#jackson drabble

[swtheartz]

absolutely obsessed with healer!reader rn because while healing is seen as something so pure and beautiful—you’re such a dick. more akin to an exhausted office worker on a 9 to 5 (though you schedule is much worse, and twice as grueling), and running off of three cups of expensive coffee and grumbling your answer.

girl boss in high heels?? no. sleep deprived asshole in combat boots that will kick someone’s teeth in, heal them, then do it again.

and some freak on your team that gushes over you and secretly crushes some villain that tried to kill you while you’re not looking, and tells you to ignore the blood on their suit before going back to harassing you. you hate his guts meanwhile he has to hide in the bathroom and jerk off to try and get some energy out of his system to try and behave himself around you.

i’m on my monthly no one say anything to me rn.

[huntingrays]

pjo prompt: percy and jason have to go on a quest together, so they both decide to bring their respective partners (annabeth and leo). during the quest, they get kidnapped by monsters and percy and jason wake up in an arena. the monsters explain that they have their partners and in order to save them, they have to fight to the death, with the winner getting to leave alive with their partner, while the other is killed. however, the monsters are very shocked when percy and jason sit down and start calmly playing cards with each other. they’re not worried about their partners. instead, they’re worried for the monsters. they trapped annabeth and leo together, two of the smartest demigods. the girl who redesigned olympus and the boy who built a warship in six months. they were toast.

[lilyinmysoul]

Human Thing

JacksonJoel x F!Reader

WC: 5K

Summary: You jerk Joel to sleep. The request was ‘old man’s first time in subspace’ and I hope I did it justice.

Warnings: subby Joel, Joel with internalized conflict about masculinity, smut, handjob, vivid description of bodily fluids, reader is described as having bony fingers, tit sucking, Joel is 56, anxious Joel, soft!dom reader, palming, embarrassed Joel.

Note: This one doesn’t have as much dialogue and instead more internal stuff, but I think it’s pretty detailed so that’s a win. Sub Joel also revives me, so there. I also noticed how much I overuse em dashes, but I can’t really help it.

Either two jobs really wasn’t enough for Joel, or he still felt like he had something to prove. You didn’t ever know why Joel kept piling on more work—first the obligatory patrols and then the repairs. Little maintenance things around town to occupy him; he was never a pipe guy, but he could unclog a sink. He eventually figured out how to get a dishwasher back up and running, but that was about where his luck ended in the realm of plumbing. But where one road ends, another begins—or so, they say—and so he picked back up on his old practice: his carpentry expertise from times long ago. It almost felt like a lifetime had passed since Joel had spent his days in the sun sawing planks and nailing them down, and maybe it had. However distant the memories, he still remembered the craft like the back of his hand, and the nimbleness of his fingers paired with the handiness of his technique returned as if they had never been gone.

It didn’t take long before Joel was out twice as often, fixing a cupping floor or replacing a bad beam in a roof. The town needed that: helpers. People to be there when you need them, to play their roles and keep things running—and maybe that’s why Joel fell into it so much. It was all he’d ever done. Maybe he really did love that, or maybe he was just still running. Maybe he never stopped. Not when he met Ellie, not when he came to Jackson, and apparently not when he met you. He still had a mighty mind full of buzzing memories—more hurt than life, it sometimes seemed. But that felt like an awful heavy reality to accept. Something you can only come to terms with when you really have to face it, and you don’t want to think about the kind of pain in your cowboy’s heart when you aren’t there to subdue it.

The man seemed very fascinated again by his tools, by the saws in the stables. Joel was a patrolman, and Tommy was surprised to see his brother asking around for more work. It was strange, but that’s not something you deny—so, then, Joel had two jobs. He was building again, helping to cram more new homes into the edge of town, fixing pre-existing ones or doing repairs on shops. It was quite the feat, you imagined, and it showed as Joel began coming home every day with an even more furrowed brow than usual, shirt soaked through with even more sweat. Whenever you’d ask, though, it always sounded the same: I’m alright… I feel fine, even as exhaustion took over his mind and his eyelids drooped like overripe berries.

Joel had always been depended on. He liked that. To provide was to show love in a way that he was comfortable with. It was really the only way he knew how to give his affection, but also to prove his worth. He was strong then—working day in and out to build a shed for a client—and he was strong now—laying the bricks of an old and crumbling house on his own time. He felt a little accomplishment after each, even though he had assumed the belief that fixing things was his duty. Either way, he admits to himself that deep down, he would appreciate some thanks, some congratulation. He usually received none.

Sarah was gone—long gone—and little brother didn’t need him anymore. He’d spent years protecting Tommy amidst a new world with horrifying conditions, and then there was Tess; she always left it upon him to do something, to finish a task, and for Ellie, he had to protect. If he had one job back then, it was to keep that girl alive—but of that responsibility he had long since been dismissed.

He frustrated himself with it sometimes. The desire to get shit done. It was all that his life had allowed him to know, and something he had no choice but to lean into. So, he lets the work pile on. If anything, he pursues it. Being of use, strong, of value… that’s what Joel wants to be. He assured himself of it.

Joel’s shoulders have always beared a certain weight. A tiredness upon them that could only be related to the sheer volume of effort he put into every little thing. A man who tried so hard was a gift, but he would surely work himself to the bone and you worried that you would just never understand it. Accomplishing, building… was he fulfilled by it, or had he spent so long having been expected to do it that it became his nature? Why did he feel so pressured into service—was it tradition or habit? The more it crept into his brain, the harder his mind pushed back, refusing to let himself contemplate. He was a stubborn man—‘Just how I am, always been,’ he’d say in passing. And from what you knew, he was telling the truth.

The week had kept you busy—Joel more so, as always. It was always one thing after another. The wonders of winter were many, and however much Joel hated the cold, he thanked the freezing months that slowed the wandering of infected. The things would freeze and bury themselves in the snow while coming down the mountains or sticking to frosted rocks, even falling through iced over ponds. This kept any of the extra rot-infested creatures away from the town, but as the snowy hilltops began to melt, the bastards began to thaw, and the price of peace was always paid with increased numbers of infected lingering around the gates. Joel’s patrols have been particularly rough and his arms are always tired from aiming at those things from behind the trees, and gosh, he’s getting older.

It’s certainly scary to Joel. This world—this new world—doesn’t accommodate anyone anymore, let alone those with aching backs and weaker wrists. Even in somewhere as quaint as Jackson, it’s impossible to let go of the knowledge of what happens outside. What beasts pace in humid basements or the kinds of people who roam empty streets. He knows what a clicker will do for flesh and what a raider will do for a bullet or two, and soon enough, he worries that the heavy strength in his arms will no longer suffice, giving way to muscle pains and the kinds of headaches that mess with your eyes.

For a week, you had slipped past each other in the mornings, readying for your day. A kiss on the cheek, a rub on the shoulder, and maybe a whispered ‘are you okay’—not because you believed that there was something the matter with Joel—beside his tendency to bite off more than he could chew—but because it was a subtle reassurance where he had trouble giving them. A small conformation that things were fine, that you were fine, even with a little less time to spend together. As much as you worried about Joel taking on too much, you both had to admit that the town needed him right now—construction was heavily underway in Jackson and security measures were up—so for now, you had to deal, and help out a little extra when it came to dinner and chores.

As much as he loved you and loved holding you close, Joel’s focus had to be elsewhere as of late. He’d been working double running around town from house to house, building fences and replacing broken windows.

If it had been a long day, it was about to get a lot longer if his suspicions were correct. The floor of the empty house had been fixed and polished, and Joel hoped to god that the feeling of odd intuition in his gut was wrong.

Joel walks into the center of the room—slowly—his boots making a low knock against the new wood before a dreaded crunch sounds through the room. You’ve got to be kidding me, he thinks, striding back to the doorway so as not to slump the floor further. It was sinking in just a little and his mind says, goddamnit, I can’t catch a break.

“Shit,” Joel mutters, a stained hand rubbing over his sticky forehead. A day’s worth of work in the sun, and this is what it gets him. Some incompetent prick polished a rotting floor as if that would fix it. It’s like filling a pothole with shaving cream, which makes Joel angry. Tired, too. He wants to go home already, but he isn’t one to mope—or quit.

The man rests an exhausted hand upon his hip, the denim under his fingertips acting as the only thing grounding him while his mind spins frustratedly. He’d have to pull up all of these planks—what a goddamn waste—and then he’d have to replace this decaying beam, and then some. Internally, Joel wishes he could just get a day off, but he knows that if he was offered one, he surely wouldn’t accept it. It was already beginning to get dark and he surmised that the new task at hand would take him a couple of hours at least, so he got to work.

••• ••• •••

When you’re fifty-six, it gets really hard to crouch like you used to. To uproot a shit-ton of floorboards, you have to un-drill each one, and pry it apart through the shiny paste that it had before been coated with. Now, half of the brand new floor was gone from the vacant living room, and his breathing was heavy and deep, his lungs in need of a break and his eyes in need of some rest. Outside, it is dark—almost completely—and Joel runs his fingers through his graying hair that’s a bit damp near his scalp, and decides that this would be one of those rare instances in which he calls it quits. He figures he’d screw it up if he didn’t go get some rest, and so he rubs his dusty hands on the faded denim covering his thighs and lets out his longest sigh in a while.

He looks over his work—not with accomplishment, which was much more rare in the realm of Joel’s mind—but contentment. He could leave this half done because he had more to attend to at home: his girl, for one, whom he had a habit of accidentally disregarding in favor of his work—although, he’d never admit that it was in part due to the secret appreciation he had for her congratulations. He didn’t take compliments—well, or at all—but her recognition flattered him. He liked that she made him work for it.

Languidly, Joel switches off the light that reflects in the bare room, closing the door—which could very well be rotting, too—and leaves, for tonight, his responsibility. His work has been sanctioned off and forgotten for now, and his duty is at home: taking care of the dishes, tidying up the bathroom, and falling into bed with his woman, arms wound around her as he slept, or maybe he could get lucky and make it all up to her. God knows it’s been too long.

As he walks down the old cracking driveway, his steps are weary, yet determined. If you were here, you’d laugh as he told you that even though he had only just left, he was already thinking about when he could get back to work and finish that job. You would pat his shoulder and tell him to take a break, or make some innuendo about needing him at home, and he’d wrap an arm around you. Crickets chirp in his ear as he imagines you and the warmth inside that little home you share.

Joel continues down the road, the gravel crunching under his feet as it waits to be replaced with cement, which would take a damn while if this town didn’t get a move on with all this development. he tells his brain to shut up; pushing the thoughts of work from his mind proved difficult.

Gravel soon gives way to concrete as he begins to near the house. Porch lights illuminate the street, and it’s times like these in this little town that he can begin to forget—for a moment—the world beyond it. What he has now is stable and comfortable. He doesn’t have to fight anymore. When he looks up at the stars, long since cleared of the light that once muted them, his heart holds admiration, rather than fear. There always seems to be a little bit of dread in his heart, a weight in his chest that left an odd anxiety coating his skin. But even so, he was learning to ignore it. Maybe, one day, it would shrink.

Joel crosses the narrow road into his own front yard. He hopes you haven’t gone to sleep yet. He feels fatigued and sore; he hasn’t eaten, and he doesn’t want to—but he wants to see you. And he certainly wouldn’t mind a glass of water.

The wetness of the grass turns the dust on his boots to mud and he kicks them off as he steps up onto the porch. The door is unlocked—you must be awake—and he turns the knob. The homely feeling replaces that of the cold night and the sight of the kitchen—even though it’s empty—warms his heart.

His slow steps cross the room as he shrugs off his jacket, hesitating for a moment before moving to hang it up in the closet. It takes him a few seconds longer than it should, an ache threatening to set in his shoulders.

He quietly shuts the closet door, and over the low hum of the radiator, Joel hears a thump from the bedroom. It could be the closing of a drawer or the drop of a book, but in Joel’s mind  it simply registers as you, and like a moth to a flame, he ambles down the hall through the dim light, the glowing gaps in the door leading him.

Joel splays a hand against the wood, pushing the cracked door open. He hadn’t realized that his brows are knit tight, but his eyes soften when he sees you, perched upon the bed with a book between your soft hands, fingers framing the pages with a sweet languidity.

When you hear the door creak open, you know who’s there—of course you do. You let out a soft hum, finishing the sentence that entranced you before you finally look up—withdrawn from one world and brought back to another, a fantasy just as sweet: one where Joel was with you, back at home, with nobody to come knocking about a broken shelf.

Your eyes meet with Joel’s, his hair quite disheveled. He’s hesitating, now, fingers fidgeting as they rest near his hips. You can always tell when Joel is exhausted, and he is exhausted now.

“Hey,” he mutters with a gruff voice before shuffling toward the closet. He busies himself with undressing, replacing his dusty clothes with soft and clean ones. He looks relieved to be rid of his stiff jeans, sighing as he pulls on new boxers. He grabs the nearest T-shirt off the shelf and pulls it on, turning back to you.

“Hey, Joel,” you return, voice as affectionate as warm honey as you take note of the reddened bags under his eyes, the sharpness in the lines of his forehead and how his gaze lands on you like you’re the only thing left. It’s clear that he’s tired, but he doesn’t know what to do with it, so he stands, for a moment.

You push your now forgotten book away, leaning back against the headboard as Joel’s enervated eyes make your heart quicken, just a little. You open up your arms, holding them out, beckoning him. He knows that if he lies down with you, he’ll fall right asleep, and so he does.

He doesn’t pull back the covers, only sitting atop them like you do, letting his back rest up against the wood.

“What’s this?” Joel picks up your discarded book, clearly trying to make some kind of conversation as his tired body relaxes into the mattress.

“A mystery I found in town.” You look at him, his messy hair casting a shadow over his eyes.

Joel hums, leaning his head down to press a soft kiss on your shoulder. “You’re so smart…” his low voice rumbles. He never really read until you showed him how fun it could be. Even then, he rarely had time.

When you give him a thoughtful hum in response, his thick arm wraps around your shoulder, hand slowly finding your side to rub it sweetly, a position so natural and recurring—your bodies are like magnets, always assuming the same attraction, his body enveloping yours. Right about now, he’d usually roll on top of you, hands cradling your head and caging you in as he showed you his love the way he was taught.

You rest your warm hand over his before lightly lifting it, slipping his arm back over your head. You hold his knuckles to your lips, pressing a little kiss to them, one for each weathered finger. Despite the tenderness of your action, Joel is a little confused, and when you place his hand back on his chest, he’s a little bit hurt. He feels his heartbeat underneath his palm and takes a fistful of fabric into it, unsure what to do with this—it felt like rejection.

Joel’s spine slumps a bit against the headboard, his slouch against the soft pillows leaving his head below yours, and you give a peck to the crown of it, taking the opportunity to sling an arm around his shoulder. The act alone elicits an inhale from Joel; you can hear it, and you can feel his heart rate slowing when you pull him closer, hand splayed on his chest.

“You’re sleepy,” you mutter in his ear before laying another kiss, this time in the crook of his neck.

A grumble sounds from Joel, a stubborn admittance. “Yeah. Well, I still want you.” When his voice is low, you can always hear his accent more clearly. A testament, like all other features, to who he is, who he’s been. You respond by rubbing your hand around his chest, and so he keeps talking. “‘M goin’ crazy.”

“You don’t look like it.” You chuckle into his thick hair.

As you bury your fingers into his hair, rubbing his scalp soothingly, his head turns into your chest and when the muscles in his neck tense and it looks like he might retract, you keep him there. A firm hand on the side of his head that presses him lightly into you. You want him to stay there because he needs it. You do know what he needs.

“You look like you’ll pass out on me any second,” you quip, and by the time you finish your sentence, you know that it likely isn’t true. You see it; the bump in his boxers just beyond the belt of softening flesh at his waist, so you run your wandering palm over that ring of tummy that hid years’ worth of muscle, although less visible now.

Your eyes glance down, and his are wide open. He’s watching you stroke the fabric over his coarse skin with eyes calmer than you’ve seen in quite a while. Continuing to roam, your touch rubs soothingly against Joel’s side and his face nuzzles further into your chest.

“I’m awake,” Joel finally says, his grumbling voice breaking the silence. As you touch his skin, you feel his pulse speeding up once again. “Can you…” ahead of himself, he trails off.

When you reply with an inquisitive hum, he only nuzzles deeper, the thin cotton you wear acting as the only barrier between your supple breast and the worn skin on his face. His cheekbones and the tip of his nose rub against your chest, and he can faintly feel your heartbeat. When he doesn’t answer, you don’t push and instead grip the fabric of your shirt and lift.

You don’t take it off, just bringing the fabric to rest over your chest, the flesh jiggling a bit as it’s freed, Joel’s cheek resting upon the soft tissue. He lets out a shaky breath.

The man looked very tired and very drunk on your touch, his body unmoving in a way that was rare. No fidgeting, no grabbing, just accepting.

Your eyes focus on the sweet lines around his eyes, and you let one hand take the side of his face. Maybe he takes it as encouragement, or possibly permission, but with your hand on his jaw, his nuzzles against your chest turn to kisses. They are wet, and not too coordinated, but they are full of that same kind of admiration that you always see in Joel when he loves you, but it’s missing its possession. He isn’t trying to prove anything, just taking. Is it selfish? He doesn’t know, and he’ll probably think about it later, but he can’t right now.

Rosy lips wrap around your firm nipple, the warmth of Joel’s saliva engulfing it. His kisses are turning to licks and sucks as his mind wanders about—about you, about the pure euphoria of sitting and getting what he wants without busting his ass for it. His tongue against the warm flesh puts a moist sound into the air and your fingers on his hairy jaw were only encouraging him, a little grunt leaving his mouth.

“Yeah…” you mumble, partly to yourself as your free hand wanders down his body again, and when he hears your voice, his lips part, a pop ringing through the air as your nipple slides from mouth. He feels caught, for a moment, like a child doing something wrong.

You push his head toward you again, other hand still wandering, and wow, he is rock hard. Joel’s boxers are thin and blue, making no effort to hide the pressure underneath them that forces the fabric to tent. You don’t want to tease him, not now, but you can’t help but have your fingers meander their way down his hips a bit slower than usual. As your hand traces, nearing too close to his pulsing bulge, Joel’s hips twitch into your empty touch.

Joel wonders to himself about how this all seems to you. Does he look stupid, curled up against you like a goddamn baby? If he was in his right mind—never. But now, there was no way to resist your warm embrace, and your hand was coming closer and closer to his cock, and he worried that if you touched it, he’d only last a few seconds. You’d wrecked him.

Ghosting over the fabric once and then twice, your fingers circle the spot Joel that wants you before cupping your palm over it; it feels like heaven, and you can tell. He mumbles something incoherent against your chest, his mouth reconnecting with the slick skin as he begins to suck once again. Something about the weight of them—it was grounding. He didn’t think, now, that he’d ever have enough of them.

As you knead gently, rubbing and squeezing his firm bulge, his hips tick up another time, almost imperceptibly. It’s a light movement, something you’d never usually catch, and you wonder if you’ll ever get him like this again.

Even though Joel tended to treat compliments like cardinal sins, you bet he’d let you get away with it now. Your fingers finally slip underneath the band of his briefs and immediately find his length, tip a bit slippery and oh, so firm.

“Lift your hips a bit, handsome,” you instruct gently, and he does it, his mouth leaving your breast again, its slick and spit covered surface dampening his cheek. Now, his head rests against you, his ear on your collarbone as you get a good look, boxers tugged down to his thighs.

Joel has been quiet, but his face tells it all. His look is dazed, like he wouldn’t be able to tell you what day it is, and you smile softly even though he can’t see it. His chin isn’t tilted up or focused on you, it’s on your hand as it wraps around him with such care.

You glance down at your chest, each nipple a bit shiny in the lamp’s glow. “Made a mess here, huh?”

“Yeah…” Joel responds, his voice raspy and only barely above a whisper. “‘Like doin’ it.” His head lolls back against your shoulder, and with the way he’s slumped, you know his back will be sore, but he just doesn’t care. He needed this, you tell yourself, but you know that you did, too.

“I do, too. It’s… comforting,” you let out a low laugh—partly out of hilarity and partly from contentment. This gets a low chuckle out of Joel—if you could even call it that. A low sound made from humor, sure, but one that sounded like it took effort to produce, like someone pretending not to be drunk and failing miserably. “Didn’t know these were so powerful.”

Joel gives you a mindless hum that turns to something of a whine when your thumb circles his tip. It’s a beautiful sight; Joel is laid out, soft and malleable, almost docile. You could hear the shakiness in his breath, like he was completely gone.

When you bring your hand to Joel’s mouth, he isn’t sure what to do with it, and so he watches you with slitted eyes before opening his mouth, leaning in the slightest bit, and enveloping your fingertips.

He sucks them a little, letting his teeth bite lightly on your fingers. Inside of his mouth, his tongue dances with your fingers like he needs them, and you chuckle into his salty hair.

You give him a little bit longer to suck your bony fingers, and he does so as if he were nursing from them. He looks utterly peaceful as you pull them out, your fingers now wet and again cupped by his mouth. Joel had gotten ahead of himself, but it was nothing if not endearing.

“Could you get these wet for me?” You ask him lowly, and you see his face go a bit red when he realizes what you’re asking. You never asked him to suck on your fingers, and so he looks away as he lets a bit of saliva dribble down into your hand. Joel is hit again with another wave of self-consciousness, and he feels compromised. He swallows and lets his eyes close when finally, your slick hand wraps around his cock again.

“Sorry,” a puff from Joel when he feels your touch. “Fuck.”

“I like it, Joel,” you give him a tight stroke and then a giggle in his ear. “Told you how nice it is to have something to suck on.”

He inhales through his teeth as you continue to touch him, and if he wasn’t so far gone, his face would have gone redder. His skin is damp and rosy, but the embarrassment is leaving as his responsiveness does, making more room in his head for that still softness that he never knew until now.

Joel only watches as your hand slides up and down his length, first taking a slow pace that makes his hands shake a little at his sides. He could no longer think about the contrast between this and the usual arrangements, how he let his strong body rest as you cared for him. His arms were littered with scars, hands tainted by the sun, abdomen dusted with dark hairs that trailed down into the graying abyss at which your hand rested now, your touch so caring.

His hands and his mouth are unoccupied, his eyes misty as he watches. Again, you press a kiss to his temple, nuzzling into his hair, free hand cupping his bearded jaw. Joel lets out heavy breaths, little deep sounds that he doesn’t bother to contain. His face turns again toward your breast. His mouth doesn’t open, but he leans against you, enveloped by the comfort of your body. When your hand speeds its pace, rubbing him quicker, his grunts only amplify, another bud of pre-cum excreting from his cock and dripping down it, slowly.

There’s a kind of gravel to his voice that you only hear when he’s close, and as you murmur little compliments into his ear, you know he hears you, he just doesn’t have it in him to answer. Joel’s mind is spinning a bit, and his eyes fall shut, some mix of a whine and a grunt passing his lips.

What seems to do it, though, is when your arm tightens around him, holding him even closer and even tighter as you work him. His mind has a fuzziness to it that he never wants to let go of—so new, and yet so organic.

He doesn’t tell you when he’s going to cum, he just does, but you can tell by the tightness in his muscles. His thighs tense up, and so do his hands, and when the milky liquid spills out of him, it comes slow. It trickles down onto your hand, and when you think it’ll stop, it keeps going. It’s certainly more than he’s ever given you before, its drips landing at his base and tangling with the hair there.

Joel’s head, slightly sweaty and slack, is rested against your chest, his eyes in slits and fighting not to close.

“Oh, Joel…” you give his warm forehead a rub, looking around the room for something to clean your hand and chest with. You can’t fall asleep like this, so you pull your shirt, already half off, over your head, using the fabric to dab at your damp skin.

You’re extra careful when you wipe Joel, his cock now soft as you dry him off, scrubbing the coarse hair lightly as you try to get it dry. By the time the cloth has done its job and you’ve tossed it aside to the floor, Joel’s eyes have long since been closed and his breaths are shallow against your bare chest, mouth open the slightest bit.

You click off the lamp and your hand finds his head in the dark, fingers running through his hair as you murmur to him sweet nothings that he surely won’t remember.

Thank’s for reading!! Tell me what you think

[millermouth]

Joel Miller x Reader drabble

Fluffy Jackson!Joel, age gap mentioned but not specified, angsty Joel thinking he doesn't deserve you I'm gonna vom I'm so emotional about Joel Miller this morning. Yeah it’s a little corny idc. Lightly inspired by Sabrina Carpenter's Slim Pickins

You never cared much for the boys in Jackson.

It wasn’t that they were all bad—not really. Some were decent enough, kind in that overeager way that made it clear they wanted to be seen as something more than just survivors. The younger ones, the ones your age, all had something to prove. Like they thought the end of the world meant they had to carve out their place in it with their fists, their bravado, their talk of patrols and takedown counts.

You weren’t interested.

You wanted someone steady. Someone who didn’t feel the need to boast, who didn’t make survival a contest, who wasn’t fumbling to figure out who they were even after all these years.

And that’s why your eyes always found Joel Miller.

He never tried to be charming. Never played the fool. Never talked just to hear himself speak. Matter of fact, you hardly heard him speak at all unless Ellie or Tommy were around. In any other conversation you managed to overhear, he was polite but always a man of few words. 

He was older, rough around the edges, sharp where others were soft. He was the kind of man who knew how to build things, how to keep them standing. You admired that. Admired the way his hands were always busy, fixing things, sharpening knives, reinforcing weak spots in the town’s defenses. Admired the way he looked after Ellie without making a show of it, the way he always sat with his back to a wall, eyes scanning like he could predict trouble before it came knocking.

The only problem was getting him to see what had been so obvious to you from the start.

Joel had been stubborn.

The first time you flirted with him—really flirted—he’d just blinked at you, like he thought he misheard. The second time, he’d scoffed, muttered something about "findin’ someone your own damn age." The third time… Well, that one had been his mistake.

Because you’d caught him looking.

It was just a flicker, just a second. But it was real. You’d seen it in the way his eyes lingered, the way his jaw tensed like he was biting down a thought he didn’t want to have. That was when you knew.

It was only a matter of time.

And now—now he was here.

Warm and solid beneath you, his arm heavy around your waist, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your bare skin. The room smelled like both of you, like sweat and shared warmth and something slow-burning, something that had taken its time getting here. You were tangled up in each other, bare bodies draped together in the low morning light, catching your breath as the quiet hum of Jackson began to wake up just beyond the window.

“Tell me somethin’,” he muttered.

“Anything,” you murmured, your lips pressing gently into the warmth of his neck.

He sighed, the sound more exasperated than anything, his head turning on the pillow to look at you. His big eyes were so full of tenderness, but something flickered in them—a hesitation, a question he’d been holding onto longer than he wanted to admit.

“Why me?”

You stared at him for a long moment before a smirk twitched on your lips, and you ran your fingers through his graying curls, watching the way his eyes fluttered at the feeling.

“Haven’t you heard?” you teased, voice laced with playfulness, “It’s the end of the world, Mr. Miller. It’s slim pickin’s around here.”

Joel huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head, rolling his eyes like he wasn’t gonna let you get away with that answer.

But before he could grumble something about being an old man, you slid your hand down, fingers trailing over his chest, slow and sure, until you could feel the steady thump-thump of his heart beneath your palm.

"Good thing," you murmured, voice softer now, "you’re exactly the man I want."

Joel exhaled, long and slow.

And maybe, maybe that should have been enough to satisfy him.

But it wasn’t.

Because you knew he had lived too many years and lost too many things to believe in easy answers. He had spent too much time walking through hell to believe he had come out on the other side deserving of this.

His fingers curled against your hip, like he was testing it. The weight of you against him, the warmth of you in his bed. Maybe still half-convinced that this was something he’d wake up from.

You sighed, nudging your nose against his jaw. “Joel.”

He hummed, but it was barely a sound, like he didn’t quite trust himself to speak.

So you tried again. Softer this time. “Do you really think I would ever want anyone else?”

He didn’t answer.

You traced your fingers along his chest, slow and thoughtful, your mind drifting somewhere neither of you had ever dared to go before.

“I wonder sometimes,” you admitted, “what it would’ve been like. If we’d met before.”

Joel hesitated, his brows furrowing as he looked at you, eyes scanning your face. 

You let the thought settle between you, warm and quiet.

“Think about it,” you mused, your voice dipping into something thoughtful, something wistful. “Would we have even met? In a normal world?”

You could see the flicker of something behind his eyes. A life that could have been. A life that was gone before either of you had a chance to claim it.

“I was just a kid in Texas when everything happened,” you murmured. “Would’ve grown up, maybe gone to college, gotten some easy job that didn’t mean anything. You would’ve still been…” you swallowed, “you.”

A father. Maybe a husband at some point. A man with a life already built.

“Maybe I would’ve walked past you somewhere,” you continued. “At a store. A gas station. Maybe you would’ve held a door open for me, and I wouldn’t have thought twice about it.”

Joel’s fingers tightened against you like he was grounding himself in this moment. His voice was steady when he spoke. No hesitation, no doubt.

“I would’ve noticed you.”

You lifted your eyes to meet his, breath caught in your throat as your hand slid higher, up to the side of his face, thumb brushing along his cheekbone. “Would you?”

Joel exhaled softly, leaning into your touch without thinking, his eyes tracing over your face like he was memorizing every piece of you.

“‘Course I would’ve,” he murmured. “Doesn’t matter when or where. Could’ve been another life, another world—" his thumb stroked absently along your waist, voice dipping into something quiet, something certain—"I still would’ve found you.”

The words settled into you, warm and heavy, threading through your ribs, curling tight around your heart.

Then, suddenly, he was smiling—just a little—as his hand came up to your face, cupping your jaw, his thumb sweeping along your cheek.

“Maybe in a normal world, I’d be the one pesterin’ you instead of the other way around.”

You laughed, tilting your chin up as you leaned closer. “I only ‘pestered’ ‘cause you’re too damn stubborn.”

Joel huffed softly, shaking his head like you were trouble, like you’d gotten under his skin in a way he’d never be able to shake.

But he pulled you closer, his fingers curled beneath your chin, tilting your face up just enough. His gaze flickered over you—your eyes, your lips—like he was taking his time, like he wanted to make sure you were committed to his memory.

And then he kissed you, slow and deep, breathing you in. Like a promise. Like an answer to a question neither of you had to ask.

His hand moved to the back of your head, lacing into your hair, the other tracing a slow path down your spine, pulling you against him until there was no space left between you. You sighed into him, melting, your fingers tangling into his hair as he deepened the kiss, as he drank you in like you were something precious, something he never wanted to lose.

When you finally parted, just barely, your forehead resting against his, his breath was warm against your lips.

“See?” you murmured, softer this time, “Slim pickin’s or not, I still would’ve found my way to you, Joel Miller.”

He exhaled, low and content, pressing one last lingering kiss to your lips before murmuring against them—

“I know.”

And this time, he did believe you.

[emgetajob]

Thinking about how Annabeth and Percy’s anniversary would be the most chaotic thing ever. Like Percy would go all out right? Everyone would know this man is PANICKING. He’d pull out all the stops. Like him and Grover would be running around all day setting things up. Leo would be giving live commentary on the whole thing like “And Jackson denies yet ANOTHER bouquet of flowers. Seems no type of flowers are right for his wise girl.” Piper would have a whole ass Pinterest board for this shit which would actually help and it makes Percy get Annabeth a book bouquet. Like a regular bouquet but books instead of flowers. He’d be so worried he forgot he was going to make her dinner and then he’d be rushing last minute to Will or someone being like “WHERE THE FUCKS THE FOOD?”

Anyway Annabeth would show up having disappeared the whole day because she was secretly freaking the fuck out over what to get him. She got him a bunch of handmade stuff. Like a scrapbook full of pictures from every single day (Piper helped with that one because she’s the #1 percabeth shipper) also a deck of blue playing cards and each card had something she loved about him.

In conclusion Percabeth is the most wholesome best ship in PJO because Annabeth and Percy are each others world and they’re just great in general.

[sunsburns]

Not sure where your rules are, but since it seems like you’ve wrote nsfw before, can I request luke going down on shy reader for the first time (already in an established relationship please)? If you’re not comfortable with that, that’s alright!!

oh fuck yes let’s do this right now. [nsfw 17+]

for starters, it will happen in the most inconvenient place at camp. a place where the two of you find a chance to be alone and tucked away from the peering eyes of campers, no longer needing to hear any of their chatter or whines from the younger kids who liked to tug on the hem of luke’s shirt and ask him silly questions like if crabs like to think that can fish fly.

he pins you against the wall behind the stables, his hand loosely low on your hips so he can pull you closer. as your lips lock in a slow, tender kiss, you can feel the warmth of the golden setting sun against your skin when his other hand holds the side of your face softly, finger spread across your cheek.

luke pulls away, lips swollen but a smile still wide on his cheeks as his eyes take you in. his fingers brush over the curves of your face in a feather-like touch.

when his thumb touches your bottom lip, luke’s teeth catch his own in yearning while your mouth parts just a bit. luke brushes his thumb around the shape of your lips, pressing between them and finally pulling your lower lip down to open your mouth.

he looks you in the eyes when he brushes the tip of his finger against the edges of your teeth before pressing it down against your tongue. this forces you to open your mouth wider, heat crawling to your face when he pulls his thumb out and licks the inside of your cheek. you can hear yourself groaning, digging your fingers into his curls when he kisses you deeper this time.

his mouth is soft, a permanent pout with full lips, all jokes and sly smiles. gods, you could kiss him forever.

“you're so, so pretty,” your boyfriend mutters into your mouth, his breath filling your lungs. it’s like you need him to breathe.

he runs his hands up your sides, making you mewl when he stops near your chest, thumbs messaging under the wire of your bra before he trails down again, hands stopping right at your hips. your shirt has ridden up and his palms are warm to the touch.

you can feel your fingers dip near the ridges of the scar on the side of his face. you let your hands move around, holding his cheeks, wrapping themselves around his neck and letting your nails dig into the curves of his shoulders when you feel him start to unbutton your shorts.

“luke,” you say, but it sounds more like a whine on his lips as he slowly pulls down the zipper. “luke,” you call his name again. “i want you so bad.”

“you have me,” he hums, pulling away from your mouth. “all of me,” he runs his tongue over his bitten lips before peppering sweet kisses at the corners of your mouth, your cheek, across your jaw, behind your ear and finally your neck.

luke’s hands crawl to your lower back, where he stuffs them into your pants, grabbing your ass and pulling you even closer. his hips roll against your own as he sucks a mark into your neck.

you try to reach for his crotch, but he quickly pulls away. “don't” he mutters, lips parted as he tries to catch his breath. he looks at you as if you’ve hung the stars in the night sky, like you're the reason the sun shines every morning. “i just wanna focus on you.”

his voice makes your heart sputter in your chest, and you hold your breath when he slowly kneels before you, his hands slipping from behind you and tugging gently at your pants. “please.”

you can feel yourself shaking from nerves. sure, you’ve kissed, and you've touched each other before under the shadows cast by trees in the moonlight, but the way he mouths at the pretty little bow on your panties, looking up at you with his pretty brown eyes, waiting, it all makes your heart tremble in your throat.

“you- you don't have to...” you’re choking on your words. “we’ve never- i’ve never…”

“i know,” luke says, and his hands settle on your knees, slowly pulling them apart. and you let him. “but i want to. please, i really, really want to. i promise you'll feel good.”

when you nod your head yes, he smiles, almost giddy before sucking a hot kiss into the inside of your thigh. it catches you off guard, and a moan slips out as he makes his way up higher and higher, and gods, luke castellan sure knows how to keep a promise.

[ivyinthesun]

Tommy Miller and his goddamn belt buckle.

Nothing makes you throb more than hearing the clink of his belt start to become unraveled. If there’s one thing about Tommy, it’s that he never leaves the house without slapping on an over sized solid metal belt buckle. You can take the man out of Texas, but you can’t take the Texas out of the man. You wouldn’t have it any other way though. It’s his signature style, and knowing that you’re the only one that gets to peel his belts off his waist at the end of the day is enough to have you clenching your thighs together. 

On your last patrol with Tommy you simply couldn’t contain yourself. Looking over at him you noticed the evening sun glow on his face, spotlighting his freckles like a showpiece. His hair messily tied back into a bun, a few defiant strands hanging out. Rifle slung across his strong back. That big belt buckle peeking out over his flannel, ever so slightly digging into his belly with each trot of his horse. God that damn buckle. Your mind had wandered, imagining what it would feel like pressed against your wet heat.

You were staring, hard. And you were caught in the act.

“Baby you’re burnin’ a hole in my face with how hard you’re starin’.”

Tommy knew though. He knew what that look meant. He’s a good man too, never keeps his girl needy and wanting.

“C’mon now honey, gonna show you a spot I think you’ll like real nicely.” The last two words came out slow and thick with a deep southern drawl.

He leads the two of you out to a small clearing in the woods, ties up each of your horses and gives them both a carrot to occupy themselves with in the meantime. Tommy takes your hand and gently tugs you so you’re following him down a man-made path. Your mind is so foggy with anticipation of what’s to come that you don’t even realize he’s stopped walking. Before you can protest, he has you up against a tree, arms caging you in, face inches away from yours.

“Y’know baby, I pride myself on being a very level headed man. But with you? Fuckin’ hell. You give me one of those looks like ya did and I’m wrecked until I can have you wrapped around me right where you belong. You feel what you do to your old man, huh sugar?”

He presses his erection into your thigh and starts attacking your lips with hungry kisses. Tommy is a man who likes to take his time. He lives to kiss, lick and grope every inch of you. Sure, he loves a good quick fuck - but to him you're something sacred that deserves to be worshiped and adored, this is a man who prefers the term "making love" because to him, that's exactly what it is. You can feel him wanting to take his sweet time with you, but right now that just simply wont do. You’re so wound up all you can think about is his heavy cock inside of you, absolutely nothing else matters. That’s when you break away from your kiss and urgently plead with him to just take you as is. His dark brown eyes lock onto yours and seem to grow a shade deeper with your request.

“As much as I love tasting that sweet cunt of yours baby, who am I to deny such a request from you huh?”

He starts frantically messing with his belt before your hands fall over his, intervening. Confusion falls over his soft features for a moment, but Tommy puts the pieces together and seamlessly reads your mind.

“Ohhh I get it now." His eyes flick to yours, pupils blown wide. A crooked and sly smirk forming. "Filthy fuckin’ girl. I see the way you’ve been starin' at my belt buckle lately. Yeah that’s it ain’t it? Well, what my baby wants, my baby gets. Fuck that’s so goddamn hot darlin', you're makin' me blush."

His calloused hands undo the button and zipper of your jeans before finding the trim of your panties and yanking both down in one fell swoop, too heated to bother taking any of your other clothes off. You watch him intently as he clicks his buckle back into place, flashes you a quick smile, and instead pulls his zipper down and takes his leaking cock out. He’s so hard and throbbing it’s almost a struggle to get all of him out and through his zipper hole. He manages though, and when he’s all done he looks at you with a devilish grin and taps at your thighs to signal he wants you to do a little jump up for leverage. You happily oblige and feel the delicious weight of him pressed against you keeping you steady.

"Atta girl. Always such a good listener f'me. You ready for this cock sweetheart? I know you are baby, just look at her drippin' wet and I ain't even done nothin'. Prettiest pussy I ever seen and shes all mine, goddamn. You have any idea what you do to me babygirl?"

After stealing a tender kiss, Tommy lifts your chin up to look at him as he starts to sink into you, eye contact never breaking. The sounds are obscene as he feeds his hungry length further inside you.

"Gonna take real good care of my baby, this is what'cha wanted yeah? Couldn't even wait till we got back to Jackson. Needed me to fill you up out here like the desperate little girl that you are, ain't that right?"

Your breath hitches as the hilt of his cock is almost completely flush with your cunt. Tommy stops and admires the view where you two are joined before sliding the last inch in, bottoming completely out and finally letting his buckle rest atop your pulsing clit. The coolness of the metal buckle rubbing against your bundle of nerves made you cry out in ecstasy. This is exactly what you craved. You knew it would feel good, but not this good. Your nails dug into the backs of his shoulders, a silent plea to get him moving, to get him fucking into you. Tommy groaned and started bucking his hips into yours with a feverish intensity you've never seen before, it was downright carnal. Both of your arousal mixing and spilling out of your hole in long strings, connecting the two of you when he pulled out and slammed back in. The friction of his buckle bumping into you combined with the sweet sting of his pounding cock made your head dizzy. Tommy was fucking you so hard you felt yourself becoming dumb in the head, nearly drooling from the sheer pleasure coursing through your body.

Between whimpers Tommy was sucking and biting on your lips, always trying to be as close as possible to you, tasting you in any way he can. Breathlessly you looked down to watch his filthy ministrations. You could see your slick coating the shiny metal of his buckle, and a small fogged over reflection of your puffy cunt getting the attention she so desperately craved. You moaned and closed your eyes, softly rolling your head back, finding purchase on the tree behind you. The sights and sounds were too much, nearly driving you to the edge.

Tommy took the opportunity to start sucking on your exposed neck before making his way up to your ear and planting a kiss just under the lobe. Always so sweet to you, even with your pants around your ankles as he tears you apart in the woods.

"You feel like heaven darlin'. Squeezin' me so tight, taking all of me like the good girl you are. Ain't gunna last much longer honey and I can tell you're barely holdin' on too. I've gotcha sweet girl, go 'head and make a mess on me, take what you need."

Tommy's words make your stomach flutter and drive you over the edge with a cry. Tears spilled out the sides of your eyes as you shake through one of the best orgasms you can ever recall having. As you start to come down from your high you grab onto Tommy's face, scrunch your eyebrows together and beg. He knows what you're begging him for, because you do this to him every damn time. Neither one of you have the self control to stop it either.

"Always such a needy little thing. Fucking you with my belt wasn't enough, you need me to fill you up too? Shit baby you know I cant ever say no to that. Dont you worry in that pretty little head of yours, 'm gonna stuff this cunt full and you're gonna take every drop of it, just like you wanted."

Tommy presses closer into you, wrapping his arms around you clinging as tightly as he can, and nudges his face into your neck. With a few more sloppy thrusts he groans through gritted teeth and comes hard and hot inside of you. Fulfilling your request, and his word. After a few moments he pulls out, the both of you sighing from the loss of contact, and starts to tidy you back up sweetly. You can start to feel his release slowly dripping out of you and falling onto the mossy floor of the woods.

"I thought I told you to take every drop of me baby girl. C'mon now don't be wasteful."

Before you can craft a snarky reply, you gasp as you feel two of his thick digits scooping his spend up from your legs, and pushing it back into your fucked out hole. He does this until every last drop is cleaned from where it leaked out, and your cunt is stuffed white with all of his come. He mumbles something along the lines of "that's more like it", and brings his fingers up to his mouth to suck them clean. The sight alone could have made you ready for round two, but the sun was setting fast and you had stupid patrol obligations to complete. He pulled you in for a passionate kiss, tongues connecting and tasting the mixture of the two of you. He helped you bring your jeans back up and into place, even fixing up your zipper and button. Tommy gently pats his hand in between your legs as a sly reminder of the fun that was just had, and starts to kiss your face again.

You walk side by side, his hand wrapped around yours as you make your way back to your horses, whose carrots were eaten long, long ago. Always the gentleman, Tommy helps you up and onto your horse before he saddles himself. You look over at him to find he's already staring at you, flashing you the biggest grin, crows feet on full display.

"Y'know, I ain't ever washing this damn buckle. Look at the shine on it now baby." He pauses and chuckles for a moment. "I've got at least 10 more I think you should polish up f'me yeah?"

Yeah. You think you can handle that.

A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first smut that I have ever written, so please be gentle with me haha. If you liked it let me know! I have plans to do some Tommy Miller head cannons very very soon. Gabriel Luna, the man that you are. 🫡✨

[spacequokka]

In My Bed

Pairing: bf!Jackson x Reader Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Suggestive Rating: M Summary: Jackson fell asleep when he planned to surprise you. Word Count: 0.7k, Request Warnings: dry-humping

After a grueling day at work, all you wanted to do once you got home was shower and get in bed. The never-ending stream of conference calls and meetings punctuated with answering emails left you drained mentally and physically. However, when you opened the front door and spotted a familiar pair of sneakers sitting on the shoe rack, you were immediately invigorated.

Jackson was home!

You all but dropped your stuff on the bench as you kicked off your shoes. It was quiet save for the hum of the ice maker in the freezer. Maybe he was asleep? You tiptoed down the hallway and sure enough, the light of your life was laid out across the bed on his stomach using his arms as a pillow. His expression was a picture of serenity as he snuggled your favorite hoodie. Your heart swelled with affection. How does he continue to surprise you with his cute little habits?

There was no telling how long he’d been home, but you needed your hugs and kisses. You crawled over to his side and laid beside him, gently prying his hands away from his head then forcing your way against his chest. In the midst of your shuffling, he woke up groggy and sluggish as he registered what was going on.

“You’re home?” He blinked slowly, then looked at the window. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost five.” Seeing as he was awake, there was no point in being gentle. You rolled him over onto his side and pulled his arms around you. His scent filled your nose, and you sagged with relief, savoring his warmth. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d be home today? I would’ve met you at the airport.”

He chuckled at your whiny tone as he drew you close and planted a kiss on your forehead. “I wanted to surprise you. Actually,” he drew back and kissed your lips, “I wanted to show up at your job and take you out for lunch. I guess I underestimated how tired I was and how much I missed our bed.”

You forced a pout, just barely keeping yourself from smiling. “The bed? What about me?”

“Oh, hush. You know I hate being away from you this long.” He hid his face in your neck. “Why do you insist on being all strong and independent? You could come with me! See the world and join the mile high club and stuff.”

You laughed. “Why do I get the feeling the sex is the motivating factor?”

“No, no. It’s a perk. A bonus, if you will.” He kissed your neck, letting his lips linger. “The motivation is having my beautiful girlfriend with me. It’d be so much better if I could wake up with you in my arms.”

You squirmed against him when his teeth skimmed over your sensitive skin. “I’d ruin your image and hurt your sales.” You bit your lip when his fingers pressed into your skin, holding you still as he put his thigh between yours. “Ah, shit. Wait, Jackie. I need a shower.”

His chuckle made it clear that wouldn’t be happening. “Performing isn’t my only source of income, baby. I can stand to lose a few, especially if it means I get access to you when I get off the stage.” He groaned and pressed his hips against you, drawing your attention to his growing excitement. “It’s been too long since I last had you.”

“But I wanna be squeaky clean for you.” Your squirming only served to increase the friction between your bodies, coaxing him to return the favor by rolling his hips and grinding his erection into your stomach. “Jack, please.”

“Ugh, I hear you.” He loosened his hold. “But if you need one, then so do I.”

With the haze of desire messing with your mind, it took you a minute to process his words. “If we slip and fall in the shower, it’s your fault.”

He smiled wide with glee as he hauled himself to his feet. He held his hand out to you, ignoring the tent that had formed. “I’ll make sure to take the worst of it. Now come on, I need you now before I bust in my pants.”

[annabethsbbg]

luke castellan headcanons!! (i’m just gonna pretend he didn’t join kronos 🥰)

pairing: luke castellan x reader

tw: mentions of smut, but it’s not detailed at all

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

- he literally adores the ground you walk on

- you’re the only person he lets win while sword fighting

- and if you win without him letting you? he’s melted into a puddle on the floor bc OMG

- loves seeing you in skirts

- a HUGE thigh guy. your sitting down next to him? his hands on your thigh. your making out? his hands on your thigh. he’s giving you head? you guessed it, his hands on your thigh.

- this might be an unpopular opinion but he’s def more of a friends to lovers guy than an enemies to lovers guy. (in my head at least.)

- distracts you with kisses during capture the flag so his team can win :(

- definitely says things like “atta girl” (i need him so bad ughhh)

- ooo he loves kissing the top of your head when yall cuddle

[edenspoem]

requesting fluffy period sex with Jackson Ellie!!

i’ve been thinking about this for ages lol but just imagine Ellie hearing that orgasms can help period cramps, maybe she randomly reads it in an old trashy magazine or she overhears two other girls talking about it while in town. anyway, she wants to help her gf of course, wants to make you feel better. you’re apprehensive at first and a little shy/embarrassed but Ellie’s like “do u really think i care about a little blood?” because obviously that girl does NOT care abt blood. maybe she even likes it a little…

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄. ★

note from author: you know i will use any excuse to write jackson!ellie + period sex. especially fluffy sex. with a hint of freak. make sure to hit that like button and subscribe. for more gay sex. drabble length. wrote this in a day (and on my period) so excuse the simpler style. oral + fingering (if you have a problem, keep it to yourself. nobody gaf). not a lot of plot. 18+ interactions please. mdni. wc: 1k. join the discord!

To think, that you were brought a dream.

In the hands of a girl.

You must be blacking in and out. It rushes over your skin: the exhilaration, the sensation, the indent of fingers squeezing your bra-padded breasts, the sweat sticking to her lilac bedsheets. She traverses you like written text. Wrists, shoulders, hips, thighs, the beginnings to a place you feel the need to hide. When the shape of her head intrudes itself there, her intrepid fingers—they follow, and spread the pages for a translation tender and filling. Something she can't put down; you scoot your hips away, and she pulls you right back in.

She reads you.

You feel sedate lengths of softness tread through the channels under your abdomen, where it cramps—and the pain fleets. You forget all about it, until a finger eases inside, and you yelp with all the breath hitched in your throat. “Wait, Ellie!” You shut the heart of your thighs, enclosing her wrist. The ever-so soft junction.

She cocks her head. “What's the matter, babe?”

“You'll get blood on your fingers.”

She read about it in a grayed-out, faded Cosmo; it roped in the young generations, for generations, concerning them with relationships and the sex life of women—menstruation. It fucking sucks, but it sure doesn't have to; she can soothe you right here on the bed you're burrowed up in.

The Jackson local library has an answer for everything.

Ellie promised that after a serenade on her guitar, a hundred kisses, and a whisper of strawberry wine, she would help you out. Tongue and hands.

The practiced grooves on her face snap when she laughs, and she slides up your crotch to have a more face-to-face, respectable consolation. Don't get her wrong: muzzling something incoherent into the plush of your thighs is exciting—and it lets those embarrassing, inhibition-numbing sentiments trickle out until she gets as red as her hair—but she wants you to hear her this time. Cold fingertips melt into your waist.

Your skin is on fire.

“Do you really think I care about a little blood?” She questions, with a voice cornered and hoarse and teasing, tracing mindless circles into your belly. Your reason isn't reason enough to Ellie, it seems.

You glance around for something to convice her. “Well—I don't want to get blood on..”

Ellie disregards you with a head shake and reburies her shoulders under the open perspective of you. Arms entangle you again. “Mh-mm, don't worry about that.” And she, being clever with her peach lips, kisses you here, there, in those self-same distracting places that make you trance out and miss a couple beats, then tense up when she invites her tongue, slips it down and..

Die. For a breath.

Strands of her hair crumple under your grip. Catch under your fingernails.

“Fuck, right there.. right there, Ellie.”

It felt more alight than usual; thick, hot, catalytic presses with her tongue pushing your folds and pinching that bud of nerves—you almost tug her down harder. She can tell you wanted to. It elicits an affirming, quickened pace of her tongue and squeeze of your thighs. Her eyes are fluttered shut, and she looks like a quiet, satisfied heaven.

Her thumb enters below her mouth.

She pulls back—like a vampiric portrait—and cleans her lips, and you bear down for it to return. The thumb inside stills you with a slow pumping.

“See, babe?”

Ellie slides out that thumb. Sucks it, lips pulling over the tip, for you. Humming at your taste like she's about to come herself.

“I don't care. I fuckin' love it.”

Not a second ticks, where you get to process the overwhelming tingle up your nape—or the numbing sound of your heart pounding, and Ellie is already stuffing her face right where it was. She takes you without question. Spreading your thighs apart, she lines up her wet tongue with your wetter entrance and laps your clit, making the swollen bud catch, drag and flick into place: an addicting loop. It feels so perfect against her heart-shaped mouth. Soon, you forget that cramps were the thing that initiated this and delight pours from your throat.

You catch her groping herself to the sound.

She managed a clean job. Blood stains the swell of her chin, to the tip of her nose in lithe blotches, but you knew that would happen. Of course, with her pressing her entire mouth against your hole to wag her face in your mess—you had laughed through a moan when she did—who could guess differently?

It's Ellie: so, of course.

She was smiling when your cries of release came crashing. You shuddered, rode it out on her mouth, and the corner of her lips just curled into your heat.

Fucking idiot.

When you glance down, the little ligatures of humiliation poke at you again; you begin to close your legs. But the indents on your hips from her hold grow deeper. It inches you back open.

She steals the opportuinity to slot herself in that space.

Ellie swipes hair from your face with the backs of her fingers, lingering. “You did so fuckin' good, babe. That's all you needed, huh? I know, I know. You can thank me later,” she boasts. But all you can focus on is her jean-covered thigh against you.

Quiet as the room, you gasp, but it still prompts her to look in the same spot and nudge off you.

She scoffs. “Psh—it'll come right out. Nothin' to sweat over.”

She is too nonchalant for your heart.

You shift in your pool of sudation, rolling out little grunts. Her touch coheres your movements. “Where did you even learn this from?”

“Uh,” she sounds, gaping open mouth. Ellie would nick herself in the knee if you figured how devoted to you she is in passing time. It takes up more than that, if were being honest. She feels better when you perceive her as your genius and generous girlfriend—so she'll keep it that way. “Just, kinda.. thought that I should do it. Yeah.”

You would refute if you were half as awake as you were before Ellie sapped your whole stamina bank out. Thanks, babe.

“Totally.”

“Mhm, I'm the best.” Sarcasm manages to seep through regardless, even when she tries. You laugh at it.

Ellie blacked out within the hour—before you could—sound asleep in the repository your sprawling lap provides, halfway down the bed in an entanglement. You followed in syrup-like tandem—but not without your fingers in her scalp, and a whisper of words. Sleep fought you for this moment.

“You're the best, idiot.”

[cowboymarcs]

adoration

joel miller x fem!reader

warnings: smut, unprotected piv, soft!joel, jackson!joel.

notes: just a quick drabble inspired by tlou season 2 pics that were released today. i couldn't resist. LOOK AT HIMMMM. anyway! enjoy!

joel’s erratic moans had fallen against your neck, head hung in the crook of your shoulder as he thrusted into you. your hands gripped his hair, fingers wrung around his beautiful grown-out curls. your palms danced along his strong, thick neck. you turned your head slightly to look at him, longing to see the pleasure on his face. his blown pupils met yours, a glowing adoration in them. 

“joel,” you whispered. it was the only word that came to mind in your lust-filled haze. he was otherworldly. you couldn’t get enough of him and his broad shoulders, graying beard, or long curls. you gazed into his deep, dark eyes, and silently, desperately pleaded for him to fuck you harder. the small smirk on his mouth showed that he understood you. 

his thrusts grew heavier, hips snapping against the plump, soft backsides of your thighs. when your moans grew louder, joel surged forward to swallow them. his hot tongue met yours, exploring your mouth; he wanted to taste every part of you. 

you whimpered at the wet slide of him inside of you, cock dragging expertly against your plush walls. when his mouth left yours you whimpered his name again like a prayer. it only spurred him on more, his hips meeting yours faster. 

“fuck, baby. your pussy feels like heaven,” he murmured, head dropping back into the crease of your shoulder. his lips found your collarbone, sucking your skin between his teeth. you moaned with fervor at the feeling of his mouth on you, marking you as his own. marking you as his. your cunt clenched at the thought, squeezing tight around his thick cock. 

“feels so good, joel. so good baby,” you whined, not caring about how obscene you sounded as your moans echoed throughout the room, blending in with the creeks of the old, worn bed frame. 

joel felt his orgasm coming, the heat settling in his lower belly. his fingers found your clit, wanting you to climax with him. as he rubbed circles around your nub, he felt your walls clutch his cock even harder. he nearly slowed, not wanting to come without you, before your loud moans encouraged him to keep his pace steady. 

“joel! fuck, i’m so close, please don’t stop,” you whined through your sexed daze. the thick fingers that circled your clit pressed harder. your head fell back, eyes beginning to close at the overwhelming pleasure coming from your core. 

joel tsked, grabbing your chin and locking eyes with you. 

“i want you to look at me while i make you come, darlin’.” his thick voice radiated, making the heat in your core come to a point. you climaxed with a shout, eyes fluttering, and cunt squeezing around joel. he fucked you through it, chasing his own satisfaction. his cock only became harder as your juices flowed around him, dripping down his balls. 

“fuck,” he gasped, “where do you want me?”

“inside, please,” you panted. joel’s mouth found yours, groaning as he spilled inside of you, pumping you full of his come. he stilled overtop of you, pressing one last kiss to your mouth before slowly pulling out and fetching a rag to clean you up. you sighed, watching him in post-orgasmic paradise, belly already tightening, ready for a second round.

[lilyinmysoul]

Crybaby

Joel Miller x FReader

WC: 2.6K

Summary: You get hurt after working on the farm all day. Joel fixes your injury and your mood.

Tags: Fingering (F receiving), kisses over underwear, blood in many capacities; ingestion of blood from wounds, ingestion of menstrual blood (brief), description of dead animal, reader is moody, implied large age gap—I imagine reader to be early twenties or something, unsanitary wound cleaning practices, Joel calls reader ‘Kiddo’ once—I am who I am.

Note: It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, and I suddenly remembered how much I love it after putting it off. With this one, I was thinking of sweet and fluffy—which it is—but I had to go and add blood as a major element, it’s not that bad. Pretty tame. I imagine this takes place on a little farm not unlike Ellie and Dina’s. Post outbreak.

“Ace! Come back, boy!”

You’d never loved an animal more, but the dog was a menace. A disobedient menace, and the horse could have been fed and brushed already in the time you’d spent trying to lure Ace back to the house.

The fence around the house was short and minimal, but the dog knew never to cross it unless accompanied by either you or Joel for hunting. So as it came closer in your view, you figure that you might get a break from the chasing.

“Ace, slow… slow down, boy,” you call breathlessly, pace quickening and boots trampling over the tall grass. Your walk turns to a jog, which turns to a run. “Do you want some food, Ace? Just come… back. Come back.”

A bark sounds from the Canine’s mouth, and you wonder if he’s punishing you. Joel had asked you to get Ace inside fifteen minutes ago, and it looked like it’d take fifteen more. Maybe you just needed to tire him out.

The dog is still running, but you’re gaining on him. You must look silly running in circles around the backyard, but you figure that once he stops, you’ll convince Ace to follow you back in.

“Ace… baby, come… shit!” When your ankle twists, it only causes a few throbs that jolt up your leg. However, when you hit the ground, it’s your knee that erupts with pain. “Damn you, dog!” Your yell is lost on him, and you watch his tail as he dashes through the grass.

Joel had always told you to wear pants while working outside, but you always much preferred your dresses in the sun. You pull back the hemline, now dusted lightly with dirt, revealing a knee skinned and cut, trickling with little drips of blood. It doesn’t look nice, and you look down at the ground around the wound for a moment, your eyes spacing out on the red rock perpetrator that did this to you as your knee aches like it’d been shot.

You can’t get up yet, so you stare out onto the field, a hot tear of both frustration and pain threatening and conquering your eye, dripping down your face—to your dismay. In your head, you curse that hell raising dog and wish it was dinner time. You are hungry and angry and hurting. The free hand that doesn’t hug your leg to your chest comes down in an aggravated slap against the dry earth underneath you, as if to make it suffer as much as you are, right now. You wipe away the frustrated tear with your wrist, careful not to touch your eyes with your dirty fingers.

Slowly, you lift yourself from the grass, your white dress now tainted by the earth. You set your eyes on the house and begin the walk back to it, your steps a little shaky and slow as your knee slowly drips. The house comes closer and you think that maybe your slight limp is making the trek even more painful. You hope that Joel won’t call you dramatic, and despite the only mild pain, you want to cry.

You swat a fly from your eyes, continuing your walk as you near the old wooden steps to the porch. The house was quaint, and its old, peeling paint felt like home in a way nothing else had. You could cry here if you wanted to, and you make a face at Ace, who sits comfortably by the decrepit mailbox as your boots step up onto the planks. The dog lounges comfortably and it pisses you off further, another wave of hot tears threatening your eyes as you slump down onto the bench on the deck.

Immediately, your elbows find your knees and your chin finds your hands, and you bury your face in them as you let out a frustrated sob. It’s a rather trivial thing, and you don’t think you ought to be crying, which upsets you further.

Through the gaps in your fingers, you see Ace stand up with a lighthearted growl, trotting up the wooden steps and over to the screen door, which is now opening on its rusty hinges.

You see Joel’s shadow on the deck through the mesh as the metal frame is pushed open, and he clicks his tongue at the eager dog.

“There y’are,” he mutters. Looking up you see that his gaze is focused on Ace, a dish of food in his hands. There’s a smell of meat and blood wafting from it—certainly not appetizing, but it reminds you of your hunger.

The dog gives a quiet bark, moving jumpily as Joel sets the bowl down on the bottom steps. He hadn’t seen you yet, you don’t think, so you wipe your face as you watch him.

Joel Looks out for a moment on the grass field outside, his eyes scanning the yard for your figure. You hadn’t brought the dog in, and you hadn’t been back when he asked you to be. He surveys the field for a moment before turning back toward the door, now finally laying eyes on your sitting and slouched figure.

When he sees the tear streaks on your face, he says your name softly, yet exasperatedly. You meet his eyes, a little embarrassed, feeling petulant yet dignified.

His eyes wander down to your knee, red and cut, stinging and exposed, and then to your dress, a little dirty and stained with a bit of dirt and grass. He inhales and rubs his forehead. “Angel, what happened?”

You look over at Ace, your anger having subsided into a moody melancholy. The dog is happily lapping up rabbit guts as you rest your chin in your hands, annoyed. “I fell.”

“Okay…” Joel coaxes. He’s unsure whether the source of your sadness is the pain of your injury, or if you’re just feeling gloomy. He tries to be patient with you; he really does, but it’s hard. You don’t answer for a moment.

“You said I could make Ace’s food,” you state, your voice almost whiny. You didn’t even want to make it—it grossed you out—but still, you complained. You brush a few strands from your face, looking back down at the cracking and dull wood beneath your feet.

Joel exhales again, running a weathered hand through his graying hair. He still had to feed the horse, water the plants. He should probably cut the grass, too… “Baby, you didn’t finish gettin’ Ace. He needs t’a eat.” You don’t answer, so he adds, “And I know you don’t like dealin’ with the meat. Don’t play like you do.”

His voice was getting more stern, impatience creeping into it.

“Well… I fell,” you repeat. You want his help. You want some kind of attention, some affirmation of your feelings. You don’t know why you’re being so pettish, but right now, you’re hurt and you want your way—without being made to feel bad. Joel tried to keep you comfortable, but he couldn’t always feed into your moods. It was difficult, but he would do his best.

Joel takes another glance at your knee, now more bloodied than before. He exhales again. “I’ll patch you up, angel. Just… hang tight.” He turns back toward the screen, and you watch it open, then shut with a clank behind him.

You watch Ace lap up the rest of the food and run off. You stick your tongue out at him as he goes.

It takes a few minutes for Joel to get back, and you listen to the rustling of the wind in the trees, the blue sky momentarily lightening your mood. You watch the barn, still and quiet, and gaze out on the yard as the dog runs in broad circles. Your anger has lifted, but your leg still hurts.

When Joel comes back out, he has a little box of first aid, a small collection that remains hidden under the bathroom sink. “Alright…” he stands in front of you for a moment before kneeling down, slowly, the quiet air disturbed with the pop of a hip and the scuffling of his boots on the deck.

Your hard gaze softens at Joel’s large body kneeled in front of you. It felt nice, now, having him there. You could see, on the treeline, the sun beginning to slink away and out of view, to soon be replaced by the moon, but not before the sky would turn a vibrant yellow that you felt in your soul like honey.

“Alright,” Joel tugs one of your legs lightly, urging you to uncross them as he takes the strings of your left muddy boot. The thing was heavy, a bit loose, and perhaps contributed to your fall. “What happened, baby?”

“I was trying to get Ace, and he wouldn’t come, and I tripped. And there was a rock that I… I kinda hit, and so, now it hurts…” you rattle. The memory causes another hot wall of tears to threaten your eyes, even though the moment is long gone. Joel’s fingers move nimbly at your laces, and when he hears the shake of your voice, he glances up and his gaze softens. There was something about your teary eyes that never let him rest until they were dry again.

“You’re okay. M’sorry.” Joel kisses lightly on your knee, a bit of blood tainting his dry lip and he licks it away, pulling off your boot and moving to the next. When he removes the other shoe, he sets them both aside, and his fingers are light as they rub the area around the cut on your knee. “M’sure he didn’t mean it.”

Your response is almost snappy. “Yeah, of course he didn’t mean it. He’s a dog.”

Joel gives you a warning look. “Watch it.” He grabs an alcohol wipe from the box, tearing open the paper packet. “Don’t give me that, kiddo.”

He sometimes wonders if your petulance is a punishment from God for choosing someone so much younger. He loves you to death, but god, he’s getting too old to run around after you. It’s gotten better, lately, as you’ve settled in on the farm, but… you are so much.

“Gonna sting,” Joel warns, placing his free hand, big and warm on your unharmed knee. You brace yourself, readying yourself for the burn in your open wound. He dabs the gash lightly with the wipe, the material turning a light pink with blood, and a little more leaks from the cut. You hiss, drawing in a breath through your teeth.

“Ow…” you murmur as he draws away the wipe, dropping the sheet into the first aid box, discarding it and focusing his gaze back on you.

Joel’s thumb rubs over the untouched skin once again. “There y’go, baby. All clean…” he presses a slightly sluggish kiss to the wound and you tense, before relaxing into the feeling. It stings slightly every time his lips touch your knee, but it feels nice to have him here. Joel’s eyes watch as another dribble of bright red blood emerges, and his head dips as he licks it away. Soon enough, the drop has disappeared, replaced by the glassy shine of his saliva.

“Thanks,” you whisper, the sound almost lost to the wind. You were no longer teary-eyed.

He nods almost imperceptibly, a soft smile showing on his face as he rubs your thigh through your smudged dress. “We’re gonna clean this one. We’ll get it out,” he lightly pushes up the dress, your thighs becoming visible and his hand continues to rub.

“I like this dress,” you say almost mindlessly, looking out on the grass. The sky is darkening into a deep orange, and you feel both a contented warmth and a hungry growl in your stomach. Joel’s hand consolingly rubs your upper thigh as he gently raises your dress a little more, making your white panties visible.

You look down at Joel, eyes meeting his as his fingers move on to caress your hips under your dress. Your legs spread a little bit as he gets closer, leaning his head on your thigh, warm breath hitting your skin. “You wanna go back out and help me with the work?”

After a few moments of thought, you shake your head. “No,” you tuck some wandering hair behind your ear. “But I’m a little hungry.”

“M’kay, baby…” he tiredly grumbles, kissing up your thigh again. He reaches the lacy trim of your underwear, nuzzling gently into it. “‘M hungry, too.” A kiss to the fabric.

That elicits a laugh from you—the first one of the evening. Joel smiles into your panties, a huff of a laugh leaving his mouth. He breathes in, pressing a kiss to the cotton.

A thick thumb comes between your legs, pressing that sensitive spot through the fabric, and you both hum. The air is a perfect kind of warm, and you hear the first crickets begin to chirp.

“I’ll make you sumthin’…” Joel’s tone is noncommittal as he continues rubbing you. The sensation overpowers the still present, light throbbing of your knee, the pain slowly easing away.

You mumble an ‘okay’ when you feel his fingers slip under the fabric, sliding gently through your folds and eventually sinking into you once he finds the spot. Another raspy exhale leaves you, and you look down at Joel’s face, half hidden in the shadows of your lap as his fingers gently move in and out, curling softly.

“Mm, yeah…” Joel always seems to enjoy this just as much as you do—if not more, and you can tell by the way he murmurs under his breath; he must be hard, but he pays it no mind. None at all. “You still hurtin’?”

“Not very much,” you reply, your words low, now, matching the sun as it makes way for moonlight, darkness creeping into the sky. In response, Joel kisses your upper thigh, inner thigh, hip, as his fingers continue to move. They go a little deeper now, curve a little harder, plunge a little quicker.

Joel’s fingers quicken with a newfound slickness, his digits feeling wetter yet. He wonders if you’d missed him extra while working outside today—he wouldn’t blame you.

Your little grunts are the only sounds overlapping with the chirping of bugs and the buzz of the porch light, and Joel picks back up on the rubbing of your thigh with his free hand, his other dedicating itself to your pussy. One shoeless foot taps on the deck, harder each time Joel touches that spot, and more frequently with the closer you become.

Joel repeats your name a few times, breathily, as he feel your muscles tighten.

You tap your feet quicker, just barely able to make out the wet sound of his ministrations. He kisses your thigh once more, and when you cum, he kisses again, open mouthed and sucking.

He lets out a light chuckle, taking in your pacified expression as opposed to your previous state. “Needed that, huh…?” If you do answer, he doesn’t catch it as he withdraws his sloppy fingers from inside of you.

At first, in the dimness of evening, he doesn’t notice anything amiss, but it soon aware of the red liquid blending with and bleeding into the wetness on his fingertips. Blood mixes with spit as he examines it, and you look down, too.

“Oh, angel,” Joel mutters, looking down at his fingers once more before pressing them to his tongue, running them down its length and removing the excess liquid on your dress. “We’ll get this off… shit.”

You grumble when you see the pop of color, and again when Joel notices the steady trickle of blood into your underwear. The red is rich and overbearing, creating a deep patch of the color in your panties.

Joel stands reluctantly, kicking your boots off to the edge of the porch, forgetting them. “Get up, baby. I’ll get ‘ya somethin’ to eat… clean ‘ya up.”

Thanks for reading, I encourage comments and asks, all that

[dreamer81093]

“Why—Why do you keep doing this? Over and over and over again, you break yourself to pieces for others and never let me help!”

“Because I don’t want you to! You have enough to deal with!”

“So? You matter most! Not some stupid job, not money, not who lives or who dies! You!”

“But you need to not have to deal with the things I can! You need rest and you need these breaks—”

“I need you!”

…

“I-I need you. Only you. So please, don’t shut me out. You’re all that I need.”

[loveharlow]

need more protective jj pls!!

⋯ ♡ᵎ 💬 : i don't think i have any more hc ideas for him but here's something small :p

The bonfire crackled, spitting sparks into the night sky, a vibrant contrast to the pulsing music and the laughter that echoed across the sand. The air, thick with the scent of ocean water, cheap beer, and a hint of weed. You were nestled beside JJ, his arm slung loosely around your shoulders, the warmth of his skin a comforting anchor amidst the chaos.

"Want another one?" he shouted over the din, gesturing vaguely towards the cooler.

You shook your head, a smile playing on your lips. "No, I'm okay. This one's still half full." You held up your plastic cup, the condensation cool against your fingers.

JJ's eyes, usually alight with mischief, held a softer, more possessive glint tonight. He nodded, then, without a word, gently plucked the cup from your hand. "I'll hold it for ya," he mumbled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles before he tucked the cup into the crook of his arm, already holding his own. He knew you had a tendency to put it down anywhere. It was a small gesture, almost imperceptible in the dim light, but it made your chest fill with a certain warmth. He always did little things like that – catering to your needs, taking care of you without you ever having to ask, really.

A group of Kooks stumbled past, one of them bumping clumsily into your back. You flinched, muttering a small 'ouch' under your breath, but before you could even register it, JJ had shifted, eyebrows set into a firm frown. His arm tightened around you, pulling you closer, almost flush against his side. He shot a glare over his shoulder at the retreating figures, a silent warning in his narrowed, blue eyes. The Kooks, perhaps sensing the latent danger radiating from him, didn't even glance back.

"Dick..." He scoffed. "You alright?" he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

"Yeah, fine," you whispered, leaning into his embrace. You loved how he always had your back, how his protectiveness felt less like control and more like an unbreakable shield.

Later, as the party swelled and the music grew louder, you decided to brave the makeshift dance floor. JJ, of course, was right there with you, his movements loose and uninhibited. You laughed, trying to mimic his carefree sway, when a guy, someone you barely knew, tried to cut in.

"Hey," he slurred, a little too close, a little too familiar. JJ immediately clocked it, his shoulders tensing. "Wanna dance?"

Before you could even formulate a polite refusal, JJ stepped in front of you, his body a solid barrier. He didn't say anything, didn't even raise his voice. He just looked at the guy, a slow, deliberate sweep of his gaze that started at the kid's shoes and ended with a piercing stare into his eyes. It was a look that spoke volumes.

The guy's confidence visibly deflated. He mumbled an apology, something about "just asking," and quickly retreated into the crowd.

JJ turned back to you, a slight smirk on his lips. "The fuck's up with everybody tonight? 's like douchebag central..." he said, then pulled you closer, his hand finding the small of your back and holding you firmly against him as he resumed dancing. Every so often, he'd lean down and whisper something silly in your ear, or press a soft kiss to your temple, making sure anyone watching knew exactly where his attention, and yours, was.

JJ Maybank Taglist in replies!

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading. follow & turn on post notifs for @theharlowpost for writing exclusive updates!

©loveharlow

[mykoreanlove]

the smut bundle

for when you want to get freaky, empty hands are recommended

CHAN - fuck me 5 senses? // cooking up a storm piece of cake // just another day at the dorms // in character // Christopher // preggo by chan

CHANGBIN - just another day at the dorms // home workouts

MINHO - how to tame a cat // just another day at the dorms // serum

HYUNJIN - afterparty // wanna bet? // keep me up // special birthday

HAN - just another day at the dorms // brr brr

FELIX - Articulate // fighting with Felix be like // just another day at the dorms

SEUNGMIN - just another day at the dorms

CROSSOVER - deceptive bonds (hyunjin, Felix) // 🫧🫧🫧 (Minho, hyunjin) // 3+1 (3racha)

JACKSON - acts of intimacy // backseat love

JUNGKOOK - on a drug case

TAEMIN - new heights // lazy Sunday // friendship service // bite me // first dates

EUN WOO - say please?

[charmnyu]

 ᘏᘏ like a movie ​⤷ l. castellan

cw: use of y/n like twice , but other than that , nothing ! just fresh fluff from out the oven . dividers by @cursed-carmine &&. strangersgraphics !

may castellan absolutely loves her babies.

she absolutely loves you two. when she first found out you were dating luke, she was over the moon— estatic, in a total frenzy. she demanded luke to tell her in an (affectionally) way who he was dating. and luke (with no choice), surrendered to his mother, with a sigh of defeat and tensed shoulders finally loosening up.

“okay, okay— mom, fine.” luke sighed, running a calloused hand through black curls. “tell me, lukey. do i know them at all?” may questions him, brows furrowed and hands clasped. she’s listening.

“the friend from, um.. last week.” luke mutters, picking at his nails in nervousness.

“who?”

“y/n.”

and that’s when the world fucking stopped for miss may castellan. she was screaming in nothing but pure joy, hands flaying everywhere, pacing around in happiness for her baby finally being able to be find someone.

she prayed to the gods that her past relationship with hermes wouldnt be anything like yours and his. it would pain her to see luke pained like that anyway.

“hi miss may!” you yell, quickly kicking off you shoes and placing them next to the door, giving luke’s mother a quick.

“oh, honey, just call me may, alright?” her voice is sweet and gentle, almost like a siren song. she adorns your face with warm and motherly kisses, ruff,ing your hair up slightly. “yes, mi— may!” you quickly rush upstairs to luke’s room.

“and you.” she puts down the cookie tray down to confront her son. “you haven’t been calling or texting me. why?”

“sorry, mom. jus’ busy with y/n. won’t happen again.” luke kicks of his shoes and places them next to yours, giving his mother a reassuring and gentle smile and follows after you up the stairs.

“gods. you know this isn’t a race, right?” he jokes, laying down next to you in bed, arms embracing you in a warm hug.

“don’t care. just wanna spend time with you. time is limited.” you murmur into his shoulder, his cologne filling your nostrils. who knew a man could smell like straight up heaven? you swear, luke is doing something to you— he’s casting spells on you, because what kind of sorcery is he doing to make you fall more and more in love with him?

“mhm,” luke places a hand on your neck, placing fresh kisses on your clavicle and adorning your neck and face with kisses. “so good.” he says playfully, nuzzling his face into your neck, frizzy black curls tickling your chin.

gods, this feels like straight heaven itself. what could you have done to deserve such blessings? to deserve luke? a blessing you’ll never take lightly, and a love you’ll both cherish beyond words.

©⠀all right reserved to @ charmnyu . like and reblogs are appreciated !

6/1 . notes . .

okok this made me very giddy very excited hehe i feel like luke’s a mamas boy 100% obvi. he doesn’t like his dad so it leaves him with no choice but yeah ! i’m feining help me this is short and i’m kinda unhappy how it turned out but oh well..