#its just me and my head on the kitchen table every night against the world

[elenagoeslightly]

girlbossing in the day

girlrotting in the night

[hunnysahara]

˗ˏˋ 𝒲𝒽𝓎’𝒹 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒪𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝒞𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝑀𝑒 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒴𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝐻𝒾𝑔𝒽? ˎˊ˗

Hamzah x fem!reader

It's harder and harder to get you to listen, more I get through the gears. Incapable of making alright decisions and having bad ideas.

Premise: Your ex friends with benefits calls you in the middle of the night and you know before you answer why he’s ringing you.

CW: cannabis usage / suggestive / crude + sexual language

WC: 2.6k

The soft glow of your phone screen fractures the darkness like a sliver of unwelcome light, casting long shadows across the room. It's the dead of night when the world holds its breath in a hush, yet here you are, wide-eyed, heart knocking gently against your ribs. You had been unpleasantly woken from your sleep by the sound of your phone vibrating itself off your bedside table.

Hamzah's name lingers on your screen. The messages spill one after another, frantic and garbled, like a stream you can't dam—misspelled words, scattered thoughts like he had thrown scrabble tiles together to form texts.

You aren't even able to fully read one message before it's replaced with another. You throw your phone down beside you on your bed, running your hands down your face and grumbling. It had been months since you heard from Hamzah.

The two of you had a very casual friend-with-benefits relationship though you took the initiative to end it when there was a landslide shift and the unceremonious hookups turned into mumbled confessions against your neck. It was too intimate, it breached the contract the two of you initially agreed on.

Though here he was, blowing up your phone like he would die without another word from you.

The phone buzzes again, his caller ID taking over the screen of your phone. You groan, your thumb hovering over the screen, debating whether to answer just to tell him to stop, to leave you alone. Maybe then, maybe if you hear the slur in his voice, the edge of something broken and far away, he'll finally understand that you're not his to call anymore.

The phone lights up again, and this time, you answer.

"Hamzah, stop."

"I knew you'd pick up," His words are thick like velvet, his voice groggy and coarse.

"Why are you calling me?" You ask, voice sharp like a bullet through skin.

"I just wanna hear your voice," On the other end, you can practically hear the smile in his voice. The way the words drowsily fall from his lips brings you to one conclusion.

"You're high?"

"Perchance," He takes a sharp inhale. After a moment of virtual silence, he giggles and coughs eventually settling down "Fine, you caught me. I'm very high."

"What do you want?"

"Why are you being so mean? I just wanted to say hi," There's a hint of playfulness in his voice and you can imagine him sprawled out in bed, hair a mess and glassy eyes half drawn.

Your head throbs as he jumps from one half-finished thought to another, rambling through memories like they're fresh scabs he needs to pick at, unravelling every thread you've tried so hard to tie up neatly. "Maybe I'm being mean because you called me at three AM."

"Yeah, that's kinda annoying," He laughs to himself. His voice filters through the phone, slick with an edge of playfulness that sends a ripple of irritation through you. "It's been too long since I've seen you," Hamzah says, drawing out the word in a lazy, teasing way that always used to make you laugh. But tonight, it feels grating like sand paper against your skull.

"Not long enough." You press the phone tighter to your ear, walking barefoot across the cold floor to the kitchen. The hardwood creaks under your steps, and the cool air feels sharp against your skin.

"Oh, how you hurt me," He adds a tinge of melodrama to his sarcasm.

"Hamzah," you sigh, but he barely gives you a second to speak.

"Did I wake you up?" He pauses to take a breath and you can hear the blunt crackling, and paper shuffling in the background.

"Yeah, you did."

"My bad, my bad-" He coughs again "What are you wearing? Is it that Grateful Dead shirt that hangs off your shoulder?"

You look down at your pyjamas, you were in fact wearing the Grateful Dead that hung off your shoulder and draped past your hips. "No." You lie through your teeth.

"Damn," He mutters before his brain hooks on another ramble "Remember that time—God, you were wearing that little white sundress, you remember?—and we went to that park with the swings? You kept pretending you were too good to be on a swing, but you ended up laughing like a kid when I pushed you too high."

You roll your eyes, frustration simmering beneath the surface. His tone is light, and flirtatious, like he's trying to conjure up a nostalgia that never quite sat right with you. The kitchen light flickers to life as you reach for a glass, the soft hum of the fridge barely audible over his rambling.

"Hamzah," you cut in, more firmly this time, holding the phone between your ear and shoulder as you twist the tap open. The sound of water hitting the glass is oddly soothing, something real and grounded amidst the chaos of his voice. "You're not making any sense."

"No, I think I'm making sense. You just don't wanna admit it." There's a slurred chuckle on the other end. "Come on, don't be like that. I know you're smiling right now. You miss this."

You can practically hear the smirk in his voice, and it makes your skin crawl. You take a sip of water, trying to quench the heat building in your chest. He always does this—twisting every conversation into something flirtatious, something playful.

"I'm not smiling, I’m frowning if anything," you reply flatly, setting the glass down with a little more force than necessary. "And you really need to stop calling me in the middle of the night. This isn't funny."

"But it's not the same during the day," he says with a laugh that feels too close, too familiar. "Night's that thing in that one song- made for saying things you can't say another day," He paraphrases poorly. His voice lowers, taking on that soft, honeyed tone he used to use when he wanted to get his way. 

Your jaw tightens as you lean against the counter, fingers tapping impatiently against the cold surface. He's pushing, and it's infuriating how easily he slips back into this—this game of his, like he can flirt his way out of the chaos he's caused.

"Hamzah, I don't have time for this. You're high. Again."

"And you're still talking to me, aren't you?" he teases, his voice laced with a kind of smug satisfaction. "You didn't have to answer. Y'know there's this magical button on your phone that makes it so I can't message you? I think that you want to talk to me."

The audacity in his tone sends a spark of anger through you, your fingers curling around the edge of the counter. He always knows how to toe the line, to keep you teetering between frustration and the pull of something that's sweet on your tongue but now feels like quicksand.

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. "Hamzah, I'm not doing this. You need to hang up and sleep this off."

There's a pause, and for a second, you think he's going to listen. But then he chuckles softly, voice dripping with mischief.

"You're so hot when you're mad at me."

You nearly groan aloud, the exhaustion catching up with you in waves. This is pointless. You've been here before, hearing the same lines, feeling the same tired tug of emotions you've long since buried. But there's a part of you—a small, quiet part—that almost misses this, misses the ease with which he used to reel you in. And that's what makes it worse.

"Hamzah," you start, your voice sharper now, "go to sleep. Seriously."

"What if I told you that I really missed you?" He adds like it sweetens the deal. 

"I would tell you that I don't care."

"When did you turn so cold on me?" 

You pause, the phone still pressed against your ear. "Hamzah," you mutter, exasperation thick in your voice. The glass of water in your hand feels heavy, like a tether pulling you back into his orbit, even as you stand there in the dim kitchen, staring out at the quiet darkness outside the window.

"Just hear me out," he says, voice too smooth for someone who's supposed to be slurring. "I think me and you should do something together."

You don't answer, your hand moving on autopilot as you rinse the glass and set it down in the sink. There was always a certain ease between you and Hamzah, but that was before it got complicated, before the lines blurred. You clench your jaw, stepping away from the kitchen and into the hall, eyes scanning the house for some chore to distract you, to keep your mind from wandering back to those nights.

"Come on," he continues, undeterred. "I know you heard me."

You sigh, frustration buzzing beneath your skin, but your feet carry you to the living room where a few stray magazines and an old blanket still sit crumpled on the couch. Might as well tidy up while he babbles. Maybe if you let him talk himself out, he'll fall asleep or something. You grab the blanket, folding it with quick, jerky movements as he keeps talking.

"Can I come over?" He asks abruptly.

"No?" You furrow your eyebrows "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Damn, I really thought that would work."

As you sit down at the kitchen table, leaning your head into your hand, you notice the faint hum of traffic coming through the phone—tires on wet pavement, the distant growl of an engine passing by. Your brow furrows and a flicker of concern sparks through your irritation.

"Where are you, Hamzah?" you ask, voice sharper than you intended. It's late, and the sound of traffic at this hour doesn't fit into the picture of him sprawled out in bed, half-asleep and rambling, like you'd assumed.

"Why do you want to know?"

"So you don't show up at my house."

He chuckles to himself "Why on earth would I do that?"

"Maybe because you're obsessed with me?"

"I'm not- no, yeah. I am obsessed with you." There it was, the confidence that he so lacked when he was sober. With the help of cannabis, his tongue was as loose as his morals.

You press your lips together, gaze flicking toward the window, though the night outside your house is still and quiet, completely unlike the soundscape on the other end of the line. You disregard his admission "So, where are you?"

"I'm... walking. Clearing my head or whatever."

Your chest tightens, frustration mixing with a flicker of something you wish wasn't there—worry. "Walking where?" you press, though part of you already knows he's not going to give you a straight answer.

"Just around. Nowhere dangerous, alright? You don't have to freak out." He tries to sound nonchalant, but there's an edge to his voice that betrays him. 

"Hamzah, you shouldn't be out right now. It's late, and you're—" You pause, choosing your words carefully. "You're not in the best headspace to be wandering around." You're caught between the urge to scream at him or call Martin to pick him up and haul him home.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine," he cuts in, that cocky smile returning to his voice. "I'm always fine, babe. You worry too much."

You want to hang up, to cut the thread between you and the mess that is Hamzah, but the thought of him alone, on some random street at this hour, makes it hard to press the button. "Go home," you say softly, barely above a whisper.

"Stay on the phone with me a little longer, alright? I'm almost home anyway," Hamzah pleads, voice taking on that boyish, playful tone you've heard too many times.

You rub your temples, eyes drifting toward the clock on the wall. It's well into the night, and here you are, listening to him stumble through whatever story he's trying to spin. "You always say that," you mutter. "But somehow, you're always ten minutes from home."

"Hey, it's not my fault time slows down when I'm talking to you," he says with a sly grin you can practically hear. "Like, relativity or something. I saw that in the Spider-Verse movie."

You roll your eyes, walking back toward the kitchen to grab another glass of water, your mouth feeling particularly dry. "You would know."

"Didn't we see that together when it came out?" He asks to no answer. "We should watch it again."

"I don't think so," You lean against the counter, cradling your glass as his words wash over you.

"I want to see you, I like the way you laugh," He humbles "That's why I was such a goof around you. I didn't mind embarrassing myself because it made you smile and god- that smile..."

 "I don't really care what you want."

Hamzah lets out a low whistle "And yet, here you are," he shoots back quickly. "Still on the phone. Ah- I got you there."

You lean back against the counter, the weight of his words sinking in. He's right, of course. You're still here, still wrapped up in this bizarre late-night conversation, still listening as he spirals through his endless stream of nonsense. There's an odd comfort in the banter, as much as you hate yourself for it, there's safety in the familiarity.

"Yeah, yeah," you say finally, shaking your head. "You know how to run your mouth. That's about the only thing you're good at."

"Hey, don't forget I'm a man of many talents," Hamzah quips, the humour softening just a little. "And one of them is keeping you on the line way longer than you should be."

"Trust me, I'm very aware," you mutter, though there's a strange warmth behind your words now.

"Yeah, but you still picked up," he says, almost gently this time, his voice losing some of that playful edge. "That's gotta mean something, right?"

"I wouldn't bet on it."

"Do you miss me? Like at all?" He asks, the words falling from his lips with ease "You can be honest." 

You roll your eyes, though there's a slight warmth blooming in your chest despite your irritation. "Please, Hamzah," you deadpan, pacing slowly across the kitchen. "Do you ever stop?"

A knock sounds from your front door, sharp and unexpected. You freeze, turning toward the noise, the sound cutting through the warmth of your late-night banter like a cold breeze. Your heart skips a beat, the suddenness of the interruption making your stomach twist with an uneasy kind of tension. "Hang on," you mutter into the phone, already moving toward the door. "Someone's at my-"

You trail off, eyes narrowing as another knock echoes through the quiet house. Your pulse quickens, a strange feeling creeping up the back of your neck as you grip the phone a little tighter.

As you open the door, the cold air hits you first, followed by the sight of someone standing on your doorstep. Your breath catches for a moment when you see him. There, leaning casually against the doorframe with that signature lazy grin, is Hamzah.

"What the fuck," You draw out. 

"C'mon, don't be like that," Hamzah says, giving you a crooked grin. His phone is still pressed to his ear—well, it is until he lowers it slowly, that playful glint in his eyes growing even more mischievous as he hangs up, ending the call without a word. “So- are you gonna let me in?”

[stormsplurge]

if they woke you up, somebody better be dying

warnings: none!

pairing(s): seth jarvis x fem! reader

inspired by the interview he just did for spittin chiclets where he talks about how he usually wont fall asleep until 3am (and the title is from one of my favorite phoebe bridgers songs, halloween)

760 words

the clock on the bedside table blinks “1:00” as you slowly open your eyes. the only light in the room is coming from the moon shining between the blinds, casting a cool glow on the noticeably empty bed next to where you were lying.

seth wasnt in bed; same as last night, and almost every night before. 

you can hear the faint sounds of a seinfeld episode coming from the living room, letting you know immediately where your boyfriend was. sitting on the couch in front of the tv instead of in bed next to you. so you begrudgingly pulled on the first sweatshirt you could find, trying to beat the cold winter chill that had invaded the apartment, and tiptoed out of your bedroom.

���seth” you grumbled. “its one in the morning”

“i know, i just” he replied, pressing pause on the tv and turning to face you. “i couldnt sleep and i didnt want to bother you.”

“you should also know that if you cant fall asleep i want to help. you arent being a bother, im your girlfriend. this is the shit im supposed to be able to help you with” you said as you sat down at the far end of the couch. pulling one of the spare blankets you had all over the apartment over your lap.

“im sorry” seth returned, scooting closer to you and interlacing your hands with his. “can i get a do-over?”

“i guess” you giggled, amused by the sight of seth doing his sad puppy eyes in front of you.

“i cant sleep, can you help me?”

“of course i can, give me five minutes.” you said as you rose from the couch, gliding over to the kitchen and pulling out two coffee mugs. running your fingers over the design adorning the box holding the tea bags, you turned your attention back towards seth. “the sleepytime bear reminds me of petya.”

“the what?”

“you know, the bear on the boxes for all those non-caffinated teas. with the red hat and the nightgown.”

seth slipped into the kitchen behind you, pulling out his phone and snapping a quick picture of the bear before sending it off to the group chat and spinning you around so your back was pushing against the counter.

“thank you” he said before pressing a long kiss to the top of your head.

“you dont need to thank me.” you replied, snaking your hands under his shirt and hugging his waist.

“i know, i just wanted too.”

“youre so sappy.” you mumbled into his shirt, letting the sweet, woody, smell engulf you.

“yeah but you love it.” he mumbled back before pulling the kettle off the stove and pouring its contents into the mugs you set out. 

you released each other from the hug and grabbed your respective mugs before hobbling back into your bedroom. you pulled up the episode of seinfeld seth had paused before sliding in bed. 

making tea might have been a waste of time, seeing as seth was more interested in holding you than holding the mug. as soon as you got under the covers he’d wrapped his arms around you.

“youre wearing my hoodie.” he whispered as he traced circles along your thighs, letting the callouses on his palms graze the goosebumps on your skin.

“am i?” you murmured. “i just picked it up off the floor, it was the first one i found”

“my old blue bombers one.” he replied. “it looks good on you”

“you say that about everything i wear.”

“i wouldnt say it if it wasnt true.” he says before turning your chin towards him and pulling you into a kiss. 

the stubble growing in as a result of his budding playoff beard scratched at your face as you pulled him in deeper, and as you turned your attention back towards the sitcom on the tv you felt your eyes grow heavier. 

you fell asleep with the moonlight glazing over you and seth, and seinfeld playing on the tv. on a cool carolina night, with no care in the world. 

seth wasn’t far behind, wrapping his body around you before finally succumbing to his fatigue.

maybe it was having his girlfriend care for him that slowed his brain down enough to let him finally catch a semi-decent night of rest, maybe it was the reminder of unconditional love that put him at ease. regardless of the cause, you woke up to sunlight streaming through the windows, and a clingy, but well rested, boyfriend attached to your hip. 

[charliehoennam]

just need you.

a/n : I blame @joshlmbrt for this. u asked for it and it got me horny so here you go 🧡

prompt: men who knead your thighs and hip as you sit on their lap with their big hands as you slick their hair back and tell them about your day. who get so hard when you kiss their forehead and tell them you have to go shower. who don’t let you go and fuck you on the couch — deep, thoroughly, filled with love

pairing: david loki x f!reader

warnings: 18+ only, no minors please. language, smut, creampie, cockwarming, david gets horny from feeling loved.

SHARING IS CARING, REBLOG IF YOU LIKE IT

Parking your car in the driveway just behind David’s Crown Vic, you switch the alarm on as you make your way over the grassy pathway paved from David’s walking over time.

Despite the dull day you had, you smile at the butterflies that still flutter every time you’re about to see him. Using the spare key he had gifted you, you unlock the front door and step inside.

You take the liberty of making yourself at home by kicking your shoes off and walking further inside towards the kitchen, you set your bag on a chair and drape your coat over its’ back.

“Baby, that you?” he asks from the living room.

“Yeah, it’s me, honey” you reply walking over with a smile.

He leans back and manspreads against the couch after crouching over the files and documents all fanned out over his coffee table along with his gun holster and badge. You take in the sight of him, hair slicked back from his shower, dressed in a tight white tank that accentuates his muscles. He usually wears them under his button-ups, but you love it when he wears them in the house, paired with a pair of gray sweatpants.

“You look so tired, baby.”

“I am tired” he smiles reaching for your thighs to guide you closer and unspokenly invites you to sit on his welcoming lap.

You accept and lean against his broad solid figure, lazily draping one arm around his neck while your other hand rests against his chest.

“Too tired for me?” You smirk watching his eyes trail down your body to your crossed thighs.

“Never too tired for you, honey” he replies taking your knee and pulling it towards him to let you drape your leg over his as his other hands sits at your waist.

“I hope not” you chuckle and press your lips against his to properly say hello. “I missed you” you whisper.

“I missed you too, honey… Didn’t get to see you this morning.”

His eyes close as he nuzzles his nose into your neck, taking in the lingering scent of your sweet perfume as his palm glides up and down your thigh.

“I know. You spent the whole night on duty, so I figured we wouldn’t anyways. But we’re together now hm?”

“Yeah, honey. You’re right. How was your day, hm?” he questions lifting his head to admire the gentle details of your face.

He listens to you vent about your day, kneading your thigh as his other hand slowly rubs your back up and down. He listens thoroughly, making a comment here and there, asking questions as you go on, but the glimpses he takes down your shirt and at your thighs don’t go unnoticed by you.

They make you feel loved and desired although you decide not to call them out because you’re drinking him in just the same; eye roaming up and down his chest, fingers gently twirling the hairs that peek out from the top of his tank or delicately squeezing at his biceps as you mindlessly rub his strong arm.

“How about your day, baby?”

“I don’t wanna talk about my day, honey. Just…” he sighs closing his eyes.

You know how his job takes a toll on him. Being a detective means having to see and witness things that are generally hard to stomach, let alone forget. And, although he can never forget certain things he wishes he could, he’d rather treasure the moments you get to spend together because, not only are they too few, they help him shut the rest of the world out. These moments with you melt away all worries he carries as a detective and allows him to just be David, a loving and caring boyfriend.

“It’s ok, babe. You don’t have to,” you answer with a tender kiss to his forehead.

You let your kiss linger there for a moment as he groans contently, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you closer. You’re almost certain you could feel his dick hardening as your fingers comb through his damp hair.

You chuckle imagining how good and relaxed he must when you take care of him.

“Why don’t you put this stuff away then and order us a pizza? Or whatever you’re in the mood for? I’m gonna go shower.”

You move to try to stand up, but he shakes his head. His arms tighten around you and hold you in place.

“No, baby. Stay here with me. Wanna be with you” he pleads wrinkling his forehead as his brows pinch together. His hand rises from your waist and his palm rests against your cheek when his lips meet yours. “Missed you so much, honey. Feel so good when you’re with me.”

You smirk noting how his breathing hitches and his cock twitches when you kiss his forehead again.

Gently peppering his forehead with kisses, he exhales sharply clenching his jaw as he pulls your legs to fully straddle his lap. His hands greedily grope at your thighs, at your hips and at your ass, enjoying your body’s fullness through your stretchy leggings.

You pull your head back a bit, letting your fingers meet at the back of his head to continue their therapeutic scratching on his scalp.

“I haven’t even showered yet, babe” you whisper shyly concerned, fearing your natural scent might be slightly more noticeable.

“No, honey, no. You smell so good for me” he frowns with eyes closed and shakes his head. “Just wanna be with you right now.”

“Yeah?” you whisper letting him kiss on your neck as he grinds his hardened dick against your sex.

“Yeah, baby. Feel so good on me like this. Can you feel it?”

“Y-yeah” you answer breathlessly as you give in and grind your dampening pussy against his crotch. “I feel your cock, baby. Feels so nice and hard.”

“Yeah? You like how it feels like this?”

You nod licking your dry lips as you continue dry humping his clothed cock, whispering how you love his dick so much as it throbs in his sweatpants when his hands pull your leggings up to make your ass and mound more noticeable.

He groans gently biting at your collarbone as he relishes the friction your body provides. Panting softly, you move your hips faster as his hard dick rubs against your sensitive nub.

“Fuck, Dave. Right there… That feels so good.”

“Ride me, baby. Just like that. It’s ok, I got you.”

Lost in the intoxicating pleasure that is washing over you, he rests his forehead against yours watching your face contort as you chase your orgasm.

“Cum for me, baby girl. You can do it. Feels so good, right? You like it, don’t you?”

“Fucking love it” you whimper feeling it build in your core. “So close, Dave. F-Fuck!” you pant as his hands grip your hips to pull them closer. “Gonna-gonna cum!”

“That’s my baby girl. Cum for me, sweetheart.”

The pleasure snaps in your core as you moan and slowly still your hip to soothe yourself with slow thrusts against his dick.

Running his fingers up and down your obvious camel toe, he clenches his jaw realizing how wet your leggings are from the dry humping and your orgasm.

“Honey, can I rip these? Please? Please? I need to feel you.”

“But they’re new, babe. I just got them.”

“I’ll get you new ones, I promise. Promise you” he quietly begs with the softest voice. “I’ll get you a hundred if you let me rip these right now. I’m so fucking hard, it’s hurting.”

He might as well; you’re almost sure they’re ruined now from the slick that’s gushing out. 

The second you nod and approve, all eyes go straight to your crotch. You hold onto his knees as you angle your hips forward for him. David quickly gropes at the fabric, pulling it carefully away from your skin. Digging his finger into a small tear, he rips a hole into the middle of your leggings to expose your wet panties. 

"Hold them for me, honey" he asks, fumbling with his sweatpants to push them down enough to free his dick. 

You eagerly obey and pull your panties to the side to reveal your soaking cunt. With one hand on your hip, he pscoots you close as his other hand holds his cock to guide it against your folds. 

"Fucking..." he sighs closing his eyes as his head lulls back at the pleasure of your warmth against his cock. 

Taking advantage of the moment, you dip your head to kiss his neck but David's quick to capture your lips with his. He stills his kiss for a moment as he stares hungrily at you, letting his hands do the work of guiding his dick into your entrance. 

You smirk as you ease down slowly on his cock, watching how his mouth slowly opens into an O. The pained expression is purely based on the pleasure and self control he's got over himself to not cum right away. 

"Easy, baby. Easy." You remind him by pressing kisses to his forehead as you start to slowly move your hips. 

His hands squeeze at your hips and ass, so desperate to sink his fingers into your soft flesh. 

"Fuck, you're wet on my cock, honey. Can't hold back too long" he begs. 

"I got you, baby. It's ok" you pant riding his cock. 

You gently grip at his hair while his mouth mauls at your neck. The moans he elicits out of you are aphrodisiacal music that weave through his veins and make straight for his dick. 

He replaces your hand  with his, holding your panties to the side from behind with his hand resting against your ass. 

"Tell me you love me" he pleads, shutting his eyes hard as he feels his orgasm building. 

"I love you, baby. I love you so fucking much. Love every single bit of you" you pant heavily rocking your hips roughly against his. 

"God, don't stop, honey. Don't stop!"

I love you's spill from your mouth as you chase his release until you feel his broad  body tense under your arms that hug him, filling you with hot white cum. Noting the way he stills your hip from the sensitivity, you pause long enough to let him calm down and slowly regain your movements to help soothe him. 

Lifting his head, he kisses you, letting his tongue invade your mouth hungrily as his arms lock around your waist like a belt to hold your pussy on his bottoming out dick. 

"God, I fucking love you too."

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

Pairing Joel Miller x Daughter Reader

Summary For years, you’ve survived tethered to Joel’s side, haunted by the loss of your sister and scared to step outside of his shadow. So when he bonds with the girl he’s tasked to smuggle, it strains your complicated relationship—until the threat of losing him forces you to confront just how much he means to you [angst, fluff, 5.4k].

A/N This is some of my favorite prose I've written recently. Daughter!reader is a new dynamic for me, but it was such a rewarding writing experience. Thank you to the anon who sent this request in. I hope you all enjoy.

∘°∘♡∘°∘

𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆

It’s cold outside today. If the draft sneaking in through the windows isn’t enough to let on, the sky itself is an undeniable sign. There’s no blue, no clouds that can be distinguished from the next. The entire expanse is a pale white sheet. As if the heavens have decided to shield earth from its view because of how far it’s fallen. 

Nevertheless, life in the Boston Quarantine Zone labors on. Day after soulless day, rain or shine. Like a well-oiled machine who’s battered parts of flesh and blood refuse to lay down and die. 

The glass of the living room window is cool against your forehead as you gaze outside. Everything is dull. Brick, metal, concrete, and endless earthtones constitute the expanse of buildings that seemingly stretch for miles. However, after having explored every corner of this walled city, you know it’s finite. A mere portion of a much larger world trying to find its footing again. 

The people walking on the sidewalks below look small from the height of your apartment. All seeming to move on a droning autopilot, clad in worn clothes that likely belonged to ten other people before them. 

With a sigh, you step away from the window and plop back down on the couch. The coffee table is cluttered with stained, old papers and trinkets, but you reach for the stack of Polaroids you’d previously been flipping through. Each photo and caption transports you back to a past moment in time...

tea for two ♡ March 13, 2003 

A day that seems closer than it actually is, now confined to a single, glossy frame. The white border has faded to beige and the picture itself no longer bears its original saturation. In it, you and Sarah are wrapped in each other’s arms, dressed like princesses for the tea party you invited her to. 

You were her three-year-old shadow, and even though you got on her nerves half the time, she found it hard to say no to you. Everybody in the Miller household did. 

lake day!!! July 4, 2003 

A sunny day. You, Sarah, and Joel are squinting into the light but smiling, your backs to the lake. Later that night, according to Joel’s retelling, you cried because of the colorful, celebratory explosions bursting amid the night sky. 

dad’s getting old (jk ily dad) September 26, 2003

Joel’s smile is shy as he sits at the kitchen table with a cone birthday hat on his head. Sarah was the one behind the lens while you clung to her leg, both you and Tommy making goofy faces in hopes of making Joel smile wider. 

He turned thirty-six that day. By that evening, everything had changed. Not just because of the outbreak, but because Sarah, who had been a light in so many of the photos, was gone too. A few months after her fourteenth birthday, no less. 

It feels strange being twenty-three now. An age she never got to see—

The faint metallic clinking of a belt being fastened prompts you to curiously stand to your feet. After setting down the photos, you saunter to the hallway, where there’s a straight view to Joel’s bedroom. The door is cracked, and warm lamplight pours out to light the end of the hall. With each step closer you take, the old, wooden floorboards creak. 

When you make it to the door, you rap your knuckles against it a few soft times. There’s shuffling on the other side. 

You knock again when there’s no response. “Dad?” 

“What’s up?” he doesn’t say it in a clipped, annoyed way so you know he hadn’t heard your previous knocking. 

“Can I come?” 

He’s quiet for a beat. “I’m finishing up getting dressed. But yeah.”

Inside, the bed still isn’t made. He’s standing in front of the full body mirror leaning against the wall. The paint of the gold trim around it is peeling, revealing the dark aluminum beneath. The glass itself is a bit foggy with stubborn grime that refuses to be scrubbed away. And right in the middle, at the same height that Joel stands, is a sizable spiderweb crack that makes his face look fragmented unless he bends down or shifts to either the left or right. 

Right now, he doesn’t seem to mind the distortion of his face, more interested in assessing his clothes. When you step up behind him, a little to the right, your entire body looks whole. Face and all. 

His eyes briefly flick to you as he continues to button the rest of his olive colored shirt. When he’s finished, he sucks in his stomach and pushes down the waistband of his dark jeans to rest at a more comfortable place on his hips. 

It isn’t until then that you notice a small portion of the back of his shirt is flipped up, the fabric thick enough to hold its place. You reach out to smooth it down. Joel hums in realization. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles. 

“Yep,” you murmur. “I thought you were off today.” 

Turning around and brushing past you, he sits in the accent chair to put on his boots. A grunt escapes him with the effort of leaning down. You watch as his thick, battered fingers fumble with the laces until they produce two neat bows. He sits back with a sigh when he’s done, running a hand through his fluffy, silvering hair. 

“I’m meeting with Marlene,” he says. The way you frown tells him that’s not a good thing, or nearly enough information. “Tess will be there too. It’s looking like we might be able to get that car battery we need to set out for Tommy.” 

You process that information with a slow nod. The idea of finding him feels elusive these days. 

A few weeks ago, Marlene told Joel she knew a couple guys who could provide resources. At various points in the months prior, she claimed the very same thing. Every promise she made fell flat because those said contacts either died or backed out of the negotiation. Yet, Joel held out hope every time. 

It used to be you who accompanied him whenever he went to meet with Marlene, but it’d gotten to the point where you couldn’t bring yourself to believe her or stand seeing her face. 

But Joel still did. For the sake of his own conscience. For Tommy. 

After standing from the chair, he fishes into his back pocket for a red cardstock meal card. When you reach out to take it from him, he doesn’t let go, instead opting to look directly into your eyes. 

“Want you to meet us for lunch at the northern dining commons at noon. We should be done by then,” he says, waiting for you to nod so he knows you’re tracking. 

“Don’t leave before then, alright? It’s getting crazier out there. Don’t know if it’s ‘cause summer’s coming or what.” 

“I won’t,” you insist. 

When you try to take the card again, he holds onto it just for the sake of coaxing a smile out of you. It doesn’t quite meet your eyes, but it’s enough to tie him over for now. He lets go of it just as you’re in the middle of pulling, and the lack of resistance makes you stumble backwards. The sound of amusement he huffs out earns him a light punch to the shoulder. 

“I mean it, though.” He points a finger. “Don’t leave till it’s time, alright? We’ll fill you in on everything then.” 

Rolling your eyes, you follow him back out into the living room. “I already said I wouldn’t.” 

“Well, reiterating is my job.” 

Those are the words he leaves you with before heading out the door.  

A few hours later, when the clock strikes twelve, you’re eating at the dining commons alone. Anxiousness prickles beneath your skin. You soothe yourself as chatter and the clinking of silverware float up all around you…

Everything’s fine. Joel’s alright. Tess is alright. Just finish eating and go home. 

•••

Sunset paints the sky that evening. The clouds that lingered all day have finally made way for an expressionist ombre of blue, pink, and orange. It's beautiful in a way that would’ve been worth photographing once upon a time. 

All you can think about is the fact that Joel hasn’t returned. 

A little past seven, voices arise in the hallway. They’re hushed and somewhat frustrated, one of them undeniably belonging to Joel. By the time keys hastily begin jingling in the door, you’re popping to your feet from the couch. A second later, it swings open with enough force that it hits the neighboring wall. 

“Get inside,” Joel orders. You can’t see him from where you’re standing. 

You can’t see anybody. 

“I don’t have to keep listening to you,” quips a tight, youthful voice. “Whatever happened to stranger danger?”  

“Move, Ellie,” Joel says. “Before I make you.” 

A young girl wearing a backpack trudges into the apartment with a scowl. After looking around the bleak accommodation, her eyes settle on you. The air falls silent. You note the wispy flyaways escaping her short ponytail, the slight redness to her eyes like she’s been either crying or rubbing them. 

Ellie sizes you up in return. You can see it in the calculated rove of her dark gaze, the way she squares her shoulder to match your guardedness. 

She eventually whips her attention back to Joel. “Who the hell is she?” 

“Told you I didn’t live alone.” That’s all he gives her before redirecting his attention to you. He seldom reveals the entirety of what he’s feeling in a given moment, but you can see the guilt weighing down on his shoulders. “I—” 

“You missed lunch.” 

He runs a heavy hand down his face. “I know.” 

The girl looks between the two of you with owl-like attentiveness that borders on amusement. At least she wasn’t the only one having a shitty day. Outside, shouting voices arise in the distance. Glass bottles break. 

“Dad. You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Ellie’s eyes widen at the revelation. 

Joel doesn’t say anything because you’re staring daggers straight into his very being.  

“I’m immune to the virus,” she speaks up. There’s a hint of pride in her tone, like she’s looking past the present to some undefined future in which she saves the world.  

“He’s gonna take me to the people who can find the cure. Then you guys are gonna go find Timmy or whatever—Tommy.”  

It’s an oversimplification, but Joel doesn’t have the energy to expound right now. Not when you look like you would lunge for him if it wasn’t for the girl.

••• 

Later that night, he sees the first shove coming. Your eyes darken until you’re no longer able to constrain your frustration to a mere look. It frustrates you all the more when he doesn’t budge. So you do it again, pushing both your hands straight into his chest. 

All he does is take a single step backwards to create distance, hands raised in surrender. The fact that he isn’t reacting makes more heat consume your face. 

Until, finally, he grabs your wrists. 

“Are you done acting like a child?” he asks.

“As soon as you quit treating me like one,” you bark. “All you do is give orders and break promises, and I’m supposed to keep following you around like a dog.” 

“I don’t see any shackles.”

“Because it’s you,” you retort, attempting to pull away from his light hold. “You’re the shackles, the prison guard, and the key.” 

Those words make him drop your wrists as if you’ve stung him with poison. He takes a seat on the edge of his bed and drops his head into his hands with a heavy sigh. The mattress creaks under his weight. In the new silence, you stand and stare at him as your breaths even out. 

Neither of you are aware that Ellie has her ear pressed to the other side of the bedroom door, listening. 

When he lifts his head, only then are you aware of how tired and worn down he looks. His hair is more disheveled than it was this morning. The same hair you used to playfully run your fingers through and litter with sparkly hair clips. Except now, his face is void of a smile. 

“I’m sorry about lunch, alright?” His dark eyes search yours for any inkling of forgiveness. He knows he scared you. That’s what’s beneath your anger. “I didn’t know I was gonna get held up like that.” 

Joel Miller was a lot of things, but a pushover wasn’t one of them. 

If he really wanted to, he could’ve at least come to the dining commons to explain. Or ignore Marlene’s request entirely, and force her to find someone else to smuggle the girl. Even Tess had refused to involve herself in the escape plan because she feared it would be all risk and no reward.

“What happens if these guys turn out to be dead too?” You ask Joel, voice softer than before. “What if this is yet another exchange that falls through?” 

He knows you have a point. He also knows he has a brother out there miles away who recently sent him a signal. 

“If there’s a chance, I gotta take it,” he says. “And if we get out there and nobody’s waiting for us, we’re heading to Wyoming anyway.” He meets your gaze. 

You swallow and blink in surprise. “Really?” 

“I’m done waiting around for the right time,” he says, voice low but firm. “It’s never gonna come. Gotta forge it ourselves.” 

He sounds sure. Right now, you could use something to believe in. And if nothing else, a change of scenery from the city walls you’ve been confined within for far too long. 

•••

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑

𝐈.

The Capitol Building is empty when you arrive, no sight of the men who were supposed to take Ellie and give you and Joel the supplies you need to carry on. For a while, the three of you linger hopefully on the inside, where grass grows through the chipped marble floors. The only people who eventually arrive are ridden with the virus, their rotting bodies infested with fungus from the inside out. 

You promptly flee the scene after swallowing disappointment like a pill. 

𝐈𝐈.

The front door of Bill and Frank’s house is unlocked when you arrive in the desolate suburbia. Dead grass and tall weeds constitute the yard. The flower beds out front have long wilted. That’s enough for you to know that they’re either dead or gone. Joel pushes into the house anyway, with you and Ellie trailing behind. Bill left a note behind. They’re dead. Ellie asks questions about them that Joel thoughtfully answers.

The three of you take turns showering, then leave.

𝐈𝐈𝐈.

By early August, the trio feels more like a unit, having been bound together by shared letdowns and long nights under the stars. Some days, you don’t know where you are until coming across specific landmarks or recognizable cliffs. You and Joel teach Ellie how to shoot because she wouldn’t stop begging. Most days, as you’re making progress towards Wyoming, it’s the two of you trailing behind Joel, who often shoots unreadable glances over his shoulder to make sure you’re keeping up. 

Sometimes he lets down his walls to offer a small smile. 

•••

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋

All around, tall trees stretch towards the sky, bearing vibrant leaves beginning to change colors. Every so often, a breeze rolls through and ruffles them. The same mourning dove has been calling out into the wind with no response in return. It’s a tune that filled the mornings of your childhood back when you were on the road to Boston with Joel. You hadn’t heard it much since. 

Twigs and leaves crunch beneath your boots as you squat to lower your fingertips into the creek. The water is cool against your skin, and clear enough to see the rocks at the bottom. When you stand up, you startle at the sight of Ellie standing a few yards away. She takes a few apologetic steps back, almost tripping over herself. 

Further away, Joel sits with his back propped against a tree as he reorganizes the contents of his backpack. 

“Jesus, El,” you sigh, pressing a hand to your chest over your heart. 

Ellie no longer seems sure of her reason for approaching you. There were times when she didn’t look her age—whether it be her stare or the way she carried herself—but this wasn’t one. Now, an air of self-consciousness surrounds her, like she’s caught between knowing nothing and everything all at once. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me,” she rushes out. There’s a pang of guilt when you realize she thinks you’re angry. 

“No, it’s fine,” you insist, softening your tone. “I’ve just been in my head.” 

She nods and feels more comfortable to step up alongside you. 

“I’ve seen those pictures you’ve been looking at.” She continues when you don’t say anything, “Was that your sister?” 

Neither you or Joel have brought her up, but your silence is an answer. 

“What was she like?” 

“I don’t remember much.” 

Only bits and pieces. The larger gaps have been filled in by Joel over the years. He never talks about Sarah at length, but sometimes he’ll see something or you’ll make an expression that reminds him of her. That usually prompted him to tell a short story. Oftentimes, without meeting your eyes because he was too busy trying to busy his restless hands. Talking about her always makes him fidget. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I know what it’s like to lose someone.” 

Ignoring her, you ask, “Did Joel say when we were gonna start back hiking?” 

Embarrassed, Ellie clears her throat and shakes her head no. “Why do you use his first name like that?” You almost hadn’t realized. 

“Force of habit.” Her brows have furrowed in confusion, so you explain, “Half the time, people in the QZ only listened to me when I threw his name in the mix. It holds a lot of weight among certain groups these days.” 

“Like he’s the boogeyman or something?”

You allow a small chuckle to escape at her words. She feels like it earns her a place back in your good graces. Pride glimmers in the grin that stretches across her face. 

“Something like that,” you agree. 

The familiar crunch of leaves rises as Joel makes the short venture over to the two of you. When he sees the fleeting smiles on your faces, he clears his throat and waits to see if he’ll be invited into whatever small moment of amusement had arisen. He seems to have just missed it. 

“Speaking of the devil,” Ellie says, 

Joel frowns, remaining quiet as he walks up to the edge of the creek. He stares into the bottom for a few thoughtful seconds. Both of you watch as he squats down to splash his face with water, humming with refreshment. 

Ellie no sooner moves to copy him. She laughs, a bubbly surprised sound, as she stands with her face dripping and eyes squeezed shut.

“Wait, how do I—” 

“Use your shirt,” Joel quips lightly. 

“Oh, yeah!” She uses her shirt to dry her eyes just as he had.

The chuckle that rumbles through Joel’s chest is a sound you haven’t heard in a while. It makes you stand up straighter, unconsciously shifting his way as if the sound has the power to heal that part of you that misses him even when he’s within reach. Misses how things were before he grew hard and consumed with the need to survive. 

You didn’t fault him for it, though. 

What’s become increasingly clear, however, is that need was born as much out of spite as it was out of the pure, unadulterated will to live. The end of the world took Sarah, and to Joel, ensuring the two of you endured no matter what was his fuck you to the universe. His proof that everything he cared about couldn’t be ripped from his hands. It was a muddled labor of love. 

But right here, right now, he’s laughing. Not urging silence or trying to instill a survival lesson. He’s letting the moment wash over him for what it is. There you stand watching the two of them like a mere onlooker frozen in place. The entire scene is reminiscent of a different time. A different Joel. 

Something heavy and bitter settles in your stomach at the sight of their twin smiles. 

“Are you gonna try it?” Ellie asks like she’s referring to some grand experience.

“It’s just water,” you say flatly. 

Face falling, Ellie looks to the ground as if the bridge connecting you two had been burned yet again. Something protective flares in Joel’s chest. 

He gives you a pointed look. “You feelin’ alright?” 

“I’m great. Grand even.” 

The air shifts, levity disappearing like a vapor. All three of you can feel it.

“Let’s keep moving then.”

For weeks, you keep it moving. Through rain, shine, and snow. The closer you get to Wyoming, the further away you drift from Ellie and Joel. Like you’re the corner piece of an island that’s been chipped away from the larger landmass. 

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑

Arriving at the Jackson commune does little to mend things back to the way they were. Some days pass by with more conversation and laughter between the three of you than others. Coming here had been the very thing you longed for, right alongside Joel. But tonight, as you fold clothes at the secondhand store where you volunteer, you wonder what there is to dream about now. 

You don’t know what you like or want. You were so young when the outbreak began that Joel’s practices and motivations became your own. You don’t know where he ends and you begin, and the inability to distinguish makes a part of you resent him. 

The bells above the door jingle as Ellie enters with her backpack slung over her shoulder. Half of her hair is pulled into a ponytail, while the other falls in loose waves just past her shoulders. For once, it looks like she brushed it properly. 

You see more of her than Joel these days. 

“Hey, I’m gonna go over to Dina’s,” she says as she pads over to you. “Joel’s not home yet so I figured I’d come tell you.” She absentmindedly runs her hand over the cashmere sweater you’d folded minutes prior to her arrival. 

You set down the pair of jeans you just finished folding. “He’s not?” 

“No,” she says, unphased. “Probably went straight to the dining hall.” 

A dull, gnawing sense of worry arises in your chest. Ellie can’t see it or feel it herself, still tending to believe Joel was somehow invincible. That every time he went out for patrol, he was bound to return because that’s what he’d proven to her so far. 

“Be safe, okay?” you tell her. “Thanks for letting me know.” 

When she leaves, you head to the store owner in the back room. He’s rummaging through a huge box of donated items. 

“Hey, Stewart?”

There’s a click as two glasses knock into one another. “Goddammit—what?” He straightens up to turn around and face you. 

He has a head full of wiry gray hair and his glasses are crooked on his nose. There’s a light sheen of sweat beading on his forehead. 

“You alright back here?” you tease lightly. He grumbles and waves you off. “Would it be okay if I clocked out early? Natalie and Craig are out there, so you’ll still have help until closing.” It’s been pretty slow this evening anyways. No chance a random rush would occur. 

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you want, kid.” He huffs and looks back down at the box. “I’ll see you on Thursday.” 

“You’re the best, Stew.” You flash him a playful smile. 

Outside, you shiver at how cold it’s grown. Crossing your arms over your chest does little to alleviate the creeping chill. The first snow of the season has yet to fall, but you can feel it lingering in the crisp air. Nevertheless, Jackson Hole is buzzing. People of all ages flit in and out of shops and gathering spaces. Everywhere you look, there’s a friendly face, if not an actual friend. 

This time of year, the entire commune is reminiscent of those cute Christmas village displays. Plush wreaths with red bows hang on wooden posts, and colorful fairy lights shine all around. The most activity buzzes over at the dining hall. Families talk and laugh on the benches outside, and you can see people walking around inside through the windows. 

As you head that way, the two men standing on the patrol office porch capture your attention. It was probable that Joel was inside either logging or assessing his hours. 

When you make it to the building, you recognize the taller man as Cameron, someone who often partnered with Joel because they had the same, collected, no-nonsense way about them. They automatically nod to you in greeting, but their lips are set in firm lines like they have news you don’t. 

You offer a shaky smile back as a lump forms in your throat, “Evening.” 

Your heart rate speeds up as Cameron opens the door for you. Inside, six men stand circled around Tommy, who’s tone is firm as he talks with his hands. Some have rifles slung over their shoulders, and others have pistols on their hips. Standing among the group is Lyle, a younger guy who was scheduled to be Joel’s partner today. 

The only person missing is Joel. 

You allow your eyes to rove over the plaques, portraits, and retired weaponry decorating the walls as you await the end of Tommy’s lecture.  

“Let what happened out there today be a lesson—” Tommy stops talking when his eyes fall on you, and other heads turn to look your way. A few throats are cleared, necks are scratched. 

“Hold on a second, fellas.” He breaks out of the circle and heads towards you, cowboy boots clunking against the wood floorboards. There’s a rifle draped across his body like he’s ready for action. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says softly, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. He doesn’t have to say anything for you to gather what this meeting is all about. Everybody has discretely turned to look at the two of you. 

“Tommy…” 

“Why don’t we step outside for a second, yeah?” He places a gentle hand at the small of your back to guide you back out into the cold. Cameron and his buddy slip inside out of respect for your privacy. 

“What’s going on, Tommy?” 

He wrestles with how to answer. You see it in his dark eyes, the way he shifts his stance. His cheeks are a bit flushed. 

“Joel hasn’t made it back,” he breathes. “Lyle made it in without him around an hour ago. Said they ran into some disgruntled nomads and got split up,” he says. “Got a few people out looking for him now, and I’m about to go out myself.” 

How foolish you’ve been acting these past several weeks hits you all at once. Everything from purposely distancing yourself from Joel, to occasionally ignoring him whenever he tried to ask how you’ve been—you’d made a point to be away from the house as much as possible. Most of all, it’d been foolish to pretend he wasn’t one of the only people in the world you wouldn’t be able to live without.

A stinging sensation pricks in your eyes, but no tears form. You don’t have it in you to cry. Helplessness crashes down on you in the form of frustration. 

“What do you mean came back without him?” you ask. “What good are patrol partners if they’re just gonna leave you behind—” 

“Hey. Hey.” Tommy looks at you intently. His eyes are so much like Joel’s that you look away. “This ain’t the time to be pointing fingers, alright? When you’re out there like that and shit hits the fan, you don’t know how you’ll react.” 

“Definitely not by leaving my partner behind.” 

Joel had never left you behind. Things had gone sideways time after time again, but you managed to remain by each other’s side. 

Worry radiates off of you in waves. 

“I’m worried out my ass too,” Tommy admits, trying to assure you. “But judging other people ain’t gonna bring him back any faster,” he says. 

When release a heavy exhale and slink your head down, Tommy steps forwards to wrap his arms around you. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he promises. “You eaten dinner yet?” 

“I’ll probably throw up if I do.” 

He pulls away to look at you under the soft glow of the porchlight. “Let’s at least try to get a little something in your system, okay? I’ll walk you over to the dining hall.” Tommy guides you that way, and everything around you seems to fade in and out as you walk. 

Tommy’s words manage to break through to you, “I know my brother. He’ll make it back one way or another,” 

He always did. Maybe a bite to eat didn’t sound so bad. 

•••

The unyielding weight of your nerves forces sleep to find you when you make it home. Not in your bed, but on the couch as you sit and wait for Joel’s return. Worrying has taken a lot out of you. 

Creaky footsteps arise out on the porch. Then the lock clicks. Neither of which you register. By the time Joel is walking in through the front door, your eyes flutter open. There’s a slight sway to his stride like he’s favoring one leg. Other than that, he’s still in one piece. You’re on your feet in an instant, ignoring the crick in your neck. 

“Oh my god, Dad—thank god.” 

Joel stops in his tracks as you hurry over to him. He lets you look him over as if he’s a child who just fell off a bike. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” there’s a rasp to his voice.  

Relief is written all over your face. It’s the most interest you’ve shown in him in weeks, but he’s grateful for it anyways. He’s grateful for any mind you’re willing to pay him. 

There’s so much you want to say—I thought I lost you, don’t scare me like that again, I love you—but none of it comes out. Instead, it’s all packed into the way you step forward to throw your arms around him. 

But even hugging him brings you close enough. 

Luckily, he’s so tall and broad that you settle for the feeling of being safe, cocooned in his arms. He squeezes you, not in the playful way that used to be a means of making you smile, but in a way that solidifies his presence. Assures you that he’s never going to let go. That you don’t have to worry about living without him.

As your tears wet his shirt, he doesn’t ease up or pull away. He remains constant like he’s been throughout your entire life, even on the days you thought you wanted him to disappear. 

He presses a lingering kiss to the top of your head and you’re overcome with warmth.  

“I love you to pieces,” his voice is low and thick with sincerity. “So much it hurts.” 

It’s you who reluctantly pulls away to look up into his eyes. 

“I love you too,” you murmur, cheeks glistening with tears. 

The tears gathered in his eyes finally spill over. He doesn't turn away or tilt his head back in an attempt to fend them off. They simply roll down his cheeks at your words. You can’t recall seeing him cry since Sarah passed away. Guilt, sympathy, and gratitude swell in your chest. For the years he’s been strong for the both of you, for everyone who’s ever leaned on him in a time of need. He never made it look hard. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For everything. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—” 

“As long as you’re safe, I can handle being ignored.” He manages a small, sad smile. “It ain’t easy growing up during the end of the world.” Few things ever were. 

“It’s a little easier with you.” 

“Just a little?” He asks lightly. 

Both your smiles grow, and as you step back into his arms, every gripe and the chaotic events of the evening fade away.

- 

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. I promise I see them all. 

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[suljaffs]

Nanami Dabble - Surprise Dinner / fluff

Warning: this may not be that good it was just a random brain fart I wanted to write about sighfhfghfgfhhh

It was 11:30 pm. The apartment was dim with a scenic nighttime view, a couple of your vanilla candles around the dining room to set an ambiance with a somewhat nice layout of food: Mac and cheese, fries, pizza rolls, and even home made heart shaped cookies for desert. “He should be getting home any time now.” You thought, stepping back to view your creation in full. Your body tense with excitement waiting for the door to swing open.

Nanami always came home at late hours, leaving at the crack of dawn, entering while you slept. It bothered you not being able to spend much time with your lover but you never held it against him because you understood his job was hard, draining even, and you wanted nothing other than to provide a safe space for your husband. Today, you decided to do something for him. For the longest, you two have postponed plans of going to dinner because of work. The two of you could’ve just gotten in the kitchen but he wanted it to be a day where the two of you could simply relax. At first, it seemed like a good idea but with each date night turning into “I don’t have enough time after work.” And lots of cancellations on reservations because of last minute work issues, You decided to take matters into your own hands and what better than a quick at home dinner?

“That carpet fragrance is quiet strong.” Hearing not only his voice but also the lock hitch and the knob shuffle, you pulled out your phone to take a quick picture before ducking under the table, snickering to yourself.

Nanami creeped the door open, he was always careful as to not wake you up. “My.. love?” He stopped in his tracks, tucking his lips as he watched you come up from under the table, a small smile creeping its way on his face as he watched you bump your head in the process. “Su-ouch-prise!” You jumped up, a big smile on your face despite your minor injury. He softly shut the door behind him, keeping his body turned towards the closed door, back facing you. “Don’t tell me you’re going soft on me big boy.” You snickered, making your way over to him. “I just wanted to do something special but in all honesty, it’s not my best work.” You dismissed your hard work, but you hadn’t known what else to say to ease the moment.

“It’s perfect my love.” He turned to you, two tear trails visible on his face. Seeing him cry wasn’t crazy to you as he had been a softie: that time when you said yes to being his girlfriend in high school and even that time when a cute squirrel approached him on your guys walk through the park. You took a hand to his face, drying his tears as his head hung low. “It’s all for you.” You cooed. “Now come eat. I only really had time to actually cook the Mac and cheese so you better appreciate my hard work.” You teased, untying his tie which you know he would hate to get dirty. He took your hand before you could walk over to the table. “You make me feel like the luckiest man in the world, y/n.” He whispered before planting a deep kiss on your hand, another tear dropping.

He guided you to the table, seating you before seating himself. “I thought the smell was that carpet fragrance got you, never would’ve expected it to be this…” Nanami looked around the table, a nod of approval. “oh how I love you.” He whispered. The night was full of giggles, conversations of work, and old memories between you two like the times when he thought it wasn’t obvious he had a crush on you, when you rejected him because you didn’t know him well enough, and most importantly the cute moments you two shared every now and then.

As the time ticked close to 1, you two had wrapped up dinner, he had taken him a shower, and you two decided** to reside yourselves in bed for the night. For once in a long time, you two were finally going to sleep at the same time again and it wasn’t just him cuddling you when you were already asleep. This time, it was you who was big spoon. Playing with his blonde strands as his head rested in your chest, you couldn’t help but to sniff him. He smelt of tréseme hair conditioner but you had no issue with it because it was him… his smell.

[sinceaki]

The sky was painted in shades of twilight as the Crux finally docked, its journey over for the time being. Kaedehara Kazuha, a wandering samurai, leapt gracefully onto the dock, his platinum blond hair fluttering with the breeze. A soft sigh of relief escaped his lips as he set foot back on familiar ground. He had been away for weeks, traveling with Beidou’s crew across the seas. But now, his heart was eager for one thing: home.

He walked down the familiar paths of Inazuma, the sunset casting a warm glow over everything. Each step brought him closer to the place that truly mattered—the person he cherished more than any voyage or adventure. His thoughts wandered to you, imagining your soft smile, the warmth of your embrace.

Finally, the sight of your shared home came into view. Kazuha paused for a moment, taking in the peaceful scenery, the garden you both tended together, the small house that was filled with memories. He quietly slid open the door, not wanting to startle you.

"Kazuha?" Your voice was soft, filled with surprise and joy. You appeared from the kitchen, your eyes widening at the sight of him.

He smiled, his eyes gentle and full of love. “I’m home.”

Without another word, you rushed into his arms, burying your face in his chest. Kazuha held you close, his arms tightening around you as if he never wanted to let go. The scent of the sea still clung to him, but beneath it was something deeply familiar, something that always reminded you of warmth and safety.

"I missed you," you whispered, your voice muffled against his clothes.

"I missed you too," he murmured, resting his chin atop your head. His hand gently stroked your back in soothing motions. "Every day I thought of you. The sea is vast, but no matter how far I traveled, my heart always led me back here, to you."

You smiled against his chest, feeling a soft flutter in your heart. Pulling back slightly, you gazed up at him, eyes shining with love and relief. “I made your favorite tea. Would you like some?”

Kazuha nodded with a soft chuckle. “That sounds perfect.”

The two of you settled down by the low table, the steam from the tea curling between you like a delicate dance. You talked quietly, your voices filling the quiet room, a gentle contrast to the silence of the time spent apart. Kazuha recounted his latest journey—the stars he saw, the wind’s songs he listened to, and the peaceful moments he had spent thinking of you.

As the night deepened, the two of you moved out to the porch, sitting together in the garden under the moonlight. The gentle breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the scent of night-blooming flowers. Kazuha sat behind you, pulling you into his lap, his arms wrapped securely around your waist.

“The wind is gentle tonight,” he said softly, resting his head on your shoulder.

You leaned back into his warmth, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your back. “It feels like it’s welcoming you home.”

Kazuha smiled at your words, pressing a tender kiss to the side of your neck. “I think you’re the one who makes it feel like home,” he whispered, his voice full of affection.

You blushed, turning your head slightly to meet his gaze. His eyes were soft, filled with a quiet intensity that always made your heart skip a beat.

“Kazuha…” You reached up, cupping his cheek gently.

“I’m here now,” he said, his voice low and soothing. “And I won’t be leaving for a while. Let’s just stay like this, for as long as we can.”

You nodded, resting your head against his chest as the two of you watched the stars twinkle above. The world seemed to quiet around you, leaving only the soft sounds of the night and the steady rhythm of Kazuha’s breathing.

In that moment, everything felt right. No words were needed—just the warmth of his arms around you, the quiet peace of being together again. It was solace, pure and simple, and in Kazuha’s embrace, you knew that no matter how far he wandered, he would always find his way back to you.

And for now, that was enough.

[ay0nha]

Boiling Point | Chef Luca (Prologue)

(working) SUMMARY: A well- known food critic is retiring. Apart of this condition is that you continue writing on his behalf as if he hadn’t. To show you the ropes, he implores Luca to teach you what it takes to enter the culinary world.

There he was. His pristine white jacket contrasted perfectly against the warm ambiance of the evening. The distance was covered within a few long strides and once at the table, his charmed smile made you nauseous. He played his part better than you had that night

PAIRING: Chef!Luca x f!reader (food journalist/critic)

WORD COUNT: 1.4K

WARNINGS: smoking, drinking, canon-typical things, future enemies to lovers sort of, mutual pining, inspiration from Kitchen Confidential and the movie Boiling Point, etc.

A/N: Just a little sneak peek/intro to this request. Might do a short series (three/four parts)...stay tuned. It’s a little choppy at the moment, so I hope it makes sense. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged. Comments are always appreciated! Enjoy.

Deep breaths helped.

The nicotine’s warmth sparked excitement in your veins. It made a tedious night seem just bearable with each inhale. You eyed the falling ash as if it were tea leaves promising your near future. Yet, when your eyes surveyed the crowd within the restaurant, it cemented the dull company you’d join.

Excusing yourself was easy. Slipping away wasn’t the issue; it was expected as the call for a cigarette completed your image. The cliché of it made your mouth pucker with your final drag.

“There you are...” A hand settled on your shoulder. Ryan. “They’re ordering another bottle as we speak.” Lighting her own cigarette, she cursed. “We better fucking land this deal—I’m about to max out the company card.”

Flicking your roach under the point of your heel, you scoffed, “Please, if I have to hear that man say heavenly one more time, I’ll—

“You’ll smile.” She reminded you. It was an instruction, really. “Nod your head, agree with anything—Everything.”

“He said supposebly.” You tutted. “I can’t take him seriously.”

“He’s ancient. Cut him some slack!” She laughed. Charm came second nature to Ryan; you weren’t convinced she even knew its effect on people. “He’s sweet on you.”

“Right…” You tried to make out the stars, but the light pollution fought against you. “So, what? I marry him for the life insurance?”

“Let’s just make it through dessert,” Ryan spoke definitively, always cutting through. Yet, room always remained to entertain you. “Then we can talk wedding plans.”

The man that waited for you was Avery Sinclair—world-renowned something. You had listened, but the information had already left you. Those around you, though, knew who sat across from you well. They were almost as good as you hiding their discomfort. Eyes were always on him, knowing his thoughts before he could form them. New forks were laid after the slightest touch, napkin splayed on his lap before he could lift it himself, and every meal came with the chef that made it.

He was respected.

Yet, all you saw was his brittle and thin mustache, sitting upon his lip like forgotten food. The comb-over was just as wirey and pulled kindness to his cheeks. They flushed now as he flirted with another glass of wine.

“There you are!” He bubbled. With a wave of his hand, your diligent waitress returned with the Italian bottle. “I ordered the oak-aged white. It has a buttery note that is just heavenly with the gelée.”

You smiled.

“I cannot believe our night is coming to an end.” Ryan charmed. She held her nose to the glass, listening intently as Mr. Sinclair explained each technique to her. The slurping was a bit much.

“My dear, this is just a start.” The deal was confirmed with those words alone. A part of you wished the promise had a false bottom. “We can draft up something agreeable, I’m sure?”

He looked at you. You had that feeling like you’d forgotten to walk. Each step felt forced and off. You played off your misstep cleverly, your glass raising to the center, “I look forward to working together.”

Ryan was impressed, pride swelling in her chest. She and you were an unmistakable duo. Angel and devil. Thelma and Louise. Introvert and extrovert.  Fill in any this and that, and there you two were. Most importantly, she was the publicist, and you were the writer.

“Under one condition…” Mr. Sinclair smiled, far too tickled by your toast. He leaned in, elbows brushing the circular table. “Do you know why I chose this place tonight?”

You hadn’t expected the question. Your answer came out blunt. “Favoritism.”

“You’re sharp.” He smiled broadly, wagging his manicured finger at you. “Exactly that. Look around you…”

You took a genuine moment.  The perception of fine dining was all theatrics. It was a large show that ran every night of the week. Even those who dined were an unassuming audience. Those swiveling doors may as well be the curtain line to backstage. The kitchen, the dressing room. The dripping alleyway, the green room.

You were all too aware of the communication chain. The insults were coded frustrations that later into the service would be water under the bridge. There was a reason for everyone being here just as you were.

“We’re all cut from the same cloth. You, me, dear Ryan.” Mr. Sinclair smiled at her. “We all express our passions differently, but we love just the same.”

He felt content. His body relaxed with his decision to hire you. Sinclair could see how you hadn’t quite trusted yourself with the responsibility that he was putting on your shoulders. But he was confident you’d grow into it perfectly.

“I hope you understand the reasons for my poetics—” The rumors and gossip about him failed to do his sincerity justice. “—as I’m trusting you with my legacy.”

“Of course.” You gave another smile; this time, it felt real.

“Excuse my sentimentality!” Mr. Sinclair clasped his hands together in a soft clap. You could almost see tears forming in the corner of his eyes.   “With that out of the way, dessert? The pastry chef here is—” His favoritism came into play. “—is something special.”

You could picture the chef now, cursing at the interruption. Hopefully, complaining about the big wig seated at table seven wasn’t worth his time. You waited for the rehearsed, polite decline.

Apologies, however, our chef is tied up between aeration.

But there he was, Chef Luca. His pristine white jacket contrasted perfectly against the warm ambiance of the evening. The distance was covered within a few long strides, and once at the table, his charmed smile made you nauseous. He played his part better than you had that night.

His features were tight, unwavering as the compliments poured. Your lips twitched down as you took him in. With his hands behind his back, his chest pulled broadly, but you could still make out the littered tattoos on his forearms. Typical.

Even with his eyes on you, you hadn’t shied from your judgment. You only stopped when you heard your name.

“Isn’t that right?” Ryan prompted you again, defined features expressing her sternness. Focus.  “You always talk about how much you love to bake.”

You don’t.

“Sure.” You nodded.

“A match made in heaven, then!” Mr. Sinclair exclaimed. “You must get to know Luca; he has the most interesting story!”

In your short assessment, you already disparaged his comment. To you, Luca was, like you, a walking cliché.

“I don’t doubt that…” Your sarcasm was palpable. Luca’s stoicism broke with a smirk of confusion. “Let me guess... You were a troublemaker?” Your tone was teasing but bordered something wicked.  “Cooking put you straight, and you owe your life to grease and adrenaline.”

“Forgot to mention that I’m a hard-partying criminal.” Luca didn’t waste a beat. Impressive.

“And when did the anger issues start?” You hummed. You played at every stereotype you knew. “Before or after your—

“I think what she means to say—” Ryan cut in seamlessly. She came prepared for your shenanigans. “—is that she admires the journey you’ve taken to get here.”

Luckily, Mr. Sinclair was far too enamored with the preciseness of the dessert to interpret the sudden banter.

“Of course.” Luca looked at you. Then as you had only moments ago, he pulled a practiced expression to address his loyal customer. “Mr. Sinclair, as always, it’s a pleasure to see you.”

“Unfortunately, I must savor tonight.” He spoke. “My home on the Amalfi coast has been quite lonely.” Sinclair let out a regretful sigh. “I trust you to keep this between us, yes?”

Luca nodded. “Of course.”

“You will be a very lucky man, son.” Sinclair further divulged the secrets behind his retirement. “I hope you heed my advice and get to know this young lady.”

All eyes were on you.

“She will continue to write for me. Use my name.” He explained your purpose. You weren’t ready to hear it aloud. “So treat her kindly, or you will have to answer to me.”

“I’m not sure I understand.” Luca almost protested. It seemed elaborate to allow someone so young—you— to take his place.

“Be open. Present.” Sinclair answered. He wasn’t a man of riddles, but you noticed that the more he spoke, the harder to understand. “You were once new. You had to figure it out on your own. Maybe you can help her, show her your world. Our world.”

[leaentries]

🎄prompt 13 w/ Jamie Drysdale

this is so stinking cute

warnings: swearing

prompt 13- “if you don’t take me to see christmas lights, i’ll cry.”

lea’s christmas special!

It was finally December, the air was filled with your jolly spirit as you blasted christmas music in your apartment. The smell of your freshly brought in Christmas tree added to the sentiment. Gold, red, and green slowly crept its way into every aspect of your little space until it looked like Christmas had vomited everywhere.

Of course, this is how you preferred it. Colors strewn about, with decorations filling all the rooms. It brought joy to your heart and warmth to your soul. Jamie, although you two had been together for over a year, was still shocked when he walked into your apartment that December 1st morning.

“Wow, pretty girl,” He walked over to you, looking around at the vast amount of glitter and fake snow, “You really didn’t hold back, did you?”

You turned towards him, as his arms circled around your waist, “Well obviously not! You know Christmas is my favorite time of year!” Jamie smiled at you, taking in your appearance. The way the oversized Christmas sweatshirt hung on your body, to the matching red socks. He adored you.

“I know, I know, baby. And I love that you love it so much.” He placed his lips against your head as he mumbled, “I also brought some of your favorite hot chocolate from that little shop down the street.”

Your eyes widened in delight as you left his arms and raced to the kitchen table where he had set the drinks down upon walking in.

He admired your animated form with a lovesick grin. A chuckle left his lips as you burned yourself slightly in your over excitement. “Calm down, it’s hot.”

You gave him a side eye at his teasing smirk, “No shit sherlock.” Rolling your eyes, you gently blow on your drink, before taking a less-burning sip. The liquid’s warmth spread from your mouth through your body. You let your eyes shut in delight, a small hum of approval leaving your lips.

Jamie’s mind became void of anything as he watched your pleasured features. Your tongue darted out to lick a drop off of your parted lips. He swallowed thickly.

“This is the best drink in the world, I swear. And that little shop? God, I don’t know how they do it. I have to get the recipe from the owner.” You set the cup down, walking back to where Jamie remained at the kitchen island. “You know, I just was taking to the owner the other day actually. She was telling me about how her and her wife just got a puppy and they’re super exci-”

You stopped mid sentence as you became aware of Jamie’s staring. “What’s up with you, Jam?”

He shook his head slightly, coming back to reality. “N-nothing. I’m all good, pretty girl.” You raised a brow at him, “Promise. Now, what were you saying about the owner?”

❥.

After finishing your drinks, you and Jamie found yourselves cuddle on the couch binging Christmas movies. With the heat of his body, paired with the soft glow of the tv, you quickly slipped into a welcomed slumber.

Your body slowly began to awake, as you noticed the credits of “Home Alone” were now playing on the screen. Tilting your head, you saw Jamie’s peaceful sleeping face, the deep rise and fall of his chest could be felt beneath you. Although, your movements must have woken him as his hand came up to push your head back to the crook of his neck.

“Ja-”

“Shhhh. Not yet, don’t wanna leave you.”

You forced your head up, causing a deep sigh to leave his mouth. “Oh come on J, it’s already,” You grabbed your phone to check the time, “7:47. All of the Christmas lights are definitely on by now.”

Damn. He was hoping you’d forget that he promised to go drive around looking at lights tonight.

Jamie let another out another sigh. “What if I told you I would rather just lay with you all night instead?”

You looked him dead in the eye with no expression, “If you don’t take me to see Christmas lights, I’ll cry.”

“Fine, fine. Let’s go look at Christmas lights.”

“Yes!” Your face lit up immediately, you scrambling to your feet to slip on your Christmas slippers. You ran to the door to grab the matching pair you had bought Jamie. “Alright, J! Let’s go!”

Jamie just shook his head, chuckling at your antics.

If driving around for hours looking at lights on random houses is what his girl wanted, then thats exactly what his girl was gonna get.

[wandasreallover]

In sickness and in health(mother figure!wanda)

Warnings: addiction, major character death, depression, angst/comfort, brief maria hill x reader, extremely self indulgant

Summary: wanda drags you back from the point of no return but its up to you to heal, wanda can help you all she wants but ultimately the decision is up to you will you give in to temptation?

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The rain drummed softly on the roof, its percussion a gentle cover to the somber air weaving through the old house. Wanda stood in the kitchen, fidgeting with a chipped porcelain mug, her heart heavy with worry. Every tick of the clock felt like an eternity. She had learned the art of patience over the years, but waiting for someone she cared about to return home was much harder than keeping a garden alive.

When the door creaked open, a chill drifted in with the wind, followed by an unmistakable air of guilt. Wanda turned, a flood of emotions spilling into her chest as she saw [Y/N] step inside. The girl was very much a woman now, but there was something heartbreakingly fragile in her gaze-like glass teetering on the edge of a table, ready to shatter at any moment.

[Y/N] stood there, drenched from the rain, her jeans torn and her T-shirt loosely hanging from her shoulders. There were dark circles beneath her eyes that hinted at sleepless nights. The confidence she often masqueraded in seemed stripped away, leaving only raw vulnerability. Wanda took a deep breath, unsure of what to say.

"Where have you been?" she finally asked, her voice gentle but firm, echoing with a protective undertone.

"I... I needed some time," [Y/N] replied, her words heavy, filled with the burden of unspoken truth.

Wanda stepped closer, hands outstretched in a familiar, comforting gesture. "You know you don't have to hide from me. Whatever's going on, we can face together."

A bitter laugh escaped [Y/N]'s lips, and she shook her head, creating a fragile dismissal. "You don't understand, Wanda. I'm fine."

"Fine? You were gone for days," Wanda pressed, her concern pulse racing alongside the rapidly fading daylight. "19 but you act like an adult?, like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. No one should have to bear that alone."

[Y/N] averted her eyes, staring at the floor, where dark splotches betrayed the rain-soaked entries of her shoes. "I'm tired, Wanda. Just really tired."

The familiar warmth surged through Wanda, a mix of compassion and sorrow. "Tired of what, sweetheart? You don't have to pretend to be strong around me."

"I... It's hard to explain." [Y/N]'s voice was barely a whisper now. "I wish I didn't feel like this, but it's all-consuming."

As silence fell between them, Wanda stepped forward, braving the space that had grown too vast, too filled with shadows and dripping secrets. "You don't have to carry this burden alone, [Y/N]. It's okay to lean on someone. I'll be here-always."

"But what if I slip?" [Y/N] burst out, emotion clawing at her throat. "What if I fall back into... my old habits? I hate it, Wanda. I hate needing it. I hate that I let it control me."

Wanda gently lifted [Y/N]'s chin, bringing their eyes level. "And that's the first step, acknowledging your struggle. It's okay to fall, but it's also okay to rise again."

For a moment, [Y/N] hardened, a fierce pride flashing in her eyes. But then, just as quickly, the façade crumbled, and she stepped into the comforting embrace of Wanda's arms. There, enveloped in warmth, the dam broke.

"I'm scared," [Y/N] mumbled against Wanda's shoulder, tears soaking the fabric of her shirt. "I was doing so well, but then... I don't know. I felt so lost. All this pressure to be someone I'm not... it made me run."

Wanda held her tighter, the rhythmic thrum of regret rattling beneath each heartbeat. "You're not alone. You've fought a hard battle and you don't have to do it on your own anymore. I'm proud of you for coming back and facing this."

[Y/N] drew back slightly, searching Wanda's eyes for the truth she so desperately craved. "I don't want to be broken. I don't want to be a problem."

"You're not broken." Wanda's voice was steady, filled with the kind of love that only a maternal figure could evoke. "You're human. You're allowed to feel weak, you're allowed to ask for help. You're allowed to be vulnerable."

It was then [Y/N] understood that all the years of independence she had chased-being the adult in the room, keeping her head above water-had only led her deeper into isolation. She longed for guidance, for love, for the comfort of acknowledging her darkness without fear of judgment.

"I wish I could just stop," [Y/N] finally admitted, a tremor in her voice. "I wish I could erase the bad parts of me."

"You can't erase who you are, but you can choose lighter paths ahead." Wanda placed her hands on [Y/N]'s shoulders, grounding her with a gaze that could anchor even the most tumultuous of storms. "Let's take it one step at a time. I'm right here with you."

Tears continued to streak down [Y/N]'s cheeks, but a flicker of hope stirred in her heart. "Will you help me? Will you stay?"

"Always," Wanda promised. "You deserve to be free from the shadows that haunt you. We can find that light together, I swear."

As [Y/N] clung to Wanda, hope began to weave its way back into her life. It would be a long journey ahead, filled with challenges and discomfort, but for the first time in a long time, she felt a shift. She wasn't alone anymore.

Ofcourse she couldn't just accept this good thing like a normal person that was impossible. Her mind always to betray her. Despite wandas unwavering support [y/n] still felt as alone as ever. Which lead her to now, back exactly where she started.

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The room cloaked in darkness, save for the flickering candlelight casting shadows that danced on the walls. You sat on the floor, surrounded by remnants of your struggle-empty bottles, crumpled wrappers, and the echoes of your own despair. Each item told a story of promises broken and battles lost, and the weight of it all pressed down on your chest like a heavy stone.

Wanda had tried to help you, her gentle spirit always reaching out, always hopeful. She was a beacon of light in your tumultuous world, a mother figure who had taken you under her wing when you felt most lost. But despite her unyielding support, the darkness that enveloped you felt insurmountable.

You could still hear her voice as she had pleaded with you just days before. “Please, don’t do this to yourself. I can’t watch you hurt like this.” The concern in her eyes had cut deeper than any words could. You could see the worry etched on her face, the way her brows knitted together in anguish as she tried to pull you back from the edge.

But you were trapped in your own mind, a prisoner of addiction that you couldn’t escape. You wished you could be stronger, that you could fight the cravings and the pain, but every time you thought you had a handle on it, the darkness would creep back in, dragging you under once more.

As you sat there, tears streaming down your cheeks, you picked up your phone, scrolling through your messages. There were countless texts from Wanda, each one filled with concern and love. But there were also unanswered calls, the silence between you growing like a chasm that felt impossible to bridge. You couldn’t face her—not like this.

You thought of how much you wanted to be the person she believed you could be, the person who could stand tall and proud, free from the chains of addiction. But each time you tried, the weight of your reality pulled you back down. The more you sit here the more you felt guilty wanda truely believed in your recovery, she invested her time and her heart into helping you get better but once again you've proved that your beyond help.

Suddenly, the sound of the front door opening broke the silence, and your heart raced. You quickly wiped your tears, attempting to hide the chaos around you. But it was too late. Wanda stepped into the living room, her eyes widening as she took in the scene before her.

“Oh, [Y/N],” she whispered, her voice breaking. She rushed over, kneeling beside you, her hands trembling as they reached out to touch your arm. “What have you done?”

You couldn’t meet her gaze, shame flooding your senses. “I’m sorry,” you managed to choke out, the words barely escaping your lips. “I didn’t mean to… I just… It’s too hard.”

Wanda’s expression softened at your admission, tears pooling in her eyes. “I know it’s hard, but you don’t have to do this alone. I’m here for you. Please let me help you.”

But you shook your head, the pit in your stomach growing deeper. “I’m too far gone, Wanda. I don’t know if I can come back from this.”

Her hands tightened around your arms, her grip firm yet gentle. “You’re not gone. You’re right here, and I refuse to give up on you. I love you too much to let you slip away.”

Those words cut through the fog of despair, piercing your heart with a mix of longing and sadness. You wanted to believe her, to trust that there was a way out of the darkness, but the fear of failing her again loomed large.

“I wish I could be different,” you whispered, the weight of your emotions crashing over you like a tidal wave. “I wish I could be sober.”

Wanda’s eyes sparkled with tears as she pulled you into a tight embrace, her warmth enveloping you like a cocoon. “You can be. It won’t be easy, but I’ll be right here with you every step of the way. We’ll face this together.”

As you cried into her shoulder, you felt a flicker of hope ignite within you, a small flame that dared to believe in the possibility of healing. You could hear her heartbeat, steady and reassuring, a reminder that you were not alone in this battle.

In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of your struggle and the unwavering love of the woman who had become your anchor, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you could find a way back to yourself. It would take time, patience, and a lot of courage, but with Wanda by your side, the fight felt a little less daunting. Well until the next relapse that is because its only a matter of time right?

That was six years ago and i have been sober every day since and i put it all down to wanda the woman whom i owe my entire life as she as dragged me to this moment. Stood in front of the mirror, my heart racing as I adjusted my veil for the third—or was it the fourth—time. The dress fit like a dream, a delicate blend of lace and satin that whispered promises of love. It was the day I had dreamed about for as long as I could remember—my wedding day. Yet, the tingle of excitement was mixed with a bittersweet ache in my heart.

The room was filled with soft sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains, casting a warm glow over the collection of flowers and jumbled accessories that had been thoughtfully arranged. Laughter floated in from the hallway, a joyous cacophony as my friends busily prepared for the ceremony. I could hear nats’s infectious giggle and clints’s teasing comments. They were trying to distract me from the swirling thoughts in my head, but one person’s absence felt enormous.

Wanda.

In those moments of reflection, I couldn't help but think about everything that had led me to this moment. Wanda Maximoff, the woman who had become more than just a mentor or a friend. She had filled the void left long ago—taught me the meaning of family, love, and sacrifice. We had faced our greatest challenges together, and she had always believed in me even when I doubted myself.

My fingers absentmindedly traced the locket around my neck, a gift from Wanda. Inside, it held a picture of us two years ago, laughing after a long day of training. “To remember the journey,” she had said with a smile. I couldn’t shake the thought of her not being here, not as a participant but as the mother I had always needed.

Suddenly, the door swung open, and my best friend Mia rushed in, her expression a mixture of excitement and concern. “Okay, deep breaths! You can’t have a wedding without the bride!” She fluffed the layers of my dress with a flourish, then paused. “You okay?”

I forced a smile, but Mia saw through it. “You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”

I nodded, my throat tightening. “It’s just… I wish Wanda could be here today. I feel like she’s missing all the important moments.”

Mia clasped my shoulders, her eyes shimmering with empathy. “She’s here, in spirit. You know how she is—she’ll be watching over you. I remember how proud she was when you found your true love—she could light up a room just talking about you.”

Warmth spread through me at the thought. Yes, Wanda would be here, clad in her vibrant red and ready to cheer me on in her own way. She had always said love was the strongest force in the universe, a bond that couldn’t be broken even by distance.

The sound of the faintest melody wafted through the open window—our family and friends were gathering, their voices a reassuring presence as I prepared to walk down the aisle. My heart swelled as the realization hit me: I didn’t have to walk this path alone. I carried the love and wisdom that Wanda had instilled in me. She had taught me strength, resilience, and the beauty of vulnerability.

“Let’s do this!” Mia cheered, breaking my reverie and pulling me toward the door.

As we stepped into the soft sunlight, the world felt covered in a golden hue. The garden where the ceremony was to take place was adorned with rustic wooden arches draped in flowers. Guests mingled, their faces bright with joy, as they turned their attention to me. Everything shimmered with love, but there was still an empty space meant for Wanda.

When I reached the altar, my heart raced again, but not with trepidation. My eyes fell on mara standing beneath a floral arch, her gaze warm and reassuring. She was everything I had dreamed of: kind, loving, and unwavering. Her smile ignited a rush of memories; the way Wanda had looked at me when I first introduced them, her approving nod full of warmth—and that overwhelming sense of love.

As the officiant began her speech, I looked around at everyone I cherished. Everyone was here, united not just for us but by the threads of stories that connected each person standing before me. I closed my eyes for a moment, visualization flooding my mind: Wanda smiling, her hair catching the sunlight, her laughter ringing in the air.

And then I felt a gentle warmth enveloping me—a sudden rush of love and clarity, as if Wanda was saying, "You’ve got this, my dear." I opened my eyes, confidence coursing through me. I was not just a reflection of her love; I was also a testament to her teachings and strength.

The moment I stepped closer to Maria we exchanged knowing glances. Our connection felt electric, like we were standing at the climax of our shared story; one that would continue to evolve, but never alone.

Each vow I exchanged with her felt as if it were woven from the fabric of my journey alongside Wanda. “To love and to cherish, through all challenges,” echoed through the air, and I could visualize her proud smile, her joy root-like deep within my heart.

As I said “I do,” I couldn’t help but glance over at the empty seat next to my parents. I imagined Wanda seated there, tearing up—she had always been the one to wear her heart on her sleeve. Amidst the bliss, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the one who had guided me to this point.

The moment the officiant pronounced us married, applause erupted, loud and warm. My heart leaped; I was married to my true love, standing among those who mattered most. Yet it was incomplete without Wanda, the strong, fearless woman who had fostered my spirit and bravery.

As the festivities truly began, I made my way through joyful faces, laughing and dancing, all the while feeling Wanda’s presence. It was as if she were dancing among them, sharing in the happiness around me. I could sense her whispering her blessings, urging me to embrace this new chapter with an open heart.

The night glimmered with happiness and laughter as stars began to twinkle overhead. Surrounded by loved ones, I basked in the love that was strong enough to bridge any divide.

Though she may not have been physically present, Wanda’s love wrapped around me like an embrace. I was home, and I was ready for the journey ahead, eternally grateful for the mother figure who had carved a path for me to follow—a path filled with love laughter, and a future yet to unfold.

[sugolara]

And so it begins

ft. K.B x S.T x I.M x fem! reader

Synopsis: After a deadly virus leaks all over the world, every country is forced to close down it's borders and airports to prevent anyone from coming in and out. Though, it's to late for some people. The dead has rose and is looking for revenge. Cw: gore, quirkless! au, apocalypse! au, zombie! au, weapons, death, angst, lots and lots of blood, cannibalism, suicidal thoughts, slow burn

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The RV was far from fancy, but it did have a bed, kitchen, living room and bathroom, though they were very small. Though dust had even begun to settle on every piece of furniture and unfortunately for Katsuki, his allergies were acting up so he let for the other three to clean it out while he sat back—or laid back on the seats of a car.

Sneezing, Shoto wiped his nose on his sleeve as he pulled the blinds up and opened the window. Behind him, F/n hid her smile as she opened the driver's window, "You sneeze like a girl."

Quickly, he sent a glare her way, "What did you just say?"

From the bedroom, Izuku let out a chuckle as he set sheets of blanket to the side. The mattress looked good, not a speck of blood or grime, and surprisingly, stains. A bit of dusting here and there and the RV was set for the blonde to enter. With each claiming their space, night fell and so did a storm; thunder.

Tossing in her position, she wrapped her arms around her head, her forearms pressing down against her ears, hoping that it would muffle the crashing thunder. But it didn't and after a while she sat up on the table that turned into a bed, eyes peeking through the cracks of the blinds. Adding onto the thunder, growls could be heard right next to her.

A quiet chuckle escaped her lips, amused at the sight of rotters bumping into each other trying to determine whether the thunder was a human.

"Is the dead your sort of entertainment now?" Quietly asked Katsuki, startling her. "I thought you were asleep?"

"And I thought you were asleep." He said as he sat up from the small couch, "Its hard fucking sleeping when you never know when those freaks will come at you. It's also loud."

His voice was soft, unusual to hear, but it was a pleasing sound to her ears, not to mention the soft look on his face. "Why are you up?"

"I hate thunder." She continued looking at him, even when he smirked. "Thunder scares you, but not the dead? Where the hell did you crawl from?"

"From my mother." She calmly said, humoring the blonde as he swallowed his chuckle, "And I'm not scared of it, it's just too loud for me to handle."

As if they were being heard, thunder came crashing down startling them both. Annoyed, the blonde pulled his blanket over his shoulders, placing his knees to his chest as he glared to the floor, "..I feel like that too."

Her eyes glanced all over him. In different lighting, his appearance was rather endearing and a sight that could be dented to her brain, "..Do you want to sleep with me?"

Quickly, his eyes averted to her, widening, "What?"

"Do you want to sleep with me?" She asked again, face puzzled at his expression, "Like, right next to me and get rest."

Relief left his body as he slumped against his seat. For a second he thought of something else, but he quickly shook that thought away when another set of thunder came. He looked at her, eyes squinting with a suspicious look, "You're not going to try anything?"

She scoffed, "Like what?"

"Nothing." He mumbled out and after a few seconds, he stood from his spot and made his way to her small bed. She wished he'd seen the smile on her lips as she moved over, allowing him to lay next to the window. As she propped her sweater as a pillow, he threw his blanket at her, turning his face to the wall, "Go to sleep."

She hummed, carefully laying down to not touch his back. With her head facing the ceiling, she listened to his soft breathing, the thunder had died down and the moans softened. She could see his blonde lock and a portion of his cheeks that she always imagined would be soft. Quietly, she spoke, "Goodnight..Katsuki."

Birds chirping and raindrops pattering had woken up Shoto. The sky was still cloudy, but some sunlight peeked through. Getting up from the bed, his bones cracked as he let out a soft sigh. He made his way to the front of the vehicle, though his eyes questionably glanced down at F/n and Katsuki sleeping. Shrugging it off, he settled on the driver's seat, opening a book as he waited for the others to wake up.

After what felt like hours, he heard movement behind him. Glancing at the rear-view mirror he watched as the girl sat up, gripping her neck as she let out a grunt. "I think...I slept wrong."

"It was probably the 200 pound guy next to you that couldn't let you move freely." Shoto spoke, ignoring the way his stomach did something weird at her morning voice.

"Piss off." The blonde tiredly grumbled out, covering his face with his blanket.

Placing her shoes and jacket she moved to the front, sitting next to the bi-colored male and peering out the window, "Looks nice out."

"Yeah.." He hummed out, his eyes staring at a word on his book as he paid attention to her from the corner of his eyes. Then did he remember the knife he was going to give her. Reaching into his jacket pocket, he handed it to her, "It seemed like your style."

She glanced at him before gracefully taking it. It looks like things are looking good for them, "Thanks, Shoto."

"Do you know how to use it?" He asked, watching as she shrugged, examining the blade. "I'll figure it out."

"You guys are so fucking loud." Katsuki mumbled as he sat up, placing his shoes and jacket on as the RV was a bit chilly from earlier rain.

"Ironic, coming from you." The mismatched male said, eyes back on the book. A scoff from the blonde could be heard, but he ignored that as he flipped a page, "Wake up Izuku so we can get going. The rain might come back."

"I got it." F/n said, making her way to the back where Izuku peacefully rested.

Once outside, they began looking for a running vehicle. With hours passing by and the sky still filled with gray clouds, sunlight barely peeking through, a car just a few rows behind them had its alarm triggered. Questionably they all eyed each other, until the set of growls came and they quickly ducked down hoping they wouldn't be seen. However, it sounded like the rotters were coming their way, so quickly they tried opening the doors around them only for it to be locked.

With no vehicle to hide in, they placed themself underneath the vehicle, going in pairs and squishing into each other so none of their body parts stuck out. With the first rotter coming into view, so did the others, their growls intensifying as they passed by. As they waited, with F/n next to Shoto, in front of her was a decaying head, with words engraved on its flesh; AFO.

[wastelandlovingscenarios]

undeniable | porter gage x female! sole survivor

a/n: am i finally back on my bullshit, uploading on a random sunday night? this is different from what i usually write, but hey! im definitely writing something. im too tired to revise or edit this bc its 12 AM, so ill look it over in the morning. just thought i'd post something silly.

♡ based off a modern au where gage and the sole survivor are childhood bestfriends in another life.

For as long as Gage can remember, she’s been a burden. Being nearly five years older than her and her guardian -- or her best friend, as she likes to call him -- he’s always felt inclined to watch over her. He doesn’t know why, he knows he doesn't necessarily need to, but the thought of abandoning her feels wrong. So he tries to find reasons as to why -- was it because they both grew up in terrible conditions together and only had each other? Or was it because he knew the moment he let her dumbass go into the real world alone, she’d somehow get herself killed? 

He shakes his head. Finding a reason was nothing but a waste of time, his mind overworking itself more than it already was. He dumbs it down to simply getting used to the routine of caring for her since they were children. If he fucks up his schedule now, he’d have to go through the trouble of rearranging everything around once again and readjust to his new lifestyle. 

‘Yeah,’ he thinks to himself, unlocking his apartment door, twisting the knob, ‘It’ll be nothing but fucking trouble.’ 

Once he pushes the door open, his boots thumping against the tiled floor of his apartment, he sees her sitting on the couch, distracted by the show playing on the television. His eyes darted over to the coffee table in front of her, papers and open textbooks strewn across the poor thing, obviously untouched and just displayed prettily to mimic the idea that she was being productive. 

With a low grumble, he tosses his bag on the counter nearby and takes off his boots before grabbing the remote lying on the couch. She’s so invested in her little show that she barely even notices him walking in with a scowl and an annoyed sigh. Sole jumps when the television shuts off suddenly, a gasp leaving her lips before turning her head to the side. 

“Hey, I was watching!” she whines, already rising from the couch to pick another fight with him. He doesn’t show any reaction and instead, crosses his arms with an unimpressed expression while he holds the remote hostage. 

She tries her best to grab it from his hand but he rolls his eyes, gently pushing her back down onto the couch. 

“Quit watchin’ and start studyin’. Yer not gonna get shit done like this.” 

She huffs angrily, her eyes narrowing at him, “Gage, a little break wouldn’t hurt every once in a while.” 

“And what have you accomplished since I left for work this afternoon?” 

Sole swallows nervously, her mouth going dry at his questions as she opens and closes it, trying her best to stand her ground. He raises a brow, giving her a chance to respond and redeem herself, but he already knows. She was a fool for thinking she could get away with such a lie, knowing that Gage knew her better than anyone else.

“Thought so,” he stuffed the remote in the back of his pocket, “Now be a good girl and finish yer damn work. I’m not paying yer tuition for you to fuck around.” 

Sole groans but listens obediently, pulling the coffee table closer to her. She grabs her laptop and unlocks it, opening her notes before reaching over to snatch one of her textbooks. 

“I don’t understand why you’re on my ass about my studies so much, Gage,” she complains, highlighting something in her book a bit roughly, “You didn't even finish high school, so why does it even matter?” 

He doesn’t spare her much of an answer, walking over to the kitchen to find something to cook for them, “Exactly my point. You wanna be better than me.”  

“But you make so much money, you’re able to provide for both of us!” she throws her hands in the air, desperately trying to prove a point to her stubborn roommate, who seemed to be firm on his words.

“That’s only because I got connections. Now shut your mouth and study.” 

He doesn’t find much in the fridge nor the cabinets, silently setting a reminder in his mind to do a grocery run first thing tomorrow before work. Eventually, he decides to heat up some leftovers they had for lunch and cut up some fruit for her to snack on while she did her work. It’s shit, he knows, but it’ll do till tomorrow. 

He makes his way back to the living room, plopping on the couch next to her and setting the food on the coffee table, maintaining a good distance between their dinner and her work. The last thing he wanted was to spill anything on her laptop and notes -- it would only give her another reason not to be productive. 

He doesn’t say much, but his eyes flicker over to her for a moment, a small smile on his face at the sight of her seemingly focused on her work now, a sense of satisfaction overcoming him. Gage leans back on the couch, pulling his phone out to distract himself while he kept her company in the living room. He takes a few bites of his portion of the leftovers, glancing at Sole here and there to ensure she was still on track. 

It’s a peaceful few minutes, he can’t recall how long, as they both sit in silence, her music playing softly in the background to fill up the white noise. Suddenly, he hears a sigh, sounding a bit defeated, and his eyes set on her sulking figure. 

“Gage, I know that you want the best for me, but I’m nearly twenty-three and you still treat me like a kid.” he stares at her, not showing any reaction but notices how she refused to make eye contact with him, her eyes glued to the screen of her laptop. 

When she doesn’t get a response, she closes her eyes before turning her body towards him, her expression serious, but he can see right through her. She’s pleading, but not in an annoying bratty way like she usually does, so he decides to listen to her troubles. 

She scoots closer to him and he watches, his phone long forgotten in his hand, “I’m really grateful for you and all that, but you need to trust that I can do well in school and balance my time. You can’t take care of me forever.” 

Instead of getting a response like she’d hope for, she was met with the usual silence he often provided her when she tried to set her boundaries. With an irate expression, she turned back to her laptop, her face flushed in embarrassment, feeling like her words vanished into thin air. 

She should’ve known better than to talk to Gage — he was a man of few words and she didn’t know why she expected him to at least say something to show that he at least cared about her feelings one way or the other.

Before she could continue studying to hide her embarrassment and anger, she hears his voice and freezes. 

“I know.” his voice is gravelly, a bit of exhaustion mixed into it, and her head shoots to him, a bit stunned at his broken silence. Her eyes are wide, body paralyzed at the sudden response. There’s a slight flush on his face but she convinces herself it’s the lighting. 

Definitely. 

He knows she’s waiting for more than just that and he sighs, crossing his arms as he makes eye contact with her the best he can without losing his shit, “Just want you to have a good future. Want you to live a better life than what I’m giving you right now before I send you off.” 

Suddenly, she’s overcome with guilt and she immediately leans over to him, her hands finding his as she cuts him off, “No, that’s not what I meant!”

With another breath, she composes herself before speaking. 

“Gage, you’ve given me everything I’ve wanted and needed, the last thing I’ll ever do is criticize your care for me. I don’t plan on leaving your side, even when I get a better life.” 

His heart twinges and his feelings for her resurface, but he pushes it down. 

She pulls on the sleeves of his hoodie, playing with the fabric with her fingers, “I just want you to trust me more. I know I’ve been slacking a bit, but I’d never fail school, especially when I know you’re working hard to provide for both of us and paying for my tuition. I’d never do that to you.”

“Wouldn’t say I’m working hard,” he downplays it, not wanting her to fret about such a miniscule matter. 

She groans, “You work twelve hour shifts everyday. Sometimes fourteen!”

He shrugs nonchalantly and Sole pouts at his stubbornness, smacking his arm with annoyance. Gage bites back a smirk, amused by her behavior and catches her wrist midair, her eyes rolling. Instead of providing her with a response, he digs in his pocket and hands her the remote to the TV and her eyes light up, a smile forming on her pretty face. His heart aches at the sight. It was such a small action but it was more than enough to validate her feelings. 

“Thank you, you’re the best!” she jumped over, throwing her arms around his neck as she embraced him tightly. 

His face flushed heavily and tried to seem annoyed to cover it up but the stutter in his voice and the tenseness of his shoulders gave it away. Gage pushed her away with his hand as he groaned quietly, “I get it, don’t need to be so damn happy about it.” 

However, she pecked his cheek and he froze instantly, his body paralyzed and his voice raising in embarrassment, “Q-Quit it!”

She giggles and doesn’t take much offense to his words, knowing that he was nothing but a big softie for her. As she released him, she smiled at him happily once more before turning to the TV and putting her show back on. 

Gage rubbed the spot where she kissed, his face a deep red as he tried to regain his composure. Suddenly, he pushes down the real reason of why he refused to leave her side for the millionth time, reminding himself that there were several other possibilities other than that. 

‘What a damn burden,’ he thinks to himself, desperately trying to fight back his feelings for her, his eyes glued to her gleeful form next to him. 

Suddenly, her kiss lingered on his skin a little too long, the feeling of her arms around him marking his skin, and he’s left absolutely horrified, realizing that he could no longer convince himself otherwise. 

Maybe accepting it was better than constantly running and Gage thinks it over for a moment but ultimately shakes his head, wanting to do anything but that. 

‘Just a stupid thought. Some stupid fucking feelings,’ he settles for that answer but knows deep down that he’s already lost the battle, his heart hammering in his chest. 

[stonesilhouette]

Thanks For Nothing

Yandere America x G.N. Reader

TW: General Yandereness | Implied Kidnapping | Imprisonment | America feeds you food with a fork so idk | Non-consensual kissing (just for a moment) | Thanksgiving? | Reader is tied up

If you can't tell I'm really bad at adding tw's but I always find it helpful to avoid stuff I don't want to read so I tried my best. Go ahead and tell me if there's something I missed.

Also, I know Thanksgiving was two days ago I randomly got the urge to write this last night. I'm like slightly embarrassed by this but I haven't posted anything in over a year so you get this.

Tableware clinked against wood as it was gingerly laid down by an uncommonly careful hand. The room was well lit with candles flickering shadows across the walls, a large chandelier over top. The table was set with an orange and red color scheme with autumn bleeding into every aspect of decoration. Even though only two would be used, eight seats had been set in nothing but false pageantry. The smell of baking turkey wafted in from the kitchen off the ways. Most of the other food had already made its place on the table, surrounding a cornucopia, reflective only in name. Six chairs, three on each side, were all tightly pushed into the table, ready for the use of no one. The spread was massive and one could wonder how only two people, the only residents of the large house, would finish it all.

Humming came from the kitchen, the voice masculine in pitch. The tune was easily recognizable as the Star Spangled Banner, which was more a feat to hum then one would expect. Some of the high notes came out scratchy and the mumbling of the lyrics did nothing to ascertain any kind of satisfying harmony. Both rooms were pleasantly warm, though the kitchen held itself in a higher regard after repeat use of the oven and stove. Light leaked out through the open windows as it bathed the rest of the house.

It was pitch dark outside and a person coming or going could see no more than fifteen feet in front of them. Not that there would be any extra guests anyways. The building was located in the middle of nowhere, a long, winding road the only gleam of civilization. At one point the property had been a farm, but after the changing of owners, its purpose drastically changed.

The deafening silence was interrupted by repeated shifting, a desperate attempt to move. This sound was picked up by the ears of the blonde in the other room. He stuck his head in the doorway, the cowlick on top denying gravity its rightful dues. His blue eyes twinkled with amusement, though you could see none of it. In fact you could see nothing at all. You couldn’t see, you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move. All you could do was listen. The man laughed boisterously like you had just said the funniest thing in the world.

“Don’t worry!” He said, knocking on the wall in a way meant to exude comfort. “It's almost done.”

Any chance you had of escape was quickly ticking away alongside that turkey clock, and yet you could do nothing. Maybe he really was the original boy scout because his knots were flawless. Arms bound tight to a chair, any attempts at kicking did nothing to loosen the ropes tying your legs to the chair’s. Your back was flush with the chair, cord tightly wrapped around your torso. You were, in all sense of the word, stuck.

The silk material used to blind your sight was far softer than the harsh twine of the ropes. The same was used to bind your mouth. Any of the tears you had cried had long since dried, making the cloth more uncomfortable and sticky than before. What did you do to deserve this?

Time to ponder than question was quickly snatched away as the retro cooking clock sprang to life. You snapped your head towards the sound, not having prepared yourself for it. Suddenly the smell of turkey became stronger than ever before and you swore you could feel its heat as the man set it down on the table. He lit what you could only assume were candles before approaching you. You visibly shook as he gently removed the blindfold.

Blinking furiously to adjust to the light, your pupils contracted at the heavy light, causing you to shut them closed and throw your head down away from the obtrusive shine. A large hand came above you to pet the top of your head. He kneeled down on one knee, grasping your arm, which was still bound to the chair’s, and gently massaged the skin. He almost didn’t seem real, the light making him look like an angel. Then he looked back up at you, sky blue eyes piercing your own (e/c) ones. Any thoughts of a divine existence were quickly washed away as you stared deep into the possessive pools that were his oculus. The man smiled at you, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fell. He licked the thumb that had made contact with the salted droplet, never breaking eye contact with you. 

He abruptly stood up, shifting his attention over to the extravagant feast on the table. He quickly piled on his own plate, seemingly stacking it sky high, before coming back over to your side and collected your piece of dishware. Moving around the table, he began to fill your own plate, though not nearly as large as his own. He placed it back down next its proper napkin, an orange maple leaf.

The man began to slice apart his pieces of turkey, clearly satisfied with how it had come out. It didn’t take him long to begin gobbling down his food like a hungry soldier on the battlefield. He talked while chewing once or twice in a way that would have made a proper British noble scoff in disgust. Though he quickly quit after he realized that he was eating like such. A look fell across his face that made you think that he might have been told off for a bad habit like that. From then on he ate properly, carefully using his utensils and always chewing with his mouth closed.

From the moment he had brought the turkey in, you had felt your mouth water. You hadn’t eaten anything all day and the food laying out before you felt torturous. You didn’t make a sound however, trying to conserve all of your energy into not bursting into another round of tears. Your stomach on the other hand, had no such qualms, and loudly made its presence known.

The blonde looked over at you, to your uneaten plate of food, and then back to you. He was about to ask why you hadn’t started eating before he realized the obvious. Gulping down the last of his diet soda, of which he had put into a glass with ice to look slightly nicer, he made his way past the table and back over to you.

All you could do was sit there, cursing your stomach and every decision that led you to this horrible fate. Standing at far over six feet, he easily towered over you, causing the shaking from earlier to come back tenfold. You must have looked like a frightened little lamb to the big bad wolf. He cupped your face in his hands, rough from years of war. By now you had begun hyperventilating, shoulders moving up and down in desperate disharmony. You tried to suck as much air as possible in but the gag in your mouth stopped most of the air flow. He reached his right hand farther up your face and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to pretend you were any place but here. Any images of tropical vacation were vanquished after he softly removed the fabric. It was soaked with hours worth of saliva and he threw it off to the side on the table.

Properly swallowing for the first time in hours, your lips finally closed. You still shook but had noticeably calmed down as he focused on your lips.

“A-Alfred.” You finally whispered. “W-Why? I don’t u-understand.”

Tears still occasionally fell down and you desperately wanted to hide your face from him with your hands, but couldn’t because of your binds. You desperately searched his eyes for some clue, a hint, anything. But there was nothing there but pure, unbridled, adoration. His face melted into a content smile and he dove in to kiss you with no prior warning.

His lips melded against yours and he furiously attacked them until you opened. The man pressed you farther against the chair, using both of his hands to keep your head in place. His tongue swirled around your mouth, traversing every cavity and frantically tried to keep your own in this cursed dance. He finally parted from you, a string of saliva connecting you until it finally snapped.

Even more tears had begun to form, all threatening to fall at the slightest motion or whisper. Alfred brushed his thumb over your soaked eyelash, clearing your vision in that eye for just a moment.

“Does that answer your question?” He placed his head in the crook of your neck, taking in the smell. “I just love you that much.”

Suddenly reminded as to why he had come over to the other side of the table, Alfred quickly pulled out an empty chair and sat next to you. He unwound the napkin and the utensils, placing all of them in the correct positionings like he had been taught to do. He then pulled the plate towards the edge of the table, carefully stabbing a piece of turkey he had cut apart with a fork.

“Say aww!” He urged, but you knew it was more of a command.

You opened your mouth, feeling completely demeaned by the nature of the situation. He couldn’t even let you use your own hands. Your chewing was slow as your mouth still hurt from the gag. Alfred didn’t seem to mind as he just fed you another piece, repeating the cycle a few more times. Finally it seemed like he had finally gotten enough out of you and stopped, only to be repeated with a different food instead. As you were chewing, he spoke adoringly to you.

“I love you (Y/n).” He said as he continued to dote on you. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

[angeliqueiguess]

kitchen nightmares (s.jn)

012. Shift w.count:816

warnings: swearing, soft johnny (idk if its a warning lol) mentions of a scar (dw its from a bike accident)

The following days brought subtle but undeniable changes in the dynamic between Y/n and Johnny. The sarcastic comments they hurled at each other still remained, but they had lost their sting. When Y/n teased Johnny about his “hero complex,” he no longer sighed in exasperation. Instead, he smirked faintly, as if he’d started to enjoy their banter. Their once-sharp exchanges turned into a private game of sorts, something their other coworkers couldn’t help but notice.

One afternoon, as the staff gathered near the bar to sort through the day’s orders, Haechan leaned toward Mark, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“I’ll bet you five bucks—just five—that by the end of the month, those two will be making out,” he whispered, tilting his head toward Y/n and Johnny, who were locked in what seemed like a lighthearted argument.

Mark raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the pair. Y/n gestured emphatically at the order slips in her hands while Johnny stood opposite her, arms crossed, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I don’t know, man,” Mark replied, crossing his arms skeptically. “My money’s on Y/n punching him first.”

They both laughed quietly, though neither could ignore the noticeable shift between their coworkers.

That night, after an exhausting, almost unbearable shift, Y/n found herself alone in the restaurant. The weight of the long day bore down on her, every step heavier than the last as she moved through the dining area, prepping for close. She was midway through stacking chairs when the sound of footsteps behind her broke the silence.

She turned and found Johnny standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed, his usual unreadable expression on his face.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he said, nodding toward the chairs she was stacking.

Y/n rolled her eyes, letting out a tired sigh.

“Thanks for the unsolicited advice, sensei,” she quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Johnny shrugged and walked toward her.

“Let me help. It'll go faster,” he said simply, grabbing a chair and placing it atop the table.

The silence that settled between them was heavy but not uncomfortable. They worked in tandem, falling into a rhythm without needing to speak. The only sounds were the scrape of chairs against the floor and the occasional creak of the old wooden floors beneath their feet. For the first time all day, the restaurant felt still.

Eventually, Johnny broke the silence.

“You’ve got a scar,” he said, gesturing toward a faint mark on her arm. “How’d you get it?”

Y/n paused, glancing at the scar as if noticing it for the first time. She hesitated for a moment before answering with a casual shrug.

“I fell off my bike when I was a kid,” she said. “I was racing my brother… obviously, he won.”

A small smile played on Johnny’s lips.

“Sounds like you haven’t changed much,” he teased lightly.

“Thanks,” Y/n shot back quickly, but this time her grin was genuine, absent of her usual sarcasm.

As they continued to clean, the conversation began to flow more naturally, almost effortlessly. Johnny told her about his younger days—how he once managed to cram his entire family into a tiny apartment while juggling three jobs. Y/n shared what it was like growing up with an overprotective older brother who always seemed to hover, even when she didn’t want him to.

It was as if, with each passing minute, the protective walls they both had carefully built around themselves started to crack, allowing glimpses of their true selves to shine through.

For the first time, Johnny saw a little bit beyond the image he had painted of Y/n. The spoiled, entitled rich girl he’d assumed her to be was nowhere to be found. Instead, she spoke with a quiet honesty about the weight of expectations on her shoulders, the challenges she faced daily, and how she learned to navigate a world that demanded so much from her. There was a rawness to her words that made the restaurant feel smaller, cozier, like the rest of the world had faded away.

“Maybe I judged you too quickly,” Johnny admitted after a while, his gaze fixed on the chair he was adjusting rather than meeting her eyes.

“Yeah, you did,” Y/n replied, her voice soft. There was no bitterness in her tone, just an air of understanding.

The clock kept ticking, the hands moving steadily forward as the night deepened. By the time they finished tidying up, something unspoken had shifted between them. The barriers that had stood so firmly for so long now felt paper-thin, fragile enough to crumble with the slightest push.

Neither of them said anything about it, but when they stepped out of the restaurant into the cool night air, they both knew the truth: something had changed. And perhaps, more importantly, neither of them wanted to go back to how things were before.

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angie's note: start of something new was one of my fav songs while growing up!! (i had a huge crush on troy bolton... and his dad (dont judge me))

taglist: @thegracerammy @neocupidd @pjsteroid @peterm4rker (lemme know it you'd like to be tagged <3)

[novathekeet23]

FUUUUCK, ITS SO HOT. ITS EVERYWHERE. ALL OVER MY SCREEN. AUGHHHH AHHHHH SPIN BABY SPIN, I NEED YOU SO BAD. YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE YOU CAN SPIN ON?

Please let us get our freak on, my dearest Endurance from the movie Interstellar. *Rubs my hands together like a devious fly* you are everthing I have ever needed. If I put you and Starlo in the same room I'd genuinely die from busting too hard. *I say as I blush*

I desire you carnally. I need to crawl inside you and lick every orifice and crevice you have. I need to hold your hand and spin for all eternity. Just you and me, forevermore. Oops, just came again.

👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅👅

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind blogging, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy,moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious,gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, body shivering, orgasmic, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, devious, scrumptious, amazing, delightful, delectable, unbelievable, body numbing, bark worthy, can't walk, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, sweat rolling, voice cracking, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, show stopping, magnificent, unique, extraordinary, slendid, phenomenal, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tango ever bro could cause a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride

[your-space-brain]

Swallowed My Pride

Angel Reyes x Reader — One Shot

Gif does not belong to me.

Moved from @spacedbrainnn .

It had been months since you last saw him. It had been months since that last fight. The night he left was like the night your world did an entire flip. He left and made sure it was like he was never there in the first place.

Angel Ignacio Reyes. It was a fleeting love, fiery and hot until the very end, when it was a burned bridge. He broke you. He was your world, and then he ripped himself away in fear that you would be the next one that would burn him.

You accepted his every fault until he left. He left and took a piece of you with him, and you were never the same. The last thread, it was snipped.

You went from waiting on him to waiting tables day and night at two different jobs to rebuild your world. Every day and every night with hardly any sleep, to support yourself and get yourself out of Santo Padre.

“Thank you, honey.” An older white woman told you early one morning as you took her empty plate. You offered a smile as you turned away, taking the plates to the kitchen.

“I’m going out for a minute.” You told the line cook and stepped out the back after taking your apron off. Your work attire included all black, and you scuffed your shoe against the concrete as you pulled out your phone from your back pocket. It made the heat practically unbearable.

No messages, as usual, but you could distract yourself with some social media. That didn’t last too long as an oddly familiar sound of rumbling filled the air. It started soft and got closer and closer until it was practically on top of you — then, it cut.

It sounded like a hauntingly familiar person, and you looked up from your phone to a pair of dark eyes.

He stared you down as you swallowed and immediately went on defense. The way he looked at you with a burning ember between his lips felt like his hand was clutching around your heart and squeezing it.

“What are you doing here?”

“What’s it look like?”

“Why?” The immediate rebuttal was exasperated. “You can’t show up after months of no contact and want to talk.”

“Why can’t I?”

He was so fucking stubborn, kicking his bike on its stand before his heavy boots signified he was standing right in front of you. Intoxicating, burning smoke surrounded you before he flicked the cigarette away.

“Because it’s not right, Angel. We haven’t talked for a reason.”

“I can’t be with you anymore, [First name.]”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t give myself over. This life, this world, you don’t need to be in it. You need to get out of here. Go make something of yourself. You’re too good, amorcito.”

He seemed stunned that you held it against him, but who wouldn’t? He started an argument just to leave you, disappear in the night with his bag of things as if he were never there. The only thing that reminded you he existed was his cologne on the sheets and when it faded, so did he.

“I know.” He finally said, almost sheepish now as his dark eyes looked away. He shoved his hands in his pockets, making the chain on his wallet rattle.

“So why come here?”

“I gotta talk to you.”

“About what?” You were snappy, but for good reason. He hurt you, and his mere presence caused anxiety.

“Us.”

“There is no us, Angel.”

“Maybe I want there to be.” This shut you up, and shut you up fast. “If it isn’t too late.” He knew he was regretting it when he looked at you sleeping that night, thinking it was okay, but he was gone that next morning. “I think about you all the time. Your face is there when I sleep, I-I think about how you’d worry about me when I was gone, but, now nobody cares if I live or die out here.”

He was choking you up, the tears forming in your eyes as you shook your head. His calloused hand caressed your cheek and brought your face back to look at him.

“I’m crawling back to you. I’d… I’d take it all back if I could, dulcecito.” He promised. “You said it. I’d be back. Your memory is driving me crazy, reina.”

“Your words aren’t enough.”

He stared at you as a tear slipped out your eyes and he let out a breath before he slid down on both his knees before you. He didn’t beg, he just slid down and stared up at you. “You own me, querida.” He breathed, as your breath halted. “Yours, forever. If you just take me back and let me… let me fix it, I’ll do anything.”

— end —