#on them that may not be there ? or they say your face can be like theirs if you only try and never stray ? or that you've had this face all

[teaboot]

Re: my “don’t ‘test’ people, communicate your needs, because they aren’t instinctive to others” post:

I feel like a lot of people are reading that post and saying “if your friend/partner/colleague can’t be arsed to take the initiative, be courteous, or anticipate reasonable needs, they’re a selfish baby”

Which, on one hand, yes! Distributing labour in a shared space is a form of invisible labour that typically women are saddled with in disproportionately high percentages, but that wasn’t actually what I was saying

If the first time you notice something you desire isn’t being fulfilled you decide to test the other person and judge whether or not they care about you, that’s shitty. You have the responsibility to say “hey, I noticed this and it bothers me for this reason, when you do this I feel like this, can you do something else?”.

If you have done that REPEATEDLY and see no change, then it may be reasonable to conclude that the other person is disregarding your words.

If this is something that you have never pointed out before, or that you spontaneously decided to look for, or something that’s only come up once, don’t fucking “test” people. Don’t lie. Don’t try and “trap” them. That’s shitty. Come on

I’m a messy person with ADHD. I live alone. I clean up after myself and feed myself and everything an independent adult does on a schedule that WORKS for me. If you suddenly appear in my space and hate how I live but say nothing, I’m going to take you at face value and believe that you’re okay until you say otherwise.

Because why wouldn’t I? Why would I believe you’re lying to my face about your preferences and needs? Why would you want me to never believe what you say???

SAY WHAT YOU NEED. TELL ME HOW TO SHOW I CARE ABOUT YOUR COMFORT AND I WILL USE THAT INFORMATION.

Don’t just change a detail in your behaviour and judge mu character based on whether or not I can Sherlock Holmes your intent and desires off that alone

Attitude is communicated in REPEATED AND CLEARLY COMMUNICATED PATTERNS, not in one-offs, assumptions, and symbolism open to interpretation.

People are people, not books or TV shows. You can talk to them- you don’t have to do a literary analysis on whether or not a carton of milk means I’m a selfish bastard who doesn’t love you

[moondustbaby]

Soaked Through (bsf!rafe)

cw: dry humping, mutual masturbation, cum play mdni 18+

⸻

It starts as a joke. It always does with you and Rafe.

You’re sprawled on his bed in nothing but a tank top and panties, legs slung over his thighs, your laugh catching in your throat when he grabs your hips and pulls you into his lap. He’s only in boxers, and you’re warm and buzzing from a shared blunt and whatever tension’s been building between you since sunset.

“You’re gonna break my heart one day,” he says, low, like a confession and a challenge, and then you’re grinding down on him before you can even think twice.

There’s no friction at first—just the smooth drag of your soaked panties over the soft cotton of his boxers, the head of his cock already leaking and nudging right where you need him. You tilt your hips, find the spot that makes your toes curl, and ride it. Slow at first. Testing. Teasing. But his hands tighten on your waist, guiding your rhythm like he’s seconds from snapping.

“Jesus, baby,” he grits, breath hot against your collarbone. “You’re fuckin’ soaked.”

And you are. The front of your panties clings to you, sticky and dark, and when you press harder, rocking over the thick ridge of him, you feel how drenched his boxers are too. There’s a wet, obscene squelch every time you roll down, your slick and his precome smearing between the thin layers of fabric like you’re already fucking.

Your thighs start to shake.

“Rafe,” you whimper, forehead pressed to his, breath stuttering. “Gonna—”

“Yeah?” he pants, watching your face like it’s the only thing that matters. “Come just like this? Just from grinding on me, baby?”

You nod, desperate. He lets you, lets you use him like that, hands everywhere—palming your ass, dragging you down harder, flexing under you like he’s holding back from flipping you over and ruining you.

And then you’re there, coming hard with a soft cry, the wet patch on your panties growing as your whole body shudders. Rafe groans—loud and guttural—and jerks beneath you once, twice, and then he’s following, coming in his boxers with a twitch of his hips and a hiss through his teeth.

You both freeze for a second, breathing heavy. The mess between you is hot and sticky, soaked through cotton and pressed against skin.

But you’re not done.

Your fingers slip under the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down just enough to free his cock, still slick and twitching. He hisses as the cool air hits him, and you hook your fingers into the side of your panties, dragging them aside.

And then you’re back on him, dragging your soaked folds along his length, spreading the mess—his come, your come—everywhere. Over the head of his cock, along the shaft, down to his base and back again. You smear it with your hips, your thighs trembling, both of you moaning like you’re high on it.

“Fuck,” he whispers, watching the way you move on him like he’s hypnotized. “You tryna kill me?”

You just smile, grinding slow and messy, your come mixing with his, smearing against your inner thighs. His hands grip your hips like a prayer and a warning, but he doesn’t stop you. He never would.

Not when you’re like this.

Not when it’s you.

a/n: this may or may not be inspired by a p!link i saw on X (twitter)…. anyways pls let me know if you want more of these types of blurbs?? less formatting more quick whats on my mind type of stuff 🙃

♥️ lani

masterlist

[exhaled-spirals]

« "Oh, I've always sucked at maths!"

I’m getting a little blasé. This must be at least the tenth time I’ve heard that remark today.

Yet this lady has been here at my stall for a good fifteen minutes, standing with a group of other passersby, listening attentively while I describe various geometrical curiosities. That’s how the conversation started.

"But what do you do for a living?" she asked me.

"I’m a mathematician."

"Oh, I've always sucked at maths myself!"

"Really? But you seemed to be interested in what I was just talking about."

"Yes… but that’s not really maths… that was understandable."

I hadn’t heard that one before. Is mathematics, by definition, a discipline that can’t be understood?

It’s the beginning of August, in [...] La Flotte-en-Ré, France. In [the] small summer market, I have a pop-up – there is henna tattooing and afro braids to my right, a mobile-phone accessory stall to my left, and a display of jewels and trinkets of all kinds opposite me. I’ve set up my maths stand in the middle of all this. Holidaymakers stroll peacefully by in the cool of the evening. I particularly like doing maths in unusual places. Where people aren’t expecting it. Where they are not on their guard…

"Can’t wait to tell my parents I did some maths during the holidays!" a high school kid says to me, after stopping by my stall on his way back from the beach.

I do have to catch them unawares. But you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do. This is one of my favourite moments: observing the expression on the faces of people who thought that they had fallen out with maths for good at the instant when I tell them that they have just been doing maths for fifteen minutes. And my stall is always crowded! [...]

No matter how much this amuses me, on balance I find it upsetting. How has it come about that we need to hide from people the fact that they are doing maths before they can take some pleasure in it? Why is the word so frightening? One thing is certain: had I put up a sign above my table proclaiming ‘Mathematics’ as visibly as ‘Jewels and necklaces’, ‘Phones’ or ‘Tattooing’ on the stalls around me, I would not have had a quarter of the same success. People would not have stopped. Perhaps they would even have turned away and averted their gaze.

And yet, the curiosity is there. I observe this every day. Mathematics may scare people, but it also fascinates. Many, who don't like it, would like to like it—or at least to be able to peep at will into its murky mysteries. Many think it is inaccessible. But this is not true. It is perfectly possible to love music without being a musician, or to like to share a nice meal without being a great cook. Then why should you have to be a mathematician, or someone exceptionally clever, in order to be open to hearing about mathematics and to enjoy having your imagination tickled by algebra or geometry? It is not necessary to delve into the technical details in order to understand the great ideas and to be able to marvel at them. »

— Mickaël Launay, It All Adds Up: Humans and Mathematics From Prehistory to Modern Day

[dragonsondragons]

Self Care - Jack Abbot x Resident!Reader

Summary: Jack’s new girlfriend takes self care really seriously given the line of work they’re in. He starts to observe these habits and some of them rub off on him.

Tags: Super fluffy, no use of y/n, implied age gap, suggested sexual activity, no real smut just Jack feeling you up a little, beekeeper!Jack

Author’s Note: Why am I obsessed with beekeeper!jack. There may be more where this came from because I had so much fun with this one– perhaps Jack and reader gardening (wink wink) while in their garden? Leads to sweet and slow stoned sex? Let me know what you think or if you have any requests! I’m always looking for more ideas. 

You do your little stretching routine after you wake up and you ask him if he wants to join you. He gives it a try, reluctantly at first. Then he starts to realize how good it makes him feel and does it with you every time. 

“What's this pep in your step you got going on here, brother?” Robby notices one day at hand-off. “Something to do with your favorite resident? Or should I say…new lady friend,” he does a little jazz hands.

“I regret ever telling you about us,” Jack rolls his eyes at lady friend. “But yeah, actually. She’s got me stretching when we wake up,” he explains.

“Ah. She’s got you whipped is what you mean.”

Jack chuckles under his breath. “Fuck off, stretching is good for you. And being whipped isn’t so bad either.” ____

You have a little garden that you tend to in the morning as the sun’s still rising right when you get off shift. It's cathartic, to take care of something that can't puke or bleed on you. Can’t punch you in the face. 

Both you and Jack had worked last night and it was a tough one. One of those nights where it felt like you lost more than you saved. You asked Jack to come back to your place after the shift ended, just wanting to be near him after your hell of a day. 

It was still early in your relationship, you had only spent the night at Jack’s place. This was his first time coming to stay at yours. 

You could tell he was so exhausted that you offered to drive home and he eventually accepted. He sat in the passenger seat of his Tacoma with his eyes closed as you drove, envisioning a shower, you looking soft in a ratty old t-shirt, and eating take out on the couch before going to sleep.

Instead, after you made two mugs of tea and set one before him on the coffee table, you headed to the backyard, slipping through the sliding glass door with a quiet “be right back, have to take care of some stuff real quick.”

After you’re gone more than 10 minutes and he almost dozed off twice, he started to wonder what this stuff was. He peeks out the glass door, seeing you knelt down at the edge of a garden bed peeling weeds out of the ground around your plants. The garden hose was on, filling up a big watering can to your left.

He comes to stand next to your kneeling form, placing a tender hand on the crown of your head and lightly running his fingers through your hair. “What are you doing, baby?”

“Checking on the plants. It helps me clear my mind from the day.” You smile softly up at him, see his free hand rub at his weary eyes. “Why don’t you go hop in the shower, I’ll be right in," you promise. He nods, turns to head back inside. 

He couldn’t believe you wanted to be pulling weeds and lugging watering cans after a shift. But when you trailed in a few minutes later, joining him under the spray of the water, he could see the way your shoulders were looser. You were more peaceful, at ease. It made him feel more calm too, just knowing you felt a little bit better. 

He started lugging bags of soil for you the following mornings. Dug up trenches to lay a new irrigation system for the crops. This time of spring brought so many birds tweeting around in the morning air, the perfect sound track to your calming moments together in the garden.

It was a peaceful endeavor, one Jack never thought he would find himself doing but turns out he absolutely loves it. After you tell him about the benefits of pollinators he really wants to start keeping bees (Jack Abbot is beekeeping age). He does all this research about it to make sure he doesn’t fuck with the bees, wants to do it right. Gets the whole mesh suit which you can't stop laughing at the first time he puts it on. Names his hive Beetopia. He's serious about these bees and you find it so endearing. You love that he's meshing into your life like this, making his own niche in something you both do together.

Sometimes when there isn’t much to be done he’ll make breakfast while you tend to the garden. He will always try to utilize the fruits and vegetables you grow as well as his self-harvested honey whenever he can. You eat it out on the patio, admiring the work the two of you have done. Your own little paradise. ____

Out of all the self care tactics that you have brought into his life, the bubble bath is definitely one of his sleeper favorites. His house had a huge bathtub in it that he never once used. One of the first times you stayed over, you went to use the bathroom before going to bed. His eyes were already closed when he heard you squeal in the en suite attached to his room. 

“How did you not tell me about this!” you yelled out to him. 

“What, the bathroom?” he responded half asleep and confused. You came back into the room and jumped into the bed next to him, resting your chin on his chest. He peeked his eyes open as he rubbed up and down your back.

“No! That massive tub, genius!” He was surprised. Hadn’t thought once about that thing since he moved in. 

“You like it?”

“I don't like it, Jack. I love it. Baths are so soothing and rejuvenating. I always feel like a newborn baby when I get out of the bath. And I don't have a tub at my place.”

“You’re welcome to use it anytime you want, honey.” He shifted you to your side, cuddling into you and kissing your cheek. 

“You’re too good to me. And as a reward I’m making you get in there with me.” he lets out a breath of a laugh as he drifts off to sleep with you in his arms. ___

You both had the next day off, for once. So there was no time like the present to christen Jack’s bathtub. He was nervous about getting in, not being able to wear his prosthetic to keep him stable, but you got in first and held onto him tight as he stepped over the edge and eased himself down into the water. You settled in front of him, letting out a breath as you melted back into him. 

You thought you liked baths already, but this was pure bliss. His strong body against you, your breaths synching up. He washed your hair and you washed his. The warm water soothed his achy back and the overcompensating muscles in his leg. 

Safe to say, baths become a regular occurrence for you two.

You get him a matching fluffy robe with a hood because one time he said he was jealous of how cozy you looked in yours after a bath. Once, Shen stopped by to drop off the butterfly portable ultrasound that he had borrowed and Jack answered the door in said robe. 

Jack had his stoic work face on, the grumpiness only enhanced by the fact that Shen’s visit was interrupting his time with you.

“Ha, you look like a Sith, Abbot,” Shen teased him, butterfly in one hand and a half drank Dunkin’ in the other. “Robe’d up and about to cut my hand off.” He took a loud sip of his coffee as Jack just glared at him. 

“Get out of here before I actually consider it.” He tugged the Butterfly from Shen’s grasp, about to slam the door in his face. 

“Oh c'mon Jack, that’s not very nice.” You ran up to the door and opened it further to reveal yourself. 

“Sorry John, he didn’t mean that.” 

“Yeah right.” He takes in your appearance beside Jack, wearing the same exact fuzzy robe. “Like the matchy matchy, very cute you two.” Shen pulls out his phone and snaps a picture before either of you could even process it. “That’s totally going in the group chat, dude,” he laughed. 

“Not making a good case for yourself here,” Jack muttered. Shen couldnt stop laughing, and at that you moved your hand off the door jamb and let Jack slam it shut. 

He turned to you then and let out a little chuckle at the whole ordeal. “He’s a piece of work.”

“Thought he was your favorite resident?”

“No, you're my favorite resident.” ___

Besides stretching to start the day on a good note, taking soothing baths, and tending to your garden you also do yoga sometimes to turn your mind off and tune into your body after a hectic shift. He’s still reluctant to try that one, and likes to give you your space to do the things you enjoy on your own sometimes. So he doesn't join you for that, but he loves watching you as you get ready to head to the studio. 

You always wear these skin tight, colorful matching workout sets that drive him crazy. He doesn’t mean to keep you from getting to class, but sometimes he just can’t help the temptation.

“Baby,” he draws it out in a long groan. He crossed the room to you, grabbing your hips and ghosting his hands up and down, reverently. You were trying to gather your keys and yoga mat to head out the door. “You’re killing me here with the powder blue.” The leggings hugged your ass just right. God, he was about to start drooling.

You try to squirm out of his hold to put your shoes on, but he won't budge. “Get a good look, Jack, because I gotta go. Gonna be late if I don't leave right now.” 

“Oh no, you're gonna be late already? Maybe you should just stay here with me,” he pouts suggestively. 

“Already paid for the class. Actually you did, your card’s on the account.” With your resident salary, Jack liked to treat you to things like a membership to a fancy yoga studio with free green smoothies. He loved ‘providing’ for you, even though you both knew you could be just fine by yourself. 

“Even better. I don't care about losing 30 bucks right now. Because you look way too sexy in those leggings to leave me here all alone.” He pecks your lips, then down your neck, sucking the spot where he knows will draw out a moan from you. You grasp your hand into his hair, getting lost in his efforts to entice you. 

“Let me peel these off of you,” he begs, running his fingers under the waistband of the leggings. His hands travel lower, kneading at your ass and pulling you tighter against him. “Just let me worship your beautiful body, sweetheart.”

How could you say no to that? Maybe you would miss your class, but this was a form of self care as good as any.

[tbaluver]

Hellooo!! Good day/night to you🥹 If it's alright I would like to put in a request, wherein, MC did the "act fast, I'm a random woman" to the LADs men😉. I've been seeing that trend all over my fyp and thought—what if it was them.

"Pretend I'm A Random Woman!"- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader, Caleb x Reader genre: fluff fluff + silly a/n: hihi anonnie! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ this is so funny bc ive also been seeing this on my fyp too! ( ˵ •̀ □ •́ ˵ ) xavier puts his speed of light to use, raf gets two attemps bc he gets a lil too into the role and caleb gets a second chance bc hes just down bad for you (ᵕ—ᴗ—) i hope this was alright and that you enjoy reading! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

 “Xavier, quick! Pretend I’m another woman!” you shout quickly as you lunge toward him, arms outstretched—only to find nothing in front of you but air?

You spin around and he’s already behind you.

You rush him again, only for a flash of light to flicker and he’s out of your reach again. You keep trying and trying but each time you move closer to him, he’s already behind you, farther than before.

Finally as you’re left panting, he yawns lazily and extends an arm toward you. “I’m getting sleepy, he mutters. “Can we stop playing pretend now?”

Zayne:

“Zayne, quick! Pretend I’m another woman!” you blurt out, rushing toward him with a mischievous grin as you try to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders.

He easily steps aside, avoiding your embrace. His hands gently catch  your wrists, guiding them away with ease to keep some distance between you both

“Excuse me,” he says, clearing his throat as he adjusts his glasses. “I’m not interested. If you continue to act like a suspicious Wanderer, I may have to report you to the Hunter’s Association—where my wife happens to work.”

His voice is calm but the cold gaze in his eyes stop you in your tracks. The act is already over the moment it began.

Slowly, his expression softens. He tilts his head, resting his hand gently on your head. “Does that answer the idea in your head?” he asks, amusement flickering behind his eyes.

You stammer, cheeks warm as you nod. He said the word wife.

“I’m not interested in other women if that's what you’re worried about” he says softly, brushing his fingers through your hair. “Let alone let you pretend to be one. How about we try something else?”

Rafayel:

Attempt 1:

“Quick Raf! Pretend I’m another woman!” you blurt out, throwing your arms around him as you lean in to kiss him. Instantly his smile fades away, replaced by panic when you try to wrap your arms around him and try to kiss him.

Immediately, he jerks his head back, his hands flying up in defense as he dodges your lips. “Ew ew! I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND GET AWAY FROM ME”

Attempt 2:

“Quick Raf. Pretend I’m some random girl trying to flirt with you.”

Without missing a beat, he slips into character, face turning uninterested the moment you walk up to him.

“Heyy, sir, are you—”

He cuts you off with a raised hand. “Excuse me,” he says flatly. “I’m trying to find my girlfriend, who is a hunter and also just happens to be very skilled with a gun.”  He throws you a smug smirk, tilting his head as he strolls away.

Sylus:

“Sylus! Quick, pretend I’m a random woman!” you blurt out, charging toward him—only to be instantly caught mid-air by crimson red tendrils that lift you off the ground before you can even get close.

From below, Sylus smirks up at you. “If it were a random woman, she’d have been gone before she even blinked.”

“Sy—!” you groan, embarrassed as you float in air jail. His evol didn't hurt you compared to the first time you guys met whereas this time they gently wrap around you.

He chuckles, thoroughly amused. “Did you really think I’d let just anyone run up and throw themselves at me like that?” His crimson eyes follow your gentle descent down from the air as he raises a brow.

“Only you get away with that kind of nonsense sweetie.” He says softly, taking your hands gently as he meets your gaze.

Caleb:

Attempt 1:

“Quick, Caleb—pretend I’m some random girl!” you blurt out, barely giving him time to react. Before he can even respond, you stand on your tiptoes while you throw your arms around his neck, and plant a kiss on his lips.

He kisses you back instinctively, his brows knitting together in confusion as you pull away.

“Caleb!” you gasp, “You’d kiss another girl that easily if it wasn’t me?”

He stares at you, finally realizing what you meant. It was another one of your pranks. “Wait, what? Sorry, pipsqueak—I didn’t catch what you said,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “It’s just..reflexes when it comes to you.”

He grins, stepping closer. “Besides, I couldn’t picture you as anyone else, even if I tried.”

Attempt 2:

This time Caleb was ready for whatever test you launched at him. The second you sprinted toward him with the same mischievous grin, he raised a brow, already seeing through you.

“Caleb! Pretend I’m some random—” Before you could even finish your sentence, you felt your body moving backwards? You blinked in surprise, realizing he was using his evol to keep a good distance between you and him—without even sparing you a glance.

ʚɞ cr. for the dividers @/ cafekitsune

ʚɞ thank you as always to my lovely beta reader @ilovemitsuya MWAH ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡

ʚɞ 𝘕𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯:

ʚɞ my other works if you want to check it out! The Love And DeepSpace Masterlist, Pg. 2

ʚɞ Others places you can find me:

Wattpad

Twitter ( but idk how to use it or interact with people .·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. )

[ordinary-barbie]

warm enough for you outside, baby (tell me if it's warm enough here for you)

summary: Rafe is sick of watching you hopelessly pine for another guy, so he decides to take matters into his own hands.

word count: 2.2k

tags: mean!rafe, rafe is lowkey jealous, unrequited love, enemies (sort of) to lovers, pet names (princess, baby, sweetheart), au where jj is a kook, jj x kiara mentions, everyone is about 21 here, unprotected p in v, oral (fem receiving), fingering, mention of reader having periods, insecure!reader, creampie

note: title comes from Drew Barrymore by SZA!

Smut incoming under the cut—18+ only! Minors DNI!

You honestly made Rafe sick.

Every party, it was the same shit: you'd follow Jackson Generette like a puppy, lapping up any crumbs of attention he gave you. Rafe thought things would be different once JJ started dating Kiara Carrera, but somehow, you got even worse. You'd show up to parties with friends but send him longing looks the entire time, as if Generette could read your mind and run into your arms.

Rafe clenched his jaw as he watched you watching JJ and Kiara. The two of them were cuddled on the couch, Kiara's head thrown back in laughter as JJ whispered something into her ear. Did you seriously not see how pathetic it was to pine over someone interested in somebody else?

Rafe got up, ignoring the eager looks other Kook girls were sending him, and sidled up to you. You had absconded to an abandoned living room corner, gripping a cup of punch in your hand as you stared longingly at your crush and his girlfriend.

"You know he's never gonna look at you like that, right?" Rafe blurted, startling you. You turned to Rafe, frowning.

"You don't know what you're talking about," you muttered, trying to keep your composure.

Rafe snorted. "Princess, come on. You've been giving him the same 'fuck me' puppy dog eyes since high school. Just face it—he's not into you."

You huffed, scowling at Rafe. "You're such an asshole."

"So I've been told," Rafe replied, smirking at you.

"I honestly don't know why I can't get over him," you admitted, your lip wobbling. "He's just so...nice. And funny. It hurts that he only sees me as a friend."

Rafe couldn't help but feel a little bad for you, but a bigger part of him was so done with the moping over fucking Generette of all people. Not like he was doing the same towards you, yearning from afar. That was totally different, obviously.

"Well, you know what they say—the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else," Rafe casually replied, his grin turning downright lecherous. You gulped, that smile sending a bolt of lightning straight to your core.

You rolled your eyes. "What are you even talking about, Cameron?"

Rafe chuckled. "I mean, why waste your time simping over Generette when you have other options?"

You froze, not knowing what to say. Was Rafe Cameron, of all people, offering to hook up with you?

"If this is some weird pity fuck, you can forget it," you snapped. "I don't need you feeling sorry for me."

Rafe's smile grew lopsided. "Is it really that unbelievable that I would want to hook up with you, princess?"

You shrugged, fixing Rafe with a deadpan stare. "A little bit, yeah."

Rafe tsked at you, shaking his head. "You've been spending so much time making goo-goo eyes at him that you can't even see what's right in front of you, huh?"

He moved closer to you, brushing his lips against your ear. "Let me make you feel good," he murmured.

Your heart was racing. You got a whiff of his scent—an earthy, musky scent that made you want to bury your head in the side of his neck and inhale. You thought Rafe was cute—he may be a bit of a prick, but you had eyes, after all—but never would've imagined talking to him, let alone being with him in that way.

Fuck it. The boy you'd been crushing on since ninth grade would never return your affections, and at least Rafe was showing you some interest. You quickly downed your punch, letting the red solo cup drop to the ground with a thud.

"Make me feel good then," you said breathily, staring deeply into Rafe's eyes.

Rafe let out a low groan. "You're fuckin' killing me, sweetheart," he mumbled, before grabbing your hand and quickly leading you up the stairs of whatever Kook's house this was.

-

Rafe found a random room and kicked the door open before quickly locking it behind you. You wanted to look at the decor, but Rafe's lips were on yours before you could scope out the place. You supposed it didn't matter anyway, since Rafe would have you buried into the mattress soon enough.

You looped your arms around Rafe's neck, timidly kissing him back. You hadn't had much kissing experience besides the odd game of Truth or Dare or Seven Minutes in Heaven at a party, so you were a tad nervous. But then Rafe lightly bit your lip, enjoying your soft moan before sliding his tongue inside, and you found yourself passionately kissing him back.

"Take this off. Now," Rafe commanded, tugging at the hem of your blue sundress. You readily obliged, stripping down to just your underwear.

Rafe looked at you hungrily, eyeing your chest. "Fuckin perfect," he rasped. "Can't believe you've been hiding these tits from me."

He easily picked you up and threw you on the bed, shedding himself of his clothes save for his Calvin Klein boxers. Rafe climbed on top of you, burying his face in your chest and nipping at your breasts. You whimpered, which seemed to spur him on more as he soothed the bites with kisses.

He continued leaving a trail of kisses down your body until he reached your thighs. "Open up for me, princess," he murmured, running his fingers down your legs.

You tried to protest. "Rafe, I haven't shaved—"

"I don't give a shit. Lemme eat you out," Rafe demanded, his pupils blown out with lust.

You complied, spreading your legs open for Rafe. He pushed your panties to the side easily settled into his new position between your thighs, diving into your cunt like a starved man. He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking it with a fervor that made you loudly gasp, bucking your hips.

"You're not going anywhere, sweetheart—you taste too fuckin good," Rafe mumbled, pinning your hips down with both hands. He flattened his tongue, lapping at your folds before lazily licking your clit. You whined, feeling a white-hot pressure down in your gut.

You felt Rafe's smirk against your inner thighs. "Gonna cum for me already?"

"Uh huh," you mumbled, too caught up in your pleasure to form a coherent response.

Rafe slid one of his hands down to your clit, pressing down on it and rubbing circles on it with your thumb. You moaned, arching your back off the bed and clenching your thighs around Rafe's head as you came undone for him.

Rafe removed himself from your cunt and sat back, licking his lips. "Goddamn, baby. Generette is a fucking moron to miss out on this."

You looked up at Rafe, your eyes instantly drawn to the straining erection in his black briefs. "See something you like?" he asked cockily.

Your cheeks grew warm. "I mean—I guess so," you bashfully replied

Rafe chuckled lowly. "You're so shy, princess. It's adorable."

You rolled your eyes. "Just—are you gonna fuck me or what?" you grumbled, your core throbbing with pent-up frustration.

Rafe's grin was devilish. "All you had to do was ask, baby."

He tossed his briefs to the side, revealing his thick, throbbing cock, its tip flushed an angry red. Your mouth went dry as you gaped at Rafe, just in awe of how a dick could be so...pretty.

"Fuck, I gotta see where Chase keeps the condoms," Rafe said, dragging a hand over his face.

"No need—I'm on the pill," you said, smiling shyly.

"Oh shit, are you actually getting some? Maybe you're more of a freak than I thought," Rafe teased, his dick twitching at your confession.

"It's to help regulate my periods, you perv," you said sharply. "Unfortunately, I'm still a sad little virgin."

Rafe's cheeks turned pink. "'m sorry, I didn't mean to come off like an asshole," he mumbled, sounding contrite.

"I just always imagined he'd be my first. That's pathetic, I know," you admitted, laughing bitterly. "When we were, like, fifteen, he and I made this dumb pact that if we were both still virgins by the time we graduated, then we'd sleep together. Obviously, that didn't happen."

Rafe's jaw ticked. He'd never been Generette's biggest fan, but you'd given him even more reasons to dislike the guy. You were sweet and sarcastic and beautiful—how could he not see this? How could he casually offer to take your virginity, not realizing that you'd given your entire heart to him?

"Gonna fuck you so good, you forget his name," Rafe growled, pushing himself inside of you. You moaned, enjoying the feeling of his cock inside you, stretching you out.

Rafe began thrusting into you, brushing up against your clit with his tip and setting every nerve in your body alight. "Fuck, Rafe—feels so good," you gasped.

Rafe lifted up one of your legs and put it atop his shoulder, allowing himself to plow even deeper into you. You mewled, feeling his tip all the way in your cervix. Your body tingled, legs trembling, and you came apart for Rafe again, creaming all over his cock.

Rafe pulled out, panting, his eyes fiery with desire. "Turn around for me and show me that ass," he ordered. You rolled over on your stomach and he hummed appreciatively, smacking your butt. "Fuck. You're like a work of art."

Your cheeks grew warm again; you were still unused to being desired like this. In the past, JJ had told you you looked nice, and you'd held on to those casual comments like they were love letters. But Rafe? He gazed at you as if you were Aphrodite, ready and willing to worship at the goddess's altar. You knew you didn't need a guy's validation, but damn if Rafe didn't make you feel beautiful right now.

Rafe slid back into you, fucking you faster, and grunted when your pussy tightened around him. "You're so fuckin tight and wet for me, princess. i love this sweet little pussy."

Rafe gripped your hips, his cock throbbing inside of you. "Gonna cum," he warned. "You ready for me to fill you up, baby?"

You clenched around him again, and Rafe chuckled. "Oh, you like that, yeah? Such a good girl for me."

Rafe let out another grunt as he released inside of you, ropes of his hot cum filling your pussy. Rafe pulled out slowly, admiring the way his creampie was leaking out of you.

You and Rafe lay next to each other, your chests heaving as you recovered. "Hey—thanks," you shyly said to him.

"For what?" Rafe asked, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to his chest.

"For the sex, of course," you joked, causing Rafe to snort. "But also for breaking that spell over me. I wasted so much time pining over someone who never saw me as more than someone to play Mario Kart with."

Rafe kissed your collarbone. "He's an idiot," he mumbled. "But I'm actually glad. Because it meant I finally got to do this."

You laughed, beaming at Rafe. "Rafe Cameron. Do you have a crush on me?"

Rafe lifted his head up, his ears flushing bright red. "Shut up. Maybe I do, alright? It's not a big deal."

You looked at Rafe fondly. "You're kinda cute. I guess I'll keep you around."

Rafe lazily smirked at you. "I'm all yours, baby."

You got up to clean yourself, but Rafe grabbed you by the waist. "Where d'ya think you're going, huh?"

"Gonna clean off all this cum, thanks to you," you quipped.

Rafe’s mouth curled into a smug grin. “Nah, put on your panties and keep it inside of you for the rest of the night. Want you to remember who you belong to.”

You shivered, weirdly loving his possessiveness right now. You got off the bed and pulled your underwear back on, moaning a little at his sticky cum in your panties. The thought of walking around all night, still stuffed with his load, made your pussy throb.

“Now, cmon,” Rafe said, jumping to his feet and putting his clothes back on. “Get dressed—there’s a whole party out there that we’re missing.”

[grotesquevi]

★ cupid carries a gun.

open up your skull, i'll be there climbing up the walls.

cw # 18+ mdni, modern au, mentions of marijuana, dealer+loser!ellie, blink and you miss a slight pervert behavior, sub!reader, switch!slightdom ellie, pussyslapsyum, pet names, fingering, public sex.

an # if you recognize this it may be because it's from my previous account aka @vicorices who got deleted out of nowhere, this is me trying to get all my work back up again cause i'm not losing three months of work thanks to a shitty team who wiped me out of the internet.

the first time she saw you, she called you bro by accident.

it happens unexpected. ellie's been selling weed for a while now and she's used to get random text messages from unknown numbers: a friend of a friend, a recommendation from some old client — of course when she got your text you're not going to receive special treatment, not when she greets you like she would greet a guy, asking you where to meet since the club's big.

you're friends with cat, that's how you got her number. your usual provider is being insane with ridiculous prices you cannot afford not even by chance, so you're searching for someone else, a reliable source you can buy your weed from without getting into much trouble.

she’s perfect for the job.

it's a surprise either way when you tell her to meet you close to the main stairs in the first floor, and you think you saw her by the time you get there, but before you can approach your phone lights up with a new notification from an unknown number you now recognize.

you like it, making them think you’re a man, confuse the people you buy weed from. it's funny cause it's not the first time it happens, matter of fact, it's really common as you approach the auburn haired girl, noticing she's far less intimidating than your last seller, less tattoos on the face to instead, be covered in freckles and green eyes.

and to ellie — it's clear you aren't a bro too.

you don't pay much attention since it's a quick interaction, but to ellie its enough to make her spiral. too much weed, too much booze that night made her look at you like you're most beautiful girl out there, barely illuminated by the sporadic lights that changes time to time as you approach to her in a nice top of a band she also hears.

"hey. sorry to make you wait" you're too kind to her rough heart, yet from up close she's able to look at your face properly: where the fuck did you know cat from? why she hadn't seen you before too? was she hiding you from her?

"ellie," she presents herself like you do and she's almost a little shy to ask you to walk with her to a less crowded space, cause it sounds different from when she usually asks, slapping herself mentally for being so lame when she meets a pretty girl in a situation like this: don't be a fucking pussy. "do you mind if we move to a quieter place?"

"no, no problem" you reply "i was going to ask you the same, actually. don't want to get kicked out from here."

and you must be really trustful person, cause ellie could be a bad person and you're following her willingly, entering a dirty, small bathroom only to lock the door beneath her not really knowing her true intentions. you know she's not going to do anything when she's nervously speaking to you as the space got way reduced.

"so, you're friends with cat" what's she even doing? trying to pull off some small talk she sucks for? either way your nodding as ellie gives you a small bag with an smiley face on it, letting you see the weed she's going to sell you out first — "you study here in this university?"

"yeah, it’s my last year" you say inspecting the weed with a pleased look, sure you're buying when you take a deep breath and it seems like actual weed and not a fucking rock so tight it seems it came in somebody's ass, good smell, some purple there between different shades of green "film school."

"sick," she looks at you for a moment since you're too busy looking at the product. under the white lights ellie can see the details on your face now, the small moles, the scars, things she wasn't aware of as she wasn't so close as she is now — "it's okay? you like it?"

“smells real good, my last supplier was pretty shit and always had the same strain" you find her concern cute, sure she must take pride in selling good stuff, maybe that's why cat shared her number so reluctant to it, you'd gatekeep a good dealer too.

“that’s lemon haze” ellie explains as a subtle layer of red spreads right over her nose, must be the weather inside the bathroom or something like that, but it's hot as she stares at your eyes and she's betting you must be thinking she's the weirdest girl in the planet. her flannel's too fucking tight, too thick. "it's a nice sativa, wont leave you stupid nor like a hungry animal."

girls like you may be out of her league, but even when ellie's brain saying the same, it does not matter when your fingers brush against hers and you're laughing at her bad joke, giggling like she's oh so funny and it's enough. it may be a tactic she's falling all the way in when saying a lower price than regular and your eyes widen cause you don't believe it: why would such a good quality be cheaper than the usual shit?

"you study in this university too?" you curiously ask as if you're trying to catch the trick, clever girl. she’s selling you cheaper to secure you.

"forensic science" you seemed a bit surprised by it since you didn't talk much to stem girls in general, being in two different fields: hot— "it’s my last year too."

"that sounds cool, never met someone who study that," you say as you're pulling out 20$ for at least 3 grams of top-graded-weed: she's fucking stupid for selling that quality for less than $30 "well nice to meet you ellie, if i don't get poisoned with your weed, you'll be definitely hearing more from me."

and she wants to say something flirty, something with her usual witty charm and her sarcastic replies she loves by heart, but instead of saying something clever, ellie ends up stuttering, tripping in her own words as she nods.

"i- uh- yes sure. save my contact and text me anytime."

fuck it, cause it does get her to know you'll be talking to her again someday, maybe this week, maybe the next, tomorrow. her weed is hella good and her own brain is feeding her delusions cause as far as she knows you might as well be the biggest heterosexual girl in university, but you're there waving her goodbye with a warm smile and your perfume lingers in the air for a while even when you're not there.

so ellie stays in the cubicle for a minute. the longest minute of her life when she takes a deep breath at the scent, discovering the fruity notes, the damn strawberries sweet as ever now impregnated under her nose.

fucking cat cause she must have kept you all to herself, pure selfish reasons — ellie thought they were in good terms.

it's crazy to say she would've done the same if you were her friend too.

the second time ellie sells you weed you're talking with your friends seated in a secluded spot of the main quad and the sun hits your skin just in the correct way to make her mouth go dry.

you're using this straight sinful sundress in blue and white, covering from the fresh air in a denim jacket and it looks so good she needs to check you actually messaged her in the first place and didn't imagined the whole thing.

she politely greets everyone but her attention drifts back to you when ellie's sitting close like you're friends with her before the people you’re hanging out with.

"was it good?" she asks, blatantly checking you out you're resting over your elbows, letting the exposed parts of your body fill out with vitamin d after being trapped in class for what it seems an eternity, and ellie feels trapped too, slightly different cause she's experiencing the victorian era on the flesh when only a glimpse of your ankles is enough to kill her — "guess it was if you're texting to meet up again."

"yeah, seems like you got the best weed in the whole place" you laugh, each time warming up to her as you reply under a pair of black shades that make you look so fucking attractive: her weed, the best. "good job, ellie."

awfully good price. outstanding for you, only loses for her.

the third time, you're meeting her outside class and her friends joke calling you her girlfriend as ellie quickly walks away hoping you didn't hear them: do you talk to her about dinosaurs too, williams? you're too polite to say you find it cute.

by the fifth time you're on her car and the silence is so damn loud as the music sound softly in the speakers, some song you say you like as ellie turns up the volume so you can hear it better. you're humming to the tune, a two-minute song as she pretends to be searching for the weed on her bag, taking more time on purpose.

"are you going to take the same three grams or you feel generous this time?"

"no, just three" you reply to her question. you've become quite aware of her consistent gaze on you now after weeks of selling you grass, personally giving you the best, making the moment linger without you noticing until you actually do catch on her subtle tactics— "that way i can text sooner and see you again this week."

ellie’s clueless most of the days but with that? anyone would notice you're flirting, blatantly as you look up to her and your dealer struggles to resist the need on her hands to pin you against the passenger seat and lean all over the console to go on and kiss you until you clearly state what you want. no playing around the bushes this time. demand, as her stomach turns, what do you mean by that.

do you want to see her more? that's why you buy three grams and talk to her every three or four days? are you, by any chance, not straight?

“if you want to see me during the week, you might just ask” ellie says mirroring your tone “like you ask to buy weed from me, s’not that hard.”

you’re the one who's nervous now, and she considers on giving you the weed as a gift before you’re paying. loses, you only mean loses in her economy at this point — and it's driving her hella mad when you get out the car and ellie’s left there with the need to have you as closer as you possibly agree to.

silk fabric slipping through her fingers.

the sixth time, ellie decides she's going to do something about it. about her needs. there’s no actual way you’re not flirting with her, the image of you in the passenger seat still sealed freshly on her mind even if it was a week ago, repeating it over and over again — you got her staring at your profile pic, debating if she can or cannot masturbate with the pictures you’ve shared on instagram from spring break in fucking california, liking your post cause it’s the only way she dares to interact, a way of saying she’s there.

in the middle of a saturday night, thinking about you. two in the morning and it’s all fucking you.

she should make up her mind. you’re a good buyer, and she wishes to keep it that way. you don’t ask for later payments, you constantly buy and don't share her number with weirdo friends like everyone else does, you're a reliable source surely: so why does her heart stops in her chest cavity when her phone's buzzing and ellie's reading the name she saved your contact with?

right. her pathetic crush on you.

her fingers move on their own before she considers to delay her response five minutes to seem busy.

she wont charge you double.

shit. it's two in the morning and she's selling you weed driven by the desire to see you again, using this gray hoodie to protects herself from the cold autumn breeze as she's pulling up to this party totally uninvited, passing the open door like it's her own house as zeta phi seems to be fully loaded now as the music sound loud and strident as all her hopes of catching you alone goes to the trash can.

no she’s not going to charge you double, she’s just guilty she’s so into you without you having any idea of it.

where you waiting for her arrival? fuck. her brain is acting up like a backstabbing bitch and ellie cannot help it as you appear radiant under a sea of people. you're not saying a word either when you're lacing your fingers with her's and you're pulling on your dealer upstairs, feet moving on their own as she don't make a single effort to resist your magnet-like influence in her very self.

ellie’s hand are sweaty cause she's so fucking nervous but you don't seem to care about it, looking back at her from over your shoulder only to offer a smile she cannot wrap her head around for a moment.

"can i ask where you're taking me?" she questions you, hoping her voice doesn't sound like that really, so strained and rough from just see you around — "or am i your hostage now?"

"we need a more private space to buy" you state like it's obvious "duh, the rooftop's empty. i stole the key."

ellie should've know you were a walking hazard.

cause it really seems like an achievement when you're opening the rooftop door, mischief grin as you look twice behind your back paranoid as ever someone can see what you're doing; and ellie chuckles at the sudden adventure, how you're closing the door when you invite her to step in with a subtle head movement, quickly shoving the key back to the pocket in your skirt.

cute. she thinks you’re cute.

it's empty like you said, and the knowledge makes every hair on her arms stand on their own even when she's wearing this thick hoodie that protects her from the cold.

"cannot risk my dealer of getting in trouble down there" you explain now that you can talk to her at a decent volume, and she fully eats it even when it's a clear lie and you're making up excuses to get her away from the noise.

"very kind, gonna name you my knight in shinning armor if you keep this up."

you're panting the spot right next to you as you take a seat in the over-used lounge chair with a tiny wooden table in front of it, and like a trained animal, ellie follows cause it's the perfect spot to leave her backpack as her brain keeps buzzing at the name you used to call her seconds before— my dealer.

she is, by all means, your dealer. it makes her chest fill out with a different kind of emotion, sound so fucking intimate, so nice.

"gonna buy the usual three grams, princess?" your knee brushes against her, and ellie's breathing hitches cause you're wearing this black-sheer stockings all the way to your upper thigh and she becomes aware of it when the material slips down as you're seated, skirt raising slightly upwards against the muscles of your legs: one movement and she swears she'd be able to see your underwear and ellie has to once again, remind herself how you quickly reduce her to this behavior; this state, shoved in a sea of pure filth — "or did you just call me because you wanted to see me tonight?"

she's feeling lucky tonight even when she never feels that way, a strike of confidence ellie feels as a rush on the blood: you give her a sight of your legs and now she's all over the damn place? loser behavior.

"is it that obvious?" you want her to kiss you. it's a need that installs deep down in your chest, and if you're not making it obvious by then you're definitely doing it now: you're not straight, you're not bulletproof to the holes her eyes make on your skin every time you have the pleasure to be left alone in her company, you're not giving up on this constant game of seduction you like to play "i'm buying weed too, so coming up here actually matters for you."

"haven't we state that already?" ellie asks, looking up to you as she drinks in the sight of you under the almost invisible light of the stars up in the sky "if you want to see me during the week-"

"might as well just ask" you completed for her as ellie grabs her bag so she can pull your weed from it. the best three grams she has in her power "i know that- thank you."

"it's a gift" she finally dares to say it now — "don't pay me this time."

has she ever felt this way before? never. the overwhelming pull, the reminder you're not her's? stings on ellie's skin like tiny needles. it's not a big deal, once again she's losing money all reckless, but fuck- it's worth it, worth it when ellie see you malfunction for a long moment, brain short-circuiting cause you don't expect it.

"that's not the deal."

"i don't care what our deal is, you're my best client, and i take care of my clients” it’s simple as she says it “sides. the weed does not matter, seeing you was payment already.”

"don't go yet," you add before she's making a movement to get up, hands cold wrapping around her arm as you pull her down to the lounge chair you're so comfortably seated — "smoke with me. let's talk for a while."

and she knows it's dangerous, but you're batting your eyelashes, looking at her with this sly smirk on your face she wants to kiss away and ellie has no option but to stay there buried in your side, your fingers still tight against her arm muscles as you make her stay.

"okay, but i need you to let go of me baby- i can't roll a joint with you all over."

liar.

she just want to see you get all flustered because of her as her fingers swiftly roll a joint without much effort, allowing the smoke to fill the air seconds after before you’re sneezing and she notices how you shiver on her side, turning her face to look back at your pretty face she’s been avoiding to stare so much.

"you cold?" she asks, and you do not want to admit it, but ellie's taking her hoodie off and it's a fucking sight when she's wearing this white tank top she does not care about until she can physically feel the shift of the air between you and her, caught up with your eyes checking her out as she lights up the joint.

"thank you," and for being a stoner, it's smells surprisingly nice as you relish on the warmth of it, comfortable now as you watch her smoke "i'll gave it to you downstairs."

"go home with it. you're going to catch a cold like this."

the silence it's imminent for a moment before she's passing you the joint an you're holding it between your fingers.

"i like your tattoo" is it also an excuse? not really, but ellie's bringing her arm closer to you as she's showing it under the flashlight of her phone cause she likes it too, showoff — "can i touch it?"

any other time she'd be denying it mumbling something stupid about hating random people to go on and touch her scarred arm but you're not a random girl. so she's whispering a barely audibly yes, and your fingertips are tracing the pattern etched on her skin, taking your time in doing so.

"it suits you," you praise as you touch, and she's fucking melting there under simple caresses, under something so simple as your fingers tracing her inked flesh, invisible shapes as you just want to keep your hand on her "did it hurt too much when you got it done?"

"yeah, sort of" it's not really like she's trying to sound cool, in all honest, she's just trying to be coherent now as you keep touching her skin as you smoke. invested in questions she's answering in full auto-pilot.

you're high after a while, and it's her weed that makes you look like that. half lidded, a lazy smile on your lips as you keep talking to her, red eyes, slower than ever: shit. she'd devour you all.

“have you ever shotgunned smoke into someone’s mouth?” you ask curiously, and the question comes out of nowhere as you stare at her blowing the smoke, a warmth creeping upon her neck as she notices the way you’re staring at her, ellie’s blushing.

selling you weed and not be able to get high with you every single time must be named one of the most horrible crimes in humanity.

“when i was like, 17?" ellie replies thinking for a moment "i dunno, thought it was the hottest thing ever- have you?”

“no, not really."

and to be fair, ellie's high too. she's testing a new strain with you and the words roll out of her tongue so easily she has no time to regret it, not when you're looking at her like you want her to get handsy there in a damn lounge chair, to hell if it’s in the middle of nowhere or not.

“want me to do it for you?” she asks, a gentleman as usual “i’ll gladly be the first.”

it takes a moment for you to consider it before your voice is all low and husky — "mhm."

“come here then miss,” ellie says using a finger to call you out, the joint already on her lips before she takes a long drag — “sit on my lap and open your mouth f’me.”

it's devastating.

your weight on top of her, your ass in her leg as she can see again, those transparent sheer stockings that must be damn useless against the cold, and her hand rest on your upper thigh there where she looked before.

you're so obedient. your skirt is a sinful invitation to touch further, and you're parting her mouth for her so she can get closer, and as she smokes, ellie does get closeto you. closer than she’s ever been — more than the car, the bathroom in the party she met you, mere inches before she's shotgunning the smoke in your parted lips and you're smoking from the same weed that was in her lungs.

"17-years-old ellie was right" you reply, not really moving to give her space as ellie's fingers squeeze your leg like a reminder you're there still, sated on your dealer's lap, her hands on you — "it is the hottest thing ever."

it's almost a chronicle of a death foretold, cause ellie's kiss does not surprise you at the slightest. it's demanding and sloppy cause she's high, you're high, and she's a victim of this force she cannot escape near you.

so she keeps on kissing you until your lips are swollen and you're simply there, slowly wanting more, squeezing your legs together cause you don't want to be a slut now — no. you don't want her to know you're soaking over a few kisses, at ellie's fingers pulling on your high stockings down till they are no longer there anymore.

"you're a fucking menace" she says between kisses, breathing heavier now by the seconds: ellie already noticed— "a menace to me, to my weed and my economy, you know that? how you make me sell out my stuff at half the price cause i want you as my secured client?"

despite her words, she's pushing you closer to her so you can feel her rib cage pressed against you, the goosebumps you produce just from being close to her, red lips and messy hair.

"it’s your loss ellie, cause i'd pay for the full price."

"mmhm well shit, you're really lucky cause you do give damn good kisses" she murmurs, fingers toying with the hem of your skirt now and she has the damn audacity to keep on smoking cause she's now confident on her effect, how you’re all affected by her touch — "and if you give damn good kisses, i'm betting all my money that you have an even better pussy for me."

the sounds you're making? fuck. she’s creaming her panties already when you're letting her touch you so freely and it’s not near enough.

"what is it going to be then, huh?" she asks curiously, her mouth already following the path down to your collarbone, your cleavage before she’s taking her time in leaving red-purplish hickeys there hidden beneath her own gray hoodie "should we make it to our seventh selling or you're going to let me play with your needy cunt as a much deserved reward?"

shit. shit. shit. you're so fucking wet when you're parting your legs further apart to give her a nice view of your underwear, a damp spot already there between your legs who’s enough to make her mouth water with the thought of burying her face between your thighs, intoxicate with the smell you're emanating and she feels already under her nose.

good fucking girl. she wants to praise you, let you know you're doing a great job there letting your skirt roll up to your stomach, so easy to get rid of it ellie's sure you did it on purpose now so she can let her hand slip between your legs to feel how soaked you are.

your cunt makes this sound when her finger’s taunting you she just happens to love, and your underwear clings to your pussy lips, hips buckling up to meet her fingers already wanting more.

greedy.

"shh-" she tries to reassure you — "you're comfortable there baby? want you to feel good when i touch you yeah? you'll let me know anything cause you're my well-behaved girl, aren't you? my best client here.”

ellie’s making you shake her head, coaxing you to say out loud you are comfortable there, ass in her lap, spread legs as her fingers push against the fabric right against your entrance, noticing how the cotton soaks at the motion.

"look at you all desperate" she chuckles — "have you been thinking about this a lot like i do?"

her fingers pull on your underwear to the side and there it is: glistening cunt, swollen lips and neglected clit that's just begging to be touched, filled, discovered by her hands, her mouth, tongue. nothing she fucking wants more.

who she is to ever deny anything to you? to stop selling you weed? the joint falls to the ground now as she's using her entire hand to touch you, fingers rubbing against your minor and mayor labia, circling against your engorged clit as you arch your back and she has to use force to keep you still, taking what she has to give like a champ.

"you're fucking soaked-" there's a slap sound that fills the air, and even when there's people in the garden they don't seem to hear your whimpers as her hand comes in contact with your pussy and she's slapping it once again, just enough to apply some pressure in your clit, just enough to make your legs shake "so responsive to me, gonna let me stuff this cunt full tonight? fucking finally huh? you've been haunting me like no one else."

and you giggle, giggle cause you cannot fucking believe it: fucking your dealer? are you so for real right now? you're deep under a cloud of haze you're unable to control, disheveled state when your skirt is all the way to up and your underwear being pulled to the side at her mercy and you can only answer:

"yes- ngh yes please ellie."

"shit- your clit is all puffy baby, all needy for me."

you're squeezing her already so hard when she’s working on you. a wet schlick that fills the air and combined with your incoherent words of praise and moans will send her to the grave.

ellie’s knuckles-deep and fuuuck. you're so tight she needs to ask if you're doing right, cunt engulfing her' fingers until there’s no more and she's curling them right to the spot so you don't care about the drunk fucks in the garden anymore, about anyone who can hear whats going on in an empty rooftop.

ellie’s using a hand to keep your legs spread when your free will collapses like paper cards, pulling them apart only to add a third finger in your used hole and reduce you to pieces now, clenching tight as she rubs on that special spot inside and you're mumbling something about feeling so full, so good with her inside.

"this pussy must be made for me baby, fits me like a fucking glove," ellie’s doubling her efforts, her palm colliding against your clit, fingers thrusting against the right spot over and over — "gonna let me see your pretty face when you cum? i know you're close."

you are. fuck you so are. your movements are erratic, your legs shake, and ellie's kissing on your shoulder, leaving a path of wet kisses on the exposed skin on your neck, biting on your earlobe, anywhere she can get.

"i can't-" you cry out, moving yourself in quick, sharp movements, it’s overwhelming — "fuck i can't hold no more-"

"let go" she replies, holding you tightly against her body — "let go. i got you."

it's hot. messes up ellie's jeans with a damp mark on them, turning the fabric darker when you finally cum and you're gushing on her fingers, leaking through trembling legs.

"fuck yes. drench me like that," your dealer moans, stealing a kiss from your parted lips, keeping the last glimpses of air in your lungs for her benefit "use me, baby, don't stop."

ah. ellie's in trouble after all, cause it don't seem she’ll be selling weed to you now. not when she's mixing business with pleasure and she's making you bend against the top rail of the old lounge chair cause she's not able to wait any longer to lick you clean until you have no other choice but to cum again.

truth be told she once heard cupid's cruel, but she didn't believe it fully, not until now since ellie knows, first hand — the little fucker shoots to kill.

[sealsshitpostden]

Get into other fandoms, we will welcome you happily, Your feelings of attachment to the franchise ARE valid...but you HAVE to face them, and learn to move on.

I am very sure that if you ask anyone in a fandom ¨hey, i wanna get int something new, i want to get away from hp ¨ they WILL help you out, and i know i myself would too! Its always fun to get into a new hobbie...But as it stands, hp is a cancer that needs to be extirpated, please, please see it as it is...i beg of you...Others can make it easier for you, but...you have to make the choice to move on yourself. Fuck it, literally DM me if you are interested! I will get you into 7 different things that will completely take over you if you let them, i am into so many fandoms. Play limbus company if you want something gritty, yet wonderfully written, and with a fair share of silly! I have 1300 hours on that game, and its a gacha game so you WONT have time to even think about hp, or if you dont want that, try out library of ruina! it is an amazing story with a greatly designed ¨beat enemy, get to use enemy's power¨ that i think you guys might like! Lobotomy corporation also exists, if you like the thrill of overcoming impossible odds, and SCP...AND the fanbase is welcoming to an almost fanatic degree! Join us, we are totally not a cult. Get into retroachievements, play games from before you were born, or from when you were a kid but never played, some games can take months and months Play VRchat if you want to meet people or, fuck it even get into ERP, i do not care and noone else will in the slightest Balatro exists, You probably know of it. Read Percy jackson, its a classic for a reason...and fuck it, if you wanna keep at it with ¨magic school¨ you can play a minecraft modpack with some friends that is focused on magic! theres a ton of them HELL, get into writing! make your own, legally distinct magical world with your friends and enjoy yourself! Writing is great And if that sounds appealing, but too much work, Try out Dnd! TTRPGs have never, ever been more accesible, and 5e is super easy to pick up with the help of literally anyone who knows how it works, you can make your OWN magical story, where you do not even NEED to be the main character, you can perfectly play the role of a side character watching/helping the protagonists do their thing, while being equally as important if you so choose! the possibilities are endless! I have had to discard my childhood completely, I am transgender, and it was miserable...But you can do it, i believe in you! AND i do mean it, Harry potter's actor, Daniel Radcliff (Who is quite *rad*) whose entire thing was being known AS ¨guy who played harry potter¨ has manage to overcome that completely, and just does his own thing now! i love his acting even if im not a big movie gal. You can do it, you do not need your past, even if it may be a comfort, to be a worthwhile person today, to be happy. I feel like this is what people, angrily, think when they say ¨READ A NEW BOOK¨ but its veiled in so much exhaustion due to JK's horrible, horrible actions that...I feel like some people could do with this post! Anyways, have a nice day, i do mean it, thanks for reading this far.

Let me make this clear. If I see you reblogging Harry Potter, if I see you doing that "Hogwarts house" in bio bullshit, if I see you writing hp fanfic or whatever I assume you are a transphobe. "But it's my special interest!" Don't care. "But it's just fanfic!" Didn't ask. "But I'm trans!" You should know better.

Don't like it? Stop putting the works of the world's worst terf on your blog. I don't care if you pirate it, you're still giving the series continued relevance and you're publicly making yourself look unsafe for trans women to be around.

[nelumbonuciferagaertn]

Beasts x Reader

Summary: How the Beasts react when the reader kisses them. Relationship: Romantic with Shadow Milk Cookie, Mystic Flour Cookie, Eternal Sugar, Silent Salt, and Burning Spice.

***

Shadow Milk Cookie

First, you ask him if you can kiss him. Honestly, it disturbs him—not in a bad way, but because he has no experience with romantic relationships. The only vision he has comes from plays, where love is romanticized: the protagonist—a man of course—kisses his beloved fiercely. That brings us to the current situation, where you’re asking to kiss your favorite Cookie, who's now staring at you in shock.

« HA! You know you're funny? …Wait, you're not joking?! » he stammers. When he regains composure, he finally accepts your offer. Though "accept" may be too strong a word compared to what he actually says. « Aww! My Pookie wants to kiss me. But, honestly, I can't blame you—I am so handsome. I’d probably do the same if I were you. So, I’ll be generous and allow you to place your lips on my incredible self! »

You start by kissing the cheek he turns toward you. What he didn't expect is how happy it would make him. The more you kiss him, the faster his heart beats, and the hotter his face becomes. He grabs the sleeve of your t-shirt with the intention of getting himself inked somewhere before collapsing into a puddle of emotion. Until you reach his forehead. Just the way you guide your left hand to his cheek, holding his head while your other hand brushes his bangs back, sweeping a path for a gentle kiss—It melted him! That simple act made him feel protected by your love.

When you stop and walk away to see the result, Shadow Milk Cookie looks dazed. His eyelash-like hair lowers quickly as his trembling hands reach for your clothes. Even though he proclaims himself a master of deceit, his emotions are incredibly easy for you to read.

You finish by kissing him on his lips, making his face turn tomato-red, and the eyes in his hair transform into hearts. You thank him, and his dilated pupils avoid yours, suddenly finding great interest in the nearby wall.

A few hours later, he'll deny liking it. But make no mistake—he'll ask for it again. Not directly, but he will.

Mystic Flour Cookie

She was surprised the first time you asked to kiss her, but kept her poker face. Nevertheless, she accepted.

You start by kissing the end of her hand as if it were a sacred act. She feels a warm glow of satisfaction, as if she had regained her former glory and you were showing her your adoration in the purest and most naive way. And the higher you go, the more this heat intensifies. Each kiss moves higher — starting with her fingers, following her knuckles, then kissing her wrist — until your fingers intertwine, sealing the gesture with intimate grace.

You finish by kissing her lips, very slowly, as if you were silently asking for her consent again. She didn’t pull away; in fact, if you looked closely, you might have noticed her leaning in. The kiss between you was slow, sensual, but full of candor and intensity. A mixture of calm and bold confession.

You had to stop the emotional moment to breathe. Somehow, it seems the lack of air didn’t bother your gorgeous Cookie. You move your head back, feeling a little numb and with red cheeks. And, unlike you, Mystic Flour seems perfectly normal. You would say that if you didn't know her, because you detect a softness in the way she is positioned, and maybe in the light smile on her face. Yeah, that helps too.

Despite this, she looks imperturbable, due to her philosophy of apathy, but inside, she really enjoyed the kiss.

She places her left arm under your chin with a delicate gesture and guides you towards her lips again. And you let yourself be led with joy.

Later, after that soft moment, Mystic Flour will maintain this radiant demeanor for the rest of the day—to the point that Haetae begins to wonder if something had changed in her, though they don’t dare to ask.

Eternal Sugar Cookie

You see her asleep, her head stuffed into her arms. You think she is kinda cute, peaceful like that. And then, you remember a conversation with her where she said she liked it when you kissed her to sleep. So you think it will be cute to kiss her. Not on her lips, because consent is important, and she’s asleep so you don’t have it. However, you can kiss her on the hair. You run your hand over it, smoothing down stray strands before bringing your lips together and tenderly kissing the top of her head. It was a long and soft kiss. When you finish, you whisper goodnight in her ear. You finally move back your head— « That's all you do for showing your love? »

Then, she lifts her head, looking at you slyly, her smile carrying a sweeter undertone. You immediately understand the request. She catches you with her arms surrounding your waist. You then pepper her face with kisses, leaving in your wake sincere proofs of love. Eternal Sugar is definitely happy. Her face lights up with joy. Your lips touch her cheekbones, her lower jaw, the corner of her lips, and you feel that wherever you kiss, her dough becomes warmer. You bet she blushes.

Finally, you warn your favorite Cookie that you have things to do and must go. However, she blocks your path with her angel and demon wings. « Don't you dare leave me. It's our moment now! Just for ourselves ~ »

She hugs you tighter and you can't resist, her sweet scent numbs you. The cocoon of her wings is enchanting, as if this happiness will never end. Both of you fall asleep in each other's arms. Resting peacefully, in this safe place, together, forever~

Silent Salt Cookie

Silent Salt would like to be kissed on the hand or the cheeks, in the style of old medieval demonstrations of love. Discreet, but emotional. Very romantic!

In addition, kiss them on the lips while they are wearing their helmet and they will melt in their armor.

Burning Spice Cookie

When you ask to kiss him, he is surprised. But not in a good way. « Why the hell would you ask that?! » His furrowed gaze pierces you.

This makes you angry. You fix him with the most empty look you can give. He glances at you, clearly not impressed. « Well I'm so sorry for actually caring about your feelings, love! » you growl, taking his head with your two hands and forcing him to lean forward to meet yours. You slam your lips hard, not on his, but just on the corner. Perfect for getting your revenge and teasing him.

When you release the pressure to leave his dough, his response is instantaneous. He slams you against the wall beside you (which you hadn’t even noticed), his ever-present axe glinting in one hand, your wrist pinned with the other. The silence that follows is significant. You can even see an ember igniting in his eyes while he observes you up and down.

« You're playing with fire right now, doll. » He moves his head forward, obviously aiming to kiss you on the lips this time, unlike you. However, you use your free hand to shove it into his long black hair and pull it down roughly, regaining control.

« Nuh-uh. This was my idea. You’re going to stay still. Got it? » He doesn’t resist. You feel the tension buzzing under his skin — the need to take control, but also the thrill of being played.

So you kiss him slowly: cheek, forehead, the edge of his mouth. When your lips reach his jawline, a low growl escapes him.

You smirk. He’s losing. And he doesn’t even mind.

***

Bonus for all: Over time, you become more intimate. Thus, they accept—with varying levels of embarrassment—that you kiss them where they wear their Soul Jam:

on his neck for Shadow Milk

on her upper forehead for Mystic Flour

between her eyebrows for Eternal Sugar

on their collarbone for Silent Salt

and on his chest for Burning Spice.

And if they really trust you, they'll let you kiss their Soul Jam directly. 😏

***

Note: Yo, I hope you enjoyed it! ✨ This took me a long time because I had to catch the behavior of each Cookie. Silent Salt's text is very short and different for a reason: they have not appeared in the game, so I don't have source material for their identity. Thus, it's mainly a headcanon. I don't even know what gender they have!

To understand the Cookies, I read their WikiFandom, some other fanfictions, and I asked ChatGPT to tell me the percentage of closeness I had with the original Cookie, with some advice added. The text with the highest grade in the first draft was Shadow Milk with 85%. Is it because he's my favorite Cookie and I read a ton of fanfics? Perhaps. By the way, this explains why some texts are longer than others. My motivation to write is apparently proportional to how much I love the character. Lol.

Then, using an AI allowed me to get as close as possible to the character at the cost of various rewrites. I use AI to correct my language too. I know how horrible it is to read a badly written fic. However, my first language isn't English and I'm far from bilingual. So I need correction. The idea and the original text are, and will always be, mine. But I need you to know I use AI in my fic only as a writing tool, just like I use Google Translate.

One more thing I have to say is about the nicknames ("Pookie", "Doll") I used. I don't know if they are used for a specific gender (I'm not a native English speaker), and with my small research I came to the conclusion that they could be used for everyone. But if you are not comfortable with it, you can always change the nickname in your head—for example, replacing it with your name.

I liked writing a new type of fanfiction. However, if I do that again, I won't write for more than 5 characters. That was painful enough 🤣 I'm wondering how many people will read this until the end. Try to fit the word "phantasmagoric" in your comment if you got this far.

Have a nice day :)

[bochowssinner]

🪽 BE MY BABY.

warnings: pregnancy?

a/n: short and sweet. this is so cute.

bo is a classic man; he'll marry you first before discussing having children with you, and he really wants it. the thought of having little babies running around the house makes his heart hurt because he wants it so much.

now, bo's genes may overshadow yours, and he teases you about it all the time.

"i want a caramel skin baby girl just like me." you smiled sweetly, holding the brush in your hands and gently brushing your hair. you've wanted a baby of your own since you were a little girl with a babydoll named missy, and now you can make your dream come true with your handsome husband, bo chow.

he hummed in agreement, big hands moving through your soft curls that he loved oh so much. "i'd love a little brown skinned girl just like you, baby." he said, hands now on your thigh, slowly going up to your hip as he pressed a sweet kiss on your neck.

"but i'm lighter skinned," he moved a big hand from your thigh to your stomach. "which means we'd probably end up with some more milky babies, you'd have to pray for that caramel skin."

he liked the idea of having a lot of children with you, especially since his store makes enough money to support them and you. plus, he spoils you on a daily basis; he'll enjoy doing the same for your children. don't be surprised when they end up spoiled.

"how many babies are we gon' have?" he asked with a smile.

"how many babies you want?" you countered, raising an eyebrow.

he chuckled, drumming his fingers your shoulder. "if i could choose how many we could have? i'd say seven to eight. that way we could have a couple boys and girls." he said, looking you over.

"what the hell, bo.."

"what? i just want a lot of babies with you. i'm hopin' for a good number of girls, though..." he grinned, reaching over and putting a hand on your waist. "i want them all to be just like your pretty lil' self."

you end up having two babies, a brown skinned little girl who looks exactly like you and a little boy who looks exactly like bo, as asian as can be with not a lick of brown in his skin. you were confused at first, until you remembered that he got it from bo.

bo adores them both like crazy. he's not afraid to discipline them, but they almost never misbehave because of how well you both raised them. they'll argue about toys or candy from time to time, but they always make up, which almost brings bo to tears every time.

of course, you carry on the black traditional of lathering their bodies and faces in cocoa butter with heavy hands; they both whine every time, but they sit through it anyway.

bo has been watching you do your hair since you both became sweethearts, so he takes such good care of your little girl's curls that it almost scares you. her curls are never dry, and her braids, which usually consist of two pigtails, are always neat.

as for your little boy, in many asian cultures, it's a tradition to shave a baby's head, often within the first few months of life, for the belief that it promotes thicker, healthier hair growth. you were sad at first because bo had shaved your precious baby boy bald. but after he explained why, you were okay with it, but made sure he didn't cut your baby girl's hair. she already had long and thick hair; she didn't need to go bald, too. of course, she makes fun of his little bald head, and you have to constantly tell her to leave him alone.

[randomshyperson]

don't run away without me - wanda maximoff oneshots

summary: Wanda's neglect of everything around her, and constant abuse of the darkhold reaches a breaking point - you can't go on like this anymore. | warnings: mainly angst, hurt/comfort, they fight and actually resolve things through dialogue (crazy ik), mutual pining, fluff by the end (you may consider the canon of agatha all along for the "open" ending) | words: 2.588k

a/n-> A month ago i think @iguirisu request an angst one shot, and here it is, i randomly had inspiration for it today at work hope you like; I actually do miss writing about Wanda's depression state, or dark hold influence era.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

The smell of coffee made you sigh and relax a little.

Natasha smiled affectionately - despite the obvious tiredness and sadness that your gaze hid, it was good to see you a little, even if minimally, more cheerful.

She took her place in the armchair, crossing her legs. In her hand, a hot cup of tea. You, on the other hand, left yours on the table, your fingers nervous.

"You took a while to visit, Y/N." Nat began, without waiting for you to make any excuse, she added; "I was hoping Wanda would come with you."

You look down, a sad laugh escaping you. "Yeah, I asked her to." You mumble, unable to hide your annoyance. “"Things have been... tricky. Ever since Westview. I thought we were doing well, as much as possible, but Wanda..." You sigh, forcing a smile at Nat. "She's been shouting me out."

Natasha takes a sip of her tea before commenting. "She knows none of us hold a grudge against Westview, right? Even though it's been, well, fucked up." 

You laugh weakly at the comment, nodding. You take a sip of your drink too, enjoying the the taste of it. 

Nat stretches out her legs and rests them on the coffee table. "Maybe I should visit." 

You shake your head. "Better not, Nat." You say, and this surprises the redhead a little. You sigh. "It's her magic. She's been restless, and Wanda, well, she gets really nervous sometimes. I tried to talk to her about contacting that witch we faced in Westview, you know? Agatha Harkness. But she won't give in. And that damn book too. I may not be a witch, but I can sense something's wrong." 

The redhead sighs. "Damn, Y/N, that sounds like... a lot." 

You smile weakly. "Yeah, I know. But thanks for having me here, Nat. I guess I needed to get out of that cabin for a bit, to clear my head." 

She shakes her head gently. "Please don't mention it. I think everything would be easier if we all still lived together in the compound. We'd end up making too much noise for Wanda to get stuck in books." Her joke makes you smile, a little nostalgic. Natasha looks at you curiously. "Are you sure you don't want me to visit? We can just, I don't know, talk. Spend some time together. I feel like I haven't seen you guys in... forever."

You smile sadly, looking away at the apartment. It’s exactly how you remember it, the same way Natasha welcomed you from Shield, a safe home for a defected black widow.

“It’s okay, this helps a lot.” You lean back against the couch, resting your back. “Can we talk about something else? Anything. Even if it’s a fantasy.”

She chuckled in confusion. "I don't understand, Y/N."

You sigh sadly. "I just miss you so much, Nat." 

She frowns, adjusting her posture to move closer, taking the seat next to you. "I'm right here, sweetheart." She says, reaching for your hand. You smile, feeling the tears well up in your eyes. 

You lean in to hug her, and for a moment, the feeling is just as you remembered. But it doesn't last long, and with a sigh, you wake up. 

The covers of your bed are tightly wrapped around you, but the cabin is cold and they do little to keep you warm. It's not just the weather, you know. Wanda is reading again, and the darkhold always makes sure that the cold feeling never goes away, even when you turn on the fireplace and sit on the rug in front of it.

You get up without rushing, there's nothing to rush about. You go to the bathroom to wash your face, brush your teeth, but maintain a relaxed appearance of someone who just woke up, which in the past Wanda would comment on how charming you are - but now, she doesn't even look up from her book when you leave the room.

You're not surprised that there's no coffee; if you don't make it, Wanda will just go on without eating, for hours and hours until her body protests with exhaustion.

It's not healthy, you can insist. But she won't give more than a grumble in return.

This morning you prepare pancakes, and some coffee. There are freshly picked apples that manage to bring a small smile to your face. You think it will be like any other morning, quiet and lonely, but Wanda's physical form appears to sit at the table with you.

"Hi, Y/N." It's almost painful actually. The distance and indifference have grown to the point that greeting you in the morning is almost like talking to a stranger.

Your back tenses before you glance at her from the corner of your eye and murmur a good morning, your attention returning to the preparation of the coffee.

"You woke up late." Your hand hesitates in cracking the eggs, but only for half a second. Wanda sighs. "I thought you weren't going to do that anymore." 

You place the eggs on the tray, and move to find the flour. Your back is to Wanda. "I don't know what you're talking about." You mumble disinterestedly. 

She laughs, humorless. "Come on, you were the one giving speeches about how wrong and dangerous that was, and now you're doing it almost every night." 

You set the bowl down on the table with a little more force than necessary. "What is it now, Wanda?" You demand, irritated but more importantly, upset. Days goes by with Wanda not paying a single glance at you, and now she’s demanding answers. "Just say what you mean." 

She rolls her eyes, and you swallow hard. She can be so… mean. Like Wanda never was. But then again, ever since Westview, and especially since the Darkhold, you've been discovering sides of her that you've never seen. You tried to stay positive about it, because well, relationships are hard. But it was all extremely tiring.

"I just think it's a little funny, when I asked to talk to my boys, you said it was wrong. That I was abusing your power, that it was dangerous to mess with these things, that speech about natural law and the veil of the dead, or whatever nonsense you made up."

"I didn't make it up-"

She interrupts you: "But when it's about you visiting Natasha every night, then it's okay?"

You laugh humorlessly. "Because it's me! Because I hold the connection, because it's my power! I've explained to you this a hundred times, but you don't want to accept it." She huffs, standing up, ready to leave the room, the conversation, and that makes you laugh again. "Go ahead, just run away again." 

She looks at you with irritation: "Me? You're the one who's running away, Y/N! Every night to visit our dead friend!" 

You have to laugh because honestly this has to be a joke. Wanda swallows hard at the sound. "Wanda, you're not even here." You gesture to the other room where her astral projection is reading the darkhold, and she turns her face away, almost embarrassed. You run a hand over yours, sighing. Exhausted. "This is all bullshit. I don't even know what I'm doing here."

You explode. "She talks to me!" And this takes Wanda by surprise, she looks at you with a frown, and you hold back the tears that threaten to fall. "A change of scenery for a change. "

"I talk to you." 

She looks at you as if you've been slapped, in a way, you're almost happy to have some reaction.

"You said you didn't want to leave me alone."

You frown, and hold her gaze, even though you can't hold back the tears anymore. "And in return, you barely look at me."

"Y/N, that's not true. We were ready to have breakfast-" She tries to get closer, to touch you, but you pull away, laughing humorlessly, gesturing nervously to the kitchen.

"Breakfast? Wanda, none of this is real!" You scoff, gesturing around. "This farm, the food, even the fucking animals, you created everything with your magic. All of this is a lie."

"Don't say that."

But you get closer, breathless with emotion, your hands find her face, and Wanda resists the urge to lean into the touch, her gaze conflicted as if she were also resisting something else, something stronger and deeper.

"I'm real, Wanda. And I'm right here. Begging you to let me in." You confess, and some of her certainty breaks. "But you push me away. And ignore me for days, limiting me to a ghost of you." 

She touches your forearms. "I know you don't like it, but astral projection allows me to study without leaving you alone and-" She tries, but you shake your head, cutting her off. 

"Enough, I don't want to hear the same excuses all over again." You walk away, a sad smile on your face. "I think I should just go."

Wanda tries to contain her emotion, but she's crying the next minute. "If that's what you want, I won't stop you." 

You laugh sadly. "What I want. Funny." You retort, walking around her to pack, and Wanda swallows hard. It takes a moment, but she finally follows you to the room, where you search for the few belongings you brought, which weren't fabrications of chaos magic. She doesn't even realize she's forced back her astral projection until she sees the darhold floating alone, almost begging to be read again.

"So that 's it? Are you really just going to leave me alone?" 

You don't look at her. "Clearly that's what you want, Wanda. Enjoy your reading." 

But she stands in front of the door, blocking your way. You sigh impatiently, but she holds her position. "And what do you want?" 

You hesitate, and Wanda tilts her head, her eyes turning red. You snort in protest at the attempt of mind reading. "Unbelievable." You mumble in disappointment, but there's a bump when you try to cross because Wanda won't step aside. "Come on, you said you wouldn't stop me." 

"Why did you come with me in the first place?" She demands to know then, her gaze almost pleading, and that makes you hesitate, take a step back. 

"Wanda." 

"Tell me." She says, and you swallow hard, looking away at the floor. She laughs humorlessly. "Fine, and then you say I don't talk to you." 

She steps aside, turning her back to you to walk down the hallway again, and you sigh, thinking fuck it. Things can't get any worse than they are now. 

"I'm in love with you."

It's the first time you've said it out loud, admitted it to yourself, actually. Wanda frowns at you, and then laughs briefly and incredulously.

"Right." She mumbles, and you take a step toward her.

"I'm serious."

Wanda doesn't flinch. "Well, I don't believe you."

It's your turn to frown, confused and a little embarrassed, as you watch Wanda sigh and walk over to the couch, where she sits. You sigh too before entering the living room again, the bag of clothes loosely in your hand. "What are you talking about? What do you mean you don't believe? This is just a fact, not something to argue about."

But the redhead shakes her head. "That's ridiculous, Y/N. You're not in love with me." You open your mouth to protest, but she keeps talking. "First of all, you never said anything. You didn't even think." She looks at you with a certain certainty that makes you swallow hard. That nosy witch and that bad habit of looking into people's minds. "Second, you're.. off limits. You're Nat' s. You always have been and always will. I mean you visit her even after death now." 

You grimace, and then you finally understand what Wanda is really saying. "Wanda, I," You begin, dropping your backpack on one of the armchairs and approaching where she is, kneeling down to her level. "Natasha and I broke up during the blip. I told you that. We became friends, just friends, over time. I’ve been visiting her because I was feeling lonely, and I missed having a friend to talk to." Wanda looks away, and you try to follow her gaze, your hand reaching for hers in your lap. "And yes, about the first thing, you're right. I'd never thought about it. It took me a while to understand, to realize. I guess I was trying to protect myself." 

She looks at you with some uncertainty. "From me?" 

You laugh shortly, shaking your head immediately. "Oh, no, Wanda, not from you." You clarify quickly. "I was afraid of getting my heart broken, you know? You had someone. And well, Natasha was my first love. And it was mutual. I didn't know how to deal with rejection, with the possibility of well, of living through this right now. It's been hard, but I'll survive." 

But Wanda swallows hard, her cheeks gaining a new color. "But I... didn't reject you."

You laugh awkwardly. "It's okay, I don't need you to let me down slowly, the shock and silence are enough for me to get the message." You joke, but when you make a move to stand up, Wanda tightens her grip on your hand, keeping you in place.

"You just caught me by surprise." She murmurs and it's the only thing she says before advancing on you, a firm kiss on your lips. She barely lets you get used to the feeling - pulling away immediately, her brow furrowed in conflict. "Fuck, don't show me that."

"I didn't do anything-"

"It's not you!" She snaps, her eyes red. Wanda suddenly becomes agitated, standing up, her hands on her head for a moment. You worry, and when you try to touch her, she suddenly grabs you, her arms around you, her face hidden in your chest. She takes a deep breath, as if trying to wake herself up to this moment. "Please, don't leave me alone with it."

You understand, the book, which continues to vibrate in the next room, waiting, demanding a reader.

One of your hands goes to Wanda's head, and the other to her back, trying to calm her down.

"I'll stay with you, Wands." You say, swallowing hard afterwards. "But on one condition." She breaks the hug only to look at you. You sigh. "We'll ask for help."

"What? No-"

"I'm serious." You interrupt. "If not Agatha Harkness, it will be someone from Kamar Taj, like Doctor Strange. You need help, Wanda. You don't sleep, you barely eat. You're paranoid and restless. You're hurting yourself, and I'm not going to stand by and watch."

Wanda sighs tiredly, and buries her face in your chest again, nodding softly. Though the next moment, she mumbles, “Strange won’t help. Sorcerers don’t… help witches.”

You kiss the top of her head. “Agatha Harkness then.”

The redhead groans in protest. "I don't trust her." But you hug her a little tighter.

"I know, darling, me either." You whisper. "But who knows what Westview has in store for us?"

Wanda hides her warm face deeper inside the hug. "I like it when you call me that."

It's your turn to blush. "Lucky for you, I have an endless list of pet names for you, Miss Magic Fingers." She giggles, trying to tickle you so you'll let her go, but the break only makes you laugh and shower her face with kisses.

[hatchan]

You're right and you should say it!

I recently learned a phrase called "dishonest harmony" and I brought this in to show my therapist because I was like "This. This is what I'm really good at. I've been training in this my whole life. But I don't think that's a good thing??"

People pleasing behavior leads to dishonest harmony. We can get really really really good at maintaining harmonious social relationships that are based fundamentally on pretending we don't hate everything about it.

This is from an email I got as being part of Captain Awkward's Patreon:

Dishonest harmony describes the illusion of social peace & cohesion manufactured by the deliberate suppression of conflict, i.e. “We can all get along and have a good time as long as nobody brings up The Incident.” Dishonest harmony (sometimes called dishonest peace) can absolutely be a strategic choice, as patron Rachel S. eloquently describes:

"I am using it to describe a choice I am making in a relationship to not address an intractable issue in favor of maintaining the relationship. Before I was introduced to "Dishonest peace" I was calling it "superficially pleasant". Another way to think about it is maximizing the things I like about a relationship and refusing to engage around the issue that I don't. So I am choosing dishonest peace instead of honest conflict."

In Captain Awkward lingo, it's the assumption that if you are a reasonable person who is capable of remaining calm in the face of other people's shitty behavior, it's somehow easier to pressure you to keep putting up with shitty behavior forever than it is to impose consequences for shitty behavior on unreasonable people. Again, in working on the book, I have been trying to pinpoint the source of the enduring fear that runs underneath some of the common questions I get. Especially questions where there's a solution that should be straightforward, easy, obvious, etc. on the surface ("Just RSVP 'no thanks' and don't go", "Just be honest about how you feel," "Just tell them to knock it off already," etc.) and yet? The questioner is experiencing a seemingly disproportionate amount of worry and self-doubt. "Is this normal?" "Am I making it awkward because I'm just an awkward person?" "Since I'm the only one who seems bothered by this, maybe everyone is right that I'm overreacting and I should just let it go?" "Am I even allowed to feel upset about this?" "If I speak up about this am I gonna lose [my job][my relationship][all my friends][my whole family]?" These questions also tend to include a request for scripts that will stop other people's stressful behavior without ever making anyone feel bad, which feels to me like a recognition that maintaining dishonest harmony is a baseline expectation of the antagonist in the problem. If someone who mistreats you also has the power to put your housing, livelihood, and safety at risk if they don't get their way, "Can I afford to piss this person off right now?" can be quite a literal question.

Just, if there's a solution to be had, it can't be about individually improving ourselves to become more callous and cool about uncool, shitty behavior. "Politely" going with the flow might be the least worst among bad options, for a lot of reasons: You may not feel safe speaking up, especially knowing that other people are unlikely to have your back. If you depend on an unrepentant asshole for safe housing or continued employment, the costs of speaking up might literally outweigh the costs of staying silent, at least in the near term. But also, any time we calculate the costs of dishonest harmony vs. honest conflict, the cost-benefit analysis has to include both the cost to ourselves and the opportunity costs of doing nothing. If all of my reactions are "overreactions," what is the cost of not reacting? If leaving a party where people say racist stuff is "ruining" the party, what's the cost of showing up to or remaining at shitty racist parties? You may decide that preserving a given relationship is worth making a conscious effort to focus on the positives in the present and ignore the other person's bad behavior in the past, but that doesn't mean it doesn't cost anything, it means you've chosen to bear the costs (the pain of cognitive dissonance, the effort of suppressing what you know to be true, the pain of going against what you know to be right, or what Dan Savage has called "the price of admission") because the alternatives are worse or because the potential rewards are worth it to you. Your generosity, your patience, your hope that someday things might be different if you can extend a little grace? Those are gifts you can choose to give, not something you owe.

^^^^ these are just some highlights that I thought added to this post, but I'll copy the full text below the cut for anyone who wants to read the post in full:

"Dishonest Harmony: Explained" by Captain Awkward

I promised you a post about this after the poll from the other day, and here it is!

I stumbled across this term recently on TikTok where I follow a lot of ADHD and AuDHD creators, and it made a whole bunch of things about awkwardness fall into place. I want to do some more research about the origin of the term so I can give proper credit and citation, but here is my understanding so far.

Dishonest harmony describes the illusion of social peace & cohesion manufactured by the deliberate suppression of conflict, i.e. “We can all get along and have a good time as long as nobody brings up The Incident.”

Dishonest harmony (sometimes called dishonest peace) can absolutely be a strategic choice, as patron Rachel S. eloquently describes:

"I am using it to describe a choice I am making in a relationship to not address an intractable issue in favor of maintaining the relationship. Before I was introduced to "Dishonest peace" I was calling it "superficially pleasant". Another way to think about it is maximizing the things I like about a relationship and refusing to engage around the issue that I don't. So I am choosing dishonest peace instead of honest conflict."

We'll come back to this, but first I want to talk about a) dishonest harmony as a tool that power uses to maintain itself and enforce its authority, b) a consistent source of awkwardness, and c) the price it exacts.

Think about every period drama about elaborate systems of manners and dress where the question of "Will Mr. Ten Thousand A Year make a good husband for our plucky heroine?" is completely divorced from "Does he own his fellow human beings (& does he torture them himself or does he outsource all that to the overseers and just bank the profits)?" What's "ruder" in a ballroom setting, being somewhat disinclined to dance, wearing the wrong outfit, or asking that question about your prospective partners?

Think about every "Has the #MeToo Movement Gone Too Far?" article that tried to make the case that loudly objecting to being assaulted at work en masse is somehow worse than assaulting people at work en masse and how rude and annoying and shrill it is for rape victims to "ruin" everyone else's enjoyment of art by rapists. Think about The Case(s) of The Creepy Dude, where having every single woman bounce out of the friend group when she gets tired of being groped is somehow "easier" for the men than the potential friction of kicking out the groper.

Think about every letter to Captain Awkward Dot Com where the gist is "Not only are my loved ones totally fine with hanging out with my abuser, they also berate and punish me for not wanting to hang out with my abuser." Less dramatic perhaps, but no less painful is the cognitive dissonance of interacting with family members who cannot ever confront or admit the pain they cause. Turns out you can go home again, as long as you pretend that your childhood never happened and find a way to remain placid around people who think that your memories of what they did to you are something between malicious lies and personal attacks.

Workplaces run on dishonest harmony. If you asked 1000 strangers to define "professionalism" you'd get a lot of information about punctuality, how to dress, behave, and communicate, as well as a multitude of field-specific expectations for necessary qualifications and professional standards. But would anybody tell you about the part where you are supposed to remain calm, cheerful, and productive no matter how people treat you or what kind of abuses you witness? Sure, your boss pulled a machete out in a meeting, and your coworker screams at you to the point that it's damaging your health, but that's no excuse to slack off!

As I've been revising the book, there's been this thing in my chest that I haven't known how to say about how the very worst moments of my life were not the times that someone did awful things to me, they were about what happened afterward when the people who were supposed to be on my side did nothing to stand up for me and everything to judge and punish me about my reaction to the awful things. I could never win. If I froze, fled, or fawned instead of fighting, then the problem was that I needed to get better at standing up for myself. If I fought back, I was a troublemaker out to ruin everyone's fun. "Just ignore it!" "They only do that because they know it will get a reaction!" "Two wrongs don't make a right!" (I swear, if my atoms physically expanded every time someone told me to be the bigger person when someone harassed or bullied me, by now my mass would block out the fucking sun.) And if I spoke honestly about it, by pointing out bad behavior and double standards, or even just being honest about my own pain, then I was "overreacting," "causing drama," being "too sensitive," "making a big deal out of nothing," etc.

With serial "missing stairs," they would justify their own inaction with stuff like "Well, that's just how they are, it won't make any difference anyway" because in their minds nothing works to stand up to abusers except working patiently behind the scenes to gently change the hearts and minds of abusers by radiating eternal empathy and acceptance at them while pretending that it's not happening, or something. Believe me, I get the impulse to protect one's peace and conserve energy, and they were probably right about the feasibility of changing certain hearts and minds, but you know what? Even if they didn't know how to stop the abuse, it would have made a difference to me to hear,"You're not alone" or "That was incredibly messed up, I'm sorry, I have no idea what to do either." "You're right, but I can't afford to lose this job, that's why I didn't say anything." "Do you want to get out of here for a while?" "Can I bring you some water?" "Do you need a hug?" It would have made a difference to me to have someone be slightly more interested in my safety than their own comfort or how it might affect group cohesion if I remained visibly uncomfortable.

There's this old business parable/anecdote I heard one time, about the "last monkey." If the actual study existed and you know what it was, I'd love to know, but this is the version from my memory of being told about it:

Supposedly scientists did a study where they put bananas on top of a ladder in an enclosure full of monkeys, and when any monkey climbed the ladder to get the bananas, they whole group got punished. by being drenched with icy water. Once the monkeys knew to avoid the ladder, they stopped the punishments. Instead, they gradually introduced new monkeys to the group, and when those monkeys tried to climb the ladder, the experienced monkeys would stop them, no ice water required. Over time, they swapped experienced monkeys out and new monkeys in until none of the original monkeys who had direct experience getting drenched remained. Adding new monkeys to this group produced the same results--New arrivals would be like "hey, banana!" and all the rest of the monkeys would be like "FORBIDDEN LADDER, NO!" and physically prevent them from climbing, even though they didn't know why, until finally everyone stopped trying.

I think the story was told to me in the context of entering a deeply dysfunctional workplace, and it was supposed to be a parable about, idk, the dangers of unquestioning obedience and how fresh eyes on problems from outside are good, actually, but also if you're the new guy and you point out a problem be prepared for coworkers entrenched in systems of punishment to react badly to change and take it out on you even if they can't articulate why. Also (again from memory), monkeys can't make words, so the warnings were less "Welcome, to LabCorp, Bradison! Please don't climb that ladder, you wont like it up there" and more along the lines of a group rugby tackle. FYI, there's an iconic Reddit post called "Don't Rock The Boat" that covers similar ground. In Captain Awkward lingo, it's the assumption that if you are a reasonable person who is capable of remaining calm in the face of other people's shitty behavior, it's somehow easier to pressure you to keep putting up with shitty behavior forever than it is to impose consequences for shitty behavior on unreasonable people.

Again, in working on the book, I have been trying to pinpoint the source of the enduring fear that runs underneath some of the common questions I get. Especially questions where there's a solution that should be straightforward, easy, obvious, etc. on the surface ("Just RSVP 'no thanks' and don't go", "Just be honest about how you feel," "Just tell them to knock it off already," etc.) and yet? The questioner is experiencing a seemingly disproportionate amount of worry and self-doubt. "Is this normal?" "Am I making it awkward because I'm just an awkward person?" "Since I'm the only one who seems bothered by this, maybe everyone is right that I'm overreacting and I should just let it go?" "Am I even allowed to feel upset about this?" "If I speak up about this am I gonna lose [my job][my relationship][all my friends][my whole family]?" These questions also tend to include a request for scripts that will stop other people's stressful behavior without ever making anyone feel bad, which feels to me like a recognition that maintaining dishonest harmony is a baseline expectation of the antagonist in the problem. If someone who mistreats you also has the power to put your housing, livelihood, and safety at risk if they don't get their way, "Can I afford to piss this person off right now?" can be quite a literal question.

Self-help as a genre tends to treat every issue like an individual skill issue. "Here are 10 easy steps for becoming less awkward and more assertive in life!" It's an appealing and timeless formula because we know that we can't fix other people, we can only control ourselves, and anything that offers more self-control and actualization feels automatically more achievable than something that relies on others to accomplish our goals. As a result, self-help as a genre tends to conveniently ignore power dynamics. Even books that are explicitly designed to address that stuff are like "Welp, you can't fix misogyny, so just lean in harder, girlboss the shit out of life, and you too can become so excellent (and rich) that maybe sexism stops affecting you on a personal level!"

It's hard to fix stuff if you can't be honest about where it's broken and the honest truth is that sometimes when we speak up on our own behalf, we lose. Not because we didn't use the right words, or because our timing was bad, or because we were "unprofessional" or "rude" or terminally awkward, but because the people we spoke up to decided that they would rather have dishonest comfort than honest conflict or honest solidarity with us. There are certainly ways to practice being more strategic with language choices and more confident with delivery over time, but there is no perfect, smooth, foolproof way to deliver news that the other person doesn't want to hear that guarantees that they will react a certain way. And to use a trope as old as time, some people would rather shoot the messenger than be forced to deal with the message.

So, what do we do about it? That's a long and complicated answer about something I just learned the word for, but I have a few initial suggestions which are less about finding the perfect way to exist at all times and more about switching your defaults and rebalancing power:

1. Recognize when dishonest harmony is being prioritized, demanded, and enforced and name it for what it is, even if you're only talking to yourself.

2. Recognize that there is always a cost to dishonest harmony, even when it's a choice. Time to recalculate those costs as if you are (at least) an equal participant in your relationships.

3. Going with the flow, smoothing things over, choosing to stay silent for the sake of a relationship or the "greater" good or longer-term goals, etc. are strategic choices, not absolute rules and certainly not moral requirements.

4. There is power in solidarity. You can't stop other people from behaving like assholes, but maybe you can learn to be the person you needed.

What that could look like in practice, using a common scenario:

You're at a party, and someone makes an offensive comment and tries to play it off as a joke. Some people laugh nervously, others don't react at all, and somehow you're the only person who is like "wow, what a gross thing to say." Sensing you're outnumbered, maybe you don't say anything out loud, but you do something, like grab your coat or ask for the check, because it's clearly time to call it a night. And suddenly, all the people who had nothing to say about the verbal turd that The Great Comedian just left in the punch bowl are very concerned about your reaction. "What's wrong, can't you take a joke? Why are you so sensitive? Come on, sit down, don't ruin everyone's good time! Stop overreacting so much!" 

Recognize and name that shit, even if it's just inside your head. This isn't about what an inherently awkward, dramatic, uncool person you are, this is a demand for dishonest harmony from people who prioritize the illusion that everyone is having fun over real evidence that you are not having fun anymore. If the gross thing the other person said didn't "ruin" the party, but your visible discomfort has the power to ruin "everyone's" fun, that's certainly interesting information! If the group has calculated that it costs less to police your reactions than it does to do anything about what you're reacting to, are they right about that? Maybe yes, but maybe no. Just because they bet on it doesn't make it true.

Just, if there's a solution to be had, it can't be about individually improving ourselves to become more callous and cool about uncool, shitty behavior. "Politely" going with the flow might be the least worst among bad options, for a lot of reasons: You may not feel safe speaking up, especially knowing that other people are unlikely to have your back. If you depend on an unrepentant asshole for safe housing or continued employment, the costs of speaking up might literally outweigh the costs of staying silent, at least in the near term. But also, any time we calculate the costs of dishonest harmony vs. honest conflict, the cost-benefit analysis has to include both the cost to ourselves and the opportunity costs of doing nothing. If all of my reactions are "overreactions," what is the cost of not reacting? If leaving a party where people say racist stuff is "ruining" the party, what's the cost of showing up to or remaining at shitty racist parties?

You may decide that preserving a given relationship is worth making a conscious effort to focus on the positives in the present and ignore the other person's bad behavior in the past, but that doesn't mean it doesn't cost anything, it means you've chosen to bear the costs (the pain of cognitive dissonance, the effort of suppressing what you know to be true, the pain of going against what you know to be right, or what Dan Savage has called "the price of admission") because the alternatives are worse or because the potential rewards are worth it to you. Your generosity, your patience, your hope that someday things might be different if you can extend a little grace? Those are gifts you can choose to give, not something you owe. And you don't get to choose what other people are willing to pay.

Because something we all need to reckon with is the fact that "stunned, disapproving silence when people act like bigots and assholes" looks just like "silent agreement with bigots and assholes" from the outside. If we never speak up because we assume that we're all alone or because it "won't make any difference anyway," then there's nothing to prove us wrong, but there's also nothing to light the beacons for anyone else or change the circumstances. If we internalize and enforce the expectation of polite, compliant silence at all costs on others just because we're afraid because of past bad experiences or because we don't want to bear the costs, then we risk becoming the enforcer monkeys (one might even say "flying monkeys") who would rather teach people why there is no point in fighting back than do any of the fighting ourselves. Sometimes you only find out who's on your side when you stop pretending there are no sides or that we're all on the same one. Or as Maud, a friend of Melissa McEwan (of Shakesville fame/notoriety) put it, "There are times when you must speak, not because you are going to change the other person, but because if you don't speak, they have changed you."

So greetings to my fellow boat rockers, last monkeys, "good" daughters, and anyone who has ever been screamed at to Calm Down and Stop Being So Emotional when all we did was fail to hold perfectly and let flecks of someone's rage-spittle decorate our faces until they were done talking and then pretend like it never happened. Dishonest harmony is expensive. Sometimes it's worth it, and sometimes it is extremely not worth it. When we return awkwardness to sender, think about it as sending the emotional dry-cleaning bill to assholes who won't stop pooping on the tablecloth, and then tell me who is being "rude" and "uncivil."

End of manifesto (for now).

Adult realization: you will make mistakes, you will act irrationally. You will commit some wrongs that cannot be fully righted. People will dislike you and misunderstand you for all sorts of reasons. None of these make you a bad person. All you can do is try your best to be kind and just to people, grow and learn.

[absurdthirst]

The Last Part of Him {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.2k

Warnings: Flirting/Courting, Joel's a little confused, Flirting through food, dates, feelings of inadequacy, oral sex (male and female receiving) premature ejaculation, shame, fleeing the scene of the crime, public blowjobs, mentions of infertility, sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, Joel being sexy when he's confident, relationship issues, miscommunication, five year flash forward, mentions of illness, canon events, pregnancy.

Comments: When Joel and Ellie come to Jackson, you are instantly attracted to the gruff and slightly solitary man. Chasing him down until you become interwoven in his life.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Joel sighs as he looks around the house, full of mismatched furniture and remnants  from long dead owners who perished during the outbreak. Joel feels a little awkward touching anything, the space doesn't feel like his, but since he and Ellie returned from Colorado, he is desperate to settle down. He doesn't know how to. It's been twenty years of fighting to stay alive and all of a sudden he doesn't need to fight for his meal, it's provided. He doesn't need to try to stay warm, he has a fireplace and space heaters. He doesn't have to just survive. It's hard to shake old habits so the residents of Jackson are skittish when he's around, dark eyes full of the battles he fought over the years and that makes them nervous, scared that he's going to snap. Ellie has settled in like a duck to water, meeting the other teenagers despite her initial apprehension, and Joel is happy to see that. It confirms that he made the right choice to save her. Picking up the coffee cup, Joel falls back into the chair at the kitchen table. He doesn't have to survive anymore...he can live. He stares at the cup until there's a knock on the door. His heart pounds and the instinct to grab his gun is there but he slowly makes his way to the door, opening it to find you standing there. "Uh, can I help you?" He asks, taken back by the pretty young thing on his doorstep holding a basket of what looks like muffins.

You shift nervously, smiling at the handsome newcomer to Jackson. Not exactly new since he and the girl were here for a few days several months ago, but they are back to stay. You’ve met the girl, Ellie, and she’s nice, if not a little abrasive. Joel, though, you’ve only seen him in passing and you wanted to introduce yourself to Tommy’s older brother. Your name comes out of your mouth, almost hesitantly and you could kick yourself for nearly stuttering because of an attractive set of brown eyes and silver threaded hair. “Wanted to introduce myself and welcome you to Jackson.” You offer, holding up the basket. “Hope you like blackberries?” You ask. “I’ve got a greenhouse in my backyard. Blackberries are abundant this year so far.” You’re rambling so you clamp your mouth shut. “Made them myself.”

Joel hates that his immediate reaction is suspicion but what can he do? He raises his eyebrows, watching you shift from one foot to the other, biting your lower lip like he’s gonna shove the muffins on the floor. “I, uh, thanks.” He says, brow still furrowed but he musters a smile for you. “You didn’t have to do that.” He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, “they, uh, they look good. Thanks.” He adds again, not sure how to act when faced with genuine kindness.

“We’ve grown our wheat fresh.” You offer, knowing that some have voiced concern about eating flour when they first arrived. “No old stores. Not that they would have survived twenty years anyway.” You hate how stupid you sound, especially because he’s more attractive up close than he had been walking the streets, an unapproachable scowl on his face. “So you know, it’s safe to eat.”

You’re nervous and he has no idea why except maybe his reputation has preceded him in Jackson. He knows that the people are wary of him and don’t know who exactly he is. “Thanks. I, uh, I don’t remember the last time I ate a muffin.”

God, he’s sexy. You swallow down a slight giggle, wondering if you are just horny because of lack of selection. “Well I promise you’ll love my muffins.” You don’t even think about how it will sound until it’s out of your mouth and Joel’s brow twitches slightly. “So, uh, welcome to Jackson, neighbor.” You offer, even if you don’t live nearby. Because you’re single, you live in an apartment.

Joel nods, still cautious and confused as you offer him a little wave and he frowns when his thought is “how cute.” He doesn’t think of anything as cute, not since Sarah would cuddle her teddy bear when she fell asleep. He sighs, shutting the door when you bounce off the porch and he looks down at the muffin, picking one up to take a big bite out and groans, “fuck, those are good.” He mutters to himself as he strides into the kitchen just as Ellie comes through the front door, shrugging off her jacket, and she strides into the kitchen to see Joel with a muffin in his hand. “Muffins?” She guesses even though she only saw them in books. Baked goods were really a common commodity in the QZ. Joel nods, “neighbor brought them over.” He explains after he swallows and Ellie eagerly grabs one, “fuck yeah.” She declares, taking a big bite and she groans at the taste. Joel looks at the muffin in his hand, thinking about the pretty woman who made them for him. She won’t be back…she will realize he’s not someone you want as your neighbor.

You don’t hear anything back from him, although it’s to be expected. You didn’t exactly tell him where to find you. You had hoped that he would ask around, maybe using the basket as an excuse to track you down. Still, you see Ellie around town for the next few days and spot Joel once or twice, but he’s always talking to Tommy and Maria, obviously discussing something serious. You don’t see him at dinner in the dining hall though. Making you decide that the perfect excuse to visit again would be dropping off the casserole you had made. Calling yourself an idiot as you once again wait on the porch for someone to answer the door.

Joel adjusts the reading glasses that were gifted to him by Tommy as a joke for being officially an old man but he has found himself reluctantly reaching for them for reading things. He makes his way to the front door, wondering if Ellie forgot her keys and he is surprised when he sees you standing there. “Uh, hi.” He says your name, stomach twisting at the sight of you.

You can’t help but grin, a silly little happy grin because he remembered your name. “Hi.” He doesn’t open the door wider, doesn’t offer to let you come inside. Still guarded and there’s confusion in his eyes. Making you wonder when the last time he had someone just be nice to him. “I never see you in the dining hall.” You announce. “Maybe you don’t like crowds? Or people?” You chuckle slightly but he just looks at you, his eyes heavy on you and you shift. “Anyway, I, uh, I made this casserole.” You love a good, hearty casserole. It’s comforting and warming, reminding you of better times. “For you.” You add. “The casserole is for you. And Ellie.”

Joel looks down at the dish in your hand, eyebrows raising slightly, “I, uh, I still have your other basket.” He remembers, scratching his jaw, “do you - Ellie is out and I ain’t really lookin’ forward to eatin’ alone. You wanna come in and have some of this?” He asks, not wanting to be alone despite that being selfish.

“Y-yeah.” You nod, heart pounding at the unsure look on his face. As if he was expecting you to say no. “I’d like that. I don’t like eating alone either.” You shrug slightly. “Unless I’m pissed at the world and don’t want to talk.” You admit with a roll of your eyes. “Because for some reason, people can’t just sit with you and not talk.”

Joel snorts, nodding his head, “Ellie never shuts up.” He confesses, making you chuckle as you follow him into the house after he turns and makes his way into the house he’s still trying to be comfortable enough in to call home. “You want a beer?” He asks, thankful Tommy brought them over today and he’s had them cooling since they arrived.

“Sure.” You set the casserole down on the counter when he guides you into the kitchen. It’s nice, the old appliances are still sitting on the counters although they look like they haven’t been used. Except for the coffee maker. It still holds a cup of coffee in the carafe from where he had made some this morning. “What was the old saying? ‘It’s five o’clock somewhere.’ Well, it’s past five now, so I think we are good and I’m not going on a recon tomorrow.”

He frowns, trying to figure out where the plates are. He hasn’t memorized the kitchen set up just yet so he opens a few cabinets before he finds them. He sets them down on the table and quickly locates the silverware. “It smells really good.” He compliments you, wanting you to know he appreciates this, even if he can’t really express it.

“Thanks.” You watch him stumble around his own kitchen, now looking for cups and you tilt your head before you move to arrange the plates in front of the chairs. “You know, you should really reorganize the kitchen how you want it.” You suggest. “It’s your house now. Not like the old owners are going to be upset.”

Joel pauses at your words, surprised you observed him like you did. He feels a little exposed and he finds the cups. After setting them down, he opens the fridge to pull out two beers. “I haven’t been here long.” He reveals even though you know that, “I don’t remember the last time I had a kitchen like this.”

“You’ll get used to it faster than you believe possible.” You promise as you move to shift the casserole to the table in the middle. “It’s honestly nice, trying to rebuild a little bit of the past. Maybe improve it.”

He shifts to sit down, watching you as you take the seat opposite him, and he remembers he’s wearing the glasses. He reaches up to take them off, folding them, and he reaches for the serving spoon at the same time as you. When your fingers brush his, his heart flutters in his chest. “You first.” He insists, handing you the spoon.

It’s almost a shame that he took off his glasses. It gave him an almost scholarly appearance, although without him, he’s just hot. He even has manners, which makes you smile as you dip out a portion and turn the spoon around towards him. “Thank you.” You murmur.

He serves himself and lifts his full cup after pouring the beers out. “Thanks for dinner.” He murmurs, taking a sip of the beer that’s the equivalent to Michelob Ultra. Basically water but in these times beggars can’t be choosers. He sets his beer down and picks up the spoon, taking his first bite, and he groans at the taste of your cooking.

You hope that’s a good groan and not one that means he hates it. You take a bite yourself and feel like it’s good. It has to be, because Joel digs in a little faster. Not hunched over his food like some do, but the scrape of the spoon is quicker than yours. Smiling, you reach for your beer and take a sip.

He’s not used to eating slowly. He’s used to eating to survive and he is still in that habit. Shoving food in until he sees your eyes and he slows down. He swallows his bite, knowing he should say something. “It’s really good.” He gestures his spoon towards the food.

“I’m glad you like it.” He sounds gruff, but you think that’s just the way he talks. You don’t take offense to it. “Because there’s enough for leftovers.” You crack a grin and look around. “And I don’t see any evidence of sneaking one of the dogs home.” You joke. The dogs are trained to sniff out infected, treated well, but definitely not allowed to be kept as pets.

He chuckles for a moment, setting his spoon down, “the dogs would definitely love your cooking. Ellie, uh, she really liked the muffins. Kid ain’t had one because of the outbreak and the QZ didn’t exactly have a Panera.” He jokes quietly.

“I couldn’t imagine they did.” You like the fact that he can make a joke. The little half smile that curves his lips makes you want to see a full one. “Although coffee would be the most important thing to me.” You admit. “Nothing better than a cup of hot coffee, especially first thing in the morning.”

He nods, “absolutely. One thing I missed all those days on the road…cup of coffee. Could do without food. Could do without…well, without sex.” He says honestly, “but coffee? Especially Ellie tellin’ me these stupid puns all day.” He gently rolls his eyes but his gesture is full of affection.

There’s obviously a fatherly love for the girl, you can tell by the way his voice changes, softens. It makes you smile, even if your entire body had lit up when the word ‘sex’ had dripped off his tongue. “Coffee and sex makes for the best morning though.” You chuckle. “You can survive anything then. Even puns.”

He snorts, “true. Folgers and an orgasm ain’t a bad way to start the day.” He chuckles, “not in that order.” He adds after a beat and he continues eating, spoon scraping the plate. “Where did you learn to cook?” He asks, curious if you taught yourself or a family member taught you.

“The group I was in before Jackson recon found me.” You smile. “There was an old woman who served as our cook. No matter how low we were on supplies, she could make it feel like a feast.” You shrug. “She taught me, and so I volunteer in the kitchens sometimes.”

Joel nods, “you got skills, sweetheart.” He smiles and looks down at his plate as you smile at him. “What happened to your group?” He asks, curious because everyone has a story, everyone has a tragedy.

“Dead.” Your group had been unfortunately softer than needed in this harsh world and hadn’t put down someone infected right away. “About a hundred miles from here.”

He taps his spoon against the plate, “shit. I’m so-sorry.” He murmurs, knowing that he has seen some shit go down in groups. “Well, I’m glad you ain’t one of them.” He murmurs until he catches himself, “otherwise I would be eatin’ stale crackers and jerky.”

You chuckle softly. “Thanks.” You shrug. “And you came out here from Boston to find Tommy?” Everyone has heard the story, you just think that it’s amazing. The show of loyalty makes your heart flutter.

Joel nods, “yeah. He, uh, didn’t exactly tell me he had found fuckin’ apocalyptic paradise and got married with a kid on the way, I thought he was in the middle of nowhere.” He confesses, “but I brought Ellie along with me and yeah, she’s a good kid.”

“You thought he was in trouble and came to the rescue.” It makes him even more admirable in your opinion and it’s amazing you aren’t just simpering in a puddle at his feet. “I know that the town has been buzzing. You used to build? Before all of the end of the world shit?” Fuck, in his prime, on a construction site? Joel Miller would have been fucking eye candy to you.

Joel nods, feeling like that career was a lifetime ago. He’s developed other skill sets, ones he never imagined having to learn back when he was building houses for a living. “Yeah. Me and Tommy had our own business.” He reveals, “was damn good at it.” He boasts and smiles softly at some of the jobs he did. “I can help out around town.” He offers, knowing he’s already offered that to Maria. He wants to earn his place here.

“That’s impressive.” You have a competency kink and you know it, so that just makes him even more attractive. “I know we will be grateful. Everyone pitches in, but people who had knowledge before all of this, they are important.”

“Not quite as useful as a doctor but I’ll do my best.” He offers you a small chuckle until he finishes his dinner. “I can’t really cook for shit other than rabbits and uh, things I catch like fish so that was really good.” He compliments you, “thank you.” He murmurs, wanting you to know he appreciates it.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He’s a little more friendly now, but you don’t want to push him, knowing that he’s not one for a lot of chit chat. “Let me help clean up and I’ll let you enjoy your evening.” You offer. “I doubt you’re going to the movie tonight?”

He wants to say more but he’s not capable. Ellie did all the talking when they were traveling. He sighs, shaking his head, “not really my scene.” He confesses, “no one wants me around.” He admits what he’s been thinking since he arrived in Jackson. “Here, lemme clean up.” He orders, taking the plate from your hand.

You don’t think that is true, but you just hum. “I’ll cover the casserole and put it in the fridge for you.” You stand and reach for the pan at the same time that Joel does and you laugh. “I can help.”

You seem to be unable to resist and he knows when to relent. He nods, “I appreciate that.” He says softly as he carries the plates over to the sink to rinse them off. It’s still crazy to have running water like this. He’s still trying to adapt to living like he did twenty years ago.

There’s a soft silence between you as you work. It’s not heavy, or expectant. It’s actually kind of nice. Once the food is stored away and the dishes are resting in the drying rack, there’s nothing keeping you here. “Well, I better go.” You murmur, not sure of what to say, or how to indicate that you would stay if he asked you too. He probably doesn’t anyway, finding you annoying and wanting to be rid of you. “I’ll take my basket back though.”

He wants to ask you to stay because he’s alone and he doesn’t want to get too used to being alone. He doesn’t say that though, he nods, “of course.” He walks over to where he stored it, handing it back to you, and he scratches the back of his head, “thanks…for, you know, the casserole and the muffins.”

“You’re welcome.” You flash a smile and then turn around to walk down the porch steps, already planning the next thing you’ll drop by with. 

Over the course of next two weeks, you bring him a blackberry pie, another casserole and a beautiful teal plaid shirt you had traded a gallon of blackberries to Seth for. The crotchety older man didn’t know why you wanted a shirt he didn’t like, but you knew that it would look amazing on Joel. Still, since that first dinner with him, nothing had gone past awkward conversations at his door and you wondered if he just wasn’t interested in you.

Joel adjusts the shirt he’s wearing - the one that you got him - as he stands outside your door. The small box suddenly feels heavy and he feels dumb and as soon as he knocks, he wants to stride off. Before he can step away, you open your door and his chest suddenly feels tight. “Hey.” You greet him with a smile and he nods, “hi.” He shuffles from one foot to the other, “I, uh, brought you something.”

“Oh!” Your eyes widen and they drop down to the box in his hand. “Uh, come in.” You open the door wider, surprised and pleased that he had figured out where you live. “Sorry about the mess.” You apologize, gesturing to the messy sofa with a throw tossed aside from where you were reading with a cup of coffee.

He snorts, “don’t even worry about it.” He shakes his head, “Ellie makes a mess.” He chuckles, stepping into your place. “I, uh, wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” He murmurs, “so, uh, I made you this.” He holds out the box.

Your heart pounds in your chest when you take the box from him. “Wow.” You murmur softly. “I don’t know what to say.” You don’t even know what it is, but you are touched by his thoughtfulness. “Thank you.” You look back at him. “Do you want a cup of coffee?”

He nods, a little nervous, and his stomach twists at the thought of you not liking the gift he’s spent hours making for you. He hasn’t had the luxury of a hobby, not for years…not really since before Sarah was born. So it’s been strange to spend time working on something without there being a financial gain or to keep alive. He watches you make your way into the kitchen, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You set the box down carefully and pull a mug off the open shelves that make up the top of your kitchen. “I have some fresh milk if you want?” You offer as you pour him a cup.

He shakes his head, “black is good. I ain’t drank it any other way since I started drinkin’ it.” He confesses, taking a seat at your kitchen table after you gesture for him to sit.

“Same.” You admit. “When I was younger, fuck, I thought coffee was nasty. But now?” You roll your eyes as you bring the box over to the table with your own cup. “Now, I’ll open this.” You promise, sitting down and trying not to let the thrill of being given a gift outweigh practicality. You smile at him before taking off the small lid and gasping at the sight of a small wooden figure.

He’s nervous. Fuck, he hates to admit that but he likes you. Even if he’s too old to think about a relationship and you should be avoiding him like everyone else. “It’s, uh, it’s not anything that special.” He rushes out before you take the figure out of the box.

“Not special?” You huff, shaking your head as you run your finger over the small bird. “It’s beautiful.” You murmur. “It must have taken a lot of time.” Which makes it more special. He has taken the time to make something. “I love it.”

His heart flutters at the smile you give him, “you said your mom used to call you little bird so, uh, I thought I’d whittle one. I ain’t that good. I haven’t done anything like that for years.” He confesses, “it’s not my best work.” He self deprecates, not wanting you to say you like it if you don’t.

You practically melt when you hear it’s not something random, he had made it for you. “No, it’s beautiful.” You insist. The imperfections make it that much more special to you. “I-“ you blink back tears. “I think it might be the best thing anyone has ever given me.”

He blushes a little, ducking his head, and he clears his throat. "I'm glad you like it." He murmurs, "it's - I wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me." He reveals, tapping his fingers on his mug as he watches you admire the woodwork.

“It was nothing.” You hum, still admiring the little figure. Part of you wonders if he is giving you something out of guilt or perhaps he’s realized you are interested in him.

You're quiet as you touch the figure and Joel doesn't find it awkward. He isn't a stranger to silence. He tilts his head slightly as he looks at you, "why?" He asks softly and you turn to look at him. "Why what?" You frown and Joel clears his throat, "why - why have you done so much for me?"

You’re a little embarrassed when he asks, but you clear your throat. “I wanted to make you feel welcomed.” It’s true, but not completely true and from the doubtful way Joel eyes you, you know it doesn’t believe that. At least he’s not looking at you suspiciously. “I did. And I -“ you hesitate. “I wanted to see if you were as handsome up close as I thought you were.” You admit. “You are, by the way. Very handsome.”

He is surprised by your comment, cheeks flushing a little more and he turns his head to look at your sink. He almost chokes on his breath when it hits him that you are saying he’s handsome. You. “I, um, thanks.” He mutters awkwardly and you seem to shrink back a little, “you’re- you’re great too.” He says and your smile falls, your brow furrowing without your awareness and Joel immediately realizes his mistake. “And gorgeous. Really like - I think you’re beautiful. Inside and out.” He rushes out, wanting to make this right.

“It’s okay.” You are a little disappointed, but not surprised. He’s not interested. You had heard rumors that he had been with a woman until he had lost her on his way to Jackson. You will just swallow down your little crush and go about your life. “You don’t need to make me feel better.” You promise. “I’m a big girl.”

His brow furrows at your words, confused because he just paid you a compliment and you think he’s making it up. He reaches out to cup your cheek, turning your head towards him. “You have any idea how often I think about you? About your smile, your laugh, the way your nose does that little bunching thing when you’re confused? I think about you all the time but I don’t deserve you. I’ve done bad things. My hands are bloody and I don’t deserve a happy ending. I cannot taint you with my fuckin’ sins. I cannot add that to the guilt that drowns me every damn day.” He explains, hoping you understand.

“Everyone has blood on their hands.” You feel like you’re about to whimper, he’s so close to you, touching you. Like you would beg him to kiss you. “We’ve had to be different than before, that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve whatever happiness we can find now.”

Joel doesn't hesitate. He surges forward to press his lips to yours. Spurred on by your kind words, he tilts your head so he can kiss you like he's been imagining far too many times.

His lips are surprisingly soft, tender as he kisses you. It’s not nearly as rough as you imagined, but you can feel the repressed need underneath. Making you sigh as you curl into him, sinking deeper into the feeling as your head spins.

Having you kiss him back has his stomach twisting and he wants to deepen the kiss but it’s not time. You’re not some quick fuck to release stress and tension. He wants you - this - to be different. He nudges his nose against yours before he pulls back, caressing your cheek until his hand drops back to the table while he waits for see your reaction.

You whine slightly, a little protest, but you don’t try to pull him back in. “That was….” Your smile is soft. “Very good.” You hum, eyes fluttering after opening. “Um….yeah.” You are a little befuddled, but it’s not in a bad way. Like the promise of something sweeter has already been made.

He likes seeing you flustered, he realizes, and he wants to kiss you again, but for now, he settles for a small smile. “You- you wanna go to the movie night with me tomorrow?” He asks, knowing this is a huge step because he avoids the town events but he wants to treat you well.

Your eyes widen in surprise but you immediately nod as if you’re afraid he might take back the offer. “Yes. Yes.” You huff out in a rushed little laugh, feeling like a teenager being asked out by a boy you have a crush on. “I would like that.”

Joel nods, trying not to act like a teenage boy who just got the girl he likes to go on a movie date with him. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow.” He promises, reaching for your hand, and he picks it up to kiss the back of it.

“I’ll see you then.” You promise with a small wink. “I’ll make some cookies for us to eat at the movie.”

He nods, nervous of being out beside you but he wants to make a life here and that means remembering how the world worked before it went to shit. “I’ll leave you to your evenin’.” He says after a moment, “I’m sure you’ll be wantin’ some peace.” He squeezes your hand and shifts to stand up from his seat.

“Okay.” You know that he needs to take things slow and it’s honestly a good idea since it’s not like either one of you can move away. Jackson is home and you’ll have to be in proximity to each other. “But only because I will see you tomorrow.” You tease as you walk him to the door.

His heart flutters at your words, smiling softly as he turns to look at you while he’s leaning against your door frame. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He leans in to kiss your cheek, hovering for a moment until he pulls away. Looking at you one last time before he disappears down the hall.

****

Joel reaches up to adjust his collar, stomach twisting with nerves like he’s a damn teenager going on his first date. In a way, it kinda is. He hasn’t dated since Sarah’s mom and he was a teenager back then. He waits for you to answer and when you do, his breath hitches at the sight of you standing there.

“Hi.” You smile softly as you take him in. He looks fresh from a shower and even his beard looks thinner, like he’s trimmed it. “You look great.” You compliment honestly. “I don’t know if I’m dressed up enough to be on your arm.” Everyone dresses practically, but you had picked the jeans that make your ass look the best and the prettiest top you have. Feeling like a teenager as you ripped through your small wardrobe.

He swallows harshly as he drags his dark eyes down your figure, “you look great too. Actually, you look- too damn good to hear out an asshole like me.” He chuckles humorlessly and you shake your head, reaching for his hand. That grounds him and his eyes meet yours. He licks his lips, staring at you for a moment. “Sorry. I ain’t - I’m out of practice. You ready to go?” He asks, not wanting to ruin this.

“Yeah.” You grab the container with the cookies that you had placed near the door. “I’ve heard that there’s gonna be a dance coming up.” You offer as you both step out of your apartment. “They want to do more of them. Promote community.”

His hand hovers over the small of your back as you make your way downstairs and out of your apartment. He glances around once you’re outside, still a little anxious being in a place that isn’t constantly under attack. He wants to ask if you want to go to the dance but that’s a bit too much for him unless he can hide in the shadows.

You don’t take offense when he doesn’t answer. You just walk by his side, smiling and calling out to people that you know as you make your way to the movie. It’s enough that he’s just here with you.

He walks alongside you, feeling a little anxious, but he’s determined to be there beside you. He wants to try, he wants to try for you. There’s a lot of people gathering for the movie and Joel tenses but you sense his unease, taking his hand to guide him to some chairs in the back row. You know he’d feel better there and he appreciates it, trying to ignore how everyone looks at him with a mixture of surprise and distrust.

Everyone is curious, craning their necks and looking at the both of you. They have asked about Joel to Tommy and Maria, but his brother and sister-in-law have kept their answers vague, respecting his privacy. Now you know that people will ask about you, since Joel tends to keep to himself. Instead of ignoring them, you nod and smile politely, knowing that Joel is probably glowering slightly. He’s just got a face that is always gonna look a little annoyed.

He hates how people stare but you squeeze his hand and he focuses on you instead as you guide him to your seats. When you’re seated, you set your purse down, opening it to hand him a flask and he frowns at it, “figured you could use it.” You wink and his heart flutters. You thought of everything. “Thanks.” He murmurs, his eyes on yours and he takes a swig to quell his anxiety.

You nod, reassuring him softly and soon the lights are dimming for the movie to begin, the projector in front of you coming to life. “Hope it’s not a boring movie.” You whisper to him with a slight giggle. “If it is, we might have to ditch.” You really just want him to know that if he wants to leave, you’ll be okay with that. Although he’s relaxing beside you. Reaching over, you take his free hand, keeping your eyes on the screen.

Your hand in his has him relaxing slightly and he nods, squeezing your hand back, the flask in his other hand, and he sighs, leaning in towards you, “thanks, sweetheart.” He murmurs before leaning back in his seat to watch a movie he hasn’t seen since Sarah was a little kid. He’s taken back to the memory of her sitting next to him in the movie theater, popcorn in hand, and her eyes wide in amazement at the movie.

You feel him tense beside you, looking over to see shadows in his eyes and you wonder if there’s something in his past that’s triggered by the movie. Everyone here has a past, something that they have struggled with since the end of the world. Even the ones that were born after the outbreak. It might be easier for them though, since this world is all they’ve ever known. “Do we need to leave?” You ask quietly, leaning in to smell the scent of soap mixed with wood and man. He smells wonderful and you could curl up into him.

He turns to look at you, surprised by your consideration, and he shakes his head. “No. No. I’m good.” He promises with a whisper, shifting to wrap his arm around your shoulders, wanting to feel you close to him as you ground him in the moment.

You hum softly, leaning into him and your arm rests on his thigh. It feels natural and you love how protected and safe you feel. You can’t even explain it, but Joel has never once made you nervous besides the attraction and the fear of making a fool of yourself. He’s a violent man, he’s done violent things, but he wouldn’t hurt you unless he was forced to. You know that.

Joel relaxes as he breathes in the clean scent of your soap and shampoo. You are warm and he allows himself this time to be absorbed into the movie. He doesn’t remember the last time he allowed the tension to leave his body. He’s always been on since the outbreak started. He absentmindedly rubs your arm and when the movie ends, he blinks, brought back to reality.

“That was pretty cute.” You decide, having never seen the movie before and you watch as others start to gather their trash and belongings. You don’t feel the need to move right now, unless Joel wants to sneak out before everyone else.

He nods, turning to look at you, “I went to see that at the movies with my daughter, Sarah.” He confesses, a soft smile on his lips. “She, uh, she was shot on Outbreak Day.” He reveals, flexing his fingers at the memory of her dying in his arms.

“Oh Joel.” Your heart shatters for him, watching the way his eyes reflect the devastation he must have felt that day and carried with him for the past twenty years. “I am so sorry.” You murmur softly, touching his arm and not trying to give him any platitudes beyond the simple touch.

He nods, jaw tightening as the memories hit him, but your touch seems to pull him out before he gets too buried under the past. He glances around at the nearly disappeared crowd, “you wanna go back to yours or we can go for a walk?” He offers, not wanting to let go of you just yet.

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” You agree with a smile. “I normally go and check on the horses every evening.” You know he rides, when he left months ago, he had actually stolen a horse. Or rather, Tommy had said he had given him a horse. “Is that okay?”

He nods, standing up, and his joints ache, but he takes your hand as you make your way out of the barn. The night is chilly and he adjusts his jacket, “you cold?” He asks and you shake your head, “no, I'm good.” You promise and you take a slow walk to the stables.

It’s not too far, and the familiar scent of hay and horses calms you. “It’s so beautiful out here.” You smile softly as you both walk towards the stables. “And the town is growing, rumor has it, it’s gonna grow even faster now that you are here.”

Joel snorts, “yeah. Maria has all kinds of plans for this place. Between me and Tommy, it’s gonna be a construction zone.” He confesses, squeezing your hand as the moon rises in the sky.

“That’s good.” You smile, although it’s a little bittersweet. “We need people in Jackson. Otherwise all we are doing is just prolonging death.” You wish the world was different, but it’s not.

Joel chuckles, "true. Gotta have more kids." He hums, turning to look at you, "but I'll leave that to the younger men. Ain't no one needing me to be a daddy at my age." He declares, "there's enough men to make Jackson thrive in the future."

You could make a dirty joke, but you just shrug. “It’s not in the cards for me either, so I don’t worry about it.” Joel looks over at you with a frown, clearly confused but unsure of what to say. “Never been pregnant.” You admit. “Never even had a scare, not like there are fertility doctors nowadays, but I think that it’s not my fate.”

Joel frowns because he thinks you’d make a good mom but he won’t pour salt in a wound. “I kinda wish I’d gotten the snip before the world went to shit but I was in my mid 30s, wasn’t sure if I’d be a dad again, and I had Sarah. She was my life but I kinda wanted to have another kid back then. Now? I got Ellie.” He says without elaborating.

“She’s a good kid.” You assure him. She can be blunt and assertive, but that’s not a bad thing. Reaching the stables, you open the doors with a grin. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen.” You coo. “The horses are kinda like my kids.” You tell him. “They are like temperamental toddlers sometimes.”

He snorts, walking over to the horses. He slides his palm along his nose, smiling when the horse snorts. “They kinda are like toddlers.” He agrees, “and you do a good job of looking after them.” He adds, watching you as you stroke the horse.

“They are probably the most vital assets we have, besides the dogs.” You admit. “I know they are animals, but they are also a part of our community, our future.” You look over at Joel. “Just like you and Ellie are.”

He chuckles, stepping closer to you. “You are the future.” He murmurs, his hand coming up to slide along your arm until he is taking your hand in his. He tugs you close and cups your cheek with his free hand. “You are always on my mind.” He admits softly, caressing your cheek.

“It was the muffins, wasn’t it?” You tease, your own hands pulling him closer, enjoying the broadness of him as you wrap your arms around him. He chuckles again, the best sound in the world to you right now. “So are you going to kiss me Joel?” You demand. “I know I’m a little rusty, but I know a date usually ends with kissing.”

His eyes meet yours, dark and intense. He’s nervous and he feels stupid for being so nervous when he’s a grown man. He leans his head towards yours, gently brushing his lips against your softer ones. His calloused hand caressing your cheek while he kisses you.

You sigh softly, eyes fluttering closed while the horse in the stall next to you shifts, annoyed that she’s not being petted anymore. Not that you realize that. You can’t think of anything but Joel kissing you.

You’re so soft and sweet, leaning into him and your hand caresses your chest. He knows you can feel his heart pounding and he should be more confident but the last woman he kissed was Tess…even his kisses to her were few and far between. He kisses you softly, not wanting you to see the dark side of him just yet.

You can tell that he’s holding back, and you don’t mind it. This is getting to know each other and you won’t push him for more than he wants to give. Finally Shimmer butts her head against your shoulder to get your attention, breaking up the kiss and making you giggle. “Jealous, pretty girl?” You coo, turning towards her to pet her nose. “You should be.”

Joel watches you, a soft smile on his face as he watches you interact with the horse. Your words make his stomach flutter, and he sighs, “I should be gettin’ you home.” He glances out the stable opening to the sky.

You would like to be with him a little longer, but you just nod. “That sounds good.” You hum softly. “I’m sure you are busy tomorrow. Are you working on the gates?” You ask, aware that the council had voted on improving defense systems for the town.

He nods, "yeah. Gonna be heading out on patrol." He confirms, "gotta be up at eight." He doesn't want to leave you but he needs to let you get some sleep. He knows you could wake up in the morning and realize that the town is scared of him and ultimately reject him. He is preparing for that to happen. You are too good for him. He takes your hand again, guiding you away from the stables and back to your apartment building.

You don’t talk as you walk, but again, the silence isn’t stifling. It’s really rather nice. Just two people, enjoying the night together. When you are at your door, you open it and turn to him. “I had a nice night.” You promise. “I would invite you in, but I don’t think you’re ready for that and I don’t want to wonder if you don’t want me.” You admit, leaning in to press your lips to his.

His hands find your waist, dragging you closer as he kisses you. He pulls back after a moment, "you don't have to wonder. I want you. I just - I don't want to ruin you." He confesses his fear, "I don't want you to end up hating me."

You can’t help but laugh at his comment. “I’m not going to hate you.” You promise, reaching up and caressing his whisker rough cheek. “I’ve been chasing you, remember?” You have been throwing yourself at him to get his attention. “If you want to come inside, I want you in my bed tonight. If you want to wait, I’ll just touch myself and think about you in my bed.”

His cock twitches in his pants at the thought of you touching yourself. His hands squeeze your hips, pulling you even closer to him. He groans when your body presses into his, and he loves it. "Let me come inside and I want to bury my face in your pussy. I don't- I don't deserve to fuck you yet. Lemme taste you." He murmurs, nudging his nose against yours.

You huff, not agreeing with his assessment of him not deserving, but your nod is accompanied by grabbing his hand and stepping back through the door to tug him with you. You smirk when he kicks the door closed and throws the lock before you launch yourself at him. Kissing him again with more passion than before.

He groans, unable to stop himself as he lets you guide him through your apartment. Now that you’ve given him permission, his hands slide along your form, squeezing your ass. He loves how your fingers grip his shirt and he slides his tongue into your mouth.

There’s no hesitation right now. Just the jittery anticipation that makes your stomach feel like you’ve swallowed butterflies and your core flutters wildly. His taste is perfect, warm and rich, his tongue skillfully making you melt as your hands let go of his shirt to push his jacket off his string shoulders.

He walks you backwards, trying to navigate your apartment to find your bedroom while his jacket drops to the floor. He groans into your mouth, pulling back when you stumble into your bedroom and your jacket has joined his. He pushes on your chest to push you backwards into your bed and his hands find your boots, working on pulling them off your feet.

“Eager. I like that.” You aren’t passive, leaning up to pull your shirt over your head to reveal the practical bra you are wearing underneath. There’s little luxury for sexy items, especially now. “Fuck you are so sexy.” You moan, loving the darkening look in his eyes.

He wants to scoff in disbelief that a pretty thing like you would find him sexy but instead, he decides to prove it to you. He unbuttons your pants and pulls them down your legs, his cock already pressing against his zipper as he watches you lift up to unclip your bra. “You’re goddamn sexy.” He rasps, tossing your pants aside so he can slide his hands up the length of your legs until his fingers are hooked in your panties. “Can I taste you, sweetheart?” He asks, dark eyes on yours until they flick down to your core.

“You can do anything you want to me, handsome.” Your pussy aches for him to touch you, taste you. It’s been a long goddamn time since you’ve had a lover and you are eager to see how the two of you are together.

He drags his panties down your legs, tossing them over his shoulder and his hands slide back along your thighs until he’s pushing them apart to expose your folds. Soft curls surround your sex and Joel groans when your heady scent hits his nose. He leans in, slowly pressing kisses to your thighs as he shifts closer until his tongue is sliding through your folds.

You moan so loud that you embarrass yourself. The feeling that races through you is enough to make your thighs squeeze around his head, but his strong hands grip your thighs and pull them apart. “Jesus, fuck.” You whimper, eyes fixed on his head between your legs. “That- God, I haven’t felt this in so long.”

He chuckles, sliding into the ease of making a woman feel good. It’s been a long time since he’s been able to take his time and savor a woman but right now, he isn’t in a rush. His tongue flicks over your clit, loving the way you tangle your fingers in his hair while he pushes his tongue deep.

You don’t know his sexual past, but his previous lovers have been lucky as fuck if they experienced half of the talent in his tongue. “Fuck Joel,” you pant breathlessly. “That feels so good. You must have majored in pussy eating in college.”

He chuckles into your folds, amused by how easily wrecked you are. He slides his tongue up to flick over your clit and he sucks on it, shaking his head and your cry makes his cock twitch in his pants.

He’s so fucking gorgeous, making you cry out as he tears you apart with his mouth. “Fuck, I can’t believe you’re eating my pussy. You know how long I’ve imagined you? Since the first day I saw you. I knew I wanted to get to know you. So fucking pleased when you were single.”

Your words unravel him and he grinds into the edge of your bed. Groaning your name but it’s indistinguishable in your folds as he greedily absorbs your dirty confession. His hands squeeze your thighs, keeping them pushed apart.

He is going to have his way. That is obvious from the way he handles you. He’s not rough, but he’s focused, determined. You had heard from Tommy that he had saved Ellie’s life from a group of men when he had been seriously injured. He hadn’t been trying to dissuade you from your pursuit of Joel, but he had wanted you to know that there are some things about Joel that could be seen as a caution sign. You see it as his willingness to do what needs to be done. Now he’s using that same focus on you, “Fuck!” You squeal when he pulls your clit into his mouth, hips trying to buck up, but he holds you in place. “I’m gonna cum!”

He needs to hear it, feel it. When your cry echoes in your tiny bedroom, your fingers tugging on his silver streaked hair, and your thighs squeezing his head, he groans. While you cum, he grinds into the mattress, his cock twitching in his pants as he cums in them like a fucking teenager.

You are completely unaware, riding out the best orgasm you’ve had in years and he hadn’t even fingered you. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Joel.” You whimper. “Fuck me.” You beg. “You’ve earned it, fuck yeah, you deserve to fuck me.”

His cheeks immediately redden when he comes back to his senses and your words hit him like ice cold water. "I- I didn't - shit." He hisses, stomach twisting with embarrassment as he shifts to stand up, the front of his pants wet.

You frown, confused by his upset tone. Eyes fluttering open and you blink to focus on him. Then you see the dark spot. “Oh.” You bite your lip, knowing he won’t appreciate a smirk, but it’s kind of sexy that he was so turned on that he shot his load.

"I'm so sorry." He chokes, shuffling back from your bed and he stumbles through your apartment trying to find his coat. "Joel?" You frown, shifting off the bed, "Joel?" You make your way through your apartment just as the front door slams, "Joel!" You shout but he's gone. He's thankful there's no one out as he makes his way home, his jacket not concealing his pants, and he hates how he disappointed you. You'll probably tell your friends, laugh about it, and he will go back to the shadows where he belongs.

You get up and wrap a robe around your body, opening the door to see if Joel is outside. He’s nowhere nearby and you consider getting dressed and going to his house, but you know he would just ignore you. You’ll give him tonight but he won’t just run out without a better damn reason than premature ejaculation again.

****

Joel groans when he wakes up, he hardly slept from the embarrassment of cumming in his pants because you sounded so fucking good when you came on his tongue. He rubs his face and knows he has to get ready for patrol. That also means seeing you in the stables. He groans as his joints ache when he shifts from his bed, and soon he’s stepping into the stables to collect a horse. You’re there, helping another patroller saddle up, and he feels the blush creep onto his cheeks as he waits for you to see the other patroller off.

You’re surprised when you see Joel come slinking into the stables and you half expected him to try to race out of there with his horse. You don’t say anything, just get your rider out. Surprised to see him standing by the horse he had been assigned last time. “Good morning.” You are alone in the stalls and you step closer to him. “If I touch you, are you gonna run away again?” You ask.

He ducks his head, swallowing harshly. “I - shit. I’m sorry. I, uh, fuck. I don’t know why- it’s that- it’s been a while and I’m on the way to sixty and I fucking came in my pants without you even touching me. I was embarrassed.” He knows there’s no point but doing anything but tell you the truth.

You snort softly, not wanting him to think that you are mocking him. “Fuck, it’s a compliment.” You huff, shrugging slightly. “You were that turned on by eating my pussy? By just touching me? In my mind, that just means I was doing something right, even if it has been a long time since someone touched you.” You bite your lip, biting back the urge to offer to touch him right now. He probably wouldn’t accept a blow job in a stall in a horse barn.

Joel glances around, glad that no one is here to hear your conversation and his cock twitches at your words. He's relieved you aren't laughing at him. "I've - I haven't done that since - well, I don't think I ever have. Sweetheart...I ain't - can I try again? Later?" He asks, wanting to show you what he can do.

You lift a brow, this time your lips curving up. “I think I would be crazy to turn that down.” You step a little closer to him, “you know that you are early for your patrol, right?” You murmur. “Plenty of time to go to the back stall and work out a little tension before you go out?” You reach for his hand. “Might help you focus?”

He tilts his head, squeezing your hand, “you sure?” He asks, his voice lowering at the idea of touching you again. You nod, guiding him to the back stall, and it’s like a switch has been flicked on as he drags you close. He cups your cheek, tilting your head to his as he presses his lips to yours.

You let him kiss you, feeling your body light up in pleasure but before he can get farther than cupping your ass, you are pushing him back. Joel frowns in confusion but you press your lips to his reassuringly and drop down to your knees in front of him to smirk up at him as you reach for his belt buckle.

“Darlin’ you don’t have to-” You cut him off by shaking your head and telling him to shush. You pull down the zipper and smile at him, his cock hardening under your naughty gaze as you reach into his pants to pull his cock free.

“Shit.” Joel hisses, twitching in your hand as you squeeze him and start to pump him. “Fuck, baby, you’ve got a gorgeous cock.” Your mouth waters as you greedily take in the sight of him as he sways on his feet slightly, leaning back against the wall of the stall as he looks down at you. “Thick, long. Goddamn I can’t wait to see how you feel inside me.” You clench around nothing. “But right now, I want to see how you taste.” You lean and take the head of his cock into your mouth.

He groans as he watches you wrap your lips around his cock. Your mouth is hot and wet and he is already throbbing in your mouth. “So fuckin’ pretty.” He rasps, caressing your cheek as you start to bob your head to work his cock into your mouth.

You know that someone could come into the stables, but that just makes it a little more exciting for you. Your pussy soaked as you take him deeper, listening to him groan and feeling his stomach lurch under the palm of your hand laying against it. Your lips stretch around him and he hits the back of your throat easily with more to take.

He can’t believe you’re on your knees for him right now. You look so fucking gorgeous and your jaw seems to loosen so you can take him deeper. “Fuck. So goddamn good.” He pants, glad that he doesn’t seem to be shooting his load too soon as you take him in your mouth over and over. His hand grips the metal rack on the wall as the other caresses your cheek.

Your hand moves to his hip, around to his ass as you look up at him. Watching his jaw clench. He looks wrecked, in the best possible way as you suck his cock. Pressing him, encouraging him to rock his hips forward. You can take everything he gives you and you want him to enjoy this.

He pants, watching you as his chest heaves. It's barely past 7am and here you are on your knees for him. He knows he will be thinking about you all damn day now. "Fuck baby. Feel so fuckin' good. Look at you, takin' my cock like that." He growls, tongue loosened by your mouth. He unconsciously rocks his hips like you want and his eyes widen when you choke. You hum around him, barely shaking your head when he shifts to pull away, and your fingers dig into the meat of his ass to keep him down your throat. A move that makes his stomach twist and his cock twitch violently. "Fuck, gonna make me cum if you keep it up." He warns you with a wrecked growl.

You chuckle around him, the sound vibrating up his cock. That’s why you are doing this, to make him cum. Your eyes are watering, but you keep swallowing around him as you bob your head. Wanting to taste his load and swallow him down. Joel chokes out your name and you feel him tense. Knowing that he is so close to cumming. You hum again, eyes fixed on his face so you can watch him. Wanting to see how gorgeous he looks when he falls apart on purpose.

He knows this is so fucking wrong but he can’t help it. He chokes as his cock pulses inside your mouth, a gasp your only warning that he’s cumming. You taste the salty seed as he clings to the metal rack, barely able to stand as you rock his world with your mouth.

The thick spurt of cum coats the back of your throat and fills your mouth. Making you moan as you start to swallow. Trying and failing to swallow every drop as some slides down your jaw. His head tilts back and his growl of pleasure is probably the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. Only stopping when his cock stops twitching and you pull off of him with a soft pop, panting as you lick at the side of your mouth.

He is certain he’s stopped breathing. “Fuck me.” He mutters and you giggle, looking up at him. “I really wanna fuck you but I gotta go on patrol and I need some time to recover. Lemme see you tonight.” He pleads, “need to see you.”

You push to your feet and reach down to tuck him back into his jeans. “Come over when you get back from patrol.” You order softly. “Johnny will be here tonight to put the horses away.” You lean in to kiss his cheek, not sure about how he feels about kissing you with his cum on your tongue. “Be safe, handsome.”

He cups your cheek, uncaring of the taste of his cum on your lips, and he brings your mouth to his so he can kiss you. He slides his tongue into your mouth, wanting to devastate you with his kiss until he steps back, “see ya later, baby.”

“See you later.” You wink and step back as the stable doors open. “Let’s get you saddled up.” You call out a little louder and step out of the stall to give him an extra minute to compose himself. “Tommy. Are you going out this morning?” You greet his brother with a smile.

Joel’s eyes widen at his brother’s name and he runs his hand through his hair, tugging on his shirt before he leaves the stall and finds you talking to his brother. Tommy frowns when he sees how flustered his brother is and his frown shifts into a smirk, “mornin’.” He greets Joel who grunts back. Soon enough, the two men are riding out for patrol, Joel looking over his shoulder at you for a second.

Tommy catches the glance and smirks to himself, shifting in his saddles as he looks ahead. “Good morning?” He asks innocently enough. “You look a little….light on your feet.”

Joel grips the reins a little tighter, “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” He murmurs and Tommy snorts, “you looked like a man who got his world rocked in a stable stall.” Tommy says bluntly and Joel ducks his head, “she, uh, we - it’s just started.” He confesses softly.

“Bullshit.” Tommy shakes his head, wondering how his older brother could be so obtuse about things for a man who can normally figure anyone out. “She’s been chasing after you for weeks.” He looks around after they clear the gate and starts the loop around the town. Today is to find any weakness that needs to be shored up. “Everyone in town knew that she was courting you.”

Joel huffs, shaking his head, “she has just been nice.” He tries to justify how nice you’ve been and Tommy snorts, “more than nice. She’s been wanting to jump your bones.” Joel bites his lip, “I’m too fucking old for her. Or anyone.”

“She doesn’t think so.” He points out with a grin. “Been rootin’ about for information on you. Trying to be real casual about it, but she has it bad for my older brother.” Honestly, Tommy’s glad for it. Since Tess, he’s been all alone and whether or not he admits it, Joel needs someone to take care of. It’s a part of who he is.

Joel’s heart thumps at that revelation and he almost wants to ride back to town and find you. “She will realize who I am soon enough.” He grunts and Tommy rolls his eyes, “whatever you say.”

Joel huffs and falls quiet again. Tommy doesn’t push it, instead he starts talking about the plans they want to implement for defense and Joel gives some suggestions on fortifications.

**** 

Joel arrives back at the stables with Tommy and you’re waiting, eyes lighting up when you see Joel and his stomach twists at how eager you are to see him. The memory of your lips wrapped around his cock hits him and he twitches in his pants. Tommy quickly dismounts, thanking you for helping, and he slaps Joel on the shoulder once his boots hit the ground. “See ya later, man.” He raises his eyebrows at Joel when you’re not looking and Joel huffs when his brother leaves you alone. “You need help?” He offers, not wanting to leave just yet.

“If you want.” They weren’t gone as long as you expected them to be, the horses are not tired. “I’m just going to take the saddles off and brush them down quickly before putting on their blankets and feeding them.” You explain. “Did your patrol go alright? You weren’t out long.”

Joel nods, “it was fine. We found some places that need reinforcement but it was quiet out there.” He admits, “always makes me fucking nervous when it’s quiet.” He confesses, “I always think somethings gonna happen. Like this place is gonna go to shit and I’ll end up back out there.” He jerks his chin as he works on removing the saddle of his horse.

“I worry about that too.” You admit, working on taking the saddle from Tommy’s horse. You know he had wanted to get back to Maria as quickly as possible since she was due any second now. The baby was overdue actually, and everyone was keeping an eye on her. “Raiders worry me the most, honestly. The clickers are bad, but humans are worse.

Joel nods, “we gotta keep this place safe and not get complacent. The day will come where shit hits the fan and we need to be prepared.” He says firmly, working efficiently to get the horse ready after riding. “You still want me to come over later?” He asks, not wanting to assume.

“If you want to.” You don’t want to push him, and you know that he might need to pause or even take a step back. “What do you want to do?” The blanket is secured and you guide Betsy back to her stall before filling her food bucket with oats. “I’m going to let you decide.”

He waits until you are done, striding over to you, and he grips your chin to lift your eyes to his. "I want to come over to your place, strip you down, kiss and bite every inch of your skin, and then I want to fuck you until you soak me and you can't remember anything but my name."

You could melt into a puddle on the floor right now from the possessive look in his eyes and the rough words. They paint the most delicious picture in your mind. “Do you want to eat dinner before or after you fuck me?” You ask breathlessly.

“After.” He says, knowing he won’t be able to wait and watch you eat dinner before he has you. “You’ll need it after I fuck you.” He promises, “go home. I’ll see you at yours in a few hours. I want you naked when I arrive.” He orders, leaning in to softly kiss your lips. Now that you’ve unlocked his desires, he’s going to give you exactly what you want. He pulls back before you can deepen the kiss, a whimper leaning your lips, and he winks, turning to stride out the stables.

Your knees are weak, the man is positively deadly when he decides to become self-assured in his abilities. He doesn’t give you an exact time and you know he did that on purpose. Wanting you to anticipate his arrival. You finish up with the horses and hurry back to your apartment, immediately stripping down to climb into a bath and scrub every inch of your skin. You want everything to go well tonight and you think that it will, given his cocky attitude and that sexy wink.

Joel tries to concentrate for the rest of the day, showering after his patrol, and he groans when he thinks of you on your knees, the way you looked at him. His cock hardens again and he can't help but start to pump his cock. The image of you burned into his retinas and he swears he will remember that until the day he dies. Groaning, he rests his forehead against the cool tile until he grunts your name, hot seed hitting the ceramic minutes later.

****

He adjusts his jacket as he makes his way over to your place. He didn't tell you a time and he hopes you understood why. His cock already hard and adjusted in his jeans as he enters your apartment building. You left the front door unlocked so he opens it, shrugging off his jacket and boots. Letting you know he's arrived and taking his time until he slowly makes his way to your bedroom.

In the bedroom, you are already soaked, naked and spread out on the bed. You had repositioned several times, trying to find the sexiest pose, but ended up on your back. The door is halfway closed so you perk up when it slowly opens. Wondering if Joel will be nude too, or if he will still be dressed.

Joel's cock twitches violently in his pants when he finds you spread out on your bed waiting for him. He stands in the doorway and your eyes meet his. "Good girl." He murmurs, walking over to the foot of the bed, still dressed minus his jacket and boots. Feet bare on the scratched wood floor of your apartment and the bulge in his pants very noticeable.

“Fuck, Imma need you to say like a thousand more times tonight.” You admit, pressing your thighs together before deliberately spreading your legs slightly. His eyes are dark and you would be afraid if it was anger instead of desire in their depths. Your eyes slide down to the front of his jeans and you smirk slightly, proud that you affect him as much as he does you.

"Spread your legs." He orders, voice rough with desire, and you obey. He groans at the sight of your dripping wet folds, curls framing your pretty pussy. He reaches down to squeeze himself through his pants, "beautiful." He murmurs, unable to believe you are letting him touch you. His hand finds your ankle after he kneels on the edge of your bed, caressing the soft skin and sliding along your leg. You whine when his hand brushes over your sex and continues along your stomach until he's squeezing your breast.

You moan softly, pushing your chest up into his hand. Your eyes are fixed on him, waiting to see what he will do. Your chest is already heaving, cunt clenching around nothing as he takes his time. Joel doesn’t just rush into sex he squeezes your breast again and then takes your nipple between his fingers and rolls it just hard enough to make you gasp out his name.

He's already obsessed, loving watching you react to his touch, and he groans when you whimper. "Look at you. So fuckin' needy." He murmurs, switching to pluck your other nipple with his fingers while he shifts his weight onto one elbow so he can take the peaked tip of the breast he abandoned into his mouth.

“Oh god.” You hadn’t expected Joel Miller to be a fucking tease. His mouth is almost playful, tongue flicking over your nipple. He chuckles but you don’t do more than run your fingers through his silver streaked hair.

He groans when you tug on his hair, his cock pressing painfully against the zipper of his pants and he squeezes your tit before he abandons it to slide his hand lower. His fingers brush your soaked folds and he cannot believe you are this wet for him. He groans as he slides his fingers until he finds your clit, rubbing circles while he bites and sucks on your nipple.

“Fuck, Joel,” you whine, pushing your hips down. “Touch me. Fuck, let me- let me touch you.” You beg, needing to see him, touch him. “I want you so much.” You don’t care how pathetic you sound, all you care about is him fucking you.

"So fuckin' desperate." He mocks you softly but his heart is pounding at that fact. He swallows harshly and leans in to kiss your neck before he pulls his hands from your body. You whine but sit up on your elbows to watch him as he starts to unbutton his shirt. He wants to feel every inch of you against him. Shirt shoved from his shoulders and tossed across your room, his hands find his belt, ripping it open and finally he pulls the zipper of his pants down to free his throbbing cock. You moan and he smirks as he shuffles off your bed to shove his pants down. Kicking them off as he kneels on your bed once again. "How do you want me?" He asks, wanting you to decide while his fingers slide up your leg and push into your leaking cunt.

“Fuck.” He’s not lean with the rawness of youth, he’s broad, seasoned. Filled out with years and experience. The scar on his side is the one that you had heard he got between stays in Jackson, when he was taking Ellie on her ill-fated trip. Moaning when he curls his fingers up, you clench down around him. “However I can have you.” You choke out. “I can’t get pregnant.” It’s a reminder of his ability to fill you, to not pull out unless he wants to. “But sometime tonight I want to be bent over and you fucking me from behind.”

Joel groans at your words, ravenous for all of you tonight. He wishes he could fuck you like he was thirty but he's not. He pulls his fingers from your pussy, shifting to kneel between your thighs, and he wraps his wet fingers around his cock. You whine and he shuffles closer, slapping your clit with the head of his cock. "You want me, baby girl?" He asks, voice rough with desire for you.

“Yes.” You whimper, body tightening at his tone, the needy edge to his rough words. He can mock you for being eager, but he is just as bad. You spread your legs wider, hooking them on his hips and reaching down to caress his thigh as he shuffles closer. “I want you, Joel.”

That's all he needs to hear. He positions the head of his cock at your entrance, pushing into you slowly because he's thick and you are so goddamn tight. He groans as your searing hot walls envelop him as he pushes deeper into your pussy. "Fuck." He pants shifting onto his elbows as he hovers over you.

“Oh my god.” You moan, reaching up to caress his shoulders and your hips roll slightly, meeting the angle of his own. “Fuck, you’re so big, so fucking big inside me.” He stretches you, fills up every space inside you until there is nothing that isn’t taken up by him. Lurching up, you press your lips to his, curling your hand around the back of his neck to drag him closer as your tongue slides into his mouth. Taking charge of the kiss for a moment as he groans and twitches inside you.

He lets you take control of the kiss, tongue sliding against yours in a sloppy way that displays the pent up desire that's been building for far too long. "Fuck." He pants when he pulls back, kissing your jaw as he starts to rock his hips, setting a slow and deep pace.

This isn’t making love, there’s not an emotional connection between the two of you, not yet. This is more physical, deeply satisfying as he scratches an itch that you’ve been desperate to satiate for a long time. Sure you probably could have fucked anyone single in Jackson, but this is the man you wanted. “Fuck baby, you’re gonna wreck me, aren’t you?” You ask breathlessly, laughing at the prospect.

He chuckles breathlessly at the prospect and he wants to wreck you. Wants to ruin you for everyone else. His cock pushes deep and he adjusts his knees to push into you from a different angle. “You’re too fuckin’ good for me.”

You moan softly and wrap your legs around his waist. “Didn’t think that when I was sucking you off this morning.” You tease softly, your hand caressing his back as he moves. “Fuck, I thought about how you looked, how you tasted, all fucking day.”

He rocks into you, shifting his weight to one arm so he can slide his hand along your form,  his hand cupping your breast. “Yeah? You liked having my cock in your mouth, baby?” He rasps into your neck, pressing kisses there until he nips at your pulse.

You whine softly. “Yes.” You pant out. “Loved it. You look so goddamn good, did you like it?” Every man likes a blow job, but you want to know if he focused while he was outside the wall, if it helped him.

He nods, “loved it. Fuck, I couldn’t stop thinking about you on your knees for me. Lookin’ at me like that.” He confesses, “I kept thinkin’ about you. I haven’t stopped. Not since I met ya.” He reveals and leans in to slide his tongue into your mouth.

You groan into his mouth, kissing him back and loving that you’ve managed to get under his skin. Your hips roll up to meet his thrusts and you feel like he’s hitting a little deeper every time. “Fuck.”

He needs you to come apart for him, to prove to you that he doesn’t just cum in his pants like a teenager. He shifts, grabbing your calf to lift it onto his shoulder, “that’s it, baby.” He pants when you cry out his name at the new angle.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” He feels like he’s in your guts from this angle. Deep and his hips snap forward a little harder every time a squeal slips past your lips. “Oh fuck.” You moan again, eyes rolling back and your blunt nails dig into the meat of his shoulder blades as you hang on.

He loves how your nails dig into his back and he pants, “need you cum for me, baby.” He demands, his hand squeezing your thigh as he continues to fuck you hard, needing to feel the way you clamp down on his cock.

His pace is hard, harder than someone half his age. He’s sure of his thrusts, grunting and groaning when you tighten around him. “Joel.” You pant softly. “I need - fuck!” You are so close to cumming. So close to that perfect orgasm that will completely rip you apart, “I-“ your head tilts back and your breath catches right before your entire body tightens, crying out when he pushes deep again and pushes you her the edge.

You stiffen beneath him then shake like you’re experiencing an earthquake. Your eyes squeezed shut as almost inhuman noises escapes your lips. You squeeze his cock hard enough to cut off circulation and soak him but he fucking loves it. “Goddamn baby.” He murmurs, “good girl. Good fucking girl.”

He could call you a good girl for the rest of your life and you will die a happy woman. Body shaking as you ride out the pleasure until you just go boneless under him. “Fuck.” You whimper, kissing along his jaw. “Fuck, you’re amazing, baby. I’ve never cum that hard before.”

His stomach twists with contentment, and his back aches from fucking you so hard. He rolls over, bringing you with him, and you quickly shuffle to kneel, his cock slipping from your pussy. You whine and reach down, gripping him to push him back into your fluttering cunt. “Ride me, girl. Show me what ya got.” He orders, his hands smacking your ass.

He might even look better underneath you. His hands are gripping your hips, encouraging you to move. “Fuck, you feel even bigger.” You praise breathlessly as you start to bounce on his cock. “Joel,” your hands brace on his chest and you swivel your hips slowly.

He watches you with rapture, his hands leaving your ass to slide up your body. His hands find your tits, squeezing them as you ride his cock. “That’s it. Fuck. You look so fucking gorgeous like this.” He rasps, unable to believe such a beautiful woman wants him right now. You’re riding his cock, moaning his name. It makes him dizzy with pleasure.

Bending down, you kiss him, hips still rolling and your walls cinching down around his cock every time you move. You can feel how hard he is, how deep he goes. If you press hard enough on your stomach, you can probably feel him throbbing inside you. “You’re so fucking perfect Miller.” You praise. “Better than my wildest dreams.”

He can’t believe you’re saying this. You are too good for him and yet here you are, praising him, acting like he’s the best man in Jackson, hell, this fucked up world. “You’re so damn good. Fuck, so fucking beautiful.” He praises you, sliding his hands along your spine until he’s squeezing your ass again, helping you rock your hips.

You want to cum again. Addicted to the way his cock presses inside you. You kiss along his neck and his lips again. “I’m going to cum again.” You whimper against his lips. “Fuck, baby. I’m addicted to your cock.”

He pants, loving how your voice has taken on this high pitched gasp with each rock of your hips. “Good girl. Cum for me. Wanna feel it again. Wanna feel you cum for me. Soak my cock. Be my good girl.” He orders, thrusting up into you after planting his feet.

You toss your head back, crying out when he takes over. Panting and squealing every time he rocks his hips up, fingers digging into your waist and holding you in place while he fucks you. “Gonna- gonna cum!” You cry out before your body locks up again. “Joooooooooooellllllllll.” Your scream is so loud, your voice cracks halfway through your wail of pleasure.

He wants the entire fucking town to hear you scream his name. He loves it. He fucking adores it. “Yes. Yes. Fuck!” He growls, rocking his hips up into your pussy, pushing as deep as he can with you squeezing him like a vice. Soaking him. Fuck, he loves it. “That’s it. Fuck. I’m gonna cum. Can I - fuck. Can I - inside?” He wants to make sure it’s okay before he fills you up .

“Yesss.” You moan, not even hesitating. “Fill me up, want to feel you drip out of me.” You might have a little bit of a cum kink but you’ve never been so eager to have a make cum inside you. Before you would have them pull out just in case, but you don’t want Joel to pull out.  “Oh fuck, cum for me baby.” You beg.

He doesn’t remember the last time he came inside a woman. Probably pre outbreak. Too terrified to knock them up but you’ve promised him it’s safe. He grunts, wrapping his arms around you as he thrusts up into you, faster and sloppier than before. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He pants, moaning your name as he thrusts up into you, stiffening beneath you as his cock twitches.

The heat fills you, eyes closed as you moan. You press your face into his neck as he pumps you full of his sticky, hot, seed. It feels so good and you are practically limp by the time he finishes. Apparently Joel Miller has a lot of cum. “That was so good.” You mumble breathlessly, kissing his racing pulse again and again as you calm down. “Oh God, I can’t believe we just did that.” You giggle, completely relaxed and euphoric.

He smiles, probably the only real smile he's expressed since arriving in Jackson. He slides his hand along your spine, letting himself relax into your bed, and he's reminded that he's alive. He isn't fighting to survive right now. He wants to live for the first time since he can remember. "We can do it again." He promises, "you just gotta give me a while. I ain't young."

“You’re gonna wear me out.” You tease, lifting your head and grinning at him before you lean in and press your lips to his softly. “This was perfect.” You murmur. “You want something to drink? Or just lay here for a few minutes?”

Joel closes his eyes, “just lay here for a bit. Been imaginin’ this far too many times to move right now. Just want to savour you. Lemme feel you, baby.” He says, cock softening inside you but he’s in no rush to move.

You hum softly, melting against him. You know Joel can take your weight, he’s strong, so you don’t move off of him. Laying your head back down and your fingers stroking the freckled skin on his shoulder. “Bet you used to work shirtless before Outbreak.” You muse softly. “Building houses and breaking hearts of the women you put a show on for.”

He smirks, loving how you even think about that. “I was thirty-six. Didn’t need to work out when I had my job. I was happy to be shirtless. Now? I’ll keep it on.” He confesses his insecurity. “Had some horny housewives but me and Tommy wanted our business to succeed. A quick fuck and an angry husband wasn’t worth it.”

“Shit.” You huff and turn your head to kiss his chest gently. “You are still sexy, Joel.” You promise. “I’m not the only one that thought you were attractive when you showed up. I’m just the one who decided to try to jump in your bed.”

Joel smiles, kissing your hair, "I'm glad you didn't give up on me. I don't - I don't think I deserve anything good after all the shit I've done. I'm not a good man but you - you seem to see something in me and I ain't gonna take that for granted so whenever you want me in your bed, in your life...I am here."

You chuckle softly. “Oh, you shouldn’t have said that, Miller.” You warn playfully. “You won’t remember what your bed feels like if I have you in my bed whenever I want.”

****

Joel sighs as you sit at his kitchen table, your half eaten food in front of you as you tap your fingers. Things were going great. Better than great. You saw each other every day. Attended town events together. Everyone knew you were seeing each other but you are currently sitting at his table with a pissed off expression on your face. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” He asks, needing to hear you say it.

“It’s not gonna change anything.” You admit, poking at your food and not meeting his eyes. Things have been good, but it seems like you’ve been in some kind of holding pattern. Maria had come to you today and asked about vacating your apartment. You spent a lot of time at Joel’s, enough that the council noticed and if you weren’t sleeping in your bed, they could give it to one of the numerous refugees that continue to come into Jackson.

Joel sighs, knowing that arguing won't make it any better but he needs you to understand his reasoning. "I can't - it's, uh, I haven't lived with a woman like that - like an actual relationship - for over twenty years. I don't want to ruin what we have because I leave the toilet seat up or I breathe the wrong way. What we have can quickly go to shit and I...I don't wanna lose you." He admits softly, tracing the lines in the wooden table so he doesn't look at you. He had Tess, but you want more, you want a connection. Something that he had resisted with Tess, giving her all of him. Something that he doesn’t think he could do with you. 

“Maria asked me if there was any way I could let another family have my apartment.” You kind of feel like she’s pressing the issue to make Joel make a decision. “But I’m just going to tell her that’s not possible.” You stand up and pick up your plate to clean up.

Joel sighs, standing up to stand behind you. His arms caging you in against the sink and he leans in to softly kiss the nape of your neck. "I want you in my bed every night, I want to wake up holding you. Knowing you're mine. I hate you leavin'." He confesses, "I want you here...just promise me you'll talk to me if you aren't happy. I can't lose you too."

“I don’t want to push you.” You promise, feeling guilty for being upset at him. You twist around to face him and wrap your arms around his neck. “I’m happiest when I’m with you, but I don’t want you to feel like you have to. I just-“ you swallow. “We don’t know when the fuck our last day will be and I’d rather spend the rest of them loving you than anything else.”

Joel rubs circles on your hips, leaning forward to press his forehead against yours. “I know baby, I know. I- I want you here. I do. Will you- can you move in with me?” He asks, needing you to be by his side.

“Are you sure?” You ask seriously. “I can tell Maria to fuck off.” You bite your lip. “I swear this is her telling you to get your ass in gear. Either build faster or make a move with me. I’m not entirely sure which.”

Joel cups your cheek, “I’m sure. I want you here.” He promises, “let’s go get your things today.” He knows you’ll leave the furniture in the apartment so you need your clothes and personal items.

You nod, his hand still cupping your cheek. “If you get annoyed with me, you let me know.” You murmur. “I can spend extra time in the stables.”

He chuckles, nudging his nose against yours, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “As long as you come home to ride me.” He smirks, his hand sliding down your form until he’s squeezing your breast. “Now, that I can do.” You promise breathlessly and Joel smirks, “better get started then.” He takes your hand, guiding you to his bedroom…soon to become your bedroom too.

****

“Dina’s probably a better patrol partner.” You tease Joel, winking over at the younger girl. “She’s awake.” You know Joel would have liked to go on patrol with Ellie, but he had told them to let her sleep and told Dina to come with you and him. Dina snorts and shrugs. “That’s a positive.” She agrees. You clear your throat as you guide your horse along. “Before we go up to the mines, let’s swing through the company buildings.” You suggest. “There’s some Vaseline in one of the shops. Need some for the horses.”

Joel adjusts his grip on the reins, nodding in agreement. It’s early, the air heavy with a storm, and Joel exhales in a cloud of air that appears in the frigid weather. “Let’s go now. We might need to head back. Storms comin’ in.” Joel observes the heavy clouds gathering.

It’s been four years since you moved in with Joel and Ellie. Four years of falling deeper in love with him and creating a beautiful family out of those that remain. Joel’s nephew is precious and you love spending time with him, easing the ache of not having a child of your own. It’s quiet evenings reading while Joel whittles at the desk in the bedroom. Soft, slow love making when both of you are sore or just need a softer touch of reassurance. It’s been healing for both of you and you trust Joel explicitly, that’s why keeping whatever illness has been nagging you from him has you so uneasy. He would worry, incessantly so, and you don’t want him to do that when it’s probably just a lingering bout of flu that had gone through Jackson a few weeks ago. “Then let’s make this quick.”

Joel watches you as you ride a little ahead with Dina. He’s worried about you. You’ve been trying to hide it but he’s heard you throwing you in the early hours, the exhaustion that seems to seep into your bones when you think no one is looking. He’s worried about you and he decides that later, he will take you to the doctor. He glances around the town, making sure there’s no threats until he nods at you and Dina. “Don’t be long.” He orders, deciding to stay outside to keep watch.

“Call out.” You remind the younger girl, your gun in your hand as you make your way to the pharmacy. You know the will be occupied by the items left behind, the little store hasn’t been ravaged completely, which is why you wanted to stop. It’s a stupid idea, completely stupid, but you need to know. Making your way inside, you stop inside the door, listening for the sounds of infected. Just because the little mine town had been cleared doesn’t mean some might not have wandered in. After a moment you relax, looking around with your flashlight as Dina rushes towards some hair bands than are still hanging up. “We don’t need to be long.” You remind her.

Joel glances around, keeping watch, and he’s reminded of patrols he took with Ellie not long after returning to Jackson. The memories of teaching her to play guitar, helping her work on her aim, even helping her decorate her room. He’s happy you’re in the house, a buffer to help him communicate with a moody teenager who now hates his guts. He never got to that stage with Sarah. She didn’t get to experience the “I hate my dad” stage. Swallowing harshly, he decides to talk to you about how he can reconnect with Ellie.

You stare at the boxes for a moment, wondering what the hell you are doing before you grab several of them. “Fuck it.” You hiss, ripping one open right there in the middle of the store. “Gotta know. What’s the worst that can happen? It’s negative?”

Joel looks up as Dina comes back outside, her backpack full of stuff, and he says your name. Dina looks back at the store. “She said she had to pee.” Dina shrugs and Joel nods, still worried about you but he tries to not hover too much.

You shove them in your pocket, knowing that it will take longer for them to give you an answer than Joel will let you stay here without coming to check on you. You grab the Vaseline and the antibiotic creams that you had actually come for and head back outside. “Sorry.” You chuckle. “Coffee.”

Joel watches you as you get back on your horse and he frowns, noticing the way you frown. You look nauseous. Snow starts to fall and Joel frowns, looking up at the sky. “Let’s head out. We haven’t got a lot of time.”

“Okay.” You are nervous, even though you know that the test will come back negative. Even if you show all the signs for the first time ever, you can’t possibly be pregnant. “It’s getting colder.”

Joel leads the way, worried about you and Dina, and his radio crackles, telling everyone to come back to Jackson or take shelter. “Let’s go.” Joel orders over his shoulder, guiding you and Dina through the town until you come across the empty factory. “Let’s get in here until the storm passes.” He orders, pointing at the doors.

You lead the horses inside and shiver slightly. “Jesus. It’s really starting to come down out there.” You whisper, getting worried about what will happen. “Maybe we should go back to one of the smaller buildings.” You could find a stove and build a fire because it’s gonna get worse before it gets better.

Joel nods, “lemme go check. Stay here.” He orders, pulling his gun from his holster and he nods at Dina who stays on her horse in case something happens. Joel makes his way through the factory to the outside and that’s when he hears the infected. His heart pounds at the sound just as he sees a girl under a clicker. He doesn’t think as he pulls the trigger and he grabs the girl. “Are you bit?” He demands, dragging her through the yard until he’s storming into the factory. “We gotta go!” He shouts, the girl running behind him.

You don’t know what the fuck is happening, one second everything is quiet and the next there is a gunshot and Joel is running back into the building with a strange girl. “Joel?” The sound of infected gets louder and your blood chills, the test in your hand shoved back into your pocket. “Joel!”

“We gotta go!” He orders, heart pounding at the thought of you and Dina being in danger. “You okay, kid?” He asks the young girl who nods and Joel grabs her hand and pushes her up onto the horse. Within moments, the doors burst open and Joel shouts for you to ride.

“Shit!” There’s a fucking horde on your heels, the horses racing as fast as they can, but you aren’t gaining much ground between you and the group of infected that what to tear you apart. “We have to hurry!” You shout, looking over your shoulder at the wave of danger that is creeping closer.

Joel stops for a moment, glancing over his shoulder, and he sees the smoke coming from Jackson. “We gotta go back.” He shouts, ice forming on his facial hair. “There’s no time.” The girl declares, “there’s a lodge. My friends are there.” Joel nods, “are they armed?” He asks and she nods. “Good. We will head there, get prepared, and head to Jackson to help.” He orders, riding up the mountain in the blizzard in the direction the girl points.

You don’t like this. Don’t trust it, although you don’t have much of a choice. Why were these people up on the mountain in the lodge? You don’t have time to question it, the temperature is well below zero and you’re in danger of hypothermia and frostbite if you stay out here.

You soon find the lodge and Dina is shaking uncontrollably as you enter the property. The wind chill is gone once the door is shut and Joel shrugs off his coat and rushes over to you. “Are you okay?” He asks, rubbing your arms after your coat is off.

“J-just c-cold.” You promise, teeth chattering and you barely listen as the girl starts introducing herself. “We- we have to get home.” You tell Joel, not paying her any attention. “The town…” through the window you can see the fires burning and you can’t imagine what is happening down there.

Joel squeezes your shoulders, turning to look at the town. He grips the walkie talkie in his hand. “Jackson. Come in. Jackson.” He growls into the radio and that’s when one of the women grabs Dina and a man grabs you. He immediately reaches for his gun but guns are pressed to your foreheads.

“Joel.” You freeze, breathing shallow. “Shut up!” The man who is holding you hisses, shaking you slightly and you see Joel flinch as he thinks about attacking him. “We don’t have anything.” You promise him. “Just take whatever you want.”

Joel places his gun on the floor, raising his hands, and his heart is pounding. The girl he rescued asks him what they look like and Joel’s eyes flick from you to Dina and back to the girl. “Military.” He says, brow furrowing, “fireflies.”

The medic puts Dina to sleep and approaches you with a needle. “No.” You struggle against the man’s grip, the barrel of the gun pressing into your temple. “You can’t give me that, you can’t give me that!” You shout, terrified that whatever they might give you could hurt the baby. The girl, Abby, snorts. “Scared of needles?” She huffs. “Nooooo!” You squirm away from the needle again. “I’m pregnant!”

Joel feels like he’s been punched in the gut. His eyes widen and they meet yours, seeing the fear in your eyes. There’s nothing he can do. They outnumber him and he doesn’t have his gun. “Leave her alone!” He shouts, his voice desperate as he sees you struggle and he knows you’re telling the truth.

“You’re lying.” Abby spits, but you shake your head. “My jacket pocket.” You stammer. “I took the tests this morning. Please- we didn’t do anything to you. Let us go.”

Abby reaches into your pocket, taking out the tests and Joel feels sick. His eyes flick around the room, desperate to find a way out of this situation. To keep you and Dina safe. He wants to squeeze his eyes shut and pretend this is all a nightmare. Abby eyes the tests and the medic of the group looks over her shoulder. “Two lines. She’s pregnant.” Joel’s nostrils flare and tears sting in his eyes when your terrified eyes meet his. “It’s okay, baby.” He tries to reassure you, “it’s okay.”

It’s not hard to figure out who’s baby you are carrying and there’s a grim smile of satisfaction on the girl’s face as she looks from you to him. “He’s a little old to be a daddy.” She chuckles dryly, waving the test around. “But he’s handsome, so good for you.”

Joel’s hands shake a little but he steels himself, jaw clenched as he watches Abby pick up a shotgun. For a moment, he’s worried she’s going to spin around and shoot you but within a blink of an eye, he’s screaming as he lays on the floor. His knee is blown out, and he chokes at the agony that washes over him.

“Joel!” You twist out of the man’s grip and rush over to Joel. “Fuck.” You hiss, seeing how bad the injury is although he’s clamped his lips together to keep from making too much noise. “It’s okay, baby.” Your fingers tremble as you rip at your belt to take it off and use it as a tourniquet. “It’s okay.”

Joel knows he’s going to be killed. The look on the girl’s face. He knows and the worst part is he’s not scared of death but he’s terrified of leaving you alone. Of leaving you pregnant with his child. He wants to fight but that would only get you and Dina killed alongside him. “I love you.” He murmurs, reaching up with a shaking hand to caress your cheek. “Okay. That’s enough.” Abby declares and the man grabs you again, dragging you away, and you start to sob. “Please. Please just let us go. We haven’t done anything.” You beg but Abby chuckles as she kneels down next to your lover. “You haven’t.” She says as she looks at you, “but your boyfriend here has.” She begins her speech about her father and how she was taught to fight with morals. Joel doesn’t listen, his eyes fixed on you as you cry for him.

“Oh, just shut the fuck up and do it already.” Joel snaps, tired of hearing her bitch about how unfair it was that he killed her father. He doesn’t want you to watch, but this bitch apparently wants you to suffer. You choke out a sob when Abby picks up the golf club and comes towards him. “Please, don’t.” You beg softly.

Joel knows she’s going to beat him to death and he hates that this will be your last memory of him. “Close your eyes.” He orders, “close your eyes!” He shouts when you continue to stare and within seconds you squeeze your eyes shut. Abby smirks as she swings the club, hitting him in the head, and he tries to smother his scream but the pain is too intense. The club comes down over and over again on his body until he’s laying in a pool of his own blood. His mind is cloudy with pain but he prays you’ve kept your eyes shut.

You don’t keep your eyes closed. Weeping as you watch Joel absorb hit after hit, the golf club snapping in two and Abby switching to punching Joel in the face. The man still has you tight in his grip, and you resent it, unable to help him. “Please.” You whimper through the tears. “He- he’s not that man anymore.” You try to reason with her. “He’s a good man. He saved people, he has saved so many lives. He saved your life.”

Joel can hear you pleading for him, for her to stop, but it sounds like he’s underwater. His body is numb, and he can feel himself drifting, losing the life in his body. When he hears a scream, his heart stops. Ellie. She’s here.

“Stop!” Ellie is wrestled to the ground and you struggle when you see her, trying to break loose again, but he cocks the hammer back on his gun. “I don’t want to kill you.” He hisses quietly, making you sob. “Please stop.” You beg Abby again. “You- you made your point.”

Abby’s chest heaves and the one holding the gun says, “end it. End it now.” Ellie is screaming at Joel to get up. He hears her begging and he wants to stand, wants to fight now that ve knows you’re carrying his child but all he can do is twitch his fingers. Abby picks up the broken club, walking towards Joel. “No. No. No. Nooooo.” You wail and Ellie screams just as Abby stabs the stick into his neck.

Your visions blurs, narrowing until everything goes dark and you crumple in the arms of the guy who had been holding you. “Gonna kill her too.” Abby smirks as she walks towards where he is crouched over you, putting you down on the floor. “No.” He shakes his head. “That’s not what we signed up for.”

“She’s pregnant.” One of the women protests and Ellie is shaking, “I’m going to fucking kill you.” She promises with a yell and Abby doesn’t care. “Fine. She lives.” Abby decides as the group gathers their things, leaving the lodge.

You don’t come up until Jesse is kneeling down beside you, checking you. Gasping as you open your eyes and the first thing you see is Joel and Ellie. The young girl laying on top of him, sobbing hysterically and you know that he’s gone. You can’t stand, your entire body aching with sorrow, but you crawl over to them, covering her and him with your own body as you cry. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Ellie.” You know they have been estranged, you’ve lived through the tense silence and the battle of wills. Now, there is no hope for reconciliation.

Ellie is numb as Jesse gets her and Dina up on a horse. He wraps Joel’s body up to take it back to Jackson and tears stream endlessly down your cheeks. No one says a word as you ride back to Jackson. How the tables have turned…Joel is now cargo.

****

Your eyes are red rimmed and burning, but not from the fires that still burn in Jackson. The orange glow flickers through the windows and gives an unnatural light to the darkness. The silence in the room is filled with sorrow, you’re the only one here that isn’t stretched out on a table, covered with a sheet. “I’m so sorry, baby.” You whisper, looking down into the bucket to grab the rag and squeeze the excess water. You had insisted that you be the one to do this. Ellie can’t. She’s in the hospital, the parting gift of a kick to the stomach from the group that had killed Joel had punctured a lung. Sedated, and quite frankly, not up to doing this task. You reach for his hand and wipe some of the blood off it gently, as if you are afraid to hurt him. “I didn’t know I could get pregnant.” You promise him. “I didn’t lie, baby, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Tommy walks into the makeshift morgue, finding you with Joel. Where you've been since returning to Jackson. "Sweetheart, you need to sleep." He says softly, "you need to eat something. Not just for you, but for the baby. You know he'd be reprimandin' you for not takin' care of yourself."

Your lips stretch slightly as you look up at him for a moment. Reaching up to touch his hand as it rests on your shoulder. Tommy is a good man, one that you have spent a lot of time with over the past four years since moving in with Joel. “He knew.” You tell him, aware that Jesse has told Tommy and Maria about your condition when you got back to Jackson. “I told him- before he-“ you pause, blinking back new tears. “Hopefully he didn’t hate me for it.”

Tommy shakes his head, “he never would’ve hated you. He loved you. Never thought I’d see him be in love again but you made him so happy. If anything, if I know my brother, he hated leavin’ you pregnant without him.” Tommy sighs, “but you have us. Me and Maria and - and Ellie. She had to be sedated again but she will wake up soon.”

Your chin wobbles slightly. “He’s with Sarah now.” You murmur, standing as you put the rag down on the table beside Joel’s body. “I’ll give you a minute with him.” You know that Tommy’s bond with Joel ran deep and he will miss his older brother. You stop for a moment. “I hate them.” You tell him quietly. “I want them all to die. Every single one of them. As painfully as possible.”

Tommy nods, knowing how you feel, and he wants that too but he has to think about everyone in Jackson and not just his feelings and desire for revenge. “Go get something to eat.” He reminds you, squeezing your hand, and you nod, making your way out of the room with tears in your eyes.

****

You aren’t dumb, you know Ellie is leaving tonight. Dina just left and you stroke your growing stomach as you reach for the box that you have kept. There’s an air of discontent in town, a grumbling under the normally positive sounds of rebuilding. Even though the council had voted, more people than you imagined had spoken to you about their sorrow for Joel’s passing. You knew that it had been a long shot, but you had hoped that they would feel your need for vengeance. Walking out to the garage, you tap on the door quietly. “Ellie, it’s me. Open the door.”

Ellie's eyes widen but she knows that she can't hide from you. She sighs, opening the door to the garage, "you can't stop me and I don't need a lecture." She spits out before you can say a word but she watches your eyes trail over the guns and ammo spread out over the floor.

You whistle, taking it all in before you look at her again. Her jaw is set, stubborn. So much more like Joel than she would probably ever admit. “You’re missing something.” You tell her, making her immediately frown and look around. “What? What am I missing?” She demands, making you smile as you hold out the box in your hand. “This.” You tell her. “You kill that bitch with this.”

Ellie opens the box, eyes widening at the sight of Joel's gun. She swallows, lifting her gaze to yours, and she nods. "I'm gonna kill her. For us." She promises, her hand softly landing on your bump. "Dina is coming with me." She confesses and you smile, having seen what neither of them have realized yet a long time ago. "Good. You will come back...you gotta meet your sibling." You say, placing your hand over hers. She nods, "I'll be back. Gotta see if the baby looks like you or if they are unlucky, Joel." She teases, offering you a soft smile.

“I’m going to stay here.” You promise her. “This house will always be your home. You will always have space here.” You haven’t been able to get rid of anything of Joel’s, even his woodworking projects look like he will walk in at any moment and pick them back up. It’s been three months since that horrible day and you still dream about it. You don’t know if you will ever not; but you’ve taken care of yourself. For Joel and the baby. Because he wouldn’t want you to just curl up and waste away. Even Gail had offered her services to you, none of usual bitter sarcasm in her words. “Always.” 

Ellie smiles at you and sets the gun down on her desk before she wraps her arms around you, gentle to be mindful of your bump. "He really loved you, ya know?" She murmurs, "so do I. You're like the mom I never had." She confesses, "I'll be back. I am gonna kill that bitch and those assholes and I'll be back." She promises softly.

You hug her and press a kiss to the top of her head. “He loved you too.” Ellie had finally told you why her and Joel had been estranged at the end. You had understood both positions and why they had been at odds. “With every fiber of his being.” You pull back and look at her. “He would be proud of you.”

Ellie nods and steps back when you say, "be safe, El." You order and she snorts, "always am." You playfully roll your eyes and rub your bump. "I'll see you when you return." You promise and Ellie nods, watching you go. She's leaving at three and you'll be asleep by then but she will come back and tell you she got revenge for all of you.

**** 

“Oh, you are hungry, aren’t you?“ You coo, looking down at the baby that is greedily gulping down milk at your breast. “That’s it, baby boy, you eat.” Your son, named after your lover, was born just a month ago. Healthy and perfect, you wish that Joel was here to see him. “You want to see your daddy?”

You carry the baby over to the only photo you have of Joel. A Polaroid he took with Ellie, and you pick the frame up to show your son. “There’s your daddy. He’s watching over you, you know? From heaven. He never thought he’d end up there but I just know he is. He was a good man who did bad things because he had. He’s up there now, watching over us.” You murmur and the baby coos after pulling away from your nipple, eyes unfocused as you hold the frame towards his face. “I’ll see him again one day. When I’m older and you can survive in this world without me. You’ll be a fighter, just like your daddy. Another Joel Miller for the world to see.” You coo and the baby closes his eyes as he falls asleep in your arms. You set the frame down and cradle him, cooing softly, unaware that Joel is watching you, Sarah standing beside him, while they oversee the ones they left behind.

[pinkpurplesunrises]

Where the sun meets the flower (you'll always be my girasol)

4000 words - the long story - Alexia Putellas x Reader - This may be heartbreaking but I promise you it'll be okay - Angst and Fluff - Mentions of Reader being sick. Please read with care.

Life can be cruel, so let's just be kind.

You first met her when you were seven.

It was the kind of summer where everything shimmered. Hot pavement under bare feet. The scent of rosemary and jasmine in the air, and the distant hum of children’s voices echoing down the narrow streets of Mollet del Vallès. You’d just moved there with your family. A blonde girl from a quieter town, your Catalan clumsy. Your smile shy but constant.

The first time she saw you, Alexia was sitting on the edge of the pavement. Her scraped knees stained with dirt, a half-deflated football at her side. She stared at you like you were something out of a storybook.

“You look like a girasol,” she said, casually, like it was obvious. Sunflower. You blinked. “Why?”

She shrugged, pushing her tangled hair from her face. “Because your hair’s like gold. And your smile....” She paused, thoughtful. “It looks at the world like it's sunlight.”

You’d never been called something so strange. So lovely.

From then on, you were girasol to her.

You became fast friends in the way only children can. Without questions or reservations. She showed you the best places to climb trees, the shortcut to the bakery that sold the softest ensaimadas, and how to trap lizards without hurting them.

She played football like she was born with it in her blood, and you used to sit cross-legged at the edge of the gravel pitch watching her with awe.

She was bold. Messy. Full of fight, joy and confidence.

You were quieter. Always watching. Always listening.

But she brought something out of you. Like the sun coaxes flowers to open. And when she laughed, she’d always look to see if you were laughing too.

You were still the quieter one, the one who sketched things more than said them out loud, but when Alexia was around, you lived a little louder. She had a way of making everything feel less heavy.

You’d laugh at her ridiculous impressions of your teachers. At the way she’d try to speak with an exaggerated Madrid accent just to annoy people in town. And when she laughed. She’d always glance your way, just to make sure you were laughing too.

That was the thing about Alexia. Even then, even as a child, she noticed you.

Really noticed you.

You were maybe nine the first time the sickness took hold in a way that scared everyone.

It started like a flu. Fever, chills, a cough. But it didn’t leave. Your body grew slower. Your limbs heavy. Days passed where you couldn’t get out of bed, your golden hair sticking to your skin with sweat. Your parents hovered in quiet worry, doctors came and went, and the house fell into a kind of stillness.

Except for Alexia.

She came anyway.

She'd show up at your door, sometimes muddy from training. Holding a small bunch of sunflowers in her hand. Often stolen from her mother's garden. Not always fresh, not always symmetrical but always bright.

“For my girasol,” she’d say with that stubborn smile. “So you don’t forget what you are.”

She’d sit beside your bed, unbothered by the silence or the tubes or the pale version of you lying there. Sometimes she’d talk about her matches. About school. About her sister messing up the TV remote. Other times, she’d bring a board game. Clue, Monopoly, once even Twister which made you laugh so hard it hurt.

And sometimes, she wouldn’t say anything at all. She’d just hold your hand, thumb running lightly over your knuckles as if to remind you she was real. That she was staying.

Even when your voice grew weak and your eyes stayed closed longer than they were open, Alexia still came.

You once asked her, hoarsely, “Why do you keep visiting me?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Because flowers still need sunlight. Even when they’re wilting.”

And even though you were the one laying in bed, it was her who made you feel warm.

The doctors never found a name for it.

Your illness was rare. Strange and shifting. It came and went like a tide, leaving you disoriented in its wake. Some weeks you were fine, more or less. You’d run in the fields behind your house, feel the sun on your skin, laugh without coughing. Other times it hit like a storm. Your body would ache with invisible bruises. Your chest tight, head pounding. Limbs refusing to move the way you wanted them to.

The uncertainty was the worst part.

Your parents kept charts. Specialists were called. Blood drawn. MRIs scanned. But none of it gave you something to point to. You weren’t dying, exactly. But you weren’t living the way a kid should.

And still... Alexia came.

Even when football took her across the city and school pulled her in different directions. Even when she got taller, sharper and the world began to expect more from her. She never stopped showing up. Not for birthdays. Not when you missed a week of school. Not when you were just tired of pretending you were okay.

She always knocked twice on your window before sneaking in, sunflower in hand. Sometimes it was a real one. Sometimes it was drawn in the corner of her notebook and torn out just for you.

“You’re still my girasol,” she’d say like that nickname could keep you warm even on the worst days.

You were sixteen when you told her.

It was a cool autumn afternoon. The sun hung low, casting long shadows over the park benches where you sat side by side. Knees barely touching. She was telling you about a match in Barcelona, her face flushed with excitement. You listened, nodded, smiled in the right places. But your chest was tight with something unsaid.

“I like you,” you blurted, heart thudding hard in your ribs. “More than just like. I mean... like the way people in our class like each other. Like how the girls talk about boys.”

Alexia froze.

For a moment, the world held its breath. You could feel your face flush with heat, your throat tight with fear.

“I know it’s probably weird,” you added, voice shrinking. “Everyone else at school talks about boys. No one ever says...” You looked down at your hands. “No one says this.”

There was a beat of silence.

And then: her fingers found yours.

“No,” she said quietly. “It’s not weird.”

You looked up.

Her voice was steady now. Soft, but sure.

“I think I’ve felt it too. For a long time. I just didn’t know if I was allowed to feel it.”

You could barely breathe.

She smiled. Timidly this time. Not like the bold, fearless girl who stole sunflower petals and tackled boys twice her size on the pitch.

“For my girasol,” she whispered. “Of course I feel it.”

And in that moment, the park, the school, the world. It all fell away. There was only the warmth of her palm in yours. Only the gentle golden light between you. Only two girls sitting shoulder to shoulder on a fading afternoon. Beginning to fall into something neither of you had words for yet, but that had always... always been there.

You were 18 when you’d been thinking about prom for weeks.

It felt silly, maybe, with everything else going on. Your illness creeping up again. School coming to an end. The constant ache in your ribs and knees, but still… you wanted it.

You wanted to wear the rose gold dress your mother had bought you back in March. The one with the soft shimmer and the off-shoulder neckline that made you feel like a version of yourself untouched by hospital rooms and missed classes. You wanted to feel normal, even for just one night.

But mostly, you wanted to go with her.

With Alexia.

You’d rehearsed the question over and over again in your head. How to ask her. How to not sound like your heart was beating too fast just at the thought.

You said it one afternoon after her training. The both of you walking down to the bakery, fingers brushing.

“Would you maybe... if you’re not busy... want to come to prom? With me?” You paused. Swallowed hard. “I mean… as my girlfriend.”

Alexia blinked. Then smiled, slow and wide. “Pensaba que nunca lo dirías. Of course I will.”

The week of prom, you got sick.

Not the kind of sick you could ignore. Not the kind that passed in a day or two. Your body ached so badly you couldn’t stand without trembling. Your fever burned high, eyes glassy, skin too hot then too cold. Your rose gold dress hung untouched in the closet. Tags still on.

You didn’t say anything at first.

Didn’t want to ruin it. Didn’t want to admit the truth.

But Alexia always knew.

She came to your door that evening dressed in a tailored dark suit. No tie. Her hair loose around her shoulders. In one hand, she held a small bouquet of white sunflowers. In the other: your dress.

You blinked, barely able to sit up.

“I told you I was coming to prom with you,” she said softly, stepping inside. “I didn’t say it had to be their prom.”

While your parents quietly lit candles in the kitchen and brought out cold drinks and soft music, Alexia turned your living room into something out of a fairy tale.

String lights draped across the ceiling. A playlist of slow songs hummed from the speakers. A little banner with letters cut out by hand: GIRASOL’S PROM.

She helped you out of bed slowly, carefully, her arms strong around your waist. She let you rest your weight on her. No rush. No pressure. She brought you to the mirror and zipped up your dress gently. Brushing your hair back, eyes shimmering.

“You look like magic,” she whispered, her voice thick.

You tried to smile, even though your body felt like it might fold beneath you.

“I can’t dance much,” you said ashamed.

“That’s okay,” she said. Wrapping her arms around your waist. “I only need a little.”

So you swayed.

Slowly. Gently. Under the twinkle of string lights and the soft hum of your favorite song. Her arms around you, her chin resting on your shoulder. The warmth of her breath against your skin. The soft kisses on your lips.

And when your knees buckled. When your legs couldn’t take it anymore, she caught you. Without panic. Without a word.

She held you. Sat on the floor with you. Your dress crumpled, your body trembling. Her suit jacket around your shoulders.

“Still the most beautiful girl at prom,” she said, kissing your temple.

You closed your eyes against her, and for a moment, there was no pain. Only the weight of her hand in yours. The steady rhythm of her breathing. The love she never made you ask for.

And as the night slipped on, you leaned into her chest and whispered, voice breaking:

“Thank you for not giving up on me.”

She held you tighter.

“Nunca, my girasol. Nunca.”

You were twenty when you moved in with her.

It wasn’t some grand declaration. No dramatic scene of boxes and champagne and keys changing hands. It was slow, natural. Like everything between you and Alexia had always been.

You were spending most nights there anyway. Some mornings she’d wake up early to make you tea before training. Kissing your forehead and tucking the blankets tighter around you before slipping out the door in her cleats.

Other days, you’d be the one waiting at her kitchen table. Sketchbook in hand, while the sound of the front door closing signaled her return. Sweat still clinging to her collarbone, eyes lighting up the second they found you.

When she asked... when it finally became real, you were sitting on the couch with your legs tangled. Her arm around your shoulders. The sun melting through the blinds like syrup.

“I want you here,” she said simply, “for all the mornings. And the bad nights. And the good ones, too. I want to come home to my girasol.”

You looked at her. Eyes tired from another flare-up that week. Joints still sore. Heart heavy with fear of being a burden.

“You already have me,” you whispered. “Even when I’m hard to carry.”

She tucked her fingers under your chin. Her thumb brushing your cheek.

“You’re not a weight,” she said. “You’re home.”

So you packed slowly.

Your books. Your favorite oversized sweater. A mug she always stole when you weren’t looking. She cleared a drawer for your medicine, rearranged her bathroom shelf so your creams and balms and gentle soaps fit beside her perfume and hair ties.

There were good days. Whole stretches where your body forgot to hurt. Where you walked with her down to the bakery like old times. Where you danced in the kitchen with bare feet and no fear.

And then there were the other days.

The ones where your lungs felt tight. Where your skin buzzed with invisible pain. Where the whole world felt like it was pulling away from you, and you couldn’t get out of bed.

But now… you didn’t have to face them alone.

Now she was there.

Holding you through the pain. Reading aloud to you when your eyes ached too much to focus. Whispering, “T’estimo tant, girasol,” over and over until the trembling stopped.

On the worst days, you’d wake up convinced she deserved better. Someone healthier. Easier. Lighter.

But she never left. Never looked at you like you were broken.

Only like you were hers.

You were twenty-five when your body gave out in a way it hadn’t before.

The warning signs had been there. Fatigue that clung no matter how long you slept. Aches that bloomed into something deeper. Breathing that came in shallow, frightened bursts. But you tried to hide it. You always did.

Alexia was twenty-six then.

In the prime of her career. FC Barcelona’s golden girl. Captain with fire in her veins and her name chanted in stadiums loud enough to shake the sky. She was winning trophies, giving interviews, wearing the armband like it was stitched to her soul.

And still... she was by your side.

Every night. Every morning. Every hour she could steal.

The hospital room was sterile and quiet, but she made it feel like home.

She brought your sunflower mug. Your favorite lotion. And a blanket that still smelled like her. She taped drawings you’d made years ago to the white walls. A photo of the two of you smiling in the kitchen. Her hair wet from the rain. Your eyes sleepy but glowing.

You hated how small you looked in the bed. How the tubes curled out of your arm. How her eyes sometimes slipped over the monitors. Reading things she didn't want to understand.

She sat beside you in her Barça jacket, half-zipped, fingers curled around yours.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered once. You weren’t even sure why. For being here. For being sick. For not being the girl who danced in her living room anymore.

Alexia shook her head. Leaned in close until her forehead rested against yours.

“No,” she whispered, voice firm. “You don’t apologize for existing. You don’t ever do that, my girasol.”

You closed your eyes, the heat of her touch grounding you.

“They need you,” you said, weakly. “The team. Spain. Barça.”

Her fingers threaded through yours. “And I need you.”

She said it like it was the easiest truth in the world.

Like trophies could wait. Like nothing outside this room was more important than your hand in hers.

There were matches she couldn't skip. Champions League, El Clásico. But even then, she’d call you from the locker room. Her face flushed. Still breathing hard from the final whistle. She’d grin into the camera and say, “That goal? It was for you.”

She’d hold the phone up to the stadium noise, just so you could hear them chanting her name. And then, quieter: “One day they’ll say your name like that too, when they see your art. When they know your story.”

You tried to believe her.

Because when Alexia spoke, the world always seemed a little more possible.

Even from a hospital bed.

Even on May 25th, 2024. The afternoon of the Women’s Champions League final.

You weren’t doing well.

Your body was fragile in a way that frightened even the doctors. You hadn’t eaten properly in days. The machines were louder than usual. Your chest ached with every breath. The nurses came in gently, speaking in low voices. Their hands moving with practiced care.

Alexia hadn’t wanted to go. She’d sat by your bed the week before, her hand in yours, her eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.

“I won’t leave you,” she said.

“You have to,” you whispered. “You have to play.”

But she shook her head. “I’m benched anyway. Still not cleared fully from training. Some strain. Minor, but…”

“Then go,” you said. You gripped her hand. “And when they need you... and they will need you... you go out there and do what you always do.”

She pressed her forehead to yours, silent for a long time.

“Score for me,” you whispered. “If you can.”

Her voice cracked. “I’ll score for us.”

The TV buzzed softly at the foot of your bed, tuned to the final. Your parents sat nearby, quiet and still. The nurse dimmed the lights. Just enough so you could see the pitch glowing blue and white through tired eyes.

Barcelona. Lyon. On the winning end 1-0 in the 89th minute. But it was still nerve wracking. Anything could happen.

Your breathing was shallow. You could feel your heart working too hard. But your eyes stayed on the screen, even when it blurred.

And then...

90’+2: SUBSTITUTION – ALEXIA PUTELLAS ON.

Your chest fluttered.

There she was, pulling her jersey over her head. Armband tight on her sleeve. Her ponytail swaying with every stride. Jaw set with quiet fire.

The commentators barely had time to finish saying she was still recovering.

“Likely just a symbolic sub,” they said. “But what a symbol.”

They didn’t know her like you did.

90’+4.

A scramble in the box. A deflection. And suddenly, she was there.

Right place. Right time. One touch with her left. A second to steady. And then...

Goal.

A bullet into the top corner. The stadium exploded. So did you.

Something inside your chest lurched. Not from the goal, but from something deeper. Like your body had been waiting for that moment to let go. To release everything it had held for weeks. For Months.

The room tilted.

Your fingers trembled.

The sound of the commentators faded, replaced by the distant echo of your name being called. A monitor screaming. And then...

Stillness.

A long, cold nothing.

Somewhere. Far away. Alexia was on her knees, eyes lifted to the sky. Kissing the crest on her jersey. Hands forming a heart she pointed toward the camera. Toward you.

Because somehow, she felt it. The moment your heart stuttered. The moment it stopped.

Because you were hers.

And she was always listening for your heartbeat. Even across oceans of sound.

The darkness wasn’t black.

It was warm, at first. Soft. Like a room without corners. Like floating in something that didn't press or pull, just held you.

There was no pain here. No machines. No IVs. No body to ache in. Just quiet.

And then... A flicker. A breath of light. Not light like the sun, but something softer. Golden, like the reflection of it. Like something remembered.

You were in bed. Your bed, the one in the apartment with the slightly creaky frame and the cotton sheets you’d picked out together in a sleepy shop in Gràcia.

The window was open. The curtains billowing in the breeze, and Alexia was there. Naked under the sheets. Golden skin aglow in the late morning light. Her bare back to you, tracing idle circles on your thigh with her fingertips.

You knew this moment. Or maybe you dreamed it. One of those days after you’d made love and the world had felt bearable. Like your body might stay soft and whole forever.

She was talking, but her voice was distant. Like you were underwater. Trying to hear through the surface. And then it sharpened. “Girasol,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please come back.”

She turned to you. Her eyes were wet, hair tangled from sleep, lips swollen from kissing. But her face... her face was terrified. Her hand came up to cup your cheek, and you felt it. Somehow, you felt it. The warmth of her palm. The tremble in her thumb.

“Please,” she said again, mouth pressed to your temple. “Come back to me. Just… one more minute. One more breath. That’s all I need.”

You wanted to answer. You tried. But your voice was nowhere.

Your body, nowhere.

Still, something in the way she held you. Desperate and reverent. Like you were something holy and disappearing. Cracked the silence open.

It hurt.

The ache of wanting her, of needing to move, to touch, to live... it burned through the soft dark like a flare in the night.

And then...

You remembered her goal. You remembered her eyes looking up after she scored, lips forming your name.

You remembered that you hadn’t said goodbye.

A sound.

Beeping.

A high-pitched, regular rhythm.

Then voices... Shouting... A rush of movement.

And for a while nothing for a long time.

Until a week later.

The light was soft when you opened your eyes. Not the glaring brightness of the hospital ceiling, but a golden kind of hush. Late afternoon sun filtering through the curtains. A vase of sunflowers on the windowsill.

You blinked slowly.

It felt like the air had thickened while you slept, like time had melted and reformed in your absence.

And then... her.

Alexia.

Curled up on the small hospital couch. Barely asleep, arms wrapped around her knees. She looked like she hadn’t moved in hours. Still in sweats, her hair pulled back, face hollowed by days of holding her breath for you.

You shifted, and the soft rustle of sheets was enough.

She was at your side in a second. Eyes wide, mouth open like she couldn’t believe it.

“Hey,” you rasped. Your throat was dry, but your smile was real. “You’re here.”

Her face crumpled. A single sob broke out of her chest as she dropped to her knees beside the bed. Her hands in yours. Her forehead against your arm.

“I didn’t... I wasn’t here,” she whispered. “I was on the pitch. When it happened. I was scoring a fucking goal, and you...” She stopped herself, shaking her head. “I should’ve been here.”

You brushed your thumb across her knuckles.

“It was a perfect goal,” you murmured.

She looked up at you. Wet lashes. Disbelief swimming in her eyes. “You saw it?”

“I saw you come on. I saw the pass. You didn’t even look, just hit it like you knew. Like you felt it.”

Alexia swallowed hard, nodding slowly.

“I did,” she said. “I felt… something. Like everything in me told me to turn and shoot. Like you were right there.”

“I was,” you whispered.

Her hands trembled around yours.

“It wasn’t just a goal,” you said, your voice barely above a breath. “You brought me back.”

Alexia leaned forward, pressing her lips to your temple, lingering there like a prayer. “Girasol… I would’ve traded that goal. All of it. Just to hear you say my name again.”

You turned to her slowly, cheeks damp with tears neither of you had noticed falling.

“But you didn’t have to,” you said. “Because I’m still here.”

And in that moment, she held you like you were the victory.

Not the medal.

Not the stadium.

You.

Her girasol.

[sqgeism]

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 kiss me beneath the milky twilight ! | amphoreus men x gender neutral reader

💌 — ; your first kiss with amphoreus men :)

love mail — short ? ish ? i'm rly like 5050 on it idk whats short anymkre ( ﾟ□ﾟ) hiiii guys ! :D im rly curious which hsr character reminds u of me (totally stolen from airi) LOL this was kind of fun i love intimacy its cute (；^ω^)

anaxa is a bit of a romantic at heart, even if the cold glares and scary aura act as if otherwise. he doesn't know why people want to explain it, he loves you. why would he be cruel if his heart only beats for you? common sense, he thinks.

and you can feel just how fast his heart is beating as you lay on top of him, under the stars and anaxa's back on the grass, stargazing in the silence of the night. words aren't exchanged because you two have come to realize that not every silence needs to be filled, just appreciated. it isn't every day that the world is quiet enough to hear anaxa's soft breaths, some sort of proof he's real. that he's still alive to enjoy this moment. and he can't be more thankful to the gods he doesn't believe in for the kindness he's always cursed them for never having.

"dove?" he calls to you, bringing his hand to your cheek and bringing you up closer to his face. "yes, anaxagoras?" cursed heart, fluttering at the little giggle that comes with you saying his name. you say it so.. fondly, no one could ever compare.

the night has been perfect, your existence has consumed his every thought, and it's made him think about only one thing; "i need to kiss them."

enough time has passed, right? it's been a couple of months, he feels confident, but also hoping that the ground under him would swallow him whole.

all he needs is an indication you also want this, that you've been yearning for his lips the way he's dreamed about yours every night. (pleasedon'tthinkhe'sweird)

while stuck in his train of thought, he's realizing now that he's just been staring at you. smiling all sweetly— which makes this worst—cause you look so pure while his thoughts are far from innocent.

"would.. it be too crude to.. tell you that i want you? that.." you need to stop looking at him like that, with those eyes that capture his attention every time. "that i want you.. to kiss me. kiss me till i grow sick from the taste of you."

and you do, pressing your lips against his as he can only smirk. his request was a trick hypothetical, he'll never want to stop. he's obsessed, you have to deal with him now.

mydei was celebrating your fourth month together, yes he's the type of guy to celebrate monthly anniversaries... sue him for being in love... but yes. four months isn't a lot of time but phainon's been asking about first kisses, which has YET to happen but there's really no rush. he doesn't wanna force anything you're not yet ready for, putting into consideration it's something so big. the first kiss has to be special, which is why he's in the process of making you an entire full course meal of your favorite dishes. all while you sit and look gorgeous by the counter, watching him like he's doing the most attractive thing a man can do. all while in a soft pink apron and his hair tied up since he thinks it gets into the food sometimes which is his worst fear.

what was he thinking again? right... right! not burning his hand. completely lost his train of thought after you complimented how nice he looked at this very moment. he could swear you had a certain look in your eyes, hungry for something entirely unrelated to food. may the aeon's forsake his heart for having it stutter like this. but also don't make it stop, he loves it, a bit too much.

when dinner is served, mydei is sure to tend to your every need. want more salt? he's up to get the shaker. water? refilled the pitcher to the very top as well as your glass. "mydei, i'll just get some tissue from the kitche—" he's already up, and you wanna beat him to it, but he's already stopping your path with the biggest smile. "sweetheart, why are you standing?" he chuckles, and you fake a little pout. "i wanna get it on my own. don't wanna have you do everything."

"if i'm not doing everything for you, i'm not doing things right." he counters while his hands travel to your waist, humming a little murmur of your name. "so perfect. just sit, i'll get them for you."

matching his advances, your arms quietly move to his shoulders, leaning into him as you usually do. "come on, let me do at least one thing for you."

this is starting to sound like it's not just about tissues. "please, just.. one thing."

are you supposed to be leaning into each others lips when you're asking for tissues? probably not. but mydei doesn't want to let this moment slip, he sees your slight hesitation, which if it was up to him he would've totally just kissed that doubt out of you. but he needs to hear the verbal confirmation. a reassurance that he's doing this right. "there are possibilities wherein this moment passes me without ever knowing what your lips feel against mine. please, please indulge in me for just a moment."

it lasted far longer than a moment. <3

phainon is a bit too much for a flirt to not get to the closest thing to a first kiss. cheek kisses is his favorite form of affection at the moment.. gets him all weak in the knees. he loves seeing you lean in for one and he just asks for another one till he's satisfied. greedy, yes. does he care? not really.

in a flowerfield of just the two of you and the prettiest floral scenery, it's a shot straight out of a movie. you're sat next to phainon, putting little flowers in his hair as he gets to admire you, a perfectly fair trade. you get to love the flowers, he gets to love you. all he ever needs to be honest.

"how did i ever get so lucky?" he sighs dramatically, pulling you closer by the waist as you snicker at his theatrics. "your soul is as beautiful as this field. i'm telling you, angel. if you stay any longer then the aeon's might try to take you away from me." his words have never failed to make you feel valued, and it's but a fraction of how he truly feels about you. he knows he will never be able to put everything into mere words, you deserve so much more than just that.

"phai, please. any sweeter and bees will start to use you for honey." and there it is, one of the many things phainon adores about you. just.. effortlessly matching him. his humor, aesthetics, lifestyle, passion.. all those things, you've perfectly matched his own. "i can take a few stings."

because it felt right, he kisses your cheek a couple of times, making you giggle and jokingly try to push him away, even if your strength is basically at zero and almost pulling him closer.

when he's finished, the blue haired hero points at his lips and smirks. "wanna return the favor, baby? right here is perfect."

it isn't the first time he's made this joke, and it probably won't be the last, but for once you feel.. ready. like it's right.

so when you close the gap between your lips and his, phainon absolutely malfunctions for a second. before locking in and kissing you with gentle fervor, one hand barely on your cheek because he wants to reassure you that you're free to pull away.

and when you don't, he's on cloud 9 the whole time. takes you into his arms and you both fall into the flowers, not breaking the kiss for a moment as laughter and lips crashing against one another fill the air.

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[garbagevarmint]

I've seen this misinformation being spread like wildfire despite so many people in the comments saying it's false info. This hotline number is not for Americans, and our calls can overwhelm a valuable resource for Canadians.

The thing is, most folks on this site don't read the comments before they hit reblog. I know y'all have good intentions, so here's your sign to stop reblogging the old version!

I'm going to copy and paste the list that @ justalittleconfusing left in the comments, it's a great bunch of LGBTQ+ hotlines and text lines that serve Americans. Our government doesn't have our back, but we can still take care of each other!

Here is the list the @ justalittleconfusing put together. Thank them for their hard work!

The Trevor Project offers around-the-clock crisis intervention and suicide prevention services to LGBTQ+ youth ages 13 to 24 and can be reached at (866) 488-7386.

Trans Lifeline, at (877) 565-8860, provides peer-led support by and for transgender people, offering confidential help without mandatory law enforcement involvement.

The LGBT National Hotline is available at (888) 843-4564 for peer support and information.

Text-based support is available through Crisis Text Line by texting START to 741-741.

The Rainbow Youth Project operates its national crisis line for LGBTQ+ youth and young adults, with services available through rainbowyouthproject.org. Their counselors are specifically trained to address the mental health needs of LGBTQ+ callers facing isolation, family rejection, and legislative hostility.

PFLAG National, which has more than 300 chapters nationwide, continues to provide local community-based support, education, and advocacy for LGBTQ+ people and their loved ones. More information about chapters and resources is available at pflag.org.

The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline remains reachable by dialing 988, although identity-specific services may be diminished soon.

thank you Canada 🇨🇦