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[bluestar22x]

“I was going to be his friend, and I was going to show him possibilities. And he, in turn, would become someone I could trust more than myself.”

[bluestar22x]

Javier Peña ran so Joel Miller could fly

[bluestar22x]

A Symptom of Being Human

Summary: An unlikely connection forms between Joel and a new resident of Jackson. (sorry I suck at summaries)

Word Count: 2.6k

Rating: T

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC (Maggie)

Warnings: fluff, slight age gap (Joel is 50ish, OFC is 40ish), grief, loss of spouse, loss of child, panic attacks, mild violence, allusions to SA but no specific details, possible friends to something more, soft!Joel, please let me know if I forgot anything.

Notes: This fic was inspired by 'A Symptom of Being Human' by Shinedown. When I first heard this song, the idea for this story immediately popped into my head. This could become a series if it doesn't flop.

Thank you @fallingforthearch for being my #1 fan and my biggest supporter. I would have never had the courage to put my writing out there without you.

dividers and banners by @saradika-graphics

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Brian promised they’d be safe. They were traveling in a group, not going far. Maggie begged him to stay at the settlement, but the promise of something better for Aiden had made her relent.

The sounds of Brian’s screams still rang in her ears. The ground scattered with the lifeless bodies of their traveling companions; husbands, wives, and children, all just wanting something a little better from this existence.

Her furious struggles elicited laughs from her captors.

“She’s a feisty one, Ty. Gonna be a lot of fun breakin’ ‘er down.”

The smell of his rotten breath filled her nostrils, and she choked back the bile in her throat. His grimy hand slid up her side, roughly groping her breast.

The one called Ty looked over at her as he stood over the limp body of her husband. His steely blue eyes pierced through her, and she froze, her blood running cold.

“Please,” she sobbed. “I’ll do whatever you want; just give me back my son.”

Ty slowly sauntered over to her, tilting her chin so she had to meet his gaze. The cruelty in his eyes betrayed the tenderness of his touch.

“Shhh…” His dirty thumb wiped the tears from her cheek, leaving a streak of dirt in its wake. “You’ll do whatever I want, anyway. You don’t got a choice, darlin’.”

Aiden screamed, struggling in vain against the arms that held him. Her heart shattered at the sight of his tear stained face.

“Please, he’s just a boy.” She begged. “He won’t be any trouble for you, I swear.”

Ty clicked his tongue, shaking his head slowly.

“That boy’s got fight in him, like his daddy.” He drawled. “Only a matter a time ‘fore he tries somethin’ ta save his pretty little mama. Can’t have that.”

A wicked smile formed on his thin lips. “B’sides…he’d be just another mouth ta feed.”

Ty nodded to his companion restraining Aiden.

“No!” She knew what that meant. She kicked and screamed wildly, her shoulder joints aching as she struggled to get to the only thing that mattered. She couldn’t let them harm him. She had to protect him at all costs; it was her job. A sharp backhand to her face caused her head to spin.

She watched helplessly through blurry eyes as a shot rang out, and her son…her baby, crumpled to the ground. Her screams filled the air as she thrashed and spit at her captors. Her entire world was lying on the ground in front of her. She wanted them to kill her, too; she had nothing left.

The last thing she remembered was the blinding pain as the butt of a handgun connected with her temple.

Maggie’s eyes shot open, shooting upright in her bed. Her chest heaved, the sound of that gunshot still rang in her head as if it had just happened moments ago and not over a year ago. Her eyes darted to the small clock on the bedside stand… 5:06 AM. She squeezed her eyes closed; the chance of going back to sleep was lost.

Six hours of uninterrupted sleep- that had to be a record. It had been ages since she slept that long without waking. She rolled herself out of bed, peeling her sweat soaked t-shirt from her body as she padded toward the bathroom. The worn hardwood floor creaked, announcing to the empty house that she was awake.

She turned the faucet to the hottest setting and stepped under the water. Closing her eyes, she let the scorching water beat down upon her. She hoped it would wash away her memories, but she knew better.

The sun was just coming over the horizon as she approached the dining hall doors. She made this trip every day for the last three months, and it hadn’t gotten easier. She took a few deep breaths in front of the faded double doors, her mask firmly in place, a friendly smile that told the world she was okay. Some of her neighbors knew her story…at least the parts she shared with Tommy and Eugene when they found her in the woods, but she never shared the full story with anyone. Speaking the words aloud would make it all too real, and she didn’t want any pity.

The clanking of dishes and silverware filled the dining hall, along with the low hum of conversation. Smiling at her neighbors, she made her way through the hall to grab some food and some much needed coffee. She always sat alone, needing the time to collect her thoughts and prepare for the day. A familiar figure appeared in her periphery; he sat alone, too….always alone. He had a story, too. Tommy had said as much when she first arrived in Jackson, but he didn’t elaborate. She noticed the way he glanced at her from time to time, but he never spoke. Her step faltered slightly as if she was going to break the ice, but she kept moving past him.

Joel watched her as she walked past, taking the same seat by the window every morning. He saw how she smiled at everyone and pretended to be okay, but he knew she wasn’t. He knew that look in her eye…. he’d seen it in his own so many times. The look of loss…of heartbreak and misery. She’d lost something, too. She may think no one noticed…but he did. He wanted to say something to her….anything to let her know he understood, but the words stuck in his throat. He’d never been good at letting people in.

The air in the barn was surprisingly stuffy for this time of year, and the earthy smell of dirt and hay surrounded her. Despite the stuffiness, she found solace in the scents and sounds of the barn. It brought her peace; she could focus here. She didn’t have to be anything… didn’t have to be happy or smile. The animals understood.

Willow, the chestnut mare, blustered and pranced restlessly around her stall. Maggie brushed a stray lock of her long hair off her damp forehead and reached out to pat Willow’s shoulder over the stall door.

“I know, mama.” She cooed. “The last few days are the hardest, but once you see that little baby you made, it’ll all be worth it.”

She remembered how it felt when she was pregnant with Aiden. How those last few days were uncomfortable, and she struggled to sleep. The mare nudged her hand in silent commiseration. Maggie smiled at her and rubbed Willow’s nose.

“I’ll be here with you when it’s time…make sure you and the baby are alright.”

Joel watched silently as she spoke to the mare. She was so different here…much different than when she was in the dining hall or slinging drinks at the Tipsy Bison. He wondered if she ever slept. It seemed like she had her hands in everything here in Jackson…tending the garden and the animals and bartending at night. He understood the need to keep busy, to drown out the pain and the failure.

The longer he watched, the more guilty he felt. He shouldn’t be intruding like this, watching her like some creep. He backed away slowly, not wanting to interrupt her private moment. The heel of his work boot connected with a bucket, and the clank reverberated through the barn.

Her eyes snapped up, focusing on Joel. How long had he been there? What had he heard?

His cheeks flushed with embarrassment at being caught eavesdropping.

“Sorry…I…didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay. I’m usually not this jumpy.”

She was lying through her teeth, hoping he couldn’t tell. Her heart pounded so loudly she could hardly hear him speak.

Joel smiled sheepishly. He knew how badly he scared her and felt terrible for it. He cleared his throat and took a small step forward. Maybe this was his chance to connect with someone again.

“It’s Maggie, right?” He asked. “I’m-“

“I know who you are.” She winced at the sharpness of her tone.

“Right.” He sighed a little too loudly and dragged a hand through his peppered hair. He cursed himself for being so stupid; of course she knew he was. His brother was just about the only person she had a conversation with that lasted more than a few minutes.

“Is everything alright with the mare?”

He was desperate to change the subject, to get the conversation back on track.

“Willow? No, she’s fine. I was just checking in on her.” Her hand dropped to her lower abdomen, instinctively covering her womb, her eyes tender. “The last few days before giving birth can be pretty uncomfortable.”

Joel’s eyebrow twitched. She’d lost a child, too. He knew that agony all too well. The unbelievable pain and darkness that engulfs you, pulling you down into a pit of emptiness that leaves you with nothing but a gaping hole where your heart should be.

Her face went slack. She’d always been so careful about keeping details of her past close to her vest. She didn’t want pity; she just wanted to feel normal.  

Joel’s eyes softened as they stared at each other, an unspoken conversation between two people with the worst thing in common.

Even twenty-plus years later, it still hurt. It hurt to think about what Sarah would have grown up to be if she’d had the chance, if it hadn’t been stolen from her…if he wouldn’t have failed her. Those moments that she would never have played in his mind… her first day of college… her wedding day… the birth of her first child, his grandchild—his hands clenched into fists as his eyes misted.

He’d never had anyone to share that pain with, not even Tommy. Maria had lost a child, too, but there was no chance of the two of them talking about it; she wasn’t exactly his biggest fan, even after all this time.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. The fear of taking that first step kept them from escaping. 

“Come on, Joel. We gotta go, Eugene’s waitin’ on us.”

Tommy’s voice echoed through the barn. Joel and Maggie averted their gazes from each other. His hand flew to the back of his neck, while she fidgeted with the hem of her shirt.

Tommy’s eyebrows raised and he chuckled under his breath.

“Hey, Sparky.” He drawled, his Texas accent more pronounced than usual. “You’re comin’ to the Spring Fling picnic, right?”

Maggie cleared her throat, forcing herself to smile as her heart hammered in her chest. They had been so close to something… something she’d wanted for so long but had been afraid to let herself wish for… understanding. Had she found a kindred spirit in Joel? She saw it in his eyes; he understood. He knew her pain because he felt it, too.

“Yeah, wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good. I know Maria’ll be real happy to have ya there.” Tommy smiled and clapped Joel on the shoulder before turning and heading out of the barn.

Joel shoved his hands in his pockets. The toe of his boot scuffed the ground before he looked up at her once more. He desperately wanted to say something… anything, but his words evaded him—a grown-ass man, tongue-tied like some goddamn teenage boy. The corner of his mouth twitched into a sheepish smile. He turned on his heel and walked away without looking back.

The chaos of the picnic made things seem almost normal: the sounds of children laughing and playing, the smell of burgers on the grill, and the warmth of the sun on her skin. It all made it easier to pretend that she was okay.

Joel sat silently across from her on the picnic table while Maria, bouncing her toddler on her lap, chatted about the upcoming improvements the council was making to the town.

A blood-curdling scream broke through the din, and everyone scrambled to their feet. She didn’t think; she instinctively ran with the group. She covered her mouth as she saw a little boy lying on the ground, bloodied, and screaming for his mother.

Maggie’s chest heaved, struggling to get air into her lungs. Her heart pounded like it was going to explode out of her chest. The edges of her vision went black as she was immediately pulled back in time. That little boy's voice was Aiden’s… the blood was Aiden’s. She was back in that field, seeing her little boy on the ground dying before her eyes, and she was powerless to stop it once again. She squeezed her eyes closed, clutching her chest as she leaned back against the brick wall.

Joel caught her movements out of the corner of his eye as the chaos swirled around them. He knew what was happening and was at her side in moments.

“Hey.” He gently took her by the elbow. “Just breathe, okay? In through your nose and out through your mouth.”

He’d been through this himself; he knew exactly what she felt.

Each breath felt like lava had been poured down her throat. A burning concoction seeping into her lungs making each breath more difficult than the last. Tears slowly trickled down her cheeks as her muscles clenched keeping her frozen in this hell, not that she could escape it if she tried.

“That’s it, sweetheart…just like that.” His voice was calm and soothing. He could feel her spiraling, and he grabbed her cheeks. “You’re alright. Just focus on me. Look at me.”

She forced her eyes to open to see his soft and tender chocolate brown eyes in front of her, a warm, reassuring smile on his face. His words echoed in her ears. ‘Focus on me. Look at me.’ Her eyes traced the lines of his face. The scent of pine and canvas filled her nostrils, a scent she would forever associate with him.

“I’ve got you. You’re in Jackson…you’re safe.”

Reality slowly settled in. Her chest began to loosen, each breath a little less torturous than the last. The images in her mind slowly dissolved to reveal the tangible world, the feel of his hands on her face, the gentle breeze fluttering the streamers on the picnic tables.

“Good girl…just keep breathin’.”

His large hands cupped her cheeks as his calloused thumb brushed her soft cheek absentmindedly.

“Feeling better?”

Maggie nodded slowly, letting out a shaky breath. She’d never had a panic attack so intense before. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment and then opened again.

“Thanks.” A bashful smile teased at her lips. “How?...”

“Happened to me before, too.” He chuckled softly, scratching at the salt and pepper scruff on his cheek. “But that’s a story for another time.”

He knew he could share that story with her one day; she would understand. There was a long-forgotten feeling in his chest. He wanted to connect with someone for the first time in a very long time.  

Her body went slack against the brick wall; her muscles tingled from the exertion. The nervous and excited chatter of everyone around her filled her ears.

“I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day. Would it be alright if I walked you home?”

“Sure, I’d like that.”

He wrapped a protective arm around her, guiding her away from the picnic. She sank into his warmth, her head cradled perfectly into his shoulder. She never thought Joel Miller would be the one she connected with. This might be an unlikely friendship, born of mutual hurt and pain, but it felt right. She wouldn’t ask him for his story now; she would be patient. For now, she would be content with this.

[bluestar22x]

There’s a fic on fanfiction(.)net that I’ve kept tabs on for years to see if it’s been updated or not. While I’m no longer even in the fandom it’s written for, it just has one of the greatest storylines I’ve ever read. Last time it was updated was 2011.

The other day, I decided to reread the entire thing and leave a very in-depth review of what I thought of each chapter. I also mentioned how I started reading it when I was 13 and am now 21, but always came back to see if it was ever finished because I loved it so dearly.

Today, said author sent me a private message saying that her analytics showed that the story was still getting views even after all these years, but no one ever bothered to leave reviews other than “update soon!!!”, so she never felt motivated enough to finish it. She said that me reviewing every single chapter with lengthy paragraphs made her cry and meant the world to her. She also mentioned that she felt encouraged to write the two remaining chapters needed to complete the story and that she would send me a message the night before she updates the fic.

I’m literally sobbing. I’m so excited :’)

Please always remember to leave a review when reading fanfiction!!! It means a lot to a writer.

[bluestar22x]

Summary: It's not easy being a single mom in Jackson but help can come from the most unlikely of places.

Word count: 4.7k

Story warnings: 18+ MDNI, Jackson!Joel, soft!Joel, platonic relationship, fluff, references to loss of a parent and loss of a child, no use of y/n, no description of Reader she's a blank state (she's in her 20s but there's nothing remotely romantic between her and Joel so it's pretty much irrelevant to the plot), Ellie and Joel are all right.

A/N: This is written as part of @mothandpidgeon and @ezrasbirdie 's Mother's Day challenge and beta'd by the wonderful @nerdieforpedro because I never know if I'm doing a good job with Joel's accent. Thank you, babe. I had this idea while drying my hair on Monday and it has been everything I've been able to think about this week. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I do. I'm not a native speaker, I've never watched nor played TLOU but I have a wonderful specialist, love you @avastrasposts

Baby cries float through the open window. A breeze of sorts as there is no wind at all tonight. How long has it been since they've awoken Joel from his light slumber, he has no idea. Lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The moonlight on the corner of his bedroom in what would otherwise be a silent, dark night.

Hours or long, long minutes, he can't tell, except that they don't stop, the cries. Sometimes they quieten to the point he can almost hear his own breathing, eyelids relaxing. Before they pick up again.

And sure, he could try to muffle them. He's tried already. To sleep on his good ear but those cries, they've stirred ghost feelings in his old bones. Faded memories from decades ago that make it impossible to ignore them.

He could close the window but it's so humid. So hot this summer night –this whole summer actually– and doing so would make the air inside even more unbreathable. Oppressive. And there's not much more he can do about that, except hope some breeze will indeed pick up, gently move through the curtains.

He's already lying on top of the sheets in nothing but his underwear. Back clammy with perspiration and hair matted on the pillow and somehow he supposes that's what's keeping the baby awake.

Upset and not understanding why, despite being tired, Joel can recognize the cries for what they are, his fist gripping the sheet at the jostling memory. Hot and bothered that the little boy must be and probably not wearing much more than Joel is.

Poor baby, he can't help but think, head turning towards the window. So tiny and new in the world and no other way to express his discontent to the town. To his mother.

Poor mother, too, Joel realizes, much more awake than he'd like to be. Alone that she is to take care of her son. Trying to soothe and settle him and obviously failing.

Another piercing cry erupts in the dark and Joel sighs, naked chest rising against the rugged yet sweaty palm he's pressed there. Even more when he drags it down his face, collects beads of sweat from his forehead to his cheeks.

One longer sigh and then a grunt at how his entire body cracks and aches as he sits up and swings his legs to the side. Springs in the mattress do nothing for his back and creaks once he stands up.

The same clothes as yesterday on his back, his boots pulled on and left unlaced and he's so careful going down the stairs and out of the house so he doesn't wake Ellie up. Blessed actually that the racket doesn't seem to bother her.

A short walk to her house next door, long strides through the gate and up the wooden steps. Towards the front porch, the windows as opened as his and some lights on inside. The shadow of someone pacing and among the cries, the shushing sounds he couldn't make out earlier.

How it all stops once he knocks on the front door. Softly. He thinks.

This, you weren't expecting. Or maybe you were. That it was only a matter of time.

It feels like it's been a couple of hours since Byron woke up with a soiled diaper and you haven't been able to put him back to sleep. It's too hot and teeth are starting to appear and your baby is hurting. Nothing seems to comfort him, less your soft singing, and it's no wonder the neighbors are upset. With all the work that has to be done in Jackson, they need all the sleep they can get. They don't deserve to be kept up all night.

So your shoulders tense more than they already were at the nightly visitor. Your hand stills on Byron's back, your mouth closes in his hair as you ready yourself for a confrontation you wish you could solve with the flick of a hand.

“Joel.” Your voice shakes when you pull the door open and he's standing there, shirt untucked and hardly buttoned up, hands on his hips and forever scowling. “He woke you up, didn't he? I'm so sorry, I've been trying to make him stop but I can't? I know you're mad but please I –”

“Oh, hey, now, sweetheart, I ain't mad.” 

He holds his hands up in surrender, takes in your wild, dreadful state. The crusted milk by the hollow of your throat and some on your black top. The tremors in your voice. The scared and rapid blinking, eyes red and bags under them. The death grip on the upset little boy which seems to even tighten as you brace yourself for his reprimand and how Byron's wiggles in your arms, little fists balled all over the place and you're too tired to avoid the one that hits your chin.

“I ain't here to yell at ya or anythin’. I was wonderin’ if ya might want some help actually.”

“Help?”

“Yeah. To give ya a break?”

Arms outstretched towards your son, the scowl gone from his face and replaced by as kind a look as Joel Miller can muster, you suppose. One step inside your house even if you haven't invited him in yet but you could actually cry yourself from his unexpected blessing dropped on your doorstep. The last thing you imagined but truly a gift from above.

Spikes of ache flash down your arms when you pass Byron to Joel, sharp pain from having him held close to you for so long. You shake them down a couple of times, catch Joel surveying your small living room. 

“No luck rockin’ him?”

“Rocking him?” 

“Give your feet some rest.” He jerks his chin down to your bare feet and it takes your exhausted brain a handful of seconds to understand what he means.

“I don't –I don't have a rocking chair, Joel.”

“What d'ya mean–” He frowns, rubs and soothes and mutters a it ain't right under his breath before he shakes his head. Resumes the pacing you were doing before he showed up.

Top sticking to your skin, dirty and smelly but it doesn't matter right now and you rub your forehead once you see the expert way Joel is holding your son. No need to worry about that apparently.

Muscle memory. How to bounce and rub a hand on a clammy little back. Baby hair soft against Joel's palm when he cradles the back of his head and tiny fingers that grasp his shirt and refuse to let go. A lip that still quivers but with each soothing whisper and humming, each step that Joel takes, back and forth, back and forth on a different rhythm than yours, angry cries seem to lessen.

Fat, ugly tears still roll down tiny cheeks, there's one that Joel collects on the pad of his thumb. The smoothest skin he's touched in ages. Different skin color than the last time he's done this and a shot of electricity straight through his chest at the recollection.

Foreign arms and foreign voice and foreign smell, a person Byron doesn't recognize but rumbling reassurances and a steady heartbeat against the baby's head and you gape, properly gape at Joel when after some time, it is indeed quiet in your house.

“There ya go, big guy, that feels nice, right? Give those lungs a break. And your Mama, will ya?”

“I don't believe it,” you mumble, sagging on the couch, body heaving from relief and yet almost upset that he's managed to accomplish what you, as his mother, couldn't. “I've been at it for hours and it took you what? Five minutes? I–I–”

Your words wobble from frustration, hands thrown into the air and Joel feels a bit at a loss now that he's accomplished his first intended mission. He would sit down but that might upset Byron again and his ears may still be ringing with the baby's cries, the silence which settles around him, around you three, it's nice.

Except now it's you who's on the verge of crying.

“It's nothin' against ya, Mama. You're doin' a great job with him but it ain't easy, doin' this on your own.”

You can’t be much older than what he was when he became a dad himself, so he should know. He remembers. Long nights worrying, juggling everything. Easier and easier as she grew up but when she was so small, the hours when he could actually sleep weren't even resting. Mind restless and anxious and he wasn't even completely alone, thank God, Tommy was around most of the time to help.

“Ya know sometimes they pick up on our stress and it's impossible to settle ‘em then. Always nice to have some help, ain't it? But you're doin' great. You're a good mom,” he repeats, watching your shoulders heave, your tiny nod. Before he’s distracted by drool on his fingers, the one the little boy is now munching on. “Hey now, that ain't clean, darlin’, don't…don't do that.”

“It's all right, he does it all the time.”

“Teethin’, uh? How old are ya, big guy?”

“7 months old last week,” you sniffle.

“Look at ya!” A brighter tone of voice you would have never matched with what you know about your next door neighbor and Byron looks at him with big eyes. “Ya'll be crawlin’ all over the place soon enough. Make your Mama jog.”

You catch the surprising twinkle on Joel's eye and you can't help but chuckle, tears rolling down your face when you blink.

There's been a gaping hole in your heart for longer than your son has been alive that you're having all the pains in the world to fill. Even with how precious Byron is, how thankful you are to have found Jackson. To both be healthy. To have a roof and food and running water. A fridge and a bed and even a crib.

But not his father. The missing piece of the family you never would have dreamed of having but the one you'd dared start to imagine when you got pregnant. Unplanned and dangerous. But that settlement you'd heard of, that could be your chance to bring this child to life in a somewhat decent and safe place.

Only for Emmett to be snatched from you on the road and it's been so hard since he's died, to go through the motions of life without him by your side. Holding your hand and making jokes, even in the apocalypse. Laughing and smiling. There's some of him in his son and you do try to find peace and hope in how his legacy will go through Byron.

That little boy working his gums on Joel Miller's index and it suddenly hits you that you may not care if he munches on your fingers, your neighbor probably does.

He remembers the toys he used, three decades or so ago, to alleviate the pain. The plastic ones he used to stick in the fridge before they made their way into tiny hands and a tiny mouth. There’s probably none of these around for your son so really, Joel doesn’t quite mind. 

Too busy scanning his surroundings, completely awake now, the bundle in his arms much quieter, breathing evenly by the hollow of his throat, almost tickling scarred skin. 

“I hope ya won’t take offense, Mama, but ya look tired as heck,” he mutters, gaze snapping back to you and the honesty, the apologetic tone nonetheless, it makes you chuckle. 

“Can hardly be offended by the truth.”

“I’ll watch him a while for ya,” Joel decides, his mouth and his heart making the decision before his brain has fully processed it but when he hears the words ring in the silence, he doesn’t even want to try to take them back. Doesn’t regret them. “Let ya get some rest too.”

“What about you? You must be tired too.”

“When ya get to my age, there’s not that much need for sleep, ya’ll see.” 

He shrugs in the face of your disbelief and you can hardly believe your luck this time either. The turn that a terrible night is taking. How the prospect of a couple of hours of uninterrupted sleep makes you yearn for your bed all of a sudden. 

“If ya trust me with him, that is.”

It’s the foundation the community is built on, to try and create a better life for all its inhabitants and there can be no going forward without it. The safe haven you were looking for when you set out on the road a year or so ago, weeks and days tend to blend, on the other side of the end of the world, you truly believe you’ve finally found it in Jackson. 

And sure, this is probably the longest conversation you’ve ever had with Joel Miller since he’s come back with the teenager in his care and Tommy introduced them to you as your new neighbors. Polite whenever he sees you in town or when he’s sitting on his porch and you happen to come back home. Helpful, even in the little time he’s been living next door. 

Besides, even with how little you do know about him, there’s no mistaking how at ease your baby is in his arms and that’s pretty much all that your maternal instincts need. 

“Even if I didn’t already, after what I’ve just witnessed, I’d be a fool not to. But, uh, are you sure?”

“Positive. Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t. Go on. We’ll be ok.”

“I – I don’t know what to say, Joel. I – thank you.”

“Anytime, Mama.”

Your eyes stay on Byron, walking backwards to your bedroom, making sure he’s okay. Bumping into the wall and the doorknob digging into side, painful for a second and when you catch Joel’s eye once more, there’s a flash of him meaning business, silently urging you to think about yourself for a little while. 

But it’s hard. Easier, though, when you hear his voice float through the door you can’t help but leave open. A crack in it and there’s the rumbling sound of his words and nothing more than babbles which sometimes answer him, the evidence that your son doesn’t quite mind that you’re not with him anymore and rather quite enjoys his newfound babysitter. 

“Just us, men, for now, what d’ya say, big guy?... Feel like takin’ a nap of your own?.... Nah?.... We’ll turn that light off, yeah?...”

A click and less light flooding the floor of your bedroom, the pillow soaked with sweat still but eyelids heavy when you sigh into worn-out cotton, pushing your dirty feet under the quilt at the bottom of the bed. Only the little light on what you use as a coffee table on, you suppose. Those vintage lampshades that Joel remembers from when he was a kid and that he found horrendous. Still does. 

“...Where are your toys, darlin’? Ya got any book we could read? But quietly, so we don’t wake your mom. She needs all her strength and wits to take care of ya…”

His voice turns into a whisper, making it hard for you to hear everything, or maybe it’s just because you can feel your body relaxing at the babbles and slowly drifting back to the sleep you were denied earlier. For so long.

Joel can’t find any book, though. Only wooden cubes. Nothing soft like what he remembers. A makeshift doll, bright colors, probably sewn from someone in town. Nothing with little bells or those toys making music, those tunes that used to drive him mad but right now, he wouldn’t mind. He doesn’t think he would. 

No book but it’s all right, he keeps on walking, hoping, in his delusions, that the motions will tire the little boy. Wide awake that he is now, hanging on to his every word and making his heart clench fondly. 

“...What’s that?...Ah, that’s a deer. They live in the forest. When you’re older, we’ll get your mom to take ya there…Got any more of those photos?...Ah, see, that’s a bear. There’s a story with three bears, I think but I – I don’t remember it right now, my bad. Maybe it’ll come back…”

You don’t know the story he’s talking about, you make a mental note to go check at the school if they have it, or maybe you should ask people in town what stories they used to read when they were younger. And you hope you’ll remember to do that when you wake up. 

“...I’m just gonna sit, okay?...No?...All right, no sittin’, you the boss. You’ve got places to go, uh?... Hey, now, no, not the hair, ow!”

A hiss and more babbles followed by more mumbling, urging Byron to maybe try to sleep and you can’t say if it’s a figment of your imagination or if you’ve been truly blessed by the gods, when the talking seems to stop to be replaced by gentle humming. A melody to it and maybe actual words that you can’t make out but a soothing lullaby nonetheless to carry you to calm dreams of your own. 

You wake up to a different tune. Slowly. Bird songs from the window left open and a little bit of a breeze which finally makes the curtains flutter and cool off how hot it’s been inside. Bright sunshine in your face, your cheek warm when you purse your lips and try to cling to the last drops of peaceful sleep you’d been enjoying. Wiggling your toes, free from the quilt which has slid off the bed. 

Flipping on your back and stretching. Relishing in the silence cocooning you. Only nature wishing you a good morning. No human activity, no human interference for now. 

And that’s this realization which makes your blood freeze, your heart seize and your stomach clench painfully. At the same time, you feel an ache in your breasts, the need to nurse your son soon. 

But where is he? 

No sound at all in the house except your groan at how quick you stand up. Brain awake and in override. Survival mode already kicking in and looking for the closest weapon, the most efficient one. Also shoes. 

Heart thudding in your chest and in your ears, blood pumping with adrenaline, yanking the bedroom door wide open to face an empty living room. No sign of your son, no sign of your visitor and you feel it rise with a force you haven’t experienced in long, long months, those hints of panic that could threaten to overwhelm you and crunch your spirit. 

But no. Not now. Not until you’ve found him and rescued him. 

Frantic in how you try to assess what you know, you have to do a double-take to notice the piece of paper on the chair, right in the middle of your house. On the path to the front door. Impossible to miss. 

Words scribbled on pencil and black spots obstructing your vision as you scan it quickly. You gasp for air and hold on to the chair, hearing the paper crinkle as you clutch it. Exhaling loudly. Hand shaking and then against your heart, willing it to calm down. Replaying Joel’s words that everyone is okay. Everyone is next door. 

It’d almost feel ridiculous, how fast you’ve assumed the worst but he’s the apple of your eye and somehow, you don’t think you’ll ever shake off how dangerous it was, living in the wild before settling down here. Especially now with someone so precious depending on you. 

So you replace the note with your shotgun, no need for it now, shaky legs leading you out of your house, out the front yard which could use some tending, maybe next year. To the smells of summer that settle you even more. The life around you, pretty late in the morning, judging by the position of the sun. 

Out the gate and through your neighbor’s. To the activity on Joel’s front porch and the ecstatic squeals once he’s noticed you and points to you with a There’s your mama. Your cheeks ache with relief and joy at the sight of the happy little boy he finally hands back to you. 

“Hi, baby! Hi, how are you?” Kisses on his cheeks and his forehead and he laughs, the brightest sound in the world. “Thank you so much, Joel. And sorry.”

“For?” He frowns, looks up at you from the rocking chair he slowly lets come to a stop. 

“Probably taking up all your morning? I’ve got no idea what time it is but I didn’t think I’d sleep for so long.”

“Looks like ya needed the sleep. It’s all right. He slept some too.”

Not much but really, rocking chairs are marvelous things and once Byron started fussing again, and there was no way Joel was going to wake you up so soon, that’s when he decided to relocate to his own house. To watch the colors of the sky change in the dawn. To doze off a bit himself as well. A warm little body pressed up close to his skin. The smell of innocence he’d actually forgotten. 

To the chair he’s still sitting on. After he’d had to trek back to your house because the diaper had leaked all over his shirt and that makes you bite your cheek to hide your grin at how he scowls, looks down at himself and the tee-shirt on his back now. The little one he’s found dried on the line by your stairs and that Byron is wearing now, even if it’s gearing up to be a warm summer day again. 

Joel’s aware, as you inspect your son, that he hasn’t done a really good job putting a new diaper on him. Cleaning was easy. Securing the pins on the cloth, not so much. He remembers elastic bands and fastening straps and those were sometimes tricky already with a wiggling baby. So sharp pins so close to baby skin? He may have been ruthless to survive in the past, he was not about to face a motherly wrath if he scratched your baby. So it’s a bit loose, you do notice, but you’re so grateful. For everything. 

“I thought we’d wake ya up, getting changed.”

“Didn’t hear a thing.” You shake your head, kiss baby hair, and bounce him a little against your chest. You can’t see the smile he gives Joel, but you hear the giggle. 

“Out cold, ya were. I got him somethin’ to eat too. Had to go through your fridge.”

There’s a little bowl set on the railing, a dirty spoon and the remains of the puréed apple you were going to feed Byron for lunch. Some below his chin right now and even behind his ear and just like the diaper, you don’t care. You’re more curious to find out how food may have made its way to these particular parts. 

Because in spite of the bath he’ll need before the evening, he got fed and changed and looked after and he got some sleep and now he’s back with you and they’re not from exhaustion anymore, the tears that well up in your eyes. 

They’re from gratitude and appreciation for the man squinting from the sun shining bright before a cloud rolls in front of it.

“Thank you so much, Joel.”

He nods to acknowledge you. 

“Any time, like I said. May feel like you’re on your own but you ain’t, Mama. I mean that.” Then a second of hesitation, of chewing on his lip and of avoiding your gaze. “I know how hard it can be. Just you and him. I’ve been through it so I do, mean it. Truly.”

“Oh, with Ellie?”

He clears his throat. 

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Point is, if ya ever need help, ya know where to find me. Matter of fact, we’re gonna haul that chair to your place once someone will decide they’re done with breakfast!” 

He speaks up louder, neck stretched towards the house and the open front door, glad for something else to think about, someone to scold rather than reminisce about tragic times. They never leave him alone anyway and somehow, he’s rather grateful your son kept him up last night. It’s brought back better memories. Bittersweet perhaps, but better. 

“Or we can just wait for Tommy to come back and do it instead! Hi!” Your name gets butchered in the piece of apple Ellie is chewing on, a loud interruption in the doorway she leans against, swallowing loudly. “He came by earlier coz Joel here didn’t show up at the house they’re building,” she goes on, explaining what you’ve missed. “Joel just told him he had a bigger job to do today.”

“Will you get in trouble?”

“With my brother?” Joel scoffs. “I’d like to see him try.”

“Ok, good. What do you mean, though, getting that chair to my house?”

“Every mom should’ve a rockin’ chair.” Every parent, really. He spent some long nights in his. Him and Sarah. “It ain’t right you don’t. Go on, Mama, try it out.”

The wood creaks as he stands up from a cushion which has seen better days. Chipped white paint but it does the job. A soothing rhythm that has Byron’s eyelids drop when you settle in the warm spot Joel offers you. Hot breaths. Surprise choking you up, wide eyes as he leans against the railing, arms crossed on his chest. 

There’s something that digs into your back and chubby fingers reach for the little figurine of the animal after you’ve retrieved it. Carved dark wood. A dog you think. Maybe a wolf. Not some smooth work but in the baby’s eyes, that’s irrelevant. He’s reaching for it regardless, bringing it to his mouth. 

“He can have that too. I’ll make others.” 

“You made that?”

“Yeah. Tell me what he’d like and I’ll make it. I noticed he didn’t have that many toys and that – that ain’t right either. Kids should’ve toys.”

Bright ones everywhere in the house. With wheels and flashing lights and some to play house and cartoons on TV. Fat luck finding any of these in Jackson. He’s been to Tommy and Maria’s house quite often and he hasn’t seen any of those for their kid either. So his little figurines, they may not be state of the art, they get him out of his head and the little boy, he seems to appreciate them. 

“Grandpa Miller.”

Ellie sniggers behind you and Joel clicks his tongue, scowls but his dark look doesn’t make her budge. 

“I told ya to quit that already.”

She chortles even more, chewing her apple, not deterred by the scolding at all. 

It was annoying the first time, but the more Joel has been thinking about it, while taking care of the little boy, the more he’s starting to think that there might be some truth to it. Maybe. 

The role that was snatched from him in the dark and dirt and blood, all those years ago, that maybe, in some way, he could get a taste of. And as he catches how you try not to join in Ellie’s laughter, out of respect or perhaps because you’re not there yet with them, there’s a glint in your eye. Fresher cheeks somehow, less weight on your shoulder, and a lightness to the morning Joel didn’t believe could happen for him anymore. A reminder of easier times. Chaos and kids and a family of sorts. A bigger one. A sense of community. 

And you know, deep in your bones, rested and feeling safe again and with more wind picking up between the blades of grass and the leaves up high, more clouds, bigger even, the promise of rain perhaps, you know that you’ll welcome it all. Joel Miller being that for your son. The found family you never imagined you could have and you think, on this summer morning, with your son dozing off with his mouth open, drooling on your clothes, that life really might be worth living in Jackson. 

Thank you @saradika-graphics for the divider!

I hope you enjoyed this slice of soft and happy Joel, I'm always very nervous writing for him so I'd truly love to hear what you think about this story

Main masterlist | Joel Masterlist

[bluestar22x]

Thanks for adding Unknown

New Writers added to The Pedro Library 🐼

@eff4freddie @sixhours

New Works Added ✨

Many fics aren’t appearing in the tags when searching. If I miss yours, please let me know 💗 Or add me to your taglist cuz I love being tagged 😊

As always, if you would like me to remove your work from the rec list, please let know and I’ll remove them asap 😊

@morallyinept Javi G Te Quiero 

@mermaidgirl30 Javier Javi’s Playground / Joel Captured in the Woods

@mandoalorian Javier But Daddy I Love Him!

@ghostofaboy Javier + Dave + Marcus P Hold Please...

@penvisions Frankie Coffee and Candor

@undercoverpena Frankie Up Sky, Low High

@alwaysbethewest Frankie + Javier Crossing the Streams 

@autumnleaves1991-blog Frankie Frankie Drabble 

@mothandpidgeon Joel The Outlaws

@frenchiereading Joel Muscle Memory

@wheresarizona Joel But Now I’m Your Daisy

@tightjeansjavi Joel My Joel

@toomanystoriessolittletime Joel Rain Confessions

@secretelephanttattoo Marcus M Afterword

@wardenparker @absurdthirst Whiskey A Night to Remember

@beskarandblasters Din Packin’ (In More Ways Than One) + Guilty as Sin

@backtothefanfiction Din Not That Easy

@tropes-and-tales Din Shadow and Light

@rayslittlekitten Dieter Draw Me Like One of Your French Girls 

@bluestar22x Dieter Unknown

@janaispunk Oberyn Delicate

@chronically-ghosted Pero Iron and Charcoal

[bluestar22x]

The Crush comes home June 2024 ❤️

ARC announcements coming soon! If you’re not already following me on Insta, TikTok, or Threads, please do! 🫶🏻

[bluestar22x]

Ravi Panikkar in Every Episode ↳ 4x06: Jinx

[bluestar22x]

Me all this week. So much wind...

[bluestar22x]

The votes are all in and have been counted and recounted, and then recounted one more time while I slowly shook my head. 🤣

It's official!! Marcus is the hottest clean-shaven Pedro character!

Dave is being really cool about things, though.👀

Thank you all for playing along and for being just the right kind of unhinged about all this silliness!

[bluestar22x]

Going to revamp my fanfic masterlist sometime soon. Something simple, but I really want to organize by characters/shows now that I have so many fanfics here.

[bluestar22x]

🌷 Who's up for a creative challenge? 🌷

If it's not apparent already, I love flowers and I love the Pedro Boys! So, what could be more fun than combining the Pedro Boys and flowers in a creative challenge? 🌷🪻🌻

Perhaps Marcus brings you flowers on date night, Dave's scattered sumptuous petals leading you up to bed, you and Ezra get stranded on a planet with alien-esque florals, or you're showering sweet Javi G with his favourite blooms for his birthday... 🌷🪻🌻

Running during the month of May, I challenge you to write and share a fic - or fics - featuring any of the Pedro Boys and flowers. 🪻

You can also make mood boards or art if you're not a writer - or don't want to write - but still want to participate! 🌷

🌻 See below for the full challenge details! 👇🏻

The challenge deets:

Must feature at least one Pedro Boy - can be any character Pedro has played, no matter how popular. You can feature more than one Pedro Boy too, if you like.

Must contain flowers or plants in some capacity. 🌷🪻🌻 Can be the main feature of your story, or a background aesthetic. Florals, plants, succulents - you name it, you can feature any of them!

Can be as smutty or fluffy as you want! Hot, soft, gentle, fun, quirky - you've got freedom on whether you wanna write smut or not.

No word limit - you write as many words as you see fit.

Any Reader type! You can write in X Reader, original character or just the Pedro Boys engaging with one another. Any gender/race/size or physical ability of Reader is absolutely welcome too! 🌈 This is an inclusive house! 🙌🏻

Mood boards, video edits and original artwork is also welcome - but must feature a Pedro Boy and flowers, and must be your own creation.

No limit to the number of submissions - you can write more than one fic, or submit more than one artwork, but the Pedro Boys must be different for each submission.

Tag me in your work and use the #jettsflora&faunachallenge so I can add it to a Masterlist.

This challenge will run from 1st May - 31st May 2024 and I'll add works as they're posted.

☝🏻 Don't worry too much if you miss the deadline, life happens, and you'll still be able to submit your fic/art after the deadline. Just let me know. 🌷🪻🌻

🪻🌷🌻 And as a flowery bonus...

I will pick one piece of work submitted at complete random, when all the works are posted, and will send that person a bunch of flowers!* 💐

I hope you'll participate and have fun & I can't wait to see what you'll come up with! Would really appreciate a signal boost too - thankies 🖤

A-Z of Flowers Database Look up your flowers 🌷🪻🌻

*I can send flowers worldwide. In order to send them, I'll need a name & a delivery address. I appreciate it if you don't feel comfortable sharing that info with a stranger, however please rest assured those details will stay with me and only me. The recipient will be picked at random using a generator. If you have floral allergies, I can send a substitute little floral themed gift instead. 🖤

[bluestar22x]

do me yourself masterlist

francisco "frankie" morales x f!reader

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

key themes: meet cute. romcom vibes (your girl is back). fluff. flirting in person and over <redacted>. idiots falling in love. smut (eventually - check individual chapters for details). frankie is a boy!dad (will highlight when child will be mentioned in individual chapters warnings)

WORK-IN-PROGRESS (UPDATES TUESDAY)

CHAPTER ONE - BUTTERSCOTCH ORANGE

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER TWO - LEMON TWIST

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER THREE - HEATHER PURPLE

— BONUS GRAPHIC

CHAPTER FOUR - GREEN SMOKE

CHAPTER FIVE - PEPPER RED (S)

CHAPTER SIX - MORNING COFFEE

— BONUS

CHAPTER SEVEN - HONEY CREAM

CHAPTER EIGHT - DARK OLIVE

CHAPTER NINE - BREATH OF FRESH AIR

CHAPTER TEN - CRANBERRY COCKTAIL

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

... more to be added

gifted moodboard by @eupheme

gifted moodboard by @sawymredfox

dedication: none of this would be possible without @secretelephanttattoo who i owe my heart to for not just persuading me to write this, but egging me on all week. el, you're a fantastic friend, thank you for all the giggles, the catfish picture and for just letting me distract you all goddamn week. ily, and i hope one day i can show how much. shoutout to @hellishjoel for the title, and to @thetriumphantpanda for listening to me talk about this pair for a solid ten minutes when we was booking train tickets.

[bluestar22x]

Woman | Joel Miller x Reader

In progress, Rating: Mature/Explicit

Watch her take me by surprise

When she lets me call her mine

Do you ever really know?

Can you ever really know?

Summary: Joel Miller returns to Jackson bringing back memories and feelings from 20 years ago, but you refuse fall into the universe’s trap again. Your table is at capacity. Adding another chair will only kill you when they get taken away.

Tags: Joel Miller X Reader. Age Gap. smut. hurt/comfort. Life in Jackson. single parent. post season/part I. Mostly TV show canon compliant. TV show versions of characters. playing with the timeline. Tommy’s been in Jackson for a lot longer.

Warnings: descriptions of blood, gore, trauma. Grief & loss. Loss of a spouse. Violence. Smut/Explicit content. Panic attacks, depression, anxiety. MISC canon topics. Chapter specific warnings before each chapter.

Playlist - Updated with each chapter release

Part I

1. tame the ghosts in my head 2. a clouded mind and a heavy heart 3. pick up your clothes and curl your toes 4. walk with me, i think we’ll find a way 5. sleep the hours that i can't weep 6. play my bloody part 7. when she lets me call her mine

Before - A Woman Story

Five peeks into your life before Joel Miller reentered it, recommended to read in between Part I & II of Woman

Part II

8. a cry of my heart to see 9. the fear of what’s to come 10. hold you from the world and its curse drabble. what's that i see? 11. up from the dust, inconceivable love 12. love with urgency but not with haste

Part III

[bluestar22x]

Netflix & Chill

Marcus Pike x Female Reader

18+, MDNI

Summary: You spend your fifth date with Marcus at his place watching Netflix.

Or

You might be in your thirties, but you can still Netflix and Chill.

Warnings: fluffy smut. Kissing. Little bit of dirty talk. Fully clothed. Marcus just being the love of my life the entire time.

AN: Don’t look at me. Don’t talk to me. I am too busy having my brain absolutely disintegrated by thoughts of Agent Pike. I am sick over him. Down bad. Wanting to rip off my arms and beat myself senseless with them over him. Leave me alone!! But also leave me nice comments because I’m a slut with a praise kink lol. Thank you so much for reading 🤎

Graphics and dividers by @saradika-graphics

Moodboard by me

“Oh god,” you whimper, both of you are fully dressed. You’re caged under his strong body as he pushes his hips down on you. You can feel his cock through his grey sweats and your thin, black yoga pants. The credits of whatever movie you were watching rolled in the background.

“Is this ok?” He asks, kissing at your neck and earlobe. The soft, fuzzy brown blanket falls around both of you, encasing you in his earthy and citrus scent.

“Ya, please don’t stop.” You writhe under him, feeling that familiar tingly pressure building. He smiles into the crook of your neck.

It was your fifth date with Marcus Pike, FBI agent and potential man of your dreams. In his younger years, he probably would have already slept with you by now. But age has made him a man of patience and waiting. Only giving what he’s willing to let go of, what he can nurture and grow. And for the first time in a long time, he thinks that might be you.

“I won’t stop, baby.”

Baby, shit. He panics internally. He’s only called you by your name until now. He nervously looks over at you and you smile sleepily.

“I like that,” you mumble.

“Which part?” He asks his voice like warm oil along your skin. “Me grinding into what I’m sure is the most beautiful pussy in the world, or the kisses on your soft, slender, vanilla scented neck, or me calling you baby?”

Your legs start to shake around him as you pull him in to kiss him hard. You sweep your tongue along his bottom lip. He tastes like the popcorn and expensive Cabernet Sauvignon you were both drinking.

“All of it,” you say between kisses.

He pulls away, bringing his hands to your face and gently wiping the few loose hairs that stick to your skin, then drags the tip of his nose down yours before resting his forehead against yours.

“You’re truly so beautiful. I’m so happy I met you, baby.” He pushes his hips into you harder and a pornographic moan fills the room as the trailer for whatever Netflix is suggesting next plays. “Sound so pretty too.”

“Marcus,” you say wantonly.

“I know. I’m here.” He says, eyes still locked on yours, one thumb making sweet, soft circles on your cheek while his other slips behind your head.

Your hands bunch into his white t-shirt. “I’m gonna cum,” you moan, letting his coca-cola coloured eyes wash over you, and drench your whole body in carbonated pleasure. Sparkling, bubbling, fizzing over the edge.

“I’m right here, honey.” He whispers, pushing into you a little faster. Your body jolts into his as you suck in quick, shallow breaths.

“Ohgodohgod. Mar-Marcus,” your walls clench tightly around nothing as he hits at your puffy, sensitive clit through your pants at the perfect tempo and pressure.

“Relax, baby. I got you.” He encourages and then you fall apart for him. Your body twitches on its own accord as your orgasm rolls through you for what feels like an eternity.

“That’s it,” he whispers, stilling his hips. “Just take. That’s a good girl.”

You clamp your eyes shut as you reach the top of it. “No, look at me, baby. You’re so beautiful like this.”

Pink flushes your cheeks at his words and the blood that seems to not know where to go in your body. Everything feels like it’s being doused with warm water as you finally come over the edge and the fluttering of your pussy slows.

His eyes dance around your face before he kisses your forehead, and the tip of your nose. You smile into his lips as he places a light and lingering kiss on yours.

“Are you okay?” He says sweetly, pulling back slightly.

“Ya, that’s was…” you search his face for any hint of regret but all you see is admiration. You finish with, “…unexpected, but amazing.”

As he starts to respond, a whipping sound followed by a moan comes from the TV. Both of your heads turn towards it.

“Netflix is suggesting 50 Shades of Grey,” he laughs.

“That’s more of a seventh date thing for me,” you say flatly as his face whips back to you. You can’t help but laugh at his reaction. Both of you now laughing as you sort yourself back out, cuddling into him to find a new movie to “watch” next.

Taglist:

@corazondebeskar @hiddenbabynyc @rainstorms-library @keylimebeag @pimosworld

@casa-boiardi @pedritoferg @paleidiot @lorilane33 @jessthebaker

@jasminedragoon @pedroswife69 @iloveenya @javierpena-inatacvest @pedroshotwifey

@mermaidgirl30 @littlevenicebitch69 @untamedheart81

Special tag for @survivingandenduring because I know you share my love of this man.

[bluestar22x]

Mira’s instagram

[bluestar22x]

slowly, intensely | javier peña

javier peña x reader 127 soft smut, fluff tags into ficlets masterlist | main masterlist

feeling all of him. taking your time to savor every languid drag of him through you. it's divine and beautiful. the rush of endorphins spiking from each unhurried movement. his touch grounding you and burning you at the same time. everything blurs out him being your only focus. the pinch of his brow and soft subtle moan is all you need to know he's close. rolling your hips and punching through each delicious thrust. it's the most beautiful sight. watching him fall apart. but it's the smile that he wears after that has you clenching with tremendous pride. and he's there dousing you with the sweetest praise. the tenderest of kisses as his arms hold you close. shared breaths and beating hearts that have become your favorite lullaby