fics4fags

[fics4fags]

Okay so, this is based on a true story. A few years ago I had to go to the ER and the man next to us was perplexed as all hell that he couldn't just throw petrol into an open fire [that he had going in his house btw] Then I saw this pic on someone's post and well, come on.

Also the guy was fine, he couldn't have given a flying fuck.

--

Stan Pines x GN Reader Gravity Falls SFW Mild injury

You could no longer count on one hand how many times you’d had to rush to the emergency room with Stan. He had a habit of looking common sense in the eye and fistfighting it. He lay on the bed, a frown on his face as he muttered under his breath. “This really ain’t necessary dollface,” he mumbled and you shot him a look. “I’m sorry?”  you laughed, unable to believe his words.

“You don’t think you need to be here? Stanley, you have at the very least 3rd-degree burns on your arm!” You gave him just as much attitude in return, watching him pout like a petulant child who'd been scolded.

“It ain’t that bad, just bein’ over dramatic,” oh, you were this close to kicking his ass. You were about to argue when a nurse came in with a clipboard looking over her notes.

“Stanford Filbrick Pines?” she asked and you could see Stan visibly bristle. Of all the fake identities he’d taken up over the years, you knew this one ran deeper in his veins, it hurt in ways you could only imagine. 

“Yeah?”

“Ah, Dr Pines, would you like to tell me a little about what brings you here today?” Stan sighed and adjusted himself on the creaky bed. “Don’t it say on ya paper there toots?” you nudged his arm and tried to laugh like he was joking, but it came out strained. He could be the biggest child when he was in a mood.

She blinked at his reaction and cleared her throat. “Well, yes. It does, but it always helps if you explain the details, as I’m sure there is more to this than ‘the fire got out of control while cooking’” 

Stan coughed, trying to act nonchalant, he shrugged his shoulders before he winced, his left arm still hurting despite how many painkillers he’d been plied with when he was first signed in. “Nah, it’s a real borin’ story…”

He felt both you and the nurse’s eyes on him as he shifted. “Alright, fine, fine… I was cookin’ out back with the kids and the fire jus’ wasn’t cuttin’ it, so I had a tank of gas and I chucked it in and the fire just went crazy!”

“Y- you used gasoline on an open fire?” the nurse asked with a dumbfounded expression, giving you a sideways glance for confirmation, but you sitting there rubbing the bridge of your nose and sighing into the palm of your hand was enough for her.

“I’m sorry, aren’t you a doctor?” she asked and Stan snorted and laid back on the bed, you could tell there was a tinge of red across his cheeks, embarrassed at the situation. “Well, it ain’t a medical doctorate,”

–

After hours of complaining and acting like it hadn’t been his fault in the slightest. Stan was never one to claim responsibility for his mistakes. He’d been treated and wrapped up in bandages and after much trying to negotiate the medical bill you were finally on your way home with him. 

“Think I can sue the gas company?”

“What?” 

“Yeah, your right, I guess I shouldn’t be so greedy… make them pay my expenses instead.” you couldn’t help stare at Stan, even with his arm out of commission for awhile he still seemed so smug, the grin on his face as he rubbed his chin in thought. 

“And how are you going to do that? Tell them that their highly flammable gas which was tossed into a fire is highly unstable? Dangerous even?” Stan nodded thinking he was a genius.

“Thank God you're pretty,” 

[fics4fags]

DISCLAIMER: Words used: Breasts, tits, boobs, and chest

If ur up to it

Terzo x ftm reader who hasn’t had top surgery?

like something along the lines of body worship bc Terzo wants to help with dysphoria?

here you go!

-

Terzo slides his hands up your hips, tracing the soft curve of your body before he comes to your chest. you almost wish he’d just move past them, keep going to cup your jaw or do something as equally sweet, but you know he won’t— when he got like this, there was nothing that could satisfy him until he was finished worshipping you properly.

that meant worshipping all of you. even the parts of yourself that you didn’t like as much.

and Satan below, was he good at worship. he’d begun at your legs, walking his palms up the sides of them while murmuring about how they were shaped, how pretty they were, how much he wanted you to crush his head between your thighs and make him struggle to breathe. then your ass, cupping it tenderly as he told you how cute it was, how he saw it in his dreams.

your tummy was lavished with kisses, little pecks placed into the hollows of your hips and then up towards where your breasts were. he makes his way there now, circling one of your nipples with his tongue while his hand plays with the other one.

you make a desperate noise in the back of your throat at the feeling of him suckling there, hand coming up to thread itself through his hair. Terzo turns to look up the length of your body at you, eyes hooded with the pleasure he gets from adoring you in the ways you deserve.

“so handsome, tesoro,” he murmurs against your skin, popping off your nipple with an obscenely wet noise. a trail of spit lingers for a moment, connecting him to the peak of it still before he dives back in on your other one to trace its edges.

“…not there,” you mumble, unable to shake the general malaise that came over you whenever you thought too hard about your chest. your tits made you feel like less than a man, less than the handsome Adonis Terzo loved to tell you that you were.

his eyes shoot open again at your words and Terzo’s gaze sharpens, the pleasant haze that had settled over him grinding to a point.

he sits up where he’s straddling you, grinding up against your core, and brings his hands up to cup your breasts. Terzo catches your eye and when you try to look away, one of his palms catches you underneath your chin. you’re forced to look at him as he leans down to begin peppering your skin with feather-light kisses.

“yes, here. all of you is a treasure, amore, even these parts. I know your worries, your concerns, but you are still every bit a man while you have these.”

he’s meticulous, covering every possible inch of your tits with kisses.

“some men just have boobs, eh?” Terzo hums against your skin. “it does not make them less of a man. it does not make you less of a man.”

you bite your lip as you look down at him.

“…i’ll try to remember that.”

[fics4fags]

Could I perhaps request hcs for Astarion and/or Halsin with a reader who is prone to getting wrist and ankle injuries (and they are a fool who reinjures themselves often, mainly due to overestimating how healed they are but also giving the excuse of "I was bored! What was I supposed to do?") Thanks!

Hello, anon!! Sorry it took so long to post this! I did both to make up for it (and it got reaaaaal long lmao); I hope that's alright. <3 Thank you for the lovely request!!

~ ~ ~

Astarion

You had chosen to come with them, despite everyone's protests. Shadowheart was concerned that you had not fully healed, and due to her suspicion, Lae'zel was convinced you would be a liability.

Astarion feigned apathy, of course, but it was the increasingly more frequent glances he was tossing back in your direction as you went that gave him away

You were a fairly casual traveler anyway, preferring to lurk in the middle or the back of the group as you walked, providing directions when the group came to an impasse. It was no doubt you were their leader, however, for every head turned to you when any kind of decision or uncertainty arose

But today was an exceptionally slow day, even for you. You plodded along behind the others, a sharp eye but dull reflexes; you were the only one who couldn't tell. Only when the group was surprised by a batch of newly spawned gnolls, did you come to realize just how grave a mistake you had made.

You tugged the bow from your back and reached for an arrow; once you had the bowstring pulled taut, you noticed the ache in your left wrist. You tried to ignore it as you slung arrow after arrow to the shelf on the bow, but your aim was failing you, and two gnolls already had their sights set on you; so when a sudden, sharp pain in your wrist sent your next arrow flying harmlessly above one of the gnoll's heads, it set its teeth and grinned at you as if to say, "I've got you now," and charged you, the other one following close behind

Gasping, you reached for your sword; pain - red hot pain. You cried out as it blinded you and looked around for your companions; all busy, all pre-occupied. You had to get to one of them; had to get away - you were useless like this. You were going to die.

Suddenly, a flash of white came across your vision; blades and metal and teeth planted itself in front of you. "Star?"

"You idiot!" he seethed as he slashed at the gnolls, their dagger-like claws slicing the elf's pale skin. In a flash, the one nearest him was down, bleeding a sticky red over the ground, and the moment he saw an opening, Astarion lunged at the second, sinking his fangs into its neck. It writhed, clawing at the armor on his back, before falling limp.

He took several more measured gulps before letting the body drop unceremoniously and rounding on you, his red eyes feral and gleaming. "You almost died, you absolute fool!" he screeched and you shrunk away from him, having never seen his anger directed at you this vehemently before. "You were told to stay in camp, but nooo! You had to come out here and endanger your life, again! Gods! And what, exactly, do you think we would have done were our leader to die, hm? Gale, the ticking time bomb, can't very well lead us, nor could Wyll, the Blade of I-have-a-devil-on-my-shoulder-Frontiers! If you go down, we all go down, and I can't go down! Not like this..."

"Astarion," Karlach's voice sounded behind you and she laid a heavy, comforting hand on your shoulder as your eyes filled with guilty tears. "They've heard enough." Astarion huffed and turned away, and the five of you treaded back to camp, nursing battle wounds, guilt, and hurt feelings.

Thankfully, Gale had readied a warm soup in your absence, and he handed you a bowl with a gentle smile upon your return - gods, you must have truly looked awful. You took it with a quiet "thank you" and sat down close to the fire, curling inwards, hoping no one would look your way. Astarion was right, you had endangered everyone due to your foolishness. Even now, you nursed your left wrist, letting the bowl's weight fall on your right instead. You groaned softly, knowing you would have to return to Shadowheart and have her repair it - once again - to the state it was in before today. You would have to bear her frustrated gaze, and you were just not certain you could right now.

After slurping down most of the soup, you returned the bowl to Gale and made for your own tent - you figured you would not be welcome in Astarion's tonight. You curled your hand up to your chest to keep gravity from causing even more swelling, and ducked inside.

You nearly lost your footing when you looked up and saw Astarion, with a sour expression on his face, sitting on your bedroll, mixing a green-ish, gooey liquid in a bowl. A single step forward explained his scrunched up nose - it smelled awful. "Star?" you asked quietly, putting your right hand over your nose and mouth.

"Only you would have me sitting here mixing this gods-awful concoction instead of sleeping," he fussed, mixing harder.

"W-what are you talking about? I came to my tent because I figured you'd rather be alone in yours," you replied, muffled by your sleeve.

"I almost lost you today and you think I'd rather be alone?" he griped, and you softened almost immediately, tears springing to your eyes. "This is a salve the druid recommended. It will help with the swelling. Just think! If you were a vampire, you wouldn't swell. Wouldn't that be swell." He was muttering angrily, but all of his bluster had expired. His eyebrows, that had previously been knitted together, were now curved up in desperation as he continued mixing.

You kneeled down in front of him and gently laid your hands over his. "It's mixed, Star," you said quietly, and he looked up at you, his eyes round and misty. You guided his hands to set the bowl on the table beside you, then curled your fingers around his. "I'm so sorry," you whispered. "Everything you said was right; I endangered everyone today, for a really stupid reason. I just feel-" you paused, choking on your words as your throat tightened with unshared emotions. "I feel so useless staying behind."

Before you could process what was happening, you were being pulled into Astarion's chest, his arms winding so tightly around your back that you almost couldn't breathe; but gods it felt so good. Your arms were around his neck in an instant and you breathed in his perfume and the lingering salt from battle. You let the tears fall down your face in earnest as you buried it in his shoulder.

"My darling," he whispered. "You are never useless, no matter where you are. You've done so much for all of us - for me - already. Gods damn it, you couldn't be useless if you tried."

Halsin

You had been ordered to rest in camp by the others after a taking a nasty fall on the cliffside. You had unfortunately stepped in an obscured burrow hole, and your foot had dropped through, leaving the rest of your body to twist at an unnatural angle as you fell to the earth. For a week, you had not been able to walk on it at all, limping around on the makeshift supports that Halsin had carved for you from a nearby fallen tree.

But it had been three weeks since then, and you were moving around with much more agility now, walking without any supports, and even doing your turns with the laundry in the nearby lake. You wanted to return to aiding your companions on your journey, but no one else thought you were ready to return.

As frustrating as it was, you understood where they were coming from - they weren't certain you were fully healed and did not want a liability in battle. You wouldn't either. But with little to do at camp, you were left bored and restless, always aimlessly walking about looking for something to do.

That something presented itself when Scratch and Bite*, the owlbear cub you rescued awhile back from the goblin camp, came bounding up to you, a ball in Scratch's mouth. You smiled, excited at the prospect of eluding your boredom for a little while, and cast Speak with Animals on yourself. "Are you both as bored as I am?" you asked them once the spell took hold.

Scratch dropped the ball. "I noticed you were unsettled, friend," he said. "Perhaps this will give you something to do without straining your foot."

"Ball, throw; chase!" Bite jumped around excitedly.

"Aww, you guys are the best," you exclaimed, touched by their kind gesture. You picked up the ball and turned it over in your hand a couple of times before turning to aim across camp at where Wyll sat in front of his tent. "Are you ready? Let's get Wyll involved!" Scratch and Bite wiggled their butts, ready to chase, and you launched the ball in Wyll's direction.

It bounced directly in front of him and soared over his head, bonking against one of his horns and turning in the other direction. Wyll's head snapped up, found the ball, then turned to you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. You slapped your hand over your mouth to keep from guffawing. "Sorry, Wyll!"

"Oh, you will be," he replied, but here was no malice to be found in his words as he set his book aside and rose, slapping his knee a couple times until Scratch returned the ball to him. "You'd better be quick, Tav; you don't have horns to protect your head!" Wyll laughed before hurling the ball in your direction. You squealed with glee and raised your hands to catch it, the ball landing smoothly in your hands.

"Get him back, Bite!" you cackled, throwing the ball towards the owlbear cub, and he raced after it, lodging it in his beak before running at Wyll at near-top speed.

"Whoa!" Wyll yelled in surprise and dove out of the way as the cub barreled past him, turning on a dime to keep from destroying Wyll's tent. "That has to be some kind of penalty in this game!" he laughed, on all fours in the dirt.

"And what game would that be, exactly, Wyll?" you tittered as the cub returned the ball to you.

"Aren't we playing catch?" Wyll asked, dusting his hands off and returning to his feet.

"Hells if I know!" you shouted playfully and turned, tossing the ball towards Gale instead.

When it bounced off of the hefty tome in the wizard's hands, startling him so much that he leveled backwards, you and Wyll collapsed into fits of giggles. Several moments later, Gale was in front of you, holding the ball in his hand with a stern expression on his face. "Was this your doing, Tav?" he asked.

"It was," you breathed, wiping the tears from your eyes as you recovered. "I'm so sorry, Gale, I didn't mean to hit your book. I was aiming for your shoe." More devolved cackling ensued from Wyll several feet away. "I wanted you to join in." you giggled, wiping your other eye.

"Well then," Gale said, his face still solemn, but his eyes telling a different story. "You should have just asked." He threw his hands up in a shrug.

"Gale," you said, observing the wizard's now empty hands. "Where's the ball?"

"Hmm," he faux-pondered. "What an excellent question, Tav. I wonder..."

Your question was answered seconds later as it whizzed by your head from somewhere behind you and you gasped in shock, slinging yourself around to find a blue mage hand waving at you colloquially. "Gale!" you screeched, laughing as Scratch took off running.

"I should have known you wouldn't play fair!" Wyll called, already jogging to a new spot.

"You absolutely should have," Gale affirmed, and took a spot further away from you. "How about we elevate this a little?" He suggested slyly and muttered an incantation. A ball appeared in your hands and another in Wyll's. "Two are illusions, the ones you have there. Only one really matters. You know the difference now, but after Scratch and Bite have a go at them? Well,"

"What does the winner get?" you asked.

"Mm," Gale pondered for a moment, but Wyll interjected.

"Laundry done by the two losers for three weeks."

"Done." you answered swiftly.

Gale was slower to answer, but conceded. "Alright, done."

"Let's get started."

The camp was in chaos for the next half hour, Scratch and Bite no longer the only ones diving for the little leather balls. You couldn't remember the last time you'd had so much fun, but it all came crashing down when you jumped off of your bad foot to dive for the ball. You let out a scream of pain as your fingers closed around the ball, and you landed in the dirt with a heavy thud.

"Tav?!" Gale called, knowing immediately that something was amiss. Wyll wasn't long to realize after him, trotting up to you with a worried expression on his face.

"I-" you groaned, pulling your ankle close to inspect it. "I went down on it; my bad ankle. Oh, gods."

"Mystra's finger, I had forgotten about your ankle. Oh, Tav, this is my fault, I greatly apologize," Gale stuttered, and reached towards you. "Please, allow me to help you get to a nice resting spot so that we can get it elevated."

"I assumed you were better, this is on me as well. I am so sorry, Tav. Gale, I'll help."

You accepted both Gale and Wyll's help and they moved you to an empty bedroll by the unlit fire, lowering you down onto the pillows. Gale rushed to his tent and returned with several more to prop under your knee and foot. You cringed, not only at the pain but at the thought of having to explain to Halsin what you had done. He had been healing you little by little over the course of the last three weeks, checking in on you so diligently each time to make sure you would be ready to return to your journey as swiftly as possible, and this was how you had rewarded him. You laid your head in your hands in shame and waited for the inevitable.

The remainder of your companions returned several hours later, and you hadn't moved from your place. You almost didn't dare to look up when the druid stopped before you, but you took a quick glance at his tired expression and nearly cried. He had obviously been through the ringer today, and certainly didn't need your foolishness to contend with.

"What happened here?" he asked gruffly, exhaustion creeping through each word.

Gale and Wyll were by your side in an instant, as if they had both been waiting for this moment as tensely as you had. "Wyll and I were playing fetch with Scratch and Bite, and I tossed the ball too close to them. They tried to jump aside, and twisted their ankle again."

Halsin looked at Gale skeptically, but the wizard held a firm expression. Even so, you couldn't take it; they couldn't take the fall for you.

"Gale, it's okay," you said quietly, and his head swiveled to you, his expression falling. "I can't let the two of you take the fall for me. I was foolish, I should have known better." You turned to Halsin, whose suspicious eyes now fell on you. "We were all playing fetch with Scratch and Bite. I instigated it, and I jumped on my bad foot to catch the ball and landed wrong. I'm so sorry, Halsin. I took your healing for granted. I will make the herb salves and heal it on my own this time." You looked guiltily down at your swelling ankle, new discoloration already seeping through the skin.

No one said a word, and the silence from Halsin was deafening. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, unable to look at him again, but also unable to leave.

You gasped when you felt large hands reach under your knees and around your back and lift you into the air. Your eyes flew open and you looked up at Halsin, who had pulled you to his chest and was wordlessly carrying you towards his tent. The guilt only grew and infected the rest of your chest cavity, hollowing you with an ache you knew it would take awhile to get rid of.

The druid laid you down on the pillows in his tent and arranged a few under your leg and foot, then turned away from you to begin mixing more of the same salve he had been using on you before. You were silent. You didn't dare speak. You had never seen Halsin so quiet before. You were anxious. Halsin was the last person you ever wanted upset with you; he was kind, gentle, caring, and so very patient. You had fallen for him, and now you had taken his craft and his time for granted, like an unruly child.

You watched quietly as he applied the salve on your bruising ankle, not meeting your eyes, then exited the tent without a word. You clutched your other knee to your chest and laid your head down on it, knowing his silence was what you deserved. You fell into a semi-sleep in that position, relaxing as well as you could without moving.

Next thing you knew, you were awoken by movement just outside the mouth of the tent, and you stiffened, your eyes not opening properly. It was still dark, that much you could tell, and whatever was outside the tent flap was large. You glanced around for a dagger, a club, something. But before you found anything of use, a brilliant light flashed and the shadow of a creature became the shadow of a man before your eyes. You sighed in relief. Halsin.

A massive hand pulled the tent flap up and you met his eyes in the dark. You stared at one another for several agonizing moments before you muttered softly, "I'm sorry."

He sighed, his other hand passing over his face. "I know," he said quietly, pushing further into the tent until his entire hulking body rested beside you. "Sometimes I forget how young you are; how young all of you are. You are human, you have far less time than elves. You were taught to make the most of it. Humans are raised on seizing the moment, not any manner of patience; because you must be."

"I took you for granted, Halsin, and you are the last person I would want to let down." You laced your fingers in front of your knee and laid your chin back down on it. "It doesn't matter that I'm a human. I could die tomorrow and it wouldn't matter. I-"

"Do not ever speak of yourself that way." Halsin said, suddenly insistent. "It would matter a great deal if you were to perish, to any of us; it would matter an even greater deal to me." He exhaled and his hand passed across his face again. "I care a great deal about you, my heart; perhaps too great."

You swore in that moment that your heart stopped beating. "Halsin," you whispered breathlessly. "Are you-?"

"You cannot tell me that you haven't noticed how I favor you," he said softly. "My care is two-fold in regards to you."

"I-" a tear escaped your eye and Halsin reached for you immediately, brushing it away and cupping your cheek in his hand. "I care for you too, Halsin; so much." A tear fell down your other cheek, and the druid's other hand came to rest there, as if it would pain him to see any of your tears be wasted on the earth - a fine irony for the man before you.

"One day in my short lifespan, perhaps I'll deserve you," you huffed a quiet laugh, attempting to dispel the tension, but Halsin was having none of it. He surged forward instead, pressing his warm lips against your own and lacing his fingers into your hair, dragging himself as close to you as he could without hurting you. His kiss was like fire, consuming you from the inside out, and you wound your arms around his neck, curling your fingers into his braids as he took your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged ever so slightly.

"My heart," he muttered raggedly after releasing your lips. "You already do."

*Inspiration for the Owlbear Cub being named "Bite" here!

~

fin

Tagging, Darlings: @micropoe10 @knightofmight01 @fanon-and-canon @just-a-refrigerator

[fics4fags]

Warm Enough.

Summary: you felt cold, Joel silently warms your hands no words, just love. Pairing: Joel Miler x Reader. Word count: 1K Warning: none, just fluff.

: ̗̀➛ masterlist | navigation

The cabin creaked with the wind.

Outside, a storm was rolling in. Nothing too fierce, not like the ones that rattled the windows and howled like wolves, but enough to keep the cold pressed tight against the walls. Enough to make your breath puff out in faint clouds when you stood near the door.

You and Joel had holed up here a few days ago after a supply run, finding the place abandoned and still intact enough to use. It had a fireplace, working latches on the windows, and enough space for the two of you to not feel like you were stepping on each other’s heels every minute. That was a rarity these days.

The fire crackled low in the hearth, the only source of light besides a lone lantern on the table between you. You were curled into one of the worn chairs, a blanket over your legs and a book in your hands, though you hadn’t turned a page in nearly ten minutes. Your eyes kept drifting, fingers toying with the frayed edges of the old fabric cover.

Across from you, Joel was cleaning one of the rifles. Quiet, methodical, head down as his hands moved in practiced rhythm wiping, checking, loading. There was something soothing about the way he worked. Focused, controlled. Like the rest of the world disappeared while he moved through the steps.

The silence was comfortable. You’d gotten used to that with Joel. He wasn’t one to fill the space with unnecessary words. But that never meant he wasn’t paying attention.

Your fingers were cold.

You hadn’t realized how much until they started going a little numb, moving slower on the page. The fire wasn’t cutting through the chill like it used to. You rubbed your hands together once, then tucked them beneath your thighs.

You didn’t say anything. Joel looked too deep in his own thoughts, and the last thing you wanted was to pull him out of it. So you stayed quiet, pulling the blanket up higher, letting the pages blur. Then you heard the soft thump of a rifle being set down.

You looked up. Joel stood from his chair and stepped toward you without a word. His brow furrowed just a little, eyes flicking briefly to your hands where they’d reappeared from beneath the blanket, now resting in your lap.

He didn’t ask.

He just reached down, took both your hands in his, and sandwiched them between his own. Warmth. Solid, grounding warmth, like stepping into a sunbeam after days of cold.

You froze for a moment, startled not by the gesture itself, but by the way he did it. Quiet. Steady. Like it was instinct.

His palms were rough and calloused, the kind of hands that had seen too much, done too much. But they held yours gently, thumbs brushing over your knuckles like he was memorizing the shape of you.

“You should’ve said somethin’,” he murmured. You smiled faintly, eyes drifting up to meet his. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

He huffed softly, almost a laugh but not quite. “You think I’d rather be cleanin’ a damn rifle than takin’ care of you?”

“I think you need the quiet sometimes.”

“So do you,” he said, voice low. “But you never ask for it.”

He dropped to one knee in front of you, still holding your hands, bringing them up near the firelight like he could chase the cold out of your skin faster that way.

You swallowed, throat tight. “Joel…”

“Let me,” he said. Two words. Simple. Quiet. But they held more weight than any promise you’d heard in years.

So you let him.

He sat down at your feet, back against the couch, your hands still trapped gently between his. Every now and then he’d rub slow circles into your skin, the heat of his touch chasing the numbness away.

You watched him as he worked—this man who always moved like he had something to protect. Like he didn’t know how to be gentle until it was you in front of him. And even then, it still surprised him.

“Is this weird for you?” you asked softly. He didn’t look up. “No.” You raised an eyebrow. He sighed. “Maybe a little.” You smiled. “Why?”

“Because I… I ain’t used to it. Slowing down. Touchin’ someone like this without it meanin’ violence or loss.” He glanced at you then, his gaze softer than you’d ever seen it. “But it ain’t bad.”

You nodded. “It’s not bad at all. Joel turned your hands over, palm to palm now, and kissed the inside of your wrist. Just once. Just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Y’know,” he said, “there’s a part of me that’s always waitin’ for the world to take this away.”

“This?”

“You. Us. Peace.”You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “You don’t have to wait. We’re here. Right now.”

He closed his eyes at that. Like those words alone were a balm.

“I don’t know what I’m doin’,” he admitted after a while. “I never… let myself feel this before. Not since… not since a long time ago.”

“You’re doing just fine,” you whispered. He didn’t say anything. Just squeezed your hands a little tighter.

You reached down and cradled his face with your now-warm fingers. He leaned into your touch like he couldn’t help it, eyes still closed.

“You keep everyone warm, Joel,” you said. “Let someone do the same for you.”

He opened his eyes slowly, and what you saw there made your chest ache. So much emotion, barely contained. So much want.

And not just the kind that lived in his hands or mouth but in the parts of him that hadn’t been touched in years.

“You scare the hell outta me,” he murmured. You smiled, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “Because I care?”He nodded. “Because I care back.”

You slid off the couch and onto the floor beside him, curling into his side. His arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you close, anchoring you.

The fire crackled. The storm began to tap against the windows and for the first time in what felt like forever, Joel stopped waiting for it all to fall apart.

For now, he was warm. You were here. And that was enough.

[fics4fags]

Only You.

Summary: Stressed and worn out, Joel finally relaxes when he’s in your arms the only place he ever feels okay. Pairing: Joel Miler x Reader. Word count: 1K Warning: Stress, emotional overload, tenderness, soft touch, mutual care.

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Joel slammed the door harder than he meant to.

The sound echoed through the house like a gunshot, bouncing off the walls of the living room where you sat curled on the couch. You looked up instantly, your book slipping shut in your lap.

He didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, hands clenched into fists, chest rising and falling fast like he couldn’t quite catch his breath.

“Joel?” you asked softly.

He didn’t answer.

His jaw was tight, eyes dark and distant. The kind of distant that made you ache for him. You knew that look anger balled up tight with grief and exhaustion, barely held back behind a brittle wall.

It had been a hard week. Supplies were short, the patrols were longer, and people in Jackson were starting to complain about things they didn’t understand. And as always, Joel carried it all like it was his job to keep the whole damn town from falling apart.

You stood slowly. “Hey. What happened?”

“I—” He shook his head sharply. “It’s fine.”

You stepped closer, your voice gentle. “Doesn’t look fine.”

He let out a harsh breath, pacing the living room in slow, agitated strides. “It’s just… I’m sick of it. Sick of everyone expectin’ me to fix everything. Sick of pretending I’ve got it all under control when I feel like I’m hangin’ on by a damn thread.”

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat. “You don’t have to do it alone.”

“I know,” he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. “But I don’t know how to stop. My whole life’s been… survive, protect, carry the weight. There’s no switch to turn it off.”

You walked up to him carefully, placing your hand over his where it hung by his side. He flinched a little just a twitch but he didn’t pull away.

“Then let me help you carry it.”

He looked at you. Really looked at you.

The fury was still there, coiled tight in his chest, but under it bone deep exhaustion. The kind that doesn’t show itself unless someone’s close enough to see the cracks.

He dropped his head slightly, eyes closing.

“Come here,” you said gently, guiding him toward the couch.

He followed you, quiet now, like the fight had drained out of him. He sat down slowly, elbows on his knees, hands rubbing over his face.

You knelt in front of him and placed both hands on his thighs. “Let me take care of you tonight. You don’t have to talk. Just… let me.”

He hesitated. But then, slowly, he nodded.

You reached up and ran your fingers gently through his hair, pushing it back from his face. His shoulders dropped a little at the contact.

“You always take care of everyone else,” you whispered. “You never let anyone do the same for you.”

His voice was hoarse. “Didn’t think I deserved it.”

“You do. Joel… you really do.”

Your hands moved with practiced gentleness down his arms, to his hands, thumb brushing over his knuckles. He let you. Bit by bit, his body unwound under your touch. Like a storm slowly passing.

You leaned in and kissed his forehead, then rested your own against his.

“Just breathe,” you whispered.

So he did.

His hands came up, hesitant at first, resting on your waist like he needed something to hold onto. And then he pulled you into his lap, burying his face in your neck.

Your arms wrapped around him as he finally let go. Not with tears Joel didn’t cry often but with silence. Heavy, trembling silence. His grip tightened, like if he held you hard enough, the rest of the world might disappear for a while.

And for a little while, it did.

Just the two of you, wrapped up on the couch, no words needed.

You kissed the side of his head. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

His voice came soft, muffled against your skin. “You’re the only place I feel like I can breathe.”

You closed your eyes, your hands never stopping their slow, soothing movements.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

And in your arms, Joel finally let himself relax.

[fics4fags]

Content warning: Talks of starting a family together through adoption.

Morning Conversations

A/N: I wasn’t sure where I was going with this when I started, but I do love how it turned out. Ask are open, especially ones for Eskel. I didn’t edit this so there are probably errors, my bad babes. 

Warnings: none, pure fluff, 

Word Count: 1.0k

Summary: You wake Eskel up in the gentlest way possible. 

Keep reading

[fics4fags]

Me when I find a Joel x reader that's actually gender neutral:

ᴄᴏꜰꜰᴇᴇ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ | ᴊ.ᴍ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 910

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Joel gets clingy in the kitchen while you’re making breakfast, and Sarah walks in just in time to be grossed out.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Joel Miller x reader

ᴀ/ɴ: no apocalypse au and break from the usual stuff, cause i’m getting burnt out on writing for YJ. 😔

The sun has barely made it past the horizon, peachy-pink light slipping through the cracks in the blinds and painting stripes across the tiled floor of the kitchen. The house is quiet, miraculously so, and you’re standing barefoot in front of the stove, flipping pancakes with one hand and nursing a cup of coffee in the other.

You’ve always liked the mornings. When the world’s still quiet and nobody needs anything from you yet. The house smells like coffee and butter and the faint trace of the laundry detergent Joel likes, the cheap stuff, fresh as mountain air or something corny like that. The pan sizzles as you pour the next circle of batter.

You don’t hear him at first, he’s too quiet for a man his size, but you feel it. The warm shape of him sneaking up behind you, arms sliding around your waist like nothing new. His chest presses into your back, solid and familiar.

“Mornin’ baby,” Joel mutters, voice still thick with sleep. “smells good in here.”

You smile without turning around, leaning into him just enough to feel how he exhales, slow and content. “Good morning to you too.”

“Was good ‘til I woke up alone,” he says, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand before tucking his chin over your shoulder. “Didn’t even leave a note.”

“You were snoring when I left,” you say, nudging him gently. “I figured waking you up would’ve been dangerous.”

Joel snorts. “I don’t snore.”

“You do. Loudly.”

“Mm..” His hands slide a little lower on your hips. “Can’t prove it.”

“I should start recording you.”

He huffs a laugh against your neck.

You set the spatula down and glance at him over your shoulder. “I love you. Even when you sound like a lawnmower in your sleep.”

That earns you one of his dry, lopsided smiles, the kind that pulls more on one side and softens the edges of him. He kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then behind your ear, unhurried.

You roll your eyes. “Joel. I’m trying to cook.”

“Yeah? Feels like you’re tryin’ to kill me,” he says, voice low. “Standin’ here wearin’ my shirt, smellin’ like coffee and sugar and whatever it is you put in those pancakes that makes em’ taste so good. It’s cruel.”

You glance down. It is one of his shirts, soft with age, oversized, and hanging low on your pajama-covered thighs. You stole it a long time ago and never gave it back.

“Pretty sure it’s just flour and butter.”

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, kissing your neck again, “I’d do anything to keep you right here.”

You’re about to make a sarcastic comment, something snarky, maybe flirtier than it needs to be, but then—

“Seriously?” Sarah’s voice cuts through the moment like a knife. “Do y’all have to be gross before 8 a.m.?”

Joel doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t let go, either.

“Mornin’ to you too, sunshine,” he drawls, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

Sarah stares him down from the doorway, hoodie swallowing her frame, hair a frizzy mess. “You’re disgusting.”

Joel raises his brows like it’s the greatest compliment he’s ever received. “Good. Means I’m doin’ my job.”

You stifle a laugh and slide a pancake onto a plate. “Pancakes?”

She trudges over like she’s doing you a favor. “You encourage him,” she mutters to you, grabbing a fork.

“I heard that,” Joel says, finally letting go of you as he makes his way to the coffee pot. “And I’m hurt. Deeply.”

“Yeah? You’ll live.” Sarah says, slumping into a chair.

You hand her the plate and slide into your seat, watching as Joel pours himself coffee with all the grace of a man who’s half-awake and irritated that he’s not still in bed.

Sarah’s gaze flicks to him and then back to you.

“Did you sleep okay?” you ask her.

“Would’ve been better if I didn’t hear Dad talking in his sleep through the wall.”

“I don’t talk in my sleep,” Joel says flatly, sitting beside you with a groan as he lowers himself into the chair.

Sarah doesn’t even look up. “You said ‘cordless impact driver’ four times. Real intense, too.”

Joel just shrugs, takes a sip of coffee and you snort, almost choking on your drink.

He shoots you a sideways glance and casually drops one hand to your thigh under the table, thumb brushing lazy circles over your skin. Always touching you, even if it’s just that.

The kitchen settles into that kind of soft, sleepy quiet, just forks on plates, the low hum of the fridge, and the comfort of shared space. You love mornings like this. Safe. Familiar.

Joel reaches out and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, giving you his full attention.“You doin’ okay today?”

You nod, leaning into the touch. “Yeah. You?”

He grunts. “Better now.”

Sarah makes a dramatic gagging noise. You nudge her under the table with your foot.

“What?” Joel says, unfazed. “I can’t be sweet?”

“Not before breakfast,” Sarah mutters, but she’s smirking into her glass of juice.

Joel leans over and kisses your cheek. “Look away then. This is grown folks’ business.”

Sarah rolls her eyes so hard you can hear it. “Disgusting.”

You smile and curl your fingers around his on your leg. Joel gives you a look, half fond, half long-suffering. You lean in, whispering just loud enough for him to hear. “Just wait til she brings someone home.”

[fics4fags]

t4t spencer reid ramblings

nsfw warning, not proof-read in the slightest

T4T Spencer Reid where you take shots and he does patches— he used to do shots but stopped when he got sober to eliminate having needles around

T4T Spencer Reid where you work different jobs so your schedules are a mess, so during the first couple of dates where he had to cancel, you thought he was slowly ghosting you until you saw him on the news across the country

T4T Spencer Reid where he’s stealth at work for the longest and he calls you on cases where there’s trans or even just queer victims/UnSubs because someone said something they didn’t even realize was offensive. it accidentally pushes him further into the closet with them and you have to reassure him— even though you’ve never met them before

T4T Spencer Reid where you both want kids and the possibility for either of you carrying is an actual conversation

T4T Spencer Reid where Penelope tries to wrangle the team for some pride events but it’s always when you’re both going to separate events so he declines until she stumbles across the two of you. you’re wheeling around a wagon of ice cold water and snacks while he has a first aid bookbag- and omg she’s heard of the Pride dads who help everyone

T4T Spencer Reid where Spencer start to get worried because Penelope is dropping weird hints that she knows his secret— eventually she cracks and rambles that she didn’t know he was bi

T4T Spencer Reid where you have to take off from work because you’re having top surgery and spencer takes off for a week before hiring a care taker for you because he’s afraid to ask for more time. you try to tell him it’s fine, your sister is willing to stop by and help but he insists and checks on you every hour on the hour- as long as his schedule permits

T4T Spencer Reid where his search history is filled with medical advice for post-op care and even as you’re fully recovered he’s still cautious and you secretly love it while telling him he’s worrying too much

T4T Spencer Reid where his insurance has finally approved his top surgery and now he really needs to take time off. Thankfully Hotch doesn’t ask questions and approves the time and you get permission to work from home so now you’re pampering him

T4T Spencer Reid where you love taking care of your boyfriend, especially when you finally get to be the taller one and reach the top shelves since he’s not allowed to raise his arms.

T4T Spencer Reid where he falls asleep to you rubbing ointment on his healing scars

T4T Spencer Reid where you’re cleaning the house as he reads a book out loud and there’s a knock at the door. you’re surprised to see his team and they’re equally surprised to see you, checking they had the right apartment. you slowly close the door, and rush to tell Spencer and he looks absolutely panicked. he still has tubes connected to his chest and he couldn’t exactly hide them but he couldn’t just send them on their way either so he rips the bandaid off

T4T Spencer Reid where you’re having issues at work and he gets Penelope to hack into the guys computer, messing up his work. it’s a shame that guy got fired, too. Totally not his fault.

T4T Spencer Reid where you propose on your third anniversary and he happily agrees. he even shows the ring off to the others at the BAU

T4T Spencer Reid where his second favorite place to be is in between your legs, especially after you pumped so he’s sucking and fingering like he’s starved and you’re seeing stars in his ceiling

T4T Spencer Reid where he’s a back door only type of guy, so he really doesn’t like getting head unless he’s pumped and he deems it big enough and absolutely will not get fingered, so you take extra time fucking him and sometimes he’ll suck your strap

T4T Spencer Reid where he goes crazy because he’s been away for a case for nearly two weeks and he just can’t handle it. it’s the only time he agrees to phone sex and masturbating with his fingers

T4T Spencer Reid where he gets off to being called your husband and on your wedding night he’s absolutely feral

[fics4fags]

GIF by @reidgif

The Time to Come Out Is Now

SPENCER REID x TRANS-MALE!READER

Warnings: Spencer unintentionally misgenders the reader, mention of throwing up and overwhelming/violent thoughts, the reader downplaying his feelings, established relationship, self-indulgent (not really a warning, but I thought I should put it anyways)

Requested: No

A/N: Happy pride month! Thought I should dig deep into my soul for this one. I think Spencer would be so sweet if his S/O came out to him as trans.

————————————————————————

An hourglass. It sat on one of the shelves of Spencer’s bookcase that resided in the living room. It shouldn't have been possible, but with the amount of books crowded into it, the shelf sagged just the slightest amount. You figured that just one more novel would bring the whole thing down. You also reflected on how the shelf was similar to your mental state.

A silly conclusion, but an accurate one nonetheless.

The bitter taste you would feel deep inside your chest whenever someone referred to you in a feminine way mimicked the abundance of books upon the case. The invisible weight on your back making itself known whenever you had to face the world and its prejudice was identical to the outlandish bend of the shelf.

And that damned hourglass. It mocked you. It mirrored your patience. With every grain of sand that dropped, you grew more irritated. More distressed. The hourglass had no personal vendetta against you, and yet you stared at it as though it did.

Perhaps you were trained so hatefully on it because you could see yourself in it—quite literally. Your form was duplicated on the glass, and in your eyes, you could see exactly how you looked. And it disgusted you. You wanted to break that hourglass. You wanted to destroy every single item in the apartment that could reflect yourself onto its shiny, humbling surface. But you wouldn't want to cause such an inconvenience to your boyfriend, so you settled for eyeing it.

Your shoulders dropped when you heard the front door unlock. Spencer was home. But the warmth that usually came with his arrival was shadowed by the underlying fear in your heart. Spencer was a loving individual, and he was always curious to learn more. But you weren't quite sure what he was or wasn't okay with.

Sure, it may have been irrational to assume your boyfriend would think any less of you because of how you feel—he wasn't exactly a judgmental person—but that didn't quell your worries any more than you trying to hide them did.

“Hey, sweet girl!” He greeted, completely oblivious to the way you nearly threw up at that word. Girl. “Just a casual day at work, a few reports for cases we’ve closed. We haven't gotten confirmation that we won't be having a new one yet, though, so I can't exactly say you'll have me for the weekend… as much as I want you to.”

You forced a smile as best as you could, hoping that you weren't giving yourself away. But you were dating a profiler, so of course your efforts were futile.

He could feel the stiffness in your posture as you hugged him, could sense the dread in your aura. He could read you like a book, and at that very moment, it was like he was presented with a picture book.

Spencer took a step back and held you at arms-length, peering deep into your eyes. His brows were furrowed in his focus which caused a wrinkle to form between them. You wanted to soothe it with your thumb.

“Something’s wrong, I can tell… What’s going on, beautiful?” He asked in that sickeningly sweet voice that always made you crumble. And crumble you did. You couldn't hide it anymore.

“I feel like.. something's wrong with me. Something’s not right with my body. It doesn't… I-It doesn't align with my mind,” you said, words coming out slow like you had to force them out. You did. “I’ve tried so hard to just deal with it, to ignore it, but I can't. The longer I go without telling you, the more it hurts.”

Spencer frowned and gently rubbed your arm, but not in an attempt to coax the answer out of you. Just to calm you down.

“I just… I can't live like this anymore, Spencer. I don't wanna be your girlfriend,” you paused, realizing how that sounded as soon as the words left your mouth. And you nearly cried when you saw your boyfriend’s eyes widen with fear. You scrambled to speak, “because I wanna be your boyfriend! Geez, I want to be with you, Spencer. I want to stay with you, but.. but I’m not sure you want to stay with me.” You swallowed down the lump in your throat, briefly glancing over your shoulder at the hourglass. “I don't feel like a girl. I never have. I hear all these people call me “she” or “her” or “lady” or “woman” and it just feels… so wrong.”

He remained quiet, allowing you to continue. “It feels like a part of my soul gets chipped away, and I know that's not quite fair to say when you have a job like yours, but it’s.. it's how I feel. I’m so sorry for keeping this from you, I should’ve told you when we first started dating, but I was just so scared. If you,” you bit down on your bottom lip to fight back tears, “if you wanna break up with me, that's fine. You can… do that if you want. I’d understand.”

Silence.

For several moments, you two remained in the exact same position, unmoving. Spencer was staring at you with an expression you couldn't pinpoint. You didn't know what he was thinking, and that terrified you. You squeezed your eyes shut and prepared for the worst, but then you felt his arms wrap around you for a second time.

“Oh, baby, you're so strong. You're so brave and so.. so handsome for coming out to me with this,” he whispered as he pet the top of your head. “You should know that I couldn't care less what you identify as. I just want you. I just love you. Whatever you feel, I’ll support you. I’d never break up with you over something so trivial. But I say that to calm your fears, not demean them.”

You were in utter shock, speechless and practically immobile. Your boyfriend sensed that and pulled away to look at you, his hands cupping both sides of your face. “Gender is a crazy, beautiful thing. It means everything yet nothing at the same time. You could identify as literally anything, and I’d still love you. Because you're still you. I fell in love with you, not your gender. Or the gender I thought you were,” he earnestly confessed, and you could tell he was genuine by how misty his eyes were.

“I love you. Always.”

You collapsed into him, allowing the tears to fall and dampen his button-up. Your throat hurt from how hard you were trying to hold back your emotions, but you could finally release them and not have to worry about your boyfriend’s reaction.

He smiled and hugged you tighter, kissing the crown of your head before speaking, “we can talk more about this whenever you feel comfortable. Whatever changes you wanna make, we can make. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“My sweet boy.”

[fics4fags]

“How’s he doing?” Morgan asks.

Emily glances up from the piles of diaries Tobias Hankel had stashed around his home. She’d given you majority of the space on the dining table and taken, the distant thud of your foot bouncing on the ground had been a constant since you sat down. Hotch had taken your gun off you, and any form of caffeine had been kept as far as possible—not that you needed it—you hadn’t slept. Not that Emily had seen you blink. Much less after Tobias had streamed the first video of Reid.

“Not good.” Emily replied finally, “I don’t think he’s blinked since we got here, should we—”

Hotch interjects, “Don’t,” denying whatever suggestion would have been made. “It’s better we let him cool off,” he gestured to you, “just keep an eye on him. We don’t need him going vigilante on us.” He whispered the latter of his words.

“Just cause you whisper doesn’t mean I can’t hear you,” you remarked, turning your attention to them.

“Maybe you should take a breather,” it’s less of a suggestion and more of a direction as Morgan grabs you by the arm and hustles you outside. You shove at him as you’re past the door, but that only serves to push you all the way outside. “You look like shit, lover boy.”

“Not in the mood, Morgan,” you say when he blocks you from entering the home again.

“Well get in the mood.”

Your hands ball up into fists and you walk away from him, cussing out before sitting on the steps with your head in your hands. Morgan ran a hand over his head and sighed as he sat beside you. Takes a moment before you start talking, “I was gonna ask him to be my boyfriend,” you clasped your hands tightly.

Morgan whistles, chuckling, “Already? You move fast.”

“We’ve been on several dates, over several months,” you snorted, “doubt I’m as fast as you.” You punched him lightly.

“Below the belt.”

You snickered, half smiling, “We started spending the night at each other’s, and I woke up beside him one of those times,” there was nothing special about that time—work day, chilly morning and breakfast together—but it was nice. So nice you thought about doing it again and again for the rest of your life. “I thought I’d save the question for after the case.”

“Keep saving it,” Morgan pats your shoulder, “I expect to see you two kids frolicking together after this.” His words manage to draw out one of the few laughs from you since Spencer had gone missing.

[fics4fags]

When is it my turn to be happy?

Braveheart

summary: joel helps you in the middle of a panic attack.

pairing: joel miller x reader

contents: panic attack, firearm mention, illusions to ptsd, romantic tension, soft!joel, a kiss!

wc: 1,459

an: was thinking about joel’s panic attack from season one & wanted to write him helping reader bc i can!!! bc he’s alive and well!!

pedro pascal characters masterlist

You don’t notice what’s happening to yourself right away, you never do.

It’s late. Patrol is done for the night, and you and Joel are back in Jackson, sitting outside the weapons shed, oiling down your gear. The firepit between you crackles, burning hot, but the chill in the air has teeth. Despite the cold, despite the nature of life these days, it’s peaceful.

Quiet in a way you never take for granted.

You’re not talking much. Joel doesn’t need to fill silence. That’s one of the things you like about him; how he lets the quiet be a comfort instead of a punishment.

But then he says something. It’s a simple comment about the western trails being clear. It's benign, or at least it should be. The western trails hold meaning. They were practically your second home at one point— one you got sent out on alone.

You go completely still just at the mention of them, your mind allowing in scenes you try to forget.

You don’t know why it hits you the way it does. Maybe it’s the smoke in the air coupled with the flick of a memory you didn’t mean to touch. But suddenly your chest is tight, your ears are ringing. The world feels ages away, blurred at the edges like you’re not with Joel sitting by a fire in Jackson anymore.

You don’t realize how still you’ve gone until Joel shifts beside you.

“Hey.”

You blink, trying to answer but the words don’t come, a soft sound in the back of your throat. Your hands feel wrong, light and heavy all at once. You can see yourself, see Joel like you’re floating too far above your own body.

“Hey.” He repeats, voice lowering. “You with me?”

Your breath stutters. You try to inhale but it’s like trying to take a breath in through a straw. Your chest goes tighter.

You wish you could say you’re fine, brush it off, and joke about zoning out. But you can’t— you can’t move, can’t breathe right, let alone lie.

There’s a rustling beside you, then Joel crouches in front of you, knees popping, his expression calm but focused.

“All right,” he murmurs, “I think you’re havin’ a panic attack. That’s all it is.”

All it is.

Like it’s manageable, like it doesn’t feel like the world is forcing your chest to cave in.

You barely register when he takes your hand. He does it gently, so painfully gently. There is no tug or rush, just a warm, steady grip that makes you feel here, even when everything else feels far away.

“Can I show you somethin’?”

You can’t nod, but you don’t pull away. You force your eyes to flutter and it’s enough for him.

Joel guides your hand forward, rests your palm flat against his chest. Right over his heart.

“You feel that?” he asks.

You do…eventually. The beat of it like a drum, the solid warmth of his chest. How strong, slow, real Joel is with you right now. It anchors you, because if he feels so real underneath your fingertips, aren’t you?

“I want you to match it,” he says, like he’s done this before. “Don’t overthink it. Just breathe with me.”

You try. The first breath stutters in your lungs, but Joel’s still watching you, breathing slow and deep like you can sync to him. And somehow, you do; little by little, the tightness eases. The tremble in your body evens out.

He keeps his hand over yours. When you look up, his eyes are already on you. Quiet, and encouraging, shining with familiarity in a way that undoes you.

“I didn’t realize,” you rasp finally. “Thought I was just being… weird.”

Joel shakes his head. You notice that his hand stays where it is. “You weren’t. You got hit by somethin’. Happens more than folks admit.”

Your voice breaks a little. “I’m sorry.”

His fingers tighten around yours just slightly. “Don’t be. You don’t owe me an apology for bein’ human.”

You try to pull your hand back, but he doesn’t let go. Not until you stop trying to run from it—from him.

“Why’d you notice?” you ask. “Why’d you know what was happening?”

He hesitates but eventually is honest. “Because I’ve had ’em too.”

The idea of Joel, the one who’s always composed and grounded, the one who people look to as a pillar falling apart like that twists something sharp and tender in your chest.

“When?”

He exhales shakily, looking toward the fire. “First time was years ago, right after Sarah. Thought I was dyin’. My heart was racin’ and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. I laid in the dirt behind a gas station and thought that was it.”

He thought that was it? He sounds as if he was so resigned to drifting away, to letting the panic take him under. You’re silent, watching him. His eyes have gone far away, but his hand is still on yours, and his touch is still gentle.

“Tommy found me,” he adds after a beat. “Didn’t say much, he just sat with me. That helped more than anythin’.”

You swallow hard. “So that’s why you stayed with me.”

Joel looks at you again. His voice is lower now, almost rough. “I’d stay anyway.”

Quiet stretches between you, laced with the soft sounds of Jackson. The fire pops, the night sighs, and the weight of his words settles somewhere behind your ribs.

“I didn’t expect you,” you whisper.

He tilts his head, not understanding.

“To be the one who noticed,” you clarify. “To be the one who… stayed.”

Joel’s eyes soften. Not in pity but in something else, something warmer. He lifts his free hand, caressing your hair, slow and hesitant like he’s not sure he should. But when you don’t flinch, he lets his touch linger.

“I notice you more than you think,” he says.

All you can do is look at him, his words winding you. Look at the way the firelight dances along the sharp lines of his face, at the silver in his hair, at the steadiness that you’d come to rely on without ever naming it.

You think about the way he always shows up. The way he knows how to help without making someone feel like they owe him. The way he touches you now—not like you’re broken, but like you’re his.

“I think I’ve been waiting for this,” you say quietly.

“Waitin’ for someone to see you?” he asks. “Or waitin’ to let ‘em?”

Your chest pulls tight again—but not with panic. With anticipation and bravery. With honesty.

“Both,” you admit.

Joel’s eyes fall to your mouth, then flicker back to your eyes. “I see you,” he says. “I’ve seen you.”

The space between you narrows. His forehead tips toward yours—not touching, but close enough you can feel his warm breath.

You don’t kiss him; not at first.

But when he takes your hand again, presses it back to his chest like a vow, and murmurs, “Still right here. Whenever you need it…”

That’s when something in you breaks open.

You don’t crumble or fall apart— it feels like being freed. Like letting yourself go. Like a lock unlatching or a coveted breath finally exhaled.

You lean in slowly, just a few inches, just enough to ask the question without words. Your eyes stay trained on his, and as far as you can see there is no fear. They’re warm, almost amber in the fire light.

Joel doesn’t pull away. His hand tightens just slightly at the back of your neck, to ground you, a reminder that he’s here. And then he closes the last of that space, kissing you.

It’s not a dramatic kiss. It’s not ravenous or desperate. It’s smooth, syrupy.

It’s full of every moment you didn’t let yourself want this—every look, every silence, every small act of care that now blooms into something more.

His mouth claims yours with that same quiet certainty he carries in everything he does. When he kisses you, it’s with reverence. Like he’s known for a long time this might happen—but wasn’t going to take it until you were ready to meet him there.

Joel takes his time; kissing you and kissing you and kissing you. Ignoring the ache in his knees, letting the worry of being seen slip away. There is just your mouth on his, and you taste as sweet as he’s imagined.

When you part, you don’t pull away far, just enough to see him, to see his eyes. Bright and warm and full of adoration. Yours look much the same.

You let your forehead rest against his, and whisper, “Still here?”

“Still here,” he answers, just as softly. “Ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

lmk if you’d like to be on the joel miller taglist!

joel miller taglist: @lesbianhotch, @ozarkthedog, @lowrisemiller, @iamthatonefangirl, @campingwiththecharmings, @stargazingcarol, @megamindsecretlair, @nerdieforpedro, @fakeplasticfeels, @for-a-longlongtime, @bubblybubbubs, @jxvipike, @veritable-trash, @yesjazzywazzylove-blog, @lowrisemiller, @ficsavin, @diedorleft, @meetmeatyourworst, @amyispxnk, @marc-spectorr, @luzhesrozes, @arsonhotchner, @ashmiller

[fics4fags]

It would be a crime not to reblog this

Well Worn (Joel Miller x gn!reader)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

Rating: M

Summary: You grapple with Joel’s death amongst his things. 

wc: 1k

Contents: grief, loss, Joel is dead, reader is (was) in an established relationship with Joel, Joel is sir not appearing in this film, sad Ellie, reader is not described but fits in Joel’s clothes 

notes: How are we all doing, folks? Bad? Me too. I used this tiny fic to just be as melodramatic as I needed because I’ve spent the past 24 hours totally wrecked. I began writing this before episode 2 but I saw in the teaser for episode 3 we’re getting Ellie in Joel’s closet so I guess I’m just working with cliches here. 

Joel screenshot in the moodboard by @iamasaddie Thanks @moonlitbirdie for reading this before I yeeted it out sorry I made you cry. 

--

The clock in tbe hall ticks so loudly, you can feel it echo off the inside of your skull. If it weren’t for the fact that Joel restored the little wooden figurines around its face, you’d rip it down right now and smash the dianty birds and berries to smithereens. Each movement of the second hand is another reminder, another moment gone by without him. 

You sit on the floor of the bedroom the two of you shared. The dresser drawers hang open like empty gaping mouths, their contents strewn about over  the quilt. All clothes waiting to be sorted. His clothes. 

You make two piles. One for things that need mending— shirts missing buttons, jeans with worn knees. The other for things that are ready to wear. It’s all done with as much detachment as you can muster, fighting the memories that bubble up as you fold each piece.

You’re not sure what inspired you to tackle this project today, still so deep in your grief. It’s something to do that isn’t just listening to the minutes move by. Maria would tell you to take as long as you need but everyone in Jackson’s grieving now and they’re busy mending the gate and replacing windows. Soon there will be newcomers with only the shirts on their backs and they’ll need something to wear. 

You used to tell Joel that very thing. 

“If you’re not going to wear a hat then give it to somebody else,” you’d say. 

“Fine. Get rid of it,” he told you, calling your bluff. 

“Just wear the damn thing!”

You empty pockets of all the things Joel left forgotten. Mostly screws and stubby pencils ground down almost to the eraser. A folded up scrap of paper with some diagram from one of the building projects, dimensions scribbled in his messy hand. It’s all rather ordinary and somehow that makes it worse. 

Tears come as the piles grow but you push on. You’re used to that by now. For the past few days you’ve done all sorts of things with hot, wet cheeks, it’s not even worth wiping them away. 

You remind yourself for the thousandth time that you ought to be grateful. The few years you’ve had with Joel were a miracle after all. What were the chances you’d both survive? Both find Jackson, find each other? You had something most people never get. And Joel wasn’t the only one that died that day. There are fresh graves for men much younger than him. Still, it doesn’t feel fair to lump your loss in with the rest. They died fighting. Joel was murdered. 

You throw shirts down onto the rug, the sleeves of Joel’s chambray button down fluttering into the heap as your vision blurs with yet another wave of anguish. Dutifully you strip each hanger and stack them away, working snaps and buttons open and then closed again. 

It’s not long before you find it– his favorite flannel shirt– and the ache in your chest ebbs again, heart straining against your ribs. The sensation is so familiar now, sometimes catching you unexpectedly, but always at a moment when you miss him most. 

You slide your arms carefully into one sleeve then the other. It hangs loose on your frame, warm as if it had just come off of his shoulders. The fabric is soft, a reminder of what life felt like— pressing your face against his broad back as you wrapped your arms around his middle. You try it now, lifting its front to your wet face one last time.

It smells like him. Musk and wood shavings, and something distinctly Joel that you can’t put your finger on. Behind your eyelids, you do your best to picture Joel as you breathe him in. The way he was, not wrapped up in a snow-soaked sheet. 

There are footsteps on the stairs and you recognize their rhythm immediately as Ellie’s. You wipe the snot from your nose on the shirt before she appears in the doorway. She takes in the scene around you but her eyes land on her shoes, red rimmed but refusing to well up again.

“What’re you doing?” she asks. Her voice has been much lower, not quite a whisper more a growl.

You want to scream at her, throw one of Joel’s work boots in her direction and shriek. Blame her, punish her for taking him away from you. Maybe not in the end but for all of those moments when his gaze clouded over as he quietly frowned out the back window towards the garage. 

But there’s another part of you that wants to hold her, to cradle Ellie in your arms and tell her that none of this is her fault, that you know your pain is nothing compared to hers. 

You’re too exhausted for either so you just sit there and stare up at her.

“I don’t know,” you say. 

It’s as honest an answer as any. You don’t have the heart to tell her that one day soon, someone else in the dining hall will be wearing Joel’s navy sweater with the patch on the elbow. You’re not even sure you have it in you to part with any of this. Not when you can still remember the way his body felt through  all of this fabric.

“I came to tell you I’m leaving,” Ellie says after a beat. “I’m going after them.”

You sigh. Tired, defeated. Oddly proud.

There’s no talking her out of it. It’s not like she’s ever been persuaded of anything in her life. But there’s a dull voice somewhere deep in the back of your brain that demands you say all of those grown up, level headed things. All those words Joel would want you to say. That it’s dangerous. That it won’t bring him back. That you don’t want to lose her too. 

You look down at the pile of clothes Joel used to fill. Socks you picked up off the floor with a sigh, t-shirts once damp with his sweat, pants you’d guide down his hips to the floor. All limp as his dead body. 

You scoop up one of Joel’s bulky sweaters and toss it to Ellie. She’s going to need it where she’s going.

“Bundle up.”

--

Thanks for reading and sorry.

Reblogs, comments, dms, and asks always welcome.

[fics4fags]

we stay silly

Jackson!Joel Miller x gn!reader

note: I made this post and then got dicked down too good for it to be a “tmi with toni.” also @cavillscurls said “more” and while this probably wasn’t what you meant, I am very easily enabled.

words: no clue sorry I literally just wrote this on tumblr mobile in a post-nut haze. it’s not long.

summary: you and joel have a peaceful moment for both silliness and filth.

warnings: pwp, enthusiastic consent, gender neutral language, no description of reader beyond having legs, joel can move reader around but does not lift them, kept it gn on purpose but if you want to imagine this as never stood a chance joel and reader I ain’t stopping you (bcus they live in my head at all times), sweat kink?, armpit sniffing and licking, m!self, use of slut (affectionate), breath play, rack/ssc compliant, Joel has multiple orgasms and we pretend that’s reasonable at his age

“Hey, careful. My glasses are up there somewhere,” he says while you eagerly wiggle your joggers and underwear down and kick them off.

You’ll be cross later when they’re tangled up and inside out on the floor, but his thick cock is bobbing and drooling, so. More important things at hand.

You grope around the already-hopeless sheets—pulled up at three of the four corners from your fists balling and clinging while he finger fucked you open enough for him to fit—and hold up his glasses, victorious.

He reaches for them and you pull your hand back. His brow ticks up.

“Put ‘em on,” you say, then add “pleeeease?” for good measure.

“Put my readers on,” he says flatly. “Why in gods name would I need ‘em t’fuck you? S’there gonna be a test?”

“C’mon,” you whine, lower lip pushed out playfully.

He rolls his eyes. “Why?”

God, he’s such a stubborn ass. He’s gonna make you say it. “Because they’re hot.”

“Yeah? It gets you all hot n’ bothered? You get off to my eyes goin’?”

But there’s a gleam in his eye as he slips them on. He knows. He’s felt your filthy gaze when he’s reading next to you in bed, under the soft quilt and shadows cast from the lamp. He’s just been waitin’ for you to finally do somethin’ about it.

He doesn’t need them to see the way your chest rises and falls, still panting from his relentless attention. He doesn’t need them to see the way you’re covered in a sheen of sweat, a triumphant smirk making its way back onto his face.

He sure as shit doesn’t need them to see the way your eyes go dark and you squirm a little as he peers down the bridge of his nose at you, thin scar catching in his peripherals.

“So what is it?” He says, but it lands a little more husky than gruff. “You hot for teacher or somethin’?”

“Hot for teacher,” you mouth, rolling your eyes. “No, weirdo. It’s just a good look on you.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he says, and grabs you by the knees, yanking you and the poor sheet down to the edge of the bed.

You squeak in surprise even though he’s used this move before. It never fails to fluster you as he pulls and turns and manipulates your body as he wants.

There’s even less warning as the tip of his cock pushes inside, and he doesn’t wait to stuff the rest in. Your snappy retort dies in a shuddering gasp and you have to take a minute to recover.

He doesn’t give it to you, though. Well. He gives it to you, but it is every inch of his cock and not a reprieve.

Your legs are folded between you, calves on his shoulders. He watches the way your body shakes and spreads for him; you watch the way your feet bounce. One smacks lightly against the veiny expanse of his neck.

The giggles come unbidden and he almost stops fucking into you. Almost.

“What now?” He looks like he regrets asking as soon as the words are out.

“My feet. It’s so silly. Sex is silly,” you say with more laughter.

“Yep. Sure is,” he says, though there’s something fond in his gaze as he takes in your smile.

“We stay silly,” you say, one hand celebratorily raising the roof.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he says and covers your mouth with his giant hand.

Any response you might have rather given comes out in a moan.

“Yeah, you like that, I know,” he murmurs. He takes it away for a moment to fold your legs up, pressed to your chest. His hand comes back to stifle you as his hips pummel against yours. He’s fucking down into you, groaning and panting.

He’s relentless. A machine. For an old man, as you like to tease, he’s got the stamina of the goddamn energizer bunny. Jackhammers have nothing on your man.

“Come,” he huffs, and slides his hand up to cover your nose, too, smothering you with his sweaty palm. Your eyes roll back as you shake and clench around him.

“Goddamn, that’s it. That’s it, baby. Fuuuuck yeah,” he croons, pulling his hand away before you really run out of air.

His cum splatters across your stomach, having wrenched himself from your tight grasp. “Scoot,” he grunts, smacking at your ass.

You manage, somehow, to pull your body back up toward the headboard, and he sprawls on his back beside you, scooping you close with one arm.

“Take care of my balls, baby,” he coaches, groaning in delight as you cradle them in one hand while he lazily strokes his dick, his own seed as lube.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, and his arm crooks around the back of your neck. It tightens and you gasp, face first into his armpit.

“Such a good little slut,” he moans, holding you with your nose pressed to the damp thicket of hair there. He keeps you there, feeling you groan and shiver, as he brings himself to a second orgasm.

But he doesn’t relent, even then. You’ve gone limp in his grip, but he knows you’re fine. He knows because your tongue is lapping at him lightly. He chuckles.

“Filthy, nasty slut,” he says fondly. “You just can’t help yourself, huh? Gotta have a taste?”

You don’t answer, can’t answer, lost in him. That’s okay. He didn’t expect you to. He yanks on his cock, your hands gently stretching his balls, as he eases you both over the edge once more.

[fics4fags]

could you do Joel miller x male reader with top surgery scars?? No smut or anything just fluff maybe??

𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒

Joel x male reader (FtM)

Cw: pure fluff

“So? How do they feel?” Joel Asked. He was sitting with the bed-sheets covering his lower half. After those passionate moments involving quiet kisses and general hugs, his torso and collarbone were adorned with bite marks and redness.

In his hands, he held a worn down book with a brown cover, maybe it was a scientific one or a fantasy one, you didn’t really care. You did remember you gifted him something a long time ago, when he and his wife suddenly divorced, to try and cheer him up.

The lamp at his bedside table flickered from time to time, casting quick shadows and brighter yellows and oranges.

He stopped looking at the thousands of words that almost faded due to the age of the book and looked at your form. You were laying down without your t-shirt and just underwear, your feet covered by the heavy coverings.

One of your hands was under your turned head while the other slowly did circles of your stomach area. Sometimes it traced down your happy trail, other times it went at the center of your chest.

Outside, the gentle breeze slowly pulled the lanterns in a quiet dance. The night was strangely calm and no cars seemed to pass, nor the usual chatter of late night meetings between drunk friends. His kid was asleep and you swore she never made a sound when she went to her room to play or just rest.

Honestly? You didn't really have an answer. “I don't know, sometimes they feel…strange. Others, not really” You turned your head to look at him, your eyes were tired and dark circles were very evident.

He put down the book and layed down on his side with a hand keeping his head up. “May I?” he pointed at the faded scars that could be mistaken for a shadow. He never asked to touch them, he understood that you could be uncomfortable with that since it was a sensitive area.

Now though? You saw one of his most caring sides. Those hands were not gentle most of the time as they constantly worked under pressure. You were hesitant, you shoved them gently away every time he tried. You were afraid you could grow and gag on the feeling of someone touching your most intimate areas.

You looked at it, it was waiting across your diaphragm patiently. You thought about it for a minute more. Let Joel be blessed for his infinite understanding. With one of your own hands, you tapped his.

His fingers moved carefully, almost hovering your warm skin. His touch felt foreign there, but…you liked it. They traced the darker rivers without any hint of malice and he slowly kissed your cheek.

“I love them. I love you” you decided to turn, feeling his hand gripping your back. His and your mouth connected and small thank yous were whispered among the breathless kisses and then, you got on top of him. His hands roamed until your sides gripped at the small layer of fat that covered your muscles.

These were tiny moments of peace between your two busy lives. The next time you two could be in bed together was next weekend. For now, enjoying these quiet hours was the best.

[fics4fags]

What if you tagged me if you post another part of this? Hypothetically...

MEET-CUTES: part two

"Is Joel gay? No, it can't be. But god, did he want you. It wasn't in his plans to crush this hard on you, after so many years of celibacy. You just happened. "

warnings: swearing, adult-ish themes.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

hello ^^ im back, THE TRANNY LIVES ON!!!!!!

anyways, following part to 'meet-cutes'. It was annoying 2 write because i have certain parts very clear in my head of what i want to do, but i need to write in between them or the story would make no sense....this is also why this chapter is shorter, 1780 to 1160 words or something like that. The following chapters might be longer or not. I think it's a matter of what fits in a chapter.

(Another gif from the show because Pascal does an expression Joel makes in a scene i wrote.)

have fun! <3

Joel was totally fine after meeting you. You definitely didn’t wreck his world. You didn't make him question his likings. You also didn’t wake up his dick from a 12 year old coma.

You didn’t make him think of the most obscene things imaginable during work or when he is spending time with his daughter. You did not pollute his mind with pictures of your devilish smile and the sound of your voice. The longer the picture of you stuck in his head the more ideas he's got.

He saw you once and he’s already addicted. (NOT !!)

Today was the dreaded Tuesday. As he hit off the alarm, he hesitated to stay in bed if it meant he could avoid what was about to happen. As much as he was excited to see you again, he didn’t want to make an ass of himself like last time. Maybe he could just give the money to Tommy and that’s all.

The day went awfully slow. He was excited yet anxious. His mind was still foggy with pictures of you and now, scenarios of what could happen tonight. It made his work sloppier and rushed, something he knows he would never do usually. But obviously, today isn’t usual. Tommy think twice before commenting on it.

“You got that 20 I asked for?” “I do.” He snaps the door at his brother. “I think that’s a fair price to see that waiter o’ yours.” “Shut up and get in.” Tommy did so, with a shit-eating grin.

After getting into the bars parking lot, the brothers notice you and the bartender talking. You weren’t in uniform yet. You had jeans and a red graphic tee shirt that stuck to your body. Your beard had grown a little, and you were wearing a single silver hoop earring on your left side. You were beautiful, smoking a cigarette and chuckling with your colleague. You probably started the conversation to get a free cig, but he won’t pay no mind to that. “Evening’ boys!” You say, spotting the miller brothers getting out of the car. “Got yer money.” Tommy pats you on the shoulder. “Right. Bet that’s your brother’s.” You slap back, and Tommy laughs. Joel stands there like a lost puppy, not really knowing what to do. “Hi Joel.” You wave at him. His heart rates goes through the roof for a second before coming back to you. He nods his head to reciprocate the gesture. The colleague gets called back to work and Tommy follows, thirsty for some whiskey. It left you and Joel all alone on the parking lot. You sit down on one of the concrete blocks. “Will you be playin’ tonight?” “What?” His brows furrowed. “Today’s poker night.”Oh right, the whole reason for him to be involved in this.

“Will you be playin’ ?” He sits down next to you. He’s so big compared to you, you think. You might just get thrown out of the block because of his big butt—“I’m— I won’t. I’m kinda tired.” You let the cigarette butt fall and drop to the ground, crushing it with your shoe. “That’s a shame. Would’ve been nice to win back my twenty.” Joel says, playfully. It earns him a wide grin from you. “Is it a challenge?” He stands up. “ ‘s a promise.”

The next time he saw you, you were back in your uniform running around the bar. For a Tuesday, a lot more people where coming than Joel would’ve expected. It’s probably due to poker night. The nice jazzy ambience took the pressure off of his shoulders. The booth they were sat in felt nice and warm, almost as much as his bed. Tommy ordered something to eat while waiting for you to come out and chat again. Your boss forbids, but you can’t help yourself when Tommy’s around. It’s always fun and banter. Joel was much softer, quieter. What he thought of as boring about himself made you quite interested. After all, how could brothers be so different from another?

“Hey Tom. I heard Ashley’s here tonight.” You peak your head right above the booth. For once, you were hovering over Joel. Tommy’s face sunk. “Who’s that?” Joel asks, turning his head to you. “A friend o’ mine. She always whoops Tommy's ass. I'm surprised you still come here. ” “Yeah yeah.” He swings his beer. You scan the room, checking if any supervisor was around. Sitting in the booth and kind of nudging Joel, you and Tommy start talking strategies on how to win tonight. You tried to ignore the feeling of his thigh, or your shoulders pressing for a few seconds. It's like a small rush of adrenaline that got you extra sassy.

"So, what about them twenty bucks ?" You ask bluntly. "Uh-Joel?" Tommy turns to his borther. "What," he rests his beer bottle on the bar next to him, brows furrowed. "The money. You said you'd give it." He shrugged. "No clue what'yer talking 'bout baby brother." he insisted on the last part then met your face again- "Excuse him, poor fellow..." He lands a hand on his heart. You swallowed hardly as you saw how his pec was engulfing his hand. And his hand was quite big, too. They're all rugged and tan from a hard day of work. Seeing them other than carrying heavy objects or working on something felt like a privilege and you knew it.

Taking a picture of the moment in your very own mind, Tommy used the pause to think of something.

"My brother--he'll-- uh..." Both you and joel turn to him. He was thinking hard of a plan to divert the attention from him AND play matchmaker with you two; "Yer sink's broken right?" "Uh yeah, in the bathroom." You added. "My brother'll take care of that !!" Tommy exclaims. "I'll what now?" You look dumbfounded and Joel takes back his beer as if he was too sober for this. Fidgeting with a button from your uniform shirt, you think about it; it's been almost two months since it started leaking, and you didn't want to pay for a professional because it would be too pricey. After all, you have a second sink in the kitchen, bring a mirror with you and it's just like the bathroom. "That would actually be a life saver." You look up meeting Tommy's eyes. Oh no. There's no point fighting it now-- joel will have to do it, if it wasn't because of his brother, it would be because of your puppy dog eyes. "Fine." Tommy claps back by making a snarky answer joel couldn't give a care in the world to-no, what he was focused on was your soft hand now all sweaty on his shoulder. "Thank you Joel. You're really helping me out." Offering a sympathetic smile. You went back to your tables and he went back to his bottle. So that's another Rendez-vous. Okay, fine.

[fics4fags]

Can't believe I haven't rebloged this here yet. I love this one 🖤

Joel/Reader: "meet-cutes": part one

How i imagined the reader meeting Joel for the first time. This takes place in a universe where there was no outbreak. Joel is in his 30s something and Sarah is still alive.

( Warnings !! internalized bi, homo and transphobia.)

"Is Joel gay? No, it can't be. But god, did he want you. It wasn't in his plans to crush this hard on you, after so many years of celibacy. You just happened. "

You just...happened.

Working at a bar Tommy likes, often chatting on the establishment's game nights. Even after your shifts, you stay and play with the patrons; it turns out you had a good poker face because he ended up in your debt. He didn't dare to come back to the bar for a week until he did, with his older brother Joel, as backup.

"Hi Tommy!" You nudge him with a playful smirk. "Thought I'd never see you again after poker night." he clapped back but Joel didn't listen. He had more trouble figuring you out- what you were. (excuse him, he isn't tranny trained :( )

Your voice sounded like a teenager's, but your face made you look older, around his age. You had facial hair growing but it wasn't as thick as Tommy's or his; your chest was flat but your posture gave out something feminine. You weren't straight, that's for sure.

"C'mon Joel don't keep the man waitin'. " He jumped out of his own train of thoughts before looking back at Tommy. "What?" He said, trying to look cool, as if he didn't stare you down a minute ago. You laughed. "Ah- I'm uh-... Joel." He stretched his hand out for you to shake and you did so. Your hand was smaller and softer to the touch. "You're Tommy's bodyguard, that's what you are." You smirked, then said your name. It was pretty. He liked the way it rolled off your tongue, like you were proud of it. The chitchat wasn't long however, and you had to go back to your tables like the good waiter you are. The brothers stayed by the bar side where you came back regularly, yelling out orders to the bartender and trough the crowded conversations around you. Joel fumbled with the beer he was given as he tried to figure out who and where he was.

"I like 'him." Tommy says, taking a sip of his own drink. "He's a feisty little queer, dontcha think ?" Joel lifts his head up, curious. "He's a gay?" "Yeah. Why do you think he works in a bar like this?" His brother chuckles, a little surprised by his question.

Oh my god. He's in a gay bar.

"You didn't tell me we where going to a GAY BAR !" He sat up, in utter shock of being in a place like this. He spoke loud too, loud enough to turn heads. Yours too. "What's wrong with that? They're fun." Tommy takes a sip of his beer. Joel thought he was going to melt out of embarrassment after realizing the scene he caused himself. He paused. "You could've told me." Then slumps back into his old position, his fingers finding back his beer and playing with the lid. " 's that mean you're gay?" "No. I told you, I like it here."

For a gay bar, it didn't look as he imagined. It was cozy, the lights were warm and the furniture made out of wood and velvet. On the walls were picture frames, movie posters that he never heard about, and paintings. "Pretty right?" You came back, leaving your drink platter on the bar. "It isn't as flashy as in the movies." He chuckles nervously. Taking into consideration he might have offended you too. "You seen many movies written by gay men?" You both laughed. "So..." You fish out of your pocket your notebook and place it along the tray. Where you not working anymore? "I take it you're not into that kind of 'lifestyle'." "-I dunno." He answers almost immediately. He didn't want to bore you out of this conversation. "I've been alone for quite some time now, you know?" You nod. "Fair enough." You pat both his and Tommy's shoulder. "I'm going home. Don't come back 'till you repay me Tom." You wink and leave, already unwrapping your apron and going to a "STAFF ONLY" door in a corner of the bar.

The two didn't stay as long as they intended to. They do have work together tomorrow and Sarah is all on her own at home, at the age of 13. Joel was worried and didn’t want to leave her on her own for too long, but it seemed like it was too late; it was already dark outside, and Tommy was too buzzed to drive home on his own. In the car, Joel couldn't stop thinking about you. You were an enigma, and he was mesmerized by being mesmerized by you. Why you? He thought he was normal- that he was straight. But you're not a girl. And maybe he kind of likes that. Does that make him gay? He loved Sarah's mother though, so much so that it left him heartbroken when she left. But you're fun, and you look nice. Like she did when he met her. Can you even go both ways? It kinda looks like not knowing what you want.

As the men got inside, Joel went around the kitchen and Tommy made a beeline towards the couch. He looked around the cupboards, looking for something to eat. Everything was in place, but he kind of wished to have dinner magically prepared in front of him tonight. Sarah already ate the last leftovers of some lasagna this evening, he saw the plate lying in the sink.

"Can I borrow you 20?" Tommy asked bashfully whilst flipping the channels. "Are you fucking kidding me." Joel closed the cupboard door,frustrated, but careful not to wake Sarah. "You made me come to a gay bar, make a fool of myself for twenty fucking dollars? " He came the living room, as if he was going to slap him, but he just looked Tommy dead in the eyes like the good disappointed older brother he was. "You forgot the waiter part too." Tommy smirked. "’s it my turn to ask if you’re gay?" He snorts going back to surfing the channels. Joel grunts and sits next to him. "He was cute." "He is." "He has a nice ass too." "He does. You like him?" "I dunno. Did i became so lonely i want men now?" Tommy laughs and throws the remote at Joel. "You know, he made me learn things. Like how tranny's a bad word." "It is?" "Yeah. And you that can go both ways too." "Like ass and pussy?" Tommy snickers again. "Talk quieter. Your daughter is sleeping." "Right. There's nothing on tonight?" "Didn't see anything interesting." So, going both ways is a thing. And if even you think it's true, maybe it's not as bad as he thought. "I want to go back." He says barely above a whisper. Oh yes, he wants to go back and see you. Your pretty eyes and hair ruffled from running all around the bar. Your smile, maybe your facial hair will grow more. You'd look hot with a beard. Does the rest of your body have hair too? What would your body look like without your uniform. But then again he's with his brother, he can't think of things like that with an audience right next to him....

"You heard me?" Joel hums in response. He didn't, for the second time tonight. "His next shift’s on Tuesday, so you give me the 20 bucks and we go back." "Sure."

[fics4fags]

Morning routine headcanons

Lawrence Gordon x gn!reader

Lawrence is most definitely a morning person, he loves to get up bright and early and make a nice breakfast.

Most days he makes two fried eggs, and some toast with avocados, and he does NOT skimp on the seasoning. He's really into fancy food and he considers himself a bit of a whiz in the kitchen.

He loves to wake you up with breakfast in bed, he knows you're not a morning person so he does his best to help get your day off to a good start.

Sometimes you'll get up to find him at at the kitchen table, sipping a mug of incredibly milky coffee, a dressing gown on and a morning paper in his hand. He loves to start his day off by reading the comics- he really loves garfield.

While you're frantically rushing around getting ready for work, Lawrence is usually glued to the bathroom mirror fixing his hair so it looks just right.

He's more than capable of tying his own tie, but insists that you do it for him. There's just something about watching you straighten his collar that just makes him melt.

On weekends when neither of you have to work, he tries to get out of bed early to help maintain his routine, but if you give him the puppy dog eyes he'll gladly stay in bed and cuddle with you

He showers in the morning, and there is no better sight than Larry stepping out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, messy wet hair and his tummy chub right there in front of you. Sometimes you think he does it just to be a tease.

He's a big tea drinker, he has an entire shelf in his kitchen dedicated to different herbal teas that all treat different ailments. - "let me make you a cup of green tea, sweetheart, it'll boost your energy for the day!"

He loves to grow his own herbs, and on the kitchen windowsill he has a little row of herbs which he waters every morning, marvelling at how well his "little babies" are growing