sighed finally, the weight of your own uncertainty pressing down on you. “He’s… hard to read.”

Maria tilted her head slightly, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Hmm,” she hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Even Tommy sees it. He brought it up last night, said he’s never seen Joel like that before.”

Your hands stilled, trembling slightly as her words settled over you, heavy and unrelenting. “What exactly did Tommy say?” you asked, your voice quieter now, betraying the nerves prickling at your skin.

Maria’s lips twitched, the barest hint of a smirk curving at the corners. “He said, ‘Joel’s actin’ like a damn fool,’” she said, her tone light but her eyes sparkling with something deeper. “And when I asked why, he just shook his head and said, ‘Because she’s got him wrapped around her little finger, and I don’t even think she knows it.’”

You inhaled sharply, the words twisting in your chest, warm and fragile and terrifying all at once. “Maria—”

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” Maria said gently, cutting off your fumbling attempt at a response as she brushed the dirt from her hands with deliberate care.

Her gaze softened, though her voice held a quiet firmness that left no room for doubt. “But let me say this—Joel Miller doesn’t look at anyone the way he looks at you.”

Maria paused, a small, knowing smile flickering across her lips. “I think you made him soft,” she added, her tone light but carrying a weight that landed squarely on your chest.

“When I’m around him,” you said softly, your gaze falling to the soil as the words slipped free before you could stop them. “I feel… safe. Like nothing could hurt me. Like he’d do anything to protect me.” You paused, your voice faltering as your chest tightened. “I’ve never—” you stammered, swallowing hard. “I’ve never felt like that before.”

Maria didn’t respond right away, letting the weight of your confession settle in the quiet space between you. Her sharpness softened, her expression shifting to something tender, almost maternal, as she studied you. Finally, she spoke, her voice low but firm, carrying a truth you weren’t ready to face.

“Sounds an awful lot like love to me,” she said, the words landing with the force of something undeniable, wrapping around you in a way that felt both comforting and terrifying.

You shook your head quickly, the denial automatic, but it felt hollow, a reflex you couldn’t fully believe. The truth sat heavy in your chest, unspoken but undeniable, like a secret that refused to stay buried. You loved him. You had for a while now—longer than you cared to admit, maybe longer than you even realized.

You loved him with a yearning so deep, it scared you. A love that felt raw and all-encompassing, a love you couldn’t hide even if you wanted to. You loved him, you loved him, you loved him—and it was as thrilling as it was terrifying.

“Maria,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, as if speaking too loud might give too much weight to the feelings you were barely holding together. “Every time we get close, he pulls away.” Your voice broke, a tear slipping down your cheek before you even realized it. “Sometimes… sometimes I feel like he’s about to say something, or do something, to show me he feels the same way. But then he flips, like none of it ever mattered.”

“That man’s been through more than most of us can even begin to understand,” Maria said, her voice quiet but carrying a conviction that struck deep. “But listen to me—this isn’t about you being a risk he’s too scared to take. You’re not some passing thing. You’re the one thing he’s terrified of losing.”

Her words hit like a punch to the chest, knocking loose something you’d been holding too tightly. Because deep down, you knew she was right. Joel had told you himself—the words I’d die for you still echoed in your mind, raw and unshakable, like a vow you hadn’t asked for but couldn’t ignore.

“The other night…” you began hesitantly, your fingers twisting nervously at the hem of your shirt. “He came over.”

Maria’s eyebrows shot up, her entire face lighting with intrigue as she leaned in closer, the teasing lilt in her voice unmistakable. “Do tell,” she urged, her grin already forming.

You winced, immediately regretting opening your mouth. “It’s not what you’re thinking,” you said quickly, holding up a hand as if to fend her off, though the warmth creeping up your neck betrayed you. “He was just… making me dinner.”

Maria blinked, clearly caught off guard, before a slow, knowing smirk took over her face. “Just cooking you dinner?” she repeated, dragging the words out, every syllable dripping with disbelief. “Uh-huh. Because Joel Miller is the kind of guy who goes around playing chef for just anyone.”

Your face burned, and you groaned, dropping your head into your hands. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”

“No,” Maria said with a laugh, shaking her head, her grin widening. “I think you’re not making enough of it. So? What else happened?”

You hesitated, your teeth sinking into your lip as your hands fumbled aimlessly with the nearest seedling. “Well… I… I gave him a massage.”

Maria froze mid-motion, her hand hovering above the soil, her eyes widening as her jaw dropped. “You what?” she asked, her voice pitching higher, loud enough to make you wince.

“Maria, keep your voice down!” you hissed, your gaze darting toward the greenhouse door as though someone might be lurking just outside, ready to overhear.

Maria’s hand clamped over her mouth, but it did nothing to hide the glint in her eyes. She looked ready to burst. Lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, she leaned in closer, her expression a mix of pure disbelief and delight. “Hold on. You gave him a massage? Like, with your hands? On his bare back? Oh my god—did he take his shirt off?”

The words sent your stomach into a spiral. You groaned, your face falling into your hands, wishing the soil beneath you would swallow you whole. “It wasn’t like that,” you muttered, your voice muffled. “He was sore from patrol, and I offered because he looked like he was in pain. That’s it.” You paused, knowing there was no way to escape the next part. “And, yes… he took his shirt off.”

Maria’s mouth dropped open before morphing into the widest grin you’d ever seen. She let out a delighted squeak, clapping her hands together like a kid who’d just been handed the world’s juiciest secret. “So let me get this straight,” she began, her tone exaggeratedly slow, like she was savoring every word. “Joel Miller—Mr. Grumpy, Mr. Lone Wolf, Mr. Don’t-Get-Too-Close—was shirtless in your house, letting you touch him? Are you hearing yourself right now?”

You threw your hands in the air, the flush on your face deepening. “It wasn’t a big deal!” you insisted, though your voice betrayed you, rising in pitch as the memory of the moment came rushing back. “He was in pain, Maria. Pain. I was just helping him out.”

Maria leaned back, her arms crossing as she gave you a knowing look. “Sure,” she said, drawing the word out with enough skepticism to make you want to crawl under the nearest seedling. “That’s why your face is bright red and you’re stammering like you just got caught sneaking out after curfew.”

“It didn’t mean anything,” you muttered, barely above a whisper. “He probably didn’t even think twice about it.”

Maria snorted, “Oh, he thought about it alright,” she said, her voice ringing with certainty, “Hell, he’s probably still thinking about it.”

Your head snapped up, your brow furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Maria grinned, leaning closer like she was about to share some grand secret. “You know, late at night.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, her words loaded with meaning.

Heat flooded your face as her insinuation brought a wave of memories you wished you could forget—Joel’s visible arousal, the way his pants had tightened at the crotch, the strategic placement of the pillow he’d used to conceal it. You swallowed hard, determined not to let those thoughts, or Maria’s teasing, derail you. There was no way she was hearing about that.

“Jesus, will you stop?” you nudged her arm, heat prickling up your neck as the implications of her statement hit you.

“You’re so ridiculous sometimes, you know that?” she said, shaking her head as though she couldn’t quite believe the sight of you sitting there, a mess of nerves and denial.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you shot back, though your voice wavered, and the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you.

Maria leaned in, her elbows resting on her knees, her eyes sharp and glinting with mischief. “It means,” she said, her words slow and deliberate, like she was explaining something painfully obvious to a stubborn child, “that he was probably using every ounce of self-control not to flip you over on that couch right then and there.”

“Maria!” you hissed, her name bursting out of you, sharp and scandalized.

“What?” she said, feigning innocence as she gave a casual shrug. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. He’s a man, after all. And let’s be honest—Joel Miller probably hasn’t had a woman’s hands on him in years.”

You let out a heavy sigh, dragging your hands over your face in frustration. “Ugh, I don’t know, okay?” you mumbled, your voice muffled behind your palms. “I mean… if he did feel that way about me, wouldn’t he have done something by now? At least kissed me or—or something?”

The words slipped out in a rush, unguarded and raw, trailing into a whisper like they might disappear if you spoke them softly enough. But they didn’t disappear.

Instead, they hung in the air between you and Maria, heavy and unrelenting. Her eyes, sharp and knowing, pinned you like a butterfly under glass. Her voice, when it came, was gentle. “You really believe that?”

"Yeah," you murmured, the word brittle. "I mean… wouldn’t he? If he wanted to?”

"Sweetheart," Maria began, her tone steady but kind, "Joel Miller is the most stubborn, self-sacrificing, emotionally constipated man I’ve ever met. You really think he’s just gonna march up to you, bare his heart on a silver platter, and hope for the best? That’s not how he works.”

You frowned, shaking your head as frustration prickled hot at the back of your neck. “So what?” you asked, your voice sharper now, brittle around the edges. “He’s just… never gonna say anything? Never gonna do anything? I can’t just wait forever, Maria.”

“No,” she said gently, shaking her head. “That’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is Joel’s spent most of his life believing that caring about someone—really caring—is a weakness. Something that gets you hurt or worse. And then you come along and, well…” She paused, her gaze warm and steady. “You make him feel things he thought he’d buried a long time ago. But that terrifies him, probably more than you realize. Because letting you in? That means tearing down walls he’s spent decades building. That means risking everything.”

Your voice came quieter now, uncertain and aching. “So… what am I supposed to do?” Your eyes found Maria’s again, searching her face for guidance, for answers, for something—anything—that might untangle the knot of doubt tightening in your chest.

“Be patient,” she said simply, her voice a balm to your frayed nerves. “Joel’s a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. He knows exactly what you mean to him. He’s just gotta figure out how to stop fighting himself and let it happen. And when he does?” Her smile widened, turning sly as she gave your knee a light squeeze. “Trust me, it’s not gonna be some half-hearted thing. That man will move mountains for you. Hell, he already does.”

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Winnie’s steady gait beneath you was a quiet balm, each step rocking you gently as you tightened your hold around Joel’s waist. Your hands rested over his ribs, rising and falling with his even breaths, the rhythm anchoring you more than you cared to admit.

The world here felt almost untouched, too peaceful for its harsh reality. Overhead, the canopy swayed like a living thing, the leaves whispering secrets to the wind. A bird trilled somewhere in the distance, its song rippling through the stillness like a pebble dropped in glassy water. It felt like the kind of day you could bottle up and save for when the world grew too dark again.

“So,” you started, your voice light, teasing, as you broke the quiet. “You’re really gonna teach me to shoot a deer today?”

Joel’s head tilted just enough for you to catch the edge of his profile—sharp, rugged, softened by the glow of the sun. “That’s the idea,” he replied evenly, his drawl as familiar as the creak of the saddle beneath you. “Long as you listen to what I tell you.” He paused, then added with a smirk, “For once.”

You gasped, overly dramatic, smacking his shoulder lightly. “Hey, I do listen.”

Joel hummed, a low, skeptical sound, and you swore you could feel his lips twitching even though you couldn’t see them. The small, almost imperceptible sound made something inside you warm, like you’d just struck gold.

Truthfully, you’d been surprised when Joel had offered. You’d been at the stables after patrol, brushing Winnie down when he approached and casually suggested you join him the next morning. Hunting, he’d said, like it was the most natural thing in the world to ask.

“Well,” you sighed now, letting the moment stretch as you leaned your cheek lightly against his back, “don’t get your hopes up. I have a feeling we’ll head back empty-handed.”

“Don’t matter,” he said after a pause, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “Good to be out here. It’s nice. We’ll make it fun.”

You froze, pulling back, your brows lifted, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Uh, excuse me? Am I having a stroke?”

Joel’s shoulders stiffened immediately, and he glanced back at you, brow furrowed, his tone rough with instinctive gruffness. “What?”

“Joel Miller,” you said, barely able to keep your grin in check, “talking about fun?”

His exhale was short, just shy of a laugh. “You’re a pain,” he muttered, the words carrying no real heat as he turned his attention back to the path ahead.

You laughed, the sound spilling out of you before you could stop it. It felt light and unburdened, a sound that didn’t belong in this harsh world but fit perfectly here, in this pocket of peace—where the trees swayed gently overhead and the sun filtered down to warm your face.

Joel didn’t say anything, but you could feel him relax in front of you, like the sound had smoothed out the edges of him, loosening a piece of the armor he always wore.

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Joel walked ahead, his steps deliberate, his boots barely making a sound. You followed, watching the subtle tilt of his head every so often as he listened for sounds you couldn’t pick up. He was watchful, always, as though the forest could turn on you at any second.

“Stay close,” he murmured over his shoulder, his gaze flicked to yours for a heartbeat before shifting back to the trail ahead.

You nodded, your own steps careful as you matched his pace. Twigs snapped faintly beneath your boots, the crunch of dried leaves mingling with the faint rustle of wind through the trees.

Joel stopped suddenly, his hand lifting to signal you to pause. You froze mid-step, holding your breath as he crouched low. Without a word, he gestured for you to do the same. You sank into a crouch beside him, the earth cool beneath your palms as you balanced yourself.

“There,” he whispered, his voice so quiet it was barely a breath, the heat of it brushing your ear. You followed his line of sight, your heart stuttering as you spotted it—a deer, grazing in the clearing just ahead. Its coat gleamed in the broken sunlight, rich and golden, and its ears flicked lazily as it chewed on the grass, oblivious to the two of you watching.

Joel turned to you, his expression calm but focused, “We’ll take it slow,” he said, inching closer. The warmth of him followed, settling like a weight around you as he crouched beside you. He reached for the rifle, his movements slow and deliberate, before he settled you against a fallen log.

His touch was gentle but firm as he adjusted your position, “Here,” he murmured, the word soft enough to almost get lost in the hush of the forest. His hands covered yours, guiding the rifle into place with a patience that made your pulse quicken.

“You remember, don’t you?” Joel asked quietly, his voice a low hum at your ear. “Keep your grip loose. Just enough to hold it steady. Like we practiced.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as your heart stuttered under the weight of everything—the rifle in your hands, the quiet between you, the solid feel of him so close. He leaned in more, his breath ghosting against your cheek as he tilted your aim slightly.

The deer grazed peacefully in the clearing, its movements unhurried, and you let your focus fall there—tried to drown out the way your skin burned everywhere Joel touched.

“Now,” Joel murmured, his voice softer still. “Take a deep breath. Steady. Slow. You don’t rush this.”

You inhaled, deep and deliberate, the air cool against the tightness in your chest. Joel’s hands stayed on yours, steadying, grounding, and you found yourself focusing not just on the rifle but on him—the way his presence felt like an anchor.

Your finger hovered over the trigger. The weight of the moment settled over you, a knot of nerves and something more twisting deep in your chest. “What if I miss?” you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them.

Joel didn’t hesitate. He leaned in closer, his voice steady and sure as if it held the power to undo every doubt in your head. “You won’t,” he said, the confidence in his tone like a balm. “You trust yourself. And you trust me.”

You blinked, your breath hitching as his words sank in. Joel didn’t pull away, his face still close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the rough timbre of his voice lingering like an echo.

“Breathe,” he reminded softly, the word curling through you like an unspoken promise.

You exhaled slowly, your shoulders relaxing under his touch as you centered your aim once more. Joel stayed still, his hands steadying yours—not pushing, not pulling, just there, like he always seemed to be when you needed him. The world felt smaller somehow, narrowed to just the two of you and the stillness of the forest.

You exhaled, slow and deliberate, your heart hammering in your chest. And then—click. The sharp crack of the rifle firing shattered the stillness, the deer collapsing instantly to the ground.

The forest went quiet again, as if it, too, were holding its breath. You stared, wide-eyed, your pulse thrumming in your ears as the reality of what you’d just done settled in.

Then Joel’s voice broke through, low and steady, laced with something proud. “Hell of a shot.”

You turned to him, chest heaving, a grin spreading across your face—wide, uncontainable. “I did it,” you breathed, the words tumbling out on a rush of disbelief and elation. “Joel, I did it!”

His smile was small but real, softening the sharp lines of his face. Pride flickered in his eyes, a quiet warmth that made your heart stumble. “Knew you could,” he said, his voice gruff but gentle, like he’d never doubted you for a second.

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned in—quick, impulsive—pressing a kiss to his cheek. It was fleeting, barely more than a brush, but it was enough to make him freeze. The world around you seemed to pause, Joel going stock-still beneath your touch, his breath catching as if the smallest movement might shatter the moment.

“Thank you,” you murmured softly, pulling back just enough to look at him. The words carried the weight of more than just this one moment, more than just a lesson with a rifle. “For helping me. For—” You hesitated, your voice faltering under the way he was looking at you. “For everything.”

Joel didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable, but there was something there—something soft and unguarded that he rarely let slip. His eyes darted away for the briefest second, a faint blush creeping up his neck and dusting his cheeks.

“Uh—yeah,” he muttered, clearing his throat as his hand went to the back of his neck. “You’re… you’re welcome.”

The gruff awkwardness of it pulled a laugh from you, light and unrestrained, cutting through the tension like a sunbeam breaking through the trees. Joel Miller—this man who stared down raiders and infected with unflinching calm—was blushing because of you.

He began to rise, his hand already extended to help you up so you could see your catch, but you reached out, your fingers brushing against his arm.

“Wait,” you murmured, your voice quiet but sure. He stilled instantly, his gaze flicking to yours. Slowly, you set the rifle aside, your movements careful, deliberate. Then, you shifted, turning over to rest your head against the log, your eyes lifting to the canopy above.

The trees towered above you, their branches swaying lazily in the breeze, sunlight filtering through in golden streaks that dappled the forest floor. It was a moment that felt too perfect to disrupt, too rare to let slip away.

“Lay with me,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper, but the words carried weight, a quiet invitation that hung between you.

For a moment, he hesitated, and you thought he might pull back—say it was getting late or that you were being silly. But he didn’t.

Instead, Joel obliged with a quiet groan, sinking down beside you. He stretched out, his head coming to rest just near yours, close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of him. His eyes followed yours to the canopy above, where the trees swayed gently, their leaves rustling in a soft, rhythmic whisper.

You stayed quiet for a while, letting the hum of the woods fill the spaces between breaths. Joel’s shoulder brushed yours with each small shift, a touch so faint it almost didn’t count—but it did.

“I have a question,” you murmured, your voice barely above the whisper of the wind through the trees.

Joel hummed softly, a low sound that felt like an invitation, steady and patient, as if he’d wait forever for you to ask.

You hesitated, teeth catching the inside of your cheek, unsure why your heart suddenly felt too big for your chest. “What was your first impression of me?”

Joel chuckled, the sound rough and warm, a quiet rumble that sent a shiver through you. You could feel his gaze shift toward you, even as you kept your eyes fixed on the swaying branches above. “First impression?” he asked, his voice carrying that familiar, low drawl.

“Mhm,” you replied, your lips curving faintly as you tried to sound casual, though your chest tightened in anticipation.

“Let’s see…” He dragged the words out like he was savoring them. “Lazy,” he started, his tone laced with teasing. “Chatterbox. Stubborn as hell.”

Your head snapped toward him, and before you could think better of it, you swatted his arm. “Hey! Be serious,” you protested, though the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

Joel smirked, rubbing the spot like you’d actually hurt him, though his eyes had softened in that way they sometimes did when he wasn’t guarding himself so tightly.

“Alright, alright,” he relented, the teasing slipping away as he leaned back a little, his gaze drifting somewhere far off, like he was digging through memories he hadn’t let himself touch in a while. “I remember Tommy talkin’ about you before we were first partnered for patrol. Said you were a nice kid. Reliable. Good to have around in a pinch.”

He paused, his words settling into the quiet between you. You might have teased him for calling you a “kid” if it weren’t for the way his voice shifted then—lower, steadier, like he was choosing his words with care.

“But then… then I got to know you, and you’re... a hell of a lot more than that.”

“You’re a good girl,” he murmured, the words soft but heavy, landing squarely in your chest and taking the air right out of you. His voice dipped lower, roughened by something real, something unguarded. “Sweet… even when the world tried to take that from you. Didn’t let it. That’s somethin’.”

He let out a long breath, rubbing a hand over his face like the next words were harder to admit. “You’re tough. Know how to stand your ground. Don’t let anyone push you around. But you’ve got…” His voice faltered, a slight hitch in his breath. “You’ve got a good heart. And that’s rare. You don’t see that much anymore.”

He turned his head toward you, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you,” he murmured, his voice low and weighted with sincerity. “You’re... different.”

“Different?” you whispered, your breath catching.

“Special,” he replied, the word lingering in the air like a quiet confession.

The weight of his words settled over you, pressing against your chest in a way that made it hard to breathe. You blinked up at the sky, pretending the ache you felt was just from the cool air brushing against your skin. You didn’t trust yourself to speak—not now, not when your voice would betray everything you weren’t ready to admit.

Joel shifted beside you, clearing his throat like the moment had gotten too heavy for him too. “’Course, you still talk too damn much,” he muttered, his voice gruff, but it lacked the sharp edge of his usual teasing.

You didn’t swat him this time. Instead, you let the silence stretch between you, the space filled with nothing but the sound of the forest and the quiet, steady rhythm of his breathing beside you. Your shoulders brushed again, and this time you didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

"What did you…" Joel started, his voice low and halting, like he was pulling the words up from some place deep inside. He paused, his throat working as he forced the rest out. “What did you think about me?”

You blinked, his question catching you off guard. Joel Miller, asking what you thought about him. The man who could silence a room with a look, who walked through life with his walls so high you were sure no one could climb them.

And now, here he was, his voice so quiet and uncertain it felt like the wind could carry it away. It was so uncharacteristic, so achingly vulnerable, it made your chest feel like it was splintering under the weight of it.

He stayed still beside you, his gaze fixed upward on the swaying trees, but you could feel the tension in him, as though the question alone had cost him more than he was willing to admit.

You swallowed hard, searching for the right words. A soft laugh escaped you, unsteady and a little raw, the memory rushing in before you could stop it.

“I remember Maria warning me before our first patrol,” you said, your voice light but tinged with something deeper. “She told me, ‘He’ll probably ignore you, or say something that might hurt your feelings—but that’s just Joel.’” You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, and he let out a huff of air through his nose, shaking his head like he’d heard that before.

“And sure,” you continued, your tone softening, “the first few times, we didn’t talk much. You kept your distance, and I figured that was just who you were. But you weren’t mean. Not once. Never did anything to hurt my feelings. If anything…” You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. “If anything, you were… thoughtful.”

“You let me eat half your food,” you said, your lips curving into a soft, wistful smile as you held his gaze. “You carried my pack even when I argued with you about it.” A quiet laugh escaped you, though it trembled under the weight of your emotions. “And you… you brought me a damn Christmas tree.”

Your smile faltered, the ache of those moments flooding through you—the quiet, selfless things he did without ever needing to say why.

Each one was tucked away in your heart, little treasures you’d clung to, but now they came crashing down all at once, sharp and overwhelming.

You loved him. God, you loved him. And all you wanted to do was tell him.

Your voice wavered, trembling as you pressed on, your chest tightening with every word. “You… you make me dinner. You bring me firewood when it’s cold, even when I don’t ask. You…” Your breath hitched, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut. “You take care of me, Joel. In a way no one ever has.”

You swallowed hard, the words I love you hovering on the edge of your lips, too fragile to speak but too real to ignore.

The silence between you stretched on, heavy and endless, the weight of what you’d just confessed hanging in the air like the low hum of the wind through the trees. Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, each beat loud and uneven, as though it was trying to drown out the unbearable quiet.

For a moment, you thought you’d said too much, crossed an invisible line, shattered something that could never be put back together. And then, just as the ache of it became too much to bear, something warm and rough brushed against your palm.

You didn’t have to look down to know what it was.

Joel’s hand, strong and calloused, slid into yours with a gentleness that stole the breath from your lungs. His fingers intertwined with yours, hesitantly at first, as though he wasn’t sure you’d let him stay. But when you didn’t pull away, when your hand instinctively curled tighter around his, his grip steadied, solid and unyielding, like it was exactly where it belonged.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you dared to speak. The tension, the quiet, was no longer unbearable—like the spark of something long denied, long overdue. You didn’t look at him, and he didn’t look at you; both of you kept your eyes fixed on the swaying branches above, as if the fragile balance between you would shatter if either of you broke the spell.

The warmth of his hand seeped into you, grounding you, anchoring you to the moment. It wasn’t just a touch—it was an admission, a promise, a vulnerability he’d never offered anyone else. Joel Miller, who had spent years building walls so high no one could breach them, had just let you in. And it was enough to make your heart ache in the most devastating, beautiful way.

You lay there together, the forest whispering around you, the sky shifting above. His thumb brushed your skin, almost imperceptibly, as though he couldn’t stop himself, as though he needed to remind himself you were still there.

And you stayed like that, wordless, motionless, the world around you slipping away until there was nothing but him, and the way his hand fit perfectly into yours.

₊⊹⋆❄︎⋆⊹₊₊⊹⋆❄︎⋆⊹₊₊⊹⋆❄︎⋆⊹₊₊⊹⋆❄︎⋆⊹₊₊⊹⋆❄︎⋆⊹₊₊⊹⋆❄︎⋆⊹₊

The ride back to Jackson was quiet, but it wasn’t empty. The sound of Winnie’s hooves hitting the dirt was familiar and steady beneath you, grounding in a way that felt almost intimate. Your arms were wrapped around Joel’s waist, and though the cool evening breeze brushed against your skin, the warmth radiating from him was enough to chase it away.

Joel was the first to break the silence, his voice low and soft, meant only for you. “Told you you could do it,” he said, and there was a thread of pride in his tone, so pure it made your chest ache. “Your shootin’s gotten real good.”

The words sent a blush rushing to your cheeks, and you were grateful he couldn’t see the way you were smiling like a fool behind him. “That so?” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer right away, and the pause felt heavier than it should have. Then, without warning, his hand left the reins and covered yours where they were clasped around his waist. His touch was steady, deliberate—a quiet reassurance that made your heart stumble over itself.

“Steady hands,” he murmured, his voice even softer now. “Steady heart.” His hand lingered there for just a moment, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

Your heart was thundering now, and you were sure he could feel it where your chest pressed lightly against his back. You let your cheek rest against him, the worn leather of his jacket cool beneath your skin. “Guess I had a good teacher,” you said, your voice quiet but certain, the words carrying everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say outright.

Joel let out a huff of air—a sound that might’ve passed for a laugh if it weren’t so gentle. You felt the rumble of it beneath your cheek, a low vibration that seemed to settle into your very bones. “That right?” he said gruffly, but there was no edge to it, only something soft and unspoken.

The silence stretched on, soft and comfortable, broken only by the steady rhythm of Winnie’s hooves against the dirt. The world felt small out here, just the two of you and the trail ahead, cocooned in the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“What were you like as a kid?” you asked, your voice soft, almost hesitant, like you were stepping carefully into a part of him he rarely shared.

Joel didn’t answer right away, and for a moment, you thought maybe he wouldn’t. But then his voice came, low and thoughtful, “Grew up in Texas,” he said. “Spent most of my time outside. Fishin’, climbin’ trees, gettin’ into trouble with Tommy.”

You smiled at the thought, the image of a younger Joel flashing in your mind—sun-kissed and wide-eyed, a boy too good for the world he’d been handed. “Were you the troublemaker?” you asked, teasing, but there was a softness in your tone.

Joel let out a huff, more breath than laugh, but warm all the same. “Nah,” he said, a hint of fondness creeping into his voice. “That was Tommy. Always gettin’ himself in a mess. I was the one cleanin’ up after him. Still am, come to think of it.”

The corner of your mouth tugged upward, and you shook your head lightly, even though he couldn’t see you. “Sounds like you had your hands full,” you said, your voice laced with quiet amusement. “But it doesn’t sound like a bad way to grow up.”

“Could’ve been worse,” he said simply.

“And you were in construction, right?” you asked, your tone light, almost cautious, as if not wanting to disrupt the delicate quiet between you.

“Yeah,” he said. “Took on whatever jobs I could—houses, repairs, sometimes just fixin’ fences. Wasn’t glamorous, but it was honest. Made sure Sarah had what she needed.”

There was something in the way he said her name, a warmth that softened the rough edges of his voice. It made your chest tighten, the weight of everything he’d carried alone for so long pressing against you. “Sounds like you worked hard for her,” you said softly, your words laced with admiration you didn’t bother hiding.

Joel glanced back at you briefly, his dark eyes catching the fading light of the trail. For just a second, his expression softened, the lines on his face easing. “Had to,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “She deserved that much.”

“And were you,” you started, hesitating for a moment as the words danced on the edge of your tongue. You glanced at the back of his head, at the way his shoulders shifted subtly with the rhythm of the horse. “Were you married?”

Joel’s posture stiffened at your question, just for a heartbeat, before he let out a quiet breath. “No,” he said, his voice low, deliberate. “Well… divorced.”

“Oh,” you murmured, the word soft, instinctive. You bit the inside of your cheek, suddenly wishing he could see you nod, as if it might somehow convey the understanding you didn’t quite know how to voice.

You hesitated, unsure whether to press further, but the curiosity wouldn’t let you stop. “And after the outbreak?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

It felt like uncharted territory—dangerous, intimate. You and Joel didn’t talk about relationships. Hell, you hardly talked about the past at all, and now here you were, asking questions you weren’t sure you wanted the answers to. Or maybe you did.

Joel shifted slightly in the saddle, his shoulders tightening under your arms. For a moment, you thought he might brush it off, deflect the way he so often did. But then his voice came, quieter than before, weighted with a kind of honesty that made your chest ache. “No one after that,” he said, the words slow and deliberate, like he’d been carrying them alone for too long. “Didn’t have the time. Didn’t see much point.”

Relief washed over you, unexpected and sharp, mingled with something darker, something you didn’t want to examine too closely.

You weren’t sure why you wanted him to say no—why the thought of someone else knowing him the way you did, maybe even more, made your chest tighten.

It wasn’t fair, but you couldn’t help it. You didn’t want anyone to know Joel like you did, to see the cracks in his armor he let you glimpse, the moments of tenderness he seemed to reserve just for you.

“Some of us just… don’t get second chances. That’s all,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was speaking more to the shadows of his past than to you.

Some of us don’t get second chances.

The phrase knocked the breath from your lungs, a sudden, raw ache blooming in your chest. Your heart stuttered at the thought—the idea that he believed that.

That Joel, with his quiet strength and steady hands, thought himself unworthy of something so simple, so human. The idea of him carrying that weight, that belief, settled in your bones, cold and sharp.

You wanted to tell him he was wrong. You wanted to reach into the silence and pull him back, tell him he deserved more than he could ever imagine. But the words caught in your throat, tangled in the unspoken feelings you weren’t ready to say out loud.

Because the truth was, you wanted to be his second chance. You wanted to be his, in every way that mattered. You wanted to show him that even in a world as broken as this one, he was still worthy of love and light and everything he’d spent so long denying himself.

“What about you?” Joel asked suddenly, his voice breaking through the stillness. He glanced back, just enough for you to catch the flicker of something in his eyes. Vulnerability, curiosity, maybe even hope. “You got someone waitin’ out there?”

The question sounded casual, almost offhanded, but you felt the weight beneath it—the way his words carried something deeper, something braced. Like he was preparing himself for whatever answer you might give, steeling himself for a name that wasn’t his. Boyfriend. Husband. Someone—anyone—out there waiting for you.

Your breath hitched, and you blinked, your brows lifting in surprise. A soft, startled laugh escaped before you could stop it, not because the question was funny, but because it was him asking. Him, who never asked things like this. Him, who you never thought would.

“Me?” you repeated, your voice higher, breathless with something you couldn’t quite place.

Joel’s shoulders stiffened slightly, his posture betraying the casualness his words tried to feign. “Yeah,” he said, quieter now, rougher. “You. Someone back home, or… someone out there?”

You could see it then, how much he wanted you to say no, how much he needed you to say no. The thought made your chest ache, the quiet yearning in his question making your throat tighten. You shook your head, slow and deliberate, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “No,” you said simply, your voice low, steady, but tinged with something you couldn’t hide. “There’s no one.”

Joel’s shoulders eased—just slightly, just enough for you to notice—and the sound that left him was little more than a hum, low and thoughtful. “No one, huh,” he murmured after a moment, the words quiet, like he was turning them over in his mind. Then, softer, almost to himself, he added, “I find that hard to believe.”

Your heart stopped for a beat, the words sinking into your chest like a stone dropped into still water. The quiet conviction in his tone, the way he said it like it wasn’t a compliment but a fact, left you breathless.

“Why’s that?” you asked, your voice quieter now, a whisper carried on the soft afternoon air.

Joel hesitated, his hands shifting slightly on the reins. “A girl like you,” he began, his voice low, unsteady in a way that made your pulse quicken. “Could have anyone.” He shrugged, as if it were the most casual thing in the world. “You’ve practically got all the boys in Jackson lined up. Toby. That Levi guy.”

You shut your eyes, shaking your head in frustration at how blind he was—how this man, so steady, so stubborn, couldn’t see that you loved him with every fiber of your being.

Slowly, carefully, your arms tightened around his waist, the movement deliberate, your grip firm as though you could somehow hold him together in a way no one else ever had. A secret message in your touch—silent, desperate, saying all the things you didn’t know how to put into words.

“I don’t want just anyone,” you said, your voice quiet but steady, trembling only slightly with the rawness of it. The words carried every unspoken truth you’d kept hidden, tucked away in the quiet spaces between your moments together.

You didn’t know if he’d understand—not fully—but you had to try. You had to give him this, even if it was just enough to plant the seed of something he’d been too blind to see.

Joel’s breath hitched, sharp and sudden, the sound cutting through the tension like a lightning strike. You felt it under your cheek where it rested against his back, the way his ribs rose and fell in a shallow, uneven rhythm. He didn’t speak—didn’t turn or shift—but the tension in his shoulders gave him away, his body betraying everything his words wouldn’t.

You let your eyes drift closed, the warmth of Joel’s back beneath your cheek grounding you, his presence steady in a way that made your heart ache. Winnie’s sure, rhythmic pace felt like it could carry you both away from the world, from everything, into a place that was just this. Just him.

I could stay here forever, you thought, the words unspoken but so loud in your chest it almost hurt. My cheek against his back. My heartbeat pressed into his spine. Safe.

The silence stretched, soft and full, until the thought finally broke free, escaping as a murmur that carried with it something raw and fragile as you spoke, “I think we would’ve gotten along back then.”

“I think we would’ve too.”

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

It was Christmas Eve.

You perched on the edge of Maria’s kitchen counter, swinging your legs idly as she moved around the room, her hands busy but her sharp gaze flicking to you now and then.

A Christmas hat dangled precariously on your head—your Christmas hat, patched together from mismatched scraps scavenged over the past few weeks on patrols with Joel. The red fabric had come from a faded curtain in a half-collapsed house, and the fleece trim? From an old jacket no one could use. The stitching was uneven, one side slumping more than the other, but it had heart.

Joel had never asked about it. Not outright. He’d just given you those raised eyebrows of his, paired with that low mutter—“Don’t know what the hell you’re plannin’ on doin’ with that.” And yet, not once did he stop you from stuffing another scrap into your pack.

Maria glanced at you as she slid a bowl of something fragrant onto the counter. “So,” she said casually, a smirk already tugging at her lips, “how was shooting with your man?”

“Oh my god,” you said, your voice rushing out in a flustered tumble. “He’s not my man.”

Maria leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms as her smirk widened, sharp and teasing. “Yeah,” she said lightly, dragging out the words, “but you’re almost there, though.”

You opened your mouth to shoot back some half-hearted denial, but instead, a soft sigh escaped. The fight left you before it even started. “It was sweet,” you admitted, almost to yourself, the edges of your lips curling into a small, unbidden smile. “He’s… sweet.”

The memory of him holding your hand lingered, unshakable.

You wouldn’t tell Maria that, though. No way. She’d have a field day with it.

“You’re in loooove,” she sang, dragging out the word like it was some cosmic revelation.

Your jaw dropped, heat flushing your face as you scrambled for anything, anything, to shut her up. “I—”

Nope. Nothing.

So, you did the next best thing. Reaching over to her cutting board, you snatched up a slice of carrot and popped it into your mouth before she could stop you. “Whatever,” you said around the crunch, waving her off as if her words hadn’t just hit you square in the chest.

“Hey! That’s for dinner,” Maria scolded, her tone caught somewhere between irritation and amusement as she shot you a sharp look.

“Relax, you’ve got like fifty more,” you said, waving a hand toward the mountain of chopped vegetables she’d already prepped.

“Yeah, and I’m counting on you to ruin at least ten of those by sneaking bites,” she quipped, her knife hovering over the cutting board as she gave you a mock glare. “Seriously, get out of my kitchen. I’ve got enough to worry about without you slowing me down.”

“I’m here to help,” you protested, raising your hands in exaggerated surrender, your grin refusing to fade. “I could chop something. Or, like… boil water? I’m a multi-talented individual.”

Maria snorted, her eyebrow arching skeptically. “Oh, sure. And if I wanted someone to set the kitchen on fire, I’d call Tommy.” She waved her knife at you for emphasis, her smirk cutting through the threat. “Go. Living room. Now.”

“Fine, fine,” you sighed dramatically, sliding off the counter with an exaggerated slump of your shoulders. “But for the record, this is the last time I offer my expertise to this household.”

Maria didn’t even look up, her focus already back on the cutting board. “Expertise,” she muttered under her breath with a scoff. “God help us all.”

As you shuffled toward the doorway, dragging your feet for maximum effect, you couldn’t help but shoot a glance over your shoulder, your grin widening as Maria flicked a stray piece of carrot in your direction without looking. You caught it midair, popping it into your mouth with a crunch that echoed defiantly through the kitchen.

“Living room!” she barked, her voice sharp but laced with unmistakable warmth.

“Going, going,” you called back, retreating into the next room with a laugh, your heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

“Hello, baby,” you murmured as the living room couch came into view, the words half a sigh of longing. It practically called your name, and you didn’t hesitate, flopping onto it with all the grace of a potato sack. A groan escaped you, muffled by the cushion as you sprawled out, one arm draped dramatically over your eyes.

For a moment, you stared at the clock on the wall. 4 p.m. Two whole hours until dinner. Two hours until Tommy and Joel got back from patrol. Two hours of absolutely nothing to do but wait—and wasn’t that just the most unbearable stretch of time?

“Maria!” you called out, your voice loud enough to carry back to the kitchen.

“What?” came her sharp reply, tinged with her usual exasperation, followed by the rhythmic chop of her knife against the cutting board.

“Can I take a nap?” you asked, drawing the words out in a mock plea for permission, even as you settled deeper into the cushions.

There was a pause. You heard her muttering, low and unmistakable, and you caught just enough to know she’d said something like “lazy ass.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Love you too!” you called back, but you didn’t bother waiting for her retort. Sleep was already pulling you under, warm and heavy, the couch a cocoon against the fading afternoon light.

Whatever meddling Maria had planned for the evening—whatever teasing or remarks or too-knowing smiles she had up her sleeve—it could wait. Joel would be back soon, and for now, that was enough.

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

You woke with someone poking your face. Actually poking your cheek.

Your eyelids fluttered open, the haze of sleep blurring your vision as you struggled to make sense of the looming figure above you. It was Joel, his hand hovering suspiciously close to your face, like he was about to do it again.

“You drool when you sleep,” he said plainly, his voice gravelly and low.

“Joel?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep, your mind still caught between dreams and the dim reality of the room.

“No, it’s Santa,” he replied dryly, a faint flicker of amusement in his tone as he stepped back and crossed his arms.

You pushed yourself upright, blinking around the room to find the clock. The arms of the clock stared back at you: 6:15 PM.

“How was patrol?” you asked, your voice soft and thick with sleep as you rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hand, still trying to shake off the lingering haze.

Joel chuckled, the sound low and warm, sending a quiet thrill through you despite yourself. He dropped heavily onto the couch beside you, his weight making the cushions sag. His arms stretched out across the back of the couch, his posture relaxed but his presence anything but. You shifted instinctively, making room for him.

“Fine,” he said with a shrug, his voice as casual as ever. But there was a flicker of mischief in his eyes as he added, “Though we got things done faster ‘cause you weren’t there yappin’ my ear off.”

“Please,” you huffed, throwing him a look as you leaned back into the couch, trying to ignore how close his arm was to brushing your shoulder. “You love it.”

Joel shrugged again, feigning nonchalance, but his lips twitched upward in a faint, unguarded smile.

“Can’t believe you were sleepin’,” Joel muttered, tilting his head toward you, his voice thick with a faint yawn. “Shouldn’t you be helpin’ Maria?”

You groaned, leaning your head back against the couch, letting your frustration bleed into an exaggerated pout. “She practically kicked me out of the kitchen,” you muttered, your voice laced with mock indignation.

Joel turned his head, and the faintest smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, how’d I forget? Can shoot a man dead, but can’t even bake a potato.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes as heat flushed your cheeks. Without thinking, you reached for the nearest pillow, brandishing it like a weapon. “Ha-ha. Very funny,” you shot back, tossing it at him with little care for accuracy.

The pillow bounced harmlessly off his shoulder, and to your surprise, Joel laughed—a real laugh, deep and unguarded, rumbling low in his chest. It wasn’t something you heard often, and the sound caught you off guard, striking something tender inside you. You wanted to freeze the moment, hold it tight, and keep it for all the days when he felt a million miles away.

When the laughter faded, a quiet calm settled over the room. Comfortable, warm, and charged with something you couldn’t name. Joel’s dark eyes lingered on you, softer than you’d seen in a long time, his smirk mellowing into a faint, almost shy smile.

You felt yourself staring back, your lips curving into an answering smile before you could even think about it. There was something about him like this—unguarded, at ease—that made your chest ache, your breath hitching before you caught it.

He shook his head, his gaze dropping to his lap for a moment before returning to you. “You’ve got—” Joel chuckled, pausing mid-sentence like he was trying to stop himself. But then he reached over, his fingers brushing against your lip, and your heart stuttered.

“Drool,” he said, his voice low, tinged with something you couldn’t quite pin down. “All over your damn face, you silly girl.”

His touch was fleeting, so light it might’ve been nothing, but it left sparks in its wake, the warmth of his fingers lingering long after he pulled away.

Joel leaned back, shaking his head like he was fighting off a grin, but you caught it—the quiet fondness in the way he looked at you, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long.

For a moment, it was just the two of you. The world outside the living room melted away, leaving nothing but the low hum of the fire, the faint scent of Maria’s cooking drifting in from the kitchen, and the feeling swelling between you.

“Dinner’s ready!” Maria’s voice rang out from the kitchen, cutting through the quiet like a sharp blade, snapping the two of you back to reality.

Joel’s hand, which had lingered just a second too long near your mouth, dropped abruptly, as if he’d only just realized it was there. He cleared his throat, the sound rough and awkward, his gaze darting away from yours. “Better get movin’,” he muttered, his tone gruff, like he was trying to pull himself together.

He pushed himself up from the couch, his movements stiff and purposeful, tugging at the hem of his jacket like he needed something—anything—to do with his hands.

You stayed where you were, watching him as your heart thudded in your chest, the warmth of his touch still ghosting over your skin.

“C’mon,” he said, softer now. “Maria’ll have my head if we’re late.”

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

The dining room was warm, cozy in the way only Maria could make it. The table was set with care, adorned with steaming bowls of vegetables, a mound of golden mashed potatoes, a basket of fresh bread, and little details that made the world outside feel miles away.

“Maria, this looks incredible,” you said as you pulled out your chair, the scent of everything making your stomach rumble.

Maria smirked, hands on her hips as she surveyed the table with satisfaction. “Look how much work I got done without you sneaking bites of my veggies,” she teased, her eyes twinkling as she shot you a playful glare.

“You’re a naughty one,” Tommy quipped, his grin wide as he turned to Maria, leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek. “You’ve outdone yourself, baby.”

Joel slid into the chair across from you, the scrape of wood against the floor almost lost in the hum of conversation. His gaze caught yours for just a beat—a quiet, fleeting connection—before he looked away, his attention falling to the food in front of him.

“So,” Tommy began, already reaching for the bread as if he hadn’t eaten in days, “Joel and I had quite the day on patrol.”

Joel huffed, his lips tugging into a wry smirk as he leaned back slightly in his chair. “If by ‘quite the day,’ you mean you spent half of it yappin’ and the other half tripping over your own damn feet, then yeah, sure.”

The comment drew a laugh from your lips. Joel’s gaze flicked toward you again, his eyes catching yours, and for a moment, his expression softened.

Tommy, oblivious as ever, was already grinning smugly as he tore into a piece of bread, slathering it with butter. “Hey, I didn’t hear you complainin’ when I saved your ass from that clicker,” he shot back, wagging the bread at Joel like a weapon.

Joel leaned back in his chair, shaking his head slowly. “I had that under control,” he said gruffly, his voice carrying just enough edge to hold back Tommy’s teasing.

Tommy barked a laugh, clearly enjoying himself, but the word clicker lodged itself in your chest like a thorn. The lighthearted chatter around you blurred into static as the weight of the word pulled your attention elsewhere. Your fork froze midair, the food on your plate forgotten as your gaze snapped to Joel.

“Clicker?” you asked, your voice soft but taut with concern, your brows furrowing as your chest tightened. All the humor drained from your face, replaced by something raw and unguarded. Your eyes searched his, desperate for assurance, for some unspoken promise that everything was fine.

Joel’s jaw tightened as he saw the worry etched into your expression. “Yeah,” he admitted after a beat, his voice low and steady, smoothing the jagged edges of the truth. “Just one. It was alone. Nothin’ we couldn’t handle.”

His gaze locked onto yours then, steady and insistent, and the intensity of it made your heart falter. It wasn’t just words he was giving you; it was something more—a silent plea for you to believe him, to let him carry this so you wouldn’t have to.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” he added, his tone softer now, like he was trying to calm the storm he knew was already brewing in your mind. Joel wasn’t good at words, not when it came to things like this, but the way he leaned slightly forward, his shoulders tense, told you he felt it—the weight of your fear, your worry.

God, he thought, looking at you, his own chest tightening at the way you seemed to fold into yourself, worry so plainly written on your face. If he were half the man he wished he was, he’d reach across the table, take your hand, and kiss that fear right out of you. He’d tell you, I’ve got you, and make you believe it.

But he wasn’t, so he didn’t. Instead, his hand hovered over the table for a split second, as if it might defy him, before retreating to his lap.

You nodded slowly, but the tightness in your chest refused to ease. The weight of Joel’s words lingered, heavy and uneasy, the thought of him—your Joel—that close to danger settling like a stone beneath your ribs. “Okay,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as your fingers fidgeted with the frayed edge of your napkin.

“I’m fine,” he said at last, his voice softer now, almost tentative. His eyes, though, carried the weight of a promise, silent but firm: I’m fine. I won’t let anything happen to me. Not when it would hurt you.

The moment stretched between you, filled with something unspoken but undeniable, before Tommy, blissfully oblivious to the tension, jumped back in with a teasing grin. “Yeah, well, I’m the one who made sure he stayed that way,” he said, tearing into another piece of bread with all the smugness in the world.

“Anyways,” Tommy said, undeterred, turning his full attention to you with his mouth still half-full of bread. “Joel was tellin’ me you shot a damn deer. That true, darlin’?”

Your cheeks warmed instantly, the heat spreading down your neck as you ducked your head. You nudged the peas on your plate with the tines of your fork, suddenly unable to meet anyone’s gaze. “Yeah,” you mumbled, biting your lip. “But Joel basically did all the work.”

“Not true,” Joel cut in, his voice steady and firm, leaving no room for argument. He set his utensils down and leaned forward slightly, his gaze locking on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “She did it all herself,” he said, his tone softening, a quiet pride lacing every word. “Too modest for her own good, as always. She lined up the shot, kept steady, and didn’t flinch—not once. Clean hit, too. Not many folks can say they’ve got that kind of aim, especially their first time.”

Your cheeks burned hotter under his praise, and you dared a glance up, only to find him still watching you, his expression warm and earnest. “Really impressed me,” Joel added, his voice dropping slightly, almost as if the words were meant just for you. “Takes guts to do what she did. Can’t teach that. She’s a natural.”

Tommy let out a low whistle, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Well, damn,” he said, grinning. “Sounds like you’ve got some real competition now, Joel.”

Joel didn’t even glance at Tommy, his focus still entirely on you. “She’s better than I ever was,” he said simply, the honesty in his tone making your heart ache in the best possible way.

Tommy let out a low whistle, leaning back in his chair with an appreciative nod. His gaze flicked between the two of you, a teasing glint in his eye, but for once, he didn’t say anything about it. “Well, I’ll be damned. Good job, sweetheart,” he said, his voice warm, the smile he gave you full of pride.

You glanced up, catching Joel’s expression as he reached for his drink. His eyes lingered on you, softer than you’d ever seen, a quiet pride flickering in their depths. That’s my girl, you could almost hear him think, though the words never left his lips.

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

After dinner, the group drifted into the living room, the gentle crackle of the fire glowing steadily in the hearth lulling everyone into a comfortable rhythm.

Tommy and Maria claimed the couch closest to the flames, their silhouettes bathed in the warm amber light.

You lay sprawled out on the floor, propped up on your elbows, your feet swaying idly behind you as you flipped through an old scavenged recipe book Tommy had brought back for Maria on patrol. The room seemed to hum with an easy warmth, the golden light catching on the strands of tinsel Maria had strung up earlier in the week.

Across from you, Joel sat on the far couch, his posture deceptively relaxed, though the way his fingers curled around the glass of whiskey betrayed a quiet tension. The amber liquid swirled lazily as he tilted it in his hand, but his attention wasn’t on the drink—it was on you. You didn’t have to look up to confirm it; you could feel his gaze, steady and unwavering, burning into you with an intensity that made your skin prickle and your heartbeat quicken.

You swallowed hard, trying—and failing—to ignore the weight of his eyes, the way they seemed to see through every wall you’d so carefully constructed. Instead, you focused on the firelight dancing across the room, on the warm crackle of the wood burning low in the hearth, on the worn fabric of the book in your lap that you hadn’t turned a page of in far too long. Anything but him.

But it was impossible. He was impossible to ignore. His face, slightly pink from the fire’s glow and the remnants of the day’s sun, was achingly familiar yet disarmingly softened in this moment. His dark lashes, impossibly long, fluttered with every slow blink, as though time moved differently for him. You caught yourself wondering if he was thinking about you—or if he already knew you were thinking about him.

“Okay,” you said suddenly, breaking the comfortable lull in the room, your voice a touch too bright, betraying the nervous energy humming beneath the surface. You sat up straighter, tucking your legs beneath you, your arms crossing behind your back in a small, self-conscious gesture. “I have a surprise for everyone.”

Maria tilted her head, a flicker of curiosity lighting up her eyes. She raised a single brow, her tone a mix of intrigue and caution. “A surprise?” she echoed, drawing the word out like she wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.

“You’re pregnant!” Tommy blurted out, a mischievous grin splitting his face as he leaned back, clearly pleased with his own joke.

“Tommy,” Joel said sharply, his voice cutting through the moment like a blade. The single word carried enough weight to make his brother immediately hold up his hands in mock surrender.

You felt the heat rush to your cheeks, crawling up your neck and settling there as a stubborn flush. But you didn’t look back, didn’t dare meet anyone’s gaze, least of all Joel’s. Instead, you crouched near the corner, your fingers diving into the bag you’d carefully stashed earlier. The familiar texture of the fabric met your fingertips, grounding you as you grasped it.

You turned back to your bag and pulled out the Christmas hats you had made for everyone, holding them up triumphantly with a grin that spread from ear to ear. “Ta-da!”

Maria’s eyes widened, and then her hand shot to her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Oh, God, you made more,” she said, though the amusement in her voice betrayed her words.

“Damn right I did,” you replied, your grin unstoppable as you shook out the cascade of red and white fabric, the soft material spilling over your arms like a dramatic reveal.

Tommy leaned forward, squinting at the hats like they were a personal insult. “Sorry, darlin’, but those are some ugly-ass hats.”

“Hey!” you shot back, clutching the fabric like they were precious cargo. “They’re not just hats.” You pointed a finger at him, your grin growing wider. “They’re Christmas hats. Festive, delightful, and mandatory.”

Before Tommy could even open his mouth to protest, you strode toward him and plopped one onto his head with an exaggerated flourish. The pom-pom flopped to one side, the whole thing slightly askew, and yet it was perfect—perfectly ridiculous.

“Maria, help me out here,” Tommy groaned, gesturing toward his head with his free hand like the hat was some great injustice.

Maria shook her head, her own laughter soft and warm. “Sorry, honey, but I think it suits you.”

You turned to Maria, handing her a smaller hat trimmed with red velvet and gold ribbon. “And this one’s for you.”

“Gosh,” she murmured, her tone half-teasing, half-genuine. “You shouldn’t have. Really—you shouldn’t have.”

Next, you turned to Joel. He was watching you.

The weight of his gaze was heavy, grounding, and it stole the breath right out of your lungs. Your steps faltered for a heartbeat, the oversized Christmas hat clutched tighter in your hands like it could shield you from the way his eyes bore into you.

The walk to the couch stretched longer than it should have, each step carrying the ghost of that night—the night of spin-the-bottle.

The memory slammed into you unbidden, vivid and searing: the heat of Joel’s lap beneath you, the solid weight of his thighs pressing against your own. You could still feel it, the way his breath had mingled with yours, warm and shallow, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with your own. You’d been so close. His breath had ghosted against your skin, and for one fleeting second, you’d thought—hoped—he’d kiss you.

“What you got for me, darlin’?” Joel’s voice broke through the haze, low and rough, his drawl curling around you like smoke. It was quiet, meant just for you.

Your heart stuttered, your fingers clutching the hat tighter as you stopped in front of him. His eyes hadn’t moved—not once.

“This one’s for you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, trembling slightly as it escaped your lips. You hated the way it wavered, like a tightrope swaying in the wind, hated how exposed he made you feel. Like he could see everything—every soft, raw, guarded secret you tried so desperately to keep hidden.

Joel hummed low in his throat, a deep, quiet sound that thrummed through the room and settled heavy in your chest. His fingers reached up—not to take the hat, but to brush lightly over the fabric where it rested in your hands.

His dark eyes flicked from the hat to your face. Then, faint and almost reluctant, the corner of his lips curved into a smile.

It wasn’t the teasing smirk he reserved for Tommy or the polite, distant warmth he gave to Maria. This was something else entirely. Softer. Warmer. And it wrecked you because there was no hiding the truth in it—adoration, raw and unguarded, spilling from him like he hadn’t even realized it was there for the world to see.

From the other couch, Tommy leaned toward Maria, his voice low enough to think you wouldn’t hear. “Joel’d never be caught dead in somethin’ like that.”

But Joel didn’t flinch. He didn’t glance in Tommy’s direction or roll his eyes the way you expected him to. Instead, he set his glass down on the small table beside him with deliberate care, his movements slow and measured.

“Well then,” he drawled, his voice low and rough, laced with something that made your breath catch. “Go ahead.”

Your hands trembled slightly,“You… want me to—?”

He tilted his head slightly, his lips quirking just enough to send your heart tumbling in your chest. “I ain’t puttin’ it on myself.”

The space closed as you stepped closer, your hands trembling as you raised the hat toward him. You didn’t notice the ridiculous green felt or the uneven trim. All you could feel was him. The way his hair brushed softly against your fingertips, surprising you with its texture. The way his shoulders loomed in your vision, broad and unyielding, steadying you even as your heart raced so fast it threatened to undo you.

Joel didn’t flinch, didn’t pull back. He stayed perfectly still, his dark eyes locked on you, unwavering, as if this moment was as pivotal for him as it was for you.

Your heart pounded in your ears as the world around you disappeared entirely. All you wanted—all you needed—was to close the space between you, to sink down and kiss him, consequences be damned.

From the other couch, Maria’s hand darted out, smacking Tommy lightly on the leg, “Oh my God, look at them,” Maria muttered, her voice hushed.

When you finally stepped back, the hat perched crookedly on Joel’s head, you allowed yourself to take him in.

It was utterly ridiculous—the slouched green fabric and the pom-pom dangling lopsidedly made him look impossibly out of place, like he’d been roped into something far beneath his dignity.

But somehow, impossibly, it suited him. Or maybe it was just because he was him—Joel Miller, so rugged and handsome he couldn’t possibly look bad in anything.

Your lips quirked upward before you could stop them, the warmth in your chest blooming like the soft glow of the fire.

“Perfect,” you whispered, the word slipping out unbidden, your voice barely audible.

Joel tilted his head slightly, the faintest breath of a huff escaping him, low and rough. “You happy?” he asked, his voice gruff but quieter than usual, like the words carried a tenderness he wasn’t sure how to show.

“Yes,” you murmured, the word trembling as it left you. “Very.”

His lips pressed together in the faintest twitch of a smile, his gaze flicking away for a second before settling back on you. He shook his head, slow and deliberate, like he couldn’t quite believe himself. “Good,” he murmured, his voice so low you almost didn’t catch it.

And it ached—physically ached—because you knew. Deep down, in a place you rarely let yourself linger, you understood that there wasn’t a single universe where Joel Miller would wear something like this for anyone but you. It wasn’t for Tommy’s teasing or Maria’s amused approval, and it certainly wasn’t for the absurd cheer of the holidays. No, he’d done it for you.

Every glance, every quiet word, every second of stillness as he sat there with that ridiculous hat on his head—he’d done it because it made you happy. Because somehow, in a way neither of you dared to name, you mattered to him.

And it wrecked you. It wrecked you because Joel Miller—this man who had built himself out of iron and grit, who would rather face a swarm of infected or a pack of raiders than do anything to chip away at the unyielding, stoic image he’d crafted—had done this without hesitation. For you. The thought was staggering, dizzying, and when he looked at you again, his eyes softer than they had any right to be, you knew: he’d do anything for you. He’d endure anything. He’d die for you.

“Tommys gonna think I’ve gone soft,” Joel murmured, his voice low and meant only for you.

Your smile deepened, warmth pooling in your chest, and you tilted your head slightly, your voice just as soft. “Have you?”

You were still standing in front of him, looking down at where he sat on the couch, the firelight catching in his dark eyes, making them burn with something unspoken.

“D’ya think I have?” he asked, his voice rough, quiet, the rasp of it threading through your veins and anchoring you to the moment.

You swallowed, the tension tightening in your chest like a quiet ache, the words slipping out in a whisper. “Maybe.”

Joel’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile, though his eyes stayed on yours, unreadable yet devastatingly open all at once. “Then maybe,” he murmured, his tone dipping lower, softer, pulling you closer like a tide you couldn’t resist.

The heat in his gaze felt too much, too raw, and you turned, ready to claim your seat by the fireplace and retreat before it swallowed you whole.

“Hey.”

Joel’s voice stopped you mid-step, rough but not sharp, more like a tether than a command. Your breath caught as the word curled around you, pulling you back to him.

“Come sit with me.”

You turned slowly, the quiet invitation pressing against you like gravity. He was still sitting there, his hand resting on his knee, fingers loosely curled, the other gripping the armrest. His broad frame leaned slightly forward, like he couldn’t help but close some of the space between you—as if his body physically couldn’t bear the distance, even in the same room.

His expression was carefully unreadable, a mask you’d seen him wear so many times before, but his eyes—oh, his eyes—gave him away. A silent plea wrapped in his gaze.

“If you want,” he added, almost shyly, his voice dipping lower, like he didn’t want to push too hard.

If you want. The simplicity of it nearly broke you. Joel Miller, a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders without complaint, who never asked for anything, was asking now—for you.

“Okay,” you said softly, your voice barely audible.

Slowly, you settled next to him on the couch, the heat of his body radiating toward you like a magnet pulling you in. Your thighs pressed together, neither of you daring to move away.

Joel shifted slightly, just enough to turn his head toward you, his dark eyes catching the firelight. “That’s better,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, each word like a warm ember slipping into the space between you.

The sound of his voice wrapped around you, soft but steady, and it seeped into your bones, settling somewhere deep in your chest. Your lips twitched, threatening a smile you couldn’t quite hold back.

“Yeah,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath, but the words carried everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say. “Much better.”

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

One drink turned into two. Two turned into three. And before you knew it, the edges of the world had softened, the flickering firelight blending into a warm, golden haze that wrapped around you like a blanket.

You weren’t someone who got drunk—it wasn’t your thing. You knew your limits, knew when to stop, how to keep control. But tonight… tonight felt different.

Tommy, with his easy grin and mischievous glint, was no help at all. Every time Joel told him to quit—his voice low, tinged with irritation—Tommy would wave him off with a laugh, saying something about Joel having a stick up his ass.

“C’mon, Joel. Live a little,” Tommy drawled, pouring you another drink with all the flair of a showman. And you, caught up in the warmth and ease of the night, shrugged and raised your glass in a tipsy cheer, obliging without a second thought.

Somehow, the night unraveled from there. You’d gone from sitting beside Joel, close enough to feel the subtle heat radiating off him, to sprawling across the living room floor, your head tipped back, your arms stretched wide. Your voice—off-key and full of enthusiasm—belted out Last Christmas like it was your personal anthem, each wobbling note echoing off the walls.

Tommy was in stitches, practically doubled over on the couch as he slapped his knee in delight. Maria shook her head, her smile soft and indulgent as she sipped her drink, her eyes crinkling with barely-contained amusement.

But Joel—Joel stayed quiet. He hadn’t joined in the way Tommy had, hadn’t pushed the bottle toward you or filled your glass with a mischievous grin. He sat on the couch, his broad frame hunched slightly forward, one hand resting on his knee, his dark eyes fixed on you with a quiet intensity.

He wasn’t laughing. His lips were pressed into a firm line, his brow furrowed just enough to make your chest tighten if you weren’t already too clouded to notice. It wasn’t disapproval exactly—not the kind you might’ve expected from someone like him—but something closer to worry.

His dark eyes stayed on you, steady and unflinching, like he was trying to gauge how far you were from the line, how much longer until he might need to step in.

At one point, something small—a bottle cap, maybe—rolled under the coffee table. It didn’t matter what it was; in your tipsy state, it became an immediate priority. With all the single-minded determination of someone far too gone, you leaned forward, hands groping blindly under the table, muttering something about how “everything needs its place.”

You didn’t notice the sharp edge of the table creeping closer, didn’t feel the unsteadiness in your own balance as you reached further and further. But Joel did.

He moved before you even realized - his hand, warm and rough, settled over the crown of your head just as you were about to smack it against the edge of the table. The pressure was firm but careful, guiding you gently away from danger before you could even process it.

“Careful, baby,” he murmured, the words low and instinctive, slipping out before he even realized what he’d said.

You didn’t register it, your focus still entirely on the bottle cap beneath your fingers. “Got it,” you mumbled after a moment, your voice smaller than you intended as you pulled back, victorious and unaware.

When Tommy reached for the bottle to pour you another drink, Joel stepped in without hesitation. His hand closed over the neck of the bottle, firm and commanding, pulling it away before Tommy could even tilt it.

“All right, that’s enough,” Joel said, his voice steady but carrying an edge sharp enough to cut through the room’s hazy warmth.

Tommy blinked, caught off guard for a moment before his easy grin slid back into place. “Hey, man,” he started, his tone light but laced with the slightest edge of challenge. “The girl wants a drink.”

“Quit, Tommy,” Joel said, his tone dropping lower, heavier, leaving no room for argument. His eyes cut to his brother with a pointed sharpness that made Tommy sit back slightly, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Fucking child,” Joel muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to catch it.

Maria stood then, shaking her head as she picked up the nearest empty glass with a sigh. “Honestly, you two are worse than children,” she said, her voice exasperated but warm, her eyes flicking between the brothers like this was nothing new.

The haze in your mind started to shift then, softening into something weightier, more complicated. The room seemed quieter, heavier, and your cheeks burned—not just from the whiskey but from the weight of Joel’s eyes on you. He wasn’t laughing like Tommy, nor sighing like Maria. He was watching you.

You shifted slightly, your fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans as a quiet embarrassment crept in. Not because of him, but because he could see the truth you weren’t ready to admit—not even to yourself. That you weren’t drunk for nothing. That this wasn’t just another night. Joel saw it, as he always did, and somehow, that made you feel both more vulnerable and more understood than ever.

“You’ve had enough,” he murmured, his voice low and steady as he reached for your glass. Joel leaned back against the couch, his broad frame sinking into the worn cushions.

“I don’t… I don’t get drunk,” you mumbled, your voice unsteady, trailing off as you lay back against the carpet. Your eyes stared upward, fixed on the wall as if it held the answers you couldn’t find yourself. The words were soft, almost more to yourself than to him, but the slight slur in your tone betrayed you. “I’m not drunk,” you added, weaker this time, as if saying it aloud might make it true.

Tommy grinned from his spot on the couch, raising his hands in mock solidarity. “Me neither, sister.”

“Exactly,” you said, jabbing a wobbly finger in his direction as if he’d just made the most compelling argument of the night.

Joel’s voice broke through the room then, low and firm, slicing through the haze like a knife. “You’re drunk.”

Your head snapped toward him, narrowing your bleary focus on the man who’d barely spoken all night. Joel sat back on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely in front of him. His posture screamed patience, but the kind that was wearing thin.

“You’re grumpy,” you said, a weak jab, though the words stumbled on their way out. “And I am not drunk.”

Joel arched an eyebrow, leaning back slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Right. That why you’re lyin’ there like you can’t tell which way’s up?”

Your brows furrowed, defiance bubbling up despite the haze in your head. “Alright,” you said, preparing to stand up. “I’ll prove it to you.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed just slightly, his brow creasing as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “No,” he said, his voice low, steady, and firm. “I believe you. Don’t gotta prove nothin’.”

“See?” you huffed, crossing your arms like you’d just won an argument. “That’s what I thought.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand down his face like he was physically holding himself back from commenting. “Christ,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Maria stood then, stretching with a soft yawn and giving Tommy a light nudge. “Alright, it’s way past my bedtime,” she announced. Her gaze shifted to you, her expression softening. “You can stay here tonight,” she offered, her voice resolute. “No sense sending you out like this.”

You opened your mouth to agree, but Joel was already moving. His shoulders stiffened, his jaw flexing as he stood abruptly.

“No,” Joel said, the word coming out firm, final, leaving no room for debate. His voice cut through the room with quiet authority, drawing all eyes to him. “I’ll take her home.”

Maria blinked, visibly surprised. Her gaze flicked between you and Joel, her eyebrows arching slightly as her lips curved into the faintest hint of a knowing smile. “You sure?”

“She’ll sleep better in her own bed,” he said gruffly, the words deliberate but carrying a weight that was hard to ignore.

Maria tilted her head, her brow lifting as if to say Oh, really? But she didn’t argue, just exchanged a quick glance with Tommy, whose grin threatened to break across his face.

Tommy stretched lazily, his grin lopsided as he turned to you with a look that could only be described as fond mischief. “Night, troublemaker,” he said, his voice brimming with affection. His gaze slid to Joel, and the grin widened, his tone taking on a teasing edge. “Be careful. This one’s feisty when she’s drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” you mumbled, but the slur in your words betrayed you, and Tommy’s chuckle made your cheeks burn.

“Sure you’re not,” he said, ruffling your hair like you were a kid. You swatted weakly at his hand, your protest too slow to land, and he laughed again, shaking his head.

He clapped Joel on the shoulder as he passed, the weight of it friendly but carrying a knowing edge. “Good luck,” he added, the words laced with that unmistakable Tommy charm.

Joel sighed, the sound low and heavy, threading with both frustration and a quiet sort of resignation. He didn’t bother responding to Tommy, didn’t even glance his way. Instead, his focus was on you, his dark eyes sharp and steady as he stepped closer.

“C’mon,” he muttered, his voice gruff but softer than you expected. His large hands reached for you, settling gently at your elbows as he helped you up, his grip firm and steady. You wobbled slightly, your balance faltering just enough to make Joel’s hold tighten instinctively.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower, almost like a coaxing whisper. His hands shifted, one sliding to your lower back to steady you as you leaned into him without realizing it.

Together, you made your way toward the front door, Joel guiding you with a patience that felt like it shouldn’t belong to someone as gruff as him.

The boots by the door stared back at you, almost mocking in their silent challenge. You blinked down at them, swaying slightly, trying to figure out how you were supposed to get them on when the floor seemed to tilt every time you moved.

“Alright,” Joel said, nodding toward the boots. “One shoe at a time. Think you can handle that?”

“Obviously,” you muttered, though your fumbling hands betrayed your confidence almost immediately. You bent down to grab one of the boots, determined to prove him wrong, only for the room to tilt ever so slightly, the lazy spin of the world throwing you off balance.

Before you could topple forward, Joel’s hand shot out, his grip firm and steady as it curled around your arm. “Thought you said you weren’t drunk,” he muttered under his breath, his tone low but laced with exasperated fondness.

He guided you upright gently, his other hand bracing at your side. “Hold still, or you’re gonna end up kissin’ the floor,” he added, dropping down to one knee in front of you with a quiet sigh.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as heat surged to your cheeks, spreading like wildfire through your chest. Joel Miller, kneeling in front of you, his broad frame grounded and steady against the backdrop of the room, sent your pulse into a frantic rhythm you couldn’t seem to control.

Joel laced the boot quickly, his movements efficient but deliberate, the steady brush of his fingers against the leather sending warmth up your spine. When he finished, his hand lingered for just a moment longer, giving your calf a light squeeze. It was subtle, almost absentminded, but achingly tender—like he couldn’t help himself, like the simple touch meant more than he could say.

“There,” he said softly once he finished, giving your leg another light pat before standing again. He stepped back with a groan, his dark eyes sweeping over you in a way that felt less like he was checking your boots and more like he was checking you, making sure you were steady, secure, okay.

You looked up at him, wide-eyed, your face flushed, hair sticking out in every direction, a picture of tipsy disarray. Joel’s gaze softened despite himself, his lips pressing into a line that didn’t quite hide the tenderness creeping into his expression.

“You’re a mess, y’know that?” he muttered, shaking his head with a soft huff. But even as the words left his mouth, he leaned closer, his hand lifting with a careful steadiness to brush a strand of hair from your face.

“I’m fine,” you argued weakly, even as your feet betrayed you, slipping slightly on the uneven floor.

He turned, grabbing your coat from the hook by the door, shaking it out before holding it open in front of you. “Arms up.”

You blinked at him, your mind struggling to catch up. “What?”

“Arms up,” he repeated, this time with more insistence. When you still didn’t move fast enough, Joel sighed, muttering under his breath as he stepped closer, already lifting your arms himself.

“Jesus,” he muttered, tugging the coat snug over your shoulders with a final, purposeful motion. “You’re worse than dealin’ with a kid.”

“Don’t be mean,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze as your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your sleeve, your voice carrying the faintest pout.

Joel’s lips twitched—not quite a smile, but just enough to send a flicker of warmth curling in your chest, cutting through the biting cold lingering beyond the door. “I’m not bein’ mean,” he murmured, his tone softening, though that familiar gruffness clung to the edges, giving his words weight. “Just tryin’ to get my girl home in one piece.”

The words slipped out so naturally, so effortlessly, that Joel himself didn’t even realize what he’d said. His focus remained on you as he adjusted the coat on your shoulders, his movements careful, deliberate, like you might catch a chill if he left even a corner undone.

You, too tipsy and too focused on fiddling with your gloves, didn’t seem to hear him. The weight of the moment passed unnoticed by you, but Joel froze for half a beat, his hands stilling against your sleeve as the thought settled into his chest.

It didn’t feel strange to him, calling you that—my girl—because somehow, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

When you finally got home, Joel was all practicality. He unlocked the door with ease, nudging it open with his shoulder while keeping a steadying hand on your arm.

He turned briefly to shut the door, but when he looked back, you were gone. “Jesus Christ,” Joel muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the room until he found you.

You’d somehow made it to the living room, sprawled out face down on the rug like you’d decided it was the most comfortable spot in the world. Your muffled hums filled the quiet space, a nonsensical melody that made Joel sigh deeply, dragging a hand down his face.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, the words barely audible as he disappeared into the kitchen. A few moments later, he returned with a glass of water, his footsteps deliberate and steady.

“Hey,” Joel said sharply, his voice cutting through your tuneless humming as he stopped a few feet away. His hand rested on his hip, his broad shoulders framed by the soft glow of the kitchen light. “What the hell’re you doin’? Get up.”

You turned your head sluggishly, your cheek still pressed against the rug. Heavy-lidded eyes met his, and for a moment, you just blinked at him, the alcohol dulling the sharper edges of his tone. Despite his words, the concern etched into his brow softened the bite.

Joel let out a sigh, muttering something under his breath as he knelt beside you, the floor creaking faintly under his weight. He held out a glass of water, his hand steady and deliberate. “Drink this."

You reached for the glass, your fingers brushing his as you took it. You drank the water in a few large gulps, the cool liquid grounding you slightly.

“Alright,” he said firmly after you were done drinking, “time for bed.” He extended a hand toward you, palm open and waiting.

“I’m not tired,” you mumbled into the rug, though your traitorous body betrayed you with a yawn that slipped out before you could stop it.

Joel arched an eyebrow, his lips twitching into the faintest shadow of a smirk. “Yeah?” he drawled, his tone thick with dry amusement. “Tell that to the yawn you just tried to swallow.”

His voice softened then, the edge fading as something gentler took its place. He crouched slightly, his hand still extended, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “C’mon. Up. Now.”

You groaned dramatically, burying your face in the rug for just a second longer, drawing out the moment like a child protesting bedtime. “Ugh,” you said, dragging the sound out with exaggerated flair. Finally, with a sigh heavy enough to shake the earth, you reached for his hand. “Fine.”

You reached up, slipping your hand into his as he helped you to your feet, “Atta girl,” he murmured.

Without thinking, without hesitation, your fingers instinctively intertwined with his. The movement was so natural, so effortless, that it didn’t register at first—not to you, and not to him. But then Joel’s gaze dropped to your joined hands, his breath hitching as his mouth opened slightly, the smallest flicker of surprise crossing his face.

Joel swallowed hard, his dark eyes flicking up to meet yours, unspoken emotions swirling there. He didn’t pull away—he didn’t dare. His hand stayed firmly in yours, his fingers curling around yours like letting go wasn’t an option he’d even considered.

You blinked up at him, your mind sluggish from whiskey and the creeping warmth of exhaustion, but his steady presence anchored you. “What?” you asked softly.

“Nothin’,” Joel muttered, his gaze fixed on your joined hands. His voice dipped lower, softer, like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. “Just… don't usually hold hands.”

The quiet admission hit you like a ripple in still water, gentle yet profound. Your chest tightened, a wave of something achingly tender washing over you. “Oh,” you whispered, suddenly self-conscious. “I’m sorry.” You started to pull your hand away, the movement hesitant, reluctant.

But his grip tightened, firm but careful, like he was afraid to let go. “No,” Joel said quickly, his voice rough but urgent, his thumb brushing against your knuckles in the faintest, most deliberate motion. “Don’t.”

He didn’t look at you then—couldn’t—but the tension in his jaw and the quiet plea in his tone said everything he couldn’t.

“Alright,” he murmured after a beat, his voice softer now, gentler. “Let’s get you to bed.”

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

When you finally reached your room, Joel reached out with his free hand, twisting the doorknob and nudging the door open.

He led you to the edge of the bed, your hand still firmly clasped in his. You swayed slightly as you stopped, the whiskey and exhaustion making your balance unsteady, but Joel’s steady grip kept you upright.

He guided you gently to sit on the edge of the bed, his hand still wrapped around yours, steadying you. His grip lingered, his fingers flexing slightly as if testing the moment, like he didn’t want to break whatever fragile thread was holding you together.

“Time to let go, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice impossibly soft. Slowly, reluctantly, you let your hands part, the absence of his touch leaving a faint, lingering ache. You sank into the mattress with a soft sigh, your body sagging into the familiar comfort as Joel stood by your side, his presence steady and grounding.

His movements were careful as he reached for the blanket, pulling it up over you with the kind of gentleness that made your heart flutter even in your sleepy haze. He tucked it around your shoulders, his hand lingering for just a moment before he straightened.

“Go to bed,” Joel said softly, his voice gentler now, though still firm enough to leave no room for argument. As your eyes dipped shut, his hand moved to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, the touch so light it barely registered but sent a warmth blooming in your chest.

“You’ll feel better in the mornin’,” he added.

He turned toward the light switch, his hand halfway there when your voice cut through the quiet, soft and desperate. “Wait,” you said, the word tumbling out before you could stop it. “Don’t leave.”

Joel froze mid-step, his broad shoulders stiffening. He didn’t turn right away, but when he did, his expression was carefully guarded. “You need to sleep,” he said, his tone gruff, his walls snapping back into place. “No more games. Go to bed.”

“I will,” you promised quickly, your voice barely above a whisper but carrying an edge of pleading that you couldn’t hide. “I will, I swear. Just… stay. For a little while. Please.”

Joel’s jaw tightened, his eyes flicking toward the door as though he was considering making a quick exit. But then his shoulders sagged, and he ran a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath that you couldn’t catch. How could he possibly say no to you?

“Fine,” he said at last, the word carrying the weight of reluctant surrender. He moved toward the chair in the corner of your room, sinking into it heavily, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned back. “But only for a little while.”

“No,” you said suddenly, the word slipping out before you could stop it. You sat up in bed, the blanket pooling around your waist as you blinked at him.

Joel frowned, his brows furrowing as he turned to look at you. “What now?”

“Not there,” you murmured again, your voice softer now, hesitant but insistent as you patted the empty space on the bed beside you. “Here.”

Joel blinked, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. His brow furrowed deeply, his jaw tightening. “No,” he said firmly, shaking his head like he needed to convince himself as much as you. “Not happenin’.”

You groaned dramatically, flopping back against the pillows with an exasperated huff. “Jesus, Joel. Do I have to beg?”

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended, his knuckles whitening as his hands gripped the arms of the chair like it was the only thing tethering him to resolve.

His gaze flicked to the bed, to the empty spot you’d been patting, and you could see the war raging behind his eyes. It was written in the way his lips pressed into a thin line, in the way his chest rose and fell with controlled breaths. The push and pull of wanting and resisting.

“Please,” you whispered, the single word soft, breaking through his defenses like a crack splintering through glass. Your voice wavered, your gaze locking onto his. “I’ll sleep better if you’re close. That’s all.”

Joel’s eyes softened, the fight in them faltering for just a moment. He sighed deeply, his head tilting back like he was asking the ceiling for patience. His shoulders sagged slightly, and you could see the exact second he gave in. Slowly, deliberately, he stood, his steps heavy as he crossed the room.

He stopped at the edge of the bed, his gaze dropping to yours. For a long moment, he just stood there, torn between holding his ground and giving in completely. His jaw clenched, his hands flexing at his sides, before he let out another long sigh and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

The bed dipped under his weight, and you watched him. He sat stiffly, awkwardly, like being this close to you was something he hadn’t quite prepared for.

“Joel,” you murmured softly, almost unsure, almost hesitant. “Lay down. Please.”

He sighed again, his shoulders sagging slightly as if the sound of your voice alone had unraveled him. “Alright,” he muttered, the word rough but softer than before.

With slow, deliberate movements, he shifted onto the bed, laying down beside you. His posture was stiff, his head resting on his folded arm, as if he were trying to take up as little space as possible. “You happy now?” he asked, his tone gruff but not unkind, a quiet exasperation bleeding through.

You hummed softly in response, a sound of contentment as you scooted closer, the blankets rustling softly around you. Without thinking, you rested your cheek against his chest, the steady warmth of him seeping into you like sunlight through a window.

Joel froze, his breath catching for just a moment. Christ, he thought, glancing down at you. His arm hovered awkwardly for a beat before it came to rest at his side, his hand brushing against the curve of your back like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“You comfy?” Joel asked finally, his deep voice breaking the quiet.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your smile soft as your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Are you?”

He hesitated for a second, his gaze lingering on you like he was trying to memorize something he couldn’t name. “Yeah,” he said eventually, though his voice was quieter now. He nodded faintly, his expression softening.

“Not gonna get much sleep with your eyes wide open, though,” he added, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You laughed, the sound quiet and airy. Tucking the blanket higher over your shoulders, you tilted your head slightly to look at him. “You know, for someone so serious, you actually have jokes.”

Joel shrugged, the faint smirk fading into something softer, quieter, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the compliment. “There’s more to me than bein’ old,” he muttered.

“You’re not old,” you said instantly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. You shifted onto your side to face him more fully, your expression earnest, a small crease forming between your brows. “Quit saying that.”

Joel huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, his gaze dipping away from yours like he was trying to brush off the warmth creeping into his chest. “It’s the truth,” he said simply, his voice low, though the rough edges softened when he glanced back at you. Got more years behind me than ahead,” Joel said quietly, almost offhand, his voice dipping low like it was just a fact of life.

The words hit you harder than he probably meant them to, sinking into your chest like a stone dropped into still water, rippling outward and unraveling the easy warmth of the moment.

You froze, staring at him as the ache that bloomed in your chest caught you off guard. Slowly, you pulled back just enough to see his face more clearly, your gaze searching his, the playful ease from before slipping away entirely.

“Don’t say that,” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with a quiet urgency that surprised even you. Your hand moved instinctively, coming to rest lightly on his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm only deepened the ache.

Joel glanced down at you, his brow furrowing as he caught the way your brows knit together, your expression tightening. He hadn’t meant for it to land like that, hadn’t thought it would hit you so hard.

“I mean it, Joel,” you said, your voice trembling just enough to make him pause. “Don’t ever say that to me again.”

His lips parted, the words caught in his throat as he stared at you, unprepared for the way the emotion in your voice clawed at something deep inside him. The thought of him not being here—of losing him—was like a sharp blade pressing against the edges of your mind, and you couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t let him dismiss it so easily.

“Hey,” Joel murmured after a moment, his voice softer now, the sharp edges smoothed by the weight of your words. His hand lifted instinctively, covering yours where it rested over his heart, as if to anchor both of you.

Your hand fit perfectly beneath his, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm a subconscious reminder that this was real—he was real. He was here. He was alive.

Joel’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, the movement slow, deliberate, pulling you back from wherever your mind had wandered. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he murmured, his tone low, filled with a quiet kind of tenderness he rarely let surface. His dark eyes flicked to yours, holding your gaze with an intensity that made your chest ache. “It’s just… the way things are.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” you shot back, your voice barely above a whisper but laced with a quiet intensity.

Joel’s jaw tightened, his throat working as he swallowed hard. “Alright,” he murmured after a beat, his voice low and tender, stripped of the usual gruffness he used as armor.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gentle, grounding motion. “I’m sorry. Promise I won’t say it again—sorry, darlin’.”

You nodded, letting your head sink back against Joel’s chest, his hand moved without thought, slipping into your hair and threading through it gently.

“You gettin’ sleepy’?” Joel hummed, his voice low and soft, vibrating through his chest where your cheek rested.

“No,” you said quickly, your voice just a little too sharp, your body shifting slightly against him. You weren’t ready—not for the moment to end, not for him to leave, not for the fragile warmth that wrapped around the two of you to slip away.

Joel huffed a soft laugh through his nose, his hand pausing in your hair for a brief second before continuing its gentle rhythm. “Don’t sound so sure,” he muttered, his voice laced with quiet amusement.

You tilted your head up, your gaze finding his, and he glanced down at you, his brow furrowing slightly. “Quit staring at me,” he said, his tone gruff but devoid of any real bite.

“Can’t help it,” you murmured, your lips curving into a small, playful smile.

His brows knitted further as he looked at you, his lips parting like he was about to say something, but you beat him to it. “Pretty,” you whispered, the word barely audible, so soft it almost disappeared into the space between you.

Joel’s brows knitted further as he turned his full attention to you, his gaze heavy and intent. “You know I got a bad ear,” he said, his tone gruff but tinged with a faint trace of amusement. “Gotta speak up.”

You blinked up at him, lips parting slightly as hesitation gripped you for a brief moment. And then, as if the alcohol had burned through the last of your reservations, the words spilled out, clear and bold, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “I said… pretty. You’ve got pretty eyes and a pretty smile.”

Joel froze. You paused, your heart racing as a grin, small but sincere, tugged at your lips. “Handsome,” you added, softer but no less certain. “You’re handsome, Joel.”

Joel’s face dropped, his eyes widening slightly as he stared at you. His mouth opened, as if to respond, but no words came out. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his fingers flexing against your hand like he needed something—anything—to ground himself.

Joel finally shook his head, a sharp exhale escaping him as he muttered, “You’re drunk.” The words came out fast, like a reflex, a shield he threw up to deflect the blow before it could land. But his voice betrayed him, the rough edges fraying with a faint tremor that he couldn’t quite hide.

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you leaned in just slightly, your gaze steady and unwavering. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” you murmured, your voice soft but resolute.

Before he could deflect again, you broke the silence, your tone softer now but still certain. “Joel, I have a question.”

Joel sighed, dragging a hand down his face like he was trying to gather what little patience he had left. “What happened to sleepin’?”

“Joel…” you began, your voice quiet, fragile. “Why didn’t you kiss me? At Tommy’s birthday.”

The air shifted instantly, heavy and stifling, as if the room itself had stopped to listen. Joel froze, his body going completely still. The hand that had been absently stroking your hair stopped, his fingers hovering like they didn’t know where to go.

His other hand, which had been resting over yours on his chest, slowly withdrew, falling to his side as though retreating from the weight of your question.

The teasing light in his eyes vanished, replaced by something darker, something harder to read. His jaw tightened, the muscle ticking as he stared at the ceiling, his gaze fixed like he might find the answer buried in the walls.

He didn’t say anything, but the silence spoke volumes. It felt like a door that had been cracked open was now slamming shut, and you weren’t sure whether to step forward or back away.

“I—” he started, but his voice caught, faltering before he could finish. Joel wasn’t expecting this. The weight of your words hung in the air between you, pressing down on him like a physical force.

He ran a hand over his face, dragging his fingers through his beard, his shoulders stiffening as though he was bracing himself for a blow that hadn’t yet come.

“It’s okay,” you said, though the words felt like they were breaking you apart from the inside. “If you don’t… if you don’t find me pretty, or if you think I’m annoying, or if you just didn’t want to. I just…” You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it harder to breathe. “I just need to know why.”

Joel moved instantly, sitting up straighter as his arm pulled away from you. His head snapped toward you at that, his eyes locking onto yours with a sharpness that stole your breath.

They were brimming with something raw, something unspoken and fierce. “Don’t,” he said, his voice rough and firm, the single word cutting through the space between you like a knife.

Your brows furrowed, confusion and hurt twisting in your chest, the ache blooming into something unbearable. “Don’t what?” you asked, your voice softer now as you sat up, mirroring him, the distance between you suddenly feeling vast despite your closeness.

Joel’s fists flexed at his sides, his knuckles white as the tension in his body radiated off him in waves. His jaw tightened, and his gaze dropped for the briefest second before snapping back to yours. “Don’t put words in my mouth,” he said, his voice low and strained, trembling with the effort of holding something back. The look in his eyes was fleeting but sharp—like he was fighting himself, fighting you, fighting the weight of the moment.

“Shit,” Joel muttered, shaking his head as if trying to wrestle with the storm in his own mind. “Why’re you askin’ this now?” he murmured, his tone rough, defensive, but there was something else beneath it—something raw, like the weight of the question was almost too much to bear.

“Because I need to stop thinking about it all the time,” you said, your voice trembling as the words tumbled out, unguarded and vulnerable. “I need to stop replaying it in my head.” You hesitated, your breath hitching as you fought to steady yourself, but the truth burned too hot to hold back. “You said, ‘Not like this,’ and I—” The words broke off, catching in your throat as the ache you’d carried since that night threatened to overwhelm you.

Your eyes searched his face, desperate for something—anything—that might explain the way his words had stayed with you, carved into your heart like a scar. But Joel wouldn’t look at you. His gaze stayed fixed on some indeterminate point, his jaw tightening as if he were bracing himself for the blow he’d already dealt.

“What did that mean, Joel?” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of longing and hurt.

His head shook, sharp and almost violent, like he was physically trying to shake the question away, to shove it into some dark corner where he wouldn’t have to deal with it. “You’re drunk,” he muttered, the words rough and uneven, cracking under the weight of his own defenses.

“I’m drunk, but I’m not stupid,” you fired back, the frustration slipping into your tone, making it wobble. “I’m asking you what you meant.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, his muscles twitching under the strain as his hand raked through his hair, his exhale shaky and unsteady.

“What do you think I meant?” he said finally, his voice low and hoarse.

“I don’t fucking know, Joel,” you said, your voice rising as your words cracked under the pressure. “That’s why I’m asking. You confuse the hell out of me.”

His hand flexed against his knee, restless and agitated, but his face remained locked in that tight, unreadable mask he wore when the stakes felt too high.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” you said, the confession tumbling out in a whisper that wavered on the edge of breaking. “I wanted you to kiss me so badly that night.”

Joel froze, his whole body going rigid as if the air had been sucked out of the room. Slowly, painfully, his eyes lifted to meet yours, and what you saw in them made your heart twist painfully. It was like he was searching for something—desperately, almost frantically—as though hoping to find some small lie buried deep in your gaze. Because if you were lying, if this wasn’t real, it would destroy him.

“You don’t know what you’re sayin’,” he said, his head shaking almost imperceptibly.

“Did you think,” you began, your voice softer now, quieter but no less resolute as your hand reached for his arm, resting lightly against the warmth of his sleeve, “maybe I got this drunk because it’s the only way I can tell the truth?”

Joel’s eyes followed your hand, lingering where it rested against him like he couldn’t decide whether to pull away or hold on. His jaw tightened, and he shook his head slightly, the motion almost imperceptible. “That ain’t somethin’ you’re gonna wanna say in the mornin’,” he said, his voice rough and uneven, frayed at the edges like he was already bracing for the fallout.

Why? The thought clawed at your chest. Why can’t he believe me? Why won’t he let himself accept that he’s worth loving? The ache swelled, raw and heavy, pressing against every unspoken word between you.

“But it’s true,” you countered softly, your tone steady, carrying none of the sharpness his did—only quiet, unyielding conviction. “Even if I don’t say it tomorrow, it’s still true tonight.”

“Stop,” Joel said, his voice firmer this time, but there was something in it—a thread of desperation, raw and unguarded. It wasn’t an order. It was a plea. “You don’t mean it. You’re just—”

“I do, Joel.” You interrupted him, your voice trembling with the effort to keep steady. Your hand tightened slightly on his arm, grounding both of you in the moment. “Look at me.” The words fell with quiet insistence, steady despite the tremor in your chest. “I mean it, Joel. I’ve always meant it.”

His breathing faltered, his eyes flickering toward yours like he wanted to believe you but didn’t know how. The silence was unbearable, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out, each one carrying a piece of the ache you’d held back for too long. “Fuck, Joel, I care about you,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “I more than care about you. I love—”

“Don’t.” The word came sharp and sudden, cutting you off like a knife. Joel’s voice was hoarse, rough, like gravel scraping against stone. It hit the space between you with the force of a blow, making your breath hitch.

His gaze darted to you, his dark eyes stormy with something raw and pained, before he looked away again, like he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes. “Don’t say it. Because you don’t mean it.”

The words crushed something in your chest, the weight of his denial suffocating. “Joel—” you began, but he shook his head again, his hand lifting to run through his hair, his movements jerky, restless, like he was trying to hold himself together.

“You don’t mean it,” he repeated, quieter this time, his voice barely more than a rasp. “You can’t. Not about me.” His shoulders sagged slightly, and for the first time, you saw it—the cracks in the armor he always wore, the fear in his eyes that no amount of gruffness could hide. “Don’t do this. Not for me.”

Your breath caught, your chest tightening as if a fist had wrapped around it, squeezing until it was hard to breathe. The tears welled in your eyes, hot and stinging, but they didn’t fall.

Your mouth parted, a soundless gasp escaping as your mind reeled. You silly girl, the thought screamed. He doesn’t feel the same. He’s letting you down easy, and you’ve ruined everything. The silence between you stretched, suffocating, the weight of it pressing against your chest until you thought it might break you.

Then, slowly, Joel stood. His shoulders sagged, his head dipping low as though the act of leaving was as heavy as the words left unsaid. His voice, when it came, was quiet—so quiet it was almost a whisper, but it carried the finality of a closing door.

“I’m leavin’. I’ll lock up.”

You stared at him, frozen, the world tilting beneath you as his words settled in. He didn’t look back. He didn’t stop. And as the sound of his footsteps faded, the tears finally spilled over, carving silent paths down your cheeks.

❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎❅.⊹₊ ⋆❆‧⋆☃︎

yall do i have an angst kink?!

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callsign-datura · 23 hours ago

Text

a/n: sorry for the long wait! 4.7k words, the result of my last poll, simon "ghost" riley x f!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected p-in-v, creampie, hair-pulling, degradation, talking to the pussy

ghost didn't have many hobbies, but he did have a few he liked the most. His third favorite was being at the shooting range, his second favorite was cleaning his guns, and his first favorite was sparring.

he often sparred to ensure he wasn't getting rusty with certain hand-to-hand techniques. usually with soap, or gaz. late at night when he had energy to expel, or unwanted emotions to get out.

that's why he found himself in the gym, this time off the mat, wrapping his busted knuckles with bandages. he was dressed in gray sweats, a black wife-beater, and the mask. he flexed his fingers as he tucked the edge of the bandage beneath the edge of another at his wrist, bringing both arms above his head. he stretched, grunting quietly before letting his arms drop to his sides, squinting at the way the fluorescent lights made his head ache.

the door creaked open slowly. he tilted his head, watching you enter. you looked up and met his gaze, and he turned his head away and began wrapping his other hand with the same bandages.

you and ghost were cordial at the very least and hostile at the most. it wasn't that you got along-- sometimes his demeanor just pissed you off. so closed off, and for what? working with another person was better than working alone, to you, and you didn't understand why in the hell he was so rude to you.

you huffed under your breath, not expecting him to be in the gym so late. you watched his shoulders flex, the wife-beater a darker shade around his neck with the sweat that dampened it. he looked like he'd been hard at work for a few hours, the bandages around his knuckles tainted with a deep shade of red.

"what's the point of wrapping your hands after you've busted them on the bag?" you call, watching his shoulders shift a bit as he stops wrapping.

"i forgot to do it before." he retorts, not bothering to face you.

"didn't nurse sullivan tell you to do it before?" you put your hands on your hips. your tone is concerned, and partially, you are, but the other part of you is just looking to get on his nerves. you came here to train yourself, but messing with him seemed a bit more fun. "thought you'd remember what a nurse told you to do."

"didn't ask ya to remind me what sullivan said, i know what m'doin'." he finishes wrapping his other hand and goes back to the bag, getting into position and bringing his fists up. he starts throwing punches, the jangle of the chain and the thuds of his fists hitting the bag echoing in the room.

you approach him. "you know, sparring might be better than boxing." you offer, folding your arms behind your back as your gaze flickers over his stature. he's by no means a small man, and it's been a while since you've had the chance to spar with the other guys on base.

ghost's hands shoot out to still the bag, and his head tilts to the left. brown eyes peer at you from beneath the mask, and he huffs through his nose, looking you up and down. "tch. y'got a death wish? i've got a few inches on ya... not to mention pounds."

"i know you do. it'd be good training for me." you hum, looking to the side, then back to him. "for you too, maybe. having an agile opponent might be a bit challenging for someone so... lumbering."

"lumbering?" he asks, tilting his head as he turns to you completely. "and you... agile? got an ego, don't ya?" though he's excited at the prospect of sparring at all, so he's considering it.

you can tell you're piquing his interest, so you push it, ignoring the little jabs. "maybe a small one. sounds fun though, doesn't it? I heard it's been a while since you've got the chance."

he sighs. he feigns resignation, but there's a sparkle in his eye that you don't miss. he considers it for a few moments before he starts skulking in your direction. "you're gonna regret that," he huffs, stopping just short from you. "i've got some rules. one, you lose after i've pinned ya for 10 seconds. two, no dirty shots. i don't pull y'r hair, you don't kick me in the nuts. got it?"

he sounds so serious, you chuckle. "alright," you nod, agreeing to his terms. then you take your position on the furthest end of the mat while he takes position at the other end.

"ya ready?" he gruffs, and you nod, putting your fists up.

"alright then, you get the first shot."

"really?" you tilt your head, taking a few steps forward as you begin circling in the center of the mat.

"mm-hmm." he hums, rubbing his arms before putting his fists up. "wanna see what you can do."

you huff, then you go towards him, side-stepping and reaching out to grab his arm. you yanked on it, and he barely moved. he almost paused, somewhat amused that you even tried that. you let go and move away from him and he follows-- throwing a few punches without expecting them to land.

they don't. one disadvantage of him being so much bigger than you is the speed difference. you're so much faster than him. you can dodge faster, but if he finally gets his hands on you, you're done.

you're moving around the mat, dodging his punches and dodging it when he reaches for you, and he's growing increasingly frustrated.

"godammit, quit fuckin' moving." he hisses, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you in. he lets go to grab you by the shoulders, but before he can, you duck and use most of your strength to kick his shins, trying to debilitate him so you can get away. it doesn't work. you scramble away and he follows, grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and pulling you close. he turns around to throw you off before shoving you to the ground and pinning you there by your shoulders, his body coming down on yours as his knees cage you in on either side of your hips.

you're squirming, hips lifting and hands clawing at his wrists in an effort to get him to let you go. his eyes narrow, getting some sort of satisfaction at seeing you squirm beneath him.

"one," he begins counting, signaling to you that you only have a few seconds to get away. his grip on you tightens, and you're almost sure he's gonna win when you get an idea. your grip tightens on his wrist before you drag your hand up it, digging your nails into the surface of his skin. you apply enough pressure to cut the skin, and his grip releases at the same time he hisses. he doesn't let go, but you take the opportunity to throw his hands off of you and turn around in his hold, tucking your legs in against yourself and pushing the bottoms of your feet against him to throw him off. then you scramble out from beneath him, getting up and putting distance between the both of you.

"hmm," he says, eyes focusing on you before he gets to his feet. "slippery fuckin' thing." he laughs, looking at the arm you cut up. crimson dribbles from the thin red lines you've left behind, and he rolls his head, cracking his neck as he goes towards you again.

there's something different in his eyes-- he's surprised that you're putting up such a fight.

"never expected a little thing like you to fight so dirty." he says, his voice low and husky as he stops a few feet away from him, intense eyes following you as you circle him. it's obvious to him you have no intention of making the first move again, so he opts to play with you a bit instead.

"y'r crafty too, huh?" he says, his voice mocking somewhat. "didn't expect you to claw me up like that. i mean, it worked..." he turns as you do, and your eyes narrow.

"i'm enjoyin' this one, that's for sure. maybe i should make sure that you're gonna keep comin' back?" he says, his voice husky again. there's a tone in it. it's almost like he's taunting you, or-- no, that isn't it...

"it's a shame they won't scar, though." he takes another step towards you, and you look behind you to gauge how much space you have until you step off the mat. you stay where you are.

"i like having trophies from my fights... reminds me how much i enjoyed it." he keeps rambling, and you're not sure what the point of all this is. it makes you feel fuzzy inside, kind of, like he's complimenting you.

he gets closer, and his eyes narrow further. you know he's smirking beneath the mask. you look meek-- is he flirting with you? is your lieutenant flirting with you? is simon "ghost" riley flirting with you??? he throws a few lazy punches, knowing you'll dodge them.

"not at all. it's a compliment, actually. small, nimble. i bet you rarely get into any sticky situations, huh? like a rabbit," he chuckles, his voice amused as he lets go, then shoves your shoulders hard enough to make you stumble. then, to make you lose your footing, he kicks your feet out from under you.

"ain't very often i get to fight people like you, after all." he hums, not even sounding like he's taking it seriously. you're visibly nervous, and you hold your fists up defensively. he leans forward, grabbing your arm and pulling you close. the rational part of you is laughing at your idiocy, but the other part of you is melting because-- he is flirting.

"ugh-- people like me? is that an insult?" you say, your chest close to his as he leans down. his face is inches from yours, and you can feel his breath against you.

you yelp, and you fall on your ass. the sudden tone shift is enough to send you spiraling. the way he talks to you makes something heat in your stomach. he gets on top of you again, one of his legs between yours and the other on the outside of you. he puts his hands on the mat between your arms, and he stays leaned over you.

"well... not really fighting back now, are you? that's a shame..." he huffs, his gaze drifting from your face down... your chest is heaving, and your eyes are shut. your hips shift, and he moves his leg up at the same time. the curve of his thigh bumps against your clothed cunt, and it makes you jolt.

"hey!" you hiss, not expecting the contact or the look in his eyes when you finally look at him.

"what?"

"i... i thought you said no dirty shots," you retort, your voice somewhat weak. you look away, your body flooding with some sort of warmth that his closeness produced in you.

he snorts, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. "ain't a dirty shot if you're already on the ground and you've already lost. it's just... overkill." but he stays over you, despite the fact he just won. his gaze rakes over you in a hungry manner, and you can hear him suck in a breath when your back arches up off the ground.

"...you can get off me now," you murmur, avoiding eye contact. you feel shy, all of a sudden, and kind of pissed. he just won because he was toying with you on purpose to win. he was messing with your feelings! "get off me." you hiss, trying to get out from under him.

his eyebrows go up, sensing your sudden hostility. his eyes narrow. he lifts a hand and pins your shoulder down. "ah ah ah, the fuck are you doing? did i say you could get up?" he was enjoying this before, but now that you're fighting back like this he's a bit irritated.

your squirming just results in you unintentionally grinding yourself against his thigh. you suck in a breath when it happens, and your eyes narrow.

"you're such an asshole" you grumble. despite your arguing and your resistance, you press yourself against his leg.

he looks down when your hips shift. he watches the way they move, and when you finally relax, he moves above you and intentionally moves his leg to see your reaction.

your face flushes, and you whimper, looking away.

"well... look at that." he murmurs, his voice lilted and knowing. he looks up at you and makes eye contact, pushing it against you again to elicit another noise from you. you moan once again and your lips curl, eyebrows knitting in response to the jolt of pleasure he causes.

"isn't that cute?" he teases. "does that feel good?" he says, his voice almost mocking as he lifts his thigh and presses it against you, gently pushing it against you in an even motion to make you squirm even more.

"g-god, you're such an ass," you moan, body falling limp and losing whatever ounce of fight you had. you still mouth off. "do you do this with everyone you spar with? i-is that why soap is always asking you to spar with him?"

he rolls his eyes. "shut up, girl. i'm surprised you have the audacity t' speak to me that way when you're gettin' off on my fuckin' thigh." his voice is almost scolding, but he doesn't grind his leg against you any harder. just goes slow... it's almost torturous. you can already feel yourself drenching your panties. it's a culmination of this entire thing. the way he smells, how close he is to you, the way he's staring at you so hungrily... all of it is making you salivate, except your mouth isn't the only thing drooling.

your head falls back, and your breathing is already so heavy. he tilts his head forward, and his lips are on your neck. you feel the wetness of his lips, the itching brush of peach fuzz, the fabric of his mask rolled up over his nose against your neck-- all of it makes you shudder beneath him. he nips at the flesh of your neck, pulling gently and kissing at the reddened flesh afterward. he puts his leg down, and places himself between your legs, one hand cupping the back of your thigh and lifting it to press himself against you. you feel the outline of his dick through his sweats, semi-hard but at attention. the girth of it catches your attention, and when he feels your body stiffen he chuckles.

"hush. we'll make sure it fits, doll." he murmurs, his voice husky and low, sending shudders through you with how close he is to you. he doesn't grind into you from that position. rather, his hands travel up and down your sides as he kisses your neck, sucking small hickeys and trailing them down. his hands shove your shirt up and over your chest, doing the same with your bra. he's intense, and very aware of what he wants-

you.

his eyes focus on your tits. round, perky and the perfect size for him to hold. so he slides one hand up to cup and fondle your tit, his thumb quickly traveling over your nipple. it pebbles and perks beneath his touch and against the cool air, and he hums. he salivates. he wants to taste your skin. drag his tongue over your flesh, feel the goosebumps that raise beneath his tongue. but he can't. he has to make sure you come back for more and that's exactly how he will.

and as always, he'll get what he wants, one way or another. you squirm beneath him, and noises attempt to claw out of your throat but you keep quiet. you don't want to let on how much you're enjoying this, but the subtle rock of your hips gives it away.

"tsk tsk tsk. are you really this impatient? haven't even done anything yet." he snickers, pulling back to look down at you. he pulls his mask back down before you can see anything, and he leans forward with his hips a bit. your legs still hover against his hips, your knees drawing together as a result of your embarrassment. your lips part and you pant, chest heaving once again.

his other hand slips down to your hip, lifting your legs up and together, over his shoulder so he can pull your pants and panties up your thighs.

"such a pretty girl. you know, i've had my eyes on you for a bit..." he starts. once your pants are around your thighs and he has enough access to you, he brings the hand that was on your boob, to your mouth. he eases his pointer and middle finger into it and your eyebrows knit at the taste of sweat. "suck," he instructs. you do, cheeks hollowing briefly as your tongue laves along his fingers, coating them in spit.

"hmm... always wondered whether or not you were the obedient type, but i never got a chance to break you in and find out." he chuckles, withdrawing his fingers from your mouth and bringing that hand between your legs. he drags the tips of his fingers through your folds, humming when he feels how wet you are. you can hear how sloppy it is, and he laughs.

"i guess i wouldn't be breaking you in as much as her," he snickers. your face reddens and you look to the side, panting once again as he starts easing those two fingers into your sopping cunt. you comprehend then that the her was your pussy.

"mm-hm, tight, as i thought. are you that nervous?" he teases, tilting his head as he scissors those two fingers inside you. the feeling knocks the air from your lungs, and you gasp, bringing both hands to your face to hide how embarrassed you are. despite that, your body gives away how excited you are, your hips shifting and your back arching as his thick fingers curl inside you.

if you're moaning, your pussy is screaming. the wet noises of his fingers working you out is embarrassing and brings heat to your face, but you can't really focus on that.

it sounds so lewd, and it is. you let out a gasp as he pushes them deeper, the sheer girth of his fingers causing your gummy walls to strain. your thighs clench and your hands ball into fists. his other hand pulls your pants and panties off completely, humming as your legs fall apart.

"s'it that good, doll?" his voice is husky and low, teasing. he's getting off on your reaction to his touch. "c'mon, girl, look at me..." his fingers stop, and you whine, shifting to look at him. they start moving as soon as your eyes fix on his, and your lips part. you moan again, your lips curling.

"c'mon, talk to me." he encourages, and his touch is downright sinful in comparison to his tone. "does it feel good? this what you wanted when you started grinding yourself on my leg?" he chuckles to himself. "never woulda thought you were this kinda girl if i hadn't of seen it myself..."

his thumb moves, and flattens over your clit once he turned his wrist over. he rolls circles over it slowly, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on the outside of your thigh.

you squirm and whimper, and it takes everything in him not to just pounce on you. instead he opts to listen to your moans and the sound of his fingers inside you. he curls his fingers and inches them deeper until your body jolts, and he hums in approval at your reaction.

"s'that the spot...?" he asks, leaning forward as he curls his fingers against that spot again. you jump, the coil in your stomach growing ever tighter as you moan in affirmation. the pleasure is making your head feel light, your eyes fluttering shut again and your head falling back against the mat. you're squirming and shifting again, and you feel sweat on your neck and chest. you whimper a bit, the air feeling sticky and humid between you both. it's hard to tell whether that's just your body heat, or it's him.

and you whimper at him. you can feel your orgasm encroaching, and he can feel it too. your cunt squeezes around his fingers and he can feel you throbbing. your body tenses, and your orgasm is right there--

he removes his fingers. you slump down, tilting your head to the side and huffing in frustration when you feel so suddenly empty.

"...this proves that you're just... an asshole..." you grumble, bringing your legs together.

he's thick. slight upward curve, blushing tip and definitely not lacking in length.

there's silence on his end, and when you look at him, he's pulling his sweats and boxers down.

"can't be much of an asshole if m'gonna dick you down," he purrs. you don't look, but you feel his cock hit the side of your thigh once he takes it out. a hand wrapped around the base, he gives a few lazy pumps, smirking to himself beneath the mask when you lift up to look.

"hmm? s'this good enough for you? such a rude girl, calling me names," his voice is teasing. he shifts forward a bit and then lines himself up with you before he moves both hands to cup the back of your knees and lift them. he moves you just a bit closer. He shifts his hips, then without warning, pushing himself into you up to the hilt.

you gasp. he's big, and you wish he had told you he was going to do it so quickly, because you weren't expecting it. his size takes a bit for you to adjust to, the sting and the stretch causing you to squirm once again. he grips your hips to still you, and he hums. "shh... you can take it, can't you?" you continue to whimper, and he laughs. "so pathetic. s'it too big for you?" he mocks, leaning over you once again.

"so fuckin' messy. look at you, girl. maybe this-" he emphasizes that with another particularly hard thrust that causes his tip to attack your g-spot-- "is what you wanted all along. maybe you asked me to spar cause you wanted me to fuck the shit out of you," he huffs, his voice low and raspy and his movements aggressive. you can barely speak aside from squeaks and squeals, the feeling of his hips slamming into yours causing your vision to go white. you couldn't respond outside of gasps.

god. yes. yes, it was too big-- and it took you a while to adjust to it. he started moving once your hips started shifting into his. he tilted his head forward, tucking it into your neck and grunting quietly. you're still sensitive, so when your lips part in a moan, it all feels so intense. your back arches and your legs push apart, welcoming him. his thrusts are shallow, yet careful, (for now), and he grunts into your ear. you squeeze around him, and your head tilts back as you moan out, hands finding his shoulders and digging your nails into it. Your eyebrows knit and you whine.

"y'r pussy's noisier than you are. listen to her," he goes quiet and fucks into you harder just to emphasize the paps of his hips hitting the back of your thighs and the squelches of your pussy clenching around his cock. your slick dripped down your cunt, getting his sweats damp a bit with it-- he moved one hand up to pull your hair, tilting your head back so he could talk in your ear.

"fuck," he cursed, pulling your hair again and chuckling when you cried out. you were lost in the feeling. the feeling of him, the feeling of his cock and how roughly he fucked you.

"hah!" you mewled, your back arching up off the mat. you grabbed at his shoulders in utter desperation. your eyes crossed and you tilted your head to the side, your body jolting with each thrust he offered you- getting gradually rougher.

"y'sound so slutty, moaning for me like that... keep doin' it, pretty," he hummed, staying close as he rutted into you with a force that might as well have caused you to shriek. he let go of your leg, and both of them closed around his waist, ankles locking at his lower back.

"m'gonna cum," you whimpered, your voice soft and meek. he chuckled, and his movements got a bit more aggressive. he lifted himself up onto his hands, keeping them just over your shoulders and looking down to where your bodies met. his fat cock was pounding into you over and over, the squeezes of your pussy enough to make him moan a little bit himself. he looked up, meeting your gaze.

when he finally came, you were still on cloud nine, wailing and squirming beneath him when his hips slammed into yours and he spilled spurts of hot cum into your pussy. the sensation was almost enough to make you cum again-- especially when he ground his hips into yours, his tip grinding into your g-spot. plus his lovely groans were sending you straight to heaven. the noises he made were mostly groans as he fucked into you, making your entire body shudder from the feeling and the sensations flooding your body.

your eyes were glazed over. visibly lost in the pleasure and focused on nothing but your impending orgasm, he took that as encouragement. he took your legs again, sitting up and pulling them together but pushing them against your front. the angle allowed him to get impossibly deeper. each time he slammed into you, his tip hit your g-spot, applying enough pressure to graze the plug of your womb and create more tingling, burning pleasure.

"oh! oh, fuck--" you gasped, folding a hand over your mouth to muffle your moans. your heart was pounding in your ears, and you swore you almost fainted when your orgasm finally fell over you. the feeling of the pressure releasing had you seeing stars, shaky crying moans leaving your mouth. your back arched and tears pricked the corners of your eyes. you were sure you'd be bruised on the inside by the next day.

"that's it baby," he hissed, his grip on your legs tightening. "atta girl..." he purred, his tone tense with his own incoming orgasm. he wanted to help you ride out yours first, so he did. his hips kept that brutal, hungry pace, slamming into your drooling pussy with a fervor he didn't even know he had. he wasn't much of a talker in the midst... you didn't notice that he'd gone quiet, though, too absorbed in the aftermath of your orgasm.

he groaned out, his eyebrows knitting beneath the mask as he tilted his head forward to watch himself pound you. "take it... that's it, fuck..." his tone was still encouraging, but it faded as his pace started to slow. your entire body was still ebbing with pleasure and tingling with the overstimulation of your orgasm, and you were almost struggling to come back to the earth. you were both still panting.

when he pulled out of you and tucked his cock away and fixed his sweats, he looked at you-- his tone was full of pride. "well... fuck... look at you, huh?" he tilted his head, sounding awfully smug. he retrieved your pants and panties and helped you get re-dressed.

"you know... that wasn't the kind of session i was expecting, but damn... i think that was the best i've had in a while." he stood up and helped you to your feet, patting your ass once or twice as he held you up while you regained your bearings.

"...whatever, ghost," you grumbled, still holding onto your stubbornness even after you'd been sent to heaven and brought back.

"you know where to find me. don't be afraid to come get some if you're in need," he hummed, "not like i'm in a position to deny ya."

#simon ghost riley #callsign datura #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #ghost cod #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #ghost mw3

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munsonsmixtapes · 1 day ago

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Can I Ask You a Question?

Eddie Munson x reader

You invite Eddie to hang out and he has a very important question for you

based on this ask

The door to your bedroom opens and as soon as you’re about to turn to see who it is, you feel the bed dip beside you, Eddie now lying on his stomach in the same position you are, feet up and everything. He’s kicking his legs back and forth as he takes the magazine you’re reading from you. He notices that you’re doing one of those quizzes to see who your perfect boyfriend would be and decides that he wants to be yours.

He’s felt this way for a while now but lying here with you as he looks into your eyes, he’s sure. He just doesn’t know how to get the words to come out. He’s not a shy guy so he doesn’t know why he can’t just ask.

He sets the magazine down on the bed and begins to spin one of his rings around his finger as a way to take away some of that anxiety and it does help, but only for a little bit. You can sense his unease and the two of you sit up before you pull Eddie’s hands into your lap.

The weight on his shoulder instantly lessens as you hold his hands, that soft smile making its way upon your lips that he’s come to adore. Suddenly, everything feels so easy. Because it is. You make him feel like he can do anything, like the sky is the limit. You’ve shown him that he’s no longer Eddie “the freak” Munson and that no one’s opinion about him matters but his own.

He loves hanging out with you as friends, but being your boyfriend would be that much better. He wants to kiss you and hold you and tell you how much you mean to him in a romantic sense. He wants to be able to compliment you without having to subtly flirt, to just tell you how pretty he thinks you are whenever you want.

“Can I ask you something?” He asks before nibbling on his bottom lip. His heart is hammering in his chest as he takes a deep breath, the anticipation of your answer getting to him. He knows that there’s very much a chance of getting rejected and that terrifies him. He doesn’t want his feelings to ruin what the two of you have.

“Of course you can,” you let out a chuckle as you reach forward, one of your hands threading through his hair, giving his scalp a scratch the way you know he likes. His eyes flutter closed at the feeling, but he quickly shakes his head, hating how quickly he’s able to lose focus.

“I-I was wondering if…” he takes a deep breath, trying to focus on the way you’re playing with his hair and not how fast his heart is beating.

You stay quiet, waiting for him to say what he needs to. You’re perfectly fine with being patient as you know how hard it can be for him to voice his feelings. You watch him breathe deeply and then he shakes his head, trying to get back on track.

“I was wondering if I could be your boyfriend.” His warm honey eyes bore into yours, progressively softening as the seconds pass and for a moment, you swear you can see hearts forming in them.

The room goes silent as soon as the words leave his mouth. You aren’t sure what you were expecting Eddie to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. But can’t help but smile as you give his hand a squeeze, a light laugh passing through your lips.

“I’d love for you to be my boyfriend, Eddie,” you tell him as a grin spreads out over your face and his quickly matches yours as he pushes you so your back is flat to the bed, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. He does it over and over until they all melt into one kiss as his lips slot between yours.

It quickly becomes a mess of teeth clinking together because neither of you can stop smiling, laughs tumbling from your lips as you try to pour your feelings out for each other between kisses, your fingers slotting through his as you eventually figure it out. The two of you fit together perfectly like puzzle pieces.

Eddie pulls away when you’re both breathless, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek, his thumb swiping along it as you lean into his touch. You lie for a moment and you don’t even have to ask if Eddie’s thinking because you can see the gears turning. But before you can bring it up, he speaks.

“I think I love you,” he says, his thumb still moving back and forth across your cheek. The words are so confident and matter of fact that you just know that he means the words and isn’t just saying them because he’s caught up in the moment. Every word that comes out of Eddie’s mouth has a purpose and he nevers says anything he doesn’t mean.

“I think I love you too,” you reply and Eddie goes in for one of many more kisses of the night before the two of you cuddle up for the very first time as a couple.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff

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elryuse · 1 day ago

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ANTHEM pt.3

MULTIPLE FEMALE IDOLS X MALE READER

TAGS : MULTIPLE FEMALE LOVE INTEREST, HAREM, KISSING

WORDS : 3,981 Words

This is Part 3 of The Anthem Series. For The Other Anthem Series, Please Kindly Check over Here.

Y/n stretched lazily in his bed, the cold morning air nipping at his exposed skin. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the heater struggling to keep up with the winter chill. He blinked away the remnants of sleep, turning his head slightly to find Wonyoung nestled close beside him, her face peaceful and serene. She was wearing her signature oversized black t-shirt, the fabric pooling around her delicate frame. Her dark hair fanned out across the pillow, catching the faint light streaming through the curtains.

She looks like a princess, Y/n thought, his heart softening as he watched her. He didn’t want to disturb her, but he knew they couldn’t stay like this forever. Carefully, he shifted the blanket that covered them both, lifting it slowly so as not to wake her.

But Wonyoung stirred almost immediately, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked up at him, her lips forming a pout before she even fully registered what was happening. “Why are you leaving me?” she complained, her voice thick with sleep but tinged with mock indignation.

Y/n chuckled softly, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Good morning to you too,” he said, earning a small groan from her as she swatted his hand away half-heartedly.

“Don’t mess up my hair,” she grumbled, though her pout softened into a smile. She rolled onto her back, stretching her arms above her head, the hem of her shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of smooth skin. Y/n’s eyes lingered a moment too long, and when Wonyoung caught him staring, her grin turned mischievous.

“What’s wrong, oppa? Never seen a girl wake up before?” she teased, propping herself up on one elbow. Her voice was light, playful, but there was something underneath it—something that made Y/n’s stomach tighten.

He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “You should head back to your room. Yujin’s probably wondering where you are.”

Wonyoung shook her head, her expression stubborn. “No. I like it here. Your bed is warmer than mine.” She scooted closer to him, her body heat radiating against his side. “And you’re warmer too,” she added, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Y/n sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Wonyoung, you know we can’t—”

“Can’t what?” she interrupted, tilting her head innocently. “It’s not like anyone will notice. Everyone’s still asleep.”

Yeji’s probably already awake, Y/n thought but didn’t say. He didn’t want to argue with her, especially not when she was looking at him like that—her big doe eyes filled with a mix of innocence and something far more dangerous.

“Fine,” he conceded, leaning back against the pillows. “But only for a little while.”

Wonyoung smiled triumphantly, settling back down beside him. She tucked her head against his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck. For a moment, they lay there in silence, the rhythm of their breathing syncing naturally. But then Wonyoung shifted slightly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest through his thin t-shirt.

“Oppa,” she murmured after a while, her voice barely audible. “Do you ever think about… us?”

Y/n froze, his heart skipping a beat. “Us?” he repeated, his voice cautious.

Wonyoung pulled back slightly to look at him, her expression serious now. “Yeah. You know… how we spend so much time together. How I always end up in your bed. Don’t you think that means something?”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. Y/n opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Wonyoung leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear. “I think you like having me here,” she whispered, her breath sending shivers down his spine. “Maybe even more than you want to admit.”

Y/n swallowed hard, his mind racing. He wanted to deny it, to tell her she was just imagining things. But the truth was, he did like having her there. More than he should. And the way she was looking at him now, her eyes dark with something he couldn’t quite name, made it impossible to think clearly.

“Wonyoung…” he began, but she cut him off again, this time by pressing her lips to his in a soft, tentative kiss. His brain short-circuited, his hands moving instinctively to her waist as he kissed her back. It was brief, chaste even, but it left his heart pounding.

When she pulled away, her cheeks were flushed, but her smile was triumphant. “See?” she said, her voice smug. “You do like me.”

Y/n groaned, running a hand over his face. “This is such a bad idea,” he muttered, though he made no move to push her away.

Wonyoung giggled, her fingers trailing down his arm. “Since when have we ever had good ideas?” she countered, her tone light but her gaze intense. “Besides, I promise I won’t tell anyone. Not even Yujin.”

The mention of Yujin made Y/n’s stomach twist. He knew he was playing with fire, but the way Wonyoung was looking at him—like he was the only thing that mattered—made it impossible to care.

Before he could stop himself, he cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he said quietly, leaning in to kiss her again.

This time, there was nothing soft or tentative about it. Wonyoung responded eagerly, her hands tangling in his hair as she deepened the kiss. Y/n’s grip on her waist tightened, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. Every rational thought fled his mind, replaced by the overwhelming need to touch her, to feel her, to lose himself in her.

Their kisses grew more desperate, more urgent, until Wonyoung finally pulled back, panting slightly. Her eyes were dark with desire, her lips swollen and glistening. “Oppa,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “I want you.”

The words sent a jolt of electricity through him, his resolve crumbling completely. He didn’t speak, didn’t trust himself to form coherent thoughts anymore. Instead, he leaned in again, capturing her lips in another searing kiss as his hands roamed lower, exploring every inch of her soft, warm skin.

Wonyoung gasped, arching into his touch. “Y/n,” she whispered against his mouth, her voice breaking on his name. “Please…”

He didn’t need to be told twice. With a low growl, he flipped them over, pinning her beneath him as his kisses trailed down her neck to the collar of her oversized shirt. Wonyoung let out a soft moan, her nails digging into his shoulders as he tugged the fabric aside, exposing more of her bare skin.

But just as his lips brushed against her collarbone, a sharp knock on the door shattered the moment. They froze, their breaths coming in ragged gasps as they stared at each other, wide-eyed.

“Y/n?” Yujin’s voice called from the other side of the door, sounding way too cheerful for the situation. “Are you awake? We need to talk about practice today!”

Y/n swore under his breath, pulling away from Wonyoung reluctantly. “One second!” he called back, his voice strained.

Wonyoung bit her lip, trying to stifle a laugh as she sat up, fixing her shirt. “Well, that’s unfortunate timing,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/n shot her a glare, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the flush staining his cheeks. “You need to hide,” he hissed, gesturing toward the closet.

Wonyoung rolled her eyes but complied, slipping out of bed and padding silently across the room. She paused at the closet door, glancing back at him with a smirk. “We’re not done, oppa,” she said softly before disappearing inside.

Y/n took a deep breath, trying to compose himself before opening the door. Yujin stood there, grinning broadly, completely oblivious to what she’d just interrupted.

“Morning, sleepyhead!” she chirped, stepping past him into the room. “I brought coffee. Thought you might need it after last night.”

As she set the tray down on his desk, Y/n glanced nervously at the closet, wondering how long Wonyoung would be able to stay hidden—and what fresh chaos was waiting to unfold.

Yujin’s cheerful expression faltered as she stepped further into the room, her nose wrinkling slightly. She tilted her head, sniffing the air like a curious kitten. “Hmm… what’s that smell?” she mused, her voice light but carrying an edge of suspicion. Her gaze flicked around the room before landing on Y/n, who was standing stiffly by the door, trying to act natural.

“What smell?” Y/n asked, his voice a little too high-pitched. He cleared his throat, crossing his arms casually over his chest, though his heart was pounding. She couldn’t possibly know, he thought, even as beads of sweat threatened to form at his temples.

Yujin wandered closer to him, her eyes narrowing playfully but with a hint of something sharper beneath the surface. She leaned in, sniffing dramatically near his shoulder. “It smells like… Wonyoung’s perfume. The one she always wears.” She straightened up, hands on her hips, and fixed him with a knowing look. “Strawberries and vanilla. Very distinctive.”

Y/n froze, his mind racing for an excuse. Think, think, think. Before he could respond, the closet door creaked ever so slightly, drawing Yujin’s attention. Her head snapped toward it, and she took a step forward. “Is someone in there?” she asked, her tone shifting from playful to accusatory.

“No!” Y/n said quickly, stepping between her and the closet. “I mean… probably just the wind or something. Old building, you know? Drafty.” He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. Sweat was definitely forming now.

Yujin raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. She crossed her arms, tilting her head as she studied him. “Y/n-oppa,” she began, her voice sweet but laced with mischief, “are you hiding something from me?”

Before he could answer, the closet door burst open, and Wonyoung stepped out, her hair slightly disheveled but her expression defiant. “Yes, he is,” she declared, folding her arms over her chest. “And before you get all worked up, Yujin-unnie, it’s not what you think.”

Yujin’s jaw dropped, her eyes widening as she looked between Wonyoung and Y/n. “Excuse me? Not what I think?” she repeated, her voice rising. “You were in his closet, smelling like his bedsheets, and—”

“Enough!” Y/n interrupted, raising both hands to silence them. His voice carried a firmness that surprised even himself, and both girls stopped mid-sentence, staring at him. He took a deep breath, lowering his voice. “Look, this isn’t helping anyone. We’re a team, right? So let’s not turn this into some dramatic scene.”

Wonyoung pouted, her lower lip jutting out as she glanced at Yujin. “She started it,” she muttered under her breath.

Yujin scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I started it? You’re the one who—”

“Stop,” Y/n said again, softer this time but no less commanding. He stepped between them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “Listen. I… I care about both of you. A lot. And if we’re going to make this work, we need to be honest with each other. No secrets, no jealousy. Just… trust.”

For a moment, the room was silent, save for the sound of their breathing. Then, Yujin let out a small huff, her lips curving into a reluctant smile. “Fine,” she said, though her eyes still flashed with a hint of challenge. “But you owe me coffee after this.”

Wonyoung rolled her eyes but nodded. “And me too,” she added, smirking at Y/n. “Maybe even breakfast.”

Y/n let out a relieved laugh, feeling some of the tension drain from his shoulders. “Deal,” he said, grinning despite himself. If only it could always be this easy, he thought, though he knew better than to hope for smooth sailing.

Later that afternoon, the group gathered in the practice room for another grueling session. Winter had been unusually quiet throughout the day, her sharp eyes watching Y/n with an intensity that made him uneasy. She sat cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through her phone, but every so often, her gaze would flicker up to meet his, holding it for just a second too long before she looked away.

Karina clapped her hands, calling everyone to attention. “Alright, let’s run through the choreography one more time. Focus on the transitions—they’re still a bit messy.”

The music started, and Y/n threw himself into the routine, trying to ignore the way Winter’s eyes seemed to burn into his back. By the time they finished, his muscles were screaming in protest, and his shirt clung to his skin with sweat. He collapsed onto the floor, leaning against the mirrored wall as he caught his breath.

Just as he closed his eyes, he felt a presence beside him. He opened them to find Wonyoung crouching down, her face glowing with exertion but her smile bright. “Oppa,” she said, her voice soft, “will you come shopping with me later? I need to pick up some clothes for everyone, and I could use your opinion.”

Y/n hesitated, glancing around the room. Karina was deep in conversation with Chaewon, and Yujin was stretching nearby, her eyes darting toward them periodically. Winter was still watching him, her expression unreadable. “Sure,” he said finally, forcing a smile. “Let me just clean up first.”

As he stood, he caught Yujin’s eye. She gave him a small nod, though her lips were pressed into a thin line. He could tell she wasn’t happy about it, but she didn’t say anything. One problem at a time, he told himself.

An hour later, Y/n found himself in Wonyoung’s room, sitting awkwardly on the edge of her bed as she rummaged through her closet. “So, what do you think of this?” she asked, holding up a vibrant pink dress that shimmered under the light.

“It’s… um, nice,” Y/n said, unsure of how else to respond. “Very… eye-catching.”

Wonyoung giggled, setting the dress aside and turning to face him. Her expression softened, her eyes locking onto his. “You’re really cute when you’re nervous,” she said, taking a step closer.

Before he could react, she was straddling him, her hands gripping his shoulders as she pressed her lips to his. Y/n’s brain short-circuited, his body instinctively responding as her tongue slipped into his mouth. He reached up, tangling his fingers in her hair as she deepened the kiss, her nails digging into his skin.

“W-Wonyoung,” he gasped when she broke away to trail kisses down his neck, her teeth grazing his collarbone. “We shouldn’t—”

“Shh,” she whispered, her voice husky with desire. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

Her hands moved to the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head before tossing it aside. His breath hitched as she ran her fingers over his chest, her touch sending sparks through his body. She leaned down, nipping at his skin before licking away the sting, her movements deliberate and slow.

“Wonyoung,” he moaned, his hands gripping her waist as she shifted above him. She smirked, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra, letting it fall to the floor before grabbing his hands and placing them on her bare skin. “Touch me,” she breathed, grinding against him.

He obeyed, his fingers tracing the curve of her hips before sliding up to cup her breasts. She let out a breathy sigh, arching into his touch as she rolled her hips against his growing hardness. “You’re mine right now,” she murmured, her voice dripping with possessiveness as she leaned down to claim his lips once more.

Her fingers fumbled with the button of his pants, yanking them down along with his boxers. She pulled back just enough to kick off her own shorts and panties, her eyes dark with hunger as she positioned herself above him. “Ready?” she teased, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Y/n nodded, his breath coming in shallow gasps as she lowered herself onto him, her tight warmth engulfing him completely. She let out a low moan, her nails raking down his chest as she began to move, her pace slow and deliberate at first, then increasingly frantic. Her head fell back, her hair cascading over her shoulders as she rode him, her cries of pleasure echoing through the room.

“Faster,” she begged, her voice breaking as she gripped his shoulders for leverage. Y/n obliged, thrusting upward to meet her movements, their rhythm falling into sync as the heat between them built to a fever pitch. Wonyoung’s moans grew louder, more desperate, until she shuddered above him, her body tightening as waves of pleasure overtook her.

Y/n followed soon after, his release spilling inside her as she collapsed onto his chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. For a moment, they lay there, tangled together and soaked in sweat, the world outside forgotten.

“Well,” Wonyoung said after a while, her voice teasing as she propped herself up to look at him, “that was fun.”

Y/n blinked up at her, his mind still reeling. “Yeah,” he managed, his voice hoarse. “Fun.”

Wonyoung’s lips curved into a sly smile as she leaned down, her breath warm against his ear. “You think we’re done?” she whispered, her voice dripping with mischief. Her fingers traced lazy circles on his chest, sending shivers down his spine. “I’m just getting started.”

Y/n’s eyes widened, but before he could respond, Wonyoung shifted her weight, straddling him again. Her hands slid down his torso, nails lightly scratching his skin, and he hissed at the sensation. She laughed softly, her voice low and sultry. “Don’t tell me you’re already tired, Y/n. I thought you had more stamina than this.”

His body tensed under her teasing, a mix of exhaustion and desire warring within him. But the way she looked at him—her dark eyes glinting with playful challenge—was enough to reignite the fire in his veins. He reached up, tangling his fingers in her hair, and pulled her closer until their lips were almost touching. “Careful what you wish for,” he murmured, his voice rough.

Wonyoung smirked, clearly enjoying the game. “Oh, I’m counting on it,” she purred before capturing his mouth in another deep kiss. Her hips rolled against his, and he groaned into her mouth, his hands gripping her waist tightly. The heat between them was undeniable, their bodies moving together with a rhythm that felt both natural and desperate.

Their second round was slower but no less intense, each touch and movement deliberate. Wonyoung’s moans were softer now, more intimate, as if she was savoring every moment. Y/n’s hands explored every inch of her, memorizing the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips. It was intoxicating, overwhelming, and yet not enough. They clung to each other, chasing the high of their connection, unwilling to let go.

When they finally collapsed onto the bed, breathless and sweaty, Wonyoung let out a contented sigh. “Okay,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I underestimated you.”

Y/n chuckled, though it came out more like a groan. “Glad to hear it.”

They lay there for a while, catching their breath, until Wonyoung sat up, stretching languidly. “We should probably get dressed,” she said, glancing around the room. “Before someone else decides to barge in unannounced.”

Y/n nodded, reluctantly sitting up as well. They gathered their clothes, the air between them still charged with the remnants of what had just happened. As they dressed, Wonyoung shot him a mischievous grin. “Just so you know, this doesn’t mean I’m going to stop teasing you.”

He raised an eyebrow, half amused, half wary. “Noted.”

By the time they emerged from her room, the rest of the group was bustling about, preparing for the day ahead. Karina was the first to notice them, her sharp eyes flickering between Y/n and Wonyoung as they approached. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then seemed to think better of it, instead offering a small nod of acknowledgment.

“Thanks for helping Wonyoung with… whatever it was you two were doing,” Winter chimed in, her tone light but her gaze piercing. She stepped closer to Y/n, her hand brushing against his cheek in a gesture that felt far too familiar. “You’re always so… accommodating.”

Y/n stiffened, acutely aware of Karina watching them. But before he could respond, Wonyoung cut in, her voice sweet but laced with subtle warning. “Isn’t he just? We’re lucky to have him.”

Winter smirked, clearly enjoying the tension she was creating. “Indeed.”

The conversation shifted to mundane topics after that, but the underlying unease lingered. Y/n felt Karina’s eyes on him throughout, her gaze soft yet tinged with something deeper—something he couldn’t quite place. When she finally approached him, her touch was tentative as she took his arm, her fingers gently caressing his bicep.

“Thank you, Y/n,” she said quietly, her voice filled with warmth. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the room. “For everything.”

Her words were simple, but the emotion behind them was anything but. Y/n’s heart ached with guilt and longing, but he forced himself to smile. “Of course. You don’t have to thank me.”

Karina hesitated, as if she wanted to say more, but then she seemed to catch herself. She coughed lightly, stepping back and breaking the spell. “Right. Well, we should all get ready. There’s still a lot to do today.”

The others nodded, exchanging glances that hinted at things left unsaid. Winter lingered for a moment longer, her fingers trailing along Y/n’s jawline before she finally turned away. “See you later,” she called over her shoulder, her tone dripping with promise.

As the group dispersed, Y/n exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of their collective attention pressing down on him. He needed a moment to breathe, to clear his head. A shower sounded perfect—just the thing to wash away the sweat and tension clinging to his skin.

He made his way to the bathroom, stripping off his clothes as soon as the door closed behind him. The water was hot, almost scalding, but it felt good against his skin. He stood under the spray, letting it wash away the lingering echoes of the morning’s events.

But just as he began to relax, he heard it—a soft, melodic humming coming from outside the bathroom door. His heart skipped a beat, and he quickly turned off the water, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. “Hello?” he called out, his voice hesitant.

The humming stopped, replaced by the sound of the doorknob turning. Before he could react, the door swung open, and Yujin stepped inside, her eyes widening in shock as she took in the sight of him—dripping wet, bare-chested, and very much naked from the waist down aside from the hastily wrapped towel.

“Y/n?!” she squeaked, her face turning bright red as she immediately spun around, covering her eyes with her hands. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t—”

Y/n froze, his mind racing as he tried to process what had just happened. “Yujin, wait—”

But she was already backing out of the bathroom, stumbling over her own feet in her haste to escape. “I-I’ll just—uh—”

The door slammed shut behind her, leaving Y/n standing there, stunned and utterly exposed. He stared at the closed door, his heart pounding in his chest as the reality of the situation sank in. This was not how he expected his day to go.

From the other side of the door, he could hear Yujin’s muffled voice, though her words were too faint to make out. Y/n groaned, running a hand through his wet hair. What was he supposed to do now?

The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable, until Y/n finally mustered the courage to call out, “Yujin?”

There was no response. He waited a few moments, then sighed. “I’m really sorry about that,” he said, though he wasn’t entirely sure who he was apologizing to—her or himself.

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ptergwen · 2 days ago

Note

hiii

so this might me dirty but hear me out

It has gotten to me that mans come can meddle w the woman’s dna

so with this as an inspiration, and I know it’s kinda cliche but

stark!reader suddenly having spider senses or smh (not pregnancy)

oh and it’s for Tom Holland spider man

have an amazing dayy

a parker thing

ask box | taglist | blurb masterlist | main masterlist

w/c: ?

warnings: smut (p in v unprotected, lowkey dom!peter and reader), swearing

a/n: jump scare if you didn't see my post lmao i'm back y'all! i missed u guys and missed writing lots so i’ll be here from time to time again :) i had so much fun with this req thank you for the idea! much love to u all <3

you catch yourself dozing off and jerk your head up instinctively. one short, loud snore passes your lips as you do so, eyes opening wide. you blink your tired eyes a few times as you readjust to the harsh lighting.

ugh, you fell asleep in the lab, something you always chastise peter and your dad for doing. they're notorious for their long hours spent messing around with stark tech. you've lost count of how many times you've woken up to an empty spot in bed where your boyfriend should be, instead finding him fast asleep surrounded by cups of coffee and a delirious tony still on the grind.

tonight, you're the stark who's in the lab past their bedtime. you had the day to yourself and decided to use your free time to upgrade your suit. it had had a few hiccups during the team's last mission, so you wanted to work on it before the next one. what was supposed to be a few minor tweaks turned into a whole day of tweaking.

you scoff at yourself and wipe some drool that crusted onto your chin. oddly enough, you almost instantly refocus on the screen in front of you. it's been like this for most of the day. you're way more concentrated than usual for some reason, more aware. you figure it's because peter has been out on patrol and couldn't distract you.

"are you finished for the night, boss? you aren't usually here this late."

"i know, but i’m gonna stay a little longer. i’ll be done soon...i think."

friday dims the lights directly overhead so they aren't as harsh. you smile.

"thanks, fri."

you sit up in your seat, scooting in closer to the screen displaying your suit. you carefully look over the prototype and pick up a pen to write yourself some notes. when you go to put down the pen, it sticks to your palm. you shake your hand to try to get it off. it stays stuck.

"huh."

you use your other hand to pry the pen off of you.

"weird."

first you have heightened senses, now you're sticky. if you didn't have ordinary stark dna, you'd think you were part arachnid like peter.

you're not sure why, but you suddenly stand up and turn towards the main doors to the lab. they slide open a few seconds later. peter walks inside, spider suit on and mask off. he pads over to you with a soft smile.

"there you are. friday said i could find you down here."

peter pecks your lips and envelopes you in a hug. you sign contentedly, face nuzzled into his neck and arms winding around him.

"yeah, she's probably sick of me. i've been down here all day."

"you're really locked in, huh? how's the suit coming along?"

peter's fingers rub up and down your back ever so lightly. just the small touch practically sends shivers down your spine.

"good. fixed everything and double checked, then triple checked. started adding some new stuff, too."

"new features? like what?"

"you know the one i was telling you about..."

you trail off as peter's hands slide down to your ass. he pulls you in closer to himself, letting his hands rest there. you peek up at him, heart speeding up.

"go on, i’m listening."

peter gives your ass a gentle squeeze. it's an innocent gesture, really, but your senses are going crazy right now and you can't help but to get turned on. you always tease peter about how easily he's turned on. if this is what it feels like for him, now you understand.

"hm, i'm bored of talking about the suit. tell me about patrol."

"it was good! got a lot of action today. i mean, i guess that's not good 'cause that means there's more crime and stuff, but y'know. anyway..."

you stare at peter's lips, but don't listen to a word he's saying. it's the first time today you can't focus. he's pressed right up against you in his damned tight spider suit, and his hands are still on your ass, and you're so hypersensitive and hyper aware. all you can think about is how bad you need him.

"y/n? you okay?"

peter must have noticed you spacing out.

your gaze flicks between his eyes and lips before your own lips wordlessly capture his in a searing kiss. peter lets out a breathy chuckle, caught a bit off guard by your abruptness. he deepens the kiss for a moment, then pulls back with a look of amusement. you bite back a cheeky smile.

"horny."

peter's features form a smirk.

"i got you, baby."

he kisses you again. his tongue tangles with yours, a sigh passing your lips. peter lifts you up, grip becoming firmer on your ass. you wrap your legs around his waist. he kisses down your neck until he finds a spot he wants to mark. you tilt your head to the side so he has more access. peter's lips suck roughly on your skin, teeth nipping at it playfully. you let out a shaky breath.

peter presses one last kiss to what's sure to become a hickey to soothe it. you tilt his chin up towards you again, lips smashing into his, holding him in place by the back of his head. he carries you to the nearest table while your intertwined lips move desperately against each other's. you sneak a hand down to the bulge in his suit, earning a groan.

"one sec, lemme get this off."

peter sets you down on the table and quickly strips off his spider suit. you take your own clothes off and toss them aside, left only in your bra and panties. peter comes to stand between your legs. he slips your panties to the side, middle finger collecting your wetness as he kisses you again. his finger slides into you with ease and begins to pump. you moan into the kiss, tugging at his hair.

"already so wet, baby. don't even have to get you warmed up."

peter's finger curls inside you, cockiness evident in his tone and on his features. you tug on some hair at the nape of his neck.

"stop teasing, parker."

"can't take it when the roles are reversed, stark?"

something takes over you in that moment, the same something that's been coursing through your veins all day. you grab both of peter's hands and hold them in place above his head. your grip is tight around his wrists, too tight for him to break free of it. a noise almost like a growl escapes you.

"shut up and fuck me, or i’ll fuck you."

peter meets your wild eyes, his pupils equally as dilated.

"do it."

you promptly pull peter up to the table with you. you push him back so he lies down, pinning his arms down at his sides. his chest rises and falls, breathless.

"woah, what's gotten into you today? not that i’m complaining, but, woah."

"i know, right? i thought you were supposed to have super strength."

peter grabs you by your hips and sits up, seating you in his lap. you wiggle your hips in his grasp, but he digs his fingers into your sides so you can't move. peter's voice drops low.

"what was that?"

you breathe out a low laugh.

"nothing."

you dip your head down to press your forehead to peter's. he smiles, satisfied with your answer. you wrap your hand around his hard cock and stroke him. peter's lips ghost over yours, his breathing heavy.

"wanna feel you, y/n/n."

peter slides his hands up to your waist so you can move again. you smile knowingly. you slip off your panties before you reposition yourself, your legs on either side of him. you line up peter's cock with your entrance.

"wanna feel you too, pete."

you lower yourself down onto peter. you both let out little sighs and moans as he fills you up.

he always feels so good inside you, but this time is even better, even more intense.

you arch your back to find the right angle, shifting backwards a bit. once you're both comfortable, you begin to roll your hips. peter exhales a breath he was holding, lifting his hips up to help you out. your movements are slow, fluid. peter supports you by the small of your back, eyes hooded and lips parted for air.

"fuck, i'm not gonna last long."

"me neither."

he kisses you, softly but with so much passion. you let your eyes flutter closed and kiss back. you place your feet flat on the table for more stability and straighten your back, starting to bounce on his cock.

"y/n..."

peter's voice comes out almost like a whine. you chuckle at that.

"i know."

you grab onto peter's shoulders for more support as you move, up and down, back and forth. peter leaves sloppy kisses along the side of your neck. the once quiet lab is now filled with both of your moans and the sounds of your wetness every time his cock thrusts into you. you're both so close, and you can hardly hold out any longer.

peter grabs your hips to stop your movements. he takes over, thrusting up into you at the same delicious pace, only he's the one in control. you let out a series of short, high pitched moans, head thrown back as peter's cock hits the right spot in you over and over again.

"that's it, y/n/n. sound so pretty, baby."

peter half speaks and half groans. you reply with your own noise of content, squeezing yourself around his cock as you reach your high. peter is close to his.

"god, fuck."

he's panting. his thrusts speed up a bit until his hips stop moving altogether. he pushes deeper into you with one final moan, his cum filling you up, making you feel warm inside. you both recently agreed he could finish in you; it's a new level of intimacy.

"fuck, baby. woah."

you bury your face in peter's neck in response. you try to catch your breath, falling forward into his arms.

"oh my god, pete. that was..."

"yeah."

peter hugs your waist. he slowly pulls out of you, making you wince at the new emptiness.

"sorry."

he peppers tender kisses to the side of your head. you remove your face from his neck.

"it's okay."

you ruffle peter's hair with a tired smile. he kisses your cheek, smiling back. you give him another peck on his lips. you yawn, today's and tonight's activities catching up with you once again.

"aw, you tired?"

"mhm. you must be, too, spidey."

"exhausted. let's get cleaned up, then we'll go to bed?"

"sounds perfect."

peter helps you down from the table. you quickly step into your panties in case any cum leaks out of you. he picks his suit up off the floor.

"okay, that was insanely good. i mean, it always is, but something was different. i wonder what it was."

peter shimmies into his suit so his lower half is covered. you're putting on the rest of your clothes.

"i don't know, i’ve just been super on my shit today. really focused and stuff."

"explains why you were so locked in on your suit."

"that might just be a stark thing. actually, it's a parker thing too."

you poke peter's chest playfully. you collect some of your things from your work area, some miscellaneous supplies sticking to your palms as you do.

"why does this keep happening?"

peter watches curiously as you huff and shake paper clips off your palms.

"funny, that reminds me of when i first got my powers. took me a while to figure out how to control it, being sticky."

"uh huh. did you spill web fluid last time you were down here or something?"

"i don't think so, but it would have dissolved by now if i did. i haven't been in the lab for a couple days."

"oh. maybe it was someone else."

peter quirks a brow.

"i don't see any web fluid over there, y/n/n."

you turn to face peter.

"so why am i sticky?"

between this, your strength, and your heightened senses, peter puts it together. you have powers.

his spider powers.

"that might also be a parker thing. more specifically, a spider-man thing."

"you don't mean... no."

if peter is saying what you think he's saying, that confirms what you had thought earlier.

"uh, yeah."

peter crosses over to you. your eyebrows knit together.

"we must share some dna."

"but how? that wouldn't be possible unless we were, like, related... ew! please don't tell me we're fucking related!"

"baby, baby." peter laughs softly, taking one of your hands in his. "stop freaking out."

"you should be freaking out too! you were just inside me, peter, fucking me raw! you came in me!"

"exactly."

peter's voice is way too calm for your liking.

"exactly? what do you mean 'exactly'?"

"think about it. sperm is made up of dna."

"so what?"

"well, i wasn't born with this dna. it got mutated by the spider bite. so no, we're definitely not related."

you tentatively soften your gaze, allowing peter to lace his fingers through yours.

"since i got my powers from the mutation, i guess you got them too when i started finishing in you."

you gasp, a playful smile pulling at your lips.

"you mean you mutated my dna? you have radioactive cum?"

"something like that. you're not mad?"

you toy with peter's fingers, looping an arm around his neck.

"nah, it's kind of cool now that i know what it is. you're gonna have to teach me how to use the powers, though."

"of course." peter returns your smile. "now that you've got new powers, you gotta rebrand. maybe you could call yourself spider-woman."

"you'd like that, wouldn't you? come up with something more original."

peter's arms wrap around your middle, smile growing into a toothy grin.

"you could also use mrs. parker. it's gonna be your name someday, anyways."

you put your other arm around peter's neck with a laugh.

"mrs. parker, i like that."

(too lazy to use tags lmao)

#peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fic #peter parker imagine #mcu peter parker #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fic #tom holland au

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st7rnioioss · 1 day ago

Text

۶ৎ BROTHERS BSF!MATT x SWEETHEART!READER

𝜗𝜚 warnings... veeerryy short, nothing!! just them being cuties :P

“oh, um- hi matt,” you looked up at your doorway, immediately meeting matt’s eyes. you clutch the diary in your hands to your chest haphazardly, an almost flustered look taking over your face.

“hey there sweetheart.. what’re you writing?” he chuckled, the blush adorning your cheeks not going unnoticed by him when his eyes roamed your face, before flickering to the diary clasped in your arms. he leans against the doorway, his arms crossed. oh god.

quickly, you look down at the diary, nearly forgetting how to speak, unsure what to say that wasn't 'i was actually writing about you'.

“um, well it’s nothing.. just girl stuff,” you giggled nervously, looking back up from your bed to meet his eyes.

matt brushes it off with a nod, taking a step into your room, looking around the decorations and interior that prettified your room.

“sh-shouldn’t you be with my brother?” you murmured, watching as he picked up a few trinkets to look at, before leaving them exactly how they were just a second prior.

normally you would mind it a little if people came barging into your room, picking up your stuff and messing it around. but it was almost as if it didn’t matter because it was matt doing it. plus, he wasn’t messy with it.

“nah, he can wait. he's just grabbing a drink. i’d rather be talking to his pretty sister instead,” he smiled, giving you a quick glance, before returning his eyes to your posters, acting as if they were the most interesting thing in the world when really he was absolutely shitting his pants from how nervous he was.

you almost felt like you couldn’t move, letting out a soft giggle at his words, your cheeks turning beet red. it wasn't often that you got to talk to matt, yet he always knew exactly what to say and how to fluster you.

“yeah.. right,” you sighed, closing the diary and placing it on your nightstand to scoot up next to matt, looking at the same poster he was, before glimpsing down.

he looked at you. “what do you mean? i think you’re pretty cute,” an almost trembling finger hooked under your chin, lifting your face from the floor to meet his eyes.

he had told you a couple times already through the small notes he left on your desk, so it was no secret. but yet it left you with butterflies in your stomach and a light smile tugging on your lips.

your eyes flickered back and forth between his, blinking rapidly when his hand made its way to cup the side of your face, pulling you closer. a soft pink hue dusted across your cheeks and nose, getting lost in the moment.

“matt..? c-can you.. can you ki-“ and just when you were about to ask the forbidden question, you got abruptly interrupted by none other than your brother, taking a step back from matt.

“matt? what are you doing, i’m waiting for you, dude.” your brother pushed the door open, matt’s hand immediately leaving your face, his soft and relaxed demeanor now gone.

“yeah, sorry. my bad, just wanted to see your sister room,” he chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as he pats out of the room. he shoots you an apologetic glance and a rushed smile, before closing your door behind you.

and there you stood, flustered, a blushing mess, slightly annoyed, and alone. yet, a subtle smile made its way to your lips, reaching for your diary.

more brothers bsf!matt and sweetheart!reader here!

𝜗𝜚˚࿔ notes: nooo not the forbidden romance ugh. short fic for y'all but i had this thought and had to share lol:3 i love u!!!

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mysunshinetemptress · 2 days ago

Text

Taste of Heaven

Scars Tex Universe

Warning: I got a good few asks about the scar on Tex’s head so…..

Leah doesn’t know what time it is, she doesn’t really care as the light breaks through the curtain she can’t help but stare at your sleeping form, you’re so peaceful, relaxed she thinks to herself.

Last night was a dream and as the memories flicker through her mind, the journey from the club back to your hotel, your hat still firmly placed on her head as you lead her through the hallways and into your bed she can’t help but smile.

Your hat is on the nightstand beside you and as she looks at you she can’t help notice the little things your hat seems to hide.

Your hair and the way it parts in the middle perfectly even after last night, and as she trails her eyes down towards your eyes she can’t help but notice the scar on your forehead and the way it starts on your forehead but blends into your hair.

Leah runs her finger over it lightly, it’s white against your tanned skin and it seems to hold all her attention as she repeats her movements, again and again.

“It’s not going to disappear no matter how many times you rub it, believe me I’ve tried.” Your voice is raspy with sleep and you startle her ceasing her fingers movement on your head.

“I don’t want it to disappear.” You blink your eyes adjusting to the light in the room “I do.” You say quietly as you turn your eyes flicking over Leah’s face.

“How did you get it.” Leah asks timidly, scared it’s a story you’re not ready to tell. “I-I was messing with my brothers, Mitch was there and a few of my brother’s friends.” You start, Leah’s hand is still on your head and you move yours told hold it gently “I was young-to young to be on a stallion that was being broken in by Tristan and his friend.” Leah stares at the scare before her eyes flicker back down to yours “No one had been close to getting on him but we had been messing around and one of the boys dared me to try, I wanted to be cool, cool in my brothers and there friends eyes so I got on him.” You pull Leah’s hand away from the scar and down away from it entwining your hands with hers “He wouldn’t stop bucking and I came off, I don’t remember anything after that.” Leah’s breath gets caught in her throat “I-i was in hospital for a month after.” Leah swallows harshly “how-how old were you.” You turn looking at your hands “eight.”

Leah watch’s the way your shoulders relax “why do you hide it.” You let out a light laugh “ do you normally ask all the deep questions in the morning.” Leah shrugs smiling “yes normally during our second date.” You laugh again before coughing slightly “I had a crush on this girl when I was younger, it was a year after the whole thing, Mitch tried to play wingman and ask if she was interested she said no way why would I like Freddy Krueger…..I was standing behind her with a flower” Leah feels her heart sink at the thought of nine year old you being told you looked like such an ugly monster.

“I love it.” You roll your eyes “you don’t have to lie it’s ok.” You turn your head letting go of Leah’s hand as you reach for your hat “ no I’m being serious I love it.” Leah says as she grabs your face pulling your attention back to her “I love your scar, it makes you a real cowboy.” You laugh “was the hat not enough no.” Leah laughs leaning in to kiss you “no definitely not.”

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earthchica · 2 days ago

Text

Make It Right

terry richmond x black, fem!/plus size reader

summary: Terry makes it right and apologizes to you for his words and his behavior; soon, you and Terry talk through your issues, getting a better understanding of each other and rebuilding your communication.

warnings: angst, slight communication issues, serious conversation, explicit smut (18+), light daddy kink, oral (f), rough pent-up sex, making out, flirting, fluff, domestic life, romantic dinner, family vacation, nicknames [ baby, sweetheart, mama, baby girl & more ] words: 5k

note: please enjoy, but there may be some errors.

sequel to { funny how time flies } mini-series masterlist previous chapter { everything I ever wanted }

You heard the soft creak of the bedroom door as it opened and then shut, the sound echoing in the quiet bedroom. Suddenly, a familiar warmth enveloped you as Terry wrapped his arms around you, trying to pull you into an embrace.

You could feel the weight of his body pressing against yours, but frustration bubbled up inside you. “Get off of me, Terry!” you exclaimed, your voice sharp and annoyant as you firmly shoved him away.

You shifted towards the head of the bed, separating you from the man you hurt your feelings. Terry stood there, a blend of guilt and despair washing over his features.

“I’m sorry, baby. I-I,” Terry stammered, his words tumbling out in a rush as his eyes roamed your face, searching for a glimmer of understanding.

The remorse in his gaze was sincerity, which struck a deep chord within you. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” He sat on the bed and moved closer, extending a hand as if trying to bridge the emotional depth that had formed between you.

“I’m so grateful to have you; you’re such an incredible wife and an amazing mother to our son.” His voice cracked slightly, laden with the weight of his apology, as he pleaded for you to see the truth in his words.

"No, why would you say you're tired of me? How could you say something like that to me of all people?" you yelled, your voice rising as a flood of emotions engulfed you.

A mix of anger and hurt made your heart race. "Baby, I didn't mean—" Terry started to respond, his voice still remorseful, but you couldn't let him finish.

You cut him off, allowing your pent-up emotions to spill like water gushing from a broken dam.

"Do you even grasp how I've been feeling these past few months?" your voice trembled, each word charged with frustration and hurt. "It feels like I'm carrying the whole load on my shoulders, all alone."

"If you’ve been feeling this, why didn't you communicate that to me? You know I'm not a damn mind reader!” Terry shot back, his tone rising and more urgent.

"So it's my fault again?” you retorted, your frustration boiling. “Why don't you take some accountability for once, Terry? You used to know how to support me or recognize when I was struggling without me having to spell it out for you."

Your words hung in the air, charged with the weight of unspoken expectations and the longing for understanding that felt increasingly out of reach.

Terry took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping as he faced you directly, the moment's weight heavy between you. “Look, I know I messed up badly,” he began, his voice low and sincere.

“I hurt you, and that’s not right. I should have never said I was tired of you. That was just disrespectful. You deserve so much better than that.”

Terry paused, searching for the right words, his eyes filled with regret. “I see how hard you work every day taking care of our son. You do everything for our family; I have taken that for granted. I haven’t been there like I should have been, allowing my frustrations to cloud my judgment.”

Terry stepped closer, his hands outstretched, palms up. “I got no excuses. What I said was wrong, and I’m ashamed of it. You’ve been carryin’ so much, I’m sorry, for real. I wanna make it right, whatever it takes. I'll support you better, listen more, and be the husband I know I can be.”

As he spoke, you could see the love and remorse etched on his face—deep lines of worry creased his brow. But it was hard for you to process his words fully at that moment.

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the anger decrease slightly. "I hear you, Terry,” you said softly, almost dismissively. “But right now, I just need some space…I think you should sleep on the couch.”

You get off the bed to grab your shower cap, go to the bathroom, and close the door. You hear Terry leave the bedroom, the silence filling the space again.

After your shower, you take your time with your night routine, meticulously applying your skincare products as if the physical act could somehow cleanse the emotional turmoil still swirling inside you.

Each motion rhythm felt almost meditative, yet the weight of the conversation earlier loomed heavily in your mind. You are dressed in a comfortable tank top and pajama shorts, feeling the fabric against your skin, a small comfort amidst the chaos of your thoughts.

Finally, you climbed into bed, the sheets cool against your skin, but the emptiness beside you felt overwhelming. The thought of Terry not being close to you despite the hurt made the room quiet.

You wrapped the thick blanket tightly around you, trying to find solace in the familiar fabric, yet you couldn't shake off the need for his presence.

Deep down, you craved the warmth of his body next to yours, the security you felt when he embraced him, even if your heart still stung from his words.

With a shaky sigh, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and decided to seek him out. You padded down the hallway, glancing at the clock—it was already late, and you wondered how long you’d been lost in thought.

As you reached the bottom of the stairs, the sight of him slumped over on the small loveseat in the living room tugged at your heart. His long frame seemed crammed into the little seat, the edges of the cushions barely accommodating his size.

“Terry…” you called softly, barely rising above a whisper. He lifted his head at the sound of your voice, eyes widening with surprise and a hint of hope.

“Yeah,” he replied, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his voice thick with fatigue. “Um...” you started, crossing your arms over your chest, unsure how to proceed.

The remnants of the hurt and irritation still lingered, yet the sight of his uncomfortable state and weary expression stirred something inside you.

“Come to bed,” you said softly with no expression, and his expression shifted to relief. “Are you sure?” Terry asked, a mixture of cautious optimism laced in his tone.

“Yeah, just…come on,” you replied, trying to sound more convinced than you felt. Terry was always so imposing as he stood up but looked helpless and small.

Without another word, he followed you back upstairs, and the silence between you felt thick. As you entered the bedroom, you climbed back into the bed, the sheets still warm where you had been.

Terry lingered by the door momentarily, hesitation clear on his face. “Are you still upset?” he asked, his voice soft yet heavy with concern. “I am,” you replied, not wanting to lie or sugarcoat the situation.

“But I don’t want to sleep alone. Maybe we can talk more tomorrow when we’re both in a better headspace.” You said softly. Terry nodded, understanding and regret evident in his eyes.

With a heavy sigh, he climbed into bed beside you, leaving a respectful and cautious distance between you. The silence hung between you until it was almost suffocating, but neither knew how to break it.

Instead, you both lay there, staring at the ceiling and pretending to be asleep. Eventually, sleep found its way to you both. The night felt long, but eventually, morning came with the promise of a new day.

As the sun peaked through the curtains, you stirred awake first, feeling the warmth of Terry's body against you, and you glanced over at him; your heart softened just a bit as you watched him breathe softly.

After last night's argument, some of you wanted to stay angry and distant from Terry, but another part just wanted things back to normal. You knew in your heart that you two would work this out somehow.

You turn over, gently reach over, and place your hand on his cheek before returning to sleep. Terry stirred slightly and cracked open an eye if you felt your touch even in his sleep.

Terry softly smiled at your sleepy state, knowing he had to make things right. He reached for his phone, the soft glow illuminating the dim room.

Sitting up, he took a deep breath, preparing himself for a tough day ahead—not at work, but at home. He scrolled through his contacts, dialing in to call your uncle.

“Hey, Uncle Eddie,” he said after a few rings. “I won’t be coming in today…yeah, personal reasons. I need to be home…Okay, thank you.” As he hung up, he glanced over at you, still half-asleep.

Terry slid out of bed quietly, careful not to wake you. Padding softly to the baby’s room, he gently lifted Elijah from the crib. Cradling him in his arms, he marveled momentarily at how small and innocent his son looked.

“Good morning, little man,” Terry whispered, bouncing Elijah slightly as he went downstairs to the kitchen. He set the little one in the high chair, securing him safely with the straps.

The baby’s sleepy gaze slowly transformed into a wide-eyed curiosity as he watched his daddy move about the kitchen. With Elijah happily sitting in his chair, Terry began preparing breakfast.

Terry rummaged through the fridge, pulling out eggs, milk, and fresh fruit. As he cracked the eggs into the skillet, their sizzling brought a sense of calm.

Cooking had always been a form of therapy for him. “Let’s get you some breakfast, too, huh?” he chimed to Elijah as he quickly poured him a bottle.

Terry could hear Elijah's soft noises of delight, making focusing easier. Deep down, he hoped that doing this would show you his sincerity.

After feeding Elijah, Terry made a generous portion of the breakfast for you and himself and set the table. As you wake up to an empty bed, you glance at the time and feel slightly panicked.

However, you hear Terry's voice through the baby monitor, talking to Elijah in the kitchen about you, hoping this would be the start of you forgiving him for your argument last night.

As you got out of bed, rubbed the sleep from your eyes, went to brush your teeth, and washed your face before strolling downstairs towards the kitchen.

The aroma of breakfast wafting through the air, making your stomach rumble. Terry turned as he caught sight of you, a sheepish smile lighting up his face.

“Morning,” he said warmly, his voice brightening the atmosphere. “I hope you’re hungry. I made your favorite,” he added; you tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “My favorite?”

“Yeah,” he replied, setting a plate on the table before you. “Eggs, pancakes, bacon, and fresh fruit. I know you usually love a little bit of everything.”

As you sat, Elijah babbled enthusiastically in his high chair, excited to see both of you. You couldn’t help but smile at your son and kiss his forehead. "Good morning, baby boy"

You started to eat, the first few bites eliciting a sense of normalcy you desperately craved. “Thanks for making breakfast, Terry,” you said softly, focusing on Elijah. “It smells amazing.”

“I wanted to do something nice for you,” Terry admitted, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I know.....last night. I hate that we left things unresolved.”

You looked up from your plate, gauging Terry’s expression. His eyes were sincere, mixed with an undercurrent of regret. “Yeah, I appreciate that you’re trying this morning.”

Terry nodded slightly, the weight of his guilt apparent in each motion. “I just want you to know again I’m sorry about what I said. I didn’t mean it. I was just frustrated, and I didn’t handle it well.”

You paused before responding. “I get that, Terry, but when you said that to me...my heart broke, and I thought we were locked on this, I thought-.”

“I know,” he replied, his tone dropping to a more serious level. “It’s just so hard sometimes, balancing everything— Elijah, work, our marriage. I let the stress get the best of me and took it out on you.”

"Well, I think we really need to work on our communication because ever since Elijah was born, I feel like we've lost sight of that strength we've built," you said, your voice filled with realization.

Terry acknowledged the tension in his shoulders, easing just a bit. “You're right. I've noticed it, too. I miss how we used to talk, how we could share anything without worry.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of those words resonating deeply. “Yeah, me too. Remember those late-night talks we used to have? We'd stay up for hours just dreaming about our future, making plans together. Now it feels like we're just trying to survive the day.”

“Yeah,” he said, his expression softening. “I want to go back to that. “We have to find a way to carve out time for us, even if it's just small moments here and there.”

“What do you think that looks like?” you asked, genuinely curious. “How can we make it happen?” you added. Terry took a moment, clearly contemplating.

“Maybe we could set aside a few minutes each night after Elijah goes to bed. We could just talk about our day or even watch something together. Something light and fun.”

“That sounds nice,” you replied, a smile creeping onto your face. “I would love that. But I also think we need to be able to have those conversations when things get tough. It can't all be about being positive; we must address the heavy stuff, too.”

Terry thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in concentration. “You're right. I think it's so easy to avoid conflict, thinking it will just resolve itself. But it won't, will it? We have to face it head-on before resentment builds up.”

“I can be guilty of that too,” you admitted, feeling the weight of the past few months crash over you. “I've been just bottling things up instead of expressing my feelings. It’s easier to keep the peace, even if it eats away at me.”

“I get that,” he said softly, his gaze steady on you. “But I promise to do better. I want to hear what you say, baby, no matter how difficult. I care about your feelings and will be a better husband; I want to be a better husband.”

Your heart swelled at his words. “Thank you, Terry. That means a lot, and you are a good husband and a father. We're in a tough patch, and I'm sure we'll get through. I want you to feel the same way. We need to make this a mutual effort. If I ever say something that bothers you, please don't hesitate to let me know.”

Terry reached across the table, taking his hand in yours. “You have my word. And I hope you know I'm committed to strengthening our marriage. There's nothing more important to me than you and Elijah; “I love you, baby.”

"I love you too, Terry." With those words lingering in the air, you both shared a transformative moment of understanding. It wasn't an immediate solution to all your problems, but it was a solid step.

The past few weeks have been a turning point for both of you. Communicating openly like you used to, sharing your thoughts and feelings without the weight of tension lingering in the air, had lightened the load on your heart.

As you and Terry cuddled on the couch, the warmth of his body against yours felt comforting. The lamp's soft glow lit the room just enough to create an intimate atmosphere.

You watched Elijah through the baby monitor, sleeping peacefully in his crib. “Wow, you came through, huh?” you said playfully, playing with his ears.

“I feel like I barely had to lift a finger with the housework and Elijah. You got my back like that?” You said with a smile. Terry chuckled, leaning closer to you.

“Well, if I keep you happy, it’s a win-win situation, right?” He pretended to flex his muscles, and you both laughed at the moment's silliness.

“You’re so crazy,” you teased, smirking at him. “But real talk, I appreciate it. I feel like I can finally breathe again. It’s been a minute since we had this together.”

“Right? I missed this, alot, I mean a lot a lot ” Terry expressed, his face turning soft. He brushed his thumb along your cheek, making your heart flutter.

“You know I love you, sweetheart, I wanna see you shine and be happy,” Terry said, and you smiled, feeling a little bashful under his gaze.

“Aww, Terry, I love you too so much. I know I can get caught up in my head often, but having you step up like this? It just makes me feel so much better.”

Terry leaned in closer, his breath warm against your lips. “You keep saying how I stepped up, but it’s us together making it work. You’re the heart of this whole household, baby.”

Terry paused momentarily, still gazing into your eyes, and you could feel the heat rising between you. “We’ve been keeping things going in the house lately, being a team.”

“True, that's how it's supposed to be. And it feels good to be back in sync,” you responded, feeling at ease. “It’s nice to know you’re all in, and I’m all in too.”

With that, Terry leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a slow kiss. It was sweet at first, but gradually, it deepened, both of you melting into the moment as your bodies relaxed against each other.

A playful glint sparkled in his eye when he gently pulled away, hinting at a fun idea. “You know,” he said, his voice brimming with excitement.

"We should plan a little family getaway. Somewhere we can kick back and truly relax.” He said deeply low. “A vacation?” you replied, raising an eyebrow in intrigue.

“Really?” you asked, and Terry leaned closer, the enthusiasm contagious as he continued. “Yeah! How about we spend a weekend at that villa we used to visit in Cancun?"

"And we could invite your parents to join us. It would be an excellent opportunity to unplug from all the chaos and have fun.” His eyes lit up with the thought, a sparkle mirroring his excitement.

You couldn't help but bite your lip, imagining the warm sands and gentle ocean breezes. “That sounds amazing! I adore that place. It holds so many wonderful memories for us."

"—it’s where it all began. Plus, this would be Elijah's very first vacation! What a special way to introduce him to such a beautiful location.” You gasped.

Terry chuckled softly, “So, you wanna do it?” You nodded enthusiastically, a grin spreading across your face. “Let’s do it! I can already envision the memories we can make.”

Cancun, Mexico

The sun hung high in the cerulean sky, casting a warm golden glow over the peaceful Cancun shoreline as the day unfolded—a perfect Sunday morning.

The gentle sound of waves lapping against the soft, powdery sand created a soothing rhythm while a refreshing breeze played against your dark-brown skin, carrying the faint scent of salt and beach flowers.

Elijah giggled uncontrollably as he splashed playfully in the sandy oasis around him. Tiny grains of sand stuck to his little fingers and toes, glistening like miniature jewels in the sunlight.

You and your mom were fully immersed in the moment, working together to construct an elaborate sandcastle. Its towers rose proudly, decorated with seashells and bits of seaweed, as you all hoped it could withstand the approaching tide.

“Look at you, Eli! You love the sand, huh?!” you exclaimed, your heart swelling with affection. The moment's joy was captured forever as you snapped a picture of his bright smile, his hazel eyes sparkling with delight.

Elijah's laughter echoed around you, filling the air with pure joy as you and your mom continued to shape the sandcastle. Your dad strolled, still wet from his time on the jet skis, with a broad grin.

“Y’all got some serious skills over here!” he called out, surveying the castle. "That’s lookin’ like a real palace for my grandbaby!" Your mom chuckled, smoothing out a rough edge of the sandcastle.

“A palace fit for a prince! Ain’t he just the cutest?” She looked down at Elijah, who was now trying to pick up a handful of sand and giggling when it slipped through his tiny fingers.

“Right?” you replied, grinning. Your dad squatted beside Elijah, chuckling as the baby reached out toward him, his little hands covered in sand.

“Hey, Eli? Are you makin’ masterpieces over here? You tryna start a sand empire?” He asked. Elijah let out a squeal of delight, and your dad couldn’t help but laugh.

“Aww, look at that smile! He’s sayin’ ‘I got this, grandpa!’” Just then, Terry wandered back from the jet skis, a towel draped around his neck.

“What's going on? Y’all makin’ a sandcastle? I wanna see!” Terry said, leaning down, peering curiously at Elijah. “And there’s my number one fan!”

“Look at him, Terry!” you exclaimed, scooping Elijah into your arms as his face lit up at the sight of his daddy. “He’s ready to take on the beach. He’s got sand in places I didn’t even think was possible!”

Terry laughed, reaching out to tickle Elijah’s belly, causing him to burst out in another fit of giggles. “Man, how did we get so lucky? He’s a whole treasure out here!”

“Right, such a blessing!” your mom chimed in. You looked at the happy scene around you—your parents, your husband, and your precious son—and felt your warm heart swell.

“This is what it’s all about, y’all. Family!” You said softly, and Terry smiled at you sweetly. “That's right!” your dad agreed, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“We gotta make the most of these days, y’know? Family, fun, and all this love. Ain’t nothin’ better!” With everyone laughing and loving on Elijah, the sun shone brightly overhead, casting a golden glow over your little beach paradise.

Later.

The afternoon unfolded beautifully as your family gathered around the spacious dining table at the villa, sharing a delightful lunch filled with laughter and stories.

The warm sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting a golden glow on the cozy living room where everyone eventually settled in. Plush cushions beckoned from the oversized sofas, and the aroma of delicious food lingered in the air.

Your parents, visibly relaxed and content, cherished their time with Elijah, engaging in lighthearted conversations that filled the room with joy and warmth.

Terry leaned over to you, a playful grin on his face. “How about a little adventure?” he whispered, eyeing your parents, who were busily playing their grandson.

“What do you have in mind, handsome man?” you asked, intrigued. Terry glanced toward your mom and dad. "Well, I would you love to take you out for dinner? Just the two of us?”

Your heart raced with excitement. “Really? What about Elijah?”

“Don’t worry,” he replied, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’ll ask your parents to watch him, so we can have some time for ourselves.” You couldn’t help but feel a warmth spread through you at the thought of a romantic evening.

With every detail, he sparked a thrill in your heart that had been dormant for too long. “Okay, you’ve got a deal!” You said with a smile, you rushed upstairs to freshen up.

You pulled out a multicolored sundress adorned with shapes and designs. You applied some light makeup, focusing on a touch of lip gloss that shimmered in the fading sunlight.

Staring at your reflection, you felt nostalgia and excitement, feeling beautiful and ready for the evening ahead. When you returned to where your parents and Elijah were gathered, your dad raised an eyebrow with a teasing smile.

“Wow, look at you, miss thang! Someone’s got a hot date!” He teased, and you laughed. “Just a little dinner with Terry. He has a surprise planned for us.”

"Sounds wonderful! And you two deserve it, sweet pea." Your dad said with a light smile on his face, and your mom clapped her hands together.

“Yeah. We’ll take good care of Elijah. You both go enjoy your night!” Your mom said with a smile, and you nodded, giving Elijah a kiss on the forehead before leaving.

You met Terry at the beach's edge, his eyes lighting up as he took in your dress. “You look stunning, baby,” Terry said, taking your hand as you walked together towards the car.

The drive was filled with easy conversation and laughter. As you neared your destination, you noticed a seaside restaurant nestled under twinkling lights, music wafting from within.

“Is this our spot?” you asked, excitement bubbling. “Yup! I figured we could have a nice dinner followed by some dancing,” he said with a wink, holding the door open for you as you stepped out.

Inside, the ambiance was warm and inviting, with flickering candles on the tables and soft music playing in the background. After being seated, you both ordered and sipped on lemonade while discussing anything.

Terry leaned back in his chair, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “So, you got any plans for when we take over the dance floor, huh?” he teased, his eyes glinting with mischief.

You chuckled softly, tilting your head. “Oh, don’t you worry about that, Mr. Smooth! I’m ready to turn this place out.” You twirled strands of hair around your finger, feeling the chemistry between you.

Terry raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Oh really now? Do you think you can keep up with me? I might spin you so fast you'll forget where you are!”

You laughed, biting your lip playfully as you met his gaze. “Honey, I was born ready! Just wait till I hit you with these hips. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

“Is that a challenge, baby girl?” Terry asked, feigning shock as he leaned closer. The scent of his cologne wrapped around you like a warm hug.

“Because if it is… well, I’m here for it.” His voice dipped low, drawing you in. The waiter arrived with your appetizers, but neither of you paid much attention.

Your eyes were locked in a playful duel. “You know I never back down from a challenge,” you replied boldly, lifting your glass in a mock salute before sipping the lemonade.

He watched every move you made with a smile that made your heart flutter. “And that’s exactly why I love ya,” he said softly, his tone turning more sincere.

It felt like old times, just the two of you in each other's company, the laughter ringing like music. After dinner, the music softened, and the atmosphere turned more romantic.

Terry stood, extending his hand to you. “Shall we?” With a smile, you took his hand as he led you to the dance floor, where the soft light danced around you like fireflies on a warm summer night.

As you swayed together, you felt the rhythm of the music seep into your bones. Terry pulled you closer, his hands resting gently on your lower back, confidently guiding you.

The world around you faded, and it was just him and you, lost in this moment. You could feel the warmth radiating from his body, his breath brushing against your ear as he whispered sweet nothings that made your heart swell.

“Look at you, movin’ like you own this floor,” Terry murmured, admiration dripping from his voice. “Ain’t nobody can do it like you can, sweetheart.”

You felt a rush of heat at his words, a giddy thrill igniting your chest. “Terry,” you replied, biting back a smile as you twirled under his arm, relishing how he effortlessly caught you again.

“You know how to make a girl feel special.” You said, resting your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart sync with yours.

Terry chuckled lowly, tilting your chin up to meet your eyes. “Nah, baby girl, it’s all about you. Every move, every glance— I can’t help but be mesmerized,” he said earnestly.

“You’re my whole world.” His gaze held yours captive; it was intimate and raw, each word wrapping around your heart like a warm embrace.

“You know what you are doing!” You laughed lightly as your cheeks warmed under his adoration. “Maybe...but I'm just speaking the truth,” he whispers, kissing your lips.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle brush that sent shivers down your spine. Time seemed to slow as you melted into him, the world around you fading.

You could taste the sweetness of the lemonade mingled with the warmth of his breath, an intoxicating blend that left you craving more.

As the music swelled, so did your passion. Terry deepened the kiss, his hands roaming from your waist to your ass, pulling you closer as if he wanted to erase any space between you.

“Baby,” Terry breathed against your lips, a teasing lilt in his voice. “You gotta know what kinda hold you got on me.”

You laughed softly, feeling emboldened by his affection. “Oh really? Is that right?” You leaned in closer, brushing your lips against his cheek, an invitation that promised more.

“Yeah...hey, I have something else special,” he replied with a playful smirk. His eyes sparkled as he twirled you again, then pulled you back into him, letting the music guide your movements.

“After this amazing dinner, what could you have else planned, Terry?" You asked as your bodies moved harmoniously, hips swaying together like they were made for this dance.

This moment where nothing else mattered. "You'll have to see, come on," he whispered, took your hand, leading you back to the table to settle the bill.

“You ready for this?” he asked, glancing at you with that glint in his eye that always made your heart skip. “Ready as I’ll ever be! Let’s go!” you answered, excitement bubbling over.

You stepped out into the cool night air, hand in hand. You two were in the car again and eventually made where you two were going. “Terry, where we goin’?” you asked, curiosity bubbling up like champagne, your heart racing as he pulled you along.

“Just trust me, baby,” he said over his shoulder, his smile mischievous and inviting. “I promise it’s somethin’ real special.”

You squeezed his hand, excitement surging through you as he navigated through the small villa. Every step was a tease; every turn held the potential for surprise.

Finally, he stopped in front of an ornate wooden door. He turned to you, letting go of your hand just long enough to pull out a small key from his pocket.

“Now, don't be peekin',” Terry said with a grin as he unlocked it. Your anticipation heightened as the door creaked open, revealing a cozy space bathed in warm golden light.

“Oh wow…” you breathed as you stepped inside, your heart leaping at the sight before you—a smaller villa impeccably decorated with rich crimson roses scattered across the bed and soft candlelight illuminating every corner.

“Surprise!” Terry announced proudly, closing the door behind you both. “I figured we needed a little time on this vacation just for us.” You spun around to face him, unable to contain your joy.

“Terry! This is, this is so beautiful and sweet! You really thought of everything!” You said softly, looking at him happily.

“Aww, you know I had to treat you right, baby. “Ain't nothin' but the best for my queen,” he said, his voice smooth like honey as he stepped closer, closing the space between you two.

You could feel the heat radiating off his body, sending shivers down your spine. “Terry, I love you,” you replied with a grin, your heart fluttering like a butterfly in spring.

Terry's eyes danced with mischief as he leaned down, brushing his lips against your ear. “Oh, baby, I love you too," Terry said, reaching for your waist.

Terry pulled you against him as his lips met yours with an urgent hunger. The kiss ignited a fire within you, deepening as he playfully nibbled on your bottom lip.

“Taste so sweet,” Terry murmured against your mouth before pulling away just enough to gaze intently into your eyes. His hands slid down to cup your ass, lifting you up slightly to the bed.

“I've been wanting you all night” Terry growled, his breath hot against your skin as he sat you on the bed. The soft sheets beckoned you both as he laid you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Look at you” Terry teased, a devilish grin playing on his lips as he traced a finger along your jawline. “Got all dressed up and ready for me; now it's time to rip that shit off.”

With that, he started peeling off your dress, bra, and panties like they were the layers of an onion, revealing every inch of your skin to him." fuck baby,” he said appreciatively, feasting his eyes on your body.

“You're so damn stunning.” His voice dropped low, sending shivers through you. “I could get lost in you.” He added. “Oh, Terry…” you breathed out, feeling the heat between you two intensify.

Terry leaned closer, his hands exploring every curve and dip of your body before trailing down to your thighs. “You smell good, too,” he murmured as he kissed down your neck, savoring the taste of your skin.

“I bet you taste even better.” You could feel the electricity crackling as he moved lower, his lips brushing against your stomach. “Gonna make you scream my name tonight,” he promised with a wicked glint in his eyes.

“Baby, don’t tease me like that,” you replied breathlessly, biting your lip in anticipation. His presence was intoxicating, and every moment felt like it was building to something spectacular.

“I ain’t teasin’; I’m just gettin' started,” Terry responded, his voice dripping with a sultry confidence that sent heat racing through your veins.

Terry grinned, eyes glinting as he knelt between your legs, his breath warm against your skin. “Now open up for me, mama,” he commanded softly, the authority in his tone making your heart race even faster.

“I wanna taste that sweet, wet pussy of yours the way you know I can.” He said sensual and you shivered at the intensity of his gaze, feeling wholly exposed yet utterly safe in his presence.

“Terry,” you gasped, your body arching instinctively toward him. Terry smirked as he spread your thighs wider, the anticipation hanging thick in the air.

With no warning, he dove in hungrily, lips wrapping around your most sensitive spot and sucking gently while his tongue flicked teasingly over you.

The sensation hit you like a tidal wave, sending shocks of pleasure coursing through every nerve ending. "Oh, shit! Terry," you moaned, gripping the sheets as waves of ecstasy washed over you.

“You taste so damn incredible,” Terry growled against you, the vibrations sending another jolt of pleasure through your core. “Like candy…I could spend all night down here.”

His tongue danced expertly, swirling and teasing as he took his time savoring every inch of you. “Don’t stop… Please don’t stop,” you begged, your voice breathy and filled with desperation.

You could feel it building inside you, a tight coil of pleasure that threatened to burst. “I’m close, baby! Just like that!” You cried out, the words tumbling from your lips as his mouth worked its magic.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Terry growled, deepening his rhythm as he added a finger, sliding it inside you just right. “C’mon, let me feel you.” He watched with satisfaction as your body responded to him, arching and writhing beneath his touch.

“Tell me how good it feels, sweetheart,” Terry demanded, his voice thick with desire. You could barely form words; each syllable was swallowed by the overwhelming waves of pleasure crashing over you.

“It feels… so fucking good, Terry!” you gasped out, your hand finding the back of his head, pulling him closer as if that could draw him deeper into you. “Don’t stop… I need to cum.”

“Then do it for me,” Terry urged, his tongue flicking faster against your sensitive bud while pumping his fingers in and out of you with expert precision. “Let me taste all that sweetness.”

And just like that, the coil inside you snapped. You cried out his name like a prayer, waves of ecstasy washing over you as your body quaked in pleasure.

“Oh ahhh fuck, Terry!” Your voice echoed in the room as you caved to the bliss. He lapped at every sweetness that flowed from you, savoring your release as if it were the finest delicacy.

“Damn, baby! You’re so beautiful when you cum,” Terry said, kissing along your inner thighs. You were panted, barely able to catch your breath.

“That was…” You couldn't get the words out; they were still coming down from your high. “I know, baby girl,” he said, winking at you as he got off the bed to take his clothes off.

Terry climbed back on top of the bed, his muscular arms flexing as he positioned himself between your legs. His eyes locked with yours as he pressed the tip of his big, throbbing dick against your wet pussy.

“Tell me what you want, sexy,” he purred in your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “Do you want Daddy to make love to his good girl or fuck her senseless?”

You looked into his eyes, the fire igniting a corresponding flame within you. “Fuck me, Daddy,” you growled, the words leaving a wake of desire in their path. “Fuck me 'til I can't walk straight.”

"You got it, baby," he said with a mischievous grin. Terry slammed his dick inside you, filling you to the hilt and setting every nerve ending ablaze.

"Damn, mmmm...you feel so amazing!" His breathing was labored and erratic as he pulled back out slowly before slamming back in even harder.

"Goddamn, yes, Terry! yes, Fuck me like you mean it!" Your words mixed with moans as he relentlessly pounded into you. "Harder, Terry! I want it harder!"

"No problem, babe," he grunted, picking up the pace. Sweat beading on both your brows as your bodies slapped together in carnal rhythm. “I’m gonna give it to you so good,” he said with a moan.

"I know you will, Terry," you moaned. "I know you gonna fuck me senseless."

"You better believe it," he growled, reaching around to roughly squeeze one of your plump breasts, tweaking the hard nipple between his fingers.

"You like that, huh? You like it when Daddy squeezes your tits while he fucks you?"

"Yes! Yes, Daddy, I love it!" you cried out, arching your back to meet him stroke for filthy stroke. "Squeeze them harder, make me cum again!"

Terry obliged, pinching and twisting your nipples as he continued to pound into you mercilessly. Your moans filled the room, bouncing off the walls in a symphony of lust and desire.

"Oh shit, baby, I'm close," Terry grunted, his breath coming in short pants. "I'm gonna…I'm gonna…"

"Cum inside me! Cum deep inside of me and show me how much you love me!" you screamed, your own orgasm building up once more.

"Damn, my nasty girl," Terry groaned before picking up the pace even more. “Your pussy is so fucking tight, sweetheart. Feels like heaven. fuck I love you.”

As if that were the final push needed, both of you came undone together. Terry roared out his release as he pumped hot thick ropes of cum deep inside you.

"Terry, Terry, Terry" you screamed, chanting his name at the top of your lungs as your body quaked with another mind-shattering orgasm.

Your bodies trembled together as the last waves of pleasure washed over you. Terry collapsed on top of you, his weight a comforting presence as you both struggled to catch your breath.

After a moment, he rolled to the side, pulling you into his arms. "That was…incredible," you panted, nuzzling into his chest. "You're incredible," Terry murmured, kissing your forehead tenderly.

His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back as your heartbeats slowly returned to normal. You lay there in comfortable silence, basking in the afterglow.

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