#with your love ill never be alone (sarah)

[gracieheartspedro]

Your Needs, My Needs

THE PRELUDE

a masterlist of how you can help gaza

pairing: cowboy!joel x f!reader (no outbreak)

description: you have made it to your new home in taylor, texas. your anxiety of owning your our home and being alone is coming to a head, but you need to be productive. a trip to the local furniture turns into you meeting some locals and your new cowboy neighbor.

word count: 3.7k words

warnings: there is no smut in this part. still MINORS DNI! no use of y/n! vague talk of reader's old life before texas, no real description of the reader, description of small age gap, joel being a sarcastic shithead. sarah is canon, so joel is a dad. distracted driving. talks of consuming food. reader has mental illness, mainly described as anxiety, but could be other illnesses. I make it pretty vague. the reader likes football? lmfao

author's note: this is the prelude to the many parts I have planned for these two. this is sort of just setting up everything. I want a slow burn for these two, so hopefully these first couple parts make you guys sweat with anticipation. I also wanna quickly thank all of you for the love on the preview of this fic. I hope you all enjoy it! let me know what y'all think. YEEHAW!

“Sign here and she’s all yours.”

When you brought the pen to the dotted line, you knew that this was going to be the start of your new life. 

While you were nervous about taking on such a huge project, you were ready to find solace in your alone time and work on yourself along with the beautiful farmhouse. You needed some peace and quiet, anyway. 

She was set on 20 acres of land on the outskirts of a small town called Taylor. The land looked like something out of a movie, it’s rolling hills and sprawling fields. 

The house was about 130 years old and needed a lot of TLC. You found it online after hours of scrolling. It was still liveable, but the older couple who owned it before moved to a retirement community and could not keep up with the maintenance. When the inheritance hit your bank account, you called the local realtor and told them you would be flying out there to check it out. When the car pulled up the long driveway, you knew that it would be yours. 

Texas was a new start for you. And boy, were you ready for it. 

You did not have a lot to move in, just a small UHaul full of boxes of clothes and miscellaneous trinkets. You left your furniture in your shared apartment in New York. You needed to find something that was more your style, anyway. 

You moved everything yourself. You were not sure you were ready to trust anyone to help you move in. You knew no one locally, anyway.

It took about three days to get settled, and by that, you simply put up a shower curtain and finally put sheets on your mattress on the floor. You had also created a laundry list of random things you wanted to get done around the house in the next month. Priority number one was getting the bathrooms working. The toilet downstairs doesn’t stop running and your upstairs one won’t flush at all. 

You decided that today was the day you would go out and buy some furniture for your living room and bedroom. You would also inquire to some locals about a plumber. It would take you days to work up the courage to reach out to someone in the phone book, so here’s to hoping you just run into someone on the street. 

You hop into the sedan that you were renting until you could buy a car. It was nice but it was no match for your long dirt driveway. You already expected to pay extra for all the dings on the exterior. 

The roads that lead into Main Street are long and winding. You loved driving, so when it was nice enough to put the windows down, you did so. 

Since there’s no one on this specific stretch, you decide to switch the CD you had shoved into the disc drive, opting for another mix you had made years ago. The radio never played what you wanted, especially the local stations in Taylor. 

In your distracted scramble for the CD, you don’t take note of the large stallion running next to your car. The CD is wedged between the seat and the main console and your fingers cannot reach the awkward position. 

You’re not speeding. But when a giant horse runs out in front of you, you can not hit the break quickly enough. You stop breathing, bracing for impact. You jerk the wheel slightly, swerving away from the steed.  Before your front end can make an impact, the horse is snatched back towards the divot in the road. 

You are in complete and utter shock over how abruptly it all happened. 

Your eye eventually catches a man on horseback, his cowboy hat shields most of his face, but you are more focused on how built this man looks. His biceps were straining against his button-up shirt as he held the lasso taut against his chest. His legs were locked around the brown stallion he was on, his jeans riddled with mud and dust. He had dark curls that peaked out from under his hat.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” You yell, your car slowly inching forward from its spot in the middle of the road, “Where did that thing even come from?”

The mysterious cowboy just shakes his head and trots away, clicking his tongue to guide the horse back into the field. 

Your heart felt like it may leap out of your chest. A car was chugging down the road ahead of you, so you knew you had to move out of the way. You turn into your lane and slowly start down the road again.

You do not even bother trying to find the CD, again. You would rather sit in complete silence. 

-

When you make it to the small stretch of downtown, your heart rate slows down. You spot a local furniture store that looks a bit dated. It was your best bet plus, you wanted to stand on solid ground and gain your bearings. 

You parallel park rather terribly and hop out of your car. You huff loudly, throwing your purse over your shoulder and slamming the door behind you. 

A hot cowboy saved your life. 

It’s the most Texas thing that’s happened to you since you moved here. 

You head inside the storefront. A smaller white-haired lady sits at the front desk, her head in a gossip magazine. 

“Well, hello there,” You muster in your best cheery voice, trying to act like you did not almost die, “I’m lookin’ for some furniture.”

She chuckles as she places her reading next to the register, “Well, you came to the right place, sweetheart.”

You return the laugh, glancing around the large store. Couches and recliners in rows in the front, wooden bed sets lining the back wall. You were so indecisive, you were not completely sure where to start. 

“I need a bedroom set and a couch or two. I just moved into th-”

“The old Caldwell farmhouse,” She cuts you off, hopping off her stool, “Saw you movin’ in a couple days ago. My boy is your neighbor.”

The joke about small towns is always true, you know that already. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. You could not shit without someone knowing about it. 

You raise your eyebrows, acting like you’re shocked she knows about you already. “Yes, that’s right. Your boy?”

“My oldest son, Joel. He lives across the way from ya,” She starts gesturing towards the couches, “Pop a squat on one and see which one ya like.”

You end up sitting on every couch before landing on a brown leather one with a matching loveseat. The old woman is a great saleswoman on top of being sickly sweet. She told you since you are one of her first customers of the month, she would give you a great discount on a coffee table. You were a sucker for a good deal. 

You knew what bed set you wanted immediately. It was a light-washed wood with tall pillars sticking out of every corner. It came with two matching dressers and one nightstand. It was only you, so you didn’t quite care about another side table anyway. 

When the lady starts tallying up your total, you watch the slow-moving downtown. A couple walking across the street into the small diner. An older gentleman walking his small dog. The rickety old trucks that loudly took up the roads. 

You’re so stuck in your head, you don’t even hear what your total is. All you do is hand over your credit card. She smiles and giggles as she swipes the card. 

“So I’ll have my boy deliver it to you tomorrow. He is busy workin’ today, but I’ll have him get it to you. He’s quite the handyman, always busy doing jobs around town. Will you be home in the morning?”

You would have to have some strange man in your home to set up the heavy wooden furniture. It made the hairs on your arm stand up. You knew you would not be able to haul it all, so you had to take the leap of faith and hope and pray this frail old lady’s son is not a serial killer. Or stalker. Or both. 

You needed your furniture, after all. 

It will be okay, you tell yourself. 

“U-uh, I will,” You swallow, “I don’t work right now, so I’ll be home all day.”

“Oh, goody! I will send him your way in the morning. He may have his brother with him just to get the bed up your stairs, but I promise they are good boys. If they aren’t, you come to me and their mama will deal with them.”

You laugh nervously, “Of course, thank you so much.”

–

You had woken up late, your anxiety creeping up on you last night. Your brain would not stop racing. You didn’t fall asleep until 2 am. You hop out of bed around 10:30 and wrap yourself in a cardigan. You have been leaving all the windows open at night, but you can tell the seasons are shifting because it gets so cold at night. 

The doorbell rings and it’s like your heart falls out of your chest. You know that after you open this door, you’re welcoming in someone completely new and unexpected and it makes your whole body jitter. You make your way to the front door and take a deep breath before opening it. 

Of course. It’s him. The hot cowboy. 

It made sense. The endless green across from your home had to be part of his property. The road you almost died on yesterday was right beside his land. His house was tucked right across from the end of your driveway, with countless barns spread across a couple of acres.

You were secretly hoping he would be some silly-looking hillbilly, but instead, you find out your delivery man is the ridiculously attractive cowboy from the day before. His hair is tidy and dark without the cowboy hat on. It’s peppered with some white hairs, but it only adds to his appearance. His flannel has the top three buttons undone and his jeans are stained with age. You are finally able to get a good look at his face with no shadows covering his permanent scowl. 

He had to be about 10 years older than you. You were not too far off from wrinkles, but you were still young enough to bear children without being considered geriatric. 

He squints at you when you swing the door open. The sun is hitting his eyes, highlighting the warm rich brown color. 

“Howdy neighbor,” He greets, a small smirk plays on his lips, “’m Joel. Nice to meet you officially.”

You introduce yourself, trying not to stutter as you say your name. He made you nervous. You chalk it up to just being nervous around men in general. But it’s the way his eyes trailed you as you moved just slightly.

You feel the need to clear the air because of the way he’s staring through you. 

“And uh, listen, about yesterday,” You try to apologize, but he cuts you off by raising his hand. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time an outsider got themselves hurt bein’ reckless down the backroads. Just glad you didn’t hit my horse.”

The response has a bit of a bite to it. You back up a step, your body also taken aback by his directness. You are used to confrontational people, but you’re not used to Southern folk being that way. 

“No, next time I’ll aim for the ditch and tell my insurance that there was a silly cowboy in the road that I had to miss.”

You can tell by the sheepish smile on his face that he was not expecting you to be feisty.

“Don’t think they’d give ya’ much money for that,” He says in a hushed but matter-of-fact tone.

You relax your shoulders, trying to collect yourself. “Probably not.” 

He turns back to his truck that has your bed frame in the back of it, disregarding the previous statements. “My brother is comin’ by in a few to help me get this stuff in.”

“Well, let’s not let all the air out of the house right now,” You extend the door wider for him. You are giving this man full access to your home now. You try to suppress your obsessive thoughts and instead decide that you know exactly what you can have him do while you wait. You remember his mom told you he was good with his hands, and since he wants to be snarky to you in the comfort of your own home, you would try to pick his mind about some of your home projects. “Come in, let me ask you something.” 

You begin, gesturing him into the entryway. He accepts the offer, kicking his boots off on the porch. You appreciate his thoughtfulness and for a second, you realize you may be the asshole. 

“Mama told you I was a handyman, didn’t she?”

You giggle, finding it funny that he could read the situation you were about to put him in. “She sure did.”

“She needs to stop tellin’ folks that,” His accent is so thick and syrupy, that it makes your insides tingle, “Got too many people askin’ me to fix their stuff.”

You guide him to the bathroom right off the living room and kitchen, “You know much about plumbing?”

“I’m assumin’ you don’t,” He mutters, “What do you have goin’ on?”

You point to the loudly running toilet, “This thing won’t stop running no matter what I do.”

“Well, what have you tried doin’?”

You both stand in the hallway, you looking up at him with furrowed brows, him looking down at you with anticipation. He was quick-witted, and you started to hate how much you liked it. He gave your sassiness a run for it’s money.

“I’ve flushed it a bunch of times. Cursed at it and kicked it,” He stares at you blankly. It makes your stomach roll, “Jesus, Cowboy, can you give a girl a break?”

He enters the narrow bathroom, approaching the toilet like there may be a bomb in it. He reaches towards the handle and jiggles it violently, which makes you giggle a bit. That’s exactly what you did. 

“So, why here?” He questions, squatting in front of the bowl. He continues to mess with the handle while you process his no-context question.

“What Texas or this bathroom?”

He chuckles, his smile spreading across his beautifully tanned skin. 

“You got tons of jokes, huh?” 

You don’t respond, just shrug your shoulders. He stands up, wiggling the top of the tank off the toilet. You watch his hands lock onto the sides of it, ensuring it will not drop off and shatter on the dated tile. 

“Texas,” He strains, freeing his left hand to mess with the handle. You lean against the door frame. 

You are not even sure why Texas. You just needed to get as far as you could away from New York. You did not want your past to catch up with you, and you did not want to get stuck in a city again. But you could not share all this with a random stranger. He may be in your house, looking at your commode, but you can’t completely trust him yet. 

“I just wanted a change of scenery. I always wanted a farmhouse.”

“Lots of upkeep,” He jabs, doing one more once over of the tank, “‘M thinking you may need a new float or chain. I can get my tools tomorrow and come over to fix it. May need to order a new part, though.”

You push off the wall, arms still crossed over your front. He puts the top back on and finally makes eye contact with you. 

He would come over again? To fix your toilet? 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, ‘m sure it’s the chain or float.”

“No, I m-mean,” You start to stumble over your words. You swallow, collecting yourself for a moment so you do not look crazy to him. “Are you sure you’re okay coming back over?”

He gives you a thin-lipped smile, “What are neighbors for?”

-

His brother arrives in a rickety old truck at about 15 past 11. He looks a lot like him, but shorter. He has those same eyes though, permanently tired. 

“Nice to meet ya, ma’am. ‘M Tommy.”

You grab his hand to shake it and he lingers a bit longer than you anticipated. Joel stayed on your front porch, putting his boots back on to start unloading the furniture. 

You are thankful the weather was kind today, especially since every evening this week has been stormy. The sun was beating mighty hard on the men as they collaborated on getting your furniture inside.

While they get everything set up, you busy yourself making lunch. You get the bright idea to make them each a sandwich. It’s the least you could do. 

You pile the cold-cut turkey and cheese onto the white bread you had, topping it with some mayo. When you hear their footsteps trailing down the stairs, you race out with the sandwiches on a porcelain plate.

“For your troubles,” You say before standing in their path to the door. Tommy smiles brightly, instantly snatching a sandwich from the plate. 

“Thanks, darlin’,” He takes a big bite, humming in satisfaction. He walks around you, leaving you standing in front of Joel. His eyes are piercing, his lips ajar a bit, but nothing is coming out. 

“Turkey and cheese, I promise.”

He reaches out grabbing the sandwich from you, “No sweet tea to go with it?”

Your heart sinks, instantly becoming self-conscious of your decision to be nice to these hicks. He was so intimidating with his steely expressions and broad shoulders. There was an essence about him that did not speak to his stone-cold exterior. It was more gentle. But you could only see hints of it when he smiled. 

He can tell the wheels in your head are spinning. Before you can speak, takes a bite of the sandwich and shakes his head. 

“‘m kidding, Yankee. Thank you, I ‘preciate it.”

You settle for letting out a long sigh and returning to your kitchen. You spend a couple of minutes, putting back all the ingredients in their proper places. 

You hear Tommy yell for Joel, his voice kind of panicked. You race out the front door and see Tommy balancing your coffee table off the side of the truck. Joel is running to his aid, the dust from your driveway kicking up behind him. You hold your breath watching Joel help him balance the wooden piece of furniture. 

“Can’t have you breakin’ your back before homecoming,” Joel fusses, guiding the legs of the table to the ground, “You know damn well Maria would have me, too.”

“Yeah, what’s a homecoming game without the head coach?”

You perk up, instantly becoming interested in the conversation that you weren’t supposed to be listening in on. The two men lift the table and start heading your way, right on the threshold. 

“You coach football?” You ask Tommy, trying not to show your excitement. You loved football, it reminded you of Sundays with your grandfather. You never got the privilege to go to an actual game, even in high school. 

“Yes, ma’am, for the local high school in Taylor. We are gonna make it to the state championships this year.” 

You glance at Joel when he says it. He rolls his eyes, “Gotta win at least one game to do that, Tommy.”

They place the coffee table right in front of your new leather couch. Tommy grunts, trying not to argue with his brother in front of a strange lady. 

He can’t help himself, though. He instantly snaps back at Joel.

“You know them boys have been practicin’ day in and day out. Why ya gotta be so negative?”

Joel places his hands on his hips, “Cause Sarah told me the guys in her grade are a bunch of dummies. I highly doubt they are ready to kick Georgetown’s asses.”

Tommy starts towards the door, “Just cause Sarah says it, doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“I believe my honor student daughter before I believe my dumbass little brother.”

You are not shocked Joel has a daughter. You are just shocked that she’s in high school. He looked too young to have a teen, but then again, he did have some grays sprouting. You cross your arms over your chest, watching Joel scoot the table across your hardwoods. 

You’re staring at his hands, trying to conjure up a wedding ring on his left finger. But there’s nothing. Maybe he did not wear it when he was working. Maybe he just forgot to put it on this morning. Maybe his passive aggressiveness towards you was simply to ensure there was distance between you and him, giving you subtle hints that he was taken. 

He finally glances up at you, stopping in his tracks when he notes your gaze. 

“Somethin’ wrong?”

You have no clue what to say because you are so trapped in your head about him. He’s a stranger, god damn it.

“N-no, everything is okay.”

“Don’t look it.”

“I just was not expecting the coffee table to look so dark against the hardwood,” you lie, pulling whatever you could think of out of your hat, “Doesn’t it look dark?”

Joel looks between the floor and the table, shifting in his stance, “Don’t know bout that.” 

“O-oh okay.”

“Alright, well we got ya all set up now,” He starts to head towards the entryway. You trail behind him like a lost puppy, “I’ll be by sometime tomorrow with that part for the toilet. I’m expectin’ another sandwich for that one.”

You grab your front door as you wave to Tommy as he heads for his truck. He smiles and gives you a head nod. Joel turns back to you, his ears perked up for a sarcastic jab from you.

  You think back to something he said to you earlier. You crack a smile, “What are neighbors for?”

PART 1 COMING SOON!

taglist (ppl who asked to be tagged): @joeldjarin @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @mysaviorjoelmiller @brittmb115 @missladym1981 @jasminedragoon

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #cowboy!joel #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller au #joel miller angst #joel miller tlou #joel x reader

[futureman]

switching the positions

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: a collection of micro-fics chronicling the days of a very eventful week in the lives of you and joel miller (inspired by ariana grande's positions)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-outbreak, established relationship, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, unprotected piv, rough sex, oral (f&m receiving), 69ing, mutual/guided masturbation, edging, mild exhibitionism, consensual somnophilia, squirting, rimming, unplanned pregnancy, pregnancy kink, pregnant sex, panic attacks, mentions of parents, mentions of food

word count: 16.2k

moodboard by my sweet girl @cavillscurls ♡

a/n: whew, my pride and joy, a whole two months in the making. tysm to everyone who voted on the poll, and especially to @dinsdjrn for helping me tie this whole thing together and mya for listening to me yell about this for weeks. as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated!

SUNDAY

"Boy, I'm tryna meet your mama on a Sunday."

“She’s gonna hate me.”

“She’s not gonna hate you.”

Oh, you know this woman is going to hate you. It’s not that parents don’t like you. On the contrary, you actually get along great with people’s parents. Your friends’, your old roommate’s, your coworkers'—hell, even your own. It’s just that moms, specifically, can smell fear, and Joel’s mom is going to smell the terror wafting off of you from a mile away. 

Not that it’s personal or anything. You’re pretty sure she’d hate anyone dating her baby boy. It’s like, a boy-mom thing. Still doesn’t make you feel any better about your boyfriend’s mom potentially hating you.

“Whose idea was this dinner again?” Because if it was Joel’s, then he can still reschedule or fake an illness or, better yet, call the whole thing off.

“Baby, you know it was hers,” he replies from his spot at the edge of the bed, where he’s been watching you pace the room and throw half the closet on the floor for the past hour. You shoot him an exasperated look.

“But did you have to say yes? Isn’t it kind of early for me to be meeting your mom anyway?” 

He looks at you like you have ten heads, but you ignore him, debating two shirts in the mirror, then deciding they’re both terrible and adding them to the pile on the floor.

“It’s been a year and a half. If we wait any longer, she’ll be meetin’ you at the weddin’,” he sighs, running his hands frustratedly down his face. You pause your closet tornado to stare at him, wide-eyed, and he rolls his eyes. “I’m just sayin’, I think it’d be good for y’all to meet, is all.”

Good for who? Certainly not you. Honestly, this dinner could have serious repercussions for your relationship. It’s entirely possible she could convince him to break up with you after the night’s over. Or that you’re a bad role model and shouldn’t be allowed around Sarah anymore. Your stomach lurches violently at the thought. Then, it hits you—

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair enough—but have we thought about who’s gonna watch Sarah tonight? We can’t just leave her by herself, and I’m sure your mom would totally understand that,” you try to reason but, again, Joel’s not going for it. 

“She’s 14 years old, I think she can handle a couple hours alone,” he deadpans. “Baby, c’mon, it’s not gonna be that bad. Please? Is it really too much to ask for the woman I love to meet my momma?” 

You soften at that. Logically, you know he’s right and it’s not fair for you to keep giving him such a hard time. You’re also pre-judging someone really special to him, and now you feel like the shittiest girlfriend in the world.

“You’re right. I know you’re right—I’m sorry,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. You’re not sure why you’re feeling so insecure about all this. “I just want her to like me, you know?”

He nods, lips quirking into a small smile, and pats his lap. You fall into his arms and he rocks you for a moment, kissing your hair, then your cheek. The anxiety’s starting to subside and you’re grateful for him, your sweet boyfriend who never asks you for anything. Your eyes meet his, and he leans in to kiss you softly, deeply, then pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“I know ya do,” he murmurs, rubbing soothing circles into your thigh. “And she will, alright? Just give her a chance like she’s givin’ you one.” 

So, for Joel, you do. Turns out his mom is lovely and wonderful, just like her son, and now you have a lot to make up for.

MONDAY

"Then make a lotta love on a Monday."

It’s early and yet, somehow, you’re already awake and feeling like it’s going to be a good day. There’s no alarm clocks blaring, no feet stomping up and down the stairs. Just sweet, blissful sunlight, and it feels so good this morning. Warm and wet and, god, right there—please, keep going right there.

You reach out to feel its light against your hands and between your fingers, and it hums, sending sweet vibrations up your arms, all the way down to your thighs. Heat starts to bloom in your belly as the sun rises higher, burning hotter and hotter, and your fingers tense, tugging at its soft rays. 

Everything feels so much wetter now, and there’s no way you’re not sweating right through your shirt and into the sheets. Even your underwear is soaked, your cunt pleasurably slick and dripping as you pant softly into your pillow.

Then, all of it suddenly intensifies and you’re enveloped by a wet, dextrous warmth that circles and circles, dipping into you, fucking into you, and suddenly, you’re so, so close—

And then you’re cumming with a loud sob, hips bucking with every spasm until something broad and strong splays across your stomach and pushes you back down into the sheets. 

It's…you realize it’s Joel. Balmy and beautiful like the morning sun. He groans as you gush into his mouth, lapping up everything you give him, and you’re vaguely aware of the bed shifting under you as he grinds his hips into the mattress for relief. 

“…B-baby? What—what’s going on…,” you slur sleepily, hands tugging harder at his hair as he continues to suckle your clit through the aftershocks. You whine at the oversensitivity, and he pulls off to press one last kiss to your heat before throwing the sheets off behind his head.

His eyes meet yours and, fuck, he looks wrecked. His hair is in complete disarray and his eyes are a little wild…and then there’s the giant tent in his boxers and that delicious wet spot that makes your mouth water. He doesn’t respond—just crawls up your body to crash his lips against yours, licking into your mouth, and all you can taste is yourself when his tongue brushes against yours.

You moan into his mouth as he grinds into your sensitive core, then parts from your lips just long enough to pull your sweat-soaked shirt up and over your head. The cool morning air feels like heaven against your feverish skin and, with the sheets gone, you can feel a cool breeze coming through the open window, amplified by the oscillating fan next to the bed.

Christ, he must be so pent up by now. Your brain is finally starting to clear from its post-sleep fog, and now you’re wondering how long he’s been between your legs, eating you out like you’re the heartiest breakfast he’s ever had in his life. 

But that train of thought is quickly derailed when his lips find a new home around your nipple, sucking it into his mouth and circling his tongue around the nub until it hardens. The delicate skin feels especially tender, and you whimper quietly as the roughness of his beard scrapes against you. Your fingers thread back into his hair and you tug, urging him back up so you can feel his mouth on yours again. 

“Joel, fuck me,” you murmur against his lips, and his breath hitches. “Wanna feel you—please.” 

The sensitivity must’ve already subsided because your hips are steadily meeting his and you’re feeling so desperate to have him inside you. His cock feels heavy as he rubs himself against your slick cunt and, while the fabric provides the most incredible friction when it grazes your clit, you want him bare immediately. 

“Now…ngh—now,” you whine, and you’re stunned he still has the patience to tease when he pulls away slightly to smirk down at you.

“Needy girl this morning, ain’t ya?” His voice is thick with sleep and so much desire, and it makes your still locked-down pussy clench painfully. “S’alright, baby, ‘m gonna give it to ya.”

Wrenching his boxers down, he grips under your legs to push both of your knees to your chest before nudging the blunt head of his cock against your entrance. He inches in just the tip and immediately lets out a whoosh of air.

“So fuckin’ tight, Jesus Christ,” he grits through his teeth, working himself in and out of you until he’s buried to the hilt, the coarse hair at the base of his cock brushing against you just right. He lingers for a brief moment, grinding into you deeply, languidly while you adjust to his girth.

"S'good. Feels good," you murmur, sighing contently. He's brushing that spot he can only reach when he fucks you like this, so you lock your ankles behind his back, silently telling him to stay. But it feels a little selfish, and you can feel how much he's holding back.

"Baby...I gotta move," he pants, trembling with the effort it's taking not to lengthen his thrusts. Pulling out slowly, he presses back into you deep enough to nudge that spot again, and your vision goes hazy. "Promise, I'll take care of ya—"

You moan in unison as you flutter around him, and he takes that as the go-ahead to continue, his cock reappearing wetter and shinier after every stroke. His skin is glistening, too, slick with sweat that runs down his temples and pools where your bodies connect. 

The heat of him is addictive and it's everywhere—blooming in your chest, blazing between your legs, and igniting something fathomless inside you. But somehow, it's still not hot enough. You know he can give you more, your blindingly beautiful sun.

Wrapping your arms loosely around his shoulders, you squeeze your thighs into his sides to pull him flush against your body, and you can feel his heartbeat pounding through his chest. The steady rhythm matches his thrusts perfectly, but he's groaning so sweetly in your ear that you have a feeling it won't for long.

You belatedly realize how hard you're clenching around him, suddenly so close to tumbling over the edge for the second time this morning, and he redoubles his efforts to follow you.

"L-like that, keep going just like that," you encourage between sharp exhales. "That—that's it."

He braces a hand next to your head on the pillow to stabilize himself, and you wrap your fingers around his wrist, grounding yourself to him. His eyes meet yours fondly before he buries his face into the crook of your neck to do the same, panting heavily against your skin.

Soft, brown curls tickle your cheek, and you turn your head to nose into his hair, breathing him in. He smells earthy like freshly-mown grass and sawdust, and it fills your lungs, surrounding you just when you need it the most. 

You gasp in his air, hips swiveling into his desperately as you chase your release. He's slamming directly into that spot now, pushing your knees back into your chest to reach even deeper, but his thighs are starting to tense.

"'m not gonna last long," he admits breathily, all but folding you in half so he can brush his lips against yours. "S'too good...gonna make me cum so hard."

"Please...please, please." Fuck, you want to feel it. To feel him pulsing inside you, filling you up so good, so much. "Joel, cum—please cum."

So close, you're so close. Your soft sighs have evolved into something louder and higher-pitched. Too loud for this early in the morning, and enough to wake up the entire house if you're not careful.

Joel seals his mouth over yours, swallowing every noise that escapes your lips as he pounds into you with purpose, dragging against your walls, and it's...fuck, you're—

Gushing, sobbing as you cum, and he groans, long and drawn out, immediately following you over the edge. Releasing your legs, he digs his fingers into your hips to hold you in place, keeping his cock buried deep inside you as you milk him dry.

"Fuck me," he exhales shakily, pumping into you twice before pulling out and collapsing on top of you. "Good fuckin' morning."

A breathy laugh bubbles out of your chest, but you immediately cringe at the feeling of his cum leaking out of you and onto the sheets. You wedge a hand between your bodies, reaching down to swipe your thumb between your folds and procure a glob that you suck wetly into your mouth. 

"Very good fuckin' morning," you smile cheekily at the look of awe on his face. He shakes his head, chuckling as he wraps you up in his arms and rolls you over onto your sides. His chest expands into you with a massive yawn, and you're helpless but to mirror him.

"How much time we got until the alarm?" he mutters sleepily, sounding like he could pass out at any moment. You're craning your head back to check when—

The damn thing starts blaring before you can even catch a glimpse of the time. Not that you need to now—it's 6 a.m., your mortal enemy. You glare at the clock like it personally offended you, and Joel only chuckles, pulling you back down with him.

"Snooze it," he murmurs, mouthing damply at your neck, his hands exploring your soft, bare skin. "We still got time."

You barely hear him, already lost in the feeling of his fingers skimming up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. He leans over you to hit the button himself before returning to you, kissing you like you've both got all the time in the world.

Neither of you makes it to work on time.

TUESDAY

"Cookin' in the kitchen, and I'm in the bedroom."

The oven is broken. Probably. The stove, too. It’s really not your fault—all you did was turn some knobs and stand there, but for some reason, none of the burners are catching and the oven sure isn’t cooking this chicken like it’s supposed to.

You don't even like chicken but, for some ungodly reason, you've had a wicked craving for it lately. And Joel loves it, so. That explains why you’re in the kitchen, getting side-eyed by a very skeptical 14 year old, trying to cook a nice dinner for her very overworked father. It’s not going well.

“Did you hear it click when you tried turning it on?” Sarah asks patiently, and now it’s your turn to look skeptical.

“Uhh, the knob or the stove?” You eye the appliance dubiously like it’s doing whatever it’s doing on purpose. She laughs pointing to one of the burners.

“So, when you twist the knob, gas comes out of here,” she taps the grating around the burner, “and the clicking creates a spark that ignites the gas so it lights. Then, voila, you’ve got a working stove.”

“Oh,” you reply dumbly, looking back and forth between her and the stove until she finally gets the hint.

“Fine, fine. I can do it,” she rolls her eyes good-naturedly. And of course, the stupid thing works with zero issues when she does it. You give her a grateful smile before throwing the dirtiest glare you can muster at the oven.

“What do we do about that one? I guess I could try cooking the whole chicken in a big pan, but I can’t guarantee we won’t all die from food poisoning…,” you trail off, starting to feel a little useless. 

It’s not like you’re completely inept in the kitchen. You can use a toaster or a microwave like a damn pro, and even the blender if you’re feeling especially adventurous, but you’ve never made a big meal like this before. Sarah likes to cook when you’re not ordering out, which admittedly is most of the time, so this was supposed to be something special for her, too. 

“It’s the same general concept,” she says, still kind and patient as ever, squatting down to show you a different set of knobs. You observe her for a moment, missing the start of her explanation, because it’s times like these where you can see so much of Joel in her. 

It’s that spark in her eyes when she gets to share bits of her well-earned knowledge. To use her expertise to teach someone something brand new. Joel gets the same look when he’s trying to teach you guitar. His eyes shine when you finally get a chord down, and he downright beams when you can finish an entire bar by yourself. 

You must’ve zoned out for too long because she’s suddenly waving a hand in front of your face, smiling her dad’s sweet smile as she waits for your focus to return to the task at hand. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. What did I miss?” you ask sheepishly. She nods to the oven, already lit and heating up to the required 400 degrees Fahrenheit for cooking baked chicken.

“All good! It’s set for whenever you’ve got the food prepped. You just have to wait for it to hit temperature—it’ll beep when it’s ready,” she says, walking around the kitchen island to grab her backpack. 

…Wait. She’s leaving?

“Woah, wait, where are you going? You can’t leave yet,” you plead, still desperate for her help. “What if I burn the house down?”

“You’re not gonna burn down the house,” she snorts, already at the door tugging on her sneakers. “Just remember to turn off the burners and you’ll be fine. And save me some food!… Unless everyone gets sick, then maybe don’t.”

You shoot her a look of absolute betrayal, and she laughs, opening the front door and waving over her shoulder. 

“See ya later! Good luck, I believe in you!” 

And then she’s gone, and you’re left alone with your misery and a bunch of random ingredients you still have to magically make into a meal.

You slump against the counter, lamenting the loss of your sous chef until the oven beeps, scaring the shit out of you. Oh, great. You’ve barely even started seasoning the chicken. It can’t be that hard, right?

Twenty minutes later, you’re standing in front of a very peppery-looking raw chicken—which is officially disgusting again, you changed your mind—wishing you had just ordered Boston Market and lied about making it yourself. Lesson learned for next time. Like there’ll be a next time.

Well, at least no one can say you didn’t try. You throw a bunch of mixed vegetables into the bottom of the pan like the recipe says and pop it in the oven, setting the timer for 40 minutes and hoping for the best. 

Glancing at the clock above the sink, you realize you’re cutting it close on time. You told Joel to be home by eight, which means he’ll probably actually get here at nine, and it’s already 7:30. Yikes. Time flies when you’re trying not to fuck up a dinner that was doomed from the start.

The last piece of the puzzle is thankfully the easiest. Now, mashed potatoes are definitely something you can make. Boiling water? Piece of cake. Pouring in the instant flakes from the box and adding butter? Done and done.

There’s no way anyone’ll be able to tell you didn’t make them from scratch unless they check the trash and, anyways, the instant stuff is better. You’ll go down with that ship. 

Now for the pièce de résistance: the perfect evening attire. A cute, 50s-era apron you thrifted two weeks ago that’ll go over the teeny, tiny Victoria’s Secret lingerie set you’ve been hiding in the back of the closet.

Joel will probably think it’s hilarious, once he stops drooling. Hopefully you’ll even make it to dinner, otherwise, the stress of this entire afternoon was a totally moot point. But he’ll have to be a good boy and finish his food before he can have dessert—apple pie you definitely didn’t make, and you laid out on his bed like the best fucking treat he’ll ever taste.

You end up with enough time to take the chicken and veggies out of the oven—the meat thermometer tells you it’s cooked through and that’s good enough for you—and stir up the mashed potatoes before you have to head upstairs to get everything else ready. So far, surprisingly, so good. 

You’re in the middle of patting yourself on the back for a job well-done, with time to spare, when you hear the front door open. At eight fucking thirty. This would be the one day Joel gets home early and, by the sounds of dishware and cutlery clinking around downstairs, he’s already discovered your big surprise. 

“Baby, you up there?” he calls up the stairs. “What’s all this?”

Well. Guess it’s showtime. You finish tying the apron around your waist before giving yourself one last once over in the mirror. Everything fits perfectly, just like you knew it would, and the food’s done, for better or worse. So there’s no need to be nervous, right? It’s just Joel. Your Joel. He’d love it no matter what, even if it all ends up being total shit. 

Taking a steadying breath, you head down the stairs, letting your appearance serve as his answer. The apron rubs scratchily against your skin, a reminder of how naked you actually are underneath, and you let your confidence in Joel’s inevitably wanton reaction make you brave.

And he doesn’t disappoint. His eyes rove over you greedily, from the pout of your lips to the tiniest slip of your nipple peeking over your bra, all the way down to the soft, bare skin of your legs. Yeah, no need to be nervous at all.

“Just a little surprise I cooked up,” you smirk a little deviously as you reach the bottom of the stairs. He’s on you in a second, hands exploring your body eagerly, impatiently, as he leans in to kiss you, but he’s halted by a finger to his lips. “Uh-uh. Can’t have dessert yet. There’s a whole meal waiting for you—I made your favorite.”

He chuckles, gingerly pressing a kiss to your finger instead before leading you backward into the kitchen. 

“Well, let’s get started then. I’m starvin’,” he says, looking hungrier than you’ve ever seen him. You return his gaze, suddenly feeling ravenous yourself.

“Good. It’s dinner time.”

WEDNESDAY

"Wrist icicle, ride dick bicycle."

Spin class sucks.

There’s really no need for the music to be this loud. And it’s bad. They say it’s supposed to amp you up for rigorous exercise, but it’s just giving you a headache.

It’s also about a thousand degrees in here, and you’d be leaving a massive pool of sweat on this seat if you were even allowed to sit on it. The whole concept of spinning makes no sense, and you’re starting to think it’s actually just a dance class on stationary bikes because no one in their right mind would ever ride a bicycle like this. 

It’s embarrassing, for starters, and you’re surrounded by hot people that are way better at it than you are. You didn’t even know you could gyrate on a fucking bike until today, and they all somehow make it look sexy. Like they’re legitimately having a great time. Having fun. 

But not you. The music might honestly be doing you a favor by drowning out your pathetic attempts to breathe. You’re starting to get a little lightheaded and feel like you’re about to be sick.

No workout is worth this. You can’t even pretend to follow the instructor’s directions, because you can barely hear her over the speakers. She probably can't even hear herself, yelling into the void of shitty EDM remixes, and expecting everyone to pick it up. If you’d known this was just some fucked up version of leg day, you would’ve skipped it. 

There's no sneaking out early, either. You took the bus and Joel won’t be here to pick you up for at least another half hour. Honestly, you'd rather walk home and let that be your exercise for the day, but unless you plan on jogging along the highway, you're shit out of luck.

The beat abruptly picks back up, startling you out of your personal pity party, and then everyone's asses are in the air again, hips swiveling so perfectly in sync that it has to be choreographed. You're getting the hang of it now that you're realizing the routine just repeats itself, but it still feels mildly exploitative. 

It doesn't help that your class is starting to draw in a crowd, likely attracted by all of the revealing athletic wear on display. At least you got that memo. Whoever had the bright idea to put a huge glass wall at the back of the room was either a genius or a pervert. Probably both, depending on who you ask.

Once the hardest section of the choreography passes, you look behind you to check the time, praying more than you think has passed, but you're sorely disappointed. And the crowd outside's only gotten bigger.

Don't these assholes have anything better to do than stand there drooling over a spin class? You continue to glare at them over your shoulder through the next part of the song, looking a little ridiculous grinding into your seat as you silently tell them all off.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch one of them off to the side laughing, but when you turn to send an even harsher look in their direction, you realize you recognize him. 

What a dick. If you'd known he was going to be this early, you definitely would've snuck out and waited outside instead of becoming another piece of eye candy for a bunch of gym rats. 

Joel looks a little too pleased with himself, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed like he’s enjoying the view as much as the rest of those creeps. Well, if he wants a show, then you’ll give him one. Now that you’ve gotten the movements down, you can put all of your energy into making him wish there wasn’t an entire glass wall separating him from you. 

That one, grueling section of the song loops back around, and this time you put your all into it, arching like you’re supposed to, swiveling your hips into the seat with all of the muscle control you’ve got. Your shorts ride up your ass at the change in movement, probably giving you a wicked camel toe, but you let them. You can only imagine the look on Joel’s face now.

The song starts to wind down, finally coming to a stop, and you lower yourself back onto the seat, panting with the exertion of the past 45 minutes. Turning back around, you notice the crowd has mostly dispersed, save for a few stragglers and Joel, who’s panting almost as hard as you are. 

Your eyes drop to his pants, and you quirk an eyebrow. His breathing’s not the only thing that’s hard. He looks a little wrecked and, suddenly, this whole workout thing feels like it might’ve been worth it after all. 

You hop off the bike and retrieve your duffel from the back of the room, teasingly flicking the glass in front of his face before exiting with the rest of the class.

"Ready to go?" you ask brightly, still feeling high off the endorphin rush. He doesn't respond, looking a little dazed as he watches a droplet of sweat run down your neck, past your collarbone, and right between your breasts. "You doing alright there, bud?"

You laugh, enjoying your revenge a little too much, reveling in the way his jaw tenses and the muscles in his neck twitch angrily. It’s about to be a very interesting ride home—or it would’ve been if you’d made it that far. 

On the way out, you pass an out-of-order men’s room, and he yanks you inside, locking the door behind you.

It's a little surprising he's this pent up after the night you had, especially with the sheer amount of sex you’ve been having lately—not that you're complaining. But what's even more surprising is that he's choosing right now to rectify it, basically in public where anyone could overhear or walk in on you. It's...really out of character for him. You thought he'd at least make it to the car.

“Joel, what the—,” you yelp as he lifts you up by the waist to settle you on the edge of a sink. It's clear his patience has completely run out because, within seconds, he's dropping to his knees, burying his face in your heat. "—fuck."

Your legs immediately try to close around his head, but he forces them back open with enough strength to overextend your already abused hamstrings. It shouldn't feel as good as it does, but the pain, combined with his blunt nails biting into your thighs, sends delicious jolts right to your core. 

You exhale shakily, burying your fingers in his hair as he sucks a damp patch into your shorts, just slightly lower than where you need him. Your hips buck, urging him higher, but he doesn't allow that either, shoving them back down onto the hard porcelain beneath you.

Should've known it wouldn't be that easy. He's handling you aggressively, rougher than you would've expected, and that's when you realize he's mad.

"Bet ya thought that was real funny, teasin' me like that," he growls into your clothed pussy, licking up the seam to swirl wet circles where your clit throbs under too many layers. "Don't feel very nice, does it?"

His eyes meet yours as he sucks a little harder, and you whimper, tugging at his hair in a silent plea for him to take your shorts off and eat you out the way you both want him to. But he's going to drag this out and you know it. 

Joel loves a little payback and has the patience of a saint unless he's pushed past his limit. To your detriment, you shoved him over that line with the stunt you pulled earlier, so now you'll have to convince him it's in his best interest to let it go.

Switching tactics, you tempt him with what he could have if he just gave in. Your fingers dip beneath your waistband, and you sigh as you slick them up against your folds before dipping them inside. You're already soaked, and so tight, even around two of your own fingers, and you tell him as much.

"No, it doesn't feel nice...but I know something that will," you pump your fingers in and out of yourself, the muted sound of wet squelching reaching your ears. "Hear that?—," you gasp, hips lifting off the sink as you accidentally graze something spongey and sensitive, "—t-that's all for you."

And it works like a charm. Your shorts and underwear are pulled off in a single, hard tug, his tongue fucking into you before you can even fully inhale, and you choke out a strangled moan instead. He eats you out like a man starved, his nose nudging your clit with every dip of his tongue, and it feels so potent, you practically see stars. 

Your combined slick and his saliva are starting to leak over the edge of the sink but he catches every drop, and the way he slurps you up makes your cheeks burn. Joel's a lot of things when he's between your legs—enthusiastic, generous, and a little sloppy, but he's never wasteful. 

Two thick fingers prod at your entrance, and then he's pressing them into you, the slide snug, but easy with how wet you are for him. Finally, finally, you can feel your orgasm building, and you're sent reeling when his tongue fucks into you between his fingers, filling you up—it's...yes, right there—

But he abruptly pulls his mouth away, still not done making you pay.

"Damn right, it's all for me. Ya think those jackasses watching you weren't thinkin' about this?" he growls, his fingers slowing to leisurely stroke your walls as if they weren't about to throw you over the edge a moment ago. "Think they could make you feel this good? Make you cum like I do?"

Your pussy flutters pathetically around him, and the false look of sympathy he gives you makes you want to cry out of sheer frustration.

"Gonna need an answer if you want me to keep goin'," he drawls, still close enough that you can feel his breath, hot against your cunt.

You bite down on your bottom lip, just hard enough to momentarily distract yourself from the aching between your legs so you can respond, but you're taking too long. His fingers have all but stopped, so you panic.

"Fuck those assholes. Fuck all of them," you grit through your teeth. He quirks an eyebrow, marginally picking up the pace of his fingers.

"Fuck 'em, huh? That what you wanna do?" He's teasing you, and even though it's obvious, you fall right into his trap, anyway. Blanching, you shake your head furiously.

"N-no—no, no, no. Just you, only wanna fuck you," you gasp, frantically trying to convince him of something you both already know to be true without a shadow of a doubt. It's honestly impressive that he can work you like this and, even more so, that he's the only one that can.

"S'okay, I know...I know. This right here—," he gives your clit a few kitten licks, the pads of his fingertips rubbing that perfect spot inside you, "—s'mine." 

Then, he's burying his face back between your legs, redoubling his efforts, and it's so fucking sloppy. Wet and hot, and hungry, as if edging you has the same effect on him. 

You feel him groan into you as you start to tighten around his fingers, loud enough that his chest rumbles with it, sending sweet vibrations up your thighs. The sound of his belt jingling, then hitting the floor vaguely makes it past the blood rushing in your ears, but his broad shoulders and head bobbing between your legs are blocking your view.

All you can see or hear is the frantic movement of his arm, his hand working up and down his cock, and the sound of skin slapping on skin. Fuck, that's—so hot, you're so close. So fucking close—

But he's got one last edge left in him. 

You're throbbing so violently that for a second you're terrified he ruined your orgasm, but no, you're still teetering on the cusp, thighs quaking so hard, you can’t believe you haven’t crushed his head between them already. At this point, the smallest touch, even the tiniest puff of air would send you hurtling over.

He's still jerking himself off, sounding delirious as he separates his mouth from you to speak.

"Need to hear ya s-say it...," he pants, and you cry out, angrily reaching down to roughly shove his face back into you, but he resists. Spurred on by your reaction, he only fucks into his fist faster. “Nobody else gets to taste ya like I do…do they? Say it. Say it and I'll…ngh—let you cum,” he moans lowly, possessively. 

Joel sounds completely gone. You never could've imagined dry humping a fucking stationary bike would set him off like this, or that a bunch of dumb muscleheads would make him this jealous. He's so lost in it, in you. 

But the way he's looking up at you right now—it's like he really does need you to do this for him. To tell him that it’s just him, and it’ll only ever be him. It’s the truth. No one else has ever made you feel the way he does, with his mouth and hands, or his heart, and they never will again.

You whine, shaking your head pleadingly, ready to tell him whatever he wants to hear. Anything for him to put his mouth back on you again.

"T-they don't—no one else gets to, but you...only you," you keen as he seals his lips around your clit, all of his fears and insecurities finally soothed. Your head tips back, the feeling of his hot tongue laving over the sensitive bundle of nerves and his thick fingers—three of them, now—dragging against your walls exactly what you need. 

You cum frighteningly quickly, your orgasm so powerful and overwhelming that you start to black out. Your eyes squeeze shut, and then it’s all just pleasure—the tension in all of your limbs slowly bleeds out with every spasm of your cunt, and something wet…so wet, splashes against your inner thighs. 

Joel groans louder than you think you’ve ever heard him, the sound practically punched out of his chest as he licks broader lines up your pussy, sucking and slurping, and what…what is that? Why the fuck are you so wet? He—did Joel cum on you, and you didn’t even notice?

But that’s impossible because now his body’s completely seizing up, the hand around his cock stilling as he spurts thick ropes of cum across the bathroom floor. Or at least that’s the image your brain conjures up, unable to see it for yourself. 

Your vision’s only just beginning to return to you, and you immediately look down to see what actually happened...and fuck. It was you. Joel’s head is resting on your thigh, nuzzling into your soft, very damp skin, and he's looking up at you in awe.

“Shit, baby…,” he pants, chest heaving, cock still twitching in his hand. "Ain't ever seen you do that before."

You blink blearily, lips parting as you take him in. He's a goddamn mess. His face and beard are soaked, and his shirt is splattered with what you can only assume is your release. You fucking squirted? In a dirty gym bathroom?

"What the fuck?" you mumble, still dazed and a little in disbelief at how your first, and probably last, trip to the gym went. You shake your head, clearing up the brain fog enough to quickly process the past two hours, and now you're in shock. "Joel, what the fuck?" you ask again incredulously.

He has the nerve to look sheepish where he's still happily nestled between your legs post-orgasm, and you bop the top of his head with your palm, eyeing him expectantly.

"Wanna explain what all of that was?"

"Look—," he starts, lips quirking down into that little frown you know so well. "If you'd've heard the shit those fuckers were sayin' about ya. Probably would've said worse if I hadn't told 'em to fuck off before they got into some real trouble."

"Wait, you were the reason they all took off? Joel," you laugh because suddenly it all makes sense. 

You just learned the hard way that a grumpy, jealous Joel means getting edged until you black out. Pretty good knowledge to have for future reference, to be honest. Now that you're not sobbing with his head between your legs, it all seems so silly.

"What, did ya expect me to just stand there and let 'em talk about fuckin' my girl right in front of me?"

"I mean, no, but...I dunno, maybe just take the compliment next time and don't threaten a group of scary, muscular men," you chuckle fondly, cupping his wet cheeks in your hands. "Okay? It basically just means you have a hot girlfriend. Congratulations!" 

But he only grumbles in response, still pouting like a child. You bend down to press a soft kiss to his forehead, and he sighs, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

"What if, when we get home, I show you some of the techniques I learned in my class?" you murmur into his hair. He tilts his head back, eyeing you skeptically.

"Baby, we don't have a stationary bike," he says, brows furrowed in confusion. You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes dropping to his lap.

"That's okay. We won't need one."

THURSDAY

"You can't imagine what I'm 'bout to say. You really wanna know? You'll have to wait. (It's a surprise, surprise.)"

Blue, blue, blue. Just do it, just be blue! It's a great color—the best color, maybe even your favorite color.

You keep chanting at it, loudly and in your head, but the plastic stick doesn't seem to appreciate your encouragement. It just stares back at you, blank and unhelpful.

How much longer do the instructions say you have to wait? One to three minutes, that's it? It feels like it's already been two hours, but it's actually only been...30 seconds. What the fuck.

Maybe if you shake it, it'll develop faster. It's basically like a polaroid, right? And Outkast has never steered you wrong, so. You lean over from where you're still sitting on the toilet, pants around your ankles, to test your theory but it's too late.

It already has an answer for you. ...Wait, what? Both of the lines are blue. So...does that mean you're extra not pregnant? You snatch up the pamphlet again, actually reading through the directions this time, and your stomach drops. Pink was never even an option. 

Two blue lines. Pregnant.

You knew this week was going a little too well. 

Those random bouts of nausea, the weird cravings, the fucking breast tenderness. They didn't need to mean anything. They shouldn't have meant anything.

Fuck. Fuck. What are you supposed to do now? You're way too young to have a baby. Well. Okay, that's a massive lie, but still, you're definitely not ready to have one. Or to be…pregnant. You shudder at the thought. 

Swollen ankles, morning sickness, mood swings. You’re already a walking rollercoaster of emotions, and your back hurts from just existing. No, you can’t do this. 

It's not about the finances, either. You and Joel both have steady jobs and could make it work if you wanted to, but do you want to? Will he? He’s not your husband, not even your fiancée, so there’s no reason for him to stick around. It’s not his burden.

There's just too many unanswered questions. And Joel's already someone's dad. He did the whole baby thing by himself and got it right the first around.

Sarah's perfect—fuck, what is Sarah going to think? Stupid, this was so stupid. You thought you were being so careful. Sure, Joel cums inside you basically every time you have sex, but that's totally beside the point. 

You take those dumb little pills at the same time every day, just like you're supposed to. Except…when’s the last time you had a period? Did you even get it last month? The month before? 

Shit, that wedding—when was that wedding? Your coworker’s, the rich one who decided to have a fucking destination wedding in Hawaii a couple months ago. It was decadent. You and Joel were super drunk the entire time and fucked like rabbits for three days straight. 

Fuck.

Don't cry. Do not cry. Joel will probably be back from picking Sarah up from soccer practice any minute, so you need to hold it together. Maybe you just won’t tell them, at least not until you’ve had more time to process everything and decide what you’re going to do.

But, god, you wear your emotions on your sleeve, and even more so on your face. They’ll know something’s off the second they look at you, and you won’t be able to talk yourself out of it. You’ve always been a shit liar. 

Tears start to fall without your permission. You slump slowly to the floor, pants still around your ankles, and curl up into a ball, willing it all to go away—the tiny clump of cells growing inside your belly and the regret of being so careless, of letting yourself get caught up in a serious relationship in the first place. This isn’t something you can just wish away. It’s life-changing and nothing will ever be the same again. Was it really worth it?

No, no. Of course, it was. Snap out of it.

If only it were that easy. Sobs wrack your entire body, and you can barely hear yourself choking on them, unable to hold them in anymore. Your eyes squeeze shut as you desperately try to block out your reality, but it seeps up your nose and into your mouth, salty and unignorable. 

Blood rushes in your ears and you realize belatedly that you’re starting to hyperventilate, but you can’t stop. You’re drawing in too much air all at once and it’s making your vision go fuzzy. It’s all just too much. Anger, sadness, and fear consume you until you’re screaming with it, desperate to expel it from your body any way you can.

So, you don’t hear the front door opening or Joel and Sarah running up the stairs, completely panic-stricken. 

Joel reaches the ensuite bathroom first and all but breaks down the door, but he’s met with the sight of your half-naked body in a heap on the floor. Immediately, he turns to block Sarah from getting in.

“Hey, hey—no,” he says firmly, wrapping her up in his arms to keep her from seeing past him. “You’re not goin’ in there. Ya gotta give us some time, alright?”

She looks up at him, scared and visibly shaken. 

“What if—do you think she’s okay in there? Was she hurt…d-did you see her?” she asks softly, eyes wet. “Can I see her?”

“Not right now, kiddo,” he mumbles, kicking the bathroom door shut behind him before leading her out of his room and into the hallway. “‘m sorry.”

The crestfallen look on Sarah’s face is the last thing he sees before he closes the door on her. But he has to ignore how badly it feels to keep her away from you, at least until he can figure out what the hell is wrong and how he’s going to fix it.

Your cries have quieted since earlier, but not nearly enough to ease Joel's fears. He can still hear you through the door, hiccuping softly, and opens it gently this time, entering slowly as if he's trying not to spook a scared animal.

It doesn't work as well as he'd hoped. Your head shoots up, a small gasp escaping your lips as you dizzily pull your pants back up.  

"Easy there, s'okay. Baby, s'just me, don't worry," he murmurs, dropping to his knees on the floor next to you, but you flinch away. You can only imagine the hurt in his eyes, and the mental image tugs at your heart. "I need ya to tell me what happened. Did ya hurt yourself?"

Yeah, you could say that.

You shake your head, the only thing you're capable of doing in the state you're in. Trying to speak would be useless after all the screaming you just did and you can't bear to look him in the eye.

"Hey, talk to me. If somethin's the matter, I need to know, 'specially if we gotta get you to the hospital," he says, reaching out to touch you. 

His hand grazes your shoulder, and your body jerks so viscerally that you slam your knees into the bottom of the sink. You let out a tiny whimper of pain right as you hear something small and plastic hit the ground next to you. 

Oh, no. Shit. You desperately try to kick the test out of reach, to cover it with your body—anything to keep him from seeing it—but his fingers wrap around it before you get the chance. He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth and you feel your whole world shattering. 

That's it, then. Even just a glance at those two blue lines will have immediately told Joel all he needs to know. Now he'll leave and he'd have every right. This is all your fault.

Your cheeks are wet again, but this time you can't bring yourself to care. Turning away from him, you curl back into a ball, ignoring the angry throbbing in your knees as you wait for him to yell or throw the test, or finally get up and walk out.

But he doesn't. Instead, you hear him delicately set the test back on the sink and then he lays down behind you on the floor, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your back into his chest.

His heartbeat is fast. It's racing against you and, yet, somehow his breathing is still so calm. The calm before the storm, you're sure of it. You tense, anticipation sitting heavily on your chest and lungs, and he can feel it.

His lips press into the back of your neck and even though the action is so tender and so Joel, you still can’t convince yourself that maybe you’ve misjudged this entire situation. Or that you’ve misjudged him.

“Sweetheart,” he sighs, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades. It hasn’t escaped your notice that he isn’t calling you baby anymore. You can’t tell if that’s for your benefit or his. "Tell me what you're thinkin'."

Time feels like it's moving in slow motion. You really don't mean to ignore him…it’s just that you’re not thinking anything. Lying there in his arms, your mind goes blank, giving in to the white noise of his heartbeat syncopating your own fragile rhythm. 

But somehow he seems to understand you completely, filling the silence himself. His voice lulls you into a false sense of security, or…no. No, that’s not right. It’s real. His security, his safety, is real and reliable, proven and palpable.

“Listen to me—I need ya to hear this, alright? I want whatever you want and if ya don’t want this, we’re not doin’ it,” he says firmly, like he means it with every fiber of his being. You do hear him. But your heart and mind are still rebelling, begging you to see their own senseless logic. Joel won’t stop until he convinces them, too.

“But if ya do…if—,” his voice trails off, cracking almost imperceptibly. At least, to anyone else but you. “—if ya wanna do this with me, then ‘m with ya. Every step of the way, ‘m with ya.”

Then, for the first time since those blue lines appeared in your life, you feel peace. And it's all him. He’s given you a choice—one you knew you always had, but never thought to factor him into. You didn’t think you deserved to involve him. But he does. He deserves that choice, too.

The floodgates open and soon you’re sobbing uncontrollably again, but this time it feels cathartic. Like he’s freed you from a prison of your own making. You find your voice, wet and shaky.

“Joel, I’m scared,” you weep, turning in his arms to finally meet his eyes. And there they are. Brown and beautiful and clear, unclouded by fear and regret, and you let them make you brave. For him and your tiny clump of cells. 

“What if I can’t do this? What—I…,” you hiccup through the disjointed thought, “—if I give up…if it’s just too hard...”

“S’why there’s two of us,” he bends down to murmur soothingly into your cheek, lips brushing against the corner of your own. “But ya can’t push me away anymore. If we do this, then we do it together,” and that lances straight through your heart, obliterating all doubt and setting your decision in stone. 

Together. You’re in this together.

“Okay,” you croak, sniffling as he wipes away your tears. You repeat it, clearer this time. “Okay.”

FRIDAY

"You might think I'm crazy, the way I've been cravin'. If I put it quite plainly, just gimme them babies."

Doctors' offices have no business being as scary as they are. Bare and sterile, and not an ounce of color to be found anywhere but those creepy posters of in-depth diagrams of the human body. Gross.

You fight the urge to turn around and head straight back to the truck but, as if he can sense your plan to make a run for it, Joel places both hands on your shoulders and leads you toward the reception desk. 

“C’mon, we got this,” he says quietly in your ear, likely reassuring both of you. “We go in, they tell us you ’n the baby are healthy, then we get out.” 

You grimace. The baby. That’s still so weird. There’s literally a tiny being growing inside you, eating your food, and sitting on your fucking bladder. It’s like that thing in Alien that bursts out of people’s chests.

Great. Well, that’s officially off the list for movie night later, which Joel promised you'd have if you got your check-up without trying to escape. Technically, you’re doing great so far. And it’s an extremely tempting offer. 

Movie nights at the Miller house usually include a trip to 7/11 for popcorn, soda, and a box of your favorite candy. Those annoying cravings you’re just now realizing are because you’re pregnant would be extremely satiated by that. 

You’ll also get to curl up on the couch with Joel all night in a childless house because Sarah's staying at a friend’s. Win-win. But first, you have to make it through this check-up. 

Everything up until you’re inside the actual examination room isn’t actually so bad. The receptionist is nice enough, even though you can tell she deals with a lot of first-time moms by the way she treats you with baby gloves, and the wait time is less than 10 minutes. 

Yeah, you’ve totally got this. Or at least you did until the doctor shows up with an ultrasound machine and lifts your shirt to squeeze that freezing cold goop all over your stomach. You look up at Joel, scared and a little bewildered, and he takes your hand in his, rubbing soothing circles into your skin. The screen lights up with what you assume is a real-time view of the inside of your belly and, after that, it’s all sort of a blur. 

Six weeks. They tell you that you’re already six weeks pregnant, so you definitely conceived at that dumb wedding. At least you’ve got a story to tell. You’re also entering that fun stage where your nausea’s mostly cleared up, but now you’ll either be super tired or super horny at any given time. 

You try not to laugh when you feel Joel’s hand subtly twitch in yours. Of course, he perks up at that. Honestly, you’d be a liar if you said you weren’t going to enjoy it, too. Immensely.

Then, comes the big one. The entire point of this doctor’s visit, and the reason you and Joel are gripping each other so tight, you’re cutting off the other’s circulation. But it’s good news. Luckily, it's all good news.

Your tiny clump of cells is healthy, you’re healthy, and you can go home now, equipped with all of that very calming knowledge. One day, you’re going to have to stop calling them a clump, but you’ve decided today is not that day.

“Told ya it wouldn’t be so bad,” he teases as you walk out to the truck, still hand-in-hand. 

But his eyes betray his tone. There’s a seriousness to his joy, and you can see it so clearly in the way he’s looking at you like you’ve given him the greatest gift in the world. It makes you feel warm and…important. Loved. He continues, his voice tinged with something a little softer. 

“Thank you…for goin’, I mean. S’good to know that everythin’s alright. That you’re alright.”

You stop next to the car, meeting his gaze with what you hope is the same amount of love and affection you see, and throw your arms around his neck. 

“Thanks for taking me, and just…being here. Like, really being here, not just showing up so you can say you did,” you say earnestly, and he leans down to kiss you, his arms wrapping around you to pull you close.

“‘Course, baby. Don't have to thank me for that,” he mumbles against your lips. 

Not ready to separate from him, you deepen the kiss, running your tongue along his bottom lip until he opens for you and licking into his mouth freely. He groans as you press him into the side of the truck, his hands trailing down your sides to grip the plush of your ass through your jeans. 

You can feel him starting to stiffen against your belly and that carnal hunger the doctor warned you about takes over, the need to feel more, more of him overwhelming you. He’s just so solid everywhere. 

Your fingers skim underneath his shirt to feel his stomach flexing beneath your palms, and you roll your hips into his, gasping into his mouth at the friction. You’re so caught up in his hands on your body, his tongue in your mouth, that you don’t hear the group of people passing by on the other side of the truck.

But Joel does. He begrudgingly pulls away from you, hard as a rock and panting heavily. You whine at the loss, and he twitches against you in response.

“C’mon, baby, I’m not fuckin’ you in a goddamn Planned Parenthood parkin’ lot,” he chuckles, leading you to the passenger’s side of the car. He smacks your ass when you resist, and you shoot him a wounded glare. “Uh-uh, none’a that. ‘m takin’ you home. Owe ya a movie, don’t I?”

You perk up at the mention of his promise from earlier.

“You sure do. And candy, and popcorn, and soda,” you list off, easily distracted by the prospect of shitty junk food. You bounce into the car, shifting the seat to recline as far as it’ll go. “What are we watching?”

“Whatever you want, baby."

Well, he did say he’d give you whatever you wanted. And for a while, it was the movie—you’d even picked out your favorite. But you only manage to get about 20 minutes in before Joel's arm around your shoulder and chest under your cheek become an unignorable distraction. 

Now, you want something else. 

You don't bother teasing or playing coy, not when he’s so solidly pressed against you, just begging to be had. Your body rises and falls with every breath he takes, and it’s so visceral, being close enough to touch and taste him, and yet not doing either. 

His neck looks especially delicious under the faint, fluorescent lighting of the TV, and your lips press wetly into the underside of his jaw, sucking delicately as your tongue darts out to taste him. His breath hitches, but he shows no other signs of being affected at all. 

Taking that as your cue to up the ante, you drop your hand onto his lap to tug at his belt, but he catches you before you can make any progress. You tilt your head back to look up at him, brows furrowed in confusion, but he just smirks, eyes still locked on the TV screen.

"You wanted a movie, didn't ya? Thought ya loved this one," he says teasingly. "You can wait a couple hours—I know ya can."

Yeah, you can, but that doesn't mean you want to. He was so into it in the parking lot, so what happened between then and now? You didn't think he liked this movie that much, but apparently you were mistaken. 

Settling back into his side, you try to shift your focus back to the movie, but then the hand on your shoulder starts to play with your hair. His fingers graze your neck, and you're back to squeezing your thighs together in frustration. 

He has to be doing this on purpose. Riling you up so much that once the movie’s finally over, you’ll be putty in his hands. Well, two can play that game. If he won't let you touch him, then you'll just have to touch yourself.

Your eyes flutter closed as you run your fingers down your belly, slipping your hand beneath the waistband of your shorts to drag your fingers up and down your slick folds. God, you didn't realize you were already so wet. You gasp softly as you trail upward toward your clit, but Joel's voice startles you out of your reverie. 

"Should ya be doin' that right now?" 

There's a tinge of warning to his voice, and it burns hot in your veins. You open your eyes slowly and he's finally looking at you, his attention drawn to your fingers still moving under the fabric.

"Well, you weren't gonna. What, are you—," your middle finger brushes against that sensitive bundle of nerves and you bite back a whine, "—you...ngh—gonna stop me?"

The hand that was gently stroking your hair shifts back to firmly grip the back of your neck, squeezing just hard enough to make your fingers stutter. He leans in, his voice dangerously low in your ear.

"No, I'll let ya keep goin'. But you're gonna do exactly what I tell ya to, ya got that?" he murmurs, watching as your hips begin to swivel into your own sweet friction. "'n if you're good for me...," he trails off, eyes dropping down to where he's slowly jerking off his hardening cock through his jeans. "...I'll give ya this. We got a deal?"

You want him inside you so badly, you almost say yes before he's even done talking, but then you have a wicked thought. A counteroffer, of sorts.

"I'll take your deal. But—," you start with a devilish smile, and he raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue. "Only if you touch yourself, too. Want you to fuck your hand like you're fucking me."

"Deal," he says without hesitation.

"Deal," you smirk, removing your hand from your pussy for him to shake, your fingers sticky and glistening. 

He takes your proffered hand but, instead of shaking, he wraps his lips around your slick digits, sucking you off each one and groaning at your taste. What you wouldn't give to have that tongue in your mouth. Or buried in your cunt. Pulling off with a lewd pop, he nods at your lap.

"Take your fuckin' pants off. Now."

Shit, he doesn't have to tell you twice. You quickly shimmy out of your shorts and underwear, and wait for his next instructions. You'll be a good girl for him. The best girl he's ever had and ever will.

"Spread 'em. Show me how wet you are for me," he mumbles, kicking your legs apart. 

You spread them as wide as you can. The cool night breeze filtering in through the open window meets your center, and you're suddenly aware of how much wetter you've gotten since you started. It almost makes your mouth water. You don't think you've ever been this turned on by your own body in your life.

Slick coats your thighs, seeping into the couch, and he looks pleased. You can see he wants to touch you just as badly as you want to touch yourself. Your knee bumps into his thigh and he hooks your leg over his, holding you open. 

"Shit, would'ja look at that," he breathes out in awe. "Prettiest pussy I've ever seen."

Your cunt visibly clenches at the praise and he hisses in a breath through his teeth, resting his hand on your thigh so he can lean over your body. He lingers for a moment like he's admiring you laid out for him like this, but then moves a little closer and spits a thick glob of saliva right onto your clit. 

Your jaw drops, a loud gasp torn from your chest when he grabs your hand, using your fingers to gather it up and swirl it around your swollen nub. Shit, if he keeps going like this, you're going to cum and fast. 

Dropping your head back onto his shoulder, you rock into your fingers, slipping through the mess he's made of your pussy, and your body starts to feel like a rubber band about to snap. 

"Wanna taste you so fuckin' bad. Fuck you on my tongue 'til you're nice 'n ready for me," he growls, pressing your fingers harder onto your clit. "S'that what you want? Wanna cum in my mouth?"

You turn to bury your head into the crook of his neck, nodding frantically as you cry into the soothing warmth of his skin. You're going to cum. Fuck, fuck, you're going to cum. Your eyes start to roll back as you feel it crescendo, and then—

Then, he releases your hand, cruelly and unapologetically. 

"Not yet, baby. We both gotta be patient, don't we?" he teases you again, and your eyes snap open.

What the fuck. No, you're not letting him edge you again. It was fun and all at the gym, but you're way too far gone to be playing games right now. 

And how isn't he a total wreck? Both of his hands are on you, even though that wasn't part of the deal, so he can't be taking care of himself.

Your eyes drop down to his lap, and wow. This man has more willpower than you ever could've imagined. He's so hard, you can see the tip of his cock peeking out above the waistband of his pants. And it's leaking everywhere, twitching and angrily dribbling precum all over the fabric. 

He looks...so fucking good like this. Fuck, you want him so bad. But that means getting back on track, and it's obviously on you to make that happen. Clearly, he's more affected by all of this than he made it seem.

"Joel, please, just tell me what to do," you plead. You'll beg if you have to. Whatever it takes for you to finally get what you want.

"Alright, alright," he concedes, taking sympathy on you, likely reaching his limit himself. "'m gonna let you make yourself feel good, baby. Don't'chu worry."

"Great," you grit through your teeth. "Then start by taking your fucking pants off."

He chuckles at his words thrown back at him, but listens, regardless. His boxers and jeans are pulled off in two hard tugs, and his cock bounces against his stomach, thick and wet, and unfairly far from your aching pussy. The hand on your neck moves to gently caress the side of your cheek.

"Gonna start nice 'n slow, ya got that?" he says, biting back a groan as he wraps his fingers around his neglected cock. He starts to pump himself, and more precum leaks out. "Watch me."

But it didn't need to be said. You're already enraptured by the way he strokes himself, slow and steady, swiping his thumb over the head on every upstroke. He's panting softly, trying to keep his hips from jerking up into his fist, but you can see how much effort it's taking not to.

"C'mon, baby. Gimme one finger—your middle finger, all the way in," he commands, his voice as tight as his grip.

You tear your eyes away from him while you run your fingers through your folds, still slick with his saliva and your own desire, and then sink your finger into yourself knuckle by knuckle. It doesn't feel like much, and you both know it, but at least it's something. 

"Now, follow me," he says, watching your hand as intently as you're watching his. 

You rock your finger in and out slowly, just like he said. Because you're his good girl and good girls do what they're told. It’s already a sticky mess, your finger creamier with every thrust, and he groans out his appreciation. 

"Good girl. Add another one. Not too fast, now." 

Finally, you get some real relief. Slipping your index finger in alongside your middle finger, you feel that little bit of stretch you've been aching for and you can't help but whimper.

His lips part, brows furrowing as his hand speeds up. His eyes are locked on where your sopping cunt is sucking in your fingers greedily and, fuck, he's even more of a mess now. Sweat dripping from his temples, chest heaving with the effort of holding himself back. 

So hot. So fucking hot. It's scorching, the way your cunt feels around your fingers as you fuck into yourself a little faster. They're rubbing your walls just right, your palm grazing your clit after every stroke, and his hyper-focused gaze makes it all feel that much better. You want to hear him say it again. For him to tell you how well you’re doing.

"—ngh...i-is this good?" you whine, knowing how pathetic you sound, but forgetting to care.

"Perfect, baby. You're perfect," he rasps, unable to keep his hips from snapping up into his fist as the sweet sounds of your wet squelching reach his ears. "So fuckin' good for me."

Preening hard at his praise, you push a little too deep into yourself and graze something mind-numbing that almost hurts with how good it feels. You cry out, curling your fingers into it again and again as you bury your face back into his neck. His arm tightens around your shoulder and he leans over to press his lips soothingly against your forehead. 

"That's it, baby, just like that. Doin' so well," he groans, lips brushing against your skin. His strokes are frantic now and you know he can’t last much longer. "Need ya to gimme one more. Just one—last one, promise. Then I'll give ya whatever you want."

Nodding quickly, face still cushioned against his shoulder, you add your ring finger, and fucking hell, you’re so full. You stretch your fingers apart, pumping them in and out the best you can, and they drag against that spot—every spot—with how tight you are. But somehow it’s not enough. It’s not Joel’s cock, so it’ll never be enough. 

Everything’s drowned out except for the wet sounds of skin on skin, and Joel’s voice, still just above your brow, talking you through your almost painful pleasure. He’s panting, whispering tender words that you can’t hear so much as feel with those soft, perfect lips.

“…tell me when you’re close, baby. Can’t feel ya, gonna need you to use your words,” he barely chokes out, staving off his orgasm, waiting for you. 

It’s already close, but you’re only teetering, stuck in a constant loop of almost there, and need more. You can’t reach where you need to, but Joel can. So easily and all you have to do is ask. He said he’d give you whatever you wanted.

But you didn’t realize he was already at his limit, and you don’t get the chance to tell him before he’s babbling, delirious with the need to cum.

"'m sorry—fuck, 'm sorry. Need...to—ngh, fuck, need to cum inside you...fill you up...," he moans, and he sounds upset like he can’t help himself, not anymore.

Abruptly, so much quicker than you can fully process, your fingers are yanked out of your cunt and replaced by his cock, and the thrust is so harsh, he hits exactly where you need him to without even trying. The whine building in your chest erupts as a wail as you immediately lock down around him, sending him over the edge with you.

Full. God, how can you feel this full? You’re so unbelievably aware of him cumming inside you and there’s so much, he’s already leaking out of you. And he almost seems angry about it. Your hips are roughly tilted up so he’s fucking down into you, eyes unfocused, and snarling like a wild animal.

And still so mouthy.

“You got no idea how good ya look right now. Fuckin’ glowin’,” he all but slurs, drunk on the idea of keeping his seed inside you. “S’that my baby in you, makin’ ya glow like that?”

"Oh...oh, god, fuck, Joel,” you whimper, your aftershocks still milking him dry. “Christ, y-you trying to knock me up twice?" 

It’s like that alone makes him redouble his efforts. You’ve never seen him like this before, but you like it. Something primal in you wants this as badly as he does.

"Fuck yeah, baby, gonna pump you full'a twins."

Holy shit. You’re not sure if you’re still cumming or if you just came again, but you feel an entirely new rush of pleasure and he hisses out a breath through his teeth like he can feel it. Not long after, sensitivity starts to set in for both of you and he stills, seated deeply inside you, chest heaving and eyes shut tight. 

His hands squeeze where they’ve been aggressively gripping your thighs before he reluctantly pulls out, but he keeps your hips tilted up as he drops to sit between your legs on the cushion below.

“There a reason I can’t lay down like a normal person?” you laugh, wiggling in his grasp. “Joel, come on, put me down. I’m already pregnant.”

“Just gimme a minute,” he mumbles, suddenly sounding so solemn. He turns his head from where it's resting on the side of your knee to kiss your damp skin. “Didn’t know I was knockin’ you up the first time, just…lemme have this, alright?” 

Your eyes soften. How this man can be such a sap after fucking you like that is beyond comprehension, but if he wants this, then you’ll let him have his moment. It’s kind of sweet, anyway.

“Okay,” you reach up to brush your fingertips along his cheek. It's incredible, really, all of the things you see in Joel's eyes right now. That in this single, fleeting gaze, you can see forever. "Put a baby in me.”

SATURDAY

"Can you stay up all night? Fuck me 'til the daylight. 34, 35."

You’re convinced Joel tastes especially good in the mornings. There’s a hint of sweat to his skin, so naturally bitter and heady, maybe even a little tangy. It’s fucking delicious.

And he’s always hard in the morning. His cock is the perfect alarm clock, always reliable and super effective, whether it’s pulsing against your thigh or rutting into your ass. It’s your favorite way to wake up, but there’s usually not enough time to enjoy it to the fullest.

Not with work and Sarah, even Tommy showing up for breakfast unannounced. But it’s Saturday, which means you can keep your lips wrapped around him for as long as you want, make him cum as many times as you want, and taste him to your heart’s content. 

He probably won’t even wake up, at least not right away. Joel sleeps like the dead, especially on the weekends, and it’s been a long week. Even now, as you suck the tip into your wet, very eager mouth and swallow him down halfway, he barely stirs. 

That’s more than okay with you. You’d be happy to lie in bed, head pillowed on his stomach, keeping his cock warm between your lips while you wait. Relishing how fucking good he tastes and how your jaw pleasantly aches as you adjust to accommodate his girth.

But, soon enough, your jaw isn’t the only thing aching. The slick mess you’re making in your underwear right now is getting hard to ignore, but you don’t want to let him go. He’s velvety smooth against your tongue, dribbling salty precum down your throat, and his unconscious body is starting to respond to you more and more with each passing moment. This is your favorite part.

He lets out a soft grunt, twitching into the inside of your cheek, and your efforts become a little more concentrated and a lot more obvious. You try to forget about your soaked underwear and the pleasurable whoosh in your belly in favor of sucking a little harder, letting saliva pool in your mouth as you slurp loudly around the head.

His hips jerk up, surprising you enough to gag you, and that only makes your mouth and pussy wetter, the heat building in your core almost unbearable now. The moan that escapes you sends a drawn-out series of vibrations straight down to his balls that pulls even more noise from him, and your head steadily shifts with the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

He's starting to rut into your mouth, whimpering, and yet somehow still asleep, and it makes you feel powerful to have full control over him like this. To command his pleasure without any interruption or intervention, making him fall apart entirely at your mercy. You kind of hope you can get him to cum like this, to be his alarm clock for once. 

Turns out only half of your wish is granted, but you don't realize it until Joel's fingers are threading into your hair and abruptly tugging you off. He's definitely awake now, but he also definitely didn't cum. Bummer. You try sucking him back into your mouth, but he tugs you harder even as his hips chase you. 

"Joel, what—?" you glare up at him, but upon seeing him, you feel a little bad for your reaction. He looks so sleepy, still a little dazed from his unconventional wake-up call, blinking blearily like he's doing his best to stay awake. Your expression softens. 

"Sorry, got a little carried away," you murmur sheepishly. "But, um, you taste really good, so if you wanna go back to sleep, I can just keep—"

You're cut off by a hand trailing down your body, following the curve of your ass to dip inside you. He smears the moisture around your entrance, pushing two fingers into you, then pulling out to hold them up to his face. You watch him, enraptured by the way he inspects your wetness, how it strings between his middle and ring fingers. 

Then, he surprises you even further by sucking them into his mouth, his eyes rolling back as he groans around them before slipping them out totally clean. His cock jerks next to your face and you belatedly realize you're drooling.

"Fuck, so do you." He's fully awake now, eyes clear, but dark. Hungry.

"Huh?" you ask dumbly. 

"Ya taste really good," he mumbles, his voice low and so sexy, still thick with sleep. You feel your cheeks heat up. Oh. 

"C'mere, baby," he tells you, patting his chest. You crawl up his body and lean up to kiss him, assuming he wants you to taste yourself in his mouth, but he stops you. "Other way, sweetheart."

Your brows furrow in confusion as you try to work out exactly what he's asking for. Even though you've been awake and riling him up for what feels like hours, your brain clearly hasn't caught up yet. His eyes are unreadable, fingers tense at his sides. Like he's just itching for you to understand.

"Need you to figure this out—know you can do it," he rasps needily. "C'mon, smart girl, what do I want?"

And then it hits you. He's not asking you to sit on his chest, not really. He wants you to sit on his face. Needs you to. Sprawled out on your hands and knees where his spit-slick cock would be just within reach, bobbing temptingly with every breath he takes.

God, you want to. The idea of Joel fucking you with his tongue while he's fucking into your mouth makes you clench so hard it hurts. You bite your lip, meeting his expectant gaze.

Okay. Okay, you can definitely do that. Especially when he looks so...eager. It also has the double advantage of combining mind-blowing sex with a well-rounded breakfast. You have a feeling you'll both be full after this.

"Just so I have this straight—," you splay your fingers across his stomach, trailing down to wrap tightly around his length and tug upward until a single, perfect bead of precum leaks from his slit, "—you still want my mouth here."  

Your eyes stay locked on his as you bend down to lick it off, lingering to suckle the tip and tease your tongue just under the ridge. When he doesn't immediately tug you off, you take him deeper, preening at his harsh intake of breath. 

You don't want to press your luck, but he tastes fucking incredible, somehow even better than he did earlier. Maybe it's the way he's watching you, captivated and attuned to your every movement. 

He’s already starting to buck into you, shallowly, now an active participant in his own pleasure. His knuckles are nearly white with how hard he’s fisting the sheets, teeth gritting as he fights the urge to rush you. 

But his patience is wearing thin. Just a few thrusts later, he tugs you off with what feels like dwindling restraint, and your dazed, glassy eyes don't do much to help.

You look wrecked, and you know it. Lips swollen and slick with saliva, your lashes wet with unshed tears from the effort of taking him. He reaches out to trace your bottom lip with his thumb, hissing when you catch the tip between your teeth.

“Yeah...ngh—yeah, keep doin' that. Suckin' me just like that," he breathes raggedly. "And sit that pretty pussy right here—"

Then, without warning, he's suddenly manhandling you into position, throwing your leg over his head, and maneuvering you until you can feel him panting heavily against your cunt.

“Down, baby, let's go. Wanna taste ya. Now.”

Blunt nails dig into your skin and your hips stutter, dipping low enough for your clit to brush his bottom lip. It’s enough for him to get a taste of you. For him to finally snap and decide he’s done waiting.

Joel yanks you onto his face, licking a wide stripe from your clit to your entrance, his tongue immediately finding a home in your pussy. The motion knocks you off balance and you fall forward, his cock just inches from your mouth.

Bracing a hand on his stomach, you wrap your other around him and he groans throatily in response, the sound deep and muffled as he licks into you with increased fervor. And his noises only grow in volume, vibrating against your folds and sending jolt after jolt into your very sensitive bundle of nerves. 

His mouth feels so fucking hot, and the coarseness of his beard burns, making it hard to concentrate on what you’re desperately trying to accomplish. You’re already panting, hiccuped breaths puffing teasingly and cruelly against him until he’s pulsing in your grip. 

The promise of him throbbing just like that down your throat makes you focus just long enough to take him back into your mouth, intent on sucking him down as far as your body will let you. But, by now, any sense of self-control he might’ve had before is totally gone. His hips buck clean off the mattress at the tightness of your lips around him, and he all but chokes you with the force of it, the size of him. 

And, fuck, you love it. The way his stomach tenses, his thighs trembling beneath you. You can’t tell where your body ends and his begins, not when he’s fucking into you every single way he can. His tongue spears into you and your pussy rhythmically squeezes him every time his cock grazes the back of your throat. 

You’re audibly gagging around him and it’s filthy as hell, but you can tell how much it’s turning him on. Christ, can you tell. Maybe you were genuinely worried you’d suffocate him at first but, now, you probably couldn’t stop yourself from grinding into his face even if you tried. And that's exactly what he wants.

"...Harder—mmph, c'mon, baby," you feel him groan into your cunt, urging your hips even lower. "—ride me harder, harder."

How—he...fuck, he's...? Everywhere. He's everywhere. You struggle to do what he told you, to use him for your mounting pleasure, but it doesn't fucking matter anymore. You're helpless but to let him do whatever he wants to you.

Joel’s devouring you. Roughly grabbing your ass, moaning pathetically into you as he pulls your cheeks apart for better access. It’s almost like you can feel him swelling between your lips, and you try to pull up for just a second of respite. 

But, then, he abruptly shifts. His mouth lowers to suck gently, yet fleetingly on your clit twice, then he licks a wide stripe back up to your entrance. Except, he doesn’t stop there. Instead, he continues his path up, gathering your wetness as he goes, and swirls his tongue around your other hole before sucking hard. And it sends you reeling.

Jesus fucking Christ, that’s new. Fuck, and it’s—so...so good. It’s indescribable, how he feels right now. How he sounds—slurping you up, whimpering desperately like he’ll cum at any moment. 

And he’s loud, drawn-out moans escaping from so deep within his chest, they climb their way from that tight ring of muscle straight up your spine, where you can vaguely feel his arm snaking around you to claw at your back. You can’t think anymore—you’re done thinking. 

Now, it’s just him trapping you in place, the three fingers he’s suddenly pumping into your spasming pussy, and his cock, now abandoned and leaking on his stomach. It’s so much, bordering on too much, and you can’t hold yourself up anymore.

Your head drops unceremoniously onto the puddle of precum and it smears across your cheek as his hips urgently roll into nothing. But you don’t even notice. Not even when your eyes roll back and you start to babble deliriously, your orgasm building quickly in a place between your legs you can’t even begin to explain.

“Joel…JoelJoelJoel—I…you…,” you slam a hand down on the mattress as your thighs start to quake violently. “…cumming—‘m cumming, fuck—fuck.”

It doesn’t just crash over you, it rocks you to your core. Everything below your waist locks down, squeezing his fingers so tight, you swear you can feel each individual knuckle. Your jaw drops, parting around what feels like a silent scream, but you can’t be totally sure because soon, Joel is groaning so gutturally, you can’t focus on anything else.

At least, until he cums completely untouched right into your face. And he cums hard. Thick spurts cover your lips and chin, landing haphazardly on your cheek, and your tongue darts out to taste him, salty and sated and perfect. Exactly what you've been waiting for.

His thighs tense intermittently, a few more drops dribbling out of his slit, and you crane your neck, letting your tongue flutter over his head. As it pulses weakly against your lips, Joel gasps out your name, burying his face in your swollen pussy again. 

Lazily, you swivel your hips into his mouth despite the extreme overstimulation, hiccuping soft moans and nearly succumbing to the easy pleasure. He gently caresses your clit, enveloping you with a dextrous warmth that simultaneously makes you jolt and crave the sensation. 

Neither of you want to stop. Truthfully, you'd let him do this to you all day, drawing orgasm after orgasm from each other the way you have been all week. But exhaustion's starting to set in and you're not sure your body can physically take any more.

Joel slaps your ass and you huff out a soft laugh, deciding it's time to separate so you can get cozy with him again. The perfect end to your surprisingly athletic, lazy Saturday morning in bed.

“You gonna stop anytime soon, or do you just live there now?” you pant teasingly, grimacing as you slowly lift your head off his stomach. 

Shit, you’re a mess. You’re practically stuck to him, his cum drying on his stomach and your face, and you can feel the stickiness of his saliva mixed with your juices dripping between your legs. His hand trails from your ass down to your inner thigh, painting mindless patterns on your sullied skin.

"Sure don't seem like ya want me to stop," he chuckles tiredly, managing to suck your clit chastely one last time before you jerk your hips away. 

His head finally drops onto the pillow below him, and he lets out a disgruntled whine when you toss your leg over his head, plopping down on the bed beside him.

"Yeah, well, one of us has to have a little self-control or we're not leaving this bed today. And you, uh, look like you could use some tidying up,” you snort, scratching your fingertips against his already crusting beard. He mimics the motion on your leg, and you swat his hand away, rolling your eyes fondly.

It would be disgusting if it were literally anyone else but Joel but, here in this bed—your bed—it feels so natural. Like it’s totally normal that you’d be covered in each other’s releases, having a silly conversation on a Saturday morning as if you’ve done this all your lives. 

“Might wanna look in the mirror, baby. I’d be more’n happy to keep lookin’ at ya like this, but—,” he leans up to wipe a streak of cum off your bottom lip. His hand lingers, cupping your damp cheek, and you instinctively lean into his touch. “—you probably need more cleanin’ up than I do.” 

You eye each other for a few seconds, taking in how truly disgusting you both are, before bursting into fits of laughter. You’re smiling so hard, your skin tugs under his drying release and that makes you laugh even harder.

“Alright, alright, filthy girl,” he jokes, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “Lay down, I’ll take care of ya.”

He sits up and slowly slides off the bed, yanking your legs out from under you as he goes. Still giggling, you flop onto the damp, cotton sheets with an oomph and immediately take the opportunity to stretch out your sore limbs. You nuzzle into your pillow with a soft mewl, practically purring as you try to soak up the warm morning rays streaming through the gaps in the curtains.

You glance over at Joel as you continue to nest like a gigantic cat, but he's already watching you, paused in the doorway to the bathroom. His eyes rove appreciatively down your naked body and you observe him quietly, deciding you'll let him stare for as long as he wants to. There's no rush. Sure, you're still a mess and probably have the worst bedhead imaginable, but despite it all, he makes you feel beautiful. 

When he returns with a cool, damp washcloth a few minutes later, he's much cleaner and you're only a little bummed that the evidence of your explosive morning is gone. He's gentle and attentive as he wipes the remaining streaks off your cheeks and chin, and bends down to kiss you once your face is officially cum-free. 

Okay, maybe you lied earlier. This is your favorite part. Joel taking care of you, choosing to express his affection through his actions and touch. You sigh into his mouth, melting into the first real kiss you've shared since waking up, and it takes his tongue tangling with yours for you to realize he tastes minty. He's always so delicious.

Trailing further down, he wipes his release off your stomach, pressing his lips to each freshly-cleaned inch of skin, and then crawls between your legs to wash away the mess he made of your thighs. Your eyes start to flutter closed at the repetitive shift in sensation, his hands lulling you to sleep, until the washcloth hits the floor with a dull splat.

Well, that was over way too soon. But you quickly forgive the horrible transgression once his warm, welcome body sinks into the bed next to you, and his tousled head of hair and beard nuzzle into your stomach.

He mouths at your skin, his lips pressing sweetly around your belly button, and it tickles, making you laugh as you thread your fingers through his curls and scratch his scalp affectionately. 

After a moment of comfortable silence, his hand splays warm and broad next to his head. His expression shifts and he looks unexpectedly pensive. Uncertainty creeps into your chest before you can logic it away, even though you know without a doubt that he wants this. His lips begin to move against your stomach and it takes a second for you to realize he's saying something, almost too quietly for you to hear. But when it finally registers, all of that fear completely fades away.

"Hey there, kiddo. It's me, your daddy," he murmurs, his thumb rubbing circles into your skin as soothing as his words. He has the tiniest smile on his face, and it's growing wider by the second. "We're all so excited to meet ya. Me, your momma, your big sister, your uncle...we already love ya so damn much."

The room starts to blur into a wash of colors and figures, and shit, you're crying. But how could you not be? He's...talking to your tiny clump of cells. To your baby—who can't possibly be bigger than a pumpkin seed—with so much adoration, it makes your chest ache. 

You're trying so hard not to tremble or sniffle or breathe too heavily so you don't startle him, but that doesn't exactly work out. A few stray tears make their way up your nose, and you snort around your next inhale. Classic, clumsy you.

Joel's head shoots up like he's been caught and his cheeks flush that beautiful shade of burgundy you love so much. You don't want him to stop, but he looks so embarrassed like he thinks he's done something wrong. That couldn't be further from the truth. 

"I'm just emotional from the hormones, it's totally fine. I'm totally fine," you give him a reassuring, watery grin. "Keep going. I think they like the sound of daddy's voice."

He chuckles and reaches up to wipe your tears away, gently cradling your face in his hand before he slides it back down to your belly. He continues where he left off, just like you asked, but you have a sneaking suspicion he would've anyway. Joel's just one of those men who was born to be a dad. It comes as naturally to him as breathing.

“Heard that? That's your momma, kiddo. She's....well. She's somethin' else. Strongest, most lovin', person I've ever known and fuckin' sharp as a tack," he smiles up at you, eyes crinkling and bright as the goddamn sun. "And she's beautiful. She even sounds beautiful, don't she? Hopin' you'll come out just like her."

You scoff affectionately, shaking your head as you share a look that tells you he knows exactly what you're thinking. If this baby pops out without his brown eyes and curls, you're going to be so pissed. You teasingly tug his hair, willing him to take it back, but he won't. If your baby's getting anything from the two of you, it's stubbornness.

Then, before you can blink, there's a sudden tone shift. His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together, and he turns his head so he's speaking directly into your belly. An exchange just between a father and his child.

"Wanna know a secret? S'just between you and me, though, alright? Don't go tellin' your momma," he says nosing into your soft skin, his voice barely above a whisper. You watch him curiously, squeezing his hand to get his attention, but his focus remains on your stomach. "'m gonna ask your momma to marry me. Think she'll say yes?"

Your heart stops and it feels like all of the air's been sucked out of the room. That's—fuck...that's one hell of a secret to share with your baby. You can't even imagine the kind of trouble they're going to get up to if they're already keeping secrets like that. 

His eyes flit up to meet yours, but they're not questioning or expectant. He isn't wondering what your answer will be. He just looks peaceful. Blanketed in an easy calm because he already knows what you're going to say. Of course, he does. 

Propping his chin on your hip, Joel quietly observes your reaction while he strokes the back of your hand with the rough pad of his thumb. You wonder what he sees on your face and in your body language right now because you're positive it's not the elation or excessive joy anyone else would expect.

You're not squealing or jumping up and down, or whatever newly engaged people usually do. No, that blanket of easy calm is more than big enough for both of you, and it feels safe and warm, just like you always knew this moment would. 

And you wouldn't want it any other way. Lying here together after possibly the most eventful week of your lives, filled with so much sex and love and family, and deciding that you want to keep doing this together, over and over. Forever.

You guide his hand up to your lips, pressing a firm, lingering kiss to his palm, before placing it over your racing heart. That tiny smile returns to his face and he crawls up your body so he can kiss you properly, conveying his love better than words ever could. 

It's still way too early for your baby to kick or give their daddy any sort of sign that they heard his question, but you're sure they wouldn't mind if you answered for them. It's a no-brainer, anyway.

"Yeah, I do."

thanks for reading! 💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[sempersirens]

sempersirens' masterlist

hello! i'm dee. i currently write for joel miller (tlou) and my requests are open

i do not have a taglist, so please follow my updates blog @sempersirenswrites to be notified each time i post a new fic

last updated: 05/04/24

all fics are 18+ and have specific content warnings for each chapter. no use of y/n. mdni

a bird in your teeth

pairing: neighbour!joel x f!reader status: completed since moving into the neighborhood a couple of years ago, you've become close with the miller family. as a young woman living alone joel is protective of you, and he intends to show you how much so. part one | part two | part three | part four | epilogue

sun bleached flies

pairing: previous dark/raider!joel x f!reader status: ongoing stumbling upon the settlement of jackson whilst 4 months pregnant had almost felt too good to be true. for the past seven years, you had been able to raise your daughter, mia, surrounded by a safe and supportive community. however, your small slice of paradise comes tumbling down the day joel miller arrived. despite only crossing paths for a fleeting encounter all those years ago, you would never forget the face of your daughter's father. chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six extras: cut monologue from chapter three

yes, chef

pairing: chef!joel x f!reader status: temporary hiatus joel miller is the head chef of a prestigious michelin star restaurant in the city. after working for him for over a year, you're determined to not let his ill-temper and cutting words dampen your spirit and love for your career. you won't give in at chipping away at his tough exterior, living in the hope of finding something sweeter below the surface (request) | part one | part two | part three extras: playlist i imagine joel x reader dancing around joel's kitchen to

raising hell all over town

pairing: best friend's dad!joel x f!reader status: temporary hiatus you've been a friend of sarah's since you were old enough to steal bottles of her dad's whiskey for parties. sarah was always the sensible one in your friendship, getting you out of the trouble you usually started. but now sarah has gone off to college, who else but joel could pick up the pieces? part one | part two coming soon

the fig tree

pairing: au therapist!joel x f!reader status: ongoing a twenty-something woman, on the brink of everything and nothing at all, takes on a new therapist to heal from her traumatic past. however, lines become blurred when you discover dr. miller has skeletons of his own. series masterlist

daughter lessons

pairing: jackson era!joel x f!reader status: completed (one shot) would it kill joel to just touch you?

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel tlou #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #pedrostories #pedrohub #my fic #breakfastatjoels #masterlist #Spotify

[bunnyshideawayy]

cassian. great man, wonderful friend, absolutely terrible mate.

we have seen Nesta’s sisters, who arguably have less of a reason, defend her more than Cassian has ever thought about. HELLO?

my issue with cassian acosf and onward is that we are truly expected to believe they he deeply understands Nesta when he’s been shown time and again to never stick up for her and never fully trust her. he does nothing to help her over come and face her traumas / depression, she’s left to do that on her own, but best believe he’s down to fuck and make her hike! (no sarah sex and physical exercise are not cures)

after reading the entire series once and now twice seeing Rhys threatening anyone who dares breath wrong in Feyre’s direction under the guise of just “protecting his mate” i find it extremely hard to believe cassian allowed or even sides with anyone who speaks ill of/to Nesta or threatens her- all of which Rhysand and most of the IC (besides her sisters and Az) do, most of the time while directly in front of cassian in conversations he’s involved in. the most he does is…pout a little? throws a hissy fit? the two times i can remember him even remotely stick up for Nesta he immednantly backtracks as soon as Rhysand pushes back, both times the final decision being put in Feyre’s hands, this continues even into CC3 (and let’s thank the mother Feyre loves her sisters which is something ik yall nesta haters can’t stand.)

let’s move onto something i know yall don’t want to talk about, his verbal abuse. “oh but nesta also said-“ we know what she said, that is not the point. if this man knew all along nesta was his mate and truly wanted to help her heal from her traumas and depression why did he take every chance he could to provoke her? Nesta called Rhysand an asshole, and he IS especially to Nesta, and instead of keeping silent as he does when Rhys/the IC harshly critique her, he immediately gets angry and in her face to defend him. funny he can’t do that with her, his MATE? or let’s talk about this scene

oh okay! that’s totally something you say unprompted to your mate who is severely depressed and traumatized because she won’t eat! she’s totally not shaking because she’s triggered! then to add the lecture “we’ve been here before, too” oh okay! so you admit you know what she feels like (very doubtful although i’m not going to compare their traumas, both are valid he just does not understand her like he thinks he does) it’s patronizing and a little frustrating. she doesn’t want to be there in the first place, purposely throwing a sensitive subject in her face will not magically motivate her or cure her- she is simply doing what she has no choice in. she has been stripped of all autonomy, humanity, and “normality”- she feels alone and valuable in a way she as never felt before and she has NO HELP. none!

i’ll end with the hike. yay more physical activity as punishment- but if i said that was abuse yall will bring up the pregnancy so ill do it for you! Yes, Nesta was wrong to tell Feyre THE WAY SHE DID, she had every right to tell Feyre about her own body and pregnancy, it just shouldn’t have happened the way it did. everyone knew it was wrong to keep it from Feyre, even Cassian, so instead of forcing her to hike a mountain as punishment to ware her down mentally and physically he couldve stood up for both Feyre and Nesta to Rhysand the moment he threatens to KILL NESTA. a simple “hey buddy you knew it was wrong to keep that from Feyre you can’t kill my mate for telling her even if it was out of anger” would suffice. not once during their entire hike or during her breakdown does he reassure her, not even when she is tearing herself apart because she doesn’t feel worthy. don’t even get me started on what happens in CC3.

over all i think Nessian is great and they have some great moments, the end of ACOWAR lives rent free in my mind but i am incredibly disappointed with Cassian. i do feel like Nesta deserves better from everyone (besides Feyre and Elain who, again, are the only ones who i truly believe love her unconditionally.)

anti nesta’s this is not a safe space for you.

#acotar #nesta archeron #acosf #nesta acosf #pro nesta #nesta acotar #nesta supremacy #nesta deserves better #nesta x cassian #nesta x eris #nessian #feyre acotar #feyre archeron #elain archeron #elain acotar #sjm books #sjm multiverse #sjm universe #cc3 hofas #cc hofas #hofas #hofas bonus chapter #a court of silver flames #cassian acotar #cassian #rhysand #inner circle #anti rhysand #anti inner circle #eris acotar

[callsigns-haze]

Pretty like a crime

Chapter 3

Pairing: Agent Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Singlemom! Agent Y/n 'Cobra' Y/l/n

Word count: 4.3k

A/n: This is the second post to my new series so please be nice! I'm going to try to make this into a series so please show this story a bit of love and reblog!

Summary: Cobra is finally back on the agency and is finally back in the job. With Kai at home she has to jumble being a mother and a agent. She's sent to her first U.C mission but never thought that she would meet a blonde, green eyed Texan...

Warning: Mentions of gun use, ptsd, mentions of death, mentions of shooting, flirting, mentions of abuse, description of dead body, death, blood

Part 1/ Part 2

The gun was hidden well. Okay maybe not in the best place but nobody would find it. A lot may say that taking a gun to your guardians house is being mentally ill but it's a promise you were not going to break.

You were living the week and a half with Tom and Sarah has been a whole different experience than living with your dad. The Kazansky house was marvelous. It was one of those posh houses at the end of a rich street, near the ocean. It was three storeys tall with a very tall attic and consists of around 6 maybe even 7 bedrooms. The thing that caught your eye from the second you entered was the great staircase. It was like one from Hollywood movies. The one with gold lined railings and spiraled edges. This life was a luxury compared to the way you were raised. You and your dad lived in a one storey bungalow with three bedrooms and a porch so you could easily say that this was a quite opposite way of life.

Adjusting to living here was hard though, especially with the new surroundings. Your new bedroom was, well, not fit for a young girl. It was one of those green flower designed rooms that was meant to be a guest room but you'll be taking it from now on forward. Sarah has told you that soon after new years she'll take you shopping and picking out new furniture and designs. She was so nice to you and tried to lighten your mood in any way possible from this miserable turn of events.

You were now sitting on the great bed in your room. This was even a new experience for you. At your dad's house you had a single bed with a soft back headboard that was made slightly into a closet bed. And even your dad's bed wasn't this big. Sitting in silence, you were staring into space, a way of escaping reality that was the biggest mess upon you. You say there with your knees rolled into your chest, slightly rocking back and forth. You weren't even thinking about anything, your mind was blank but still contemplating life.

"Y/n, honey, dinner is ready!" Sarah called you down from the bottom of the staircase. You slowly got up and sighed. You enjoyed dinners with your new guardians but you just wanted to be alone.

-

"So, did you start reading the book I brought you?" Tom, asks not in a pushing or angry way but as a conversation starter in the silence that was only broken by cutlery clatter. "I finished it," you answer, swirling your fork over your plate, not having quite the appetite. "600 pages already?!" Tom says rather shocked that the book he gave you the previous night, which took him weeks to read was already completed by the young girl at the other side of the table.

"You must really enjoy reading," Sarah smiled, trying to learn something new about you so your conversation wouldn't be bland and clueless. She wanted to know about you, other than what she knew from your dad before he died. She wanted to know the true you. "My mother taught me," you say and silence falls again. Your mother was a topic that was nearly never allowed to be mentioned at the table when you were with your father. A part of him blamed her for being irresponsible and not thinking about her family and became a druggie like the ones she fought against.

"I'm sorry, I know that the topic is not allowed at the table," you murmur the apology and Tom and Sarah both give you a very confused look. "Honey, you know you're able to talk to us about anything," Sarah says, calmly setting her glass of water down as she looks at you. "I know it's probably hard to trust us but now we're family and we care for you."

You didn't look up from your plate. It was filled with food that if someone offered it to you weeks back it would be already gone but now you stare at the meal that was barely touched. You take a sip of your water and swirl the water around slightly to see the light water waves forming in the glass. "Honey, me and Tom wanted to talk to you about something," Sarah broke the awful silence again and you slightly raise your gaze from your plate and look up at her. "Me and Tom annually host a new year's eve party with a bunch of friends but we thought of stopping."

"Please, don't stop it because of me," you say as your eyes tear up. You didn't even know why you wanted to cry over this but you could slightly sense why. The two of them have done so much to fulfil the gap of the guardian role in your life for the last week and now they are willing to cancel their annual plan for you. Your dad has mentioned Tom and Sarah's parties, apparently they are flooded with people from all around and one of the biggest year events.

---------------

"Y/n-" "Please don't cancel it because of me," you repeat again as tears start spilling from your eyes due to the stress. You didn't know how to handle emotions anymore and this was one of the examples of what happens. "Oh, Y/n." Sarah sighed and quickly got up from her chair and ran over to kneel in front of you. You wipe your tear filled eyes with the sleeve of your sweater as she lifts your chin up. She wraps her arms around you as Tom has made his way to the two of you and rubbed your back, up and down. "You're safe now, nobody will hurt you."

"Good morning Cob," Jake has made you a quite unique nickname for you ever since the two of you have started working together. You believed it was for the tease, as a joke to annoy you in the morning of his entering as if him coming in wasn't annoying enough sometimes. As always he flashes that smile, that could go on for miles and leans over your shoulder as you answer his welcoming. "Mornin' Bagman," you say, spinning a 180° on the black, spiny work chair. He smirks but shakes his head in a slight disagreement.

"Oh trust me, it's not bagman right now because marvelously, how should I quote it, I left my cozy, secure apartment earlier than usual into this cold, cruel world and took my amazing truck to get you the coffee you love," he says handing you over a ice latte with cold foam and vanilla. "Have I told you, I love you," you say jokingly but something inside of him didn't want it to be a joke, he wanted you to feel the same strong emotions he feels for you, something he's never felt before but he decides to hide it and get back to work business.

"So, we're just driving today?" Jake asked as you looked over the work papers you were handed. Most work for now was driving and listening to the radio for any problems, distress or accidents but it was quite a full schedule anyway. "Yeah, there's no proper assignment just to look out," you say, scanning your eye over the papers again.

You've been working with Jake for around three weeks now and the two of you work quite well together. You can match each other's intensity and character without breaking a sweat and have the same dedications in work so like they say a match made in heaven.

"Come on Cob, let's get this show on the road," the blonde smirks and you just smile out of his enthusiasm. This may be a long day but definitely not boring.

-

"Y/n, change to channel 7," Jake says, not demandingly but quite in a question way, requesting you to change the comms channel to see if there is any action going on. You just simply nod and turn the knob until the seventh channel turns on. And yet again silence. "I swear the communicator has never been this quiet," Jake sighs as the two of you have just been driving endlessly for the past two hours without any call or acquiree. "Yeah," you say, quite not taking in anything that Jake has been saying as you are way more interested in the case you were reading about on your phone.

Your in-tell has been telling you'd about details of a drug operation that may happen and you got the files sent to you a couple of seconds before. "What ya reading," Jake inquires as he makes a right turn into a carpark. "Just some files," you say quickly looking over the files for useful information. You see right now every case has been quite quiet. Nothing too big and exciting, somehow everything around the place just stayed calm. No big schemes or murders. No big plans, just a bunch of possibilities but no for sure facts. You sigh as the files don't get you far and put your phone down.

Jake slowly parks the car and sets it into parking mode, he turns to you and says, "How's Kai?" Jake says as a conversation starter. Him and Kai haven't seen each other since the time at the park three weeks back but Kai has been asking about Alfie ever since. The kid loves the dog and you've been telling Jake that Kai has been constantly asking about Alfie and ever since then Jake asks about Kai. "He's okay, quite happy since his Granddad bought him some toys yesterday so he's been kept entertained," you smile, thinking of the night back when Kai was introducing his new teddies to the older ones so 'They could meet each other and welcome the newbies into the family.' "Good, it's great that the kiddo is happy," Jake smiled at you. You never knew that this would affect you in such a way but it did. Jake asked about your son with barely any knowledge of him and already feeling like it was his responsibility to check up on him every once in a while.

"Yeah, it is," you murmur under your breath as the two of you are called my Mav through the radio to respond. 'Hangman, Cobra, call in,' Mav's voice echoes from the radio across the whole car. Jake picks up the communicator and answers the call in. "Hangman here, what you need sir," Jake responds, reversing out of the parking space while looking over his shoulder to make sure he wouldn't crash into a car behind him and finally drives forward. 'There has been a murder in downtown beside the old factories. We think it may have to do with your guys last case. Could you two go over there?' Mav requests more than asking. This may be involved in the undercover case you were on, where you first encountered Jake. You look at him as he passes the communicator to you and you answer Maverick, "Me and Hangman are on it."

----------

You two get out of the car to see that the area is blocked off by police tap, officers and police cars. The media has already arrived but has been pushed back by the officers as they are getting threatened about filming crime evidence and are looking like they're about to leave the opportunity of the front cover alone.

You and Hangman hold out your agent badges to the cop that is in charge to not let people through the tap and point you guys towards an officer that could inform you about the murder situation. If this really had anything to do with the undercover job you had, this had to be big. The guy was one of the biggest ghost guns and drug dealers in existence and was so good at it nobody had the guts or well enough evidence to get him locked up for good.

"This is my partner Agent Y/l/n and I'm Agent Seresin. Our team officer has informed you of us coming to investigate," Jake says, shaking hands with the officer in command of the scene as you look around the surroundings. It was a perfect place to sell drugs. A closed off alleyway, no cameras in sight, big bins to hide evidence or cash and there were no good lights so getting away was quite easier than in pure light.

"Ahh yes, I was called about the two of you joining us. I'm guessing you two want to see the body," the office says leading the two of you to the body. You had no clue how this had anything to do with the mighty drug dealer but it's worth a shot to see. You finally reach the body and it's a man in his 30's, lying on his stomach looking like he was pushed off the roof. Cruel death, to fall from a 5 storey building and then collide with the ground destroying every part of your insides.

"So he died from the fall?" Jake asked but you were already looking around at the body and have a different theory. "It looks like he was chained and choked to death, there's also a lot of little stab wounds around his legs so the fall may have just been a disguise." You answer before the leading officer even could open his mouth. You were good at these things, Iceman has told you all about how to determine a murder. Growing up with him, you were taught a hundred different things from other agents which gave you a severe advantage. You knew more about your job than some division commanders and that was in a society filled by men.

"We didn't notice that on the pictures. The death will be determined by an autopsy," the officer just answered in shock and Jake just smirked at you. You were something different, your beauty, kindness and ability is something he's never experienced and somehow he wants it. He wants you. "Can we flip the body to see the front," you asks slipping on latex gloves, and already squatting down beside the body looking up at the officer. "I guess so, the pictures have been already taken so you guys have time till the autopsy group arrives," answered the officer as you hold your arm upwards, handing Jake a pair of gloves, which he slips on those muscular arms that slightly flex from under the shirt he's wearing and he joins you by lowering himself down.

"On three," Jake says and you nod. "One… Two…. Three!" The two of you flip the corpse onto it's back and it's not a pretty scene or action. From the great fall heights every organ or bone has been crushed so while pushing him over it felt like moving some liquid inside a skin container. And the body's front is completely demolished. Face squashed against the pavement, leaving his face flat like a pancake, his limbs demolished in every different way and his stomach from underneath the shirt that he wears , covered in blood, has a great stab wound.

But that's not what your looking for. Your looking for a tattoo that should be placed somewhere upon his body. A sign that he belongs to the drug organization. You stare a bit at the squashed face and quickly come to recognize it. This was the guy who helped A* leave the building as quickly as he entered at your undercover mission.

"Cobra, I got it," Jake says slightly lifting up the victims shirt, to reveal the tattooed sign upon the man's lower stomach. You quickly rotate to Jake's position and take out your phone to take a picture. You send it to Maverick to show that he was right it was involved in the drug case and you get up and slip the latex gloves off.

"You know what this means, huh," Jake says as you sigh as the two of you start leaving the scene. "Jake, this means one of us will have to go fully undercover, no wires or anything, for weeks maybe even months or years," you say already feeling tears come to your eyes even though no proper decision has been made yet. The thought of having to leave Kai for so long crushed you. You'd miss everything, every little significant moment gone and you just couldn't do that. It would crushed you if you did.

Jake saw the tears come to your eyes and sighs. He doesn't want to see you cry. He has developed some kind of feelings for you and seeing tears come upon your face awoken some protective feeling in him. "Come'ere Y/N," he says pulling you into his chest and wraps his arms around you. The smell of his cologne tingled your senses. You breathe in the smell, that to you somehow became soothing, something you'd fall asleep to. Something for Jake has awoken in you at this very moment but you don't know what. "You're safe Cobra and so is Kai. And even if you end up undercover, I'm not letting you go alone. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you," those words leave his lips calmly but passionately, like if he made a deal with God that nothing will happen to you while he's by your side and the thing that has awoken something more in you is the way he gently kissed the top of your head. Why was he like this to you?

------------

"I'm home!" You call out through your apartment waiting for an answer from Tamara or Kai. "Mommy!" Kai squeals in happiness running to the door, where you have already extended your arms downwards and lift Kai up into a hug. His little chubby arms wrap around your neck and he rests his head on your shoulder. You re-hoist him up on your hip and smile at Tamara whose got up from the couch.

"Was he good?" You asks putting Kai back down but he still holds onto your leg, hugging it. "He was an angel, like always." She says smiling as she gathers her things from the counter and you take out your purse to hand her over money for minding your son. You pull out the notes and hand her a lot more then usual.

"I can't take this," she replies, as she looks at the extra notes. "You can, you've done so much. Now go, enjoy your day!" She asks you again if you're sure about paying her extra and you don't change your answers and for the laugh shoo her out the door. Once you close the door you look to your little boy who has already ran over to his toys.

"Come mommy!" He squeals in excitement that his mom can play with him since you arrived home earlier than usual. Jake told you he'll finish the paperwork himself and that you should head home to Kai. That again made you feel a strong feeling inside. "Mommy!" Kai called out again desperately, as you snapped out of your thoughts. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" You say plopping down beside him on the gray carpet and look at the new teddies Kai received from Tom. The were the ones he mentioned to his grandad a while back and Iceman remembered every single one of them and bought them for your little boy.

"Mommy I made names," Kai says to you pointing to his new plushies. Kai is one of the things that rock your world. Without him, you'd be nothing but yet he was so innocent for his age. To him the world was a fantasy of some sort of dream and you want to protect him from all the evils and nightmares. "Wow bubs, can I know their names?" You ask him, crossing your legs making a little gap for Kai to sit in. The young boy goes to sit on your lap in the gap you made for him. Kai, introduces you to every of his new teddies, tells you about their dreams in their little land and the meaning behind their names. He holds up a golden dog teddy and happily says, "I named him Alfie, like from the park!"

He really is the little boy who rocks your world and that he's decided to name his teddy after Jake's dog did mean something to you. It was a cute gesture and Kai was in the middle of his story how that his new plush Alfie is a prince of pup land and that him and Tamara have been told the secret of why he came to San Diego. Of course Kai led you into this puppy secret and you couldn't help but smile. Your thoughts break again as Kai asks you a question, "Mommy are you happy to be home?" Pure, pure innocence is what the kid is made from and you loved it. "Bubs, there's no place I'd rather be."

----------

Your dad was amazing at books that had a murder mystery. He read so many and was so well informed about all cases and difficulties in crimes. It was his job so obviously he was trying his best to be a expert. He set you up fake crime case files so you could test yourself and push your own limits. He allowed you to solve one mystery file a month. And it was quite ironic since he made enough files to last you till your eighteen.

You found a quite place in the huge house, a place for yourself. It was an empty study room that was quite and looked like a place of peace. All the file and clues were spread around you on the floor in a circle. Each clue aligned in order of appearance and each sign in the right direction. The case was a weird one, something you've never came across before. It was about a gun that was used in a crime on your victim, 'Kristy'. Apparently through the bullet scan and origin they found out that the bullet was shot from a gun that was used in previous murders but only was brought back to action every 10 years.

It didn't add up, there was seven murders committed in the same way but nobody could manage to do this for seventy years. You didn't get it, how could someone pass down a legacy of killings, a legacy of shootings and murder. Now that was out of hand, something no normal person would try to do.

"Whatcha up to, kiddo?" You turn around to find Iceman leaning against the tall, wooden, carved frame of the door. He take a few short strides and sits down beside you in the carpeted floor. "Where did you get this?" Tom inquired in shock, these kind of files are used to train commanding agents and a little eleven year old girl was on a path to solve it. "My dad made some files for me," you say shifting around more paper as if seeing the page from a different angle would solve the answer.

"Would you mind if I helped you?" He asked smiling, running one of his hands through your light, long brown locks. "Are you sure you don't need to be anywhere else or maybe want to spend time resting?" "Y/n, there's no place I rather be.'

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"What do you want for dinner bubs?" You asks the little boy as he is deeply embraced in the midnight garden playing on the TV. Like always the two of you have a routine; a quick bath, he watches one episode and you make food and the two of you eat dinner whole watching the other, after that a quick brush of teeth and straight to bed with the teddy family that you swear take up more space in the bed than the poor boy. "Mac and cheese with toastie!" He calls out excitedly as you pull out the ingredients to quickly make some Mac and cheese.

You grab some bread and cut it into equal slices, delicately to not make any holes or gaps in it; spreading some garlic onto each slice of cut bread with some new fresh butter, as you insert the pan into the oven. You mix the pot that contains the Mac and cheese and look back over to Kai but this time you can't fully see the little head full of brown locks of hair. You walk back over to the couch to see the little boy fast asleep against the arm of the sofa. You don't have the heart to wake him up, no one would; he just looked to peaceful and cute in his sleep.

You quickly and quietly shuffle back to the stove, turning everything off to not risk a fire and walk back to Kai to lift him delicately of the couch. He lightly stirred in his sleep but doesn't wake. You slip into his little bedroom and place Kai in his big boy bed that is currently covered in blankets and pillows, obviously with teddies everywhere. You lay Kai down, covering him with his weighted blanket and duvet, kissing him on the forehead. You run your hand through the curly brown locks and get up to head toward the door. You quietly and slowly close the door getting one last glance at the little boy and shut the door.

As you were about to slowly head towards the small apartment kitchen, your phone violently vibrates in the back pocket of your pants. You slip the phone out of the embroidery back jean pocket and unlock the device with the four numbered code to find Jake's message shining up at you in misery.

Jake: Sorry about texting so late but mav just spoke to me, he's deciding the undercover agent tomorrow morning at the role call…

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[starkeyletters]

•̩̩͙⁺𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 P1

N.P.S.O.M Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Warnings - 18+, Mature theme, Drug & substance use, Violence, smut, mental illnesses, crime, cheating, toxic relationships, etc.

Wordcount - 2,5k+

Pairing - 𝑅𝐴𝐹𝐸 𝐶𝐴𝑀𝐸𝑅𝑂𝑁 x 𝙁𝙀𝙈 𝙊𝘾 [Reader] | 𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 [ 𝑎𝑢 ]

Summary - Exs. Should stay exs. But when the pair cant seem to get off eachothers minds, things happen, mistakes are made. Its not like they changed, they were New people, making the same old mistakes.

A/n - Another start to a story, I hope you like this one. I have this story already fully planned, most chapters to come will be the next one for this.

“You said he wouldn't be here.”

You looked into the mirror that stood in the corner of Sarah’s bedroom, Your hands ran over your hips. Looking at the black mini dress you were in, You admired the way the dress hugged your body in all of the right places. 

“I only said that so you’d come,” Sarah glanced towards you, “And don't say you would've. I know you wouldn't have.” You didn't move, Its not like you wanted to do this, Especially after finding out Rafe was home and was in doubt going to attend the party. It was literally in his house, and he was not one to turn down a party.

It wasn't usual for you to run into Rafe, Which made avoiding him a whole lot easier. You missed him, alot. The two of you didn't end on the worst of terms, yet it was still bad. The relationship just was not working. Things went sideways, after he became distant, argumentative, and manipulative. So you thought it would've been for the best if the both of you stopped seeing each other.

Of course, breaking up with him was not easy. In your books, if someone isn't happy in a relationship, they arent going to stay in it. Apparently his books were different. 

What you didn't know was how bad the breakup had affected rafe. Whenever you saw him, he was either with some blonde girl, or acting like you never even existed. 

You were his first Real love. And he was yours, your first ever boyfriend too. 

The sleepless nights, when he felt alone disappeared when he was with you. When you left, that's all he could feel, those sleepless nights became sleepless again, it's like he lived off melatonin. He only trusted you, you were the only one who really knew him.

Having no one to run to, caused him to fall back into bad habits.

He was finally clean,

He was doing better,

Until the breakup

. He ended up re-lapsing. Finding himself in the place he tried fought so hard to get out of. He killed the good verison he created, by feeling as the only option left was to turn back to feeling nothing at all in unhealthy ways. Drugs. Hookups. You name it.

He blamed everything on himself, spending days in his room. Nothing could make him feel better, He didnt even feel at home, in his home. You were his home, his everything.

Now you were gone.

You and Rafe had one of the messiest histories you've ever had with another individual, from hookups, to enemies, back to hookups, friends with benefits, dating.The two of you dated for just over 6 months. The ups and downs in that relationship was a number for the books, that's for sure.

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You could hear footsteps leading up to Sarah's door at a very fast pace, you were too focused on trying to pull your zipper up fully on the back of your dress to stop and look at who appeared in the doorway. Sarah also took no interest in seeing who it was either, focusing on trying to clasp her necklace together. You could speak for the both of you when you 

“Sarah.” You heard that one familiar voice whisper-yell for his sister, that voice you could pick up anywhere. Even in a crowd of screaming people. You watched as Sarah rolled her eyes and the necklace was being  thrown to the floor somewhere, she sighed and turned towards Rafe.  your whole stomach felt as if it dropped once you heard his voice. Almost like the world stopped spinning. Like time was frozen. As if you were stuck in a recurring nightmare with no escape. 

Except you knew he wasn't there for you, he asked for Sarah. If he was these for you, he would have asked for you, right? Plus, Rafe didn't even know you were these up until that moment, and that is if he even took time to acknowledge the fact you were.             

“What do you want?” You heard Sarah snap towards the boy, you couldn't help but to look to see as to what was going on between them. Rafes hands flew in the air, moving in all sorts of directions. Oh boy, did that break your heart. To see that boy in such a state. He looked different, his hair was longer, it looked good. But him himself, not so much. His face looked different, his eyes. They showed nothing, That was not the Rafe you knew - not the Rafe you had loved.

“I- i uh-” He paced back and forth in the doorway of Sarah's room, You could tell he was on something, the state of distress he was in genuinely scared the crap out of you. You never could tell his next move when he acted that way. 

“I need- 30? Yeah- 30 dollars?” He paused, Looking up at sarah, she scoffed at his asking, her hands finding a place on her hips. You watched the way she attempted to shut him out of her bedroom with the door, But he just pushed it back open. “Bye!” Sarah sarcastically waved him off, but he was much stronger than sarah, holding the door back open.

“Please sarah! Jesus- i need it ok?” he went on, his voice sounded of desperation and fear. It cracking in between each word. You could tell whatever he needed that money for was either so important - one out of two situations is always the case for Rafe, like if he had a drug dealer he didn't pay so he had to get the money or whatever the guy is threatening him with will happen, Or he ran out of drugs and needed to buy more.

“Well maybe you should've thought about that before you acted like a complete jackass and spent all of the generator money on a stupid bike!” Sarah yelled, you really thought about just leaving for a split second. Until you heard sarahs bedroom door slam and she walked back to pick up her necklace. Rafe was gone.

“I have no clue how you dated my brother,” She began to go on, and on, about everything Rafe flawed. WHile trying to find her necklace. Reality is, you didn't want to listen to a word she was saying, “it wasn't that bad.” you cooed, You couldn't bare to listen to anymore of someone talk about a relationship they have no business in. Whether Sarah's your best friend or not, she has no right of saying the things that came out of her mouth.

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The moment your foot hit the last step is when you finally felt the adrenaline start to pump throughout your entire body. The music blasting loud enough to be heard from three streets over. People stood in every place imaginable. Red solo cups over the floor along with all sorts of other pieces of garbage. Oh god, was that ever going to be fun to clean in the morning.

You would be lying if you said you actually enjoyed things like this. You hated - despised then. The only reason you were there tonight was for Sarah, she went through the trouble of throwing this party to get you out, even though you told her on many different levels how you weren't ready just yet, that didn't stop her. 

Thankfully for you, Sarah ran off before the party even started to meet up with old friends she had from kook academy, shae, kelsey, and kaylee. Most likely they were somewheres down by the doc, where most of the guys hung out, guys that wanted nothing more than sex might I add. You could already tell this was going to be one, long, dreadful night.

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It wasn't long before you found yourself down some dark hallway just off the downstairs foyer, alone yet at peace. The music was muffled down that hallway so you didn't have to listen to any of that god awful rap being played. Pulling out your phone, you slid down one part of the wall, seating yourself as comfortably as you could get on the hardwood floor. Scrolling through instagram’s feed and viewing newly added stories, Sarah's story filled your ears with laughter and scream, your eyes with people jumping off the docs, Shotgunning beers, and acting like fools.

It wasn't long before you found yourself typing the name ‘Rafe Cameron’ into your search bar. Out of curiosity - you told yourself. Tapping on the account, Showed, as usual, No new update to his story, nor any new posts. Just the ones he had posted for years but never got around to deleting. Scrolling through his posts made you smile. Noticing the photos he didn't delete of the two of you did the complete opposite.

You heard a faint humming fill the hall, Footsteps approaching you. You looked down the hall, seeing what looked to be a teenage boy, around your age, stooped next to you. You watched as he looked down at you with the faintest amount of light that made whoever it was visible.

“Hey.. Y/n right?” the boy asked, you nodded, “Yes, and you are?” He took his hands out of his pockets, quickly putting his hand out for you to grab, “Jack- Jackson, but you can call me jack.” He stuttered, “Oh-k.” You took his hand willingly, standing up next to him. He had quite a tall figure, towering over you. 

“How about I take you to get a drink? How does that sound?” Jack asked you, you had no clue who this boy was, or why you were about to take up on his offer. But he seemed nice. It didn't even occur to you how he knew your name, But getting to know someone wasn't hurting anyone, especially yourself. You needed to get out there more.

The two of your guys' hands locked together as he took you down the hallway, back into the foyer. “Is it a bad time to tell you I don't drink,” you laughed, earning one from him as well. “Oh, trust me, that won't be a problem.”His hand stayed in yours, now leading you up the stairwell just off the foyer. This wasn't the way to the kitchen, that's for sure.

You let out a nervous laugh, continuing to go with this boy to the second floor, reaching a bedroom that was all to well known to you. Rafe’s bedroom. “I don't think this is where-” you put your hands to your side, before jack went beside you and pushed you into Rafes room, closing the door behind you and locking it from the outside. Jack stood outside the door, as Rafe ordered him too earlier, just in case you found a way to leave. “What the fuck Jack!” You turned, hands banging onto the door, trying to open it. The knob wouldn't budge.

“You wont get it open. It's locked. And Jack, for sure, isnt letting you out.” You heard another voice from inside the room. Becoming almost nauseous when you recognized the voice, almost immediately. It was rafe. This was a trap, Jack never wanted drinks with you. He set you up.

You turned around to see rafe sitting on the edge of his bed, his feet placed on the floor as he stared down at the floor, his hands resting in on and other in his lap, he looked almost ashamed. He should've been for his actions. 

“Your fucking sick.” you scold, pointing at him with a tear slipping down your face, They boy couldn't even look you in the eyes, let alone even look at you. He swallowed hard, his face wiping his face. “Look, i know what it looks like im doing but-” He pleaded.

“No! I know exactly what your doing.” You began to cry out,” You pay your friend with god knows what to lure me in here, and for what reason- To get me to suck your dick? To hook up, manipulate me, lie to me again? Is that it? I'll have you know there's hundred of other girls here who'd do just that-” Tears ran down your face, Rafe looked up at you, finally, a look of disbelief plastered on his face. 

Truth is, Rafe didn't want just any girl. He wanted you and only you. He loved the way you knew just what you wanted, always, and you never stood for less. The fact that you gave a shit about him.The way you weren't like the rest of them. You were different. You didn't just want sex, you wanted real genuine love. Rafe adored that.

He shook his head, his one hand hitting off of the side of his head, standing up he walked towards you. “No- I dont fucking want that Y/n.” You took a step back as he got closer. The tension in the room was enough to make your stomach drop. 

“Then what do you want!?”  you cried, looking up at him through your glasses, not being able to hide the look of such a beautiful expression of love on your face. “What do you want!”  You yelled, shoving into his chest repeditavely before his arms flew out to grab yours, steadying you from attempting to punch at his chest. This is not what you wanted to or planned to be doing that night.

“I just want to talk.. Can we do that?” He cooed, bending down to your height to look you in the eyes, holding your shoulders. As much as it pained you to even be near him, you nodded, catching yourself off guard when the two of you took a seat on the edge of his bed together. God, did that bedroom bring back memories. Memories you fought so hard to forget. 

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“You don't need to say anything. As much as I hope you do, you don't. I just want you to listen to what I have to say, because if it was up to me, things would have ended differently.” You nodded, scooting yourself back the whole length of his bed to rest against his pillows on the headboard. When he took a glance back at you he couldn't help himself when the smile on his face appeared. You did just what you would do when the two of you were together. And that gave rafe hope.

“I-i miss you. I miss you alot Y/n.” He began, sniffing, you could tell the poor boy wasnt lying when he said he missed you. “I still think about you… every day- i-im um.. Sure you heard how i've been d-” you took a deep breath, remembering what you thought were rumors, but turned out they were true about Rafes relapse. 

“I miss you too Rafe.” you moved back next to him. Looking in his eyes. You hated knowing what you put him through. Even though it was in no way your fault. “And yes, I heard what happened.” You closed your eyes, nodding your head while putting your hand in his. “But that never made me think any less of you, you know that..” You whispered. Leaning your head onto his shoulder as his eyes then shut, tears sleeping out of them.

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Taglist - @joselyn001

(DM or comment to be added to my tag list.)

5.21.23

@ starkeyletters 2023

#rafe cameron #drew starkey #outer banks #romance #love #writing #quotes #poetry #rafe smut #rafe fic #rafe outer banks #rafe imagine #outerbanks rafe #rafe fanfiction #rafe obx #rafe x you #rafe angst #rafe x reader #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron obx #obx netflix #obx cast #obx season 3 #obx3 #jj obx fic #starkeyletters

[pamelasmuse]

Easier Than Asking

Rafe Cameron x fem!reader (reader is a Kook but hangs with the pouges, like Kie, but no one knows she if friends with the pouges.)

Summary: Rafe steals the cross and wont give it back. The pouges convince you to seduce him into giving back.

Warnings: Smut, betrayal, not proof read.

A/N: hope you love it. This is based off a fic I read a while ago. If you know the author tag them below so I can give credit. I also might make this a series, I don’t know, so we’ll see.. I guess you’ll find out when you get to the end.

“Please!” Sarah begged. She was sitting on her bed and you had stood up walking to the door. “Absolutely not.” You turn to her looking at her as if she was insane. She runs over stopping you from opening the door. “You do not understand I wouldn’t ask if there was any other option.” You looked at her and her pleading eyes and you nodded. “Fine…”

*

She had just asked you the craziest thing. She told you it was something to help her boyfriend John B. You hung out with him and his friends, you enjoyed it. To an extent you really liked them and you were getting closer. So close infact you had kissed JJ last week at some party. But you weren’t sure you were this close.

“Its quite the favor.” She said. “I need you to get the cross from Rafe.” At first it didn’t seem so bad, you had, had a crush on Rafe since elementary school. So spending some extra time with him didnt seem so bad. Until she continued. “He wont just give it to you.” You scoffed “So what do you want me to do, do you want me to like tie him up until he gives me the cross.” She looked at you. “Oh my god you do.” You lauged.

“Well kinda.”she paused. “Well just use whatever you think is necessary. You kind of have creative liberties.” She looked at you. And thats how you ended up at the door. Being guilt tripped into stealing from her murderous brother, her hot murderous brother.

*

After you had agreed Sarah drove you over to John Bs house so they could brief you on the “mission”. You sat uncomfortably on the sofa outside. JJ was on your left and Sarah on your right. “Thank you, by the way.” John B said as he sat in-front of you. The rest of the pouges also chirping in.

You sighed “I just do not get why no one else could do it. Why not you?” You motion to JJ. He smiles at you. “Well princess I am not liked by a certain someone.” “The pouges have tried to get it back, but Rafe wont give if to us.” John B motions at the rest of the pouges. “And he knows Sarah is with us.” You nod, now understanding.

“So how am I supposed to get him alone?” Kie shifts so she is now facing you. “Flirt with him.” She tells you. You roll your eyes. “You are fucking kidding me.” You sigh. “God why cant I just do something normal, like talk to him?” Sarah moves in her seat. “Rafe tried to drown me the other night.” You gasp. “Are you okay S?” She nods. While touching he neck she begins again. “Rafe wont listen to talking, remember he’s a little crazy.” Everyone laughs. “But I know Rafe and he would never hurt a girlfriend, not that you have to go that far.

“Okay, fine but how am I supposed to I don’t know, talk to him, meet him?” “Well lucky for you the kooks are having some bash tonight and your already on the list.” Pope tells you. Sarah can feel your anxiety so she puts a hand on your shoulder. “Ill be there too, so you can back out whenever you want.” She rubs your shoulder. “But don’t because we really need this.” John B adds. Sarah slaps his knee and glares at him. “Sorry.” He apologizes.

*

You left John Bs with a plan. Sarah dropped you off at your house. You paced for hours. Trying to rationalize what you had just done. And then finally it was 6 and Sarah came over. She helped you pick out an outfit. You picked a blue swimsuit, and a tan cover up. And then finally you were off.

*

By the time you got to the beach it was packed. Everyone on the entire island was there.

Okay… i was going add more but then i got writers block so here it is… maybe part 2

#rafe x y/n #outerbanks rafe #rafe obx #rafe fanfiction #rafe x you #rafe imagine #rafe smut #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #outer banks #outer wilds #jjk season 2 #jj maybank #sarah cameron

[ruinedbylanadelrey]

In the air, In the Moon

Inspired by My Love Mine All Mine by Mitski

Joel Miller x Ghost!F!Reader

Summary: She was the first to go. Joel is learning to cope without his love. And then...

WC: only 4.6k warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI, age gap (Reader mid 20s, Joel late 50s), bit of canon divergence, MAJOR DEATH (Reader), Reader is called ‘lovey’ by every one, Joel Miller crying a lot, TLOU PART 2 Spoilers, Ellie and Joel angst, Reader has long hair, domestic!Joel, husband!Joel, smut (ghost sex/handjob), suicide due to injury (Reader), hurt/comfort, murder hosue type beat (AHS SEASON 1), joel's suicidal thoughts, fluff, abuse (reader was a victim not form Joel), description of corpse, yooo sarah makes an appearance, i have poor knowledge of medicine, joel is a cat person, a little frank sinatra, religious imagery AN: Let's kick off October with angst, fluff, and smut. I'm sorry for what I wrote. playlist imagery masterlist

'Save who you can save'

He lost his head when Joel first saw you collapsed right outside of Jackson on a patrol trail. He expected someone older not so young and beautiful. You were a fallen angel coming into his life, you arrived alone and sick with the flu. He will never forget the whimpers when he picks up your body burning with a fever. 

"Shh, it's okay, angel, you're gonna get ya' some help," He gently picks up your body, and Tommy helps him get you on Joel's horse, setting up front so he could hold you up. Joel looks at how pale your skin is, the bruises scattered on your hands, and how ill-equipped you were to be out in the bitter winter conditions in Wyoming. 

Tommy and Joel came back with you sick, knocking on heaven's door when they had you rushed to the infirmary; rushed as in, Joel carrying you directly there and grabbing the town's doctors right from his office. 

"Found 'er out on patrol. Now listen here," His southern drawl comes out when he has tunnel vision on getting you well again. 

"You will give her the best medicine, remember I know whatcha got," Joel lets go of the poor man and watches him assess your state. Checking your temperature and finding you new clothes. When the doctor comes back with the set of dry clothes Joel brings him to a halt with a hand to the chest. 

"I want Nurse Cadence to dress her," Joel demands with a huff. The doctor nods and quickly goes to the nurse doing a check on the other patients. Cadence an older woman who was a nurse back before the outbreak. She comes with the set of clothes and a wrinkled smile. Joel nods and steps out of the room waiting for the door to open again. 

When Cadence opened the door, her face was in a frown and her eyes were welling up with tears. 

"She's been abused..." She weeps before wiping away the tears. Joel closed his eyes and bowed his head, he knew how heinous people were. He starts imagining the worst happening with you. Questions start bulleting in his head.

Joel could feel his benevolent side come out when he walked in seeing you asleep with your eyebrows furrowed and mouth agape. The doctor comes back with a wet cloth and drapes it across your forehead. 

"She needs sleep. I'll notify you as soon as she wakes up." Doc walks Joel out of the room to the doors. Joel waited for a moment before stepping back outside to the cold. Winter always made him nauseated and he really could sense it once images of your body in snow being left for dead wouldn't leave his fatal mind.

Winter was brutal, Joel tried to think about Texas and how it would get freezing but never snow and the sun would still come out. When was the last time he saw the sun? It's been cloudy and snowing for so long. He huffs out, his breath dances in the air like a ghost. Just another reminder that he is still kicking and screaming 50 years later. 

Joel would wake up every morning before patrol to head to the infirmary. You wouldn't wake up until 2 days later. You woke drenched in sweat, your chest feeling sticky, and your muscles all over your body just wincing in pain with every move you made. The day that you first woke up, you sat up straight in the bed and hyperventilated. Nurse Cadence had you calm down by breathing with your belly. 

You were shaking after your breathing evened out. Brain fog and general confusion were a mist in your brain. A tall gruff man stood at the doorway with flowers, where could you get flowers in winter? He was tan but fading to pale tan, had salt and pepper hair, and a leather coat that looked so warm. The nurse greeted him with open arms, maybe he isn't going to kill you? Where even are you?

"My love, this is Joel Miller. He was the one who found you at death's door." Nurse Cadence ushers in Joel and takes the flowers from his grasp. Joel's eyes were dancing around your face, taking in how the color of your skin was coming back, your flushed cheeks and nose, doe eyes full of fear. You froze in place, your heart slamming against your chest. 

"Howdy," Joel didn't know what else to do but stick out his hand. You quickly tucked into yourself and held up your hands for defense. You waited a minute before letting yourself look at Joel, he was at the end of the bed with his hands in his pockets.

"I-I'm sorry," Your voice was still horsed from not talking about days on end. 

"It's fine, just wanted to see how you were getting by?" Joel gives a half smile not knowing how to display his relief of you being alive. 

"I'm alive...I don't know how I can ever pay you back for saving m-my life," You bring your knees to your chest and wipe away the onset tears. Yes, you have been sick but he saved you from ever being found by your captor. It's been a long winter just as much as for you as it was for Joel. 

"Sorry, I don't mean to cry in front of you," You cleared your throat and blinked the salt water from your eyes. You giggled and that caused Joel to just fall to the ground and never your side like a guard dog protecting their favorite girl.

That small giggle from your pale pink lips was the butterfly effect to the end of your life and the start of Joel's suicidal thoughts again. But we aren't there yet in the story. 

That small giggle got you to where you were now, about to move outside of Jackson gates with Joel and the 3 kittens you recused. The farmhouse on the hill with a barn adjacent to the house. It was perfect Joel was getting his dreams with a few additions, you, his young beautiful wife, and 3 kittens that he didn't have the heart turn away from when you carried them in the house like a child. 

You were always trying to save others, which has caused you a lot of pain. Finding puppies and kittens on the brink of death, hoping you could cure them with the warmth of your heart. But it was like you were a living and breathing Grim Reaper. But these kittens were more than 4 months old and seemed to be living off mice and different kinds of rodents. 

When Joel asked you to be his love forever, it was a spring day and he took you outside of the walls of Jackson. He wanted to show you an abandoned home with a lot of land. You were excited to see the world again for the first time in a long time.

The hike to the pasture of land with a house that looked small until you got closer it got bigger. White paint chipped on the siding. The roof only missing a few shingles. A beautiful porch that wrapped all around the home. 

Joel watches your eyes grow wide and a smile paints across your face. You giggled and ran up the steps to the porch. Your hands glide along the railing, bumps hitting the ridges of your fingertips.

The giant columns towering over you, imagining having Joel install a hanging planter for the flowers that you love, maybe a few more for vines. You could see the cats liking to sit in the sun in the mornings and just sleep on the porch swing. A whisper of child-like giggles flows through one ear and out the other and a cold chill runs through your body. The hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. 

"Do ya like the place?" Joel comes up behind you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist. You smile and nod trying to not show you were just stunned. 

"I love it," You turn around, and wrap your arms around his neck. Your fingers play with the end of his hair. He looked at you like he was in heaven and never had suffered through anything. The sunlight tinted the white sundress you had on, hugging your curves and complimenting your complex just perfectly. 

"I brought you here because there's different about you and well, my love, I want...I want this til' death do us part," Joel nervously rubs your back, and another chill shudders through your body, skin prickling all over. Maybe it was just hearing Joel saying forever or another set of invisible eyes watching you getting proposed to. 

You met his gaze and just drained from all color, seeing a little girl in the window just smiling at you. Joel watches your eyes flutter closed and you lose all strength in your body. 

"Lovey, are you okay?" Joel holds up your weight in his arms, you shake your head to bring yourself back to reality. Your hands slide down his built arms and intertwine your hands in his. You stand on the balls of your feet to reach his lips. You melt in the taste of mint and coffee on his tongue. 

"Til' death do us part," You whispered against his lips. 

Husband and Wife. Just like that. When you got back in town, Joel surprised you again with a small party at Tommy and Maria's place with Ellie and Dina in tow. You were always awestruck when Joel would pull romantic gestures. Your heart soared even more when Ellie approached and hugged you and kissed you on the cheek. 

"Congratulations, lovey." Ellie tried to sound happy, you could tell she meant it by her eyes screaming excitement even if she and Joel weren't on good terms. 

"Thank you, Ellie." You squeezed her when you brought her hand in yours. Joel nodded and looked away not knowing if he should hug Ellie. Maybe it's okay because this a celebration of Joel and you tying the knot. Ellie drops your hand, stands in front of Joel, and quickly rushes in for a hug. Without thought, Joel wraps his arms around the girl and kisses the top of his head. 

"Thanks, kiddo," Joel whispers to her. You move away from them, hoping they would have a moment to talk but that would be the last time they would ever talk. 

You started to help Joel fix up the house, and that meant getting up just before sunrise and not getting back into town after sunset. Always travel there and back with Joel. Never by yourself. 

"I'll be back a bit after noon, wait for me, lovey," Joel talks to you who was briefly awake to say bye to Joel. You groggily say bye and fall back asleep. He didn't know that you had a plan to take Ellie and Dina to see the progress going with the house. 

When you woke up, it was a race to get out the door and meet Ellie and Dina before they got there. The sun was giving warmth to the earth, morning dew wetting your shoes when you walked through the overgrown grass. Chirping echoing from tree to tree, you loved how the air was crisped and filled up your lungs. 

You stepped into the house and felt a sense of pride bloom in your chest. It was like the world never fell apart, and you and Joel bought a home to make your own. You walked into the kitchen turned the faucet on and saw actual water come through. You bit your lip and smiled at the thought of Joel being knowledgeable and how he still thinks like a contractor (his words). 

Having a man who knows what he is doing brings you such security. You turned off the water and went to the back shed to gather the paint supplies to hopefully lure Ellie and Dina to work with you today. Painting was the thing to do in the home. 

You hummed to yourself and heard a twig break from the woods. Your mind didn't set off an alarm, Joel always told you that this was safe. So that meant you were safe.

Right? He wouldn't let you be in a place that jeopardizes your safety. You quickly gathered the supplies and then went back into the house. Ellie and Dina were at the screen door talking about Jesse. 

"Hi girls," You greeted them and opened the door. They quickly saw the paint buckets and rollers. Dina was more than happy to pick up a brush and start painting the living room. Ellie followed you around like a lost puppy when you poured the paint into the pan. You handed a roller and showed her how to properly paint like the way Joel taught you. 

"He won't be here until later," You said casually to Ellie, the tension in her shoulders relax. You helped Ellie get into rhythm with her painting then you suggested putting on some music, no old country a request by Ellie. So you settled on some 50s and just listened to the jazz and classical mix together and created a dream state. 

Later came sooner than expected, Joel slamming the screen door and stuttering to a close. You jumped and bumped into the record player. The music stopped and Joel's heavy breathing took over the silence. Joel looks at you and only at you, Dina grabs Ellie and they walk out the door quickly. No goodbyes. Just the thuds of their shoes. 

Joel walks up to you and pushes you against the fresh eggshell paint. His breathing fanning your face, never seen him this angry since you first told him about the world you lived in before he picked his snow angel up from the ground 2 winters ago.

"What did I say this morning?" Joel asserts, you opened your mouth but he held up his hand. 

"I said wait for me, lovey," Joel softens together, his tone, and his eyes and he stops grinding his teeth. 

"I wanted to show the girls the house, and they helped us get a start on painting," You smile and him hoping to thaw his soft side more. Just so prettily, he nods and lays a kiss on your forehead. 

"And you were late, it's the end of sunset," You smirked and nodded to the window, casting a deep orange through the windows, he shook his head and a breathy chuckle. You always had to be right. He was late because the patrol Tommy wanted to do, was a bit further out from the original trail. 

"I'm sorry my love, what can I do to make up for it?" Joel leans his arm against the wet paint, you giggle and push him back from the wall. His hand grips your waist and pulls you into him. His hand-painted the clothes you had on. 

"I think you owe me some Frank Sinatra and a dance," You were drunk in love with Joel, it was nice to be with someone who had experienced the world and who knew how to be romantic even if you had brought it out of him. 

'Over and over, I keep going over the world we knew'

Joel pulls you in close, his one arm around your waist, and the other one with your hand in his. Swaying to the beat and when the violins harp and the trumpets blare he would spin you around each time, so effortlessly, feeling his body against yours. The broadness of his frame makes you feel small and so safe. You pressed into him and kissed his jawline while he kept you both swaying

'And the sun and the moon seemed to be ours'

You opened your eyes and could see the moon hovering in the sky and the sun was finally giving a wink before leaving the sky. It felt more right to be together in the moonlight. Joel was sweet talking to you in your ear, making you giggle and smile so much your cheeks started to strain. Joel spins you one last time and dips you back to plant a tender kiss on your lips.

You pull on the collar of his flannel and guide him to the ground. He hovers over you and cradles the back of your head in his hand. Joel tasting your skin, taking in your scent like this was the last time. 

It would be the last time. The last time he would make love to his love. His wife. Joel thought if you got to the home by yourself then you can do it again. You did do it again, but a stray infected had found its way into the property. 

You woke up early and made the plan to have Joel meet you there to work on the fencing while you stayed inside working on decorating with everything from Joel's home in Jackson. You didn't think to bring a gun with you since Joel said there hasn't been infected around in months.

You were trenching through the tall grass trying to make it to the house with snarling falling you. It was like you were running in slow motion through the dense prairie grass. Your mind racing with your feet and tripping, falling down and the infected following your motions. 

Screams scaring the birds away from the trees, and squawking almost intimating your pained cries. You grab the knife stab the infected in the jugular and spray blood across your face. The limped fungus falls in the grass next to you. 

The pain runs through your body, there was the mark of death with tendrils of Cordyceps etching over your veins. The birds echo again your cries, and you see a murder of crows flying away with your screams mimicked in their caws. You crawl to the steps of the porch and drag the pocket knife across your throat. You sputter out blood and it flows out your mouth like molasses and paints the white sundress you know that Joel loves. 

The crows fly over the town, still cawing your screams. Ellie looks up and to see them flying away from the direction of the farmhouse. Her feet were picking up and going to find Joel, he was riding back into town. She was rambling about how you might be in trouble and tears running down her face. Joel was confused trying to catch what was flying out her mouth. 

Ellie gets on her horse and Joel follows behind her. His heart sinks to his stomach, and his heart beats sweat running down his neck. The run-down grass leads right up to the scene. Joel hops off the horse before it stops. He is scrambling for balance.

Ellie gathers the horses and ties them to the tree, comes to see Joel on his achy knees holding you in his arms. Your skin is drained of color and cold to the touch. Eyes glazed over with a light film then dead infected a few feet away. The sun comes out from the cover of the clouds and shines right down you. 

Ellie felt her blood run cold and dropped next to Joel, watching him put pressure on your neck like it would make you comeback. Her eyes danced across your body and saw the bite mark on your left arm. She doesn't say anything but sit in the hot sun. Joel rocks back and forth crying into your hair, smelling the strawberry soap you had used the night before. 

'save who you can save'

Joel spent that night with your body prepared for burial. He stares at the table dressed in flowers surrounding your body, your hair brushed and curled with baby's breath pinned throughout your locks. You saw your body from the living room across from the dining room. Candles burning giving a romantic glow. Joel sits and pours another whiskey. If your dead heart could break again it would've when you watched the tears fall from his eyes. 

You wander next to him, causing the candles to blow out and a cold breeze by him. The blue moonlight shines on your body, and he sits up straight and holds his breath for a second and you quickly light the candles again. You don't want to spook him but to show how you're here and not really gone. Joel sobs out again and rests his head on your cold and stiffened arm. 

You gently a lay kiss on the top of his head, he shakes off the touch and buries his head into the flowers and just thinking about what he should've done. He should've gone with you, he should've built the damn fencing before even starting to work on the home. But he was too excited to start a life with you. Even have a baby with you. 

Joel buried you under the tree and planted flowers around it to mark your grave delicately. He wouldn't dare enter the bedroom, the bed was made up and he could feel your presence when he would open the door and just stare at the smallest things. The lotion bottle that you bought from Cadence in Jackson, rose hip oil and shea butter always making you smell and feel heavenly. He swears it lingers in the air, almost suffocating his lungs. 

Joel slams the door shut every time you saunter to him, taking how his eyes were always bloodshot, his beard was getting unkept which was not like him at all, his hair more grey than before. You want to make yourself known but he isn't ready yet. 

You didn't want to overwhelm him and put him in an early grave. You watch him every day, not leave the house, barely eating, talking to himself about you then start speaking out loud about Ellie not knowing what to do with her. You continued to watch him suffer until you worked up the energy to open a book of poems that you had cherished when Joel gifted to you. 

The book is laid open perfectly on the dining table, Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe. Joel woke that morning and thought he opened the book when he was in a drunken haze the night before. He sits down at the table with a glass of his morning whiskey (what he calls it). 

'But our love it was stronger by far than the love' 

The line was underlined in pencil which laid next to the book and your signature heart that you always added to your notes. That morning Joel poured out the whiskey bottle and settled for water. 

You felt more energy as Joel began to accept your death. You kept up with the poems, Joel never denounced the dead lingering on the earth. He wanted you to be there physically and hold him while he would bury his face in the crook of your neck, tasting the shea butter on his lips when he would lay a sweet kiss right below your ear always earning a sigh from you and smile on your face. 

Joel finally walks into the bedroom and sits on your side of the bed, swearing it was warm like you had been lying there waiting for him to come home. You were there, caressing his thigh like how you always done. He loved it, he basked in your phantom touch.

Joel flutters his eyes shut and moans out, he unzips his jeans and pulls down his underwear, and his hard cock springs out, resting heavily on his stomach. You reach and wrap your hand around him, stroking lightly Joel falls on the bed, letting memories of you and him in bed together. 

He is falling into a dream state when you appear in front of him straddling your lap. You smile and just continue pleasuring him. Joel whimpers thinking his imagination is running wild. Having you in front of him, you fist his cock and feeling the warmth of his skin in your hand once again. 

"Always been so good, lovey," Joel moans, gripping the comforter in his fists, sweat beading at his forehead and an ache in his stomach blossoming to his balls, pulling tight. Your hand moving up and down squeezing him a bit hard when he releases his seed, coating your hand and his lower stomach.

You bring your hand to your mouth, feeling how warm his cum is and the musk and salt hitting your tongue. You moan out, Joel breathes heavily and reaches out to touch your hand but you disappear in front of his eyes. Sleep taking over his eyes and shuts out the bright moonlight. 

Joel sat with poems and read the new poem of the day well night now since Joel slept through the daylight, just absolutely heartbreaking. 

'Remember your hands; how did your lips feel on mine?'- Love, Pablo Neruda. 

The book slams shut and is thrown at the wall, knocking off your favorite painting of horses running in the scene. The candles blow out and the record player starts playing Frank Sinatra. You were trying your best to calm him down. You thought you were helping him to get over your death. Joel stands up, walks over to the record player, and moves tonearm off the record, but you quickly put it back on. The record scratches and continues the song. 

"Lovey, it's so sweet but I can't," Joel speaks out in the open, you wanted to show yourself but again he isn't ready.

But when will he ever be ready? When he's dead?

You bowed your head and just watched him leave the house. This is the first time in months, he's been off the grid from everyone since the day of your burial. He thought he could wander back to the old farmhouse and die there too. Every day hoping death will come. He lost you and lost Ellie. Abandonment took over that night. 

Joel would spend the rest of his days back in Jackson. Keeping an eye on Ellie until his dying breath. The last sight he would see with Ellie with blood flowing through her nose and her pleas falling on deaf ears.

When the world goes dark and cold, the fade-in is just so warm and bright. He is back at the farmhouse, you on the porch swing with the book in your lap wearing the white sundress he had you buried in. He walks through the prairie grass with the sage green button-up and clean pair of dark wash jeans. You shut the book and could see that he was in the best health ever. 

"Joel!" You scream out maybe this isn't real and this is all a bad dream. This is life and you two have a happy ending. 

"I'm here lovey," Joel wasn't crying, he was perfect. Like God just stitched him up in a few places. He sees you. He's here with you...finally. You run to him and he picks you up without the grunt he always makes. Heaven is a place on earth. With Joel and the farmhouse. 

Can the dead mourn the dead? 

You smile and bask in his touch and feeling him in this other side of life. The little girl that was in the house before still peeks around the corner to watch you and Joel find each other once again. 

"Joel, I'm sorry," You started to cry. You have never cried before. The wet tears stream down from your cheeks to your neck, Joel brushes his finger through your hair, looking how beautiful you looked, just a bit more perfect. 

"I'm home forever," He smiles and seals the words with a kiss. Death do us part isn't true when he's back with you in the ground. Joel looks at the house and sees the young girl, and his eyes grow wide when he sees that it was his first love, Sarah waiting for him to notice her. 

You smile a nod to him, the young girl introduced herself to you when you first showed up the house that first night after your death. 

Joel bends down to her height and brings her to his arms, smelling her scent again. That scent he would've moved mountains before. Familiarity comforting him even after death.

#joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou

[smolvenger]

A Court of Mischief and Purpose Chapter Two (Loki x fem! A Court of Thorns and Roses Hiddlesverse AU)

Series Summary: Sarah J Maas's A Court of Thorns and Roses series is reimagined with Tom Hiddleston's various characters. Especially the events in the second book: A Court of Mist and Fury. You are dying of tuberculosis right before your upcoming wedding to the Lusty Vicar of Aldwinter, Will Ransome. As you lay on what could be your deathbed, the god of mischief Loki appears before you with a deal. He will heal you in time for the wedding...if you spend a week of every month with him. Opening you to a world of more magic and danger than you ever could imagine...

Chapter One

Chapter Summary: You recount the details of the deal only to the lack of belief from your loved ones. On your wedding day, you uncover a letter revealing a shocking and heartbreaking truth about William...

Chapter Warnings: Cheating-Not Loki, But discussing William's canonical actions in The Essex Serpent and portraying them as *checks notes* bad, so Will Ransome fans and Lusty Vicarettes- you have been warned. Reader having bad self-esteem. A bit of fluff but then a LOT of angst. Discussions of sex. We wait for Loki to appear. A cliffhanger.

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @evelyn-kingsley @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85

It took much searching in the library and bookshelves of neighbors, but you found a book of Norse Mythology. Once you did, you asked to speak with Will and your parents alone one evening. You sat the book down on the table before them. You flipped the pages. You found the first page introducing Loki and then pointed to it. You then showed it to the three people at the table- your parents and fiancée.

“That was him! There!” you said.

Your mother put on spectacles to read further and then looked up at you, shaking her head.

“Really, Y/N. The Norse god Loki was who healed you?” she questioned.

“Yes. It was. I am not joking, mama- I am completely serious,” you said.

Your father perked up. When he flipped a page, there was an illustration of the dark-haired trickster god grinning as he petted a few cats.

“I’ve heard very often those dying of tuberculosis have hallucinations…” your father mused.

“I thought he was a vision too! But he-he was tall and lean and had dark hair! He was wearing black and green robes! And he-he looked a little like you, William!”

William looked down at the illustration, his eyes squinted, trying to find the resemblance. But there was a failure to see the resemblance between his curly reddish-blonde hair and Loki’s dark hair. Nothing with Loki’s gaudy grin and William’s serious frown.

“Did you visit her that day? Perhaps she saw you and hallucinated the wrong hair color!” your father asked.

William clenched his jaw.

“No, I did not. I had to take stock of my tithes from the people. Not until after dear Y/N’s miracle.”

You folded your hands on the table.

“If Loki was a vision- then how would that explain why I am already completely better? The doctor didn’t visit me at all that morning, and he gave me no treatments, no medicines! Even if he did-This was quick and sudden!” you cried.

“It’s a miracle from God-you are just misplacing where your faith is,” your mother said.

You then opened your hands to show it to them. A hand flew up to your mother’s mouth- the sight never failed to shock her. Though they had seen it.

“Then explain these!!! How did this happen?!” you argued, exasperated.

They examined it, all looking at the mark and touching it, pulling your hand to examine it carefully.

“Usually, a scar from something like an illness is red…these are jet black! They haven’t come off yet and I’ve washed them fifty times!” you continued.

Your mother sighed through her nose. They dropped your hand. Though Will peeked at the book again, putting a hand to his mouth as he flipped to look at the different pages.

“Y/N…we just find it hard to believe…” your mother said.

You looked at all three of them. You clenched your jaw and your hands rolled up to fists. Hardening your gaze, you spoke:

“I told all of you the truth. And if you believe me or not, that is up to you.”

Your mother reached over and took your hand.

“Sometimes…miracles do occur. And you don’t ask why or how they happened…you learn to accept it…”

Your father began to nod. Will perked up, his eyes glistening. He even smiled, perhaps noting to mention that in a future sermon.

That you could accept.

When you were alone with Will the next day, you both went on a stroll. The luxury of privacy was included with the engagement to marry. With the brown dog barking by your side, both of you walked out to the fields outside the town. It was the first thing you did after you were engaged, and you recalled smiling from the warmth of the coat he draped over your shoulders to guard you against the chill. Despite the grey clouds that day, you paused your steps and looked up at him, opening your hand to show the star mark.

“I must tell you- this is the price I paid. I must go to him. Even after we’re married- you won’t see me for a week every month,” you reported.

“This Norse god?” he asked.

You nodded. It didn’t matter whether or not he believed you. It didn’t matter if he would be forced to send you to a madhouse or keep you in an attic. He of all people had to know his wife wasn’t abandoning him.

“Yes! I will have to be there-one week of every month! Please- I know it’s against the Bible but-lie!” you begged.

“Lie?!”

“My own parents don’t believe me! Say I have a cold! Say I’m visiting your family in the next town! Say I’m out walking! Say I’m doing some ministry work for an orphanage or something! Anything!” you insisted.

He patted your arm, smoothing it to calm you down.

“Of course…of course…”

You wondered how much he believed you. Perhaps he only half believed you. But one detail you had to confide to him. One that would land you in genuine trouble if word got out.

“l I must tell you…he did flirt with me. But…I resisted him. And should he try anything when I’m with him…I’ll fight him off…because I…”

Your eyes blinked, but you broke into a smile. His shoulders lowered.

You then grabbed his hand.

“I love you, Will. I love you. I really do. I’ll do anything for you. And I did this- I did this for you. So, you wouldn’t be alone. So, we could be married! Because I love you and I want to be your wife! It was a sacrifice I made for you-and so I promise, when I’m there, I will ignore him. I will tell him I’m a married woman and shut the door in his face! I’ll box the smug grin off him, too!”

He laughed a little and you laughed despite yourself. Then you smiled up at him and gave him a hug. He smelled the grass. He put a hand on your back to rub it lightly. Then he released the hug, taking both of your hands. How large his hands were! How many of your fingers could make up his mere thumb! How comforting!

“I love you too, Y/N. I am only glad you are well and that we can be married.”

As you both walked off, you changed the topic.

 “How is the search for the Serpent?”

Bodies appeared in the grass. Some claimed a giant, magical snake was on the loose. Many said prayers and kept indoors at night. William told you he wanted to consecrate it. Mrs. Seaborne wanted scientific research. They teamed up to find the creature.

 But things were quiet. As if it never happened. Some seemed to whisper about it and then ignore it to go about their lives. But the looking continued.

“Oh, very well! Tracks were found!” he recalled.

“Oh, good! You and Mrs. Seaborne make quite a team! You will be careful, should you see something, William- please! I don’t want you hurt!”

“I always am careful, my dear…the tithing will be soon. The town will come to me to give me their yearly dues and I must count them next week. You shall be there, shall you?” he asked. His curls flew in the wind.

“Yes, I shall. I am ready for those duties already. I am ready to be your wife,” you smiled as you wrapped an arm around his.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Weeks went by. Now it wasn’t just the Serpent that seemed to be only a dream. It was Loki. Perhaps you did hallucinate him. Perhaps the sickness was only a bad dream.

But one thing was a reality-your wedding to William.

Before you knew it, the day of the wedding arrived. It was a bright spring day. The sun beat down. Flowers grew and bees hummed. It felt a little warm and you noticed some flowers beginning to wilt in the vase at home. You shrugged it off- there would be new flowers in your new home where he lived.

Everyone gathered at the church for preparations. Your bridesmaids fluttered around you like pastel bubbles in their dresses of various colors. They gathered around to help you adjust your wedding corset to how you liked and fixed your hair.

Stepping into your special dress- white lace with a bustle- everyone cooed and admired you. You always thought it was pretty. Decorative and special- as a wedding should be. It had a high color buttoned up with a cloth blossom and long sleeves down to your wrists. You put on lace gloves to hide the stars.

One bridesmaid handed you a bouquet.

“I added the blue violets- those are for faithfulness! Oh! And an orange blossom! That’s for you two to have many children!

All of you began to laugh a little bit. Then your mother and Williams’ own mother stepped in, admiring all of you. Though you stood out like a drop of snow. Your mother gasped and went to hug you.

“Oh, how beautiful you look!” your mother cooed.

“Yes- won’t he be beside himself!” cried Mrs. Ransome.

“And speaking of many children…Y/N…we’ve discussed this…some, but…I have to tell you.”

She looked at the bridesmaids too, perhaps thinking of this as an extended lecture. They kept their eyes forward, but their lips were sealed tight.

She held both of your hands.

“You know what…happens between a husband and wife, Y/N,” she began.

“Yes, I do. You told me…specifics…” you nodded.

“I must tell you…it is never pleasant for the woman. But you have a duty to fulfill to your husband. It hurts the first time, and it is awkward and uncomfortable every time after…but you shall do it. William expects you to do it.”

You noticed Stella’s eyes widen. She blinked and seemed to soften her posture amid all the discomfort of the bridesmaids. Warning them of when it would be their turn to perform their own duties to their husbands. But out of all of them…Stella did not seem afraid.

“No- my worst fear would be to let him down! I shall do it, mama, I promise!” you insisted.

“Very good.”

Your mother kissed the top of your head. Several bridesmaids shivered and then went out to distract themselves and see to their own preparations.  You swallowed hard in your own fear, looking down at the bouquet in your hands.

Stella ran to you, like a butterfly in her light blue bridesmaid dress. She touched your shoulder.

“Your wedding night shall all turn out well, Y/N! Don’t worry!” she consoled.

“You heard mama…it’s not going to be pleasant…” you mused.

Stella turned around to make sure no one overheard and then leaned back to you whispering.

“I heard from some of the Fishermen’s wives. I was talking to them by the ocean. And they said…they said…the act is actually nice!”

“What- nice? The marital act?!” you gasped.

Stella smiled a radiant smile that could have made a king beg for her.

“Yes- the marital act! I don’t know myself, but they said they loved doing it! That it was pleasant for them! That they wanted to do it with their husbands! And then listed all the men they wish they could do it too!”

She turned bright pink and leaned closer, softening her voice.

“And do you know who they put on their list?”

“Who? Wait…no! They didn’t say…” You began to stifle laughter.

“I’m not! They listed Will! I heard them! I kept blushing but I couldn’t help but listen! They talked about how every Sunday they wished they could sin with him!”

“Stella!”

“Their words! Not mine! See-you’re the luckiest, happiest woman in all England today! So don’t worry-it’s probably nicer than you think it is!” she continued.

“I’m still nervous thinking about it!” you confided.

“Think of it this way- you might be like those women and want it from him instead of him wanting it of you! I! So don’t worry so much! You shall be fine! You can tell me all about it later!”

She gave you a hug and you hugged back. How soft she felt-she always knew people so well that she could say the right things. Then her mother appeared at the door and asked for her. She gave you a grin and then walked away.

You were left alone. And there was time before the ceremony- your last minutes as a single woman.

 You walked out of the room. Down the hall. You overheard the church organ practicing the music. The wind rustled and the sun burst through little windows. You smelled musk and old wine down here.

Today, the door for William’s office was creaked open. Glad for a moment alone, you tiptoed in there with your skirt swishing behind you. That space you would have to become far more acquainted with later. You were rarely in there and only then you were accompanied. You had forgotten what it looked like.

It was a plain room. Not too decorative- only packed bookshelves and illustrations of Jesus on the wall.

But turning, you saw a letter on the desk. You walked closer to read it. Will’s handwriting- of course, you knew it. It was dated today! Curiosity and delight rippled in you from the opening line.

“To my most beloved woman…” it began.

Oh! A love letter? On your wedding day?! How romantic! You thought. You kept reading.

“I dream of you night and day. I think only how I wish to see you. I have so much I’ve written, yet I couldn’t get the words. How I wish you never catch me staring right at you as you go about. And how I ache and long for you…”

You began to giggle despite yourself. Oh- dearest man! He was always so calm around others! Now to see him this vulnerable and sentimental! You smiled brightly.

“You are truly not like other women!”

That was an odd compliment. You felt a lump in your throat. Sometimes men said things that, though well-intentioned, were not completely thought out. Was there something…wrong with the other women? You decided to ignore it and keep reading.

“You are the one thing I long for. And you haunt and torment me so much, darling…”

You placed the letter on your heart, giving it a kiss, then read on.

“And now, the day of my wedding to Miss Y/N approaches…The day I grow from fiancée to husband. Oh, to see her dying!”

You paused. You reread it.

Her. Not you. Her. Should it be “Oh, to see you dying?” He was educated in seminary but couldn’t get the tense of his letter, right? How did his professors grade him?! Why did he do that? Was he trying to be like an author with a novel?

“How tormented I am! But my heart will long for you since the day I kissed you and danced with you, but remember…I will never stop seeing you. And I shall always be there, my sweet Cora.”

Your smile dropped. Your heart picked up. You began to read it. Then re-read it. Then read it again to make sure you were not making it up. That you read what you read.

This is a love letter…to Cora Seaborne…but I…I am his fiancée…I’m about to be his wife…so that means…that means…

You tasted bile in your mouth. You felt yourself blink and the room became dizzy. Everything spun except for the letter. You caught yourself on the chair. The letter fell from your shaking hand and you picked it up. You re-read the date- today. This morning. He was going to send it to her this morning.

Then you noticed a box under his desk. It was left open. And there were papers- papers with writing. You grabbed it and found your worst fear was true. They were letters. Letters from Cora. Love letters from Cora. All dated very recently. Beginning from the time she arrived after your betrothal.

You caught onto the chair for support. You wanted to retch onto the carpet. You wanted to faint. You wanted…wanted to run. But you couldn’t take a step. You set down the letters, back in their places. Then you caught the chair, clinging to it.

No….no, I thought…I thought he…he said he loved me…he said he was mine…said he adored me…he said. He said…

There was a knock on the door that made you jump. You put the box down where you left it. In was Mrs. Ransome.

“Ah! Y/N! There you are! We were worried you might have run away!”

You felt your jaw clench and you looked at them, quietly. She dragged you away back to the rooms where they got dressed. Though now bridesmaids and every one of your mothers was filling it up. They all began talking.

“Here- let me give you some reminders! Of course, you understand what it means to be a vicar’s wife. The immense responsibility it carries. For now, the women shall all look to you as an example and it’s one you must set!” Your mother advised.

They began to touch up your veil and dress as they spoke to you. But you passively stood, letting them talk to you. Trying to hear the words. They did not make you feel any better with distraction.

“Make sure you always sit in the front row of church every Sunday. You must always watch your words and your behavior. We know you’re a good woman and suited to this- but you must be careful now! A wrong step or word and his image and ministry are in ruin!” Mrs. Ransome advised.

“Support him no matter what and support his ministry, Y/N. Support him in his emotions without complaint. Encourage his advancements as you keep the balance between his home and family. Keep the house peaceful. Do not do anything to upset him or disturb him or the town. Be humble, Y/N, appreciating everything and demanding very little…” your mother began to speak.

So much work. So much sacrifice. So much…for nothing.

“And should you have children- you will raise them perfectly. You will make sure they do nothing that shall turn anyone against him and his ministry,” another woman advised you.

Yes, children. To lay in his bed. To do the act. Your duty. Knowing the truth. Knowing who it was he would rather do it to. Coming to him with a heart filled with love and adoration…thrown to waste.

“And do not yourself give into sins of greed, bad temperament, or jealousy!”

Jealousy, jealousy. I am a good person. I am not jealous, I am not jealous, I am not jealous of her, I’m not. I’m not. I’m good, I swear, I’m good you thought. All lies. You knew.

“And you shall always pray for his strength to overcome temptation and for him to flourish, shall you, Y/N?”

Yes. You always shall. You always did pray. But the wrong prayers. You should have prayed for his avoidance of temptation. Of his adherence to all the Ten Commandments, like the Seventh one.

And here you were about to marry a man who could not follow his own instruction. He was praised for being open-minded. Now not even that sin bothered him anymore.

The Lusty Vicar indeed.

“Could I…could I speak to Will? Before the wedding? Please…” you babbled out. But you only had half your voice.

The women all shook their heads.

“No! It’s bad luck! And it’s about to begin very shortly!” your mother refused.

Is this who you were going to marry? Who was this man? Was he a madman? Was this Will? The Will you agreed to marry? The Will of your dreams who you looked so forward to? The handsome Will? The Will who gave you his coat? The Will who said he loved you? The Will you loved?

They dragged you up before the doors of the church. You began to nervously fidget with the bouquet. Everyone got into the line in their places to enter. You broke off and turned to Stella.

“I…I have to…have to talk to you…” you began.

“Oh no- what is it? Are you nervous? Every bride is!” she smiled.

You shook your head. You felt yourself shaking, wishing you didn’t have to believe the words struggling to come out.

“It’s not that…Stella…I…I f-f-found…I found, uh-I found-uhm…”

“What did you find?” she asked.

In answer, there was loud music at the beginning of the ceremony. Her mother pushed Stella to be in place by a groomsman.

The music- so loud it could have rattled your bones and made your ears bleed-began. Then off they went. You were pushed to stand by your father.

“Oh, what a lovely day! And you look beautiful as an angel, Y/N!” he assured you.

One by one they filed. Out they went. Then it was your turn.

The white walls, wooden beams, and humble wooden chandeliers once comforted you every Sunday. The candles from the ceiling hung over you like vultures. The two rectangular windows next to each other high above the wall behind the altar watched you like the eye of a god waiting for you as the sacrifice on the altar. No number of flowers could make up for it.

People stood up and smiled. You took a few steps forward.

You glanced back at the congregation.  People were smiling at you like you were something wanted and valued. Something to be treasured. When you were really a joke. A laughingstock. They were going to all laugh at you any second.

 You saw plenty of women in the crowd. Other women. Other women.

It was Cora who was the special one. And you who were the “other women.” The “less than” women. The “not good” women.

Your dress was hot. It felt heavy against your skin. It was itchy against you. What on earth were you thinking picking this dress?!  Once you adored and squealed and twirled it childishly in your house. Once you loved it. But now you hated it. Everything in how it felt against you like it was trapping to stifle you. The flowers In your bouquet trembled. You then saw none other than Cora herself there. her maid holding her three-year-old son. A son from her first marriage with her late husband. A marriage that was so horrible, that even after the man's death... that she robbed you of yours. It was like she opened the door for a burglar to sneak inside and shoot you. The third person in this marriage. The real beloved of Will all this time. She knew your existence and commitment and promises to William…and it didn’t stop her. She never stopped to think this would hurt you. Maybe she didn’t care. Though you were the one in white compared to her in her grey coat- she was the one crowned best of women from the one you loved most. The one you sacrificed so much for-would sacrifice so much for. You turned and saw him at the altar. Will. Resplendent in his tuxedo as always. The tuxedo you swooned over- once. His beard was trimmed for today. He was smiling. Like he was all yours.

But you knew the truth.

You found your steps slowing down so that your feet dragged against the church floors.

But then you felt every eye on you. Every eye and that included…you turned, glancing at her. Cora.

And you would never be good enough for him.

Your stomach heaved. You stared down at the floor.  You were going to become sick and vomit there in the church in front of everyone. Tears welled up and you felt them pouring out of you.

You stopped your steps.

Your father nudged you, urging you to go. You refused. He tried to pull you and you jerked away. Tearing yourself free from his arm. But you kept your eyes on the floor before you. You couldn’t take another step.

You were going to fall apart right there in front of everyone. They expected a smiling, beautiful bride flouncing her way up. But that was not the image you could give them. You did not feel beautiful. You felt disgusting and hideous. If you burst into tears right, there-they would know. They would know and they would all laugh at you.

You saw the sun in the high window above the altar start to fade. Though it became cooler you wondered which would get you first-being boiled alive in your wedding gown or becoming sick.

William took a step forward; he offered up his hand.

“Y/N…” he said.

He took another step forward and on instinct, you retreated. The congregation murmured. His blue eyes widened. If you ran out of the church right now, there would be scandal and ruin. If you walked up to the altar, you would spend the rest of your days living a lie.

Help me-someone please help me. I can’t go through with this. I cannot do this. Someone, please help me, get me out of here you begged silently.

There was a crash of thunder. Out of nowhere for a bright, sunny day. The church darkened as candles blew out. People screamed- you screamed from the scare. Then they went up again and there was a wind-flower petals and ribbons flew with it, a few falling apart. People began to panic a little in their seats. A couple cried “The Serpent!” and “God protect us!”

The door flung open. Only a few candles in the church relit themselves against the dark sky.

When you turned around to see, you stopped at the sight.

 Loki, smiling and adjusting a tuxedo with a frilly white blouse, was there at the doors.

“Hello, Y/N darling,” he purred.

#loki my beloved #tom hiddleston #angst with a happy ending #fanfiction #loki fanfiction #hiddlesverse #tom hiddleston characters #carrie writes #tom hiddelston loki #dammit hiddleston #twhiddleston #tom hiddleston fanfiction #loki fic #loki imagine #loki x reader #loki x fem! reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x fem! reader #loki mcu #loki mcu imagine #fic recs #loki marvel #will ransome #the essex serpent #stella ransome #a court of thorns and roses #a court of thorns and roses au

[2x4plank]

I'm absolutely going out of order going over these episodes but if I don't talk about Season 2 it will kill me.

⚠️This post is very long. It's a commitment to read, so be ready to scroll if you wanna!⚠️

We start with Omid getting shot. I feel like how it played out was pretty realistic. His quiet sneak-in--it made sense. I don't know if I entirely feel bad for Michelle, but I don't feel good about her getting shot neither. And then Christa dies off screen. Maybe not the choice I would've made, but I'ma let it slide--if only because Clementine was trying to be outta there! I love Clementine's lil backpack. I wish she kept it.

I honestly don't dislike Clementine as a protagonist. In fact, I like spending a lot of time with her and letting her have more autonomy in the story. However...it does bring its own set of problems.

The theme of this story seems to be dangerous incompetence--which is a personal pet peeve. There is so much reliance on Clementine and this burden of accountability the adults around her make her take. Like, it was good of Luke and Pete to carry her back. I liked Pete (and then he died real soon after). But then they fumble on locking her in a shed. To die of either illness or the walkers that surround her. And Nick almost shoots her too! It was cool of him to draw the walkers toward him, but like...you're very trigger happy buddy. I never really warmed up to Nick before we turned his head into a salami log. He was on a streak of poor decisions (see: Matthew's murder).

Leaving Clementine to do her own sutures in the cold and rain instead of just having Carlos at the very least fix up the obvious animal bite is really stupid of them. I felt like I was CPS reviewing a case while playing this game, and I'm not even a decade older than Clementine here. So to find out that these adults (with Luke, apparently one of the younger members at 26-27) were okay with leaving her there? That makes me mad! She shouldn't have had to do that.

Then we have Sarah, the tall dork kid, who is willing to help you out because she has more than an ounce of good sense and understands that this is unfair. But then they do her real dirty! She is abused and dies a horrible painful death after being riddled with anxiety and watching her dad get devoured. And then everybody just...forgets about it! Not even a forlorn look at her pair of glasses or whatever remains of her. Wow! That is awful! I completely disagree with those choices. Sarah absolutely deserved better. I mean, I don't really care about Carlos, but Sarah deserved better. Forget Arvo! We need more cute fanart of her.

Then there's Carver. Pretty good and believable antagonist. He has a doctrine that is unfairly and irregularly enforced. Less a ruleset and more of whatever he feels like at the time--which is mostly anger. He does some recon before striking which is also pretty cool. And maybe it would've gone better if Carlos hadn't let two children stay home alone. Ain't that like...Parenting 101? If you're so keen on protecting your daughter, why ya leaving her alone in the apocalypse? Maybe she wouldn't be taking photos if you were there with her. Maybe she would've been better about not opening the door. Don't force children to watch children.

And then Bonnie does the second round of recon, which was really obvious. If I walked around the corner of the lodge and saw some guy looking into the window and acting real surprised to see me...I would probably think they were counting how many people were inside to launch some sort of attack. I knew she wasn't a good person, and that remained true to the very end. Despite her sorry attempts to make amends, she really wasn't nothing. She ruined Christmas! I'm not even religious, but the decorations were so pretty...and she was an agent of its destruction.

Reuniting with Kenny at the Ski Lodge was nice. I felt happy to see him. As I said before, I was absolutely sitting at his table because he is Clementine's secondary dad. As we'll find out later on, he kinda toxic, but I was still loyal to him because...the devil you know, right?! That is literally one of the worst perspectives, don't listen to me, but it's the one I had. And also I felt like he wasn't really going to hurt-hurt the kids, but he did still hurt Clementine emotionally. I felt like he was the best guardian out of the ones presented to us (outside of maybe Rebecca).

The addition of Sarita brought some problems too. They did not flesh her out. She deserved better also, outside of being Kenny's new wife. I know that:

She likes...Christmas.

She found Kenny somewhere.

She thinks his beard got bigger.

She had to listen to Kenny tell his sad backstory before she went to sleep at night.

She got bit on the hand.

Sarita didn't get enough space outside of Kenny--who I still like, for some reason.

Then there's Kenny's other friend, Walter. After watching Breaking Bad, I was not ready to trust this dude. I mean, he mixes peaches and beans for Pete's sake. But he was actually factually nice! Not even taking vengeance on Nick after he shot his bestie--that was a real kindness. And yes, I did tell him. Seems kinda hypocritical considering my position on Ben telling the truth, and maybe it is, but I think he deserved to know and that he'd find out pretty soon otherwise. I felt like it was wrong for Luke to cover for Nick so hard--especially sending Clementine out there to do so, putting her in the line of fire as they so often do. I mean, they're friends...but your friend has a history of going off and killing people with no real reason. I completely forgot where Nick was during the Carver Cult situation, so no more about him. But back to Bill Depot.

We meet some dude named Mike and another one named Jane. They help the crew escape while Kenny absolutely defaces Carver with a crowbar. He deserved it, no question about that. I think it's hilarious how if Clementine just insists, she can stay and watch. "No, you can't watch this guy get massacred. Okay, only if you really want to."

Carver's behavior towards Rebecca is extremely disgusting. This ownership of her is gross and the entitlement towards AJ, regardless of their prior relationship is gross. And while I do not blame Rebecca one bit, it's all Carver's fault, I couldn't help but keep thinking: "If I hadn't got mixed up with this group, this wouldn't have happened to me! I don't even really care about these people!" It was moreover the group's collective incompetence that made me feel that way.

Reggie was pretty funny. One thing this game is never lacking is in humor, and I liked Reggie...kind of. Course, his cavalier attitude towards imprisonment is not good, but he had been left there. I'm still confused as to how his arm was cut off. Was it really a walker bite, or a punishment? I really felt like he was lying to make Bill Depot look like a better place to be, and as we can see with Lee, amputation doesn't typically work. But maybe it's a time thing and something to do with using sterilized tools.

Clementine being the linchpin in their escape is kinda cool, kinda not. She is the smallest and least likely to get noticed. But they let her out in that bright ass jacket. Get 'er in something darker, at the very least! And of course, I was thinking: "Lee wouldn't let her do this. Lee wouldn't make her do any of this." But Lee did let her sneak through the vents, so...? I don't know.

Mike & Jane are pretty cool at first. Mike is funny, seemingly reasonable, and Jane is strong and collected. That definitely changes pretty soon with catching Luke and Jane fooling around and the introduction of Arvo.

I was completely against robbing Arvo and disagreed with Jane escalating things. She did still rob him of his gun, but not his medicine, but that put Arvo in danger on his return so I understand him being mad at HER about that. But the way he treats Cleemntine no matter what and holds the wrong people accountable really soured me on him. He held Clem at gunpoint first, even though she's not even a preteen in a rainbow sweater.

However, the way Kenny beat on him? I didn't agree with that, nor did I agree with leaving him in the cold. Additionally, the xenophobic names Kenny called him were rude and nonsensical. You're calling him a commie but you want to go to Wellington? A supposed COMMUNE?! Aight.

But Kenny's anger is not unjustified. It's not like Arvo didn't lead a crossfire that put everyone, including the kids in danger. If they weren't shot, they could've died of hypothermia. And in Kenny's eyes, being held up might've led to Rebecca turning.

I didn't want Arvo to be tortured regardless. He was young and there really wasn't any point to beating on him. That is, until the very end--but it's not like Kenny knew what was going to happen.

When Kenny is talking to Clementine alone in that truck, my soul was screaming. I know exactly how she feels, what position she's in, and God it is icky. I still like Kenny for the most part, somehow. I still feel like he was there for the kids, kind of. However, this bouncing off of Clem to make serious decisions after snapping at her, telling her she was at fault for Sarita's death (he did apologize at the very least, which is more than I've gotten most of the time). This isolation and weight Clementine felt is awful. Not to mention he was so consumed by anger at Arvo that he let Clementine sit there freezing and wet for longer than she should've had to instead of finding a log or something. Some of the burdening on Clementine is realistic. Children of color especially are often expected to act more adult than they should, but uh, don't ask me why I know what that feels like. On the other end, some of the decisions Clementine has to make are purely done for story reasons.

The betrayal? I thought it was pretty good. I don't think it came out of nowhere and it riled me up. I know Mike seemed like a nice guy, but his connection with Clementine was shallow. People normally have the common decency to protect kids, but it's hard to tell until you gotta. And he'd been talking to Arvo, seeing how Kenny mistreated him, he wanted to get them away from Kenny. But he was content to take away all the food that could've been used for AJ and Clementine. In the cold. In the snow. He thought less about protecting the most vulnerable and more about taking his favorites with him. And then there's Bonnie!

I knew she couldn't be trusted. She clearly didn't know her place after being part of the reason the crew got kidnapped. And then she pulls that stuff, after blaming Clementine for Luke's death. Saddling the pre-preteen with something else. By the way, I didn't feel much at Luke's death. Maybe he should've got some skis from the lodge. The only thing Bonnie did was give her a cool jacket THAT SHE STOLE FROM THE SKI LODGE!!! I hope she didn't make it. Flaky-like-a-pastry-ass-Bonnie.

Then comes Arvo's shooting of MY BABY! MY LITTLE RAINBOW BABY CLEMENTINE! HE SHOT HER! WITH A RIFLE! A GUN THAT WOULD GIVE YOU TIME TO NOT SHOOT A CHILD! OOH, I WASN'T OKAY WITH BEATING HIM EARLIER, BUT I THINK HE DESERVED A PUNCH FOR THAT!

But then they make you mild with that Lee flashback. Lee is just so concerned with keeping this child safe and comfortable. He really was father of the year.

I'm glad Clementine survived, but then comes another ordeal. Jane v. Kenny. Okay, I was half with Jane. She wasn't completely clean (seriously? you were so willing to give up on Sarah twice), but neither was Kenny. She seemed to want to get Clementine out of a possible volatile environment. But that stunt she pulled? You heard of leaving a baby in a hot car. Now how about LEAVING A BABY IN A COLD CAR TO DIE AT SUB-ZERO TEMPERATURES! I wasn't willing to shoot Kenny because I didn't know what Jane did to AJ. "Just trust me," told me nothing. I was certain he wasn't dead, but I still didn't know if he was in danger. So I let Kenny kill her. Guess I'm going with truck freak--at least he won't leave me in a car.

Now, Kenny did make me uncomfortable. Especially with his steep change in emotions, like saying, "Race ya!" after violently killing someone Clementine was close to. Like, I understand why, but still.

Finally, Wellington. Kenny's last good deed. He does what's best for Clementine and AJ without giving Clementine shit about it. He helped her get there and seemed genuinely happy to make sure they'd be safe. That's one reason...I still kinda like this guy!

But damn, Clementine has to watch another person she trusted and felt like watched over her disappear. That is very bitter, slightly sweet. I hope they have apples at Wellington.

#twdg season 2 #twdg #twdg spoilers #twdg Jane #twdg kenny #twdg arvo #2x4plank essay post #twdg clementine #twdg sarah #twdg carver

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

something i love about your aus is how (almost) every character has a bad ending/fate for them

alt mark, alt thatcher, alt jonah, and alt cesar are doomed to an eternity of suffering. cesars mom was crucified, sarah got a chunk of concrete slammed into the back of her head, seth is all alone after finally getting close to people he considered his family.

prophet adam lives with crippling anxiety that the parasite will decide to come out and kill everyone he cares about, just like it did to jonah. thatcher's parasite breaks his bones, practically mangling him every time it comes out. evelin lost herself(?), becoming one with her parasite.

im not educated about the lab rats au so ill avoid commenting on it

guest mark is part of a house he hates, nobody listened when he said something was up with it, not even his own best friend. cesar is stuck all alone in the reflection of a mirror. guest jonah cant move at all, completely stuck in a wall. guest adam can move, but he cant ever leave.

spirit cesar literally got erased from existence by his best friend. shadow mark has to live with the guilt of that.

the characters lives get absolutely wrecked in ways that could never happen in reality but you write their reactions so realistically that it feels natural. their pain and grief and trauma are so realistic that its easy to have sympathy for them, even alt mark. alt mark is an absolute asshole but i think anyone would be if given his fate.

you can see how the characters got in the messes they did. its easy to be like "oh, theyre so dumb, i would never get myself in a mess like that" but you write the characters so realistically that it doesnt feel like a silly horror movie.

something that really stuck with me is the part in the alt au prologue fic where mark runs upstairs and quickly realizes he made a mistake just like so many characters in horror movies did. that detail made it feel so much more real.

GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THANK YOUUU I LOVE THIS ANALYSIS /GEN

AND YEAH. I want to make it clear that. these characters are. well. human. at least in how they act and react. No one is perfect, with even the most moral and understanding characters having flaws that can lead to bad things happening, or simply being doomed to begin with. Even the villains have motive, and aren't your typical cocky, one note evil bad guys who just want pain on people for no reason.

These characters get bad endings not because of who they are or just for fun. but because in that scenario. A good ending would be. bittersweet at best. And the most likely scenario, taking into consideration the characters and how they act can be. bad.

For example, the alt au has that ending because of the fact that Mark refuses to let go of the past. the bad ending is his fault, and not because he's a one note villain but because he's just. unable to come to terms with what he is and the circumstances of his "death."

The MP Au gets that ending due to Adam's lust for knowledge he shouldn't have, and he is suffering the consequences for it. Not only he drags himself into damnation, but everyone around him as well. All because he was too focused on his own goals to care about those around him.

The HSH au ends up there due to cruel circumstances. Home used Mark and Cesar's poor friendship to its advantage to make them drift apart, feeding off of their negative feelings towards each other. Were either of them in the wrong? no. but neither of them were in the right either.

The only au I can say has a pretty good ending is the lab au, where the patients eventually escape. but. it's not all sunshine and rainbows cause. the damage had already been done. they can't magically reverse the mutations or mental fuckery they've gone under. They're like that for the rest of their lives, but. they're free. Bittersweet, really.

But yeah, the point is. the MAIN goal with these characters is to be. realistic. No one has magic plot armor where no harm can be done to them, no one is the perfect person who can easily be framed as the hero, no one is necessarily absolute pure evil as they have their own motivations and in some cases believe what they're doing is right. They're people. And their actions lead to scenarios that sometimes lead to horrible endings. It all depends really.

#asks are neat #tmc alternate au #mandela prophet #tmc labrats au #tmc home sweet home au #ahem. whoopsies!! sorry for uh. rambling for a bit. #But YEAHHH I. legit love more analytical comments on my stuff its so cool. #You put it really well. #I also just love. messing with these characters and making it clear that. no ones perfect. #Even the best person in these stories has flaws. #Cause. come on. a protagonist without flaws is just. a piece of white bread. dull. basic. and not worth raving about.

[eoieopda]

Jade unnie, don’t kill me, but can you do “What Sarah Said” by Death Cab for Cutie with darksided!Yoongi? (I know, I know, I’m a monster but I feel like you can make something so haunting and beautiful with this!)

oh my gooooooood. how could you? ☠️ i love this song but FUCK. okay okay okay. this one may be shorter than others given the whole thing??

Darksided AU Masterlist

listen here

cw: ANGST, hospital, OC is terminally ill (brief reference but no detailed description or specific illness mentioned), discussion of death, just the saddest shit (but nobody dies in this story fwiw)

but i’m thinking about what sarah said / that love is watching someone die / so who’s gonna watch you die?

Nobody says the quiet part out loud.

When you stand in front of all your friends and promise to be with someone in sickness and in health, you don’t comprehend the former. It’s a hypothetical, statistically inevitable but impossible to fathom; and you’ll turn a blind eye to it for as long as you can. A promise you can’t feel the weight of until it’s sitting heavy on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees.

How fitting that his very first promise to you came the same way.

When Yoongi made his vows, he meant them. And when he said til death do us part, he said it with his eyes locked on yours; with his entire chest. All he ever wanted was to spend the rest of his life tied to you, loving you, growing with you.

It all seemed so simple back then, looking at you in that white dress.

It didn’t dawn on him until now that, sooner or later, the bill comes due. When you reach the last stop, one person has to get off first. Someone has to live a life built jointly, alone.

Yoongi didn’t know how to do that.

Sitting now at your bedside, your cold hand rested in his. You were smiling, though it burned up all your energy to do so. It was blinding and all-consuming, even under harsh fluorescents. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the cannula resting just above the curve of your lips.

This was the first time Yoongi had ever wanted to avert his eyes from you, and the realization made him feel sick. You had no business in a place like this and he couldn’t accept your presence here.

Effervescent. Magnetic, though that pull was steadily getting weaker.

He knew, of course, that the version of you in front of him was the same person he’d slept next to every single night for years. You were every perfect memory, locked in his heart forever. Laughing, crying, cooking, dancing, sitting quietly on the couch.

You, laying there now at half your weight, were the same person who loved him completely - even in his worst condition. The one who unknowingly helped him repair every cracked and dented piece of himself. Who had never once dropped him, scuffed him, shattered him.

He knew all of this - really, he did - but as he searched your face now, he couldn’t find you.

You were lightning in a bottle; and these sterile walls and muted, linoleum tiles didn’t reflect the way you inherently glowed. To the contrary, they absorbed it, took it hostage. They swallowed it whole and now Yoongi was sitting cold in the dark.

But he wore a black suit; slid that ring on your trembling, once-warm finger; and vowed to hold your hand for as long as you both shall live. Yoongi bore witness to your life. Now, he was going to have to watch you die.

And when it was his turn at the end of the line, he’d follow you into the dark.

#jade’s drabbles #jade’s requests #1k drabblepalooza #anon #bts #bts army #bts suga #bts yoongi #myg #bts angst #yoongi angst #bts drabble #bts imagine #bts scenarios #min yoongi #yoongi drabble #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x reader #min yoongi drabble #bts min yoongi #bts min suga #death mention tw #illness tw #yoongi imagine #yoongi scenarios #suga imagine #suga drabble #suga angst #re: darksided

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

SARAH MCCAMMON, HOST:

Stephanie Foo grew up in California, the only child of immigrants who abused her for years and then abandoned her as a teenager. As an adult, Foo seemed to thrive. She graduated from college, landed a job at "This American Life," became an award-winning radio producer, was dating a lovely man, but she was also struggling. Years of trauma and violent abuse as a child had left her with a diagnosis - complex PTSD, a little-studied condition that Foo was determined to understand. The result is her new memoir, "What My Bones Know." And Stephanie Foo joins us now from New York City. Hello.

STEPHANIE FOO: Hi. Thank you so much for having me today.

MCCAMMON: I want to start with your diagnosis, because listeners have likely heard of post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. But how is complex PTSD different?

FOO: Right. So you can get traditional PTSD from a single traumatic event, like, say, you were hit by a car. Complex PTSD is kind of like if you were hit by that car every week for years. It manifested in my life as anxiety, as depression. The difference between PTSD and complex PTSD is that complex PTSD sort of has the potential to have a constant fear sort of churning underneath the surface. And I think it always had me on edge, hypervigilant, made it really hard for me to trust people - and to sort of bury that with intense workaholism, drinking a lot, partying a lot, that kind of thing.

MCCAMMON: Something you come back to a lot in your memoir is the idea of inherited trauma. So I'm wondering if you could talk about your parents' histories a little bit and your family's immigration from Malaysia and how that shaped your childhood.

FOO: I think my parents being recent immigrants gave them fewer resources in some ways. We didn't have access to a lot of family. And my parents, I think, were pretty alone and isolated in their ability to take care of me and in terms of having other people be able to take care of them and the mental illnesses that they suffered from. My parents came from lines of - where their parents had suffered immense traumas. My grandparents and my great-grandparents suffered through World War II. They suffered from the Malayan Emergency. My grandfather was imprisoned by the British during the Malayan Emergency for five years. And when he got out of prison, he lost all of his teeth somehow, and he never talked about it. You know, there were real consequences to that culturally, in terms of the way that they were raised, but even more so in their literal DNA.

MCCAMMON: Yeah, that was one thing that really struck me. I mean, you did some research into how trauma literally can change our genes and how that gets passed down. I mean, what did you learn about how that works?

FOO: Well, there's a couple of really fascinating studies about how our genes can change by what we endure. There's one really famous one where scientists exposed rats to the smell of cherry blossoms and then shocked them. And so these rats came to associate the smell of cherry blossoms with shocks, with fear. And their offspring and then their offspring would have panic responses every time they smelled cherry blossoms, even if they had never been shocked before. So what happens is the epigenome is sort of a layer on top of our DNA that kind of decides what genes get turned off and on. And experiencing trauma can change that epigenome.

MCCAMMON: I want to talk about your therapist, Dr. Ham. He is basically my favorite person in this book.

FOO: (Laughter).

MCCAMMON: How did you find him? And, in short, how did he help you?

FOO: I found him in a very radio producer-y (ph) way. I found him through listening to a podcast (laughter). He was talking about complex PTSD as, like, being the Incredible Hulk, right? Because the Incredible Hulk was actually abused as a kid. His father was an alcoholic, and now he had a hard time controlling his emotions when he was angry. He would sort of literally not be able to speak well, and he would just focus on surviving. And that is exactly what having complex PTSD is like. But the Hulk is not a villain. The Hulk is a hero. And so I needed to know more about that. And so I went to interview him, and he started interviewing me in the middle of me interviewing him. And eventually, he asked me if he could treat me, and I agreed.

MCCAMMON: And you approached this in a very radio producer-y way.

FOO: Yeah.

MCCAMMON: I mean, you have all of your tapes of your sessions with him, right?

FOO: Correct. And after we got done with a session, I would immediately go to the cafe downstairs, and I would upload all of my audio and transcribe it and put it in a Google doc, as you are very familiar with.

MCCAMMON: All too familiar.

FOO: And then we would edit it. And it was like we were editing my trauma out of the scripts. There was a point at which - after our actual first session, I saw, like, a whole page of me ranting about, like, my husband's job, which seemed completely out of left field. And I commented, what is going on here? Where am I? And he said, ah, you are dissociated because you are triggered. And I was like, what triggered me? Why am I dissociated? And I scrolled up. And right before that rant, I had talked about my mom holding a knife to my neck. And I turned off my emotions and my brain to access that, and I needed to disappear in some way to say that. And I got lost on the way. And so that was so helpful for me to just understand, with true journalistic objectivity, I guess, what was happening in my brain.

MCCAMMON: I'm really curious, though. You know, in writing this book and even now in talking about it, you have to go revisit a lot of those traumas again. You're talking about them right now. You're thinking about them. You're writing about them. I mean, how was that? How is that?

FOO: Yeah, dissociation, baby. That's what allows me to be talking to you and saying these things to you right now. And I think the other thing, too, is that I really did prioritize healing before I focused on writing. So writing itself was not the catharsis. Healing was the catharsis. It made me feel like I just wanted to share what I had learned. It was coming from a place of hope, and I wanted to write something that would help other people feel hopeful to. And I don't think that you ever totally heal from complex PTSD. It's sort of something that you carry with you all the time. But I feel like if the burden, the weight of complex PTSD, is like a pack on my back, then the process of healing has made me stronger. Does that mean, of course, that sometimes the pack gets really, really heavy and I need to sit down and take a break and cry a little bit and figure some new stuff out? Of course. Of course. That's what life is. But now I feel like I can hold the sadness and the anger and the joy all together.

MCCAMMON: Stephanie Foo's memoir is "What My Bones Know." Thank you so much for talking with us.

FOO: Thank you so much for having me. I really appreciate this opportunity to shed some light on complex PTSD.

Copyright © 2022 NPR. All rights reserved. Visit our website terms of use and permissions pages at www.npr.org for further information.

#Stephanie Foo #What My Bones Know #complex PTSD #child abuse #psychology #interview

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Sicktember #8

Prompt: Persistent Fever

Fandom/OCs: Cowboy ‘verse OCs (Aaron and Katy)

Words: 1900

Sicknario inspo: Checking for a fever post illness from this post, finding your love sick in bed from this post, patient reassuring caregiver from this post, and sick physically imposing character from this post.

Author’s comments/background: I just love these two so much, and it makes me sad to realize I haven't written them since last Sicktember (check out their first fic here). This would be a perfect fic for a "married people shenanigans" tag. They're crazy about each other, and I love writing about couples who are crazy about each other, if you haven't noticed. Would love to get more prompts for the two of them, hint hint.

Fun fact: I believe this is the only fic where I didn’t use the prompt somewhere in it verbatim. 

~~~***~~~

Aaron was kneeling in front of the stove, filling it with wood before bed, when he sensed Katy behind him. Guessing what was coming he paused, and sure enough, her small hand was suddenly pressed against his forehead. He frowned almost imperceptibly.

"I'm gonna feel hot, darlin'. I was jest choppin' wood. 'M all sweaty."

"I know, and I wish yeh wouldn't'a done that with how much ya been shakin'. I coulda done it."

He sat back on his heels and turned to look up at her, the frown deepening. "I'll never 'llow ya ta be choppin' wood while I'm home and able ta stand," he said firmly. "I ain't so sick anymore. Ya don't need ta worry 'bout me so much."

"I'm entitled ta worry if I please. I never saw ya sick like yeh were at first, sweatin' and shakin' and cryin' out. And then ya fall down outta nowhere like ya were dead the first day ya try ta get outta bed, burnin' up like ya were holdin' yer face in the fire. I've had my share of worry these last weeks, so I'm keepin' an eye on ya until further notice, buster."

"It was the second day I was outta bed," Aaron muttered.

"Even more reason, then. Yeh've caught yerself a damn stubborn fever, and I'm not takin' any chances until it's done and gone."

Aaron sighed. "Yer the boss, sugar, like I always say." He brushed his hand near his temple. "My head's still sore from fallin' anyway. I ain't keen ta have it happen again."

"I bet it is." Katy kissed the sore lump on his head tenderly. "Which is why ya need ta take it easy." She ran a hand over her braid distractedly. "I wish I wasn't leaving ya alone tomorrow. But Auntie Sarah's bound 'n determined to go into town tomorrow, and she won't go alone…."

Aaron carefully stood as she spoke, his sense of balance not yet fully returned since his illness, but when he was steady he tilted up her chin with a gentle touch, smoothing away the worry line between her brows with the pad of his thumb. "Quit yer worryin'," he murmured. "I'll be jest fine. Nothin's gonna happen, and yeh'll be back home before ya know it."

"I hope yer right," she sighed. "I don't like goin' ta town as is, an' this jest makes it worse. Tomorrow can't be done soon enough."

~~~

Aaron and Katy were up before the sun the next morning, neither in the mood for much talk. Aaron went out to do the morning chores (since that was the only thing Katy was allowing him to do currently) while his wife got ready for town. He finished the chores just as she finished dressing and primping. Katy watched through the bedroom window as her husband shuffled his way from the barn to the house, already (or still?) looking exhausted. She bit her lip in worry as she yet again noted how pale he still was, and how the deep circles under his eyes had yet to start fading. Despite what he said, he still wasn't himself, and she was at a loss of what to do. 

He made a point to put on a warm smile as soon as he came in the door, and she saw pride and admiration in his gaze as he took in her "dressing up" attire.

"Yeh look mighty fine, Miz Rivard," he murmured, pulling her into his arms and kissing her. 

She pulled away with a giggle. "Leave off, now. Yer gonna muss my dress, an' I jest pressed it," she said, though she flushed and smiled at his earnest praise. 

They both turned to the door just then as they heard Aunt Sarah's wagon roll up and come to a stop. Then they looked back at one another, worry puckering Katy's forehead yet again. 

"Ya be safe now, ya hear?" she murmured. "Don't do nothin' ta exert yerself too much. Ya cain't keel over while I'm not here, or I'll take a switch to ya."

"Don't be threatenin' me with a good time, now," he said, raising an eyebrow rakishly.  Then he laughed when she laughed. "I'll behave, I promise. Think I'll take a lil' lie-down this mornin', then I'll prob'ly dig up yer garden fer winter. I'll take it easy, though, don't ya worry none, my Katydid." 

"Okay," she sighed. 

They both jumped as Aunt Sarah began to holler for Katy, then shared a last smile.

"Behave yerself," Aaron murmured, pressing a handful of money into her palm. "And come home safe. I'll be waitin' up fer ya."

She reached up on tiptoes to press her lips to his forehead. "Take care o' yerself. I'll be back as soon as I can." With a wave, she flew out the door, hollering back to her aunt in greeting. 

Aaron watched wistfully, making sure they got off alright, then wasted no time in shuffling his way back to the bedroom, yawning wearily. 

~~~

It was just past dark when Aunt Sarah dropped Katy off after a successful day of errands. Katy nearly flew to the house once her aunt was out of sight, but she paused on the stoop, for the windows were dark and not a soul was in sight. She glanced at the garden and found it untouched from that morning. What else would Aaron have gotten up to that day if he couldn't get to the vegetables? She hurried to check the barn just in case, but it was quiet and dark, just like the house. 

She ran back to the house now, panic fluttering in her chest, expecting to find her man collapsed on the ground at any moment. 

"I jest knew shoulda had Andrew check on ‘im," she fretted to herself. "What a fool I am. I shoulda never left ‘im alone."

There was no sign of him in the main rooms, and everything looked exactly as it had when she left that morning. She flew to the bedroom, yanking open the door, then breathed a sigh of relief upon finding her husband safe in bed, wrapped in the coverlet and snoring, the moonlight casting the scene in sharp relief. 

She took several deep breaths to calm herself, knowing he would tease her mercilessly if he knew how worked up she'd been. Though she had a right to tease him right back after seeing all this. He'd promised to wait up for her and had fallen asleep before dark like a tired child instead. 

She moved around him quietly, changing into her night dress and brushing her hair for bed, but he didn't stir until she brought a candle to her nightstand so it shone directly in his face. She surveyed him at last as he stirred and mumbled and her heart plummeted again, because she didn't like what she saw at all. The hectic flush of an angry fever covered his cheeks, and the sweaty, tousled hair and blankets indicated that he hadn't left the bed for several hours. 

"Katy," he croaked, his eyes flickering open weakly. 

"Oh ya poor thing," she sighed, reaching out to brush the hair away from his forehead. 

" 'm not feelin' so good again all of a sudden," he mumbled, letting his eyes slip closed under her touch. 

"I cain see that. When'd it start?"

He thought for a minute. "S'pose it was right after ya left. Haven't had the gumption to get outta bed all day. Feelin' weak as water, jest bin sleepin' and sweatin' or shiverin'."

"It's a damn stubborn fever that yeh've caught, an' no mistake." She sighed again. "Alright, jest wait here while I fetch the basin, then."

"I ain't goin' nowhere. Don't think I'm much up to runnin' away jest now," came the weak, teasing response. 

Glancing over her shoulder, Katy saw the old, familiar twinkle in her husband's eyes, faint though it was under fever-shine, and the dimple in his cheek was flickering. Whenever he smiled like that, she couldn't help but smile back.

They passed the next stretch of time in silence as she bathed his face, underarms, neck and chest with cold water, trying to give him any relief from the heat raging beneath his skin. Katy was less worried this time than formerly, though, since he was fully lucid and even somewhat relaxed, just uncomfortable and sick where he had been delirious and restless before. He so rarely got to spend so much time at home, and when he was home he was rushing around to take care of things before he had to leave again, so this rare chance to simply rest and enjoy his company was a treat she was doing her best to savor.

 He had thrown off most of the blanket and she let herself get lost in momentary admiration. His long, lean legs, stretching nearly to the end of the bed, muscled and toned from a life spent on horseback; the various shades of tanning across his skin from years in the sun; the planes of his abdomen and chest and shoulders, smooth skin over rounded muscle, flexing and shifting each time he moved. Even feverish and miserable, he was beautiful, and his beauty distracted her from her worry. 

Eventually the water became too warm to do further good, but by then Aaron seemed marginally cooler and was resting more comfortably, so she set the basin aside. The sick man said he needed nothing further, so his wife at last slipped into bed beside him. He tugged her closer then, shifting to lie his head in her lap with a contented sigh. She began to trail her fingers up and down his back and neck and through his usually close-cropped hair. 

"We need ta give ya a haircut. Ya bin so sick that I ain't had the chance," she murmured, exploring the unfamiliar length around his ears.

"Mm," he hummed, too close to sleep for a true answer. In that same moment a chill wracked him, and he moaned softly as he shivered and shifted in discomfort.

Katy bit her tongue to keep from expressing her worry, but she couldn't keep a sigh from escaping as she pulled the coverlet over him once more. Out of nowhere his hand reached up, even despite the awkward angle, and he smoothed the worry line between her brows with the pad of his thumb.

"Quit yer worryin'," he murmured. "I'll be jest fine. Tried doin' too much the last few days. If I rest like ya bin tellin' me all along, I'll be good as new in a day or two."

She grabbed his hand and clasped it to her chest. "I jest need ya ta be well," she whispered. "I hate seein' ya so sick fer so long. My heart cain't take it."

His low chuckle was a soft rumble against her. "My soft-hearted woman. What would I do without ya. Ain't no way I cain stay under the weather for long with the good care ya bin givin' me."

"That better be a promise," Katy said, kissing his hand. 

"It's a promise, sugar," he murmured as he once again drifted toward sleep.

#sicktember 2023 #skt 2023 #prompt 8 #cowboy 'verse ocs

[barbiewritesstuff]

Can I request a part 2 to Tattoos and  miracles like a announcement to the crew and birth maybe? I just want to know what happens next🙏🙏🙏🙏♥️

Tattoos and Miracles

-- I'm going to need you guys to ignore the blatant inaccuracies in this fic. I know nothing about birth except from what I learnt from my Call The Midwife obsession, and even then I decided to ignore everything I managed to remember. I hope you still enjoy this though 

Tw. Childbirth, gendered language

Taglist: @mavswife @unsurebuttrying @dempy @peaches-1999 --

Pregnancy suited you well, you thought. Your skin glowed, you hair was soft and healthy  

The day you had found out had not been a hint of what was to come, as you had rarely been ill during the previous months. And outside of back pain and feeling tired like never before, the journey to parenthood had been fairly smooth.  

For you. 

Jake had been out of his mind with worry since the start. After your first appointment he had gone to a whole new level of protectiveness. It didn’t affect you much, he never stopped you from doing anything. Jake believed you would never do anything to hurt the baby and let you do what you thought was best. But with other people, he had become permanently vigilant, ready to jump at their throat if they ever threatened your happiness. 

You had accidentally run into your parents in town and Jake had almost beaten your father to a metaphorical pulp when he had asked « You carrying twins then ? » in a purposefully mocking tone. You had felt your husband tense up, ball his fists and seen his nostrils flare before the words had even come out of his mouth and you had had to gently pet his arm to calm him down. 

« I don’t want to tell you what to do, Honey » He had said back in the car « But every time we see them, they end up hurting you. I don’t want to think it’s on purpose but there have been too many strikes against them. If it’s okay with you, baby, I think we should cut contact » 

You had appreciated the tact he had used to phrase his request and deep down you knew you agreed. Still, even though your family had been of no help at all, the prospect of facing pregnancy and birth alone terrified you. Church became your weekly respite from worries (« What if baby is breach ? » « What if we don’t get to the hospital on time ? » « What if I can’t do it without an epidural ? » etc.) and that is where, at around your five month mark, you had met Sarah Kazinsky.  

You had met her briefly before at a bake sale but time hadn’t been on your side and you never really got past superficial small talk. You had heard via Jake that she had lost her husband, and you had dropped off a casserole after the funeral but you doubted she even remembered, if you had lost Jake you would certainly never be able to remember anyone else again. 

You had been surprised when she knelt next to you while you recited your prayers, and even more when she invited you over for tea. But you were grateful. Sarah was lovely and very kind. She had become a very dear friend and mentor and a stellar confidante. Sarah Kazinsky had, in the last four months of your pregnancy, become like a mother to you. She called weekly to check up on you, let you borrow books and invited you over to dinner every week.  

She was truly a calming presence in your life. 

 

Jake was terrified.  

Sarah had taken him to the side after church one day and asked him about his plans to take leave after the baby was born. Jake had already filled in the paperwork and sent it off to Cyclone but Sarah had reminded him, with a sympathetic hand on his arm, that it would probably be better if he told the team. They had flown with him through a dangerous mission and as much as Jake resisted their support, they would be worried if he just left one day and didn’t come back for the month he had taken off.  

He had agreed and promised to do it, but it was easier said than done. Or rather, it was easier said than done for everyone but Maverick.  

For Mav, it had been as easy as picking up the phone while you were still barely showing. 

« Maverick ? » 

« Hmm » 

« Am I on speakerphone ? » 

He heard Maverick fumble with the phone  

« Not anymore, everything okay ? » 

« I’m going to be a dad » 

Jake hadn’t meant to cry, but the emotions and the 10 years of waiting for something that was finally going to arrive overwhelmed him and Maverick had to listen to him sob for ten minutes before Jake had calmed down enough to be able to thank him for support.  

But this was a different story. Realistically, he knew the team wouldn’t hurt you. At least not on purpose. Phoenix would be diplomatic and Payback would be too but Fanboy and Rooster could sometimes make deadpan jokes that would sound offensive if anyone didn’t know them beforehand. Coyote could go either way and Bob would probably just stay quiet.  

He also didn’t really want to introduce you. You were his happy place, his heaven on earth. He intended to keep you and the happiness you brought him very far away from the death and danger that surrounded his job.  

But Sarah was right, he needed to tell them. And he tried, he tried to just come out and say it a few times only for his voice to fail him. Or just send a text in the group chat but his fingers wouldn’t type. He was stumped. 

 

 

Dogfight football had become the team’s favourite activity and Maverick had called them on a Saturday a few days before your due date to play a game or two. It was precarious, and Jake had been reluctant to leave your side. Eventually he had relented, provided Sarah spent the day with you and you had him on speed dial in case anything happened. 

For once in his life, Maverick had actually planned this. Jake had called in a panic a few weeks before asking how he should tell the team. Mav had provided the idea, and then the occasion. And he would even provide refreshments afterwards. 

He whistled to indicate the start of the game, and watched it all unfold. 

« I swear your tattoo looked different last time » Coyote said and Jake clamped up. This was exactly how this was supposed to go and yet he couldn’t stop the uncomfortable feeling in his chest from growing. He stepped out of the game for a second to sit next to Maverick 

« I don’t think I can do this » 

« It’ll be fine, you need to relax » Mav said and Jake looked at him with an expression that clearly conveyed he had never been relaxed in his entire life.  

« Just breathe and let it unfold » He pat Jake’s back. Jake watched Rooster break apart from the pack and walk towards them. He stopped a few feet in front of them to look at the scene. 

« Well aren’t you two just chummy »  

Bradshaw sat down on a large towel.  

With two players down the teams stopped playing rapidly and joined them all on beach towels 

« No, seriously look at the tatoo. I swear you’ve done something to it » Coyote said 

« Yeah… Didn’t it use to just say Y/n » Phoenix added, leaning in close and making him feel very comfortable 

« It’s nothing –« Jake said, his hand instinctively moving to cover it 

« Congratulations. When is she due ? » Bob asked and the penny fell for everyone else. Silence reigned as Jake struggled to stay calm. 

« Please say something » He begged in a quiet voice 

« It’s just – we didn’t expect that. You’ve never liked kids… » Phoenix said

« I like kids » He replied, his voice weak and shakey

« You never wanted to hear about kids, or see any pictures, and you’d leave whenever we spoke of them » 

« Nat stop » Bob spoke again 

« She’s due in a week »  Jake said, looking at Bob

« Do you know the gender ? » Phoenix asked

« We don’t want to find out. We just want them to be happy and healthy" he smiled. 

Seeing him smile seemingly relaxed the entire team. The chill atmosphere wouldn't last, however, as Maverick soon tapped him on the shoulder.

"Jake, it's Sarah" 

That could mean two things: you were hurt, or it was go time.

The contractions progressed quickly. Sarah was trying to get a hold of Jake to no avail.

A wave of pain washed over you and you prayed for a fast delivery. You had hoped for an unmedicated birth, but if it kept up like this, you weren't sure you would be able to go through with it.

Another wave came and went and you gripped the table you had been holding on to a little harder. Your knuckles turned white. 

"Deep breaths sweetheart, we'll get to him" Sarah rubbed your back and you groaned. 

But Jake wasn't answering fast enough, your prayers for a fast delivery had been answered, perhaps to your chagrin. Sarah ushered you to the car once your contractions were close enough apart that you had no choice but to go. 

She drove fast, trying to buy herself some time to call Maverick. Sarah knew the two men were together and if Jake was out with friends playing ball like you had explained then there was a large chance Pete Mitchell would be closer to his phone than your husband. She stepped out into the maternity ward's corridor and dialed Mav's number. He picked up on the first ring. 

Deep breath in.

Hold.

Push. 

"Just a little more" the nurse coaxed

"Is he here?" You asked, voice strained and tense as you tried to catch your breath. Another contraction was coming up and you readied yourself.

"Maverick says he's in the building" 

Maverick and Jake had all but raced to the car after Sarah's first phone call and Mav had kept her updated since. His latest text had informed her that Jake was at reception trying to find out your room number.

"Time for another push" 

Deep breath in.

Hold.

Push.

"Baby's crowning" the nurse announced.

The door burst open to reveal Jake, haphazardly dressed, his shirt lopsided and his belt badly fastened around his trousers.

"Just a few more pushes, Mrs Seresin"

Jake raced to your side and grabbed your hand

Deep breath in.

Hold.

Push. 

The nurse had been wrong.

Infant cries filled the room as your baby came into the world. It was a little boy, so tiny and perfect. The nurse allowed you to hold him for a few seconds before taking him away for tests. Finally, labour was done. You could relax.

"Take a few deep breaths, you're almost ready to push for the second one"

"Excuse me?"

"Second one?"

"Yes… did you not know?"

You wanted to ask her if these were truly the faces of people who expected to go home with twins but the familiar pain of contractions started again.

"Ready?"

You nodded. 

Deep breath in.

Hold it.

Push.

"Almost there!"

Deep breath in.

Hold it.

Push.

Cries filled the room again.

It was a girl this time. Just as tiny and perfect as her brother. You had time for a gentle kiss on her forehead before she too was whisked away by the nurse.

You couldn't hold it in anymore and tears began falling down your cheeks. Jake held you and kissed your forehead

"You did so well baby" He whispered

The nurse came back and placed both babies on your chest. 

Sarah snapped a picture of you holding your miracles with Jake leaning close to stroke their cheek. You looked at your husband and he looked at you, both with tear stained cheeks.

Your miracles had arrived. You were happy.

#fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun x reader #fanfiction #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #original fic #jake seresin #hangman top gun

[phoenixwatchesmovies]

What I'm Watching: February 2024

How we doing, folks? Didn't do much between Sailor Moon and Cowboy Bebop, but I made the most of it.

Perfect Blue

JDJWIXBEYSIFNEHXOABSUD I LOVE THIS MOVIE SO MUCH! Psychological horror is my favorite kind, and questions of self, sanity, and perception can be so juicy. This movie made me so fucking uncomfortable the first time I watched it that I didn't think I'd be able to sit through it again, and now I love it even more every time. Even outside of the story, it's just an incredible piece of filmmaking. The transitions in the opening scene alone, shifting between Mima's different personas so seamlessly in motion but so jarringly in presentation, could be a short film on their own. But then the rest of the movie is like that. Reality and illusion weave together so tightly that I still can't fully pin down what's what (I think the key is somewhere in the overexposed vs the saturated shots, but I keep forgetting to pay attention to that to make sure). The soundtrack lends itself brilliantly to the uneasiness and anxiety, and even divorced from the context of the movie, I can't bring myself to listen to "Virtual Mima" all the way through. It's too effective. On the other hand, I also can't comfortably listen to "Angel Of Love," thanks to context, but it's a fun pop song if you've never seen the elevator scene. It's impossible to overstate how much heavy lifting the soundtrack is doing. The story itself is simple enough, a young woman having an identity crisis in the spotlight while a stalker targets the people around her, but the way it unfolds is such a mindfuck, it warrants rewatching (and rewatching and rewatching, etc). I've already mentioned the transitions in the opening, and that expands later on into flashbacks, dreams, scenes that seem to be real life but are later revealed as part of the crime drama Mima is filming. It makes it hard to predict what is really going on, right up until the moment before a thing happens and that one tiny clue makes everything else click into place. This is the kind of writing I aspire to. As if that's not enough, the themes of celebrity worship, obsession, exploitation in the entertainment industry, and mental illness, and this movie stays relevant. For all that it takes place during the shift from analog to digital and the early days of the internet, it feels eerily timeless. It's my go-to in conversation about movies: have you seen Perfect Blue?

Labyrinth

If I'd been obsessed with *this* Jim Henson movie instead of The Dark Crystal when I was younger, who knows how it might have changed me as a person. Meh, probably not that much, tbh, since I've always loved stories like this. Which leads me to one of my favorite themes in fiction that I don't really see discussed in regards to this: the stories we tell ourselves. In Sarah's case, her indecisiveness (does she want to be the hero or the villain, and consequently, who does she want Jareth to be?) and unwillingness to lead the story is, ironically, what drives the story. The story she tells herself just happens to her, and she's not responsible for any of it, and it's not fair. A childish mindset, of course, and naturally her arc concerns taking responsibility for herself and learning to balance it with a healthy relationship to fantasy. When put that way, it's even more obvious how important it is that she refuse Jareth and his offer, "Let me rule you, and you can have everything." Stay in this dream world and everything you could ever want or desire is yours forever? A tempting offer for anyone, and Sarah's decision is a.) What finally, truly assigns her the role of the hero, and b.) Pretty wise, considering she's only a teenager. That's all Jareth has to offer, is a dream, and in her own words, "it's all junk." And speaking of Jareth... It's probably for the best I didn't grow up with fear me, love me, etc in my system, because it's done enough of a number on me as it is. What else to say? He's David fricken Bowie, what more do you need to say? This also applies to the music, just so we're clear (and that goes double for "Chilly Down"). And for the rest, it's Jim fricken Henson!

Mrs Brown's Boys

And that's basically the series so far in a nutshell. It kinda reminds me of The Carol Burnett Show, if there were episodic plot lines instead of sketch comedy and they'd been allowed to swear. I think that's mostly to do with the fourth wall and/or character breaks throughout, the former of which happens frequently enough to be a running gag but not so often it becomes a gimmick, and the latter is always fun no matter what you're watching.

Wolf Creek 2

So, if you start playing franchise bingo with slasher movies, you notice the villains themselves fall into two categories: they either don't talk and they're boring/only there to be indestructible killing machines, or they do talk and they're the absolute worst/will kill you for sure but will have so much fun doing it. (This excludes Terrifier, which is an outlier adn should not be counted.) And you can guess which category Mick Taylor falls into. I posted a few thoughts while watching this one, and I think overall, I dig it. The flashier action bits are to be expected, given that sequels tend to take the bigger-is-better approach, but other than that? Consistent as hell from the first one. Tense, graphic, and mean-spirited, with gorgeous cinematography, protagonists you can root for, and a villain who is both just fucking AWFUL and charismatic enough to make you question your judgement. And apparently there's a series???

#watch a thon 2024 #perfect blue #labyrinth #mrs brown's boys #wolf creek 2