#maybe it’s the alabama in me

[icaruspendragon]

Hey I just wanted to say thanks, because idk why this didn't just occur to me, but I've been missing "family" meals, the kind of meals I get to make for people and sit down with people I love since I came out and had to leave my house, and idk why but you posting about having family dinners with your friends where you host them made me realize that like, that's something I can still do. If I don't have the people who will invite me over to eat a meal anymore I can always be the person who invites others over myself and idk, I just wanted to say thanks

this warmed my heart in ways i don’t know how to describe.

family dinner started because i’d get some friends over on tuesdays to watch supernatural prequel the winchesters and i’d make them dinner for their troubles. i was feeding like five people max. but then the show ended and one of my friends got a new job and had to move an hour away so we moved it to the weekend so she could still come.

and then i realized that cooking is actually a form of self care for me (let’s not examine too closely how my self care is still taking care of others, it’s been discussed enough in therapy). so we started inviting other folks. and family dinner went from five people regularly to seven. and then i’d have friends from out of town come and it’d be 15-17. and now it’s not unusual for a dozen people to show up at my house on a saturday night to drink and eat and make merry.

there’s a particular kind of warmth that comes from leaning against the entry to my dining room, glass of wine curled against my chest, seeing so many of the people i love sitting around my table as they laugh and bicker and eat a meal that i used so much love to make. food that i spent hours creating because they gave me the confidence and the desire to learn how to make new things. because the effort it takes for me to make pasta or gnocchi or sauces or broths from scratch is worth it. the hours i will spend standing over a hot stove as i make gumbo or chicken and dumplings or fried everything is worth it. the easy smiles and whiskey-reddened cheeks and raucous laughter and full bellies and warm togetherness is worth the trouble.

it makes me understand the last supper (you know, minus the foreboding of betrayal). there’s a divinity in making a meal to share with those you love.

i’ve yet to find a better way express my devotion than to say, “take this, all of you, and eat of it. for it is my love given up for you.”

because even though the darkness can be chasm-wide and canyon-deep, my love is wider and deeper. it’s the bridge over the consumption of it all.

when people sit at my table and break bread that my hands have tenderly prepared i see the point of it all. loving and be loved in return.

and sometimes that love is stored in poetic words and grand gestures. and sometimes, that love is stored in a stockpot full of soup. but they both accomplish the same thing at the end of the day. warmth and safety and care and devotion.

it’s love. plain and simple and small.

[gaymothman]

nobody ever fucking listens to the marginalized communities living in southern states about what the actuality is of what your lives are going to look like when they entire country goes as Red as Alabama already is. We are surviving and many of us are still thriving despite it all, but i am brutally sick and fucking tired of the hopelessness and fearmongering about your rights being stripped away when there are people living in your fucking country that have already lost those rights under a democratic administration. If you actually give a fuck, look to see how we've been surviving it for the last 4 years, or better yet, for the last 150. Maybe more mutual aid organizations should exist across state lines and those privileged enough to be living with more rights than us could at least stop fucking ignoring us for once.

[frances-baby-houseman]

One fun thing about being in Atlanta is my brother in law went to Vanderbilt and my aunt and her son went to Alabama so it was a VERY EXCITING 15 MINUTES!

I know how Vandy felt from when unranked Northwestern defeated #4 Ohio State in 2005 (as I wrote about last week.) It made me very nostalgic!

[brittlebutch]

look. in no way was Always Watching a good movie, let alone a good marble hornets movie. unfortunately it is also true that the Alex Kralie missing poster lives in my head rent fucking free and i can never forget about it

[taylorhebertstherapist]

man I'm still pissed off that after posting a poll on "should i add incest to the alabama poll" that united states poll blog responded to the rightfully angry people pointing out how disrespectful that was with this

"but we've never been to zoopy"

1. do you seriously think the stereotype of poor rural alabamians as stupid inbred hicks is appropriate to compare to a popular movie. do you think repeating a classist piece of eugenicist rhetoric actively used to justify apathy and cruelty towards the impoverished people of a specific region is comparable to "Mr. Zippy Goes to Zoopy." Do you think that Southerners angry about being reduced to at best a malicious lie are comparable to people mad about a silly movie. and.

2. If. In your own words. "We've never been to Zoopy" then don't you think it might be even more important to not perpetuate harmful stereotypes about people from that region, people who have told you extensively why that stereotype is so harmful? it's fucking feigned ignorance. and while they didn't end up putting incest on the poll they just put "home sweet home alabama" like that doesn't mean the same damn thing. i hope they get beat with rocks

[g1rlr0b1n]

Does anyone else ever think about how Damian might have had a semblance of a normal childhood if Dick had just like chosen not to relinquish guardianship of him? Because, I think about it a lot actually.

Like I know why he did but what if he didn't? Like what if Dick and Barbara raised him together? Like what then? Sure, it would be awkward because your bio-dad would also technically be your granddad and your father would also be your brother, but overall I think it would have been better for Damian.

I'm sure there are fics about this, drop them in the comments for me, will ya?

[the-great-horse-cocktail]

Idgie and Ruth are queer and you cannot convince me otherwise.

Exhibit A: Literally every outfit Idgie wears, but especially the one at Ruth’s birthday party. Like, theoretically there are straight women that dress like that, but I’ve never met any of them. Also, she literally does drag at one point and it’s iconic. Exhibit B: They have a food fight. In movies, food fights only occur in cafeterias or between the main couple of a rom com. For some reason, in Hollywood’s mind, food fights either equal love or high school.

Exhibit C: They literally co-parent Ruth’s child. They take care. Of a kid. Together. That’s some Fluff AU bullshit right there

Exhibit D: Lakescenelakescenelakescenela

(Starts at 1:08)

[sagehaubitze]

dealing with the shitty guilt of not having done any photography recently like it's supposed to be a job or something instead of just the joy of creating/capturing/sharing. blugh.

If I may bitch for a second; I have a lot of friends who deal with SAD in the winter but my depression gets notably worse in the summer. Longer days and heat are not my friend. It's Alabama, it's nearly 100f out there right now (which is not out of the ordinary, heat wave or not), and in THAT level of heat and humidity my asthma gets destroyed, I walk outside and can't breathe. So I can't spend time outside. I can't hike. Feel like shit inside. It's especially rough in June because everyone wants to have pride events in the middle of the damn day (in the AL heat). I feel like I can't *exist*. I'm just stuck. it blows.

[specialmouse]

every so often i remember that they discontinued my medicaid and i jolt out of fear

[plaid-n-converse]

my city has put positive messages on the main electronic billboards for TDOV and I don't know why that makes me want to cry a bit

[nimblermortal]

God grant Cliopher a quick and merciful autism that he might say “I refuse to touch polar fleece” “no bad touch” “denim bad no” and thereby rid Ylette of 2/3 of the room.

[mcmansionhell]

we've found it folks: mcmansion heaven

Hello everyone. It is my pleasure to bring you the greatest house I have ever seen. The house of a true visionary. A real ad-hocist. A genuine pioneer of fenestration. This house is in Alabama. It was built in 1980 and costs around $5 million. It is worth every penny. Perhaps more.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Come on, Kate, that's a little kooky, but certainly it's not McMansion Heaven. This is very much a house in the earthly realm. Purgatory. McMansion Purgatory." Well, let me now play Beatrice to your Dante, young Pilgrim. Welcome. Welcome, welcome, welcome.

It is rare to find a house that has everything. A house that wills itself into Postmodernism yet remains unable to let go of the kookiest moments of the prior zeitgeist, the Bruce Goffs and Earthships, the commune houses built from car windshields, the seventies moments of psychedelic hippie fracture. It is everything. It has everything. It is theme park, it is High Tech. It is Renaissance (in the San Antonio Riverwalk sense of the word.) It is medieval. It is maybe the greatest pastiche to sucker itself to the side of a mountain, perilously overlooking a large body of water. Look at it. Just look.

The inside is white. This makes it dreamlike, almost benevolent. It is bright because this is McMansion Heaven and Gray is for McMansion Hell. There is an overbearing sheen of 80s optimism. In this house, the credit default swap has not yet been invented, but could be.

It takes a lot for me to drop the cocaine word because I think it's a cheap joke. But there's something about this example that makes it plausible, not in a derogatory way, but in a liberatory one, a sensuous one. Someone created this house to have a particular experience, a particular feeling. It possesses an element of true fantasy, the thematic. Its rooms are not meant to be one cohesive composition, but rather a series of scenes, of vastly different spatial moments, compressed, expanded, bright, close.

And then there's this kitchen for some reason. Or so you think. Everything the interior design tries to hide, namely how unceasingly peculiar the house is, it is not entirely able to because the choices made here remain decadent, indulgent, albeit in a more familiar way.

Rare is it to discover an interior wherein one truly must wear sunglasses. The environment created in service to transparency has to somewhat prevent the elements from penetrating too deep while retaining their desirable qualities. I don't think an architect designed this house. An architect would have had access to specifically engineered products for this purpose. Whoever built this house had certain access to architectural catalogues but not those used in the highest end or most structurally complex projects. The customization here lies in the assemblage of materials and in doing so stretches them to the height of their imaginative capacity. To borrow from Charles Jencks, ad-hoc is a perfect description. It is an architecture of availability and of adventure.

A small interlude. We are outside. There is no rear exterior view of this house because it would be impossible to get one from the scrawny lawn that lies at its depths. This space is intended to serve the same purpose, which is to look upon the house itself as much as gaze from the house to the world beyond.

Living in a city, I often think about exhibitionism. Living in a city is inherently exhibitionist. A house is a permeable visible surface; it is entirely possible that someone will catch a glimpse of me they're not supposed to when I rush to the living room in only a t-shirt to turn out the light before bed. But this is a space that is only exhibitionist in the sense that it is an architecture of exposure, and yet this exposure would not be possible without the protection of the site, of the distance from every other pair of eyes. In this respect, a double freedom is secured. The window intimates the potential of seeing. But no one sees.

At the heart of this house lies a strange mix of concepts. Postmodern classicist columns of the Disney World set. The unpolished edge of the vernacular. There is also an organicist bent to the whole thing, something more Goff than Gaudí, and here we see some of the house's most organic forms, the monolith- or shell-like vanity mixed with the luminous artifice of mirrors and white. A backlit cave, primitive and performative at the same time, which is, in essence, the dialectic of the luxury bathroom.

And yet our McMansion Heaven is still a McMansion. It is still an accumulation of deliberate signifiers of wealth, very much a construction with the secondary purpose of invoking envy, a palatial residence designed without much cohesion. The presence of golf, of wood, of masculine and patriarchal symbolism with an undercurrent of luxury drives that point home. The McMansion can aspire to an art form, but there are still many levels to ascend before one gets to where God's sitting.

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including a discord server, extra posts, and livestreams.

Not into recurring payments? Try the tip jar! Student loans just started back up!

[i-drink-soysauce]

RARE POST THING FROM ME-

i had no other way to share the video

[cleolinda]

Reporting from Birmingham

HOLY SHIT THE LINE

I’m in a blue oasis so this will probably not hold true for the rest of the state, but holy shit. This line wound through a hall in the library, around a big outflow room, and doubled back into the hall again. My mom said that when she drove past early this morning, the line was ALSO down the block. Later, she saw three buses from a senior living facility pull in on her way to our house. And then she and I went at lunchtime.

People were there to VOTE. I saw—well, on second thought, I’m gonna cut out some people-watching detail here, but I saw a lot of things that struck me about ages, health conditions, personal responsibilities. A number of people had clearly gone to a lot of effort to be there. Some of the voters looked young enough that this might have been their first chance to vote. Somewhere behind me, I heard a man say something in part like “…what a turnout like this…,” and the woman who must have been with him reply, “Well I think we know what it means.”

In other words, a big turnout for Kamala Harris. I’m sure there were Trump voters in that line, but this is, on the whole, not a Trump town. We always go blue. I haven’t seen many yard signs in my neighborhood at all, but I’ve only seen Harris/Walz. My mom has seen exactly one Trump sign this year. (This is why I say my observations will not hold for all of Alabama.) So this is what I expected, but at the same time, THE LINE. I know I’ve stood in line out on the street before, but I do not recall the line ever winding around and doubling back like that. The observation that women over 50 who remember what shit was like before Roe v. Wade are turning out to vote with a vengeance—I think I was seeing that as well, yeah. There were some seniors on a mission in that library.

The thing is that a lot of people are pissed off for a lot of different reasons this election, and then on top of that, there’s a lot of excitement. It’s like the thrill of 2008 plus the urgency of 2020. And everyone in that line still knew that Alabama’s nine electoral votes will go red anyway. Sure, we have downballot races—I just chose the “straight party voting” option, you make one mark and that’s all you have to do, plus one (1) Walker County measure we were voting on—but we all knew that we couldn’t do much to help in this big generational event of a presidential election. Run up the popular vote a little, maybe. But we were all still there by the hundreds on people’s lunch hours, not missing out on this.

Imagine what the enthusiasm’s like in states where it’ll make a difference.

[domesticgoddess22]

A night With Joel Miller

Dad's enemy!joel

Ao3 | masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings : dub-con, unprotected PIV, breeding kink, mild gun violence, dark!joel miller, raider!joel, deep throating, spanking, daddy kink, creampie, dom!Joel, dad's enemy!joel, praise kink, captivity word count: 4.1k summary: You're scavenging around an old CD store in Austin when the notorious Joel Miller catches you alone. Clickers swarm the street, so he takes you upstairs to hide out for the night. He says you were free to leave, but you stay and things get steamy.

a/n: This is my little one shot I posted to Ao3 awhile back. I've been considering making it a series once I finish some chapters of Wish Upon A Cowboy. Also this is the first time I've ever posted a fic on Tumblr so I hope I'm doing it right<3

~~~

You were always the adventurous type, always exploring, always curious. Never doing what you’re told and trading obedience for the sweet thrill of temptation. Your old man only caught you traversing through Austin by yourself a handful of times now. Those were the times you were lazy, slipped up a little, enough for someone in the faction to notice you were missing and rat you out. Your dad would send his guys after you like you were some fucking kid that couldn’t handle yourself out there. The other 300 times you did it, he had no idea you had even left your room.

Tonight was another one of those nights. 

You were on your way to an old CD store to see if you could scrap up something new to listen to. It was time to put Sweet Home Alabama to fucking rest and change up the tunes, and if you were lucky, maybe you’d find an old Nirvana CD still intact.

The beam of your flashlight reflected on what little shine the CD cases had left to offer, most of them dusty and scratched, tossed across the rubble like relics. 

The sound of a gun clicked behind your ears.

“Don’t move,” a low, smokey voice breathed into the shell of your ear. Instinctively, your arms shot up, palms facing outward. The Nirvana case crashed at your feet, fragments of plastic splintered this way and that. “Turn around. Slowly. ” 

You obeyed, heart hammering, blood pumping, eyes beginning to tear. When you do turn to face him, you’re blinded by a blaring flashlight pointed at you. 

“‘s just you here?” 

“Yes–yes it’s just me, I swear it.” 

“Ain’t it a bit dangerous for a little thing like you to be runnin’ around Austin…?” He aimed the light away so it’s pointed somewhere off to your left, scanning the room before his eyes lock back onto yours. “... Alone. ” 

You could see him more clearly now, tall, broad shoulders, face lined with stress, and eyes so cold, you’re sure he’d seen death more than you ever had. You were no match for him either, even with the revolver strapped to your ankle and a knife in your bra. He was too big. Too imposing. 

“I uh…” you swallowed the acidic bile creeping up your throat. “I like to live on the edge.”

“Mmm,” he licked his teeth, studying you. “That ain’t very smart. Lot more out here to be ‘fraid of than infected.”

He’s going to fucking kill you, isn’t he?

“My dad will raise hell if anythin’ happens to me.” 

“Your dad, huh?”

“Mhm. Old man is probably on a wild goose chase lookin’ for me as we speak.”

He chuckles darkly, “I ain’t scared of your daddy.”

“Look, man, I don't have much on me,” you plea, eyebrows knitted inward. Maybe he’d pity you and let you loose.

“Not much, but sounds like you got somethin’.”

“Got a granola bar.”

“Think your life is worth a granola bar?” He cocked his brow.

You rolled your eyes. “Got a revolver on my left ankle. Map in my back pocket with some marks where my dad hides his shit. Happy?”

His lips tugged into a smile that didn’t reflect in his eyes, “Atta girl.” 

In one flood motion, he binds your wrists together with one hand, tucking his gun back into his belt and then patting down your pant legs searching for weapons. When he reaches your ankles, he takes the revolver. 

“‘s only got one bullet,” he grumbled.

“Times are tough.” People are out there stealing your faction’s shit.

He straightens, your arms are pinned against your head now and his eyes are dark, boring into yours. His grip tightens and he steps closer, a greedy hand sliding into your back jean pocket, you wince at the feel of a man’s hand on your ass.

“Other pocket.”

He grabs your wrists with his left hand, letting his right hand explore your left pocket this time, his fingers grabbing the little paper you told him about.

“Easy, cowboy.” You drawl, eyelashes fluttering, eyes trailing up his washed-out green flannel. Up, up, up until they land on his wide chest. His thick shoulders. And then finally, his eyes, dark and matched with an expression so stern and sharp it could cut glass. 

His stare burns into you like he’s turning your flirtatious words repeatedly in his head. And then his gaze falls to your lips. The weight of his hand is hot on your waist now, even through layers of cotton, you can feel his heat in this late October cold.

There’s a distant sound of a soda can rolling down the pavement, knocking into rubble, and then feet shuffling.

“What was that?” 

The man looks over the shelves to see what you can’t at your height.

“Clickers. Come on.” He tugged you by the waist, guiding you to the back exit and up a flight of stairs. 

“Woah, where are we going?” You whispered harshly.

“You’d rather stay out here?” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder and your gaze follows. There was a dozen clickers roaming around. How convenient. 

“If you give me my fucking gun back, yeah.”

“You got one bullet, kid. There’s fuckin’ ten of ‘em out there.” You step into an old apartment and the front door clicks behind you. He scopes out the rooms. “It’s clear. We can stay here for the night. If we gotta fight, better we do it in the daylight.” 

“I’m not stayin’ the night here with a stranger. Especially not a hunter. ” The word was thick on your tongue. Hunters were despicable people who stooped to the lowest of the low.

“By all means darlin’, you wanna test your luck, go right ahead. I ain’t stoppin’ you.” 

You scowled at that, but he was right. It seemed like you’d finally got yourself into a pickle, and despite your attempt to look calm and collected, you were scared shitless right now. Either you were going to spend the night with this random guy or try to dodge all the clickers and make it back home.

“Fine,” you rolled your shoulders in defeat. “But I’m not sleepin’. As soon as the sun comes up and the clickers disperse, I’m out.” 

“Don’t sleep then,” he murmured, looking through the cupboards and drawers for any remnants of the past.

“Still got that granola bar? ’m gettin’ pretty hungry.”

You threw the granola bar at his chest and he smirked, tearing the wrapper open.

“Thanks, Darlin’.”

“Not like you were gonna give me a choice.” 

Joel sat on the old couch and leaned back, arm propped against the back cushion. Legs spread. Brown eyes on you. He had removed his green flannel, exposing just a simple black tee barely holding onto his muscles. It took every ounce of sense in you to ignore how fucking good he looked. 

“Like what you see?” He said, a cocky grin on his face. Your eyes flicked elsewhere, dancing around the room to find something else to occupy your mind with.

“Don’t flatter yourself, old man.”

Arrogant son-of-a-bitch.

“What’s your deal?” he pried.  “You runnin’ away from your daddy or some’n?”

“Nah.”

“Then?”

“Just like goin’ out. Seein’ the world.”

He scoffed. “‘m surprised he lets you run ‘round Austin all by yourself.” 

“He doesn’t. Doesn’t think I can handle myself out here.”

The man cocked a brow, challenging you.

“I can handle myself. I’m twenty-seven years old.” 

“You wanna handle yourself, darlin’, you better scope out places before hangin’ out in ‘em,” he grumbled, chewing on the granola bar. He pointed the rest of it in your direction, nodding his head in a gesture for you to take the rest.

“You’re lettin’ me have the last bite?”

“Take it, ‘fore I change my mind.”

You snatched it from him. “Did ya finally learn you can catch more flies with honey than vinegar?”

“You sayin’ I won you over, sweet thing?”

“Not a chance. I still don’t trust you.”

“Probably for the best.”

“That so?”

“I ain’t really a good guy.”

“Yeah, I gathered that. You robbed an innocent girl, nearly killin’ over a damn granola bar and a half-empty revolver. Swell guy.”

“Hey, you woulda been dead without me.” He sat forward with his elbows on his knees and pointed a finger at you. “Clickers woulda chased after your dumb ass, loud as you were with those old CD cases and whatnot.”

“Whatever,” you slumped into the armchair across from him. “Wouldn't of made noise and dropped Nirvana if you hadn't surprised me.”

“Nirvana ain’t worth dyin’ over, kid.”

“Then what is?”

“Som’ else.”

“Go on,” you waved your hand, urging him to enlighten you on what he considers music worth dying for.

“The Eagles. If I see you again after this, I’ll give ya a listen. Got a few CDs of my own.”

“Okie dokie, random hunter dude that robbed me.” Because intentionally hanging out with a hunter sounded like a smart plan.

“Joel,” he leaned back against the cushion again.

Your blood was ice in your veins.

“What?” 

“My name. It’s Joel.” Your eyes were still wide in shock as Joel shook his head, tossing his hands like what don’t you understand?

“As in… Joel Miller?”

“Yeah?”

Joel fucking Miller.

This whole time you’ve been with the heartless hunter your dad cursed daily. 

Now that you could put a face to the name, it was hard to believe he looked so attractive. With the way your dad talked about him, you imagined Joel as an ugly troll.

“My dad would have a heart attack if he knew I was with you right now. He hates your guts, ya know.”

“Your dad? You’ll need to fill me in, sweetheart, I got a lotta guys that hate me.”

You tell him about your dad and watch the way Joel’s head nodded slowly in recognition.

“He’s had it out for me ‘n my guys for some time now. Can’t say I blame ‘im.” His eyes shifted to the left in thought, probably flashing back to the terrible things he’s done, and then his brown orbs fell back on you. “If I’m rememberin’ right, you must be…”

He tastes your name on his lips with a southern drawl as sweet as tea. 

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“I know a lotta ‘bout your faction. Stole from ya ‘nuff times.” 

“Lovely.”

“Gotta survive, baby. Ain’t got somebody to do the dirty work for me like you do.”

“And what are you implyin’?”

“‘m just sayin’. And you’re dad ‘n I ain’t so different. Just survivin’ the best way we know how. Only difference is, he probably does what he does to protect you. I do what I do just… ‘cuz. ”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Pretend you know anythin’ about me or my old man.”

“I don’t have to pretend. You’re an open book, darlin’,” he says with that same damn smirk on his face.

“Nah, I’m not,” you fold your arms across your chest and turn your gaze to the world outside the window. Below is a congregation of clickers on the road, confirmation that you were trapped alone with this man for the evening. 

The couch creaks when Joel stands, a divet in the old cushion left behind in his absence. He steps toward you, his belt buckle a few inches from your face. Saliva builds in your mouth and you swallow. Hard.

Rough fingers grip your chin, tilting your head upward to look into the dark eyes that gaze down upon you. 

“You look like you’ve been cravin’ some fun. Daddy’s been keepin’ you cooped up, ain’t he?” He exhales, a whiskey aroma riding the small breeze from his lips all the way to yours.

There’s an ache between your legs and your cheeks feel hot with shame. Your pulse quickened, and Joel fucking knew it. He could feel it. 

You had two options: deny it and look away, or embrace the thrill.

“Joel… What are you…” Your voice trailed off and you look bewildered, but your hand finds a place on his thigh. The denim feels hot on your palm.

“I can help you with that. Make you feel good.” He’s leaning down now, his breath on your lips. “Anybody ever made you feel good before?”

“N-No one,” you stutter, glossing over the memories of one of the guys from your faction. You were both young, inexperienced. It was nothing but a night of experimentation and pain, and then it never happened again.

Joel nodded slowly, releasing his grip on your chin and then moving back to the couch, eyes dark, right arm relaxed along the backside of the seat, left hand lifting two fingers that gesture for you to come hither.

If you were being fucking honest, the attraction began the second he pat you down and only deepened when you found out who he was. It felt like a dangerous thrill knowing you were with the very man your father would forbid you to be near.

“Come’re,” Joel pat his lap.

Without batting your eyes, without even thinking twice, you obeyed. You found a spot on his thigh, thick enough for you to have ample space to sit.

The gray bristles in his beard were more noticeable up close. You guessed he was in his mid to late 40s. He slowly tugged your jeans off and tossed them on the floor.

Joel’s palm rested on your naked thigh, kneading into your skin with his face buried in your neck, licking and biting and licking again, growing increasingly heady with each one until he was sucking on your neck so hard you could feel it turn purple. Then his fingers brushed the fabric of your panties and you squealed from the sudden contact.

“You okay, sweet thing? He breathed into your hair.

“I’m nervous.”

“‘S okay,’ his voice was a low whisper into your clavicle, followed by soft kisses on the side of your neck. “Why are ya nervous?”

“Um… just shy, I guess… Never done this much.”

He groaned when the tips of his fingers felt your dripping heat. “Fuck–you’re so wet.”

Eyes lidded with lust and back arched to give him more access, you start to grind on his hand. Moaning at his touch,  the wet heat that pools between your legs and soaks his hand, the way his fingers caress your folds in a circular motion.

“Good girl.”

The praise sent a tingling feeling through your core.

You were a good girl for him.

He rubbed your little bud more furiously now, picking up the pace and then he slid a thick digit into your slick. You bit your lip to stifle the moans that came in uncontrollable tidal waves as he pumped his finger in and out, in and out, in and out.

Just when you think you’re going to reach your peak, he firmly grips your waist on either side, lifting your ass until you crash down onto the seat of the cushion. His lips were on your pussy, before the two of you ever even kissed, you noted. He groaned the second his tongue glided across your wet slit, and the sound vibrates against your soft lips.

“Couldn’t resist… Baby… Fuck–Taste so fuckin’ sweet.” He babbled into your dripping lips, the stone-cold man from earlier was long gone, and now in his stead was a man drunk with lust. He was melting from your pheromones, your scent, your wetness. It felt good to know that you had that effect on him.

Joel bucked his hips into the couch with each lick and suck, growing more sporadic and sloppy in his rhythm. You weren’t an expert in the matters of men in the bedroom, but he clearly wasn’t going to hang on much longer–that much you knew. 

A rough hand cupped your mound and then toyed with your sensitive nipple. He pumped his finger back into you, his tongue still keeping the pressure on your bud. Joel slid in another finger, and then another until three of his thick digits are stretching you to the brim, viciously fucking into you until you were screaming his name and begging him for more. He conceded, guiding you to the sweet bliss of the finish line. 

Your chest was heaving, forehead tacky, and eyes planted on the popcorn ceiling above you as you came to. Two blinks later, the sound of a zipper snapped you out of your daze and you shifted your gaze to the space between your spread legs.

Joel had his cock out, thick and angry, veins pulsing. 

He was huge.  

Your mouth watered at the sight of it as you watched him jerk himself off to your body. 

You got on your knees, bending to show him the nice curve of your backside, face now inches away from his cock. He lets go as you place a hand on his jean pocket and steady yourself, and then he plunges into your mouth. 

Joel’s hands snaked through your hair and latched onto the backside of your head, pumping his cock into the back of your throat in five relentless thrusts. You choked from the sudden penetration and he quickly pulled out, his head sliding out of your lips with a “pop.”

“Too much?”

“No.” You wiped the string of saliva that connected you to him. “I like it.” And you liked that as cold and mean as he played off, he cared about whether or not he was hurting you.

His eyes went dark and there was a ghost of a smile pulled at his lips in satisfaction. And then his cock was sliding past your lips again and gliding against your tongue. You rolled your tongue around and suck him in as far as you could. He groaned, eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“Ain’t gonna last long. Got me… all wound up.”

You moaned affectionately as he picked up the pace, thrusting and groaning, mumbling profanities. You even swore he said your name as his hot cream pumped into your mouth. 

Hands now pressed to his lower back for support, he was so deep that his balls were pressed to your chin and you felt him straining to release every drop. You realize that his gun, and yours, are tucked into his belt right by your hands. When he settled, you leaned back, swallowed, and licked your finger.

“You look so sexy right now,” he said, voice deep and gravelly, thick with the aftermath of sex.

You’d never felt this sexy before. Hair disheveled, naked ass resting on the back of your ankles, T-shirt barely covering your womanhood but leaving just enough to the imagination, and your breasts peeking out of the V.

Joel bent down until his body was completely imposing yours, caging you in. Your brows caved inward, looking up at him doe-eyed and uncertain of what he planned to do next. He wrapped one around your waist, pulling you into his embrace while his other hand creeps across your neck. 

He surprised you with an intimate kiss. It was romantic, demanding, and dangerous. Joel commanded your tongue to dance with his, exploring your mouth with fervor like he belonged there. 

“Turn around. Face down. Ass up,” he says in a husky whisper. You look up at him wide-eyed. “Now.” He commanded.

“Yes, daddy.” 

Ass up, just like he asked, he slapped your asscheek. You felt his chest against your back and his breath on the shell of your ear.

“This might hurt a little, just be a good girl for me, okay?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded eagerly.

“What was that? ” He said through clenched teeth.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Atta girl.” 

He slapped your ass again. The head of his cock was jabbing at your entrance, pulsing with desire. He bucked it in his hand and lined it up to your slit and pressed in. Hard.

“Fuuuuuck.” He groaned and you screamed in an odd mixture of pain and pleasure.

He was so big he nearly ripped you in two, yet the way you wrapped tightly around him, sucking him in felt so right. The wetness of his tongue glided up your back and along the side of your neck.

There was a little bit of relief as he pulled his cock out, but then he thrust back in, his balls slapping against your lips so deep it had you seeing stars. Rinse and repeat. In and out, in and out.

His thrusts were angry and unrelenting.

The way he twisted your nipple and squeezed your tit was downright cruel.

You were putty in Joel’s hands and he fucking knew it.

“Please. More. Please, please, please.” The voice that left your lips was hoarse and desperate but you needed it. You needed him.

At the back of your neck, you felt the weight of his calloused palm pinning you down. 

“Such a tight little thing. Fuckin’ mine.” He grabbed your chin and forced you to look him in the eye. “You got that? Say it.”

“I’m yours, Joel.”

Somehow, his cock pulsed and stretched you even more to the brim. The feel of your slick mixed with his juice was oozing out of you, trickling down your leg.

One hand still pinning you down, Joel’s other hand was now petting your swollen heat. 

“Fuck, baby, I ain’t gonna hold out much longer. You’re so good to me. So tight. ‘m gonna cum in this wet pussy.”

“Joel, I’m gonna cum…” You trailed off, but you were already on the edge. His fingers were rubbing you at just the right speed, and his dirty sweet nothings were setting you ablaze. 

He continued to rub and thrust at just the right angle, the squelching sound of his cock pumping in and out of your sex only further heightened your arousal. 

In the heat of the moment, you didn’t even care that Joel was on the brink of filling you with his seed. You were dazed, delirious, and desperate. The three dangerous Ds, because condoms and birth control were a thing of the past. The apocalypse was a gamble for those who wanted to partake in life’s good old-fashioned pleasures.

You were ready to take that risk for the brief moment of pleasure because Joel had you wrapped around his finger and you were ready to swallow his seed. Hell, your unhinged state didn’t even care if you got pregnant with his baby as he sloppily slammed his cock into you, groaning and threatening to cum inside you. 

He didn’t seem to care either.

“H-Harder.” You beg, and that was it. That’s what set him over the edge, pouring into you like an explosion of white-hot milk and screaming profanities. He rubbed your clit while he rode his high, and then you came together, jaws slack, eyes rolled. 

Two people who, for a brief moment in time, could indulge in the comfort of each other’s bodies and forget that the world had gone to shit.

Joel flipped you over, his cock still buried inside of you, and leaned down to kiss you. It was a gentle kiss this time. The kiss of a lover. 

There was an undeniable spark between you that transcended beyond a mere one-night stand. Neither of you spoke a word of it. Instead, you fell asleep in his arms, and with his cock going limp inside you.

—------------

“Good morning, Joel.” You pointed two guns at the man as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes.

When he made sense of the situation, he chuckled darkly, wiping his face with his hands.

“Oh, darlin’, you are full of surprises ain’t ya?” His chocolate-brown eyes landed on yours and you felt your heart skip a beat, your grip on both guns loosened in a moment of weakness.

“Told ya I know how to take care of myself.”

“I can see that.” He put his arms behind his head, looking far too relaxed for a man who had two bullets aimed at him. “Did your daddy send you out to do this?”

You smirked, eyes flicking over to the old map that you made sure to leave on the table.

“I’m not gonna shoot you. Just wanted to say goodbye.” 

He licked his teeth and nodded.

“See ya, cowboy.”

And then you left him there and something tugged at you to stay but you didn’t, because you knew that it would be the death of you if you did.

“You want to tell me why the fuck you have Joel Miller’s gun?” your dad asked when you made it back to the base.

Dad had found out you left and had his guys check you for bites. When they did, they found the gun marked with an ‘M’, which was something Joel did to all of his weapons. Weapons that he stole.

“I was just helping us out a little, Dad.”

[hugshughes]

Rose Bowl, Baby! J. McCarthy

JJ McCarthy x fem!reader

synopsis - JJ wins it all, and he has his girl right with him the whole time.

wc - 2k!

contains - THIS IS SOOOOOO CUTE AWWW, cursing, stressed!reader (ME TOO AS FUCK), fluff, kissinnnnnnn, hugginnnnn, cute shit, FUCK THE TIDE :D, um that's it! oh established relationship!

an - unedited lol sorry i just wrote this in like two hours! 😭JJ😭BABY😭WON😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 I WAS SHOUTING AND SCREAMING AND I DANCED. especially because my mother, brother, and sister were all pulling for Bama to make me mad. LAUGHED IN THEIR FACES LMAOOOOO. i was on facetime with my man for like half the game since i am a umich student... WAIT DO U GUYS KNOW THAT....? i dont think ive told u guys that... SURPRISE!!!!!! anyway no one reads these anyway so. ENJOYYYYYYYYYYY :)))))))!

-

One minute and thirty eight seconds. One minute and thirty eight seconds, that's how long JJ and the Wolverine's offense had to score a touchdown. 2nd & Goal, four yards to go. You held JJ's mom's hand as you took deep breaths, desperately trying to calm down. JJ could do this, you knew it. You stared him down as he stood infront of Coach Harbaugh, Alabama had called the last time out of the game.

Michigan needed this score to take the game to overtime. JJ knew, you knew, everyone did. Once JJ clapped in the middle of the huddle, the offense started dispersing back into their spots on the field. Jay's eyes met yours, they had multiple times all night. He knew exactly where you sat, he'd made you text him your seat numbers before the game. You let go of his mom's hand and gestured your hands over your ears, headphones, you always told him. Just pretend it's just you and your guys. Block out everything else. He nodded at you, cracking a little smile before taking a deep breath and running out to the field, putting his helmet back on. His mom melted over the interaction, leaving you blushing.

You crossed your fingers and said a prayer, you'd prayed more than once tonight, you'd been praying about this games for weeks. You held his mom's hand in one of yours, and gripped your 'J' necklace in your other, bouncing on the balls of your feet. The play clock was running low, JJ clapped his hands, beckoning for the ball. It went straight to his hands, he looked around for maybe a second before passing precisely to Roman. He caught it, he had an open lane, he's in the end zone! Holy shit, he's in the end zone!

You jumped, screaming JJ's name, turning to hug his parents. You jumped up and down, a grin wide on your face as you cheered for your boy. His mom wrapped an arm around you as you watched him tearily.

The next Michigan drive was messy, and had you scared, but when the time ran out, you were jumping up and down, shouting and cheering, hugging everyone around.

"Our boy did it!"

You nodded, laughing as you wiped tears from your eyes. The game wasn't over, you knew that. JJ's eyes found yours again, he shook his head in disbelief with a grin, gesturing headphones to you. You nodded, fanning your face from the tears, but smiling so wide it didn't matter.

You sighed happily when you watched Alabama defer their OT possession, that's what JJ wanted, if the game went to overtime, he wanted to go first, it would put more pressure on The Crimson Tide to go second in the long run.

You held your necklace close to your mouth as you closed your eyes, letting out deep breaths. JJ had this, you knew it.

The offensive and defensive lines faced each other at the Alabama 25. JJ clapped, the ball was sent straight to his hands, he quickly handed the ball off the Blake, who scurried around the defenders, landing at the Alabama 17. 'Thank God for Blake Corum' you whispered to yourself.

You saw JJ hiding a smile behind his mouth guard, and you knew this was it. Jay claps, and the ball is snapped straight to him, the ball goes straight to Blake, who has a completely open lane.

"Go Blake, go!"

You screamed out, feeling Megan's hand grip yours. You held your intertwined hands up, watching Blake run. He was in the end zone, yes!

"Yes! JJ, yes!"

You screamed, jumping up and down you as watched your boy cheer. He did it! Thank God! You hugged everyone again, cheering some more when the kick went through the posts. The game still wasn't over, the defense still had to come out and play this game. You knew JJ wouldn't be able to assist his team anymore on the field, but you also knew he was now gonna be the biggest hype man for his defensive teammates.

You bit on your dark blue acrylic nails as you watched Alabama line up at the Michigan 25. You winced as the game went from 3rd & goal at the Michigan 14 to 4th & goal at the Michigan 3. One more play, make or break.

You saw Jalen Milroe clap for the ball, and run straight into the O-line of Michigan. Nothing! He got nothing! Oh my God, Michigan won! You watched JJ sprint onto the field as you screamed, jumping up and down for the third time. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you shouted, hugging Michigan fans you didn't know. Your smile couldn't have been punched off of your face.

The blue and maize confetti flew, you watched tearily as the Michigan guys flooded the field. You watched JJ grab his rose, talking to a reporter. His bright smile and gorgeous face was spread on every screen in the stadium. Your boy had done it, finally. You watched as your sweet boy accepted the Rose Bowl trophy with Blake, his smile never leaving his face.

You ran down the few rows to the bottom row of the bleachers, standing with other Michigan player families as the boys were dispersing back to the sideline, finding their loved ones. JJ, being the star quarterback he was, took a while longer to get over to you guys, but it didn't matter to you.

You two locked eyes, matching smiles on your faces as he ran over to your group. You let him talk to his parents and sisters first, before he moved over to you.

"Come'ere baby!"

You grinned as you leaned down over the barrier, JJ's hands grabbing at your waist to safely pull you closer, kissing you passionately. Your hands cupped his face, as you both smiled into the kiss. You pulled away, whispering to him with a big smile.

"You did it lovey!"

He nodded, his bright smile lighting up your heart.

"Can you just jump the barrier instead of going back through the halls?"

"S'that allowed?"

He looked around, quickly asking an employee of the stadium standing down against the barrier. The employee looked at JJ with wide eyes, nodding at the quarterback, though he probably didn't exactly have the position to answer him.

"See? You're fine, c'mon angel!"

You looked around, seeing one of the guy's little brother being passed over the barrier, then to Megan who shrugged with a smile, nodding for you to go ahead. You slide your phone in the pocket of your jeans, sitting on the barrier before turning around towards JJ, who held his hands on your waist.

"Can't believe I'm doin' this."

JJ laughed, pulling you down as you slightly jumped off the wall, down into his arms on the field. You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

"I'm so proud of you, Jay. You are so talented, baby."

He pulled away from you, cupping your face with his hands, touching his forehead to yours.

"Just had to remember my headphones, like always."

You nodded, laughing and kissing him again, JJ leaned back, your feet leaving the ground for a few seconds as he kissed you. You both pulled away giggling. You got a random burst of energy, electricity pulsing through your veins.

"Ah! Oh my God, you won!"

You pulled away from JJ, grabbing his hands and jumping up and down. His smile widened, he was so, absolutely in love with you, but watching you support him so wholeheartedly, made his heart squeeze extra with love.

"Yeah! I got the Rose Bowl, baby!"

JJ's family came through the tunnel, having chose the safer route to get to the field. He hugged his family, talking with them and taking pictures. You took a few of them on your phone, smiling sadly at how cute they were.

"Angel! Come take a picture with me!"

You smiled, nodding as you went over to your smiley boyfriend. He took his winner's hat off and plopped it onto your head, it was sweaty, but you didn't care. You did one picture standing next to each other, his arm around your hips as you both smiled brightly. Then there was one where JJ kissed your cheek out of nowhere, then another taken the moment after where you both laughed as you wiped the eyeblack he spread to you off of your cheek.

They were adorable, objectively. Your group was soon exiting down the tunnel, bidding JJ goodbye with a quick kiss as he walked back towards the locker room.

Once you were all reunited with JJ he told you all he wanted to go back to the hotel and get food delivered to the hotel. That was your boy, even after the big win all he wanted to do was go back to his bed.

You got back to the hotel after a long car ride through Rose Bowl traffic, and quickly went up to your room. You and JJ were sharing, though he was technically supposed to be in his football assigned hotel room, he was crashing in yours. His parents knew, you two were trusted, and old enough to make your own decisions.

You showered as Jay laid in your bed, watching the Texas and Washington game. You came out of the bathroom in your pajamas, quickly crawling into bed next to JJ. He pulled you inbetween his legs, wrapping his arms around your middle. You were both tired, him more than you. You noticed the plastic bag sitting on the nightstand.

"What'd you get us to eat?"

You kissed him when he told you he got chicken tenders. You both watched the Sugar Bowl as you ate your dinner. You both got up to throw away your trash and brush your teeth before turning off all the lights and getting right back in bed. JJ watched the game as you laid on his chest, scrolling through your phone, showing him TikToks and Instagram posts of videos taken of you two from the game every little bit. You two were going viral among the teenage girls and fan pages.

When the game finished JJ turned off the TV, and you put your phone away as you two shifted so that JJ was laying with his head on your chest. You played with his sandy hair as you talked.

"I still can't believe all of it, it's just crazy."

"Well I can believe it, I knew you could do it. You know I was scared when we were getting close to the end of regulation, but then I saw you smile right before your last play of the regulation TD run, you know right before Roman got the touchdown, and I just knew it."

JJ looked up at you in the dark, he had hearts in his eyes. You were everything to him, just completely everything.

"I love you so much."

"I love you, baby. 'M so proud of you."