#Gentle and Safe for All Skin Types

[choso-ish]

₊˚⊹♡ welcome home !!

summary: the mission's over, he's safe. but something in caleb still burns, and you're the only way he knows how to cool it down. tags: NSFW, established relationship, rough sex, dry humping, unprotected sex, slight dom!caleb

Caleb is the type to fuck you right when he gets home from a long mission. 

The door hardly shuts by the time he gets his hands on you. No “hi” before you're crushed into him, one arm tight around your waist, the other fisting into your shirt, kissing you like he's dying for it. He's hard in seconds, grinding his dick against your hip like it hurts. 

“Missed you,” he mutters, dragging his mouth down your neck.

“Missed this.” 

And fuck, how he loves it when you pull him closer by that damn dog tag. 

He groans—low, guttural—and pants against your skin like a man undone. “Thought about you every night,” he growls, a hand slipping under your waistband, fingers greedy. “In bed, in the shower—couldn’t even hear your name without getting hard. Couldn’t think straight.” 

His fingers find you soaked, his touch practiced but shaking with restraint. When he hits your clit—pressing, circling, teasing—you cry out, hips stuttering against him.

“You should’ve heard me,” he rasps, teeth grazing your ear. “Trying to jerk off quietly. Thinking about you bent over for me, moaning my name, dripping for it.”

You can barely breathe, barely stand, your legs threatening to give out beneath the force of his hand and the heat blooming low in your belly.

He catches you like always: one hand steady at your back, the other working tighter circles against your swollen bud until you’re whining into his shoulder, hips chasing his palm like you’ve got no shame.

“Just like that,” he pants. “Fuck—that's my girl. That’s what I missed. The way you melt for me. The way you need it.”

He drags his jacket off in one fluid movement, the heavy fabric falling to the floor without a second thought. His hands are on your thighs next—lifting, wrapping your legs around his waist like it’s nothing. Your back slams into the wall, and he grinds into you again, dick thick and pulsing through his pants.

“I’m not waiting,” he snarls, fumbling your pants down with one hand, the other still bracing you like it’s effortless. “Don’t need the bed. Don’t need to be gentle. I need you now.”

You manage to nod, and that’s all he needs.

He frees himself in seconds, belt already undone, zipper halfway down. His cock is flushed, hard, twitching in his hand as he strokes himself once, twice, just to hold off the edge.

“Gonna fuck you full,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “Not pulling out. Not after the week I’ve had.” 

He presses the tip against your entrance, dragging it through your slick folds with a shaky groan. He doesn’t push in yet, just nudges, teases, until your thighs are trembling around his waist, breath catching with every pulse. 

“So wet,” he grits. “You missed me too, huh? Say it.” 

“I missed you,” you gasp, nails clawing at his back. 

He smiles, breath ghosting your cheek. “That’s more like it.”

And then—he thrusts in. 

One slow, brutal push that stretches you open, drags the air from your lungs, and knocks all thoughts clean out of your head. 

“Fuck,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours, hands flush against your ass. “There you are. So fucking tight. Made for me. “ 

He doesn’t move right away. He just holds you there: impaled, stuffed full, belly bulging with the imprint of his cock. 

Your walls flutter helplessly around him, and Caleb’s grin turns feral.

“I could stay like this,” he murmurs, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your jaw. “Right here. Balls deep. Never leaving again.” 

But he does move.

He pulls out slowly, leaving you empty for just a heartbeat, then slams back in with a harsh grunt. 

The rhythm builds fast—brutal, hungry, like he’s cramming every day apart into the space between thrusts. Each pump hits your cervix, dragging cries from your throat, his name tangled in each and every one. 

You’re close already. It’s building fast—too fast. How fucking much did you miss him for you to want to cum this quick? 

“Feeling close, sweetheart?” he pants, voice rough. “Come on. Want to feel you fall apart.” 

You arch your back, hands trembling. 

“Fuck—there it is,” he growls, slamming into you again.

You break.

The orgasm rips through you hard—legs shaking, nails digging into his shoulders, walls fluttering around him. You sob his name as you cum, clenching so tight around his cock it drags a noise from his chest that sounds like he’s choking on it.

“Fuck, Caleb!”

You can feel him unravelling, too. 

His hips jerk, pace faltering, grip bruising and tight on your hips like he’s trying to hold the whole world together with just your body. 

“Shit—fuck—you feel too good,” he gasps, burying his face in your neck. “I’m not gonna last either, pips.” 

You can barely answer, your knees wobbling, core aching, and his dick dragging so deep you swear he’s reaching your soul. Your grip tightens around his shoulders, grounding yourself in the one thing that feels real—him. 

“Fuck—fuck—take it,” he growls. 

He slams into you one last time, staying there, buried completely to the hilt. And then it hits—a twitch, a shiver down his spine, his cock pulsing as he cums with a whine ripped straight from his chest.

He holds you through it, thrusts slow and heavy, dragging every last spurt as he fills you. You feel it leak around where you both are connected, dripping down your thighs, soaking both of you. 

And still, he doesn’t pull out.  

He stays there, arms wrapped around you like you’re the only thing anchoring him. 

“I fucking hate leaving you,” he murmurs, finally, forehead resting against yours. He looks completely spent. 

You lean into him. 

Then, quieter, more certain, more him—

“Next time I come home?”

He kisses your neck. “I’m fucking you before the door even closes.”

©choso-ish. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works.

[whenstarsundress]

caleb isn’t the type of alpha who demands. he asks. soft voice, patient hands, eyes that never leave yours. but his scent? it wraps around you like velvet, thick and grounding, impossible to ignore.

deeply controlled rut cycles. he’s trained to suppress them with medication if needed, but that doesn’t mean the instincts disappear. when he’s around you during your heat, he gets quiet, still, too focused.

“do you need me?” he asks, knuckles brushing your wrist. “you don’t have to say yes. just nod.” you do. every time.

he’s a nurturer at heart. loves scenting you before bed, especially when you’re anxious. presses his face into your neck and murmurs things like:

“i’m here.”

“you’re safe with me.”

“let me carry it for you.”

but there’s possession under that gentleness. he doesn’t want to own you. he wants to devote himself to you, body and soul.

during your heat, he’s focused on your comfort first. pain meds, soft blankets, heated scentscapes, and then, if you want him, he’ll ruin you slowly.

so gentle at first. fingers between your thighs, soft kisses along your scent gland. “tell me if it’s too much,” he says, even as his knot starts to swell.

and when you whimper for him? the control frays. “omega,” he groans, voice breaking. “you feel so—fuck, you’re perfect. you were made for me.”

knots you with careful reverence. murmurs praise as you tremble beneath him. cleans you up gently afterward.

very quiet aftercare. strokes your hair. kisses your forehead. laces your fingers together and holds you tight until you fall asleep knotted to him, safe and claimed.

he doesn’t see rut or heat as shameful. he sees them as intimate and sacred. the most vulnerable, instinctive parts of you being entrusted to him.

and he never, ever forgets what a gift that is.

his first rut with you:

caleb thought he could handle it. he’d prepared, like he always does. meditated, dosed early, made contingency plans. but he didn’t account for you.

your scent was everywhere in his space, lingering on his bed, his clothes, in the air. it curled around his thoughts like smoke, like static.

he didn’t even realize he was going into rut until it was too late. the meds failed. his body burned, his skin itched, and his thoughts all narrowed down to you.

“you shouldn’t be here,” he said when you stepped into the room. but his pupils were already blown, voice thick with strain, jaw locked like he was holding himself back from lunging.

you whispered, “i want to stay.”

he broke.

the moment you moved toward him, caleb caught you in his arms and buried his face in your neck with a low, aching growl. he inhaled like your scent could save him. like he’d die without it.

“omega,” he rasped, voice full of awe and desperation. “you’re really here. you want me?”

the rut took hold then, hot and primal, but even while trembling with need, he was still caleb.

so gentle. so reverent. stripping you slowly, kissing every inch of skin like he was memorizing you. letting you climb into his lap and guide his hands with little whimpers and needy sighs.

“let me take care of you,” he begged, lips trembling against your mating gland. “please. i’ll be good. i’ll make it good for you.”

and god, he did.

every thrust came with soft gasps and low growls, your name whispered over and over like a prayer. he held you tight as his knot swelled, moaning your name like it was the only word he remembered.

“gonna fill you up,” he gasped. “mark you. keep you safe. no one else can have you. not now. not ever.”

but then you cupped his cheek. and his voice softened again. “does it hurt?” he asked, eyes full of worry even as you pulsed around his knot. “i don’t want to hurt you.”

you shook your head, smiling through the haze. “you feel perfect.”

and caleb, sweet, kind alpha caleb, broke down. kissed you like it meant everything. like you were the only thing anchoring him through the heat.

when you both finally stilled, tied together and drenched in heat-slick and love, he held you against his chest and whispered, “thank you for trusting me.”

his voice was hoarse, cracked, shaking. “i’ll never forget it.”

[dotpointping]

I think we all agree sex with Phainon would just be feral as hell. He is an awful combination of down bad and emotionally repressed. Give him an inch and he’ll go a mile. The moment you let him into your bed, you are NOT leaving until he’s filled you with his spend. But the best worst part is that every time you think he’s finished, he gets himself going again by watching all his cum leak out of your used hole.

“Just one more,” he tells his, ignoring your whines and pulling your hips back, “one more, I promise.”

Phainon is a liar. One more means one more hour. One more means one more day. He has more than enough stamina and if you so much as indicate you want to be fucked stupid… well, who is he to deny your wishes? That is what he lives for, no?

Against the wall, your personal bath, your dresser, even the balcony is not safe. Speaking of which, you’re starting to think Phainon gets off on doing it outside. One of his hands is always gagged around your mouth, hushing you and telling you you’re being too loud and to quiet down, unless you want to be caught. He says all this, all the while his other hand is ruthlessly pressed against your clit, rubbing small firm circles around your sensitive bud, ramming his hips against yours and angling himself against that soft, spongy spot deep inside that he knows makes your head feel light and stars dangle in your eyes.

Phainon is the type to pull strings and use everything in his power to clear his schedule if it means he can spend a whole day just fucking you. Whether or not you’re conscious for that entire session is entirely dependent on how well prepared you are for him. He’ll coo at you during sex, ask if you’re too tired and if you want to rest. It’s so condescending and he laughs when you nod yes, just to keep going like you aren’t about to pass out underneath him.

“Come on, love, I’m almost done… just keep it up, you’re doing so, so well for me…”

Phainon would go until he shoots blanks. You may think you’re safe by then, but you aren’t. He nestles his head around your legs, kissing your sensitive thighs and nipping the skin lightly, coaxing you down from your last high. It’s the first kiss to your overstimulated cunt that you realize what he intends to do. You can push him away all you like, but he intends to feast on you while he still can.

Mydei, on the other hand, I feel you have to coax into bed. You can drop all the hints in the world, trail your hand up and down his chest, tease the hem of his pants, tell him your dirtiest fucking desires for him and he’ll still tell you no (but you can best bet you’re the reason he starts praying to every god in Amphoreus. Cerces, bless him to keep sound of mind and withstand the urges of pouncing you. He is reason, he is reason, he is reason—) The only real effective way to get him to fuck you the first time is by inviting him to your room and then stripping yourself bare. Even then, you STILL have to talk him into it.

Mydei is a gentle lover. He’s aware of his size and stature and how easily he can hurt you. His hands have committed more atrocities than he can count. They have torn the heads of his enemies, crushed bone and flesh, and spilled blood countless times. He doesn’t want to hurt you. Goodness no. He’d never forgive himself if he did.

Hence why you have to sweet talk him, practically beg him have to have his way with you. You have to tell him you won’t be satisfied until you’re fucked within an inch of your life and your guts have been rearranged. Taunting also works. He may be afraid to hurt you, but above all else he can’t stand the idea of you being with anyone else. You are one of a few good things in his life and god forbid he fumbles this one.

“Fine. I guess I’ll just go find that Deliverer—”

There’s nothing more effective than that. Is it cheap? Yes. It is. But, it gets the job done.

In his hands, you’re going to be stretched and bent in ways you never thought possible. Poking a sleep lion is never a good idea, especially when you don’t have the energy to keep up with him. But, you’ve been teasing him for months on end, so it’s only fair he gets his fill of you.

Sex with Mydei can be quite slow, with three fingers stretching you wide and his tongue lapping your cunt. You have to cum at least three times before he even thinks about slipping his cock inside. If you aren’t delirious by then, then you’re absolutely gone when his cock sinks inside. We all know this man is packing, it’s a struggle no matter how well prepped you are. You’re creaming around him just from the stretch alone, and you have a moment of panic where you aren’t sure he’s going to fit. But, ever the attentive lover, he’ll hush your worries away and press soft circles against your clit, massage your breasts, pinch your sensitive nipples, distract you until he finally bottoms out.

“Please, please, please, Mydei…” you can whine, wrap your arms tight around him and pull him close, kiss him sloppy and messy until you’re reaching another high from him simply grinding into you.

He’s hypnotized, hooked on the feeling of you, taste of you, everything about you. He fulfills your every wish of being pummeled deep inside, massaging your walls with every thrust, the head of his cock pressed against the most sensitive spots, with your every breath becoming nothing more than short punched out gasps.

Unfortunately, however, while Phainon is more than eager to fuck his cum inside you, getting Mydei to cum inside is an entirely different matter. He’s so afraid of continuing his lineage in such unstable times, not to mention, he doesn’t want to burden you with his child. But, once you DO convince him that it’s fine, something in his head gets rewired and the idea of ‘gentle’ gets tossed out when he spills inside you for the first time and sees just how excited it makes you. He then has an existential crisis because now he can’t imagine sex any other way and he’s aching to do it again.

Sex with Phainon is easy because he wants to please you and fulfill every dirty dream he’s ever had of you.

Sex with Mydei is a mind game, where you have to ease him in at first, then assure him three-hundred different times that: yes, you want him and yes, you know what you are doing.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Doting

Tags: jjk men as dads, tooth-rotting fluff, comfort drabbles

Synopsis: How the JJK men treat you while pregnant (spoiler warning- they dote on you.)

An: This is my formal apology for writing Nanami angst on the “Baby’s first words” post 😔 it will never happen again (can we stop with the death threats now?)

SATORU • SUGURU • TOJI • SUKUNA • NANAMI

SATORU

Oh, your loving husband is all over you while you’re pregnant. He genuinely has such a cute fascination with all the changes your body is going through. He seriously thinks you’re so strong for carrying his heir.

He loves rubbing your bump. In fact, he will always be touching it in some form or fashion while you two are together. When he’s away on missions, he has you send him pictures and updates on your pregnancy as if anything major has changed in a couple of days.

You best believe he is ready to indulge you on your every craving, no matter how strange. It’s three a.m and you’re crying because you need that specific brand of chicken wings and a can of whip cream? He’s heading to the store immediately to fetch whatever you tell him to.

He genuinely worries about being a good dad. Many nights he lays his head on your bump and talks to you about how teaching didn’t come naturally to him. He wasn’t born knowing how to meet people where they’re at. He use to expect people to be able to meet him on his level. He worries that he may inadvertently put a lot of pressure on his kid, and that’s the last thing he wants due to how he was raised. He just wants his kid to be a kid.

He’s the best, most loving and compassionate dad to your baby, more than you could ever hope for. Even if teaching didn’t come to him naturally, being a father did.

SUGURU

He’s such a “sit down and let me do it for you” while you’re pregnant. He cooks, cleans, works, and tends to you completely throughout your pregnancy.

Suguru gets hyper fixated on your health during pregnancy. He only feeds you the yummiest and healthiest foods while you’re pregnant. He encourages for you to sit on the yoga ball and do (very) light exercises. He just wants the best for you and his baby.

Whenever I said he tends to you, I genuinely mean he tends to you. He’ll gently brush your hair at night time, rub your back when your belly is becoming heavy to carry around, serve your breakfast, lunch, and dinner in bed, carries around emesis bags and breath mints for if you get morning sickness while you two are out.

This man is the king of enforcing your boundaries to people when they don’t listen. That really annoying family member that insists on being there for the birth even though you’ve already explained to them that you want this to be an experience for just you and Geto? Yeah, he’s made it very clear to them that they will not be at the birth if they want to be in your kid’s life.

He is absolutely not afraid to hurt feelings if it means his wife and future child are safe and cared for. He really don’t give a fuck who anyone else is. You and his child are first priority.

TOJI

Toji is definitely the type to express his love and devotion for you in other ways than the most conventional methods.

He is so incredibly gentle while you’re pregnant. He doesn’t rile you up as much or play fight with you anymore. He constantly reminds himself that you’re carrying another life inside you and that you have enough on your plate.

This man… whew does he love seeing you pregnant. Toji’s the type of man to feel so feral when he looks at you heavily pregnant with his kid.

He adores your body. He’ll rub lotion all over you and oils to help your skin accommodate to the stretch of carrying a kid. He massages your body and absolutely worships it while he’s rubbing the lotion and oil on you.

Your breasts are sore? He’ll gently massage them until they feel better. Your back hurts? He’d be the type to lift your bump up and take the weight off you for as long as you ask him to so you can feel relaxed for a few minutes.

And look this is probably TMI but like, if you got a clogged milk duct due to breastfeeding, Toji would unfortunately be the type of man to fix that issue with his mouth. i’m sorry but he would.

Final thing is, you better believe that he doesn’t allow anyone to get too close to you. He is so unbelievably protective over you while you’re pregnant. If he could, he’d lock you up at home to prevent anyone from getting close to you.

SUKUNA

On the outside, he acts very nonchalant and unbothered by your pregnancy. On the inside, he is constantly plagued by the thought that your body may not be able to carry his heir. The thought of losing you or his child haunts him.

He will secretly observe and take notes on your body and how it is changing. If he catches you expressing any sort of short windedness, he will immediately send you off to bed rest. Though, you’re usually able to convince him to take you off of it by the next day.

The only servant he trusts to tend to you is Uraume. No one else in his court is allowed to be anywhere near you unless he gives specific instructions. Still, he hates leaving you in the care of Uraume. He trusts them, but he wants to be the one to take care of you.

He loves holding your body close to him at night. All four arms are wrapped around you and holding you closely. Since he doesn’t need much sleep, he will stay awake rubbing on your tummy all night long. One time, he felt the baby moving in your stomach while you were asleep. He was so intrigued that he woke you up and told you to “make them do it again”.

Now, he will randomly approach you at any given time while you’re heavily pregnant and hold his hand out so he can feel his baby moving around inside of you. It soothes his worry.

During birth, Sukuna was a complete mess. The amount of blood lost during birth fucking terrified him. He was panicking and yelling at anyone to do something to save you, even while everyone was assuring him that you’re okay and this was natural.

After 9 long excruciating months of extreme worry and constant fear, he finally feels peace when he’s cradling a newborn in his arm and a sleeping wife in the other arm. All of his hard work to protect you paid off he thinks.

NANAMI

Oh, to be pregnant by the king of domestic love himself.

Nanami is the type of man to immediately start working on a nursery for you as soon as you reveal to him that you’re pregnant. He immediately changes the guest bedroom into a nursery that you design for your little baby.

He reads up on all the parenting books and articles. He’s constantly compiling things to either do or to not do during pregnancy and even while raising a kid.

Like Geto, he tends to your every need. He is a total house husband all while working 40 hours a week. When he’s at work, he is constantly calling and texting you to make sure that you’re okay and taking care of yourself, but let’s be fr he literally did everything for you before he even left for work (meal prepped for you, set out your clothes for you, put out all your self care items in case you want to bathe).

When you express concerns of your body getting bigger to him, he does everything in his power to show you that he loves and respects your body for creating life. He literally cherishes and worships your body for hours if you let him.

Like Toji, Nanami is protective over you. He constantly has an arm around you if you two are in public, and he watches everyone who dares to get close to you like a hawk. If he gets a bad vibe about anyone, he’s immediately stepping in front of you and taking over the conversation.

Nanami is the best partner to have during birth. His reading of articles during your pregnancy really paid off. He is supportive without being overbearing. He listens to your needs and tends to you without question. Constant praise and encouragement while you’re giving birth. The moment he gets to snuggle with you and the baby is the moment he realizes that he cultivated the life of his dreams. He has the family he always wanted.

[mari-positas]

run

Raider! Joel Miller x Female Reader

*moodboard is for aesthetic purposes only. no mention of reader’s race or skin tone.

summary: When you’re given the chance to run from your captor, you don’t take it.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. RAIDER ERA. DARK!JOEL. DUBCON. MENTIONS PREVIOUS NONCON. UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 50). reader is described washing her hair (the exact length is not specified) and she wears a dress. she is also shorter than Joel. violence, kidnapping, reader has major stockholm syndrome, Joel is fairly soft for her but HE IS STILL NOT A GOOD MAN, brief mention of Tess and Joel being involved with each other, Tess seems like the villain but she might actually be the only one of these three who is not totally fucked up in the head. SMUT. daddy kink. size difference (no description of reader’s body type, Joel is just a big guy with a big dick, enjoy it). oral sex (female receiving), super risky unprotected p in v sex (mention of reader ovulating, Joel pulls out, don’t be be like these two, practice safe sex), creampie (yeah he doesn’t give a fuck the second time around). many, many pet names (baby, baby girl, honey, angel, sweetheart, little girl). um i think that’s it. oh, and they fuck in the dirt.

PLEASE HEED ALL WARNINGS.

word count: 8.6k

a/n: one thing about me is i WILL soften up EVERY version of Joel Miller to my little heart’s content. HUGE HUGE thank you to @endlessthxxghts and @joelsdagger for lending me their eyes and beta-ing this fic for me last night. <33 i love and appreciate you guys SO MUCH. i loved seeing you both in the doc at the same exact time lmao. this can be read as a standalone, but it is considered part of the captive universe.

Everyone in the group has a job. Except for you.

Or at least, that’s what you hear them say.

That bitch doesn’t do shit.

She never has to lift a fucking finger.

She should work for her meal—just like the rest of us.

Bitterness laces their tones when they talk about you.

Insults grow a little bolder when he’s not around.

Useless.

Freeloader.

Leech.

You might not be out there with a rifle in hand hunting game or invading camps and spilling blood for supplies—but you do in fact have a job, and that job is to make Joel Miller happy. It is your responsibility, your duty, to please him, and to keep him satisfied. Because keeping him satisfied keeps him in a good mood, and one thing you’ve come to learn about your captor is, where there is a good mood, often there is mercy.

Hell, you’re doing them a favor by keeping their violent, fearsome leader in a good mood. Because you’ve seen what he does to them when he’s not. He can be just as brutal towards his own people as he is to strangers.

It doesn’t make a difference, though. They still see you as nothing more than his coddled little whore.

“Fuck, that’s it.”

He groans, his thick, callused fingers digging harshly into the softness of your flesh as he holds you firmly in place underneath him. “Oh fuck, baby girl,” Joel curses through gritted teeth, his hands gripping your hips as he uses his own weight against you, pressing you down into the old mattress until you feel every uncomfortable lump, each creaking spring.

While he isn’t fucking you as roughly as he has on other occasions, he’s hardly being gentle. It’s hard, fast.

Loud.

Joel couldn’t care less about the rest of the group, the men and women on the other side of the wall, forced to listen to the sounds coming from the single bedroom of the cabin he decided they would hunker down in for the remainder of the summer season. Strings of curses and brutish grunts that came rumbling from deep within his chest, pleading gasps and whimpers that fell from your swollen, bitten lips. If anything, knowing they were listening only spurred him on—it didn’t hurt to remind them, especially the men with wandering eyes, that you were his special girl.

His good girl.

You certainly did your job, and you did it so, so well.

“Christ, sweetheart. M’so fuckin’ close—” Joel picks up speed, his hips snapping even harder, faster, the front of his thighs slapping against the backs of yours. Each thrust causes the bed’s rusted, iron headboard to slam violently against the wood panel wall.

You clutch fistfuls of the single, stale, yellowing sheet beneath you, each stroke he delivers knocking the wind out of your lungs, making it harder to breathe. He is so heavy on top of you, this big, broad, bulk of a man who makes you feel swallowed, smothered, and small. Joel takes up so much room inside of you, and it’s a wonder how you could possibly have any space left to spare.

It’s a fullness you can’t seem to get enough of.

It’s a craving, a need.

Worst of all, it’s slowly becoming a want.

“Daddy,” you choke out, fisting the sheet tighter, your skin stretching taut over your knuckles. Can the others also hear the squelch of your drenched cunt around his cock as it begs him for more?

“Fuck. You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me, baby,” Joel croons his praise. His hands abandon your hips and he hunches over you, his thrusts momentarily ceasing. He crushes his chest against your sweaty, quivering back and leans forward even further, bracing his large hands on either side of you. Then, his lips move to the shell of your ear and he speaks, his breath blazing hot on your skin. “Y’take me so well, honey. Y’take Daddy’s cock so fuckin’ well. This pretty little pussy was fuckin’ made for me. She was made jus’ for me—ain’t that right, angel?”

He’s right.

Oh, how you fucking hated that he was right.

It was made for him. Your cunt. Your body. You.

Every part of you was made for him, and only for him.

All you can do is nod dumbly in agreement.

“Say it,” Joel whispers his firm command. “Wanna hear you say it. Be a good girl and use your words. Say it, say this pussy is made for me.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you moan obediently, prompting him to grin against your ear. “My pussy is made for you, just—just for you. No one—no one else. Only you.” Could this really be the same voice that would break, grow hoarse from screaming for him to stop? The same voice that would beg and plead for him to set you free?

Jutting his hips forward, Joel buries himself to the hilt, eliciting a noise from you, something caught between a pained whimper and a contented sigh. His balls, heavy and full for you, rest on your clit, which is still sensitive to the touch after he’d spent a majority of the morning with his head buried in between your legs. Desiring yet another release, you try wriggling around beneath him in a silent plea for more. More, more, more.

Please, Daddy. More.

Joel’s grin widens. He places one of his hands on your soft lower belly, fingers dragging down the slope of it until he finds the slick swell of your seam between your legs where his girth splits you open. “Ready, baby?”

Nodding, you open your mouth to answer him, but the sound of your own groan cuts you off when his fingers firmly circle around your throbbing, swollen bud. “Oh,” you breathe, instantly sinking right into his touch. Your eyes screw shut tightly in pleasure, and you throw your head back onto his shoulder. The scruff of his beard is rough on your cheek, and it burns, the same way it had burned the tender flesh of your inner thighs.

His hips find their rhythm as you rub against his hand—you’re almost there. He knows this, you can tell by the chuckle that thunders in his chest and against your back. But you’re too busy chasing your pleasure to be embarrassed.

He’s made you a needy, greedy girl.

“Daddy,” you mewl, trying your hardest to move under him, to work your cunt up and down on his cock. “I’m gonna come—” You gasp, back arching as Joel strokes in and out, his fingers rubbing your clit with urgency.

Joel plants a sloppy, wet kiss on your cheek. “Give it to me, baby,” he grunts. “C’mon. Lemme feel her squeeze me.”

Feeling how close he is too, you try to hold on for just a little bit longer, at least long enough to finish with him, but Joel’s relentless, and you’re forced off of the ledge you’re both standing on first.

Crying out, your walls spasm around him, asking to be filled until he’s made a complete mess out of you, until white leaks, and it slowly dribbles down the insides of your trembling thighs.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” Joel rasps. He lifts himself off you and he pulls out, taking his throbbing cock in his hand. His chest heaves as he fists himself, the wet sound of your slick in his palm filling the room. “Down,” he grits, and you obey him, lowering down yourself on the mattress until you’re lying almost completely flat before him. He gives himself one final stroke just as you look over your shoulder at him, the gentle flutter of your eyelashes the last push he needs. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck—” Joel spills his load, shooting thick ropes of warm cum along the soft curve of your spine.

You rest your cheek on your folded arms, biting back a small sigh.

He’s left behind an ache—you feel painfully empty.

But it was Tess, who had been given the task of helping you track your menstrual cycle, that had given him the warning earlier that morning. “She’s ovulating. Don’t be a fucking idiot, Joel. Last thing we need is for her to—”

“Relax,” he’d gruffed in response. “I fuckin’ know.”

Spent, Joel hunches over you once more and he lightly kisses the top of your head before burying his nose into your hair. “Good girl,” he murmurs. Affection that once was unwelcome and unwanted, that once made you feel sick to your fucking stomach, now makes you feel something else entirely. You’re not quite sure what it is, only that it’s warm. Comforting. “Y’did so well for me, sweetheart. Always do.”

Your lips curl into a faint, tired smile he doesn’t see.

A while later, you find yourself perched on the bed with the sheet wrapped around you, quietly watching as he gets dressed. “Daddy?” you say tentatively as he drops into a nearby chair to pull on his boots.

“What is it, baby girl?”

“Do you—do you think we can go to the creek today?”

Joel finishes lacing his boots and looks up at you.

“I’d really like to wash up,” you admit, softly. That, and you would like to see the light of day. He’d boarded up the windows with slabs of wood—sometimes, if you’re lucky, you get some decent light seeping through the teeny gaps.

“Not today, honey. I’ve got some things to take care of. Supplies are low, we gotta do a run. Don’t have the time to take you.” He stands and picks up his rifle, slinging the strap of it over his shoulder. Noticing the crestfallen expression on your face, Joel’s eyes soften. He walks over and gingerly cups the side of your face in his palm. His thumb strokes your cheek. “Promise I’ll take you to the creek tomorrow, sweetheart. First thing. Alright?”

Nodding, your eyes fall to your hands in your lap.

“Okay.”

Joel kisses your forehead, then leaves the room.

He makes sure to lock the door from the outside, and you can’t help but wonder if he knows locking you in is no longer necessary.

“I can take her.”

Joel’s dark eyes remain focused on the state map laid out on the table in front of him. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about, Tess?” He sees her in his periphery, but is too busy figuring out the group’s best route to look her way.

“I heard her asking you to take her to the creek so she can bathe,” she tells him. “I can take her.”

Finally, his head snaps up and he turns to her. “What?”

Tess leans her hip against the table, crossing her arms over her chest. “You and Tommy can take the group, go and take care of what you have to take care of. I’ll stay behind and take her down to the creek,” she suggests casually, as if she’s not asking him to trust her with his most prized possession—the only damn thing on what was left of this fucking earth Joel Miller actually gives a shit about. “Once she’s washed up, I’ll bring her back to the cabin and put her back into the room. Easy.”

Joel stares at her, bewildered. “What makes you think I’d fuckin’ allow somethin’ like that?”

“Oh, come on.” She huffs and rolls her eyes. “Anytime I bitch about having to do something for that girl, you’re on my fucking case about it, and now that I’m offering to do something for her, you don’t wanna let me?”

He shakes his head and lowers his voice. “You’re talkin’ about takin’ her outside, Tess. Without me.”

“The creek’s just a mile away,” Tess reminds him. “I’m pretty sure I can handle getting her there and back with no trouble, Joel.” When he says nothing, she cocks her head to the side and scoffs. “What? You don’t trust me enough to take her under my wing for a couple hours?”

Joel’s lips pull into a tight line. 

Of course he does. Tess was his right hand woman, his second in command.

He trusted her more than his own fucking brother. She had never given him any reason not to, had never given him a reason to doubt her loyalty to him. No, his lack of trust has nothing to do with Tess—but everything to do with you. He doesn’t trust you. He will never trust you.

“What if she tries to—?” He can’t even say it.

“Tries to what?” She pauses. “Run?”

His throat goes dry and he gives her a subtle nod.

Joel Miller was a bad man who did bad things, but you were his good. You’ve brought back some meaning into this wretched life of his, gave him something that felt a lot like a sense of purpose. You were something for him to take care of, to keep safe and protect.

Tess raises an eyebrow at him. “You think I’d even give her the chance? Besides, the girl’s not that stupid, Joel. She knows better than to try anything. She knows she wouldn’t get very fucking far.”

“Tess—”

“I’m just trying to do something nice for her. Besides, I think it might do her some good to be in the company of someone else for once—the company of a woman.”

Joel peers at her, taking a minute to think it over in his mind before asking, “You’ll have her back in the room before I get back to the cabin?”

“Long before then,” she swears. “All in one piece.”

He hesitates. He’s still not sure.

It’s then that he remembers that disappointed look on your sweet, pretty little face. “Alright,” he relents with a deep sigh. “I trust you, Tess.”

It always feels a bit strange to be outside.

But being outside without Joel?

It feels even stranger.

When he’d walked back into the room and told you Tess was willing to take you to the creek, the news had taken you by complete surprise. When he said he was willing to let her take you, that you almost couldn’t believe. It hadn’t even sunk in until the three of you stood outside the cabin and he was kissing your forehead sweetly in a temporary goodbye before turning to Tess.

“Never take your eyes off her,” he’d instructed her.

“She’ll behave.” She had smiled at you as she pulled her pistol from the waistband of her jeans, the gleam of the silver barrel catching your eye. “Isn’t that right?”

Swallowing dryly, you had answered with a strained, “Of course.”

She’s the last fucking person you wanted to cross. She was almost as terrifying as Joel, if not more.

“Tess? W-Where are we going?” you ask as you trudge along behind her, hoping you don’t sound as winded as you feel. Although you had no way to keep track of the time, it felt like you’d been trekking for at least an hour. Your feet are starting to hurt in your shoes—old, worn, yellow canvas sneakers that certainly weren’t made for hiking. “I don’t remember the creek being this far from the cabin.”

Tess snorts. “Don’t tell me you’re tired already.”

“It’s just—we’ve been walking for a really long time.”

She glances over her shoulder at you. “Here I thought you would be a little fucking grateful to be out getting some fresh air,” she chuckles, shaking her head before turning her attention back to the path ahead.

“I am,” you squeak, stumbling over a fallen branch.

Silence falls over the both of you.

“We’re not going to the creek,” Tess finally speaks after a minute. “I’m taking you somewhere else. Somewhere even better. Just trust me, kid. Now hurry up.”

It takes another hour before you reach your destination, and you hear it before you can even see it, a humming sound that turns into buzzing the closer you get. Then, you feel it, a vibration in the rocks beneath your feet. “Is that a—?” Stepping around her, your mouth falls open in absolute awe at the sight before you.

The waterfall is nestled right in between the trees and surges over the rocky mountain, throwing up bubbles of spray as it plunges into the lake at the bottom, and from there, it foams into a thick, white lather at the base. On the bank, where you stand, you spot different types of vegetation you couldn’t identify even if you tried—all you know is that it’s green, and it’s beautiful.

“This is incredible,” you gasp.

“Way better than some little creek, huh?” Tess tucks her pistol into the waistband of her jeans and shrugs off her pack. She digs around in the front pocket and pulls out something wrapped in a piece of crumpled brown tissue paper. She hands it to you. “Here.”

“What’s this?”

“Well, if you’d fucking open it, you would know,” Tess rolls her eyes. “It’s my last piece of soap. It’s all yours.”

Her kind generosity comes as a surprise—usually, Tess wanted nothing to do with you. But you don’t question it, and you certainly don’t turn the rare luxury down.

“Thanks,” you say, shooting her a grateful look.

Tess nods towards the body of water. “Alright, then. Go on and get to it.”

You take the piece of soap out the tissue. The scent of lavender is faint, but still very much there. Joel will like the smell of it on your skin tonight, you think.

As you start to pull the strap of your cotton blue dress down your shoulder, you feel her gaze fixed intently on you. Heat rushes to your cheeks. “Uh, aren’t you going to turn around?”

“For fuck’s sake,” she scoffs. “I’ve got what you’ve got. Now hurry up, we don’t have all fucking day.”

Nodding, you peel off your dress and underwear, your face on fire as the older woman’s eyes slowly drag over your naked body. Carefully, you step off the bank and wade into the water. It’s so clear that you can count the pebbles underneath your feet.

Leaning against a nearby tree, Tess calls out, “You have ten minutes! And stay out of the waterfall! Last thing I need is for you to fucking drown.”

As she lights a cigarette, you can’t help but stare at her. Her features, though worn down after the hell she had been through trying to survive the post outbreak world, are beautiful. Big, dark green eyes, a perfect nose, and full, pouty lips. There’s never been a doubt in your mind that she and Joel have been involved with one another, and lately, the mere thought of anything between them made you uncomfortable.

It’s an odd sensation deep in your gut—jealousy?

But what were you jealous of? Her having had him first?

It shouldn’t matter to you, but it does. Insecurities you have never in your life felt before seep into your bones.

“Anyone ever tell you it’s fucking rude to stare?” Tess quips, raising an eyebrow at you. She shoves her lighter into the back pocket of her jeans.

Nervously, you sink lower into the water, nibbling the inside of your cheek. “Tess? Can I ask you something?”

“What could you possibly fucking want to ask me?”

You hesitate.

“How—how long have you known each other?”

“Who?” Tess plucks the cigarette from between her lips and flicks the ashes. “Me and Joel?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

She shrugs. “Don’t know. Six, seven years?”

“How did you two meet?”

“Long story that’s none of your fucking business.”

You ask your next question before you lose your nerve. “Have you two ever—?” Unsure of how to phrase it, you stop and clamp your mouth shut in instant regret.

“Have we ever what?” Tess studies your face, and she quickly realizes what you’re trying to ask her. “You’re seriously asking me if me and Joel have ever fucked?”

Biting your bottom lip, you glance down into the water at your feet. You honestly don’t expect her to answer, so when she does, you look back up at her in surprise.

“Yeah.” She takes a long drag from her cigarette, then adds, “Few times.”

Something unpleasant claws at your insides. “You two were together? Like a couple?”

“Something like that,” Tess mutters, flicking her ashes once more.

“What happened?”

She looks at you, pausing before answering, “You.”

Oh.

Before you can utter another word, Tess snaps, “Quit asking so many goddamn fucking questions and finish up washing. You’ve got eight minutes left.”

Not wanting to push your luck further than you already have, you do as she tells you in complete silence.

You lather up the soap in your hands, washing your hair first, and then your face and body, using your hands to scrub yourself as best as you can. Between the calming scent of the soap, the soothing sound of the waterfall, and the warm afternoon sun, you find yourself relaxing. You try to clear your mind, live in this peaceful moment which you very well may never get again, but your mind begins to wander.

And it wanders straight to Joel.

Closing your eyes, you can’t help but picture him here, standing behind you in the lake. You can almost feel his hands on you, long, thick fingers lathered with lavender soap, sliding down your body. His lips at your neck, he cups your breasts in his hands, rolling his thumbs over your hardened nipples until your head lulls, falling back onto his shoulder. Joel drags his hands further down, over your stomach, going lower and lower towards the place where you need them the most. “Yeah, baby?” he murmurs into your neck, dipping one of them between your legs until you are, quite literally, in the palm of his hand. “This where y’need me?”

Breathless, you respond, “It’s where I want you.”

Suddenly, your eyes snap open.

There is a wetness between your thighs, one that has nothing to do with the fact that you’re standing waist-deep in the middle of a lake. You shake those thoughts away and finish washing yourself.

“Time’s up,” Tess calls. She meets you on the bank with a dry rag. “Here.”

The rag doesn’t exactly cover much surface area, but you dry yourself off as best you can before tugging on your underwear and slipping on your dress. Just as you crouch down to slip your shoes on, she tosses her pack and it lands in front of you with a soft thud.

Confused, you glance up at her.

“There’s about a week’s worth of jerky in there. Longer, if you know how to ration,” Tess explains, calmly. “And a canteen for water. I also packed you a flashlight and a pocket knife. It’s not much, but—”

Frowning, you rise to your feet. “What are you talking about, Tess? What’s going on? Why are you giving me your pack?”

“Because I’m giving you a chance, kid.”

A feeling of dread pools in the pit of your stomach.

“A chance to what?”

“Run.”

Your heart stutters a beat. “Run?”

“He’ll come looking for you. You need to get as far away from here as possible. Run away, as far as you can, and don’t fucking look back.”

All you can do is stare at her in shocked silence.

“I can help you get a head start,” Tess offers, quietly. “I can show you which direction to go in and put you on a path leading to the closest state highway—”

“But what if I don’t want to run?”

Tess places her hands on her hips, and she exhales an incredulous laugh. “Jesus,” she breathes, shaking her head in pity. “He’s really got you fucking brainwashed, doesn’t he?”

You glare at her. “I am not brainwashed, Tess.”

“You’ve gotta be if you’re telling me you wanna go back to him.”

“Tess—”

She cuts you off. “He gave the order to raid your camp and kill your people,” she reminds you. “He fucking slit your father’s throat right in front of you, then took you as his prisoner. He made you his fucking sex slave.”

“He takes care of me! He feeds me, makes sure I have a bed to sleep in no matter where we are. He keeps me safe. He—he cares about me.” You will your voice not to tremble as you stand your ground. “No. I’m not running away, Tess. I want to go back.”

Tess sighs. “You’re really not gonna make this easy, are you?”

“Take me back,” you all but demand, your hands curled into the least menacing little fists she had ever seen in her life at your sides. “Take me back to the cabin—take me back to him, Tess. I mean it.”

Amused, she huffs through her nose. “Or else what?”

“You can’t make me run away, Tess.” As you take a step towards her, she reaches behind her and swiftly whips out her pistol from the waistband of her jeans. You halt, freezing in fear when she aims the barrel of the gun at your chest.

“Actually, I can,” she says, her finger hovering over the trigger. “So here’s how this is gonna go. I’m gonna walk away now. And if you even think about following me, or trying to find your way back to the group, you will die.” She tosses you a tiny, wry smile. “Believe it or not, I’m doing you a real big favor, kid. Problem is, he’s got you so fucked in the head that you can’t see it.”

“Tess, please,” you plead. “Don’t do this to me!”

She begins to back away. “Remember when you’d say that to him? How you’d beg him not to do those things to you every night? Beg him to let you go?”

“Please, just take me back to him!”

You start to follow her.

“You take one more fucking step and I’ll shoot you,” she threatens, her eyes darkening. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Tess keeps her pistol pointed at you until she slips into the trees and disappears, abandoning you in the middle of the forest.

He’s furious. Livid.

Joel paces back and forth on the porch.

“Where the fuck are they?”

The old, rotting wood that wraps all the way around the cabin creaks, and certain softer spots bend and buckle, threatening to give way beneath his heavy boots. Joel’s younger brother leans against the railing, which is just as fragile, an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.

“Christ, Joel. Can you fuckin’ relax?” Tommy grumbles, fishing around in his back pocket for his lighter. “You’re gonna bring the whole damn cabin down if ya don’t cut that shit out.” He sparks a flame and lights the filtered end of the cigarette. He takes a long drag, and exhales the smoke through his nose. “You’re gettin’ worked up over nothin’, brother.”

“S’almost sundown, and they’re still not fuckin’ back.” Joel shakes his head. “Fuckin’ knew I shouldn’t have let Tess take her. Somethin’ happened, Tommy. I just know it.” He lifts his shirt and reaches for his pistol, pulling it from the waistband of his jeans. “M’gonna head to the creek myself to find ‘em. Ain’t gonna sit around on my goddamn hands and wait for it to get fuckin’ dark.”

“She’s with Tess. M’sure the girl’s fine—” Tommy stops, his eyes widening slightly. “Well, hell.”

“What?”

Tommy jerks his chin over Joel’s shoulder before taking another slow, casual drag of his cigarette. He savors the last few seconds of peace before shit inevitably hits the fan and his brother unleashes his wrath on anything, or anyone, in his path.

Joel whips around and his stomach sinks, his blood ice in his veins when he sees Tess approaching the cabin. Alone.

Both his mind and body go numb. It’s a jarring shock to his nervous system, and it takes him a minute or two to fully process the fact that you’re not with her.

“Joel,” Tess says his name carefully as he descends the porch steps and walks towards her. “I need you to take a breath, alright?”

“Where—where is she?” His voice breaks, his weakness momentarily slipping through the cracks.

Not that Tess didn’t already know you were Joel Miller’s weakness, his soft white underbelly, the only vulnerable part of his hardened self that could be penetrated—you would have been his downfall. As much as she’d like to say she did what she did solely for your own good, she also did it for his, and for the sake of the group as a whole.

It needed to be done.

He stands in front of her, a ticking time bomb about to go off.

Prepared to face whatever consequences of the choice she had made, Tess tucks her gun away and sighs. “You need to take a breath—”

Joel snatches her arm, his fingers digging into the flesh above her elbow. His emotions hit him all at once.

Fear, worry, anger. It’s the third that takes precedence, and before Tess can utter another word, Joel yanks her forward. She crashes against his chest so hard that it knocks the wind out of her. “Where the fuck is she?” He leans down, his nostrils flaring as he brings their faces the closest they have been in almost a year.

“Joel, take a fucking breath—”

“Where. Is. She.” His grip on her arm tightens with each word he bites out through his teeth. He’s vaguely aware the others have piled out of the cabin, gathering on the porch to watch the altercation.

“She ran,” Tess explains, calmly. She doesn’t falter, not even as his fingers sink deeper into her skin, promising her painful bruises which will take days to fade away. If he decided to let her live. “She ran away, Joel. I turned my back for one fucking second and she was gone. She even took my fucking pack. I tried going after her, but it was no use. She was too fast.”

Behind him, Tommy snorts. “She outran you?”

Her eyes momentarily flicker to him. “Her knees are a lot younger than mine,” she replies, flatly.

“Which direction did she go in?” Joel demands. When Tess doesn’t immediately respond, he shouts, “Which fucking direction!”

Tess manages to snatch her arm out of his grasp. She glowers at him, hissing, “What the hell does it matter which direction she went? You won’t fucking find her.”

His eyes meet hers, and he sees it. Feels it.

She’s lying to him.

“Tess.” Joel’s voice drops dangerously low. He studies her face, his brows creasing with suspicion. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do shit, Joel. She fucking ran away.”

Without warning, Joel takes her by her throat. His other hand brings his pistol to her head, shoving the barrel of it against her temple. His nose touches hers. “Now, tell me why I have the feelin’ you’re not tellin’ me the whole truth?”

Tess lifts her chin. She searches his eyes, a sharp ache shooting through her. After everything, all the hell they had been through together—he would end her life, put a bullet in her because of you? Did she mean that little to him?

Or maybe she’d never meant anything to him at all?

She’s not sure which stings more.

“Because you’ve fucking deluded yourself into thinking that she willingly wants anything to do with you,” Tess finally answers. “That’s why.”

He ignores the burn of her scorching words.

“Where the fuck is she, Tess?”

“If she’s smart, she’s far away from here by now,” she hisses. “I did everyone a fucking favor, Joel. That girl is just another fucking mouth to feed. And what if you get her pregnant? That’ll be another one. Not to mention, a crying baby could draw unwanted attention and get us all killed. Ever thought about that? She’s not an asset to the group, she’s a fucking liability. Besides, I think I can speak for everyone when I say we’re all fucking tired of hearing you ra—”

Joel digs the barrel harder into her temple, his finger hovering over the trigger. “Listen to me. You’ve got ten seconds to tell me where she is, y’understand me?”

“Or what? You’ll blow my brains out?” Foolishly, Tess chooses to call his bluff despite not knowing for certain whether or not he’ll actually pull the trigger. “Go ahead, then. Kill me, Joel.”

His finger twitches over the trigger, but he doesn’t pull it. He can’t fucking pull it. Not on her. Not on Tess.

Still in his hands, she sags slightly in relief.

Swallowing harshly, Joel Miller lowers his gun and does something she’s never seen him do before. He begs.

“Tess, tell me where she is,” he whispers. His pleading is subtle, and only she can hear it. “Please—just fuckin’ tell me where my girl is.”

Tess stands her ground and says nothing.

Releasing her, Joel shoves her aside and with nothing but his gun in his hand, he sets off to find you.

“Ow, fuck!”

You gasp, quickly lifting your bare foot off the ground.

You’d stepped on something sharp—a stick, or maybe a rock?

In a desperate attempt to try and keep up with Tess’ tracks, you had stupidly left behind your shoes back at the waterfall. But the mere seconds you had spared by not stopping to put your shoes on hadn’t given you the advantage you thought it would. She had moved much too fast, and within minutes, you’d become helplessly, hopelessly lost. Every tree and every bush, they all look exactly the same, and for all you know, you’ve probably been going around in fucking circles for the past couple of hours in your search for her footprints in the dirt.

Sagging against the trunk of a nearby tree, you take a minute to try and catch your breath, to give your poor little feet a break from hiking over fallen branches and jagged stones.

Your head falls back, eyes gazing through the canopy of trees. Dusk has settled in, and nightfall is on its heels. It was foolish of you to leave behind your shoes, but even more so to leave behind the pack she had given you—in the pack were all the things meant to help you survive. Knife, flashlight, food.

Sure, you can survive a night out here in the wilderness without any of those things—but then what? Come dawn, what do you do? Where do you go? Do you just stumble around in the woods and hope for the best? Pray you’ll make it onto a highway with signs that will point you to a quarantine zone?

Hell, maybe you’re overestimating yourself. Maybe you wouldn’t survive long enough to worry about your next move. Howls in the distance remind you there’s wildlife out here, dangerous predators that come out after dark in search of their next meal. Or what about infected? It wasn’t unheard of for them to veer off the highway and lose themselves in the trees.

You recall your first few weeks in Joel Miller’s hands.

Escaping them was all you could ever think about, even though the chances of you surviving alone were slim to none, just like they are now. Never having been on your own, death would have been inevitable—but back then, in your darkest moments in captivity, you wished for it. You’d welcomed the idea of starving, freezing, or being torn apart limb from limb by an entire hoard of clickers. At least then, you’d die with your freedom.

Almost a year later, that wish has been granted.

You’re free.

You may very well die, but you would die free.

Closing your eyes, you think about Joel. His arms, that once held you down—held you still—as he did all those things to you without your consent, are arms your heart yearns to have wrapped around you, holding you close.

“Jesus,” you grit, a tear rolling down your cheek.

Maybe Tess had been right. Maybe he really does have you fucked in the head.

Joel was a monster. He had taken everything from you, including your innocence. He’d defiled you in ways you hadn’t known were possible. He was a terrible, terrible man.

A terrible, terrible man who kept you fed.

A terrible, terrible man who kept you warm.

A terrible, terrible man who kept you safe.

Another tear slides down the side of your face. What is fucking wrong with you?

You don’t know. But what you do know is, the thought of never seeing Joel again is somehow more terrifying to you than the thought of dying even the most brutal of deaths.

A loud rustling sound brings your train of thought to an immediate, sudden halt, and your eyes wrench open.

It’s darker now, but you manage to catch a movement in the shrubs, only mere feet in front of you. Panic flares in your chest, it rattles you to your very core, and even though every nerve in your body is urging you to move, you freeze, your back flush against the tree trunk. Your fingernails dig painfully into the bark as you watch the shrubs part down the middle, and a tall, hulking figure emerges with a heavy grunt.

At first, you think it’s just a figment of your imagination showing you what you wanted to see—a hallucination. Blinking furiously, you lightly shake your head, and then take another look at him. Your breath hitches when you realize it’s Joel.

He stares at you in the same manner, as if he’s trying to figure out if you’re real, or if his mind is playing a cruel, cruel trick on him. Feet cemented to the forest floor, he watches you take a small, tentative step towards him.

Once adamant that you’d never look him in the eye, you find your gaze locking directly with his as you carefully take another step closer. Then another, and another.

“Joel?” It’s the first time you’ve ever uttered his name.

He seems as taken aback hearing it as you are saying it.

“Joel.” It rolls off your tongue smoother, and with more ease the second time around.

It sparks a flame somewhere deep, deep inside of him, a fire that burns differently than those ignited by carnal desires.

No, this is something else entirely, and you feel it too.

“Baby?” he whispers hoarsely. “S’that really you?”

“Joel!” you cry, hurling yourself into his arms.

Joel’s gun falls from his hand and he curls them around you. Burying his nose into your hair, he inhales deeply. The scent of you, the feel of you—you’re fucking real.

Shuddering with sobs of relief, your arms wrap around his waist, and you cling to him as if you’re clinging onto dear, precious life itself.

“Hush now, s’alright,” Joel soothes, cradling the back of your head in one hand, while the rubs soft, calming circles into your back. “I’ve got you, honey. M’here.”

“I swear I didn’t want to run away,” you explain through your tears. “I begged her to take me back to you, Joel, I really did! But she left me out here—she said she would shoot me if I tried following her back. Please, you have to believe me, you just have to believe me!”

He squeezes you harder against his chest. “I do, baby. I do believe you,” he assures you. Pulling away, he takes a step backward and takes your face between his palms, peering at you in concern. “Y’hurt, sweetheart?”

“No,” you hiccup, curling your hands around his wrists. Your lower lip trembles. “I—I thought I’d never see you again. I was scared I wouldn’t,” you admit, softly.

Joel’s thumb wipes away a fresh tear. “M’here now,” he murmurs. “You’re with me, baby. You’re safe, alright?” As a late evening breeze passes through, he lets you go and shrugs out of his brown jacket. He goes to drape it around your shoulders, but you snatch it right out of his hands, then toss it aside.

Something in you snaps. You take fistfuls of his flannel, pulling him down towards you to do yet something else that takes you both by surprise—you initiate a kiss. You lean forward and press your lips to his, a little swipe of your tongue across his bottom lip as you clutch tighter at his shirt, holding him in place. Groaning, Joel opens his mouth more, his tongue brushing yours.

Liquid heat pools in your belly, and before you realize it, you’ve grown frantic, kissing him with fervor. Releasing his shirt, you slide your hands down his chest, over his stomach, lower and lower until you find his belt buckle. Desperate, you clumsily fumble with it, and that’s when Joel tears away from you, his breath hitching.

You’re begging before he can even say a word. “Please. I need you—I want you. Right now.”

You cup him through his jeans, and he exhales sharply.

“Fuck.” Without giving it a second thought, his hands reach for the straps of your dress, pushing them off of your shoulders. He roughly tugs at the material, letting it slip down your body until it falls around your feet. In a tangle of limbs and tongues, you both sink to the forest floor. Your hands brush his buckle, and he catches your wrists. “Not yet, baby girl. M’still in charge, alright?”

Sheepishly, you nod.

“Say it.” His command is firm, but somehow still gentle.

“You’re—you’re in charge.”

“Good girl.” Joel guides you onto your back. He’s over you in a second, swelling your lips with a hard, hungry kiss that leaves you dizzy and breathless. He moves his mouth, teeth scraping over your cheek and jaw, down to your neck where he nips at the tender, delicate flesh over your pulse point. Then, he bites his way over your collarbone and to your shoulder. “Bet she’s already wet for me,” he mumbles into your skin. “Ain’t she, baby?”

Pushing himself back onto his knees, he slides a finger over your clothed cunt, eliciting a small gasp from you. Hooking his fingers under the elastic waistband of your cotton underwear, he yanks the fabric down your legs. It catches on your foot, your wetness smearing against the inside of your ankle.

You’re drenched.

“C’mere,” Joel grunts, sliding his hands under your ass and pulling your hips over his thighs. He leans over you once more, your bare, throbbing cunt rubbing against the crotch of his jeans. He tuts lightly into your neck as you buck against him. “Such a fuckin’ needy little girl.”

Desperate, you try rolling your hips into his. “Joel.”

“Kinda like it when y’say my name.” He starts making his way down the length of your body. “Think I’ll like it even better when you’re screamin’ it. Won’t I, baby?”

Your stomach tightens as he nibbles his way down your neck again, teeth scraping over your clavicle and down your chest to your heaving tits. Taking one in his hand, the other goes into his mouth—his tongue is scorching hot over your nipple. He licks the pebbled flesh, sucks it and bites it while he rolls the other peak in between his thumb and index finger. “Oh fuck,” you gasp.

Releasing your breast with a wet pop, Joel sinks further down your body. He plants hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your tummy, leaving behind a trail of fire in their wake. He stops over your mound and hovers for a fraction of a second before pressing his nose into the silky soft curls there. Inhaling deeply, Joel picks up the subtle, herbal scent of the lavender soap you had washed yourself with. “Fuck, y’smell so fuckin’ good.”

He pushes your thighs open, pinning one to the ground with his hand while the other goes over his shoulder. Your foot slides down his back, toes curling despite the fact that he hasn’t even reached the spot where you’re aching to have him most. Heart thundering, your blood rushes, roaring in your ears.

Joel turns his head, his lips brushing your inner thigh in another kiss. “S’this where y’want me, honey?” he asks you. Goosebumps erupt over every inch of your skin as he draws closer, his breath like steam on your core. He glances up at you, his cock twitching against his zipper at the sight of you laying naked before him on the floor of the forest. Willing. Wanting. “Hm? Right here?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please, Joel.”

Thankfully, you only have to ask him once, and then his face is buried between your legs, and he is giving you what you want.

“Fuck!” you cry out. Back arching, your head tilts back until the crown of it meets the ground, leaves and twigs finding their way into your clean hair.

Joel’s tongue flattens over your cunt in a broad stroke, then dips between your folds, collecting your slick with a harsh groan, one that sends a bone-rattling vibration throughout your entire body, from head to curled toes. His mouth opens wider—a starving, greedy man trying to eat you whole. Sliding his tongue over your clit, Joel seals his lips around it, sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves until it swells in his mouth.

High-pitched little cries and whines spill from your lips. Your hands shoot down, fingers tangling themselves in his dark, graying curls, eliciting a grunt from him when you tug at his roots. “Joel, fuck,” you choke, your nails scraping against his scalp. He slurps and swallows your wetness, the sounds drowning out those of the night—the chirping of crickets, the croaking of frogs, the soft hooting of owls are washed away until all you can hear is him devouring your pussy.

Your body starts to tremble, and you know you’re close. Joel does, too. He feels your thighs twitch, threatening to close around his head, but he wrenches them further apart with a muffled but firm, “No.” He drapes his arm over your pelvis, his large hand splayed on your belly.

Relentless, he sucks your clit, gliding his tongue over it, again and again until the muscles in your lower tummy tighten and you burst at the seams, unraveling into his mouth. Warm slick gushes out of you, a sweet mess he licks clean. You choke back sobs of pleasure, your body tensing, vision blurring with every stroke of his tongue, each scrape of his teeth over your clit.

Joel lifts himself onto his knees with a grunt and gazes down at you—his good girl, sweet and pliant and ready to be fucked full of his cock. His hands slide his belt out of its brass buckle, eyes still trained on you as he pops the button of his jeans and yanks down his zipper.

Your mind is fuzzy, still syrupy and dripping—it doesn’t fully register what he’s doing, not until he climbs back over you and you his hard cock brushes your thigh, hot velvet that sears the inside of your leg. Precum smears your flesh.

“Y’feel that? Feel what you fuckin’ do to me?”

“Joel.” Hands shaking, you reach for the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel more of his skin on yours. You whine when he catches both of your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head. “Your clothes—”

“Stay on.” Ducking his head, he nips at your pulse point and mumbles, “Tell me what y’want, pretty girl.”

Joel shifts over you, his cock now resting on your lower belly, thick and heavy and leaking.

You squirm under him, hips coming off the ground, that hollow thing inside of you begging to be filled.

“Use your words, sweetheart. Tell me what y’want.”

“You, Joel—I want you. Please, please, please—”

He hushes you.

“I’ve you, baby. I’ve got you,” Joel promises. He wraps his other hand around himself, dragging the head of his cock along the seam of your puffy folds, up and down—he elicits a ragged little gasp from you when he grazes your clit and his fingers tighten around your wrists. He coats himself in your slippery slick until he’s glistening with it, and then he gives a slow roll of his hips, working himself into you.

Your mouth falls open. No words come out, no pleas for more—only jerky breaths, pathetic little pants for air as you take it.

Joel’s cock throbs, pulses like a heartbeat as your cunt welcomes him home. He presses his forehead to yours. “She’s always so fuckin’ sweet to me.” His voice is low, rough gravel. His eyes meet yours in the dark blue glow of the forest, and he savors the last moments of seeing your pretty face before the last traces of dusk are gone. Brushing his lips to the corner of your mouth, he feeds you his cock inch by inch, murmuring, “That’s it, honey. Good fuckin’ girl.”

You melt around him at his praise.

Releasing your wrists, he moves his hand, placing it on the crown of your head. “Ain’t ever lettin’ you out of my sight again,” he swears. “Alright? Never gonna be apart from me again, baby girl. Never. Y’understand me?” He curls his other hand firmly around your jaw, his fingers sticky with you and him. “Do you understand me?”

“Never,” you repeat, softly.

Joel kisses you, deep and slow, almost sweet. Tender. He breaks away, his lips hovering right over yours as he pushes his hips forward, bottoming out inside you.

Moaning, your hands grasp at his shoulders. Your legs widen further to accommodate the breadth of his hips.

“There y’go.” Joel presses deep within, until your belly feels hot and full. “That’s it, baby. Good girl,” he coos, drawing his hips back, then rolling them right back into you. He takes one of your ankles and tosses it over his shoulder, giving himself a better angle to fuck into you.

A loud cry tears from the back of your throat. “Joel!”

He grins in the darkness. He knew he’d like hearing you scream his name.

Joel’s hand settles on your leg that’s over his shoulder, your thigh already shaking. “Y’gonna be a real good girl n’ give me another one?”

You try to answer him, you really do, but your mind falls further and further away.

His fingertips sink into your thigh. He strokes in and out of you, never retreating more than inches at a time so he keeps you full. Stuffed. “Christ. Takin’ it so fuckin’ well,” he croons, moving your leg off of his shoulder so they are both wrapped around his waist. Hunching over you, he bears down hard, using most of his weight. He almost chuckles at the little oof that puffs out of you.

Rocks and twigs dig painfully into your back, but all you can do is feel him. How close he is.

You’re right there with him.

“Joel—fuck, I’m gonna co—”

You’re cut off by your own sharp gasp.

“That’s it. C’mon, honey.” Joel slips his hand between your thighs, his fingers firmly rubbing your clit. “C’mon, baby. Be a good girl and come on my cock—”

It rips through you like an electric current, a shockwave that has you clawing at the dirt. You come crying Joel’s name, crumbling into a whimpering, quivering mess.

Within seconds, he’s swept away by the same tide.

“Baby,” he groans, dropping his head into the hollow of your neck. He goes still and lets your tight cunt clench at him, gripping his cock as it throbs, pulses, empties into you. After a minute, he brushes a kiss to your neck before mumbling, “My sweet girl.”

Joel makes no move to pull out of you. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, your soiled fingers toy with the soft curls at the nape of his neck, shattered breaths slowing and piecing back together.

You gaze up through the trees at the night sky, feeling the safest you’ve ever been with the earth at your back and your whole world on top of you, his cock buried in your cunt.

Tess is right. Joel Miller really does have you fucked in the head.

You’re certain of it when you make the realization with a smile.

divider credit to @/saradika 🖤

[boyfiechan]

[Chan's NSFW Alphabet]

Content Warning: This piece contains explicit sexual content, suggestive themes, and mature language. [7.9k words]

A=Aftercare; what they’re like after sex?

He’s soft in the aftermath, softer than you ever expect. As intense as he can be in the moment, after, it’s like he’s rewired for gentleness. His first instinct is always to pull you close, arms wrapping around you as if he needs to feel your heartbeat against his to come down, to remind himself you’re real, that you’re here. His hands slow, smoothing over your skin like he’s memorizing you all over again. Kissing you wherever his lips can reach—your forehead, your jaw, your shoulder. It’s instinct. Care. Protection. He holds you like he’s afraid the world could take you away if he lets go too soon.

He’s the type to guide you gently to the bathroom, turning on the shower and making sure the water’s just right before pulling you in with him. His hands roam, but they’re softer now—more reverent than hungry. He’ll wash your hair, fingers massaging your scalp, and the way his thumbs brush against your temples feels like a silent apology for every rough moment that left you breathless. His hands on your body are slow, tender, tracing over marks he left behind with a mixture of pride and guilt. Too much? he’ll murmur, eyes searching yours, needing to know you’re okay, that you wanted all of it as much as he did. And when you tell him you’re fine, that you loved it, the relief in his eyes is always soft and a little shy.

But it’s not just about you. Aftercare is his grounding, too. He needs to feel safe in it, in you. Sometimes you’ll catch him quieter than usual, thoughtful, his fingers brushing over your skin like he’s reminding himself you’re still with him. Because for him, sex is never just physical—it’s emotional, consuming. He gives so much of himself, and sometimes afterward, he needs you to hold him just as much as he holds you. He needs that reassurance. The kisses. The softness. The slow heartbeat of comfort between you.

He loves those moments in bed when you curl into him, legs tangled, your head tucked beneath his chin. When his hand is resting on your hip, fingers tracing slow circles against your skin. When you whisper soft things, simple things, that make him smile against your hair. He loves feeling like this is the safest place either of you could be. Because it's not just about soothing sore muscles or soft kisses—it’s about being seen, wanted. Being cared for. And needing you to know that he would do anything to make sure you feel that, every time.

B=Body part; their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s.

He's always been proud of his arms. Maybe it's vanity, or maybe it’s just the satisfaction of seeing the results of all those hours in the gym. The way his muscles flex when he lifts, when he holds himself up, when he holds you up. There’s strength there, sure, but it’s more than that. It’s the way you look at them. The way your eyes drag over his skin when his sleeves are rolled up, the way your hands instinctively find their way to his biceps when you kiss him, like you need something solid to anchor yourself. And when he's got you pressed against the wall, hands gripping your thighs, your back arching as he pushes deeper—he feels it then. The way you cling to him, fingers digging into his arms, trusting him to hold you there, to keep you steady, trust messes with his head. Makes him want to hold you tighter, lift you higher, fuck you harder. He wonders if you notice how his grip gets firmer when you moan, when you beg him not to stop. He wonders if you know how much power you have over him in those moments.

But it's your hips that ruin him. Always has been. The shape of them, the softness of skin beneath his hands. The way they curve under his touch, perfect, made to fit his grip. He loves how they feel when you straddle him, how they rock against him slow and teasing, driving him insane until he’s gripping too hard, holding you still so he can thrust up into you, deep and rough. Loves the way they look when you're bent over, jeans hugging you tight, shirt riding up just enough to tease him with a glimpse of skin. It makes him want to drag you back against him, hands gripping your waist, pulling you close until you can feel exactly what you're doing to him. And when you’re bare, nothing between his skin and yours, and his hands slide over your hips, thumbs dipping beneath the waistband of your panties, he feels like he could lose his mind. Like he wants to.

There’s something addictive about the way your body moves under his hands. The way you react when his fingers grip tighter, when his teeth graze your skin. How you arch into him when he presses closer, how you whisper his name when his hands slip lower. And when you catch him staring, when you smirk and ask him what he's thinking, he never knows how to answer. Because the truth is, he's always thinking about you. About your skin, your hips, the heat of you beneath his palms. About all the ways he wants to touch you, mark you, claim you. It's constant. And you know it.

C=Cum; anything to do with cum, basically.

He's not particular about where he finishes, but the first time he came inside of you? That was different, unforgettable. The way you gasped as he pushed deeper, filling you completely, the slow drag of his cock as he spilled inside you, thick and warm. The way you moaned, soft but wrecked, like you could feel every drop. And when he pulled back, watching it drip from you, sliding down your thighs, soaking the sheets—it did something to him. Something primal. It wasn’t just about the release, it was about the claim. The fact that it was him, that he was the only one you'd let do this, ruin you like this, mark you from the inside out. The thought of it made his head swim, made his hands grip tighter, hips stutter harder, made him groan low and rough because it was messy, intimate, his.

It’s the possessiveness that undoes him the most. The knowledge that when you walk the next day, you’ll still feel it, still feel him. That you’re carrying the proof of how deep he was inside you, how hard he came for you. And it makes him want to do it again. Want to keep filling you until you’re too full, too sensitive, until you're begging him to stop but still pressing closer, still asking for more. It’s a dangerous game, the way it messes with his head, how much he craves it, how much he craves you.

And when you cum around him, it’s almost worse. Better, but worse, because feeling you fall apart like that—tight, pulsing, clenching so hard around him it makes his vision blur—it's addictive. It makes him chase it every time, makes him desperate to feel it again. He’ll work you with his fingers, his mouth, his cock, anything to pull those sounds from you. The ones that tell him you’re close, the ones that tell him you trust him enough to let go. He remembers how you told him you liked it, how you liked his fingers circling your clit just like this, how you liked the stretch of him filling you slow, deep, until you couldn't take it anymore.

And when it happens—when you cum so hard your whole body trembles, when you bury your face into his neck and moan his name like it’s the only thing you know—he doesn’t stop. He keeps moving, slow and deep, wanting to feel every second of it, wanting to draw it out. And later, when he pulls his fingers from you, slick and wet, he won’t be able to resist tasting you. His tongue dragging over his skin, slow and possessive, before he presses it to your lips. He loves when you kiss him after, when you taste yourself on his tongue, when you look at him like you know exactly what he’s done and exactly what it means. Like you know you're his, and you're not running.

D=Dirty Secret; pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs.

He touched himself to the thought of you way more than you think when you first started seeing each other. More than he'd ever admit. It wasn’t even about the things you'd done—because back then, there wasn’t much to go off of—it was about the things he imagined. The way you laughed, the way your lips curled when you teased him, the way you’d glance at him with eyes that made him wonder what it’d be like if you looked at him like that in bed.

It was the accidental brushes of skin that haunted him the most. Your hand on his arm when you laughed too hard, the way your thigh pressed against his when you sat too close, the scent of your perfume lingering on his hoodie after you borrowed it one night. Those small moments would burn into his thoughts long after you’d left, the ghost of your touch lingering like a temptation he couldn’t shake. He’d close his eyes and imagine what it would be like to have you under him, gasping his name, fingers tangled in his hair. He wondered how you'd sound, how you'd move, how you'd fall apart for him.

There were nights when he couldn’t sleep, thinking about you. Nights when he'd give in, fingers tight around himself, groaning your name under his breath, imagining it was your hands, your mouth, your body pressing him to the edge. And sometimes, it wasn’t even about the sex. Sometimes it was the thought of you smiling at him, soft and sweet, the thought of your lips brushing his, slow and hesitant, until it wasn’t. Until it was deeper, messier, until you were pulling him closer and begging for more. Those were the moments that undid him the fastest.

And now? Now that he knows how you sound when you fall apart, now that he knows how you taste, how you feel, how you look when you're bare and breathless beneath him—those thoughts still haunt him. Because no matter how many times he has you, the memory of wanting you like that, aching for you in secret, lingers, and maybe that's the dirtiest part of it. That even now, when you’re his, he still remembers how it felt to crave you in silence.

E=Experience; how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?

He's experienced, but not in the careless, shallow way that comes from chasing numbers or meaningless encounters. His experience is deeper, layered with intention. It's not about how many bodies he’s touched, but about how deeply he’s learned to understand them. He pays attention—not just to the obvious reactions, but to the subtleties most people overlook. The sharp inhale when fingers trace too close to a sensitive spot, the way your breath catches when he kisses somewhere unexpected, the tension that curls in your body when you’re holding back a sound you don’t want to let slip. He’s learned to listen, to read bodies like language, every sigh and shiver telling him a story. For him, it’s about presence. About being there in every second, in every movement, watching, learning, adapting. He doesn’t rush, never assumes, every encounter is a slow conversation, and he’s fluent in the language of skin and breath, touch and pause.

But with you, it feels different. You strip away his confidence in ways that are as thrilling as they are terrifying. No matter how much he knows, how much he’s learned, you still manage to undo him. There's a hunger in him when it comes to you, but it's not reckless, it's patient, intense. It’s the kind of hunger that makes him want to learn you in ways that don’t stop at the surface. To figure out how your body responds to the slowest kind of teasing, how it breaks when he pushes you just a little harder. He’s observant, but with you, it’s more. He craves knowing every inch of you, every weakness, every trigger. He wants to figure out the exact pressure it takes to make you arch into him, the exact pace that makes you lose your breath, the words that make you tremble and fall apart.

And the best part? You're still a puzzle he hasn't quite solved. He loves that. Loves the thrill of discovery, how there’s always something new to learn about you, something he missed, something he could try again, slower, deeper. Like the way you gasp when his lips find that one spot behind your ear, how your fingers clutch at his shoulders when his hands stray lower, how your hips roll up when he takes his time kissing across your stomach. He loves that you keep him on his toes, that you're not easy to figure out, how every time he thinks he knows you, you shift beneath him, tease him with another secret he's desperate to uncover.

And maybe that’s what keeps his desire for you sharp, burning. It’s not just about the physical—it’s about the connection, about knowing you on a level that feels like more than just touch. Like emotion, like trust, like you’re letting him peel you open slowly, layer by layer, and find something new every time. And God, the way that keeps him wanting. The way it makes him crave you, again and again, like it’s the first time, every time.

F=Favorite position; this goes without saying.

There’s something about you straddling him that undoes him completely. The way you settle over his hips, confident but still soft beneath his hands. He loves how your body feels beneath his fingertips, the way your skin warms under his touch as his hands roam your thighs, your waist, gripping just enough to feel you shiver. The view from beneath you is one that stays with him—how you move, how your head tips back when he thrusts up into you, how your fingers press into his chest or clutch at his shoulders when the pleasure spikes. And when you lean forward, lips brushing his ear, whispering what you want, it’s like setting fire to him. He’ll groan low, hands tightening, hips pushing up to meet yours, chasing every sound you make. He loves how you take control but still melt for him, how you ride him slow until he can’t stand it and flips you over, mouth hungry, hands rough.

But there’s a part of him that craves the other side of it too. The rougher edge. The way it feels to bend you over, to grip your hips tight and fuck you hard, just how you like it. Kitchen counter, edge of the bed, a wall he’s pressed you against too fast to think—anywhere. There’s something primal about it, how his hands grip, how your body yields to him. He loves the way you lose yourself in it, the way you moan his name when he’s deeper than you can handle. When you reach back, your fingers brushing against his arms, scraping down his thighs—it’s an unspoken plea for more, for harder, and he’s helpless against it. The sound of your gasps, the way you tremble, the heat of your body pressing back into him—it all sticks with him, stays under his skin, replaying in his mind for days after.

But more than anything, it’s the way you look when you're lost in it that he can't shake. He loves watching your face shift when pleasure hits, seeing your eyes darken as you fall apart for him, loves when you're beneath him, legs parted, taking him deep while your hands clutch his shoulders like he's the only thing keeping you grounded. He loves holding your hips steady, fingers biting into your skin just enough to leave marks you'll feel the next day, a reminder of him long after he's gone. And when he’s got you from behind, one hand gripping your waist, the other tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp, it drives him to the edge. You like when I fuck you like this, yeah? he'll ask, voice low, rough, and the way you whimper, body trembling under his, is enough to break him.

But it’s not always rough. Sometimes it's slow. Sometimes it's you on top, moving at your own pace, guiding him with the roll of your hips and the press of your hands. He’ll just lie back, eyes locked on yours, worshiping every sound you make, every flush of your skin. His hands will rest heavy on your hips, grounding you, guiding you, letting you take him exactly how you want. And when you fall apart for him like that—when he feels it in the shake of your thighs, sees it in the way your head tilts back, lips parted—it’s like nothing else. That’s when he feels it the most. That hunger, that need. That’s his favorite. Watching you fall apart because of him.

G=Goofy; are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc?

He’s not always serious. There are moments where he’ll break the tension with a smirk, a teasing comment. Like when you're so breathless you can barely speak, and he leans down, lips brushing your ear to murmur something that makes you laugh, even if you're gasping for air. Didn’t know I could make you sound like that,he’ll tease, grinning against your skin.

But his humor is never careless. It's light, intimate, a way of easing you deeper into comfort. A way to remind you that even when things are intense, it’s still him. The man who worships you, who wants to make you feel good, who wants you to laugh in his arms as much as you moan.

I=Intimacy; how are they during the moment, romantic aspect.

For him, intimacy isn’t just about sex. It’s about the moments before and after. The lingering touches, the way his hand finds yours under the sheets, fingers interlaced as he kisses your temple. It's about the silence that feels comfortable, like you’re speaking without words, it's about brushing your hair out of your face, or kissing the crease between your brows when you frown. It’s about whispering, it's okay, even if you didn’t realize you needed to hear it.

During the act, he’s all about connection. His eyes on yours, his hands exploring every inch of skin like it’s the first time. His voice, low and soft, murmuring, fuck, baby... 's so good, as though it’s still a surprise to him. Because with you, it always feels new. Always feels deeper.

J=Jack Off; masturbation headcanon.

He thinks about you when he touches himself. Always. Even when you're not there, even when it's been days since he last saw you, it's still your name on his lips, still your face behind his eyes. It's the way you look when you're beneath him, flushed and gasping, your lips parted and body trembling. It's the memory of your skin, how it feels under his hands—soft, warm, responsive. He imagines the curve of your back when you arch into him, the sound you make when he thrusts just right, the way your nails dig into his skin when you're close. Sometimes, he closes his eyes and pictures the exact way your mouth feels on his, the heat of your breath, the desperation in your kiss. Other times, it’s less about the physical and more about the ache of missing you. About wanting, needing, about how empty his hands feel compared to the feel of your body.

And sometimes, it's not even about release. Sometimes, it's about remembering. About trying to trace the shape of you with his fingers, to mimic the way your hands move on him, slow and teasing. To recall the rhythm of your hips, the way you guide him inside you with a breathless gasp. It’s about holding onto that feeling, keeping you close even when you're miles away. There are nights when he’ll lay there, hand moving slow, not for the rush of it, but just to think of you. To keep you in his body, to feel you in some small, fleeting way. There’s a frustration in it too, in knowing it’ll never be enough. That no matter how tight his grip, no matter how good he imagines it, it’s nothing compared to you.

And he’s not ashamed to admit it. If anything, he wants you to know. Wants to say it low, rough, right against your ear. I thought about you last night, he'll whisper, voice heavy and dark. had my hand around my cock, but it wasn’t enough. ’s never enough when it’s not you. And there’s a look in his eyes when he says it, one that makes it impossible to ignore the pull between you. The hunger. Because when you hear that, when you know he's been aching for you, craving you, it’s impossible not to feel the same heat curl low in your stomach, to not want to be the answer to his need, the thing that undoes him completely.

K=Kink; one or more of their kinks.

He likes control, but it’s deeper than just holding you down or pinning your wrists. It’s about understanding you, about knowing you so well that he can read every shift in your breath, every tremor in your body. He loves figuring out what makes you tick—what makes your pulse race, what makes your back arch, what makes you gasp his name like it’s the only word you know. He loves edging you close, pulling you back, drawing out every second of your pleasure until you’re trembling and begging for more. It’s not cruelty, it's worship. It's about showing you how good it can feel to give in to him, to let him take control of your body, your pleasure, until you're coming apart in his hands.

And it’s not just physical restraint, either. It’s the way he looks at you when you're already falling, that sharp, heated gaze that makes your skin feel too tight. It's the soft commands, the hold still, or don't cum yet, hold it for me, baby said with a voice so low and certain that you can't help but obey. It’s the way he loves tying your hands, not to restrict you, but to intensify everything. To make every kiss, every brush of his fingers, feel like it's lighting you on fire. When you can't touch him back, when you're left to feel every single sensation without distraction, it hits harder, deeper. And he loves watching you lose control beneath him, trusting him to take you apart, trusting him to know exactly how to piece you back together. That trust is sacred to him. It’s what makes it all feel so raw, so intimate.

And marks. God, does he love marking you. It's almost a ritual. The way his teeth sink into the soft curve of your shoulder, the way his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave bruises that bloom the next morning. There's something about knowing his hands were there, that his mouth left its claim, that drives him insane. The marks are for him, but they're also for you, a silent promise, a lingering touch that stays long after he’s gone. Sometimes, he’ll catch you off guard, slipping his fingers under the hem of your shirt just to feel the faint outline of a bruise. His thumb brushing over it gently. And when he kisses them, it’s soft, reverent. A murmur of mine pressed against your skin like a prayer, a vow.

It’s possessive, yes—but not in a way that cages you. It’s deeper than that. It’s about connection, about knowing that you chose him, that you trust him enough to let him leave pieces of himself on your skin. It’s about the quiet intimacy of carrying his touch with you, even when he’s not there. And it’s about you knowing exactly who you belong to when you catch a glimpse of that mark in the mirror and feel your stomach twist with the memory of his hands, his mouth, his voice. Because every mark is a reminder. That you’re his, that he’s yours.

L=Location; favorite places to do the do?

Anywhere with a door that locks. That’s his baseline. It’s not about the thrill of getting caught—it’s about the freedom of knowing you’re his, completely, without interruption. The privacy of a locked door gives him the space to be selfish with you, to take his time or take you fast, depending on the moment. Dressing rooms, dimly lit and narrow, where he can press you up against the mirror, his hand firm over your mouth, muffling every gasp. The backseat of the car, windows fogged, his hands spreading your thighs wide while you arch into him, gasping as the engine hums beneath you. And hotel rooms... there’s something about that anonymity. A different bed in a different city, where it feels like you can be reckless, where he can press you against cold windows overlooking dark streets, where he can pull you into the bathroom and have you against the counter with the mirror watching every move. The urgency of it is intoxicating. The rush of getting lost in you somewhere unfamiliar, somewhere that doesn’t belong to either of you, makes it feel sharper, hungrier. Like something forbidden, something stolen.

But nothing compares to his bed. His sheets, his scent on the pillows, the way the walls feel like they know every secret you’ve whispered to each other. It’s not about the location. It’s about what it means. His bed is where he can worship you without distraction, without hurry. Where he can take his time pressing kisses along your skin, learning the way you breathe when his tongue traces down your stomach, the way your fingers curl into the sheets when he slides inside you slow, deep. There’s a quiet intimacy there, the kind that feels almost sacred. The way he can feel you fall apart beneath him, trembling, breathless, soft. The way he can lay you back and touch you until you're shaking, until you're saying his name like it’s a prayer. That’s his favorite, because it’s not just sex there. It’s something deeper, closer. It’s knowing he can take you apart and hold you after, gather you into his arms and press a kiss to your temple, feeling you safe and warm against him. And nothing—no car, no hotel, no shadowed corner—compares to that.

M=Motivation; what turns them on, gets them going?

You. Always, endlessly, you. It doesn’t take much, not with you. Sometimes it’s just the way you look at him—like you know exactly how you affect him, like you're already imagining the things you want him to do to you. The way your gaze lingers on his mouth, the way your breath catches when he touches you, when his fingers trail along your waist or his thumb brushes against the soft skin of your neck. The sound of his name on your lips, soft and wanting, is enough to set his pulse racing. And when you tease him—when you sit just a little too close, your leg brushing his beneath the table, when your fingers trace slow, meaningless patterns on his arm, when you look at him like you’re daring him to do something about it—that's all it takes. Suddenly, he’s picturing your legs wrapped around his waist, picturing his mouth on your skin, picturing you gasping his name into his ear. It’s fast, sharp, and impossible to ignore.

But sometimes it’s the simplest things that hit the hardest. The way you laugh, bright and careless, and the curve of your mouth when you smile at him like he's the only one who matters. The way you bite your lip when you're nervous, soft and hesitant, and all he can think about is ruining that lip, making it swollen and sensitive beneath his teeth. Sometimes it’s the curve of your hip beneath your shirt, or the way you stretch, unaware of how much skin you’re showing. The way you tuck your hair behind your ear, or the way you glance at him when you think he isn’t looking. It’s the smallest, quietest moments that undo him completely. And once the thought is there, it sticks. Suddenly, he’s craving you, needing to touch you, needing to hear you gasp his name. Needing to see you fall apart beneath his hands, his mouth, his body. And you? You never even realize the effect you have. That’s what makes it worse, or better, depending on how long he can stand waiting.

N = NO; something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs.

He’s open-minded, always willing to explore, but some lines are absolute. Anything that risks hurting you beyond what’s safe, anything that lingers longer than pleasure allows, is off the table. He’s protective by nature, sometimes to a fault, and the idea of pushing too far, of leaving marks you don’t want or doing anything that makes you hesitate, sits heavy in his chest. He doesn’t want you flinching when you remember his touch. He doesn’t want you pulling away from him, even in your mind. Pain, discomfort, fear—those things don’t belong in the space he’s created for you, for both of you. And if something feels like it could risk that, he stops. Without question, without hesitation.

But it’s deeper than just the physical. It's about trust. It's about knowing that you feel safe with him. That no matter how dark or intense things get, you trust him to take care of you. And if he senses even the slightest doubt—if your body tenses, if you hesitate for even a second—he notices. His hands still, his eyes searching yours. Is this okay? he’ll murmur, voice low and soft, his breath ghosting against your skin. He’ll ask as many times as it takes, because more than his own desire, what he wants most is for you to feel safe. To know, with absolute certainty, that you can say no and it will be heard, respected, accepted without question.

Because t’s not just about pleasure, but connection. About building something that feels unshakable, where you're free to fall apart but never expected to hold more than you can. Where you can trust that every mark is one you want, that every boundary is one he’ll honor. And if there’s ever a line you don't want to cross, it won’t even be a conversation. It’ll be understood. For him, the only thing worse than not having you is hurting you, and he’ll never let it come to that.

O=Oral; preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.

He loves giving more than receiving, loves it in the way a man loves knowing he’s unraveling you with his mouth. There’s something about the intimacy of it, the rawness. The way he can feel you shake against his tongue, the way your thighs clench when his mouth is relentless, and the sound of his name gasped in the dark. That’s worship to him. That’s where he feels most connected.

And he doesn’t do it just for the sake of it, he does it to ruin you. Slow, deliberate, patient. He loves making you wait, pulling you back from the edge until you’re begging, until you’re panting his name, eyes wide and glassy. And when you cum, trembling under his hands, he doesn’t stop. Not until you’re gasping, pushing at his shoulders because it’s too much, too good. That’s when he finally looks up at you, lips glistening, eyes dark. And he always kisses you after. Lets you taste yourself on his tongue, because he wants you to know what you do to him.

Receiving? He loves it, but it’s not a need. It’s a reward when you want to give it. When you sink to your knees and look up at him like you want to worship him the same way he worships you, and when you do, he let's you know how it feels. Low groans, whispered curses, his hands threading into your hair, he’ll tell you how good you feel, how perfect your mouth is, how close you’re driving him to losing control.

P=Pace; are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?

He can be slow, excruciatingly slow. The kind of slow that drives you mad, that has you gasping and begging for more. He loves that, stretching out the moment until you’re trembling. Until every stroke feels deeper, heavier, until you're so desperate you’d say anything for him to speed up. He likes hearing you beg, your voice soft and wrecked, like it’s breaking you apart.

But when he’s rough, he’s relentless. Hard, fast, like he can’t get enough of you. Like he needs to feel you clench around him, needs to hear you cry out his name with every thrust. There’s something about that pace that feels like losing himself completely, letting his desire take over until neither of you can think, and when he’s in that mood, he holds nothing back—hands gripping your hips so tight you’ll feel it the next day, teeth biting at your neck, words rough and ragged in your ear.

But it’s never just one or the other. Sometimes he starts slow, teasing, making you feel every inch of him. And then, when you’re already on the edge, when your nails are clawing down his back, he speeds up, brutal, until you’re falling apart beneath him.

Q=Quickie. their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.

He loves them. The way they ignite a spark inside him, making everything feel more intense, more urgent. It’s like every touch, every glance, is a silent command to get closer, to not waste another second. Quickies are thrilling, a kind of madness that he can’t get enough of. Whether it’s in the dressing room at the mall, your body pressed up against the cool tiles of the wall with his hand slipping under your skirt, his lips hot against your neck as he whispers your name, or at his place, when the door barely closes behind you and he’s already got you pinned against it, tugging at your clothes in a frenzy. It’s fast, desperate, as if you’ve both been waiting far too long for this moment, and it can’t wait any longer.

There’s a rush to it, a sense of danger, of living in the now. Every time feels like a stolen moment—like you’re grabbing time by the throat, demanding it not slip away too soon. It’s reckless in a way, but it never loses its sense of purpose. He never lets it be careless, never just rushing through it without thinking. Even in the heat of the moment, he still wants you to feel the weight of his desire for you. He wants you to unravel for him, to let go in his arms even if there’s no time to savor it. He wants to hear you gasp his name, even if it’s muffled against his shoulder, your hands clutching at him desperately as the world around you fades away.

But afterward, no matter how rushed, there’s always a moment of softness. It’s like the calm after the storm. He’ll pull you close, his lips tender on yours as he deepens the kiss, as if trying to remind you that the rush was only a small part of what he feels for you. His hand will brush over your hair, or gently cup your face, his thumb softly tracing your skin as he murmurs, you okay? It’s not just about the physical; it’s about making sure you feel wanted, needed, cherished. Even when it’s messy and wild, even when it’s quick and urgent, he wants you to know that you’re always his priority, that no matter the speed of it, you’re never just a moment. You’re everything to him, and he needs you to feel that.

R=Risk; are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc?

He’s not reckless, but there’s an undeniable thrill he gets from pushing boundaries. It’s not about throwing caution to the wind; it’s about exploring the edges, testing the limits of what you can handle, and what you’re willing to give. He loves the idea of pulling you deeper into his world, showing you new sides of himself—and of you—that you didn’t even know existed. There’s an intensity in it, an almost magnetic pull that drives him to keep finding those lines, those sweet spots where desire and fear blur together. Every time he asks have you ever thought about this? his grin is teasing, playful, but also laced with something far deeper. Something that says he’s serious about this exploration, about what’s possible between the two of you.

And when you respond, when you say yes, it’s like an unspoken agreement between you both, a silent promise to dive headfirst into whatever it is he’s suggesting. It could be a new position, a new place, or even a new way to touch each other. His mind starts racing with ideas, with ways to make it happen, to give you the experience you didn’t know you craved but can’t wait to try. But he doesn’t rush, not when it comes to this. If there’s hesitation in your voice, a flicker of doubt in your eyes, he slows down. He talks you through it, taking the time to ensure that you’re comfortable, that you feel safe in every sense. His words are gentle, calming, designed to reassure you that no matter what, he’ll be there, guiding you through every moment. And when you’re ready, when he knows you’re ready, he takes you to the edge.

For him, the risk isn’t about danger. It’s not about throwing yourself into the unknown without a safety net. No, it’s about trust. It’s about the two of you discovering new facets of pleasure together, creating new experiences that bring you closer. He loves the challenge of learning what you need, how to push you just enough to make you surrender to him, to make you fall apart beneath him in a way that feels new every single time. It’s the dance of knowing when to push and when to pull back, and how to make every moment feel like a deep exploration into uncharted territory.

S=Stamina; how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last?

He can go for hours if you let him, no question. He’s not in any rush—slow and steady, or hard and relentless—he’s built for both. But what really gets him going is the challenge of endurance, the intoxicating repetition of taking you to the edge, over and over again, until you're trembling beneath him, spent and gasping for breath. He loves the power of it, the way your body reacts to him, how your need builds with each round. He’ll push you until you think you can’t go any longer, only to start again when you’re just beginning to catch your breath, ready for more. The stamina is a game to him—one he loves to win, even if it means making you beg for him, make you ache in the best way possible.

It’s not just the physical stamina that drives him, though. It’s the emotional aspect too, the way you cling to him, the way the connection between you both deepens with every touch. His hands caress you in ways that speak volumes, his lips trailing soft praises as your bodies sync, becoming one in a way that has nothing to do with time. For him, it’s about the journey—the buildup, the moments in between when he whispers your name into your skin, when he kisses you slow and deep, making sure every single second counts.

U=Unfair; how much they like to tease?

He’s a tease, the kind who knows just how to get under your skin. He loves making you want, loves seeing the way your body reacts to the smallest touch, the way your breath hitches when he’s close but not quite close enough. His hands will skim over your skin, just enough to make you ache, but never enough to truly give you what you need. His fingers will trace the waistband of your underwear, dipping into places that make your pulse race—but he’ll stop just before you beg for more. It’s maddening, but that’s exactly what he thrives on—the sound of you, desperate for him, the way you gasp his name when the tension in your body hits a breaking point.

But he’s not cruel. When he’s teased you enough, when he sees the way your body trembles and your mind loses control, he gives in. And when he does, it’s like a release, a reward for your patience. When he finally pushes you to that edge and lets you fall, it’s worth every second. Because by then, you’re already undone, and he’s the one who made it happen. He loves knowing that, loves that he’s the one who can bring you to that point of no return and hold you there, just long enough to make you ache for him even more.

V=Volume; how loud they are, what sounds they make?

He’s vocal, and not just a little. There’s a rawness to him that comes out when he’s with you, a deep, guttural groan that escapes him every time you clench around him, every time he pushes you closer to the edge. His breathing is ragged, shallow, and each time he moves inside of you, each thrust is met with a soft curse—words that spill from his lips like a prayer, praising you in ways that make your head spin. He tells you how good you feel, how perfect you are beneath him, how much he needs you. He doesn’t care who hears—he wants you to know exactly what you do to him, how you make him feel.

But when you fall apart, when you’re gasping for air and your body trembles with release, he wants you to hear him too. His breath hitches in his chest, his groan turning into a low, broken sound, like it’s being ripped from deep within him. It’s like an echo of your pleasure, a conversation between your bodies—a back and forth of moans, gasps, and soft words exchanged in the heat of the moment. With him, sex isn’t something silent, something to be hidden. It’s a loud, messy exchange of sound and feeling, a testament to the way you both fit together in every sense.

X=X-Ray; let’s see what’s going on in those pants;

He knows exactly what he’s working with—and he knows the effect it has on you. There's a quiet confidence in the way he moves, the way his eyes meet yours when you catch him looking, when he's half-dressed and you can't help but stare. It’s not cocky, it’s just knowing. He’s thick and heavy, the kind that makes your legs shake just from the thought of him, and he relishes in that power. There’s a sense of satisfaction in the way he watches your breath hitch when he presses against you, just to feel you squirm. And when you reach for him, his hand catching yours before you can go any further, he’ll warn, low and dark, you know what that does to me, his voice rough with desire.

But it’s not just about the size. It’s about the effect he has on you. The way you react to him, the way your body responds to his every movement. He can tell when you’re thinking about him, imagining the way he feels inside of you, the way your body trembles just from the thought of him. And when he slides his hand down, brushing over the outline of his cock in his jeans, he sees the way you bite your lip, the way your fingers twitch, wanting to touch him. He knows exactly what you want, and he knows how to tease you until you can't think about anything else but him.

Y=Yearning; how high is their sex drive?

His sex drive is high, but it’s not just the physical need that drives him—it’s the need. The deep, emotional desire to feel you close, to have your body pressed against his until neither of you knows where one ends and the other begins. It’s not about quick satisfaction; it’s about the craving for closeness, for intimacy that goes beyond just skin on skin. He wants to make you feel wanted, needed, cherished. His desire for you is insatiable, not because he needs release, but because he needs you. Every part of you—your body, your voice, the way you make him feel like he’s the only one who could bring you to that point.

And when he’s away from you, when distance stretches between you, it gnaws at him. He craves your touch, your warmth, the taste of your skin against his lips. Late-night calls become whispered confessions, teasing words shared in the dark, thoughts of what he would do to you if he were there, what he wants to do to you. When he's not around, the need for you only intensifies. And sometimes, he sends you a picture—damp from the gym, a shirtless tease, sweat glistening on his skin, sweatpants hanging low, and nothing else. Miss me?, he’ll ask, voice low, knowing full well the answer. Because he knows you do. And he can't wait to come home and make you show him just how much.

Z=zZz; how quickly they fall asleep afterwards?

Afterward, he never falls asleep right away. He needs to soak in the afterglow, to hold you close, to breathe you in and remind himself that you’re real, that this moment is his, that you’re his. His fingers trace slow, lazy circles across your back, his lips grazing over your shoulder, your forehead, wherever he can reach. He’s not distant; he’s there, grounding himself in the softness of you, in the way your body rests against his. It’s a quiet connection, a moment of peace after the storm, and he savors it.

And in those moments, when the room is dark and the only sound is your breathing, he’ll murmur things into your skin—soft words, whispered like secrets, things he doesn’t always say aloud. Can't believe you're mine, you know this?, or I could stay here forever, his voice low and warm, like a soft, tender promise. It’s his way of letting you know that even in the quiet aftermath, he’s still there. He’s still with you, and he always will be. Only when he knows you’re settled, safe, warm, and content in his arms, does sleep finally claim him. But even then, he’s not far—his body curled around yours, his arms wrapped around you like a promise that he’ll never let go, even in his dreams.

[bunny-jpeg]

raw

lando norris

tags: smut/pwp, unprotected/unsafe sex, half-assed pull out method, doggy style, back shots, friends-to-lovers, best friend!lando

lando had to be dreaming. the type of dream he didn't want to wake-up from. he would much rather be here than anywhere else right now. especially as you crossed your arms, letting the mclaren logo stretch across your pretty tits.

the tits that lando had been eyeing for years now. you were his best friend since childhood and now you were in your hotel room for the evening after silverstone with a single request for the grand prix's winner.

fuck me. and fuck me raw. lando had to be dreaming.

you uncrossed your arms and leaned back on the bed with your arms stretched behind you. you gazed up at him. the face of your best friend, the one who knew you better than anyone else. and after years of skirting around the issue, you finally found your words and asked him. and he looked you dumbfounded.

"you? me?" he said as he tried to process your words. you felt a tightness in your chest at the anxiety that was eating you up inside. you didn't know what to say or do.

"am i speaking french, lando? i want to have sex with you, it's about time we resolve this tension. it's been going on for over ten years." you said as you maintained eye contact with him. you felt a little bad for not being the most romantic.

it was hard for you to admit. your entire life you stood firm on the fact that men and women could be friends without any complications! and while you still felt that, you also found yourself with complicated feelings for lando. so, with all the bravery you could muster, you asked for sex.

he shifted from one foot to another, "i don't know how to respond... i mean i do. i just don't wanna sound like a pervert." he chuckled nervously and you only grew warmer in your face.

"do you want me, norris?"

he took his hands out of the pockets of his joggers and cupped his barely hidden erection. he gave you a gentle smile as he said, "i do. i do want you, you've been the subject of my fantasies for a long, long time." and started to take his shirt off.

you did the same, slowly revealing more skin to one another. you felt excitement race up you and you couldn't help yourself. you rubbed your thighs together and felt your pulse pick up.

"lando."

"i know, babe. i know." he chuckled as he got into bed with you. he got his boxers off before he was completely nude, his hands trailed across your body in a manner that left you excited all over.

if your friends knew what you two were doing tonight, hell even your own families, you knew that there would be exchanging high-fives and possibly money over bets made ages ago.

"may i?" he asked as he leaned in closer.

you leaned in to meet the distance and kissed him on the lips. soft as you imagined and his hands only held onto you in a way that made you shudder under him. you moaned into the kiss as he rubbed up against you.

"you tell me if anything goes wrong, okay? don't hide from me." he said, "one thing i hate when it comes to sex, no communication. i want to make my best friend feel good."

you looped your arms around his neck and pressed your chest against his, "i have a feel after tonight we're not going to be best friends."

lando replied, "well, you'll always be my best friend. you'll just also be my girlfriend." then winked before he went in for another kiss. it grew heated and his touches grew more bold.

you looked at him and he smiled down at you. he cupped your cheek while you held him close. it felt right to be this way, to be so close. you kissed him once more and he exhaled deeply against your lips. you two fit perfectly together, just as you always did.

"you want it raw?"

"yes."

"i'll pull out, alright? gotta play it a little safe." he kissed the apple of your cheek before you ended up on your stomach. he hiked you hips up letting your back curve as he pressed himself against you. now on his knees and his cock at full attention.

you looked amazing, beyond amazing. a certain type of beautiful that when lando sank into you wet cunt, he felt the race of excitement through his body. he held onto your hips and carefully inched himself into you. he moaned a little louder, the feeling was intense, there was nothing else he could compare it to you. you were unlike anyone else he had ever slept with. it was different because you two were so close, you shared everything. now you were sharing a night of heated passion.

he admired your backside as he rocked against you. his hand trailed down your back and he loomed over you. you felt amazing, you left a certain want in the back of his throat as he moved against you. lifelong friends, partners through and through. now lovers in bed together, moving together in a heated ecstasy. you both wanted each other, it was painfully obvious.

"you feel amazing." he said softly, "really amazing."

"glad i have a glowing review from lando norris." you chuckled lightly as you held onto the covers under you, your back arched a little more as he hit all the right spots, "can i put that on my tinder profile?"

he pushed you further down onto the bed by the shoulders and moved against you faster, "no way. because you're not going on tinder." he kissed the center of your back as he held you, "because you're my girl now. how does that sound? no more lackluster tinder dates and finally being with the guy you had a crush on for years." then laid another sweet kiss on your heated skin.

you felt the stimulation, your brain felt a little hazy. you moaned a little bit and tensed up for a moment. you panted, "fucking hell, lando. always a way with words." you looked over your shoulder at him as he thrusted against you, "got us into trouble and out of trouble over the words."

he gave you a wicked grin and replied, "oh yeah, and you love it," then pressed into you further. hands on your hips once more as he worked himself against you. the pleasure was zaps in his blood and the feeling was immense.

this was his best friend, and maybe years of pining left him feeling desperate for you. he spent years trying to find you in other people. turned out the whole time he just could have had you. and that made him feel a flutter of love in his chest.

"you feel amazing." he said softly, "better than i could ever imagine. you spoil me, honey." he chuckled lowly as he kissed the shell of your ear as he continued to move against you a little faster.

"fuck, lando." you exhaled deeply, paired with a soft whine as his cock hit against all the right areas. it felt good, better than you could imagine yourself. you knew a younger you would be blushing at the idea that you finally got with lando. having sex in a spacious hotel room and letting him just have his way with you. you fit together quite well, it didn't hurt that you were soaked in the process.

achy for sex. achy for him. you were needy for the sexual pleasure between the two of you. like two magnets drawn together no matter the distance. you were his best friend, and now his lover. his girl.

you moaned a little louder as the pleasure started to reach its peak inside of you. you held onto the covers under you and arched your back a little further. you cursed into the covers and the sight of you was beautiful. to come completely apart under his touch.

"beautiful." he said softly.

"fuck, lando." you shuddered and was met with a hard pat on your behind. the feeling of his hands on you, "you better fucking pull out or i'm gonna kill you."

"of course, of course.' he cooed, "save the kids for after marriage." his tone was cheeky and your pussy clenched around him. he chuckled and leaned up against your ear, "cute." and you whined.

his quickened his pace and he felt the hunger for you in his core. he couldn't believe it. part of him believed that he got hit in the head on the track and this was a fantasy of his. but, hey, if he was currently in the hospital with a goose egg on his head from being hit and this was what his rattled brain could come up with. then who was he to deny it. especially when you felt so good under him.

you tensed up around him once more and gasped against the covers. your eyes squeezed shut as you let out such a sweet moan. you shuddered as you felt yourself reach your orgasm, "fuck." even swears sounded heavenly on your lips.

he remembered trading pokemon cards with you, the time you watched him kart and cheered the loudest out of everyone. the times together, the totally platonic sleepovers. everything, fuck. to have you now, not as a friend but as a lover. that was everything to him.

you climaxed and it only pushed lando further. he pushed right up into you and made you near scream from the sensation. you two moved against each other roughly. but lando had to keep a sense of control or else he was going to finish inside of you.

"that's it. baby, that's it. fucking perfect for me.' his voice heavy with lust and it made your head throb. your cursed into the covers and lando fucked you harder, "next time i'm gonna make you finish twice. burn out your brain." he kissed your cheek, "perfect girl deserves all the orgasms she wants."

"flirt." you whined, face shoved into the covers, which only made lando laugh.

"glad you finally picked up on it, after fifteen years as friends." he thrusted into you a few more times before he pulled himself out and rapidly jerked off his cock against your back. it wasn't the same as the what of your cunt, but it would have to do. his pants were heavy as he said, "that's it, baby. fuck, look at you. you have driven me crazy my entire life. no one else can compare to you."

you laid there panting, your core swamped with wetness and your back curved to let him paint your back with his cum. you whined when you felt the splash of his cum against your backside.

"fuck." his voice was guttural, his breathing heavy and his eyes near rolled back into his head as he came across your hot skin. he felt sparks in his brain and could barely form a coherent thought as he came.

when it was all said and done, he rested fully on his heels, his cock limp between his legs. he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and exhaled deeply.

you laid there, not wanting to get cum all over the sheets. as the temperature in the room cooled, you lifted your head a little and said, "lando... can you help me clean up?"

and your best friend turned lover woke back up from his sexual trance and said, "oh, of course! yeah!" then quickly went to find a towel in the bathroom.

you knew you'd had to have a conversation about what you were now. but with butterflies in your stomach you knew you wouldn't be walking out of your hotel room without a lando as your boyfriend <3

[hitoshitoshi]

How to Give Zayne a Blowjob! [Zayne x Fem!Reader 18+]

Summary: You give Zayne the best blowjob of his life. WC: 2.5k Tags: Mentions of Riding and Creampie, Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Deepthroat, Intimate and Passionate Sex, Sensitive Zayne, Cum Swallowing, Hair pulling, Gentle Dom Zayne, Body Worship.

Contrary to popular belief, Zayne was a sensitive man ー that is, his entire body, cock included. It was an accumulation of years being in the medical field, constantly being busy and never having time to get laid or even to jack off was why he was always sensitive to your touch. You discovered that Zayne didn't last long in bed during the first time you and him made love together in missionary. The moment that he was buried into your sweet pussy to the hilt, Zayne almost came right then and there inside of you ーoverwhelmed by how good you felt around him. 

It was a miracle that Zayne even lasted 7 minutes and 45 seconds, where Zayne was lost in a haze of ecstasy. Every squeeze of your tight pussy sends shocks of pleasure though his body ー feeling every ridge, every cushiony place inside of you, his cock mapping out your entire pussy, memorising it by touch and feeling alone. Zayne himself wasn't the type of man to moan, but he let out a choked gasp of pleasure when he came deep inside of you, letting out shuttered breaths right by your ear.

Ever since then, missionary was not his go-to position since he has a new one. Now, Zayne craves the sight of you on top of him. His breath would catch everytime you sink down on his hard cock, marvelling at how perfect you and your pussy was for him. Zayne found it utterly mesmerising by the way that your thighs would quiver against his hips, the subtle flex of your lower abs as you moved back and forth, lost in your pleasure. Whenever he would see the light hitting your chest, making your chest glow as you rid him, he would always have to resist the urge to sit up and give you hickies all over your chest; it was safe to say that each time, he would always lose to that temptation. That temptation, being you. Zayne's hands would roam all around your body, alternating between feather-like touches, to full on gripping onto you to ground himself to reality. Every gasp, every moan that you made was just so euphoric to him.

Though he rarely voiced it, Zayne loved it when you used him for your pleasure. He was a gentle service dom, doing whatever it takes to make you feel good. He found profound satisfaction in your pleasure, he'd get off to you grinding your pussy on him just to chase your orgasm. Zayne would always look at you with a mix of desire and pure utter adoration. He would always think about how beautiful you looked like this ー all broken and stupid you were because of him, how desperate he made you for him, how lucky he is to have you, and how he wanted to make you feel this good forever.

You wanted to give back to him this time, this time, you wanted to draw out the pleasure for him. You wanted him to savour that feeling of ecstasy. You moved Zayne on your shared bed, arranging him so that he was propped up, a pillow behind his lower back with his upper back leaning against the headboard. You had Zayne's legs spread wide open on each side of you. Zayne's pale skin was flushed with arousal, a light sheen of sweat made him glow underneath the soft light. You glanced down between his muscular thighs, your mouth watered at the sight of his hard cock ー a whole 8 inch cock with a 1.6 inch diameter, slightly curved upward with a large vein running down from the tip of his cock to the bottom with a glistening tip ー Zayne's cock was always so pretty to you. 

As you lowered your head  down between Zayne's spread thighs, your mouth watered at the sight of his hard cock, a bead of pre-cum glistened on top of his pink tip. He twitched under your gaze, seeing that sent you into a small power trip because you did this to him without even touching him. Your fingers trailed lightly along his inner thighs, you felt how his muscles quivered beneath your touch. You glanced up at Zayne though your lashes, a coy smile played on your lips. Cute. Zayne was so so cute. Zayne's ears betrayed himself as it turned a deep shade of red, his own body betraying his stoic exterior for pleasure ー the pleasure you gave him.

As much as you craved the feeling of Zayne’s cock in your mouth, you were determined to savour every moment of this experience, every moment of this experience; starting from his knees, you began a torturously slow journey upwards, your lips trailing over his inner thighs. Each kiss was a whispered promise — a reverent worship of his body. You took your time, memorising every centimetre of his skin with your mouth. 

Zayne’s body had responded so beautifully to your teasing; every shudder, every twitch of a muscle beneath your lips was a victory —  a map of his most sensitive spots. You could feel the tension coiling within him, his sensitivity being the cause of the downfall of his self composure. Zayne’s voice was breathless and strained; a thrill was sent through you, fueling your desire to push him further. You nipped at his inner thigh, alternating pressure and intensity, leaving a trail of small hickeys in your wake. These marks were your claim on him —   reminder of this moment that would linger for days. 

The sound of fabric scrunching had filled the air as Zayne’s fingers clenched and unclenched in the sheets; you ran your tongue along each line of his defined muscles, tracing the prominent veins with the tip of your tongue. The taste and scent of his skin, a heady mix of musk and a hint of bergamot from his cologne, was intoxicating.

Zayne’s usual eloquence had deserted him, reduced to gasps with his hips bucking up, wanting your mouth on his aching length. He needed you so badly, it was like an itch in his soul that only you could soothe. You glanced up at Zayne, taking in the sight of the usually composed Chief of surgery coming undone beneath your touch, how he looked absolutely ravished without you even touching his cock. His chest heaved with each ragged breath, a light sheen of sweat making his skin glow in the soft light. In that moment, Zayne had thought you were the loveliest woman he had ever seen —  and the cruelest for drawing out his sweet torture.

Your hand grasped Zayne’s thick cock — you couldn’t touch your thumb and middle fingers together around its impressive girth; the velvety skin felt like fire against your palm, pulsing with his rapid heartbeat. You placed a gentle kiss on Zayne’s flushed and leaking tip, his precum coating your lips with a tantalising warmth. As you pull back slightly, a strand of his cum stretched between your lips and his sensitive cockhead. The sight of your lips connected to him in such a lewd way made your pussy throb with need. Zayne’s breath caught sharply in his throat, his jaw clenched as he fought to maintain control and not take you right then and there as you made a deal with him to let you pleasure him however you liked tonight. You saw the struggle play out across Zayne’s features — his brows furrowed slightly, the muscles in his neck tightened as he swallowed hard as he desperately held back a whimper that threatened to escape; his eyelids fluttered its shadows onto his flushed cheeks. Zayne looked ethereal when he was getting lost in pleasure.

You trailed kisses up and down the underside of Zayne’s cock, tracing each vein with your tongue. When you finally wrapped your lips around the lips around the tip of Zayne’s cock, he let out a heavy sigh as he leaned his head back against the headboard, exposing more of his throat. Zayne’s Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed the saliva that pooled in his mouth.  A quiet moan escaped you as you sank your head down, taking Zayne deeper into the wet heat of your mouth; the vibrations travelled down his shaft, drawing a miniscule shudder from Zayne that you felt more than saw. The weight of his heavy cock on your tongue, the stretch of your lips around his girth, and his scent was utterly intoxicating. You breathed steadily through your nose as you focused on relaxing your throat as his tip hit the back of your mouth —  you wanted to take him even deeper — no, you needed to. 

Zayne’s lips parted, releasing soft and quiet, needy breaths that sent your heart racing. Even now, Zayne fought to keep his voice down, but you could hear the strain in each exhale and feel the tension in his body. His hand found its way to the back of your head, his long fingers tangled in your hair; the grip was firm yet gentle. Zayne’s legs widened slightly, unconsciously giving you more access, his body’s eagerness betrayed his mind’s attempt to maintain control. 

Your left hand gripped Zyne’s inner thigh, keeping his legs spread wide; the warmth of his skin against your palm was intoxicating, and you could feel the subtle tremors of his muscles beneath your touch. Your right hand moved to cup his balls, gently rolling and massaging them as you continued to work his cock with your mouth. The dual stimulation drew another sharp intake of air from Zayne, his hips jerking involuntarily before he settled down a bit. His fingers tightened in your hair, not quite pulling but holding on as if you were his only anchor to sanity. A bead of sweat trailed down his temple and you saw the rapid rise and fall of his chest as his breathing became more laboured. The usually stoic doctor was coming undone from your touch, his carefully maintained composure was cracking with each passing moment. A low, inaudible groan escaped him, quickly bitten back but not before you heard it —  a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

That sound that Zayne made was your motivation, you needed to hear more of it. You increased the speed of your head bobbing, making sure to relax your throat when you were taking his entire length into your mouth and down your throat, and ensuring that you sucked when you were pulling your head off of Zayne’s cock. You were careful to never pull Zayne out of your mouth too much, always keeping the tip of his cock in your mouth. It was getting messy —  real messy —  just how you liked it. You could feel his pre-cum hitting the back of your throat as saliva pooled in your mouth, making Zayne’s cock, balls, and thighs glisten in the dim light. 

Zayne’s left eye cracked open slightly between soft groans; his touch was gentle as you gave him what you hoped was the best blow job in his entire existance. His fingers trembled slightly as he pushed your hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ears so that he could see your gorgeous eyes. His gaze was half-lidded as he treasured how beautiful you looked in the soft lighting —  hair dishevelled, face flushed, your hand playing with his balls, your teary eyes looking up at him, and your nose right up against his trimmed pubes with his cock buried deep in your throat. 

The intimacy of the moment was palpable; even though this was an incredibly crude scene, what Zayne focused on instead of the pleasure that he was feeling, but you. The way you were with him, so eager for him, how you felt so much love for him that you’d take time out of your life to make him feel so good, and how you were just unequivocally you. Your heart raced as you saw that glimpse of vulnerability in Zayne’s eyes. His chest heaved with each laboured breath, and you could feel the tension in his thighs as he fought to keep his hips still. 

You could sense the building tension in Zayne’s body, his breathing grew more ragged, punctuated by soft, barely audible groans and grunts that came out of his lips. You perked up even more when you saw Zayne’s abs clench —  a clear indicator that he was going to cum soon, and that made you really excited as you redoubled your efforts. You hollowed your cheeks and increased the suction as you bobbed your head; your tongue traced patterns along his shaft. Your right hand, still cupping his balls, began a gentle massaging motion —  adding to the onslaught of stimulation. 

Zayne’s breathing became increasingly erratic, his chest heaved with each laboured breath. His hips began to twitch involuntarily; small, short thrusts that betrayed his waning control. The hand in your hair tightened its grip with a particular sense of urgency to cue you that he was going to cum soon. His cock seemed to swell even further in your mouth, pulsing with his rapid heartbeat; pre-cum flowed more freely now, coating your tongue with its salty and slightly bitter taste. Zayne’s usual composure was long gone, replaced by a man consumed by pleasure. Soft, breathy whimpers, grunts, and groans escaped him. his head was thrown back against the headboard, exposing the long line of his throat; Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard with his lips parted as he panted. Zayne’s face and ears were flushed in a beautiful shade of red. 

Suddenly, Zayne’s body went rigid. A strangled grunt escaped him as his orgasm hit; his cock pulsed forcibly in your mouth, spilling his hot cum in your throat in thick spurts. You swallowed eagerly, savouring the taste of him as wave after wave of pleasure wracked his body. One thing you loved about Zayne’s cum was that there was a lot of it. 

Zayne’s fingers tightened in your hair, holding you in place as he rode out his orgasm. You could feel the tremors running through him; hear the quiet, broken grunts and whimpers that he couldn’t quite suppress. You took pleasure in the knowledge that you could only make him feel this way.

As the intensity of his orgasm began to ebb, Zayne’s grip on your hair loosened. His body relaxed, sinking into the bed as his body went limp. You slowly and gently pulled off his softening cock, placing a final, tender kiss on the tip before looking up at him. 

Zayne’s eyes were half-lidded and glazed with post-orgasic bliss. A light sheen of sweat covered his flushed skin, making him glisten in the dim light; his chest rose and fell with deep, satisfied breaths. The sight of him being so thoroughly relaxed in pleasure sent a fresh wave of arousal though you that you pushed aside, prioritising Zayne’s needs first.

With gentle hands, Zayne pulled you up into his arms, readjusting both of your positions so that you laid on top of him, still in bed. His thumb brushed across your lower lip as he wiped away a bead of his cum that had escaped. Then, with infinite tenderness, Zayne leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips —  a silent thank you, filled with warmth and affection.

A/N: No thoughts, just pure horniness. I just want to pamper Zayne :(( he deserves it the most. The things I'd do for this man if he was real---

Masterlist | TWITTER

[amorchai]

Can we get some hwang junho boyfriend head cannons? •`ヮ´• This man NEEDS more attention I swear

𝐇𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐔𝐍 𝐇𝐎 𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃.

pairing(s): hwang jun ho x reader

words: 346

warnings/tags: established relationship, he's so boyfriend it hurts, if you squint you can see how obsessed i am with his back.

➵ mans is protective, let’s get that over with.

➵ not in an overbearing way. he just needs to make sure you’re safe.

➵ coming to pick you and friends up if you’re out late.

➵ if you’re out together and it’s late and you’re tired he’ll bend down so casually so you can climb on his back and get carried.

➵ he’s quiet but attentive, whenever you’re talking he has a little smile on his face, listening to every word you have to say but also getting distracted over the way your eyes shine or the dimples in your cheeks.

➵ he works late a lot at the station but will drop by yours for the night with a tired smile and tons of kisses pressed against your skin.

➵ junho gets nightmares so sometimes you awake to him abruptly sitting up and heavy breathing and he would jump from the gentle touch to his shoulder.

➵ it takes him time but you’re able to calm him down until he’s practically back to sleep, this time on top of you with his head tucked into your neck.

➵ the early morning type, he’s likely to go early hour jogs and have breakfast ready before you’ve gotten out of bed. sleepy eyes as you trudge in pyjamas to where he stands freshly showered and dressed.

➵ whenever you’re out and a guy tries to chat you up, they will back off from junho’s look alone. eyes intense and watching, expression giving nothing away.

➵ isn’t afraid of pda, will hold your hand at any given moment available and also occasionally kisses it. will also kiss your cheek and temple when leaving you.

➵ a+ cuddler award goes to him, his broad back and shoulders a perfect mattress when you cuddle into his chest. his hands are always holding something, the back of your head with soft strokes with his thumb, tracing your arms or comfortably on your ass.

➵ this man will worship the ground you walk on and be irretrievably devoted to being the best boyfriend he can to you. whenever you’re around him, you know you’re safe.

amorchai masterlist . taglist

amorchai © ─ all rights reserved. no reposting/translating/copying will be tolerated.

[sugawhaaa]

SKZ HEADCANONS

The type of women they like in bed...

Warnings//genre:: SMUT, shower sex (Hyunjin), cowgirl (Changbin, Felix), BDSM (minho) Collar (Minho) creampie (Chan)

Pairing:: ot8!Skz x fem!reader

A/N:: so I started with ateez and now I'm done skz should I do...a txt version 🤨 or maybe piwon 🤭

Skz masterlist:: 🍒

Taglist:: @weallneednamjesus @strykdsstanot8

Emotional, a girl who will let him take care of her in many ways

Chan has many different sides to him in bed but no matter what, he loves to cherish his partner. He wants to be able to treat her like a princess or a slut or just his girlfriend.

"You're so pretty like this," Bangchan groans before leaning down to kiss your neck, his hips never losing their pace. You can't even reply because you're so focused on the sensation of his fat cock stretching you wide open. "How you feeling baby?" He tucks a strand of your hair back. You let out a choked moan as you try to form words.

"Good," You claw at his back as you struggle to speak. "Faster please," You whine and Chan smiles shyly.

"Already?" He asks in a teasing and genuine way.

"Yes please! Fuck, I can take it," You assure him and he grins before snapping his hips against yours. The room fills with a symphony of screams of pleasure and the clap skin on skin. As Bangchan pounds into you he leans back, holding your hips, to admire your body. The way you squirm and twitch, the way you pant and moan and reddened face, the way tears of raw desire build in your eyes, and it's all because of him.

Obedient, a woman that'll listen to him and enjoy it

Minho loves to be in control during sex but he doesn't want his partner thinking their opinions aren't valid. He needs his woman to understand that this is his way of showing love and that he just wants to love on her...hard.

"C'mon, look at me baby," Minho says as he lifts your chin up to look at him, however the vibrator pressed against your core drew your attention more. "You need to keep being good for me alright?" He tugs on your collar slightly to draw your attention. You nod with a little whine and Minho smirks, his power over you shining through.

"C-Can I cum yet?" You ask between heavy breaths, the band in your stomach tightening its knot.

"Soon baby, hold on as long as you can," He then leans into your ear, his breath ghosting over your ear. "The longer you last the greater your reward babygirl," Minho smiles before bringing a hand up to your breast, cupping it in the soft lingerie. "shh, you've been doing so good," He says before smirking. His opposite hand creeps down to your vibrator, ticking it up a few setting, the vibrations now more intense than ever. You squeal and arch your back, your head falling back as well. Minho chuckles darkly at your reaction. "So cute~"

Comfortable, a girl who will make him feel safe and relaxed

Changbin has rough appearance and exterior but everyone knows he's very vulnerable inside. He needs to find someone who will keep that vulnerability safe, especially when indulging in something like sex.

It was moments like these you really cherished with Changbin. Your bodies nearly bare and pressed up against each other, your tongues intertwined as your hands frantically search for a place to rest. Changbin holds the back of your head, his fingers sorting through your hair, as he hungrily kisses your lips.

"I need you," You pull back to announce and Changbin smiles shyly, looking down.

"Whatever you need," He kisses your cheek as his hands trail down to your ass, picking you up and lifting you higher up his lap. His mouth finds yours again as he messily helps you take off your panties but you're too impatient to let him take off his underwear, instead you grind against his boner. He moans quietly, his brows furrowed at the new sensation. "Wow that feels..." His hands fall to your sides, relaxingly resting on your hips. "Keep doing that baby and I might cum in my clothes," He chuckles as he tosses his head back.

Gentle, a woman that will put care into every touch

Hyunjin has a frail heart and he can be a little sensitive to such intense feelings such as lust. He needs someone to calm him and occasionally steer him during sex.

"Yes fuck, are you slipping baby?" Hyunjin grunts as he slows his hips, making sure the wet surface wasn't causing you any risks.

"No, I'm okay, keep going," You pant softly and rest your head against the shower wall again. Each one of his thrusts was deep and passionate, the pace was slow but the strength was there. You bounce against the wall with each pound and Hyunjin comes around to hug you, pulling you off the wall like a starfish.

"Is...Is this position okay?" He asks shyly as his wet hair clings to your shoulders, his chin resting on your shoulder.

"God yes," You moan and throw your head back. He begins to thrust into you again, hitting up deep in that one spot that makes you scream. Hyunjin focuses hard as he watches your body from over your shoulder. "Yes right there, keep going," You moan, subtly praises him. Hyunjin has to hide his smile as he fucks you faster, hoping to receive more praise later.

Passionate, a woman who will bask in his presence

Felix has a bit of a clingy side, but it's not as much physical as it is emotional. He needs that person release on especially when it's his love.

"Yeah, yeah, just like that baby," Felix encourages in his thick Aussie accent but a hint of something else lingers in his voice; perhaps lust, hunger or love? His hands stay fastened to your hips as you hop on his lap, his cock slipping in and out of your warmth. Felix rests his head in the crook of your neck as he pants heavily, his hot breath ghosting over your damply sweaty skin. He lets out a low growl before tossing his head back. "Oh yeah, harder baby, c'mon bounce on me," He smirks softly at the lewdness of his words.

"I can't," You breathe out softly and Felix sits up again, holding your hips with more strength.

"You can babygirl," He kisses your jaw before assisting in lifting your body up then back down on him. His cock hit imaginably deep very hard, making you moan loudly, eyes wide. "That's it, feels good doesn't it?"

Needy, a girl who will match his constant need for relief

Han is undoubtedly clingy and loves the feeling of hands and attention on him. Jisung needs a girl who won't mind his constant need and ache for her. This fact transfers into the bed as well, he gets aroused easily, especially with physical stimulation, and he needs a partner will understand and care for his needs.

"Baby..." Han whispers as you peacefully sleep. He gently shakes your shoulder and you startle awake, forcing your eyes open. "I'm sorry," Jisung instantly regrets waking you and hides his face in the plush white sheets.

"What's wrong?" You ask groggily as you prop yourself up with your elbows. As your eyes adjust to the lighting you notice Han looks quite distressed; his eyebrows are curled upward, his lips swollen and red, his eyes glossy and his face and hair damp from presumably sweat. "Is everything okay?" You sit up, alerted by his appearance.

"Yeah but I um..." He blushes and looks away, ashamed of his behavior. "I had a wet dream and I've been trying to get off but..." He bites his lip before looking at you. He lets the plump skin between his teeth go with a sigh. "I need your help," He whines and your heart melts at his puffy cheeks and doe eyes.

"Of course, what do you need?" You watch as he sits up beside you, the blanket falling to reveal his broad chest.

"Anything...your hands, your touch, your voice, just be here with me," He whines as he extends a shaking hand toward you. "I need you," He caresses your jaw before pulling you into a deep kiss.

Patient, a girl who can wait for and understand him

Seungmin feels a little conflicted about his sex life. There's times when he's really into it and other times he can't find the lust to indulge in. He needs a girl who will respect his boundaries and understand his conflicting emotions.

Seungmin lays back on the bed after a long day with hands tucked behind his head, a thoughtful look on his face. As you put away your laundry you notice his stern expression. "You look scary when you're thinking," You smile, your voice light hearted. "What's got you thinking so hard?" You ask sincerely, assuming he's stressing about work. You set aside your laundry and sit next to him. Seungmin tenses as you come closer.

"Not sure...I feel," He looks away, pausing for a moment. "I feel like I wanna have sex but I'm so tired. My body feels weak from working," He groans as he props his head back, his arms now limp at his sides.

"That's okay," You smile, trying to assure him that he's feeling normal.

"It's annoying," He grumbles with a little pout. He shifts his hips and a blush creeps up his neck. "Could you...help me?" Seungmin asks hesitantly before making eye contact.

"Of course, lay down," You push his chest down softly, encouraging him to relax. As you do so you notice the throbbing tent in his jeans; you tilt your head in curiosity. "Is this what's been bothering you?" You smirk softly and he looks away from you with a slight pout.

Daring, a girl who will take the lead and follow his lead

Jeongin has a switch in his sexuality. Sometimes he wants to be on top, be mean, be hard, be in control and other times he wants to be hurt, broken and rebuilt as someone else's. He needs a lady who will be able to do both: fold for him and fold him.

"What's it gonna be tonight?" Jeongin says as he kicks his feet up on the bed, his elbows propped up to hold his jaw. He watches as you walk around the bedroom, doing chores, while he patiently waits for you to finish and indulge in some lust. "Maybe you'll let me bend you over the bed or desk?" He says with a devilish smirk before rolling onto his back, his legs now crossed. "then let me fuck you into the wall of the shower for round two," He tilts his head as he watches you get flustered by his words, your focus fading as you brush your hair. "Or would you rather pull out the sex toys and use me until I cry?" Jeongin just kept egging you on until you reply.

"Bending over sounds nice," You smile with red cheeks as you sit beside him on the bed. He instantly pulls you closer by your hips, setting you in his lap. He nuzzles his face into the back of your neck, inhaling your scent.

"I was hoping you'd let me fuck you tonight," He flicks his tongue out to snake around your ear, making your body shiver with excitement.

[juneoirs]

𝓑𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇. . when katsuki finally confessed his “big problem”—his baby fever that had been eating away at him for months— tiny feet and starting a family, you were surprised—but safe to say, you weren’t against it.

katsuki bakugo had a big problem. well, not big enough to cause chaos—though he was no stranger to that—but big enough to keep him up at night, pacing his living room like a restless tiger in a cage. how could a man like him—a grumpier version of any grandmother you’ve ever met, a walking volcano of hot-headedness, and someone who never gave a damn about societal expectations—have this kind of problem?

the thing is, katsuki bakugo was hiding a secret. a deep, dark, unbelievably soft secret. one that not even you, the person closest to him, would suspect. because who in their right mind would guess that the mighty explosion master extraordinaire, was an absolute sucker for babies?

yes, katsuki bakugo had a raging case of baby fever.

it started the moment he began spending more time with you—watching you interact with the world, your gentle care for others, and that warmth you exuded that could melt even his gruff exterior. he never really thought about kids before, much less his own. but then he saw you holding a friend’s baby at a small gathering, cradling the tiny bundle in your arms like they were the most precious thing in the world. the way you smiled down at them, the soft cooing noises you made, and how the baby instantly relaxed against you—it was like a punch straight to his chest.

katsuki swore he felt his heart skip a beat. that tiny human looked so damn peaceful in your arms, and for the first time in his life, he imagined what it might be like to see you holding a child that looked like both of you.

ever since that day, the thought just wouldn’t leave him alone. he’d catch himself staring at families in parks, his sharp eyes zeroing in on chubby cheeks, tiny fingers, and wobbly little steps. he even started tolerating kirishima’s stories about his nieces and nephews, though he’d never admit it out loud.

but here’s the kicker—katsuki bakugo was absolutely mortified about telling you. how does a guy like him, who’s built his entire persona on being tough, independent, and borderline unapproachable, confess that he’s been daydreaming about late-night feedings and toddler tantrums? about a miniature version of himself—or, god forbid, you—running around the house?

so he kept it to himself, bottling up those strange, unfamiliar feelings like he did with most things. but every time he saw you, especially when you were in one of those rare, tender moods, he felt that itch grow stronger. he wanted to tell you. he wanted to share this part of himself with you.

and it didn’t take much longer for you to figure out what was going on with your husband. after all, you knew katsuki bakugo like the back of your hand—every scowl, every grumble, every subtle shift in his demeanor. it was easy to notice when something was off, even when he thought he was being sneaky about it.

you saw how his eyes would linger, softening ever so slightly, whenever a baby was around. at first, you thought it was just a coincidence—a rare moment of katsuki being uncharacteristically quiet. but then it kept happening. whether it was at the park, at a friend’s house, or even in the grocery store, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away from those chubby-cheeked little ones.

and then there were the baby videos. oh, those damn videos. you remembered the first time you caught him watching one. he’d been sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone with his usual scowl. but when you peeked over his shoulder, you saw it—a ridiculously adorable video of a baby giggling uncontrollably at their dog’s antics.

“seriously, katsuki?” you teased, leaning in closer. “didn’t take you for the ‘cute baby video’ type.”

he practically jumped out of his skin, locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket with a glare. “shut up.” he barked, his ears turning a telltale shade of pink. “it popped up on my feed. stupid algorithm.”

but after that, you started noticing more. how his fingers would hesitate just a second longer when he scrolled past a baby video, or how he’d glance at your phone if you were watching something similar. of course, he’d always roll his eyes and mutter something about how “cringe” and “unnecessary” it was for people to post that kind of shit online.

“what’s the point, huh?” he’d grumble, arms crossed over his chest. “ain’t like anyone cares about random babies.”

but you weren’t fooled. not even for a second. the way his voice softened at the end, the faintest twitch of his lips as if he were fighting back a smile—you knew. katsuki bakugo had a soft spot, and it was big enough to fit every giggling baby and their tiny fingers in it.

and now that you knew, it was just a matter of time before you brought it up. because there was no way you were going to let him keep this adorable little secret to himself.

you decided to wait for the right moment, knowing katsuki would probably combust on the spot if you confronted him too soon. patience wasn’t always your strong suit, but for this, you were willing to bide your time.

that moment came one lazy sunday afternoon. katsuki was sprawled out on the couch, pretending to be interested in whatever action movie was playing on the TV, but you knew better. his phone was resting suspiciously close, and every few minutes, he’d glance at it like it was calling his name.

“you know.” you began casually, sitting down beside him and leaning against his shoulder. “you’ve been acting kinda weird lately.”

he stiffened immediately, a gruff ‘tch’ escaping his lips as he shifted under your weight. “the hell are you talking about? ’m not acting weird.”

“oh, really?” you tilted your head to look up at him, a mischievous glint in your eye. “so, you’re saying you didn’t watch that compilation of babies trying lemons yesterday?”

his eyes widened, just a fraction, before narrowing into his usual glare. “you were spying on me?”

“you were sitting right next to me, katsuki. it’s not spying if you’re practically shoving it in my face.”

he grumbled something under his breath, probably a string of curses about how nosy you were, but you weren’t about to let him squirm out of this.

“you know.” you continued, voice softer now. “it’s okay to admit you like them. babies, i mean.”

his entire body went rigid, and for a moment, you thought he might explode—not in anger, but sheer embarrassment. his ears turned that familiar shade of pink, and he refused to meet your gaze, choosing instead to glare at the TV like it had personally offended him.

“i don’t—” he started, but you cut him off with a gentle laugh.

“katsuki.” you said, reaching for his hand and lacing your fingers with his. “it’s fine. it’s not like you’re some heartless robot. you’re allowed to like cute things, you know. even babies.”

he let out a frustrated sigh, running his free hand through his hair. “it’s not like that.” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “i just. . fuck, i don’t know. ever since you—i mean, we—it’s just been on my mind, okay?”

you blinked, taken aback by his honesty. katsuki bakugo wasn’t the type to bare his soul, but here he was, stumbling over his words, trying to explain something he didn’t fully understand himself.

“on your mind, huh?” you teased gently, though your heart was swelling at his vulnerability. “like. . you’ve been thinking about us? having a baby?”

he groaned, dropping his head back against the couch and covering his face with his arm. “don’t make me say it out loud, idiot.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “you’re such a dork, katsuki. but for the record. . i think you’d be a pretty amazing dad.”

that got his attention. he peeked at you from under his arm, his crimson eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt or teasing. when he didn’t find any, his expression softened, and he let out a quiet, almost relieved breath.

“yeah?” he asked gruffly, like he didn’t quite believe it.

“yeah.” you said firmly, squeezing his hand with a warmth that made his chest ache in the best way. “and, you know, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea to start our own family.”

katsuki could feel his heart skip a beat, the words settling over him like a blanket of relief and excitement all at once. he stared at you, wide-eyed and a little stunned, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard.

you were more than happy with his idea.

he didn’t know what he was expecting—maybe teasing, maybe some sarcastic remark to brush off the heavy topic—but this? this genuine, heartfelt agreement? it floored him.

“you— you mean that?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual, almost hesitant.

you smiled at him, your expression so soft and full of love that he thought he might melt right then and there. “of course, i mean it, katsuki. i’ve been thinking about it too, you know. and seeing how you are. . it just makes me feel like we’d be good at this. together.”

his throat felt tight, and he swallowed hard, trying to keep his emotions in check. katsuki bakugo didn’t cry, damn it, but this moment—this you—was doing something to him he couldn’t quite explain.

“yeah, well.” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away, his ears still bright red. “don’t think i’ll be one of those soft-ass dads who lets the kid get away with everything.”

you chuckled, leaning closer and wrapping your arms around his middle. “no, you’ll be the dad who pretends to be all tough but secretly sneaks them sweets when i’m not looking.”

“the hell i will.” he shot back, but the corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk.

you chuckled softly, the sound filling the quiet room as you glanced up at your husband. your eyes met his, and in that moment, they said more than words ever could—full of love, trust, and the unspoken promise of a future you both were starting to dream about together.

katsuki’s crimson gaze softened in a way that was reserved only for you. his calloused hand moved with a gentleness that never failed to surprise you, his fingers slowly tilting your chin up to meet his.

“c’mere.” he murmured, his voice low and rough, but carrying a warmth that made your heart flutter.

before you could reply, his lips brushed against yours, firm yet tender, a kiss that spoke volumes. it wasn’t just a kiss—it was reassurance, excitement, and an unspoken vow all wrapped into one.

you melted into him, your hands sliding up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. it was moments like this that reminded you just how deeply katsuki loved, even if he wasn’t always the best at putting it into words.

slowly, the kiss deepened, the soft tenderness giving way to something more heated, more desperate. katsuki’s hands moved on instinct, his grip firm yet gentle as he guided you onto his lap. the motion was seamless, almost as if it was second nature for him to want you this close, to feel you against him.

his hands found their way to your waist, fingers pressing into your sides in a way that made your breath hitch. it wasn’t calculated—it never was with katsuki. his movements were raw, driven by pure feeling, as if his body knew what he wanted before his mind could catch up.

you tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging lightly, earning a low growl from deep in his chest. the sound sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but press yourself closer, your knees bracketing his thighs as you straddled him.

“you’re somethin’ else.” he murmured against your lips, his voice husky and rough as his hands tightened their hold on your waist, pulling you even closer. “always makin’ me feel shit i never thought i’d feel.”

you smiled against his mouth, your own fingers sliding down to trace the sharp lines of his jaw. “maybe i just have that effect on you, katsu.”

“damn right, you do.” he shot back, his lips trailing down your jaw and along the column of your neck, leaving a searing trail in their wake. his breath was hot against your skin, and the way his hands moved—one slipping up to rest against the small of your back, the other holding your hip firmly in place—made your head spin.

the movie playing in the background was long forgotten, the only sounds in the room now the soft gasps escaping your lips and the low, gravelly noises katsuki made as he kissed you like he couldn’t get enough. and truthfully, he couldn’t.

[stylesispunk]

"Did the love affair maim you too?"

Joel miller x f!reader

next part

Summary: Joel doesn't like you until he loses all his memories.

w.c: 14k> (longest piece I've written and my eyes are dry)

warnings: fluff, mention of amnesia, memory loss, ANGST and angst, and more angst because I love angst. There is smut but you already know I'm bad at writing that. No proof reading, I'm lazy, sorry.

a/n: hello! I got inspired by this "memory loss" type of story. It was supposed to be a one shoot, but I had to split the whole thing so another part is more likely to happen. I know there has been some drama surrounding writers and I want to say that every single person who writes and makes an art with that is amazing! Everyone who is reading this, please give creators here your flowers. With that being said, Happy reading or not 😭💌 Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. (come on, talk to me)

dividers by @saradika-graphics

Joel didn't used to hate women, but man, when he met you for the first time, you crawled under his skin. He had fun with you, making jokes, trying to get on your nerves. For his hell, everyone in Jackson loved you; after all, you were the nurse and the sweetheart. Always looking after everyone, always being sweet to everyone.

It was a sunny afternoon when you first arrived in Jackson, your kind demeanor and skilled hands quickly gaining the trust and admiration of the townsfolk. Joel watched from a distance with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. He couldn't understand why everyone was so taken with you. To him, you seemed too soft, too gentle for the brutal world they lived in.

"Hey, Joel," Tommy called out one day, pulling Joel from his brooding thoughts. "We're heading out on patrol. You should meet the new nurse. She's something else."

Joel grunted in response, not bothering to hide his disinterest. He didn't need to meet you to know what kind of person you were. In his mind, you were just another naive newcomer who wouldn't last a week.

But fate had other plans. That very evening, a group of raiders attacked the outer perimeter. The town was thrown into chaos, and Joel found himself side by side with you, defending the walls. He couldn't help but notice your bravery and the way you handled yourself under pressure.

After the attack, as the town counted its injuries and losses, you worked tirelessly, tending to the wounded. Joel watched you, his irritation growing as he saw the way everyone fawned over you, thanking you for your care.

"Think you're some kind of hero, huh?" Joel muttered as he approached you, his voice laced with sarcasm.

You looked up at him, exhaustion evident in your eyes, but you offered a small, tired smile. "Just doing my job, Joel."

"Your job?" Joel scoffed. "You think patching up a few cuts and bruises is going to keep these people safe? This world doesn't care how sweet you are."

You met his gaze, unwavering. "And what would you have me do, Joel? Let them suffer? We're all trying to survive here, and we all have our roles to play."

Joel huffed and walked away, but your words lingered in his mind. Despite himself, he couldn't deny that you were right. Over the following weeks, Joel continued to watch you, his annoyance slowly giving way to a grudging respect. He noticed how you never backed down, how you always stood your ground, even when faced with his relentless jabs.

One day, during a particularly harsh winter storm, you and Joel were sent out on a supply run. The weather was brutal, and the path was treacherous. As the wind howled around you, Joel found himself instinctively moving closer, his protective instincts kicking in despite his irritation.

"Watch your step," he warned, his voice gruff.

You nodded, shivering against the cold. "Thanks, Joel."

As you both trudged forward, the wind picked up, and visibility dropped to almost nothing. You focused on placing one foot in front of the other, barely able to see Joel a few steps ahead. Suddenly, you heard a sharp crack and a thud.

"Joel!" you shouted, fear gripping your heart.

Rushing forward, you found Joel lying on the ground, unconscious, blood trickling from a gash on his forehead. He must have slipped on the ice and hit his head on a rock hidden beneath the snow.

Panic set in, but you forced yourself to stay calm. You needed to get him back to Jackson quickly. You checked his pulse, relieved to find it steady, then did your best to bandage the wound with the supplies you had. With great effort, you managed to lift Joel and drape him over your shoulder, carrying him back through the storm.

By the time you reached Jackson, you were exhausted and freezing, but you didn't stop until you got Joel to the infirmary. The doctors took over, treating his wound and monitoring his condition.

You sat by Joel's bedside, watching him closely. Hours passed, and eventually he began to stir. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked around, disoriented.

"Joel?" you said softly, leaning forward.

He turned his head to you, his brow furrowing in confusion. But then, a slow, almost lazy smile spread across his face. "Well, hello there, beautiful," he said, his voice low and smooth. "Did I die and wake up in heaven?"

You blink, taken aback by his words. "Uh, Joel, it's me. Do you remember what happened?"

Joel's smile didn't waver as he looked at you. "I remember everything... except meeting you before. Are you sure we haven't met in a dream?"

You glanced at Tommy, who had just walked into the room, and saw the same confusion mirrored on his face. "Joel," Tommy said cautiously, stepping closer, "do you know who I am?"

Joel's eyes shifted to Tommy, his smile fading into a look of mild frustration. "Of course I do, Tommy. You're my brother. But I'm more interested in getting to know this doll here."

Tommy exchanged bewildered looks with you. "Joel, this is… Ah. She's... well, you two never really got along."

Joel's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Really? Well, I must've been an idiot then because I can't imagine not liking someone like you."

Your heart raced, unsure how to respond to this flirtatious side of Joel, the same who hours ago was trying to crawl under your skin, the same one who had rejected you all this time. "Joel, you really don't remember me at all?"

Joel shook his head, still gazing at you with that same enamored look. "Not a thing. But I gotta say, I feel like I'm seeing you for the first time, and I like what I see."

Tommy scratched his head, clearly at a loss. "This is... something else. We need to figure out what happened to his memory."

You nodded, trying to process the sudden shift in Joel's demeanor. You knew the hit on the head did something to his memory, but you didn’t know how to face it. "Joel, you hit your head pretty hard. The doctors said you might have some memory loss. Maybe this is part of it."

Joel reached out and gently took your hand, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "Well, if forgetting the past means I get to start over with you, I think I can live with that."

You couldn't help but blush, feeling a mix of confusion and something else you couldn't quite place. Perhaps butterflies are flying all around inside your tummy. "We'll take it slow, okay? There's a lot you need to know."

Joel's grip on your hand tightened slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. "As long as you're the one teaching me, I'm all in."

Tommy coughed awkwardly, breaking the moment. "Alright, let's give Joel some time to rest and recover. We'll figure this out together."

You nodded, reluctantly pulling your hand away from Joel's. "Get some rest, Joel. We'll talk more later."

As you and Tommy left the room, you couldn't shake the feeling of Joel's gaze following you. Tommy put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "We'll get to the bottom of this. Just... be careful. He's not the same Joel right now."

You nodded, your mind racing with the implications of Joel's memory loss and his sudden interest in you. The days ahead were sure to be challenging, but you couldn't deny the flicker of excitement at the thought of getting to know this new, more open version of Joel.

A version where he could get to know you and maybe, like, a new story waiting to be written with the both of you becoming friends, and not just acquaintances just having to tolerate each other for the community’s sake.

The days following Joel's accident were a whirlwind of confusion and unexpected emotions dancing on your mind. Joel's flirtatious comments and affectionate demeanor were a stark contrast to the gruff, often combative man you had known before.

You had started to get used to feeling his nice demeanor towards you. You found yourself happier than before, smiling at the thought of him when you weren’t with him, and he had become your last thought on your bed just before going to sleep, but you were aware his condition perhaps wasn’t permanent and he was going to recover his memories of you, so you didn’t want to take advantage of that, nor did you want to fall for Joel, not when the fear of him waking up one day and hating you as usual was a threat.

His recovery was slow but steady, and you spent a lot of time by his side, helping him piece together the fragments of his memory. Every interaction felt like walking on fire, with Joel's behavior making your heart flutter and your mind racing at thousand miles per hour.

As you were changing the bandage on his head, Joel watched you with a soft smile. "You know, you have the gentlest touch. It's like you're an angel sent to take care of me."

You blushed, avoiding his gaze. "I'm just doing my job, Joel. Making sure your pretty head heals properly."

Joel reached up and gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. "You're more than just a nurse to me now. I don't know what it is, but I feel this connection with you. Like we're meant to be."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions. "Joel, a few days ago I was nothing to you. You don’t remember me, so please just focus on getting better."

Joel's expression softened; his eyes filled with earnestness. "I get it, but I can't help how I feel. This connection—it's real to me, even if I don't remember our past."

You bit your lip, feeling a mix of frustration and affection. "Joel, you're vulnerable right now. Your mind is trying to make sense of everything, and it's confusing. We need to take things slow."

Joel nodded reluctantly, his hand lingering near your cheek before he pulled it back. "I trust you. Just know that I'm here, and I want to get to know you, past or no past."

You gave him a reassuring smile. "One step at a time, okay? Let's focus on getting you back on your feet first."

Just then, Tommy walked in, carrying a tray of food. He cleared his throat, causing you to step back from Joel. "Brought you some lunch, big brother. How’re you feeling?"

Joel's eyes lit up at the sight of his brother. "Thanks, Tommy. I'm feeling better every day. And with this sunshine here, it's hard not to feel good."

Tommy gave you a knowing look, his concern evident. "Glad to hear it. Mind if I have a word with you outside?" he asked, looking towards you.

You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety. "Of course, Tommy."

As you stepped outside the room, Tommy closed the door behind you, his expression serious. "How are you holding up?"

You sighed, crossing your arms. "It's... complicated. Joel is so different now. He's kind, attentive, and he seems genuinely interested in me. But he doesn't remember our past—how much we clashed."

Tommy nodded, his face lined with concern. "I can see how that would be confusing. But you have to be careful. This might just be his way of coping with the memory loss. He's latching onto the one constant he has right now—you."

You looked down, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I know. I'm trying to keep my distance, but it's hard. He's... he's different, Tommy. And I can't deny that I'm starting to care for him."

Tommy placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "I get it. But you need to remember that his memory might come back, and when it does, he could revert to the Joel we knew before. You have to protect yourself, too."

“Am I that unlovable?” you sighed.

Tommy's expression softened, and he shook his head. "No, you're not unlovable. Far from it. But the Joel we knew before... he had his walls up, and you know how stubborn he can be. If his memory comes back, he might go back to those old habits, those old defenses."

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. "I understand. It's just... complicated."

Tommy gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Just take it slow. Don't rush into anything, and remember to take care of yourself too. You suffered a lot before arriving here."

You managed a small smile. "Thanks, Tommy. I needed that."

Tommy smiled back. "Anytime."

Returning to Joel's room, you found him sitting up, his eyes lighting up as you walked in. "Hey, everything okay?"

You nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just had a chat with Tommy."

Joel's expression became thoughtful. "You know, I'm really grateful for everything you're doing for me. I can't imagine what it must be like, dealing with me like this."

You sat down beside him, taking a deep breath. "It's not easy, Joel, but it's worth it. You're worth it."

Joel reached out, taking your hand in his. "You know, even though I don't remember everything, I feel like I'm seeing you for the first time. And I like what I see."

Your heart raced, and you struggled to keep your emotions in check. "Joel, we need to take things slow. Focus on your recovery first."

Joel nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "I understand. But I can't help how I feel."

He has repeated the same phrase as before, and you couldn’t help but feel yourself diving into a deep ocean for him.

You squeezed his hand gently. "One step at a time, okay?"

Joel's eyes held a determined glint. "One step at a time."

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the Jackson settlement as you walked briskly toward the main gate, your medical bag slung over your shoulder. You spotted Joel waiting for you, his arms crossed and a scowl already etched on his face.

"You're late," he growled as you approached.

You rolled your eyes. "I'm five minutes late, Joel. I had to take care of a kid with a fever."

Joel grunted, clearly unimpressed. "We have a schedule for a reason. Being late puts us at risk."

"Don't lecture me about risk," you shot back, your patience wearing thin. "I know the dangers out there just as well as you do."

Joel's eyes narrowed. "Do you? Because sometimes it feels like you're too soft for this world. Always stopping to help every stray animal and sick kid."

"Excuse me for having a heart," you snapped. "Not everyone wants to live like a damn machine."

"Having a heart can get you killed," Joel retorted, his voice rising. "Out there, you need to be tough. Focused."

"And maybe if you lightened up a bit, people wouldn't be so scared of you," you shot back, your frustration boiling over.

Joel took a step closer, his jaw clenched. "I don't care if people are scared of me. I care about keeping them safe. And you, with your bleeding heart, make that harder."

You felt a surge of anger and hurt at his words. "You know what, Joel? Maybe the problem isn't me. Maybe it's you. Maybe you're so wrapped up in your own pain that you can't see anyone else's."

Joel's face darkened, a mix of anger and something else—something like hurt—flashing in his eyes. "You don't know anything about my pain."

"And you don't know anything about mine," you replied, your voice trembling with emotion. "So maybe you should stop judging me and start seeing that we're all trying to survive in this hell together."

For a moment, the two of you stood there, the tension crackling between you like a live wire. Then Joel turned away, his shoulders stiff. "Let's just get this patrol over with."

You followed him out of the gate, your heart heavy with unresolved emotions. The silence between you was thick and uncomfortable, but neither spoke. The rift between you seemed insurmountable, and you couldn't see how things would ever change.

You woke up with a pain on your neck. You had fallen asleep on a chair next to Joel’s bed where he was now lay resting, his breathing even and steady. His recovery was going well, but the emotional landscape was far more complex and you wanted to take the risk to discover it.  

You watched him for a moment, taking a mental picture of his face, the creases on his skin, how peaceful he looked like this. feeling the weight of uncertainty and guilt within you.

In that exact moment, Joel stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He looked around, his gaze settling on you with a warmth that made your heart skip a beat. "Hey, sunshine."

"Hey," you replied softly, mirroring his smile "How are you feeling?"

Joel stretched, wincing slightly but smiling nonetheless. "Better. Thanks to you."

You couldn't help but smile back, the tension easing a bit. "Just doing my job, Joel."

His eyes softened as he looked at you. "You're doing more than just your job. You've been taking care of me, looking out for me. I appreciate it."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. "It's what anyone would do."

Joel shook his head slightly. "No, not everyone. You're special, and I... I think I’m starting to understand that."

You felt a flutter in your chest at his words, a mix of emotions swirling within you. "Joel, you don't need to say that. You're still recovering, and things are confusing right now."

Joel's gaze remained steady, his expression earnest. "I mean it. There's something about you... something that's been here all along, and I was too stubborn to see it."

Your heart ached with the weight of his words, knowing how complicated the situation was. "Joel…”

“Did I care about you before?” he asked, gaze locked with yours.

You shook your head “No. Not really.”

You shook your head, feeling the sting of the truth. “No. Not really.”

Joel looked troubled, his brows knitting together. “I find that hard to believe. Because right now, I can’t imagine not caring about you.”

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “Things were different before, Joel. We didn’t get along. You were... closed off, and I guess I was just someone who got under your skin.”

Joel’s expression softened with regret. “I’m sorry. For whatever I did to make you feel that way. I wish I could remember, but all I know is that right now, I see you, and I feel... connected.”

A memory from the past surged forward, vivid and painful. It was a cold evening in Jackson, just after a particularly difficult supply run. You and Joel had been at odds all day, and the tension between you was palpable.

"Why do you always have to be so damn difficult?" Joel snapped; his voice harsh as he slammed the door behind him.

You bristled at his tone, your own temper flaring. "Maybe because you treat me like I’m incompetent! I’m trying my best out there, Joel. We’re supposed to be a team."

Joel scoffed, his eyes narrowing. "A team? You’re a liability more than anything."

The words cut deep, but you stood your ground. "That’s not fair, and you know it. I’m just trying to help, like everyone else."

Joel’s face twisted with frustration. "Help? You call what you do helping? It’s a wonder anyone here can stand you."

The hurt was immediate and sharp, but you refused to let him see how much his words affected you. "At least I’m trying to do something good. You just push everyone away."

Joel stepped closer, his expression dark. "Maybe there’s a reason for that. I find it hard to believe anyone could actually love you."

The silence that followed was deafening. You stared at him, disbelief and pain warring within you. Without another word, you turned and left, unable to bear the weight of his cruelty.

Back in the present, you blinked, trying to dispel the memory. Joel was watching you closely, concern etched into his features. "What’s wrong?"

You forced a smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. "Just... remembering something."

Joel reached out, gently taking your hand. "I wish I could remember too. So, I could make it right."

You looked down at your joined hands, the warmth of his touch grounding you. "Maybe it’s better this way.

Joel squeezed your hand gently. "A fresh start sounds good. But I still want to know everything. About us, about what I did wrong. So, I can be better."

You nodded, taking the risk and pushing your luck.

You and Joel could become friends, right?

"You and I... we could become friends, right?" you asked.

Joel’s eyes softened even more, and he smiled. "Friends sounds like a good start. We can build from there."

You felt a surge of relief. "Friends it is, then."

The days passed, each one bringing closeness between you and Joel. He had got better, slowly starting to get back to his tasks. The community noticed the change in him, how he was more open and approachable. You often found yourselves working together, whether it was on supply runs or him visiting the infirmary when you were there working.

One afternoon, you were busy organizing medical supplies when Joel walked in, a smile spreading across his face as he saw you. "Hey, need any help in here?" he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

You looked up, smiling back. "Joel, what are you doing here? I thought you were out patrolling.”

Joel shrugged, stepping further into the room. "Finished early. Thought I’d come by and see if you needed a hand."

He, in fact lied. He switched places with another guy just to spend time with you again. He could feel your fear irradiating but he wanted to get to know you better. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact he didn’t like someone like you and he wanted to change that.  

You chuckled, shaking your head. " Sure, you can help me with these supplies. There are some boxes that need to be sorted."

Joel rolled up his sleeves and joined you, his presence filling the small room with a comforting warmth. As you worked side by side, you found yourself stealing glances at him, marveling at the changes in him. He was more relaxed, more open, and undeniably more attentive.

"You know," Joel said after a while, breaking the comfortable silence, "I think I like helping out here more than patrolling."

You raised an eyebrow, teasingly. "Oh? And why is that?"

Joel grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Because I get to spend more time with you."

You blushed, focusing intently on the box in front of you. "You’re just saying that."

"No, I mean it," Joel replied, his tone sincere. "I like being around you. You make everything better."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words, and you couldn't help but smile. "Well, I like having you around too."

The truth was that stealing glances at him now felt like interlocking fingers without even touching his skin, there wasn’t precisely a sexual tension or possessiveness over him, but a warm incandescent glow within every time he smiled at you. That was something you hadn’t felt in so long, and this time felt so right yet so wrong.

You both continued to work in comfortable silence, the rhythm of your tasks interrupted only by the occasional exchange of smiles or a shared joke. The closeness was undeniable, and you could feel the lines between friendship and something more starting to blur.

One afternoon, you were out on a supply run together, scanning the area for anything useful. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue over the landscape. As you bent down to pick up some supplies, Joel suddenly appeared by your side, his proximity making your heart race.

"Need a hand?" he asked, his voice low and warm.

You looked up at him, finding it hard to concentrate with him so close. "Sure, thanks."

As you both worked, the conversation flowed easily. Joel's presence was comforting, and you found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn't before.

"You know, I never really thanked you properly," Joel said, his tone serious.

"For what?" you asked, genuinely curious.

"For saving my life. For being there for me when I needed it the most," Joel replied, his eyes meeting yours with a sincerity that made your heart ache.

You shook your head, a soft smile on your lips. "You don’t need to thank me, Joel. I did what anyone would do."

"Not anyone," he insisted, his gaze intense. "You went above and beyond. You always do."

You blushed, the warmth spreading through you once again. "Well, I care about you. I can’t help it."

Joel's expression softened, and he reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I care about you too. More than I ever thought possible."

The moment hung in the air, filled with unspoken words and emotions. You could feel the pull between you, the undeniable connection that had grown stronger with each passing day.

"Joel, this is complicated," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "We need to take things slow."

"I know," he replied, his hand lingering near your face. "But I’m not going anywhere, but I’m not going anywhere.”

Joel's feelings for you had grown stronger. He found himself being smitten and completely in love by you, by your beauty, your strength and your soft heart. You were everything that was good with this world. Where everything and everyone was people with shadows dying out of melancholy, you were an angel wrapping your warm arms around him, making his world brighter. He had learnt how to savor the colors again.

As you continued your days together, Joel couldn't help but find ways to be close to you. He would always volunteer to accompany you on supply runs, ensuring you were safe and cared for. He would show up at the infirmary with small gifts – a flower he found on his patrol, a cup of your favorite tea, or a book he thought you might like. His gestures were always thoughtful and sincere, each one a testament to the depth of his feelings.

Joel couldn't take his eyes off you. You were kneeling in the ground, your hands deftly cleaning something you had found, your face serene and focused. Joel felt a swell of emotion, unable to keep it to himself any longer.

"You know," he began, his voice gentle, "I used to think this world had nothing left to offer. But then I met you."

You looked up, your heart skipping a beat at the intensity in his gaze. "Joel..."

He knelt beside you, his hand covering yours. "You make everything better. You've brought light into my life, and I can't imagine going back to the way things were."

You felt a mixture of warmth and apprehension. His words were everything you wanted to hear, yet the uncertainty of the situation weighed heavily on your heart. "Joel, this is all so new and complicated. We need to be careful."

Joel's grip on your hand tightened slightly, his eyes full of determination. "I know it's complicated, and I know we've got a lot to figure out. But I can't ignore what I feel. I want to be here for you, with you, through everything."

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words. "I want that too, Joel. But we need to take it one step at a time."

He nodded, a soft smile spreading across his face. "I will make you fall in love with me," he said, his voice full of determination and warmth.

You couldn't help but smile back, feeling a mix of hope and apprehension. "You're quite confident, aren't you?"

Joel chuckled, his eyes never leaving yours. "When it comes to you, I am."

You smiled, feeling a flutter in your chest at his words. "Let's get back to Jackson," you said, standing up and brushing off your clothes. Joel stood with you, offering a hand to help you up.

As you made your way back to Jackson, the conversation flowed easily. Joel told you stories from before the outbreak, sharing pieces of his past he hadn’t opened up about before. You found yourself laughing at his anecdotes, feeling a growing sense of connection.

When you finally reached the gates of Jackson, the sun was setting, casting a warm glow over the community. People greeted you both warmly, noticing the change in Joel's demeanor. He was more relaxed and more present, and it was clear to everyone that you had a positive influence on him.

Tommy approached, a knowing smile on his face. "Good to see you both back safe and sound."

Joel clapped his brother on the shoulder. "It was a good run. Found some useful supplies."

Tommy nodded, then looked at you. "And how about you? Everything alright?"

You smiled, feeling the warmth of Joel’s gaze on you on your face. "Yeah, everything's good."

As the evening settled in, you and Joel made your way to the communal dining hall. The chatter of the community filled the air, and you found a spot to sit together. Joel’s hand lingered near yours, his touch reassuring and steady.

Tommy, Ellie, and Maria soon joined you at the table. Tommy was carrying a tray laden with food, Ellie trailing behind him with a mischievous grin, and Maria gave you a warm smile as she took a seat.

"Good to see you two back," Elli said, setting down the tray and passing out plates. “How was the run?" Ellie asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"It went well," Joel replied, his gaze briefly meeting yours before he continued. "Found some useful supplies and had some good company."

Ellie smirked, elbowing Tommy. "I bet you did."

You blushed, focusing on your plate as you filled it with food. Maria, ever perceptive, glanced between you and Joel with a knowing smile. "It's good to see everyone together," she said, her tone light and warm.

As you all began to eat, the conversation flowed naturally. Tommy and Maria talked about the latest updates in the community, Ellie shared stories from her day, and Joel occasionally chimed in with his dry humor, making everyone laugh.

At one point, Ellie leaned over to you, her voice low enough so only you could hear. "Joel's been different lately. In a good way. You've been good for him."

You looked at her, surprised by her observation. "I hope so. It's been... a journey."

Ellie nodded, her expression sincere. "Just keep being you. That's all he needs."

The meal continued, filled with warmth and laughter. Joel's hand occasionally brushed against yours, sending electricity down your body.

Just as you were starting to relax, a woman approached the table, her presence causing a ripple of unease. It was Lori, one of the women Joel used to date. Joel visibly tensed, his gaze dropping to his plate as Lori stopped beside him, her smile a mix of surprise and something else you couldn't quite place.

“Joel," she said, her voice smooth and confident. "I didn't expect to see you here."

Joel looked up, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "Lori. Uh, hi."

Lori glanced around the table, her eyes settling on you for a moment before she looked back at Joel. "I was just passing by and saw you all together. Mind if I join?"

Before anyone could respond, Tommy jumped in. "Sure, why not? There's always room for one more."

Lori pulled up a chair and sat down, her presence adding a layer of tension to the dynamics. Joel seemed uncomfortable; his usual confidence was replaced by nervous energy.

"So, Joel," Lori began, her tone light but probing. "How have you been? It's been a while."

Joel cleared his throat, glancing at you briefly before answering. "Yeah, it has. I've been... good. Just busy with everything here."

Lori nodded, her gaze shifting between you and Joel. "I can see that. Looks like you've made some new friends." She said, bitterly, “The last time I knew from you was when you left my house after our night, and then you hit your head and never spoke to me again.”

The table fell silent, tension crackling in the air. Joel looked uncomfortable, his gaze dropping to his plate. You could see the guilt and confusion in his eyes as he tried to process Lori's words.

"I'm sorry, Lori," Joel finally said, his voice low. "I don't remember much from before the accident. It's been... complicated."

Lori's expression softened slightly, but the hurt in her eyes remained. "I get that. But it still stings, you know? You just disappeared."

You felt a pang of empathy for Lori but also a fierce protectiveness over Joel. "It's been hard for him,” you said gently, trying to ease the tension. "Joel's been working hard to piece things together. He's different now, and we're all just trying to move forward."

Lori glanced at you, her expression unreadable. "I can see that, but it seems like you had taken advantage of the situation; he couldn’t stand your ass before his accident, and suddenly you have him like a little puppy following you everywhere.”

Your heart drops to your stomach, feeling warm spreading to your cheeks.

Joel's jaw tightened, and he quickly interjected, his voice firm. "That's enough, Lori. You don't know what you're talking about."

Lori raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. "I just find it convenient, that's all."

Tommy leaned forward, his tone calm but authoritative. "Lori, we're all trying to move forward here. It's not fair to make accusations."

Ellie, always quick to defend those she cared about, added, "You weren't here to see what she did for Joel. She saved his life and has been helping him every step of the way."

Lori's gaze softened slightly, but the tension remained. "I'm sorry if I overstepped. I just needed to understand."

Maria nodded, her voice gentle. "We all get that, Lori. It's been a tough situation for everyone."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions. "It's okay. "You took a deep breath before continuing. “I’ll take some fresh air,” you said, standing up, not even looking down at Joel, who seemed sad at your whole dementor.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions. "It's okay. I—" you paused, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on you. "I’ll take some fresh air," you said, standing up abruptly. Avoiding eye contact with Joel, who looked sad and concerned, you made your way outside.

The cool evening air was a welcome relief, and you walked a little way from the dining hall, finding a quiet spot to gather your thoughts. You leaned against a tree, closing your eyes and taking deep, calming breaths.

After a few moments, you heard footsteps approaching. You opened your eyes to see Ellie standing there, her expression filled with concern. "Hey, you okay?"

You nodded, managing a small smile. "Yeah, I just needed a moment. That was a bit embarrassing."

Ellie walked over and leaned against the wall next to you. "Lori was out of line. You've been amazing with Joel. Anyone with eyes can see that."

“So, don’t you think I’ve been taking advantage of him?” You asked, really concerned.

“What are you talking about? He is the one completely enamored by you.” She replied, laughing.

Ellie laughed, shaking her head. "What are you talking about? He is the one completely enamored by you."

You sighed, leaning back against the wall. "I know, but sometimes it feels like I’m walking on eggshells. It feels like he is going to wake up from his trance and he will hate me again."

Ellie placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Listen, I've seen the way he looks at you. He’s happier, lighter. You’ve brought out a side of him I didn’t think existed. And trust me, if he didn’t want this, he’d make it clear."

You took a deep breath.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Ellie asked.

“Me, falling in love with him,” you answer.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Ellie asked, her tone light but sincere.

You sighed, the weight of your fears pressing down. “Me, falling in love with him,” you answered quietly.

Ellie gave you a sympathetic look. "And why is that so bad?"

"Because," you began, struggling to put your feelings into words, "what if his memories come back and he realizes he doesn’t feel the same way? Or worse, what if I fall in love with him and he changes back to the old Joel, the one who couldn’t stand me?"

Ellie nodded, understanding. "That's a risk, sure. But you can't let fear keep you from living. You've been through so much together, and it's clear he cares about you deeply now. Maybe that won't change."

You bit your lip, the turmoil inside you reflected in your eyes. "I just don't want to get hurt, Ellie. And I don’t want to hurt him either."

Ellie squeezed your shoulder. "I get it. But if you keep holding back, you'll never know what could be. Sometimes, you just have to take a leap of faith."

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. "Maybe you're right."

Ellie grinned. "Of course I'm right. Now, let's get back in there. Joel's probably worrying himself sick."

You smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. "Okay, let's go."

As you walked back into the dining hall, you found Joel still sitting at the table, his eyes lighting up when he saw your return. He stood up as you approached, his concern evident.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

You nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just needed a breather."

Joel looked relieved, and he gently took your hand. "I'm glad you're back."

The evening continued with easy conversation, and as you all eventually made your way out of the dining hall, Joel walked beside you, his presence a comforting constant.

"Thanks for dinner," he said softly as you approached your door.

"Anytime," you replied, feeling a warmth in your chest at his words. "It was nice, being with everyone."

Joel nodded, his eyes lingering on you. "It was. And I meant what I said today. I’ll make you fall in love with me.”

You chuckled softly, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement at his words. "You're really set on that, aren't you?"

Joel nodded, his expression serious but with a hint of a smile that made you go crazy. "I am. Because I know what I feel now, and I’m not going to let it slip away."

You looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity there. "Joel, this is new for both of us. We need to take it one step at a time."

He took a step closer, his hand gently brushing against yours. “Am I that unlovable?”

You blinked, taken aback by his question. "What? No, Joel, you're not unlovable at all. It's just... complicated."

Joel's eyes softened, and he took your hand in his, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. "I get that. But I need you to know that I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait as long as it takes."

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. "I appreciate that, Joel. And I do care about you. A lot. It's just..."

"Scary?" he finished for you, his voice gentle.

You nodded.

Joel's expression turned thoughtful, and he nodded slowly. "Yeah, I get it. It is scary. But sometimes, the best things come from taking a leap of faith."

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his words. "It’s not just about taking a leap. It’s about making sure we’re ready for whatever comes next."

Joel squeezed your hand gently, his eyes never leaving yours. "I understand. And I'm ready to take it slow to give you the space you need. Just know that I’m here for you, and I’m not giving up on us."

You felt a mix of relief and trepidation, but Joel's unwavering support gave you strength. "Thank you, Joel. That means a lot to me."

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours for a moment, his breath warm against your skin. "We’ll figure it out, one step at a time."

You nodded, closing your eyes for a brief second, allowing yourself to savor the closeness and the promise of what might come. When you opened your eyes again, you saw Joel’s smile—a smile that made you believe in the possibility of a new beginning.

"Goodnight," he whispered, his voice tender, holding back the desire to cupp your face and kiss you.

"Goodnight, Joel," you replied, your heart fluttering, feeling the same as him.

Now standing, this close, face to face, skins touching. One of you would give in before, and once that happened, there was no going to be a way to stop two hearts beating this fast.

Joel's eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze revealing the depth of his emotions. You could see the conflict within him, the longing that mirrored your own. His hand lingered near your face, his fingers almost brushing against your skin, his breath warm and steady.

The moment felt suspended in time, the air between you charged with unspoken words and electric anticipation. You both stood there, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from each other, your hearts racing in sync.

Joel’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to push you, but I also don’t want to pretend like I don’t feel this.”

You swallowed, your own voice trembling slightly. “I feel it too, Joel. But we need to be careful.”

Joel nodded, his expression a mix of desire and restraint. “I know. And I want to respect that. I just...” He hesitated, taking a deep breath as if trying to steady himself. “I don’t want to miss this chance with you. I’ve never felt this way before.”

Joel’s gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips, the desire and uncertainty evident in his expression. His hand gently cupped your face. His touch was tender, as if he were afraid to break the spell that bound you both.

You felt your heart race, every nerve ending alive with anticipation. Joel’s fingers brushed softly against your cheek, and you could see the struggle in his eyes as he fought to keep his emotions in check. His breath grew shallower, and his eyes closed for a brief moment, savoring the closeness.

Slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss. It was gentle at first, a whisper of warmth and affection that sent a shiver down your spine. The moment felt both exhilarating and comforting, the culmination of all the unspoken words and feelings that had been building between you.

You responded instinctively, your lips moving softly against his. The kiss deepened gradually, a sweet exploration of new and uncharted territory. His hands moved to frame your face, his touch firm yet gentle, as if he were cherishing every second of this newfound closeness.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your eyes locking in a moment of shared understanding. The kiss had been more than just a physical connection; it was a promise of something more, something that neither of you fully understood yet but were both eager to explore.

Joel’s smile was tender and full of warmth. “I’ve wanted to do that since I woke up that day at the infirmary,” he admitted softly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks at his confession. His words made your heart flutter even more, and you could see the sincerity in his eyes.

"I'm glad you did," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I've been feeling the same way."

Joel's smile widened, and he gently stroked your cheek with his thumb. "I didn’t want to rush things or push you. But now... now that we’ve shared this, I hope we can figure things out together."

You nodded, feeling a surge of hope and warmth. "I think we can. I want to see where this leads."

He took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving yours. "No pressure, just... being here with you."

You smiled, feeling a sense of calm and excitement. "I would like that.”

Joel nodded; his expression full of affection. "Good. Now, how about we get some rest? Tomorrow's a new day, and I want to spend it with you."

You felt a burst of warmth at his words and, inspired by the new closeness between you, you hesitated for just a moment before speaking up. “How about we go inside for a bit? I’ve got some tea. It might be nice to relax and talk more.”

Joel’s eyes lit up at the invitation, and he nodded with a smile. “That sounds perfect.”

You led the way to your house, the familiar surroundings now feeling different with Joel by your side. Once inside, you made your way to the kitchen and began preparing the tea. Joel watched you with an easy smile, clearly content.

As you waited for the water to boil, you and Joel chatted about lighter topics—how his recovery was going, plans for the community, and small anecdotes from your days. The conversation flowed easily, and the atmosphere between you was comfortable and warm.

When the tea was ready, you poured two cups and handed one to Joel. He took it with a grateful smile, his fingers brushing against yours. You both settled into a cozy corner of your living room, the soft light of a lamp casting a gentle glow around the room.

Joel sipped his tea, his gaze occasionally meeting yours. “This is nice,” he said softly. “Thank you for inviting me.”

Joel looked around your living room, the peaceful ambiance a stark contrast to the harsh world outside. He took another sip of his tea, then turned his gaze back to you. “You know, before all this, I had a pretty normal life. A family, a daughter named Sarah. She was... everything to me.”

His voice carried a tinge of sadness, and you could see the pain in his eyes. You nodded, sensing the weight of his memories. “I’m sorry, Joel. I can’t even imagine.”

Joel’s expression was somber but grateful. “Thanks. She was everything. When the outbreak happened, she... she didn’t make it. It’s been hard, you know? Trying to keep going and make sense of it all.”

You felt a pang of sympathy for him, knowing how devastating such a loss could be. “I understand. I lost my fiancé in a storm during the outbreak. We were caught outside, and he was... gone before I could do anything.”

Joel’s eyes softened with empathy. “That’s so tough. I’m really sorry you went through that.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your own memories. “It was the storm that made me afraid of them. Every time the weather changes, it reminds me of that day. I try not to let it control me, but sometimes, it’s hard.”

Joel reached out, placing his hand gently on yours. “I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with that. It’s brave of you to face it every day.”

You looked at his hand on yours, feeling a comforting warmth from his touch. “It’s been a struggle, but having people like you around makes it a little easier.”

Joel nodded, his gaze steady. “We all have our battles. But we’ve found ways to keep moving forward. And maybe together, we can make those battles a little less daunting.”

+++++

The days turned into weeks, and your relationship with Joel grew stronger. The bond you shared was evident in the way you looked at each other and the ease with which you interacted. People in Jackson had noticed the change in both of you, and there was a sense of warmth and contentment surrounding your partnership.

One afternoon, as you were working in the infirmary, organizing supplies and checking on patients, Joel walked in. He had that familiar, easy smile on his face, and his presence was a comforting one amidst the hectic pace of the medical work.

“Hey,” he said, leaning against the doorway. “Thought I’d stop by and see how you’re doing.”

You looked up, your face lighting up at the sight of him. “Hey, Joel. Just busy as usual. How’s everything on the patrol?”

Joel shrugged, walking over to where you were working. “Not too bad. But I figured I’d come by and keep you company. I know you’ve been spending a lot of time here.”

You nodded, your smile softening. “Yeah, I’ve been needed here more often lately. But it’s good to see you.”

Joel moved closer, his hand reaching out to gently touch your arm. “I’ve missed you. It’s different when you’re not around.”

You felt a surge of affection at his words. “I’ve missed you too. But this is important. People need help, and I want to make sure I’m here for them.”

Joel nodded, understanding in his eyes. “I get it. Just remember to take care of yourself too. I’d hate to see you running on empty.”

You chuckled, appreciating his concern. “I’ll try. But having you here now brought a smile to my face.”

He smiled, his gaze lingering on you. “Well, I’m glad to be here. Can I help with anything?”

You thought for a moment, then nodded. “Actually, if you could help me restock some of these supplies, that would be great.”

Joel moved closer, his hand gently brushing against yours as he began helping with the supplies. The shared task created a comfortable silence between you, with only the soft sounds of organizing supplies filling the space.

As you worked side by side, Joel’s gaze lingered on you with an intensity that made your heart race. Without warning, he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours in a tender, affectionate kiss. The kiss was a sweet proof the connection you shared, and you responded with equal tenderness, savoring the closeness.

Just as the kiss deepened, the door to the infirmary swung open, and Dr. Ramirez walked in. Her eyes widened slightly at the sight of you and Joel but quickly masked her surprise with a professional smile.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, her tone warm but slightly teasing. “I came to check on things and see if you needed any help.”

You and Joel pulled away; a bit flustered but smiling nonetheless. “We were just finishing up,” you said, trying to sound casual. “Everything’s in order.”

Dr. Ramirez nodded, her gaze flicking between you and Joel with a knowing look. “Alright, if you need anything, just let me know.”

As she moved to her office, you glanced at Joel, your cheeks still slightly flushed. “Well, that was embarrassing.”

Joel chuckled, his hand still resting lightly on yours. “Yeah, but I guess it’s a good thing everyone know you’re my girl.”

You looked up at Joel, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I suppose it is. It’s nice to be able to be open about us."

Joel’s expression softened; his gaze warm. “It is. And I’m glad we don’t have to hide anymore.”

You squeezed his hand gently, feeling a sense of contentment. “Me too. It makes everything feel more real, more... solid.”

Joel nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “Do you want to have dinner at my place?” he asked.

You looked up at Joel, a smile spreading across your face at the thought of spending more time together. “Dinner at your place sounds wonderful. I’d love that.”

Joel’s face lit up with a warm smile. “Great. I’ll make sure to have something good ready for us.”

You both made your way to Joel’s place, the evening air cool and crisp. The walk was filled with easy conversation and shared laughter, a comforting routine that had become a cherished part of your days.

When you arrived at Joel’s house, he opened the door and gestured for you to enter. The interior was cozy, with soft lighting and a welcoming atmosphere. He led you to the kitchen, where a simple but inviting dinner was laid out on the table.

Joel’s cooking was surprisingly good, and as you enjoyed the meal together, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You talked about everything and nothing—your favorite memories, plans for the future, and the little things that made you both laugh.

After dinner, you moved to the living room, where Joel had set up a comfortable spot with blankets and pillows. You both settled in, the atmosphere relaxed and intimate.

Joel looked at you with a soft smile. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

You snuggled closer to him, feeling a deep sense of contentment. “Me too. Tonight has been perfect.”

He wrapped his arm around you, his touch warm and reassuring. “Here’s to many more nights like this.”

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. “I’d like that.”

As the evening wore on, you both talked about your past experiences and shared stories from before the outbreak. Joel spoke about his life before everything changed—his family, the dreams he had, and the struggles he faced. You shared your own experiences, including the loss of your fiancé and the challenges of adapting to this new world alone.

Joel listened intently, his hand occasionally brushing against yours as if to reassure you. “It’s amazing how much we’ve both been through,” he said softly. “And yet, here we are.”

You nodded, feeling a deep connection. “Yeah. It feels like we’re building something meaningful despite everything.”

After some time, you both decided it was time to call it a night. You stood up, stretching slightly as you gathered your things. Joel walked with you to the door, his presence a comforting constant.

As you reached the door, Joel hesitated for a moment, then gently grabbed your wrist, stopping you from leaving. He looked at you with a mix of hesitation and hope in his eyes. “I was wondering… would you like to spend the night here? It’s been nice having you around, and I’d love to have you stay.”

You looked at him, surprised but touched by the invitation. The warmth in his eyes and the sincerity of his voice made it hard to resist.

“I’d like that,” you said softly, a smile spreading across your face.

Joel’s expression brightened, and he pulled you into a gentle hug. “Great. Let’s get you settled in.”

Joel led you to his bedroom, a space that felt both lived-in and welcoming. The room was simple but comfortable, with a bed covered in worn but clean linens and a few personal touches that spoke to Joel’s character—photos of his family, a well-loved guitar leaning against the wall, and a small stack of books on the bedside table.

He gestured to the bed with a slightly sheepish grin. “Sorry, it’s not much, but it’s home.”

You smiled, feeling a sense of warmth and acceptance. “It’s perfect.”

Joel nodded, his expression softening. “I’m glad you think so.”

You both prepared for bed in comfortable silence, the familiarity of the routine helping to ease any lingering tension. Joel showed you where you could find anything you might need—extra blankets, a lamp for reading, and a small cabinet for any personal items you might want to keep nearby.

As you both settled into the bed, Joel turned off the lights, leaving only a soft glow from a nightlight on the dresser. He slipped under the covers, and you followed suit, the warmth and comfort of the bed providing a welcome respite from the day’s events.

Joel turned toward you, his eyes meeting yours in the dim light. “I’m really glad you’re here,” he said softly, his voice tender.

You smiled, feeling a sense of peace as you settled closer to him. “Me too. It feels right.”

He reached out and gently took your hand, interlocking your fingers. The simple gesture was filled with meaning, and you could feel the connection between you growing stronger.

“Goodnight,” Joel whispered, his voice carrying a note of affection.

“Goodnight,” you replied, your heart fluttering with contentment.

A few days later, you and Ellie were seated at a table in the bustling dining hall, enjoying a well-deserved lunch. The room was filled with the murmur of conversations and the clinking of utensils, creating a comforting background noise.

Ellie, always full of energy, was animatedly talking about a new comic she’d found. “You won’t believe this,” she said, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin, “but this one hero has the power to control weather. I’m telling you, if I had that power, I’d totally make it sunny all the time.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Sounds like you’ve been reading too many comics. But I suppose a bit of sunshine wouldn’t hurt.”

Ellie grinned, grabbing a bite of her sandwich. “True, true. But, seriously, how are things going with Joel? You two seem... really happy.”

You smiled, feeling a warm flush at her question. “We are. It’s been nice, spending time together. He’s been really supportive, and I think we’re figuring things out.”

Ellie’s eyes lit up, clearly pleased with your answer. “I’m glad to hear that. He’s been a lot happier since you two started spending more time together. It’s like he’s found a new spark.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of contentment. “It’s been good for both of us. We’re still taking things one step at a time, but it feels right.”

Ellie’s expression turned thoughtful. “I know it’s been rough with everything that’s happened, but it’s nice to see people finding happiness again. Especially you and Joel.”

You appreciated Ellie’s support and her ability to lighten the mood. “Thanks, Ellie. That means a lot.”

Ellie glanced around the dining hall, then back at you with a mischievous grin. “So, are you guys planning any big adventures together? Or just sticking to the small stuff for now?”

You laughed softly. “We’re sticking to the small stuff for now. Just enjoying the moments, we have together.” You paused, “I’m still a little bit scared of him waking up hating me again.”

Ellie’s eyes softened with understanding. “I get that. It’s natural to be scared after everything you’ve both been through. But you’re doing great, and Joel is different now. He’s not going to just wake up one day and hate you.”

You sighed, a mixture of relief and lingering concern in your expression. “I hope you’re right. Sometimes, it’s hard to shake that fear, especially after everything that’s happened.”

Ellie nodded thoughtfully. “I think you both just need to keep talking and being honest with each other. The more you communicate, the more you’ll build that trust. And remember, it’s okay to have those fears. It just means you care.”

You managed a small smile. “Thanks, Ellie. It’s reassuring to hear that.”

Ellie grinned and took a bite of her lunch. “Anytime. And if you ever need someone to talk to or just need a distraction, you know I’m here. We can have a comic marathon or something.”

You laughed, feeling the warmth of Ellie’s support. “That sounds like a plan. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

As you and Ellie finished your lunch, you stood up to clear your plates, the conversation easing into a comfortable silence. Just as you were about to head to the serving area, you suddenly felt two strong arms wrap around your middle, pulling you into a warm embrace. A soft, affectionate kiss was placed on your cheek, making you feel a surge of happiness and surprise.

You turned your head slightly, finding Joel’s smiling face close to yours. “Hey there,” he said, his voice full of warmth and affection. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, just wanted to steal a moment with you.”

Ellie watched with a grin, clearly pleased with the sight. “Looks like someone’s got a fan club.”

You blushed slightly, leaning into Joel’s embrace. “Hi, Joel. I was just catching up with Ellie.”

Joel’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his hand gently resting on your side. “I figured I’d come and see how you were doing. Plus, I wanted to see if you’d be up for a walk later.”

You smiled, feeling content in his arms. “A walk sounds nice. I’d love that.”

Joel nodded, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “Great. Let’s finish up here and head out.”

You and Joel exchanged a tender glance before you both started to clear your plates. Ellie gave you both a playful nudge. “I’ll leave you two to your walk. Enjoy, and remember, I’m always here if you need me.”

+++++++++++++

“So?” you asked, as Joel was smiling in complete silence.

“So what?” he asked without erasing that smile from his face.

“Aren’t you going to talk?”

Joel chuckled, his smile widening. “I guess I’m just enjoying the moment. It’s not every day I get to be this content.”

You raised an eyebrow, playfully nudging him. “Oh really? And why’s that?”

He looked at you, his gaze tender. “Because being with you like this, just walking and talking, it’s exactly what I’ve wanted. It’s simple and perfect.”

You smiled, feeling a warm glow from his words. “Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying it. So, what’s on your mind?”

Joel glanced around, taking in the scenery before meeting your eyes again. “I was thinking about how nice would be if you go to my place tonight. Ellie’s gonna spend the night with Dina and I want to spend the night with you.”

“That sounds wonderful,” you said with a smile. “I’d love to spend the night with you.”

Joel’s face lit up with a genuine smile, and he took your hand, gently squeezing it. “Great. I was hoping you’d say that.” He leaned and kiss you on the lips, “No I gotta go helping Tommy, see you later, sunshine”

You pouted, grabbing his hand before he could go anywhere “Wait? That was all?”

Joel chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I thought I’d surprise you with the invitation, and I wanted to make sure you knew how much I enjoy spending time with you.”

You raised an eyebrow, playfully teasing. “Well, I didn’t realize the evening was just an invitation and a kiss goodbye.”

Joel grinned, clearly amused. “Alright, alright. If you want more, I guess I’ll have to come up with something better.” He pulled you into another kiss, this one longer and more lingering.

You smiled against his lips as you pulled away. “That’s more like it. But seriously, I was looking forward to spending time with you.”

Joel’s gaze softened, and he cupped your face gently. “I’m looking forward to it too. Just had to help Tommy out with something. I promise, I’ll make up for it.”

You nodded, still holding onto his hand. “I’ll hold you to that. See you later, Joel.”

He gave you one last smile before heading out, leaving you with a warm feeling and the anticipation of the evening ahead.

+++++++++++++

When you arrived at Joel's place, the sun had just dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow across the surroundings. Joel greeted you at the door with a welcoming smile and a quick, affectionate kiss.

"Hey, glad you could make it," he said, taking your coat and hanging it up. "I’ve got a few things planned, but we can start with something simple if you’d like."

You stepped inside, feeling the comforting familiarity of Joel’s home. “I’m sure whatever you’ve got planned will be perfect,” you replied, smiling at him.

Joel led you into the living room, where he’d set up a cozy area with blankets and cushions. The room was softly lit by lamps, and the atmosphere was inviting and warm. A few candles were flickering on the coffee table, casting a gentle glow.

“I figured we could start with some dinner and then maybe just talk or something else” Joel suggested, his eyes reflecting the soft light.

You nodded, feeling content with the simple but thoughtful setup. “That sounds great.”

Joel moved to the kitchen and returned shortly with a plate of homemade food—something comforting and hearty. He set it down on the table, then joined you on the couch.

As you both ate, the conversation flowed easily, just like it had during your earlier moments together. You talked about your days, your plans, and even some light-hearted topics. Joel’s presence was reassuring, and you felt completely at ease.

After dinner, Joel suggested putting on some music. He rummaged through his collection, finally settling on a classic that he thought you’d enjoy. You both snuggled up under the blankets, the music playing softly in the background.

Joel occasionally glanced at you, his hand resting casually on your knee. The song played, but most of your attention was focused on the comfort of being next to him, the warmth of his touch, and the quiet contentment that filled the room.

Joel turned to you, his gaze tender. “You know, I’m really glad we’re doing this. Just being here with you, it feels right.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “I feel the same way.”

Joel’s hand moved to gently brush your hair back from your face. “What’s your biggest fear?” he asked out of the blue?

You sighed, leaving his gaze for a moment “You waking up and forgetting you love me”

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly at your answer, a mix of concern and curiosity in his eyes. “Why would you think that? I don’t see any reason why that would happen.”

You took a deep breath, feeling vulnerable as you shared your fear. “It’s just….you knew I told you we didn’t get along before, in fact you hated me, Joel.”

Joel’s eyes softened as he listened to your concern. He took a moment before responding, his voice steady and reassuring. “I know things weren’t easy between us before. And yeah, I didn’t handle things the best way back then. But that’s in the past. What matters now is how we are right now.”

He reached out and gently took your hand in his. “The truth is, I’ve changed. And I see you differently now. I see you for who you are, and I realize how much you mean to me. Whatever those old feelings were? They’re gone. What we have now is real, and I’m committed to it.”

You looked into his eyes, searching for the truth in his words. “But what if one day you wake up and those old feelings come back? What if something changes?”

Joel shook his head, his gaze intense and full of conviction. “I don’t believe that’ll happen. I’ve come to understand how much you mean to me, and how deeply I care about you.”

He squeezed your hand gently, his expression earnest. “I’m not going to let those fears control us. We’re building something strong, and I want to keep building it with you. I’m here, and I’m committed to making sure we have a future together.”

You felt a wave of relief and warmth at his words. “Thank you, Joel. That really means a lot to me.”

Joel smiled softly, leaning in to kiss your forehead. “I’m glad. And if you ever need reassurance, just ask. I’m always here to remind you of how much you mean to me.”

You nestled closer to him, feeling a deep sense of comfort and closeness. The fears that had been troubling you began to fade as you focused on the warmth of his embrace and the sincerity in his voice.

Joel’s gaze lingered on yours, his eyes filled with a mix of tenderness and resolve. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours. The kiss was gentle at first, a careful exploration of newfound trust and affection.

As the kiss deepened, it became more passionate, conveying all the emotions and reassurances that words alone couldn’t fully capture. Joel’s hand cupped your face, his touch warm and reassuring as he pressed closer.

You responded to the kiss, your own hands moving to rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The kiss felt like a promise, a shared understanding of where you both stood and where you hoped to go.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads touching as you gazed into each other’s eyes. The room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in this moment of closeness.

Joel’s smile was soft, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I needed to do that. To show you just how much you mean to me.”

You smiled back, your heart full. “I needed that too.”

Joel gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch lingering.

After that, everything happened in a flash. Neither of you realized when you removed your clothes, but there was too much desperation in your touch; you wanted to discover how his fingers could leave a mark on you, tracing invisible lines across your body.

He kissed you again, slipping his tongue past your lips, gasping when he felt your fingers running your fingertips across his bare chest, tracing the lines of a map leading to where you couldn’t stop.

With one of your hands, you pulled him down by his neck to hold you against your lips again. Once you tasted them, you couldn’t get over the taste of them over yours, and you couldn’t get over the whimpers he left in your mouth.

He was hovering over you, giving you a passionate kiss. He was between your legs, exactly where you wanted him.

He pulled his lips away from yours for a moment to glance down at you. To appreciate the features of your face and the nature of your body to admire the features of your face, and the nature of your body being displayed just for him right now. You felt the crimson color rushing up to your checks and for a moment you felt embarrassed under his stare, but he smiled at you.

“You look beautiful”. He swallowed hard, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

His hands on your tights only increased the sparks in the place you wanted him the most, you wanted to follow the path even when you knew it was leading to a treacherous destination.

You continued kissing slowly as he caressed your thighs with his gently touch, as he wanted to worship your body and devour every single sound coming out from your mouth. He kissed you down over your neck, kissing, nipping your skin between his teeth.

And God, he loved the way you were making him feel. The fact this time was different to everything you had experiencing before. At this moment, you weren’t driving for only passionate reasons, but for caring feelings for each other. You weren’t in a rush and that turned him on. He was hard for you and he wanted to meet where religion was, between your thighs.

This time he was making love because he had drowned himself on your religion.

Both of you gasped aloud the moment he began to push slowly inside you. His hands reached for yours, interlocking them as he kissed you softly, muttering, "You're so beautiful like this". He was mesmerized by the way you were nervously giggling and cocking your head back in delight. He bit your neck, prompting your hands to move up to his neck, and his hands ran down your entire body without a layer of clothing on you, focusing on every thrust and diving deep to ensure he was making you happy.

You opened your eyes and stared back at him, entirely focused on you. You couldn't help but roll your eyes as his hands massaged your breasts while he continued to devour your lips. Your back arched, followed by a moan against his lips. Every thrust felt so fantastic, you couldn't help but think you were in the celestial realm You could tell you were getting closer as you squeezed him and kept your gaze fixed on each other. He pushed harder, one hand caressing your cheek and the other gripping your knee to guarantee you fell apart.

The noises you made drove him insane, as he felt himself reaching the edge of the cliff. He wanted to stare at you under him as you came and with a loud gasp, he did it at the same time falling over your exposed chest, your heartbeats mingling.

You moaned softly beneath him, and Joel raised his head to look at you, flashing him a cute smile he hadn't tired of, as you kissed him on the lips.

"I love you so much," he replied, gazing at you with admiration. “I’m so in love with you.”

I love you.

I’m so in love with you.

Those three words were echoing in the shadows of your mind. Your expression softened and you felt your blood rushing. You were sure they had had an impact on you.

“And I love you so much” you whispered back, your voice trembling slightly with the depth of your emotion.

Joel’s expression softened even further, and he brushed a tender kiss against your lips once more. The connection between you was undeniable, a blend of passion and deep affection that had grown stronger with each passing day.

You rested your head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong beneath you. The world outside seemed distant and unimportant in the warmth of his embrace. For a moment, everything felt perfect, and you allowed yourself to fully embrace the love and happiness you had found with Joel.

Joel gently ran his fingers through your hair, his touch soothing. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we?”

You nodded, your eyes closing as you savored the moment. “Yeah, we have. And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Joel’s arms tightened around you, pulling you closer. “Neither would I. Here’s to more moments like this, and to whatever the future holds for us.”

You smiled, feeling a deep sense of contentment and anticipation for what was to come. “To us,” you agreed, your heart full of love and hope.

+++++++++++

The soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room. You stirred, waking up with a smile on your face. The previous night’s intimacy and love still lingered, and you turned to look at Joel. He was sleeping peacefully beside you, a contented expression on his face.

As you watched him, you felt a surge of happiness and affection. You reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from his forehead, your heart full of love for him.

But as Joel’s eyes fluttered open and he met your gaze, his expression shifted dramatically. His sparkly brown eyes filled with love, widened in horror, and a look of confusion and fear crossed his face. He pushed himself up, scrambling back slightly.

“What...What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, his voice trembling with a mix of shock and fear.

You were taken aback, your smile faltering as you tried to make sense of his reaction. “Joel, what’s wrong?”

No. It couldn’t be that, right?

Joel’s eyes were filled with a pained realization. “Oh my god, you came to my house trying to seduce me into sleeping with you?”

You felt a sharp pang of pain at his words, and your heart dropped. The warmth you had felt earlier was replaced by a cold, unsettling feeling.

“No, Joel, that’s not what happened,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the hurt. “We’re in love”

He chuckled. “In love? Me in love with you? I could never” he said.

Your chest tightened, and the hurt in Joel’s words felt like a physical blow. You struggled to keep your composure, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill.

“Joel, you can’t mean that,” you said, your voice shaking. “Last night, you said you loved me. We shared something real.”

Joel’s expression was a mix of confusion and pain. “I don’t remember saying that. Last night I was with Lori”

That’s it. You were back at were you used to be.

The weight of Joel’s words hit you like a punch to the gut. You felt a mix of betrayal and heartache, as the realization sank in. The warmth and affection from the night before felt like a cruel illusion.

“So, what? You’re saying last night meant nothing?” you asked. The tears you had been holding back finally spilled over. “You really don’t remember? You don’t remember how we talked, how you told me you loved me?”

“I don’t love you.” He said, sternly.

“But I’m your sunshine” you sobbed.

Joel’s laughter pierced through you like a blade, and you could barely stand the weight of the realization. Each word he spoke seemed to tear away at the fabric of your heart, unraveling the dream you’d clung to so desperately.

The room felt colder, the air heavier, as you fought to control your sobs. Every touch, every shared moment that had once seemed so real was now reduced to nothing more than painful echoes of a memory that never truly existed.

He didn’t remember the stealing glances, the kisses, the touches and the promises than now seemed to fade with the cruel destiny meeting the ending meant to be.

You had taken a risk at falling in love with the version of a Joel who loved you back, and he didn’t exist anymore. He had faded just when he had told you he loved you.

He didn’t remember falling in love with you, he didn’t remember all the time you spent together, and he didn’t remember loving you, but you didn’t think this would hurt this much.

“Joel” you said, pleading him to remember.

“Out.” He said, gritting his teeth.  

You stood there, the pain in your chest almost unbearable, as Joel's harsh words echoed around you. The warmth and affection you had shared just hours before now seemed like a cruel illusion, shattered by his denial.

"Joel, please," you said, your voice trembling. "Just think about everything we shared. It was real."

Joel’s eyes were hard, and he crossed his arms defensively. “I don't remember any of it. And I can't fake feelings I don't have.”

You felt a deep, profound sadness, the weight of his words making it almost impossible to breathe. The life you had envisioned, the love you had felt, seemed to slip away like sand through your fingers.

“Please, just—” you tried to reason with him, but the look in his eyes made it clear that any further pleading was futile.

Joel’s expression remained firm, a mix of regret and frustration. “Everything I know is that you took advantage of me.”

The sting of Joel's words cut deep, each one echoing the finality of a dream you had cherished. The accusation of taking advantage of him felt like a betrayal, intensifying the emotional agony you were already struggling with.

You took a shaky breath, trying to hold onto the fragments of your composure. "Joel, I never did that. We have something—"

Joel interrupted; his voice cold. "I don’t want to hear it. You need to leave. Now."

The finality in his tone left no room for argument. With a heart heavy with sorrow, you nodded, unable to find the words that might change his mind.

You were only on one of his shirts, trying to find your clothes.

You stumbled through the room, your movements disjointed as you searched for your clothes. The pain and confusion made every action feel like an immense effort. Joel’s gaze remained fixed on you, his face a mask of distant resolve.

You found your jeans, but it was crumpled and stained, and you struggled to put it on with trembling hands. The fabric felt rough against your skin, a stark contrast to the comfort you had felt just hours before. You glanced around for your other belongings, the room now feeling foreign and unwelcoming.

“I... I can’t find my blouse,” you said again, your voice a whisper filled with desperation and trembling.

Joel’s eyes flicked to you briefly before he spoke with a tone that brooked no argument. “Don’t worry about it. Just wear my shirt. I won’t wear it again.” His voice was cold and icy, not more softness as when they used to whisper things on your ear.

The coldness in his words made it clear that there was no room for negotiation or further conversation. You nodded numbly, the shirt you were already wearing now feeling like a heavy shroud setting your skin on fire.

As you finished dressing, you glanced around the room one last time, trying to memorize the space you were leaving behind. The sight of the room, so filled with the promise you fooled yourself onto believing.

There was an intensified the ache in your chest.

Joel stood by the door, his posture rigid as if he were bracing himself for something. His eyes didn’t meet yours, focusing instead on some distant point. The silence between you was heavy with the weight of the broken bond that never existed.

As you pulled on your shoes, your heart cracked completely sank in deeper. You looked up, meeting Joel’s eyes one last time.

“Joel, I’m sorry for everything,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I never meant to cause any harm. I just wanted—”

Joel cut you off with a slight nod, his face still set in a hard expression. “Just go. Please.”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat almost making it impossible to speak. The intensity of Joel's gaze, filled with a mixture of pain and indifference, made it clear that any further words would be futile.

With one last, lingering look at him and the room that just yesterday had witnessed three empty words that now didn’t meant anything, you turned and made your way down the hall. Each step felt like a weight lifting off your shoulders, even as the burden of what you were leaving behind pressed heavily on your heart.

As you reached the front door, the cool morning air hit you, providing a stark contrast to the warmth you had felt just hours before. The quiet outside was a jarring reminder of the world that continued, indifferent to the personal turmoil you were experiencing.

With every step, you tried to reconcile the reality you faced with the memories of what you had thought was true, a momentary field of dreams. The pain was sharp and immediate. How would you continue life after losing another love?

+++++++

[vampmira]

loved you then, loved you now!

parenting hcs w/ hank five !

paring(s): dad!five x mother!reader, familial!hanks & mother!reader

warning(s): slight realization spoilers (?) kinda

request: here !

a/n: I HAVEN'T GOTTEN TO THE REALIZATION STUFF YET BUT I HAVE SEEN /SOME/ SPOILERS so take all of this lightly !

arguably more emotional about the pregnancy than you are

he's the type to absolutely sob . all the time

cries when you tell him, cries when he tells the hanks, cries when the bump starts showing

lucky that you and two make sure he stays hydrated

that afternoon, your beloved had invited you out on a bike ride in the morning, but to be safe, you had decided to take another pregnancy test before bed... who knew this would be the one? the one that would send five into a bundle of tears, calling the boys and twirling you around with the biggest smile. even now, the wind outside almost sounded like gentle applause for the two of you. five laid beside you in bed as the moon climbed higher in the sky, hand on your stomach as he nuzzled his cheek against your shoulder.

"you're gonna be a mom." he whispered, as if being any louder would startle you. waterworks came fast, the both of you excitedly spooning each other as his voice cracked. "..and i'm gonna be a dad!"

he is so cautious over you

because oh my god what if something happens to you ?? or the baby ?? under his watch ????? ABSOLUTELY not

he'd carry in groceries with 4 bags in his left hand and 7 in his right just so that you wouldn't have to carry anything

"extreme grocery lifting" he calls it

need something from another room? he's looking for it already

you can't even process if you dropped something because he's already picked it up for you

hank's taking care of you all the way to the birth – a real gentleman (bare minimum.. but a gentleman still)

if you think he cried a lot before? he'd sob his eyes out the most then

HE'S THAT TIKTOK OF THAT FATHER WHO SAT BEHIND HIS WIFE DURING LABOR INSTEAD OF USING THE YOGA BALL 😭😭

if you haven't seen it: you rlly should

he's holding your hand through the whole thing and YES HE'S DEFINITELY FREAKED OUT BY THE BLOOD but he would distract himself and you by guiding your breathing

he's hugging you immediately when the doctors safely have the baby, blood and sweat and tears and all

in my (as the author) very correct opinion, he is a boy & girl dad

LISTEN.

your son was born first – little hank zero !

he inherited that tanned skin from his dad like your genes weren't even in the playing field

nine months carrying this baby, making you suffer, and he looks like his himbo dad /ref

this baby is very much his son like theres no denying it

you and the hanks were all sat on the floor of the living room, telly playing some currently ignored baby sensory video in the background. after 7 months of tummy time, hank zero – or junior, legally .. or roro if you ask his uncle, hank four – had finally, finally rolled over! all by himself!! the older hanks' eyes were watery, sparkling with pride as they looked on at the little guy. five held him up to the room with unbridled joy like baby simba.

"gnarlyy!!" they all cheered, fists pumping the air, and it almost sounded like he cheered with them, clapping in his father's embrace.

your daughter would be born next – 2 years after junior

they couldn't hold back the hankette and -1 hank jokes even if they tried (they tried) ((they lasted an hour))

but you chose a name closer to yours, helping that individuality shine from an early age

he would be the one to want a family disney trip when that baby wouldn't remember a second of it 😭

a family trip anywhere really,, he loves the photos he gets to take

the family trip to the waterpark when junior's first words came out on the kiddie slides

(the sound of that little "whee!!" from the video that hank one took still makes him cry)

the four of you in the hospital bed with junior holding his sister was his lockscreen for years and no one could make him change it

the summer trip in front of the grand canyon would be tacked up on the fridge next to your daughter's recent fingerpainting of what he tells you is a zipline

junior is constantly surrounded by loving uncles playing games with him, especially when little league baseball came into his life

"let's go, junior!!" you cheered from the bleachers, your daughter's legs bouncing off your stressed knee. the game was so close – your 9y/o's team trying their hardest to keep up with their competition. junior, his dark brown curls barely visible underneath his helmet, confidently pitched the ball down the field, you and the hanks alike watching with baited breaths. the crowd slowly stood in sync, watching the game unfold in front of you. the children ran, some parents cheered, a child tripped and then ... that was it!

your daughter was lifted into the air by her father as the crowd cheered for the team's win. YOUR son threw the winning pitch!! you couldn't be prouder!! he couldn't help but run to the fense, grabbing your hand through the wiring.

"i did it, mama! i did it! didja see me!?" his chipped tooth accented his smile. "i was totally gnarly, right!?" five came to crouch beside you, hand up against the fense. "dad, that was gnarly, right!?"

"gnarly? buddy, you were the SICKEST kid out there!! hey, go catch up with your bros!! you TOTALLY deserve some ice cream after this!" junior cheered wildly, jumping and hitting the fence, before running to celebrate with his teammates and coach. five stood up with you, teary eyed with your daughter still cheering on his shoulders. "babe.. he was so.. so sick." (a/n: sobbing.)

he's just as excited with your baby girl's activities

when baseball took up half your lives, softball took up the other half

but, sporty or not, he'd support her wholeheartedly

it was a fun couple of years, but it wasn't the end of the world when the 5y/o started to show interest in piano

the little keyboard she got for her birthday would cause a bunch of ruckus whenever she got her hands on it

but you've definitely seen hank asleep next to her as she pressed at the keys

she'd slowly start to play actual pieces once she turned 9 and got actual lessons

every little rehearsal, every recital, he and you would always be front row – ready with his go-pro and a rose

he'd. always. bring a rose.

debussy's "clair de lune" echoed through the auditorium, as it has in your home as she's practiced for the last month. she's spent weeks preparing for this winter recital and you and your family watched excitedly as she carefully carried out her part of the preformance. her ponytail of dark brown curls rested against her back, a bright green bow, hand selected by her father, contrasting her concert black dress. you'd catch a glimpse of hank's camers here and there, the quality bound to be nostalgic in a couple years from now, when you hear a tiny sniffle. it takes a lot in your to hold back your fond giggle when you realize the tear rolling down his cheek.

"you okay, honey?" you whispered, tucking a collection of curls behind his ear. he sutbly chuckles, holding your hand against his chest.

"couldn't be better, babe." a sigh left his lips, the fondest smile upon them as your daughter sparkled in your eyes. "our little girl.. is so radical." you only hoped that was heard in the recording .. maybe something sweet to show to her when she gets older.

parenting, and parenting with you especially, has to be the most extreme sport he's ever done

he wakes up everyday ready to bring his a-game

there are .. hard days, of course

like the days your baby girl comes home from school with, not just math homework, but math homework with LETTERS.

or the days junior sits quietly in the backseat after a losing baseball game

or the mornings they just. can't. seem. to stop fighting with each other

but those, in his heart, are nothing compared to your surfing-filled beach trips

or the holidays when the hanks pull out all the stops and spoil the two in gifts – even when they grow into teenagers

or those weekends when he gets to see the three of you asleep and cuddled up on the couch – a sight he hasn't seen since his little hankette was a newborn

that? he wouldn't trade for the world.

[girlkisser13]

the young justice characters’ favorite ways to kiss you

characters: artemis crock, conner kent, kaldur’ahm, m’gann m’orzz, richard "dick" grayson, wallace "wally" west, and zatanna zatara.

artemis crock

shoulder kisses

• artemis isn’t big on grand displays of affection, but she loves giving you shoulder kisses when you're both relaxing on the couch. it’s her way of being close without making a big deal out of it.

• she likes to leave kisses all over your shoulders when the two of you are resting in between training sessions. it’s her way of encouraging you during training.

• after a tough mission, she often gives you a quick shoulder kiss, especially if she notices you're tense or worried. it's her way of reassuring you that everything's okay and that she's here.

• artemis understands that sometimes words aren't necessary. when you're deep in thought or working on something, she'll give you a shoulder kiss as a silent show of support and encouragement.

• during quiet, everyday moments, she develops a routine of giving you a soft kiss on the shoulder when she walks past you, making sure her affection becomes a regular part of your day. <33

conner kent

angel kisses

• this is one of the softest kisses, one that is filled with affection and nothing but love. he’s careful with his strength, so his angel kisses are soft and gentle, as if he's afraid of hurting you.

• when he wakes up before you, he would gently kiss each of your eyelids and let you sleep in while he makes breakfast.

• to him, you are his world, and he treats you the best, just like you deserve it. waking up to him by your side and him kissing you softly on your eyelids is absolute heaven.

• he gives you these kisses to stop you from crying, kissing away at your tears as he rubs at your cheeks with his thumbs.

• there's something so pure about the way conner gives angel kisses. he’s not always the best with words, but these light, loving touches speak volumes about how much you mean to him. <33

kaldur’ahm

hand kisses

• kaldur is very fond of hand kisses. his type of hand kisses are oddly specific, to the point where you find yourself anticipating every single one.

• he’ll first start off with a rather shy touch, grazing his finger tips against yours, almost as if he’s asking for permission.

• when you do give him the go signal, he’ll kiss your finger tips first, then he’ll quickly go higher to the first joint of your fingers, and then finally— he’ll press a kiss onto your knuckles, humming just a bit.

• in atlantean culture, hand kisses symbolize trust and loyalty, making the gesture feel even more intimate and significant when he does it.

• over time, hand kisses become a small ritual between the two of you— something that is uniquely yours. <33

m’gann m’orzz

cheek kisses

• m'gann is naturally sweet and a bit shy when it comes to expressing her feelings. cheek kisses are her go-to gesture when she wants to show affection without being too forward. her kisses are always gentle, with a touch of bashfulness.

• she loves the way you let out a chuckle or giggle when she does it. the sound of your laughter just makes her heart soar, she wants to keep doing it to see you smile.

• m'gann believes in you wholeheartedly. whenever you're about to do something important or challenging, she'll give you a quick cheek kiss for luck and encouragement.

• when she's feeling playful, m'gann will surprise you with a kiss to your cheek out of nowhere. she enjoys the way you smile or blush in response, and her own cheeks turn slightly pink as she laughs softly.

• when you're cuddled up together, she often snuggles close, pressing soft kisses to your cheeks. it’s a tender, loving gesture that makes you feel safe and cherished in her embrace. <33

richard "dick" grayson

neck kisses

• dick ADORES kissing you on your neck. whenever his lips touch that specific spot on your neck and he paints your skin with blooming marks like petals, it never cease to make his whole being feel full and complete.

• he likes sneak up on you and surprise you with a light, teasing kiss on your neck. he enjoys seeing your reaction, especially if it makes you shiver or blush.

• when you wake up together, he often trails lazy kisses down your neck as you’re both waking up. it’s a warm, tender way to start the day.

• if he ever feels like you’re in danger or stressed, his kisses on your neck are more intense and lingering, almost like he’s reassuring himself that you’re safe.

• sometimes, he’ll kiss your neck just to make you laugh, especially if you’re ticklish. he loves the sound of your laughter and how it fills the room.

• after returning from a mission, when he’s still in his nightwing suit, he’ll often pull you close, press his forehead to yours, and kiss your neck, letting the tension from the night melt away in your arms. <33

wallace "wally" west

forehead kisses

• wally’s the lovable, wholesome goofball who would say yes to kissing you at every opportunity. when he greets you in the morning in bed, a kiss to the forehead before the lips. before you leave for a mission? another one to the forehead.

• he loves to interrupt you when you speak to him and just keeps on giving you kisses. he would hold you close to him on the subway or the bus and give you kisses in public to show others that you are taken.

• he often gives you a forehead kiss when he’s about to zoom off on a mission. it’s his quick and silent way of saying, "i’ll be back soon."

• after a tough fight, when the adrenaline is still pumping, he always makes sure to check on you first. he’ll brush back your hair, kiss your forehead, and breathe a sigh of relief, happy that you’re safe.

• on quiet nights when it’s just the two of you, wally loves lying beside you, tracing patterns on your skin. he’ll lean in, give you a gentle kiss on the forehead, and whisper sweet nothings, making the moment feel intimate and special. <33

zatanna zatara

lip kisses

• zatanna’s kisses are excited and passionate. she kisses you like she can’t get enough of you, pulling you impossibly close.

• girlie likes to takes her time with you, savoring each moment, and you can feel her smile against your lips when she’s particularly happy.

• sometimes she’ll giggle between kisses, or even better, against your lips, and then pull away with a bright smile on her face as she hugs you close, pressing more kisses to your cheeks and face.

• she enjoys catching you off guard with surprise kisses. she’ll teleport right in front of you and press her lips against yours before you even realize she’s there.

• she LOVES to tease you. it seems like every time she pulls away, the corners of her lips curl into a smirk. but you notice it— you see how affected she is by the slight blush covering her cheeks. after she pulls away, she keeps her face close to yours, looking at you through her half-lidded eyes. she tucks your hair behind your ear so you can’t hide your pretty face from her. <33

[theonottsbxtch]

THE WING DOWN THE HALL | FC43

an: the third installment in this universe! ladies and gentlemen, theys and gays, please give it up for paramedic!franco. i'm not sure if you'll be able to tell, but i slightly lost inspo for this halfway through lol, i'm super excited to get through the others in this universe

wc: 12k

summary: a paramedic who hides soft worry behind loud grins & teasing words. a quiet nurse who forgot the sound of her own voice. a golden labrador who watches it all with knowing eyes. and the slow, patient kind of love that feels safe enough to stay. not a story of grand gestures. just one of small kindnesses, shared silences, and learning, gently, that you are not a burden to the right person.

uniformed hearts masterlist

Franco hadn’t meant to stay. It was meant to be a year, maybe two, enough time to study, to practise his English, to live in a place where the sky changed colours more often than the menu in the cantine did. London had been too much, all noise and elbows, but here it was manageable. Grey mornings, decent bread, strangers who didn’t ask too many questions. He’d blinked, and five years had gone by.

He still missed the heat sometimes. The dry, humming kind that stuck to your skin and made everything taste like salt and sun. Here, even the summers felt like apologies, tepid days with hesitant skies, quick to fold into drizzle. But there was a kind of softness in the air too. In the streets that held memories he hadn’t made yet. In the language that still caught him out when he was tired. In the job, most of all.

Being a paramedic made sense to him in a way nothing else had. Not at school, not at uni, not in the flat he shared with two mates who still lived like they were nineteen. But out in the van, with the lights low and the radio humming, it felt like something. Like purpose. Like clarity. It wasn’t just about saving people, though that was the part everyone asked about. It was about being there when it mattered. Showing up. Doing what you could.

And he was good at showing up. Good at quick smiles and quicker hands. Good at defusing tension with a joke, even if half of them were terrible. He flirted like it was breathing, light, constant, mostly harmless. Patients, coworkers, the woman at the corner shop who sold him lucozade on the way to a shift. It wasn’t about anything, not really. Just connection. Just warmth. Just something to fill the space.

The hospital was a blur of harsh lights and tired voices, and Franco moved through it like a spark. He knew which vending machine still had decent chocolate, which doors jammed if you didn’t kick them just right, which nurses were up for a laugh and which ones would tell him to bugger off before he finished his sentence.

And she didn’t do either.

She was quiet, not the cold kind, just soft. Like silence that asked nothing of you. Always in pale scrubs, hair tucked away, voice low and even. She never rolled her eyes at his flirting, but never played into it either. Just looked at him like she saw right through the act, and didn’t mind it, but didn’t buy it.

He found himself looking for her between calls. Not in a big way. Just noticing. Wondering if she was on shift. Wondering if she’d say his name in that voice that was gentle no matter how tired she sounded. Wondering what it might take to make her laugh.

She liked the early shifts best. The hospital was quieter then, not silent, but softer around the edges. Fewer footsteps. Fewer raised voices. Just the low hum of monitors and the rustle of bedsheets as the night began to fade. Sometimes, if the timing was right, she could make a cup of tea and drink half of it while it was still hot. That was enough, most mornings.

Nursing hadn’t been a childhood dream. She wasn’t the type who played doctor with dolls or bandaged up pets. It came later, slow and steady, like most of her choices. Sixth form had been a blur of pressure and personal statements, and nursing had felt useful. Like something you could carry with you. Something solid. Something she could return. She liked knowing things, remembering things, how long a cannula had been in, which patients couldn’t tolerate codeine, which porter liked ginger biscuits. She liked being someone people could rely on.

The job had changed her, in ways she hadn’t expected. Not hardened her. But sharpened, maybe. She could handle blood now, and shouting, and grief so thick it turned the air sour. What still got to her were the quiet ones. The ones who didn’t make a fuss. The ones who said sorry for being in the way, even as they clutched their chests or shook with pain.

That was what Franco never seemed to understand. He swept in like a breeze, all charm and colour and easy smiles. Always with some joke on his lips, some wink for whoever happened to be looking. He was good at his job, she’d give him that. Quick on his feet, calm under pressure. But loud, always loud. Like the silence made him itch.

He called her nurse sometimes, even though he knew her name. Said it with that grin like he was trying to be cheeky. She never corrected him. Just let it hang between them, like most things.

She didn’t dislike him. Not at all. But he unsettled something in her, a quiet part, the bit that liked going unnoticed. He made people laugh in corridors and flirted with receptionists and knew exactly how to charm his way past triage delays. And yet. He held old ladies’ hands when they were frightened. He remembered which patients liked to be spoken to slowly, which ones needed someone to listen more than fix. Spotted out the nervous Spanish speakers who’d ease at the sound of their mother tongue. She’d seen it, even if he thought she hadn’t.

She never quite knew what to say to him. He was all noise and light. She was made of quieter things. Tea that didn’t go cold. Clean sheets. A steady hand on a shaking shoulder. They didn’t move at the same pace.

But sometimes, she’d find herself glancing towards the double doors when she heard the wheels of a stretcher coming in. Just in case it was him.

It was just past half four that morning when he walked in, not with a patient, this time, just a clipboard and a half-eaten flapjack in one hand.

“Thought I’d drop this off,” he said, lifting the clipboard as though it were a peace offering. “Before I forget. Again.”

She didn’t look up straight away, focused on double-checking a set of obs. Quiet murmurs drifted from the bay behind her, the ward still wrapped in that early-morning haze where everything felt a bit too warm and a bit too slow.

When she finally turned, it was with that same unreadable calm. “You could’ve handed it in at reception.”

“I could’ve,” he agreed, smiling like he’d done it on purpose. “But then I wouldn’t get to see your face, would I?”

She didn’t blush. But there was the smallest shift in her expression, something close to amusement, or maybe disbelief. Her pen paused mid-air.

“You know that doesn’t work on me,” she said mildly.

“Doesn’t it?” He leaned his elbows on the counter, shameless. “I thought I saw the corner of a smile there. Almost.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Probably. Sleep-deprived. Could be hallucinating. Or maybe you just don’t want to admit you like me.”

She looked at him then and for a second, the usual noise of the ward seemed to dim. He wasn’t wearing his usual grin. Not quite. Something in his eyes had softened, just for a moment. Like he wasn’t teasing so much as hoping.

But she only said, “I think you like hearing yourself talk more than anything.”

He laughed, bright and easy, like she’d handed him a gift.

“Guilty,” he said. “But you do bring out my best material.”

She turned back to her notes, lips twitching despite herself.

“Go hand in your paperwork, Franco.”

“Aye aye, nurse,” he said, and gave her a little mock salute before heading off, flapjack still in hand.

She didn’t watch him go. Just glanced at the clock, then back at the vitals in front of her. But there was a warmth in her chest that hadn’t been there a moment ago. Barely noticeable. Like the first flicker of heat before the kettle boils.

She’d smiled at him. Not a big one, not even really a smile, if he was being honest. But something had shifted in her face, just for a second. And it had landed in his chest like a dropped pebble, sending out ripples he was still feeling three corridors later.

Franco tossed the clipboard onto the admin desk and made a vague attempt at finishing his flapjack, though it had gone a bit dry and crumbly now. He wasn’t really hungry anymore.

He didn’t know what it was about her. It wasn’t like he hadn’t met quiet ones before. Hospitals were full of them, tired eyes, steady hands, people who kept everything locked up behind calm expressions and neat uniforms. But there was something in the way she moved through the world. Like she wasn’t just quiet, she was still. Unbothered. Like nothing rushed her, not even time.

He liked the challenge of it, maybe. Or he told himself that, anyway. The way she never gave him an inch. Never flustered, never snapped, never flirted back. He couldn’t quite tell if she disliked him or just didn’t think about him much at all.

But then again, she hadn’t told him to piss off, either. That counted for something.

Still. He wasn’t in a rush. These things either unfolded or they didn’t. He could wait.

And for a little while, that was all there was.

A week later he saw her in the corridor, half a step ahead, walking beside a consultant who was talking too fast and too loud. She nodded at the right moments, but her eyes were tired. He thought about catching up, saying something, even just a quick hello, but the corridor narrowed where the gurney trolleys lined the wall, and by the time he caught up, she’d already turned left into the side ward.

Three days after that, she passed him in the car park, hood up, hands in her coat pockets. It was raining, that thin, misty kind that made everything damp without looking dramatic. Franco had just finished nights and was blinking against the dull light, head fuzzy.

She didn’t see him. Or maybe she did and didn’t say anything. He thought about calling out, waving, maybe, but she had that look about her. The closed-off one. The one that said today’s not the day.

He let her walk on.

The following Wednesday, he brought in a teenager with a panic attack. The kid was shaking so badly he couldn’t hold a cup of water. Franco stayed longer than he had to, just until the boy’s breathing evened out. She was there too, calm, efficient, offering reassurances in that quiet voice that made people believe her.

She didn’t look at Franco once. But when the lad finally managed a shaky nod, her eyes flicked over to him, just for a second, and that was enough.

Somewhere between the shifting rotas and the half-said things, Franco realised he’d stopped trying to flirt. Not because he’d lost interest, quite the opposite. It just didn’t feel right anymore. Not with her.

He didn’t want to be another joke to her. Another loud voice in a noisy room. He wanted her to know that he’d seen her, not just the soft words and the kindness, but the steel underneath it too.

But he didn’t know how to say that.

So instead, he waited.

It had been a long night when she’d let herself in with her shoulder, the door sticking like it always did when it rained. The flat smelled like fabric softener and dog biscuits, faint, familiar. Safe.

Bruno came padding down the hall before she’d even taken her shoes off, tail already thumping, head tilted like he was checking her face for signs of a good or bad day.

“Hi, you,” she said softly, crouching to greet him. “Sorry I’m late.”

He huffed in response and nudged her arm until she gave in and sat on the floor. She buried her fingers in the warm gold of his fur, let her forehead rest against the top of his head. He was patient, always. Unbothered by the hours or the silence or the fact she came home in bits sometimes, worn thin and too quiet to reach.

Eventually, she stood, fed him, had a shower that didn’t quite rinse the day away, and made tea she forgot to drink. It sat cooling on the kitchen side while she changed into joggers and an old hoodie, Bruno already sprawled across the bed like he’d paid rent.

She joined him, tugging the duvet over her legs. The silence in the flat wasn’t lonely, not usually. Just deep. Something you could sink into. Something that didn’t ask for anything back.

Sometimes she was so quiet she forgot the sound of her own voice.

It wasn’t intentional. She just didn’t always have the energy to speak if it wasn’t necessary. The job took a lot out of her, more than she let on. And when she wasn’t working, she needed the world to hush. Just for a while.

She reached out and scratched behind Bruno’s ear.

“I saw Franco today,” she murmured, like it mattered. Like it needed saying aloud. Bruno made a soft, content sound in response and shifted closer.

“He’s still him,” she went on. “Loud. Charming. Thinks he’s funny.”

She paused. Frowned a little.

“He is, though. Funny.”

Bruno blinked at her with that steady, knowing look only dogs seemed capable of. She huffed out a quiet breath and let her head fall back against the pillows.

“I don’t know what to do with people like him,” she admitted. “Ones who talk like the silence might swallow them whole if they stop.”

Another pause.

“I think he’s being careful now. With me. Like he’s waiting.”

She didn’t know what to make of that. She wasn’t used to being waited for.

There was a warmth in her chest she didn’t quite trust.

She closed her eyes, one hand still resting lightly on the soft rise and fall of Bruno’s side.

The tea went cold in the kitchen. She didn’t get up.

When Franco got home, he kicked the front door shut with his heel, dropped his rucksack in the hall, and sighed like he’d just aged ten years.

The flat was warm, a bit too bright, and smelled faintly of whatever disaster Lando had made for dinner. Something involving garlic, definitely. And possibly regret.

“Oi,” came a voice from the living room. “Don’t stomp. You sound like my nan.”

Franco ignored him and toed off his boots with a grunt. “Your abuela wishes she had my ankles.”

“You wish my nan fancied you,” Lando called back.

Franco shuffled into the kitchen first, opened the fridge, stared into it like something inspiring might appear. It didn’t. Just half a tin of beans, oat milk that wasn’t his, and a bottle of beer with someone else’s name written on the cap in Sharpie.

He took the beer anyway and wandered into the living room, where Lando was spread across one end of the sofa like a man wronged by the world.

Isack was perched at the dining table with a stack of textbooks and a face that said he hadn’t seen the sun in two days. Med school looked good on him in the same way sleep deprivation looked good on no one.

Franco flopped into the armchair, beer still unopened in his hand. “I still don’t know what to do with her.”

Isack didn’t look up. “Which ‘her’ is this?”

“The quiet nurse,” Franco muttered. “From A&E.”

Lando groaned. Loudly. “Oh my God. Not again. Between Oscar all moony over his neighbour and Max acting like a bloody Victorian poet every time he talks about that girl in the office, I do not need a third one of you.”

“She’s different,” Franco said, like that explained anything.

“They’re all different, mate. That’s how falling for someone works.”

Isack finally glanced up, pen tucked behind his ear. “What’s the problem, anyway? She married? In a cult? Secretly your sister?”

“No,” Franco scowled. “She’s just, quiet. Like, properly quiet. She doesn’t rise to it. All my best lines, nothing. She just looks at me. Calm. Like she’s got me figured out before I’ve even finished talking.”

“So basically,” Lando said, stretching, “you’re being held accountable for the first time in your life.”

Franco threw a cushion at him, which Lando dodged with veteran skill.

“I’m serious,” Franco said. “She gets to me.”

Isack offered a small, knowing smile. “Then you’ve got two choices. Keep being loud until she tunes you out completely or shut up long enough to listen.”

Franco made a face. “Shutting up’s not really my brand.”

“No,” Lando muttered. “Your brand is emotional chaos in a nice shirt.”

But Franco didn’t respond right away. Just sat there, beer forgotten, something pensive pulling at his features.

Eventually, he said, quieter this time, “She looked tired today. Not the kind you can sleep off.”

And for once, neither of them took the piss.

The following morning, Franco arrived just before the shift change, early enough to grab a lukewarm tea from the staff room and pretend he wasn’t waiting to see if she was in.

She was.

He clocked her by the nurse’s station, hair half tucked behind one ear, reading something on the screen with that familiar calm like nothing could touch her unless she allowed it. He didn’t say anything straight away, just leaned on the counter a few feet away and sipped his terrible tea.

She noticed him. Of course she did.

“You’re early,” she said, eyes still on the screen.

“You’re observant,” he replied, grinning.

This time, her lips curved just slightly. Enough to count.

“Trying out a new approach,” he added, a little more softly.

“Oh?” she glanced at him. “Which is?”

“Shutting up,” he said. “Listening. Seeing what happens.”

She tilted her head, like she didn’t quite believe him. “That’ll be a first.”

Before he could come up with something clever, the radio crackled. Voices, urgent. One incoming from a road traffic accident. Mid-twenties male, head injury, possible spinal trauma. ETA two minutes.

Franco straightened as Liam’s voice followed over the system.

They were already moving before the second line came through.

“Another one inbound, abdominal wound, unstable. Twenty-three-year-old female. Following right behind.”

“Got it,” Franco said, looking over at her. “I’ll take the second.”

She didn’t argue, didn’t even nod. Just turned and moved, brisk and focused, already pulling gloves on by the time the first trolley was wheeled in.

For a second, the world slowed.

Not in a dramatic, cinematic way, just that split second of awareness. Of watching someone you liked slip into their element. She looked small next to the patient, but solid. Unshakable. And he felt, absurdly, a kind of pride.

Then Liam burst in with the second patient and the noise came rushing back.

Franco grabbed gloves, snapped into motion.

The girl on the trolley was pale, shaking, her eyes wide and full of something that cut right through the clinical lighting and sterile smell of A&E. Panic. Real, raw panic.

Franco had done what he could, vitals logged, history taken, lines in, and now he stood at the edge of the room, gloves peeled off, quietly observing as she stepped in.

She didn’t say much at first. Just moved with a kind of purposeful ease, like her body already knew what to do before her mind had caught up. She checked the chart, adjusted the IV, and then crouched slightly so she was eye-level with the girl.

“Hi,” she said gently, and her voice, it was barely above a whisper. But it landed.

The girl blinked at her, chest still rising and falling too fast.

“I know it’s a lot. And it hurts. And you’re scared,” she went on, still crouched, still soft. “But you’re here now. You’re safe. And we’re going to look after you, alright?”

The girl nodded once, tears spilling, not from pain this time, but from the fragile relief that comes when someone sees you.

Franco felt something in his chest shift. It wasn’t dramatic. No fireworks, no blinding revelation. Just a quiet realisation:

He really didn’t want to flirt with her anymore. He wanted to learn her.

He stepped back, one slow pace at a time, until he was out of the room. His boots squeaked slightly on the polished floor, but she didn’t look up.

Didn’t need to.

She was still with the patient. Still present. Still steady.

He lingered for a moment in the corridor, just long enough to see the girl’s breathing start to settle, her fingers unclench from the sheet. Then he turned and walked away.

Heart a little fuller than it had been twenty minutes ago.

It was nearing five by the time Franco found her again.

A&E had quietened, not completely, but enough that the chaos had thinned into tired murmurs and the beep of machines rather than the earlier storm. The air felt heavy in that particular way hospital air always did at this hour: stale coffee, sweat, something metallic under the surface.

She was by the side station, head bowed over the paperwork she probably didn’t want to be doing, pen resting against her bottom lip in thought.

But there was something else.

A weight in her shoulders that hadn’t been there earlier. The quiet she always carried had deepened, not peaceful now, but inward. Sad, maybe.

He hesitated, remembering what Isack had said.

“Shut up long enough to listen.”

So he approached, slow, careful, no big grin this time.

“You alright?” he asked softly, voice low so it didn’t startle.

She glanced up, startled anyway, but didn’t hide it quickly enough. There was tiredness in her eyes, and something behind it.

She considered, for a breath, not answering. Then sighed.

“Had a patient,” she said quietly, “a bit too close to home.” Her fingers toyed with the corner of the paper, folding it, unfolding it. “Didn’t feel good. Still doesn’t, really.”

Franco nodded, not filling the silence. Letting her have space, the way she always left space for others.

Then he reached into his pocket.

“Here,” he said, holding something out.

A little sweet, wrapped in crinkly paper. Red and white. Cheap, the kind given out in corner shops.

She frowned faintly, confused.

“I keep them for the kids,” Franco said, offering a soft half-smile. “The ones that come in the ambulance with their mums or brothers or whoever. Distracted hands, distracted mouths. Stops the panic for a minute or two.”

She looked at it. Then at him.

A quiet smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Small, but real.

“Sweet for a sweet nurse,” he added gently, a hint of tease now, but nothing sharp. Careful. Testing.

“Thank you,” she murmured, tucking it into the pocket of her scrub top. Her fingertips brushed the wrapper like it mattered. “That’s kind.”

He glanced at the clock behind her.

“When do you finish?” he asked, almost casually.

“Half six,” she replied softly.

Franco made a face. “Dangerous time, that. Still plenty of room for someone to say the ‘Q word’ and curse your last hour.”

She gave him a look. Almost a warning, but her mouth twitched like she might laugh if she weren’t so tired.

“I will say it,” he threatened lightly. “Or worse, the ‘S word’. You’ll never get home. Your pup’ll think you’ve left him for good.”

Her eyes widened, mock horror creeping in. But the smile stayed.

“Don’t you dare.”

“There she is,” he grinned. “Knew there was a proper person under all that quiet.”

She ducked her head, but the warmth on her face betrayed her. Just a little pink in the cheeks, just enough to be noticed.

“Careful, Franco,” she said softly. “I might actually start talking.”

He stepped back, holding up both hands in surrender.

“God forbid. I wouldn’t stand a chance if you did.”

And with that, he gave her one last wink, softer than usual, not his usual theatre, and turned down the corridor, whistling under his breath.

She watched him go, fingers still resting lightly on the little sweet in her pocket.

By the time she’d finished handover, it was almost nearing seven.

The sky outside was the pale, washed-out grey of early morning, the sort that promised drizzle later, but for now held quiet and stillness. Bank Holiday Monday meant the buses weren’t running this early, and the usual hum of traffic was oddly absent, the world not quite awake yet.

She pulled out her phone by the hospital doors, thumb hovering over the rideshare app. No cars nearby. None even close. Apparently no one drove Ubers on Bank Holiday mornings either.

Typical.

She stuffed her phone back into her pocket, slinging her bag over her shoulder with a tired sigh. Walking wasn’t ideal, twenty-five minutes to her flat, maybe thirty if she dragged her feet, but what choice did she have?

She’d just stepped off the pavement when a voice called behind her.

“Querida, where do you think you’re going?”

She turned.

Franco, in his civvies now, jeans, plain grey hoodie, hair pushed back carelessly from his face. Still grinning like he knew something she didn’t.

“Home,” she said simply.

“Not on foot, you’re not. Let me give you a lift.”

“I’m fine,” she protested, adjusting the strap of her bag. “I can walk—”

“Not a chance,” he cut in, already shaking his head. “Come on. Car’s this way.”

“You can’t afford a car,” she blurted, the words out before she could soften them. “Not on a paramedic salary.”

He gave her a scandalised look over his shoulder. “Rude. But fair.”

She bit back a smile as he carried on, waving a hand. “It’s not mine. Lando’s sister gave him her old car. We’re all on the insurance. You know how it is, flat full of public servants, no one can afford a proper vehicle on their own. Communal suffering.”

“That explains it,” she murmured, following despite herself.

“Wait ‘til you see what she left us,” Franco grinned. “You’re gonna think I’m secretly rich.”

They turned the corner to the staff car park.

There, gleaming faintly under the car park lights, sat a very clean, very out-of-place black Mercedes.

She stopped dead.

“You’re joking.”

He pulled the keys from his pocket and gave them a jangle. “I told you.”

“That’s not an old car,” she said, suspicious.

He shrugged. “Apparently she got a brand new car. This one got left behind, can you imagine what her new car is?”

She shook her head, smiling properly now, amused despite the tiredness weighing on her.

“Bet you tell all the girls you own it.”

“Only the ones I offer lifts to at seven in the morning on Bank Holidays,” he said, holding the passenger door open with a little bow.

For a moment, she hesitated.

Then sighed, and slipped into the seat.

“Good choice,” he grinned, shutting the door behind her.

She gave him the address as he started the engine, a quiet road just outside town, not far from the little park she walked Bruno in. Franco nodded without comment, easing the Mercedes out of the car park and onto the near-empty street.

For a while, they drove in silence.

The city was quiet at this hour. Shop shutters down, only the odd lorry or early milk van passing them by. The radio stayed off. Franco didn’t fill the space with chatter like he usually did. It was peaceful, in a way. Comfortable.

Her phone buzzed faintly in her pocket. The distinct, quiet chime of a notification she knew too well.

Franco glanced sideways. Just once. Not nosy, just curious.

“Is that a LibreLink?” he asked.

She blinked, caught off guard.

“Uhh yeah.” She shifted slightly in her seat, hand resting over the phone. “Bit low. Not bad. Just a warning.”

He nodded, eyes still on the road. Like it wasn’t strange. Like it was nothing to be embarrassed about.

“I’ve seen the scanners before,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. “One of the paramedics back at station’s Type 1. Wears his on his arm like a badge of honour. Shows it off to all the new recruits like a medal.”

She smiled faintly. “I don’t really talk about it.”

Franco glanced at her again, this time for a little longer. “Why not?”

She shrugged. “Don’t like the fuss. People make it a thing. Like suddenly I’m fragile or need looking after. I hate that.”

He hummed in understanding. “Makes sense.”

There was a pause. Then she added, softer, “That’s why I have Bruno.”

Franco frowned lightly, glancing sideways again. “Your lab? He’s a service dog?”

She gave a little wince. “Yeah. Well. He’s trained for alerts. I just don’t call him that. To me he’s just Bruno. Not a working dog or anything official. Feels less strange that way.”

Franco smiled, eyes flicking back to the road. “Bet he’s better company than most people.”

She let out a quiet breath that was almost a laugh. “He is.”

Another soft silence settled between them. Comfortable. No questions. No fuss.

He drummed his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. “You need anything now? Juice or something? There’s a 24 hour corner shop on the way.”

She shook her head. “I’m okay. It’s only dipped a little. Bruno’ll probably sulk at me when I get home though. He always knows.”

“Smart lad.”

“The best.”

He grinned at that, and for a moment the tiredness in her chest eased.

“Bruno the secret medic,” Franco murmured, like it was a private joke just for them. “Keeping you in line when the rest of us don’t even know we should be worried.”

She smiled properly now. Quiet, warm. The first time all shift she’d felt like herself.

It was nearly a week before she saw him again.

Another quiet morning in A&E, the shift dragging slow and dull as they waited for the usual early rush to begin. The sky outside was heavy with rain that hadn’t quite arrived yet, and the smell of cheap coffee clung to the nurses’ station like damp.

She was scribbling notes when she felt him arrive before she even looked up, that quiet shift in the air, like the world tilted slightly to make room.

“Morning,” Franco said softly, setting a cup down beside her.

She blinked, surprised. “What’s this?”

“Proper coffee,” he grinned. “None of that machine sludge they serve you lot. Black, two sugars. Figured you might need it.”

She eyed him warily but with the beginnings of a smile. “How do you know how I take it?”

“Lucky guess,” he said with a wink. “And because I watched you make one last week.”

She shook her head, amused despite herself, wrapping her hands round the warm paper cup. “Stalker.”

“Observer,” he corrected, still grinning.

Before she could reply, a familiar voice broke in.

“Franco. You’re actually here early for once. Did someone threaten your life?”

Isack.

He was in scrubs today, badge clipped crookedly to his chest, hair slightly too long for hospital standards. His placement rotation had landed him in A&E this fortnight, much to his amusement and Franco’s suffering.

Isack glanced between them, grinning. “Well, this is nice. Haven’t seen you this quiet in... ever.”

Franco rolled his eyes. “I’m always quiet. I’m thoughtful.”

“You’re never quiet,” Isack said, laughing. He looked at her, smiling warmly. “I think you’re the only one who’s managed to keep him quiet this long. Congratulations.”

She felt her cheeks warm slightly, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear.

Isack’s pager buzzed suddenly. He glanced down, sighing. “Ugh. They need me in resus. I’d best go before they send someone to drag me.”

A voice, a bright, clear girl’s voice, called across the corridor. “Isack! You’re late!”

He winced dramatically. “There we go. Wish me luck.”

He jogged off, leaving her frowning after him. “Who’s that?” she asked, glancing at Franco.

Franco grinned, leaning against the counter. “Ahh. Listen to this.”

She waited, sipping her coffee.

“Isack got a concussion last month. Rec uni football game, flirted with the first aider the entire time which is not like him at all.”

She raised a brow. “You’re joking.”

“Not even. She stitched him up, let him babble, and he thought he’d never see her again. Turns out she’s a final-year med student doing her placement here. Six weeks together, whether he likes it or not.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Poor thing.”

“Serves him right,” Franco grinned. “Flirt first, think later. That’s Isack.”

She smiled into her coffee, glancing at Franco over the rim. “Sounds familiar.”

He gasped, hand to his chest in mock offence. “I am a professional, I’ll have you know.”

“Hmm.”

“Mostly.”

They stood like that a moment longer, the hum of the ward around them. For once, no hurry. No alarms. Just this strange, warm ease between them.

Then Franco pushed off the counter, nodding towards the exit.

“Better get back. Someone might actually need me today.”

She gave a small smile. “Try not to break anything on the way.”

He flashed her that grin, the one that had no right being so easy, so disarming at six in the morning, and was gone down the corridor.

The moment stretched in the space he left behind, warm and strange.

“Someone call the press,” came a voice behind her, full of wry amusement. “She’s letting someone talk to her and make her smile. Thought I’d never live to see it.”

She turned, unsurprised, to find Zeynep watching her with a knowing look, arms folded across her scrubs.

Zeynep, same year, same stubborn streak. They’d grown up two streets apart, survived secondary school and sixth form together by sheer luck and whispered back-row conspiracies. By some miracle, or curse, they’d both landed jobs here after uni, two nurses from the same tiny bit of South of England, somehow still tangled together in the same place.

“Don’t start,” she muttered, sipping her coffee.

“I’m just saying,” Zeynep grinned, stepping beside her. “It’s been, what, seven years since you let anyone get that close without shutting the door?”

She frowned. “It’s not like that.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Zeynep’s teasing was gentle, but the truth sat quietly beneath it. She knew why. Had been there when it all cracked and broke.

Sixteen. Too young, too soft, and far too trusting. First love that had turned sharp and cruel before the summer ended, leaving splinters that never quite smoothed out. It had taken her years to feel whole again. Years to stop flinching when someone looked too long or spoke too softly.

And since then… nothing. No dates. No flings. No awkward flatmate setups. She’d made peace with it. Her own little life, her job, her quiet flat, Bruno’s steady warmth at the foot of the bed. Simple. Safe.

Lonely, sometimes. She wouldn’t lie to herself about that.

Especially in winter, when the flat felt too big. When Bruno, good as he was, refused to stay curled against her all night, padding off to his own bed with a huff. When she woke in the cold grey light of morning with an empty pillow beside her and silence stretching wide and endless.

But she’d made her choice. It was better this way.

Still.

Franco’s smile had lingered longer than she meant it to. His warmth, his ease. The gentle way he’d noticed her without making her small.

Zeynep nudged her, breaking the quiet. “He’s not bad looking, you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “He’s a flirt.”

“So? Might be good for you.”

“I’m fine.”

Zeynep raised a brow. “Bruno can’t cuddle all night. You said yourself he buggers off halfway through.”

She huffed softly, but her smile tugged anyway. “You’re impossible.”

“Someone has to be. You’ve gone feral, living alone with your dog, refusing joy. Honestly.”

She shook her head, but there was no heat in it.

Behind her coffee, behind her small smile, a quiet thought curled low and secret.

Maybe this time things could be different.

But not yet.

Slow. Careful.

Just like the rest of her quiet life.

By the time she’d finished her shift, she was pretty much spent. Bone-tired, heavy-limbed, ready to knock out the moment her head touched the pillow.

The ward was quiet as she passed back by the nurses' station, tugging her hoodie on, hair loose and messy from a long shift. She was reaching for her bag when she noticed something small resting on top.

A little wrapped sweet.

And beneath it, a note scribbled in quick handwriting.

“Keep these close? No more dropping low on shift. Can’t have you collapsing before you beat me to the coffee machine” 

She stared for a moment, warmth curling low in her chest, before tucking both carefully into her pocket.

When she stepped out into the fresh air, grey and sharp with morning damp, she nearly jumped to see him there, leaning against the wall by the main entrance, hands shoved in his jacket pockets.

“Hey,” Franco said, straightening up as she approached.

“Thank you,” she said softly, unable to help the small smile pulling at her lips.

He blinked, mock confusion written all over his face. “For what?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You know what.”

“No idea.”

She squinted at him, amused despite herself. “The sweet. The note. You heard the Librelink in the car, Franco.”

He held up both hands, grinning. “What? You’re diabetic? Never would’ve guessed.”

And then she realised, why he was pretending not to know.

Because in the car that day, when he’d asked, she’d mumbled that she didn’t like telling people. That she didn’t want to make a fuss. Didn’t like being that person.

Her heart warmed unexpectedly.

He remembered. And more than that, he respected it, gently keeping the quiet she’d asked for, letting her decide who knew and when.

“Idiot,” she muttered, but softly. Fond.

He grinned wider.

“Are you walking?” he asked after a beat, glancing down the street. “Because Isack nicked the car. Drove off without me. Didn’t even wait to see if I needed a lift.”

She hesitated, surprised. “Oh. Erm yeah. I was going to.”

“Mind if I walk with you?” His voice was easy, gentle. No pressure. Just a question hung lightly between them.

She blinked. “You want to walk?”

“Bit of fresh air. Company. You know. Besides—” he smiled, soft and teasing, “—someone’s got to make sure you don’t faint dramatically in the street. Can’t have you dropping like that on my watch.”

She rolled her eyes but felt the flicker of something warm. Care.

“Alright then,” she said quietly. “If you want.”

“I do.” He smiled, falling into step beside her as they set off down the pavement, the early morning light grey and gentle around them.

And for the first time in a long while, the silence between her and someone else felt easy. Comfortable. Like breathing.

Like maybe, this quiet life of hers could make room for something more.

They walked side by side, the quiet stretching comfortably between them as they made their way down the street. The town was still half-asleep; the occasional distant hum of a lorry, birds beginning to stir in the hedges. Pavements damp from the night’s rain.

“So,” Franco said after a while, shoving his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. “Do you ever actually do anything outside of work? Or is saving lives and hoarding coffee for emergencies your whole personality?”

She glanced at him, amused. “That’s rich coming from you. I seem to remember someone saying they don’t do anything but shifts and sleep.”

“True,” he grinned. “But I’ve been told I need a hobby. Something to ‘ground me’. Apparently winding up Isack and Lando doesn’t count.”

She smiled faintly. “I walk Bruno. Read a bit, when I can keep my eyes open. That’s about it.”

“Wild life you’ve got there.”

“I know. Try not to get jealous.”

He laughed, warm and soft. “No danger of that. Though Bruno does sound like my kind of flatmate. Doesn’t steal food, doesn’t use up the hot water.”

She gave him a sidelong look. “You want to swap him for Lando?”

He pretended to think. “Hmm. Bruno probably sheds less. And smells better.”

She let out a quiet laugh, surprised at how easy this was.

They reached the end of her road, where his block sat just across the street. Franco slowed, rocking back on his heels slightly.

“So, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking for once a little less smooth, a little more hesitant. “What are you doing next weekend?”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Next weekend? Probably working. I usually pick up an extra shift if I’ve got nothing else.”

He made a face. “Tragic. Well, if you fancy doing something that isn’t dragging yourself through another twelve hours in A&E…” He cleared his throat. “There’s this food and craft market in the park. Real one, stalls, coffee vans, live music, the works. Thought it might be nice to go. Y’know. If you wanted. Dogs are welcome too, so Bruno’s invited.”

She glanced at him, uncertain, but there was no pressure in his voice. Just easy warmth. Like a quiet offer held out in an open hand.

“I’ll think about it,” she said softly.

He smiled, wide and genuine, no teasing this time. “Good. Here—” He pulled his phone from his pocket, handing it to her. “Put your number in. Just in case you decide you want to brave the outside world.”

She hesitated a moment, then took it, tapping in her number carefully.

When she handed it back, he grinned. “There. Now I’ve got no excuse not to pester you about it.”

“You didn’t need my number for that,” she murmured, but her lips curved anyway.

“True. But now it’s official.” He tucked the phone away with a wink.

They stood there a moment longer, quiet and soft in the early morning light, before she nodded toward her door.

“I should go. Bruno’ll be wondering where I am.”

“Tell him I said hi,” Franco smiled. “And think about the market, yeah?”

“I will,” she said, surprising herself with how much she meant it.

Then she turned, heading toward her flat, and couldn’t quite stop the small smile that stayed with her all the way upstairs.

Saturday came quicker than she’d expected.

She stood in front of the wardrobe for longer than she cared to admit, staring blankly at the hangers.

It was stupid. She knew that. It wasn’t a date. Not really. Just a market. Two colleagues. Two people who worked in the same hospital. With dogs allowed. That was all.

Still.

She tugged out a soft jumper, the cream one she hardly wore because it felt too nice for night shifts, and a pair of well-worn jeans that fit just right. Comfortable. Not trying too hard. Casual.

Bruno sat patiently by the door, tail thudding against the floor, watching her every move with quiet interest.

“What d’you think?” she asked softly, glancing at him. “Not too much? Not like I’m trying to look nice or anything?”

He huffed, resting his chin on his paws. Utterly unhelpful.

She slipped her trainers on, grabbed Bruno’s lead, and with a quiet breath, just a market, they set off.

The park was only a ten-minute walk away. The morning was crisp, the air bright and edged with the smell of coffee and damp grass. Stalls stretched along the path, their canopies flapping gently in the breeze. People wandered between them with paper cups and canvas bags, laughter and chatter weaving through the air.

And then she saw him.

Franco stood near the gate, hands tucked in his coat pockets, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, grinning the moment he caught sight of her.

“You clean up nice,” he said easily, eyes warm as they flicked over her.

She raised an eyebrow, fighting a smile. “So do you.”

And he did. Jeans, a grey jumper, coat open over it, casual and simple, but he looked good. Less like the cheeky, flirty paramedic in green and more like someone real. Someone she might have passed in the street and noticed anyway.

Bruno gave a soft chuff of greeting, and Franco crouched instantly, rubbing behind the dog’s ears.

“Hello, mate. Glad you talked her into coming.”

“Don’t give him credit. I made up my own mind,” she murmured.

He grinned as he straightened. “Even better.”

They wandered slowly through the market, the crowd gentle, the pace easy. Franco didn’t rush, didn’t drag her along or fill the silence with endless chatter. When she paused at the handmade soaps stall, he waited without a word. When she eyed the coffee van, he quietly bought two cups, hers exactly how she liked it, and handed one over without asking.

As they passed a stall selling plants in tiny pots, an old man dropped his bag and Franco stooped without hesitation, helping him gather the loose apples rolling across the path, murmuring something soft in Spanish that made the old man smile.

She watched him quietly. And something shifted.

He wasn’t the loud, flirty, cheeky boy she’d thought he was. Well, he was those things. But there was more. A softness in the way he moved. The way he noticed things. Kept pace with her. Waited without fuss. Cared, in small, quiet ways that didn’t need announcing.

She’d misjudged him.

“Hey.” His voice pulled her gently from her thoughts. He nodded toward a stall selling pastries. “Hungry? I’ve been eyeing that pain au chocolat since we got here.”

She smiled, soft. “Sounds good.”

They sat on a bench with warm pastries, Bruno resting at her feet, the sounds of the market curling around them. No rush. No pressure. Just quiet comfort.

And for the first time in a long time, she realised she wasn’t counting the minutes until she could go home.

She was happy, here. With him.

They sat in easy quiet for a while, the warmth of the pastries in their hands, Bruno snuffling at fallen crumbs by her feet. The market around them had started to thin, the early morning bustle softening into lazy late-morning wandering.

She glanced at Franco from the corner of her eye.

“I owe you an apology,” she said softly.

He turned to her, brow raised. “For what?”

“For misjudging you. I thought you were all talk, you know. Flirty, cocky, all charm and no real substance.” Her thumb ran nervously along the rim of her coffee cup. “But you’re not like that. Not really.”

To her surprise, he smiled and shrugged.

“It’s fine. It’s a front, half the time. You have to be in this job. Keeps the mood light. Stops people asking questions I don’t feel like answering.” He paused, then glanced sideways at her, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Want to hear a piece of gossip about me? The kind the tabloids would probably lose their minds over?”

She blinked. “Go on, then.”

He leaned back against the bench, stretching his legs out.

“I’ve never had a girlfriend. Not properly. Not once.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. Never done the whole long-term, serious thing.” His grin softened. “They always think I have, probably because of how I am. Bit flirty. Bit loud. But I’ve never, I don’t know. Never wanted to do it halfway. Never wanted to give anyone only bits of me when they deserved all of me. So I just haven’t.”

She stared at him, thrown. Of all the things she’d expected him to say, that wasn’t one of them.

“What about you?” he asked gently, turning the question back to her.

She hesitated. But something about him, the quiet patience, the way he wasn’t pushing, wasn’t expecting, made it feel okay to say the truth.

“There was someone,” she murmured. “When I was sixteen. Thought he was it, you know? First love, all that. It was awful. Really awful.” She stared at the cobblestones in front of them. “I’m diabetic, right. Have been since I was little. And he always made me feel like a nuisance for it. Like I was difficult. A problem he had to manage.” Her throat tightened, but she pushed on. “If my sugars spiked, he’d call me fat. If they dropped, he’d say I was being dramatic. Like I could’ve controlled it if I just tried harder.”

“Coño,” Franco breathed, his voice low and soft with something like anger beneath it. Not at her. But at whoever had done this.

“I haven’t been with anyone since,” she admitted quietly. “It’s easier. Quieter. Just me and Bruno. No one to make me feel small for something I can’t change.”

She felt the warmth of his gaze before she dared to meet it.

“You’re not a nuisance,” he said softly. “You’re not difficult. You’re brilliant. Stronger than anyone I’ve met. And what that bloke did? That’s on him. Not you. Never you.”

She swallowed. Hard.

“And for what it’s worth,” he added, glancing down at the coffee cup in his hands, “I think you’re the least dramatic person I’ve ever met. Honestly. Sometimes I reckon you forget to make noise at all.”

A smile pulled at her mouth, despite herself. “Sometimes I’m so quiet I forget the sound of my own voice.”

He grinned, soft, fond. “Good thing I talk enough for two, then.”

For the first time in a long, long while, something uncurled gently in her chest. A warmth that wasn’t fear or dread or loneliness.

Maybe this didn’t have to be hard.

Maybe it could be easy. Gentle. Like this.

“You’ve been really sweet,” she said softly, glancing at him. “But not in a way that makes me feel small. Thank you for that.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Sweet? Careful. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

She laughed, the sound quiet and genuine.

“I promise I won’t tell,” she teased.

And for the rest of the morning, the world felt a little less sharp. A little less lonely.

Just soft.

After that day, she felt like she was floating. Like something warm and weightless had tucked itself behind her ribs and made itself comfortable.

Cloud nine, as Zeynep would probably put it with a knowing grin.

Even the hospital’s fluorescent lights seemed less harsh, the endless patient charts less soul-draining. Bruno padded beside her in the quiet of her flat that evening, watching as she shuffled around, tidying things she didn’t usually bother with after a long shift.

Her phone buzzed on the counter.

Franco 🩺🚑:

Made it home from the gym without crashing. Thought you’d want to know.

She smiled to herself, thumb hovering for a moment before replying.

Good. Hate to break it to you, but I’m not certified for rescue work if you’d wrapped your car round a lamppost.

A minute later.

Franco 🩺🚑:

Shame. I was hoping you’d patch me up. Heard you’re good with hopeless cases.

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head.

You are a hopeless case. But apparently not beyond saving.

A typing bubble appeared. Paused. Started again.

Franco 🩺🚑:

Rude, querida. But I’ll allow it. You smiled today. I count that as a win.

Her stomach flipped in that odd, not-unpleasant way.

I might’ve smiled once or twice before today, you know.

Franco 🩺🚑:

Maybe. But this one was at me. Feels special.

She bit her lip to keep the grin from spreading too wide. Bruno nosed at her knee, as if sensing the change in her mood.

Don’t let it go to your head.

Franco 🩺🚑:

Too late. Massive ego incoming.

She laughed softly, the sound echoing through her quiet kitchen. Usually, these moments before bed felt still. Sometimes too still. The silence curling in the corners, heavy and lonely.

But not tonight.

Tonight she felt oddly light. Like for once, she wasn’t waiting for something to fall apart.

She padded to the bedroom, Bruno flopping onto the bed as usual, and sat on the edge, phone in hand, thumb lingering over the screen.

One more message.

Goodnight, Franco. Don’t crash your car tomorrow either, yeah?

A moment later.

Franco 🩺🚑:

Can’t make promises. But I’ll try extra hard if you promise to smile at me again tomorrow.

A small giggle escaped her.

Usually this would’ve made her panic. Overthink. Wonder if she was leading him on or if he’d expect something she couldn’t give.

But not tonight.

Tonight she let herself enjoy it.

She slid under the covers beside Bruno, who huffed contentedly, and let the quiet wrap round her like a blanket.

For the first time in a long while it didn’t feel empty.

It felt soft.

And maybe, just a tiny bit safe.

Franco couldn’t stop grinning.

He’d chucked his keys in the little bowl by the door, kicked off his trainers, and was now sprawled across the sofa in the lounge, phone still in hand, screen glowing softly in the dark room.

He let out a quiet, content sigh, thumb brushing the edge of the phone case.

“Uh oh,” came Lando’s voice from the hallway, full of suspicion and doom. “I know that sound.”

Franco glanced up as his flatmate appeared, damp-haired and holding a half-eaten packet of biscuits.

“What sound?” Franco asked, still smiling, still far too warm for his own good.

Lando pointed a custard cream at him like it was damning evidence.

“That” sound. The sigh of a man who’s gone soft. Don’t tell me. Is this about Nurse Mystery Girl again?"

Franco pulled a cushion over his face and groaned.

Lando cackled. “I knew it. You’re gone, mate. Completely gone.”

“I’m not gone,” Franco muttered from under the cushion. “I’m fine.”

Lando plopped down in the armchair opposite, feet up on the coffee table, grinning like Christmas had come early.

“Oh no, no, no. Don’t give me that. You’ve got that stupid smile. The ‘I met someone and now my life is sunshine and daisies’ smile. Oscar had it. Max had it. And now you’ve got it.”

Franco peeked out from the cushion. “It’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that.” Lando crunched his biscuit dramatically. “You’ve got feelings. Real ones. Actual human emotions. Someone call the papers.”

Franco let the cushion drop and scrubbed a hand through his hair, still grinning despite himself. “She’s just different.”

Lando raised a brow. “Different how?”

“She’s quiet. Really quiet. But not boring-quiet. She listens. Like properly listens. And when she does talk it matters. None of that endless small talk crap.”

Lando smirked. “So basically the opposite of you.”

“Tonto,” Franco threw a cushion at him. “Rude.”

“True, though.” Lando caught the cushion easily. “You’re all mouth and charm until someone like her comes along and shuts you right up.”

Franco smiled again, softer this time. “She’s...I don’t know. There’s something about her. The way she smiled today. And she giggled when I gave her a treat to bring home for Bruno. Like...really giggled. I made her laugh.”

Lando let out a long, low whistle. “You’re doomed, mate. Properly doomed.”

“I don’t care,” Franco said simply, leaning his head back against the sofa. “She’s brilliant. And gentle. And funny, when she lets it slip. And she thinks I’m a hopeless case but still smiles at me anyway.”

Lando studied him for a moment, the grin slipping into something closer to fondness.

“You’ve got it bad, Francesca."

“Maybe,” Franco admitted. “But you know what? I don’t mind. Feels nice. Like something good, for once. And that’s not my name.”

Lando laughed softly, shaking his head. “Look at you. All lovey-dovey in the lounge. What’s next? Writing poetry? Flowers? Little love notes tucked in her locker?”

Franco grinned wider. “Maybe.”

Lando groaned. “Max and Oscar are already unbearable. Now you?”

“Better get used to it, mate,” Franco said, stretching with a satisfied sigh. “This isn’t going anywhere.”

And it wasn’t. He could feel it, low and certain in his chest.

She was special.

And for the first time in a long time, so was this.

A few days later, A&E was its usual cocktail of chaos and caffeine. Zeynep was half-leaning over the nurses' station, fiddling with a broken biro, while she stood beside her, chewing the inside of her cheek like it might offer answers.

“But you have to ask,” Zeynep said, voice low but firm. “You’ve already called me useless twice and I live in a shoebox flat that doesn’t even allow houseplants, let alone dogs.”

She sighed, arms crossed tight over her chest. “I know. It’s just, it feels weird. Asking him.”

Zeynep snorted. “Barely know? You’ve been texting him every night for a week and he makes you giggle like a sixth former. He’d probably say yes to kidney donation if you smiled at him long enough.”

“Zeynep.”

“What? I’m just saying. Use your powers.”

She shook her head, cheeks warm, and was mid-way through groaning when a familiar voice floated into the space beside them.

“All right, ladies?” Franco appeared, looking far too cheerful for someone on a double shift, lanyard swinging loosely around his neck, hair still damp from the drizzle outside.

Zeynep looked between the two of them like she was watching a live-action romance series. “Maybe he can be your knight in shining armour.”

Franco raised a brow. “Bit early for declarations of chivalry, but go on.”

Her face flushed immediately. “Ignore her.”

He looked amused. “Tempting, but now I’m intrigued.”

She hesitated, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve. “I need someone to look after Bruno. Just for a day.”

Franco blinked. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she said quickly, then added, “Well. Sort of. My mum’s not been well. Nothing life-threatening, just stubborn and full of complaints as usual. I said I’d come check in, but she’s allergic to dogs, and none of my perfect siblings who live ten minutes away want to help her.”

Her jaw clicked slightly as she tensed, clearly hating the words even as she said them.

“And I can’t leave him alone that long,” she added. “He’s not just a dog.”

“I’ll do it,” Franco said, without a beat.

She blinked. “You can’t. You’ve got work. Or other plans. Or a life.”

Franco tilted his head. “You think my life’s more exciting than it is.”

“You don’t have to say yes out of pity.”

“I’m not,” he said. “Text me what day and what time you need me at yours. I’ll be there.”

She opened her mouth to argue again, but he raised a hand, cutting her off gently.

“And before you call yourself a nuisance,” he said, “I’m doing it for Bruno, not you.”

That earned a startled little laugh, the kind that bubbled up before she could suppress it. Her cheeks warmed, eyes soft.

He smiled. “Although if you want to say thank you with a coffee, I won’t say no.”

She gave him a look somewhere between fond and exasperated. “You’re impossible.”

He winked. “Text me.”

Then he turned and walked off, whistling under his breath, as though the whole thing hadn’t just made her entire face burn.

Zeynep leaned in again. “You so owe me.”

She shook her head slowly. “He just volunteered. I didn’t even ask.”

“Exactly,” Zeynep grinned. “That’s when you know.”

She sighed and glanced down at her phone, thumb hovering over his contact name.

Bruno was going to love him, she was sure of it.

But the part that scared her more, was that she already kind of did too.

On the day itself, Franco wasn’t just on time. He was early.

She’d barely finished tying the laces on her battered trainers when she heard the knock, soft, three taps, at the door. Bruno padded over before she did, tail wagging, already familiar with the scent that came with the man standing outside.

“Morning,” Franco greeted, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, hair. “Ready for your big day of family drama?”

She smiled, tired but honest. “As I’ll ever be.”

His eyes flicked down to Bruno, who sat loyally by her feet, big golden eyes glancing between the two humans as if waiting for instructions.

“I drove,” Franco said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Thought I’d offer you a lift to the station. No point wrestling with buses when you’ve got me for free.”

She hesitated. “You don’t have to—”

“I offered, didn’t I?”

The corner of her mouth twitched. “You’re very persistent, you know.”

“Part of my charm.”

In the end, she agreed. Because for once, it felt easy to say yes. Bruno trotted out happily, tail swaying like a banner as she locked the door behind them.

Franco held the passenger door open for her, and Bruno, who leapt straight into the back seat without hesitation, tongue lolling.

“You’re sure you’re fine with him all day?” she asked, glancing back at Bruno, who’d already made himself at home on the back seat like he ruled the place.

Franco threw her a sideways glance. “Please. He’s the best company I’ve had in weeks. Better conversationalist than Lando, that’s for sure.”

That pulled a laugh from her, small but real. The kind of laugh she hadn’t felt properly in a while.

Maybe, she thought as she buckled her seatbelt, today might actually be, good.

The drive was quiet, Bruno snoozing in the back. Franco humming along to something on the radio, nothing loud or obnoxious, just soft background sound, like company that didn’t press.

When they reached the station, he helped her out with the bag of things she’d packed, handing it over without fuss.

“Text me when you want me to pick you up,” he said, scratching behind the dog’s ear. 

She shook her head, smiling. “Don’t tempt me with free taxis.”

He gave a low laugh and stepped back, giving her space to go, but not before tossing her a final grin.

“I’ve got him. Go do what you need to do. No rush.”

And just like that, no pressure, no fuss, she turned and headed to the front door, feeling oddly lighter. Like maybe this wasn’t going to be such a horrible day after all.

The visit started well enough.

Her mum had always been stubborn, and age hadn’t softened that. The flat smelled of lavender and old radiators, and the heating was turned up far too high, a typical habit she never quite gave up, even when the weather outside was warm.

“I don’t need fussing over,” her mum said the moment she stepped through the door, sitting with her dressing gown pulled tight and her feet up. “I’ve told you. It’s not as bad as they all made out.”

But she fussed anyway. Made tea. Checked the tablets were in their organiser. Topped up the fridge with the things she’d brought in her bag. Cleaned the kitchen while her mum complained that she’d “make herself old before her time, looking after everyone else like this.”

It was meant with love, but it grated. Like sand under the skin.

Somewhere between folding washing and changing the sheets, the real digging started.

“You know,” her mum said lightly, sipping her tea as she watched from the armchair, “you really should think about finding someone. A nice man. Settle down. You’re not getting younger, love.”

She stiffened. Kept folding. A shirt. A pair of pyjama bottoms.

“I’m fine as I am.”

Her mum clicked her tongue. “That’s what you say. But I don’t want you ending up lonely. You’ve got your nice little flat, and that dog, but dogs don’t keep you warm in bed when you’re seventy, do they? Your sister’s got her husband. Your brother’s got Sarah and the baby—”

“And I’m fine,” she said, sharper than she meant to, turning to face her. “Maybe I like my life. Maybe I like quiet. Maybe I don’t want to end up tied to someone who makes me feel small just so you can tell your friends I’ve settled down.”

Silence. The kind that filled the whole room, thick and slow.

Her mum set the mug down. “I didn’t mean—”

But something in her cracked, brittle from the weight of the day.

“If you want to pick on me all day,” she said, voice tight, “why don’t you get one of your perfect other children to look after you with their perfect little husbands and wives and kids?”

It dropped like a stone.

Her mum stared. She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. The guilt came in fast and hot.

“Sorry,” she breathed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just—” She opened her eyes. “I think I’m going to go. Get the train back. You’ve got the neighbours if you need anything.”

Her mum sighed, softer this time. “I just want you to be happy, love.”

“I know. But right now I just need to go home.”

She picked up her bag, heart tight in her chest. The familiar ache of old arguments. Of trying to smile and let it slide. But today it stuck fast, and she was too tired to smooth it over.

“I’ll text you tomorrow,” she said gently, slipping out before the tears could sting.

The platform was half-empty when she arrived at the station, Bruno’s lead absent in her hand, her bag feeling heavier than it was. She checked the train times. Next one in fifteen minutes. Fine. She could make it. She just wanted to get home.

To quiet. To space.

To Bruno.

And maybe... to Franco.

By the time she pushed her front door open, the world felt oddly distant, like her head was full of cotton wool, everything just a little too slow, a little too far away.

Bruno was on her in a flash.

His big golden weight bounced up, paws against her thighs, tail wagging fast, but his head tipped sideways, nudging insistently against her stomach, the way he only did when he sensed something was off.

She managed a faint smile, fingers brushing over his soft ears. “Someone missed me…” she murmured, but her voice came out thinner than she meant. Weak. She blinked hard, trying to clear the fog creeping into her eyes.

“Hey—” Franco’s voice came from the kitchen, soft but quick. He appeared in the doorway, tea forgotten on the side. One look at her face and he was there, crossing the room in three long strides. “You alright?”

She opened her mouth to say yes, but the room tilted, just slightly, and she swayed against the doorframe.

Franco reached out immediately, steadying her with gentle hands on her elbows. His brow knit in quiet worry.

“I’m fine,” she whispered. But even as she said it, the tremble in her hands betrayed her.

Franco gave a tiny shake of his head. No panic. No fuss. Just calm. “Sit down, cariño. Now. Come on.”

He guided her gently towards the sofa, Bruno padding anxiously at her heels. When she sat, her fingers curled weakly in the fabric of her trousers, breath coming shallow and fast.

“Did you miss the notification?” Franco crouched in front of her, pulling her bag round from where it hung on her shoulder. “I thought I heard it.”

She closed her eyes, breathing slow. “Forgot to check. On the train…”

“I know. Happens.” His voice was warm, low, steady as his hands found the zipped side pocket where he knew she kept her glucose tabs. No rummaging. No asking. Like he’d paid attention every time she’d pulled them out before.

He pressed two into her palm. “Here. No arguing.”

She obeyed without thinking, sharp sweetness dissolving on her tongue, blinking slowly as the world came back into focus, colours sharpening, sounds lifting, the fog clearing.

When she looked at him again, Franco’s face was close, gentle and full of quiet patience.

“You could’ve called me from the station, idiota,” he said softly, smiling. “I’d have come straight away. Why didn’t you?”

She gave a weak huff of laughter. “Didn’t want to be a nuisance.”

His expression softened even more, if that were possible.

“You’re not. Not ever.” His hand found hers, warm and solid against her fingers. “This isn’t a nuisance. It’s you. You’re not a nuisance. And I like all of it. Even the part that lets Bruno tell on you before you realise something’s wrong.”

She smiled, for real this time, small and crooked.

“Even Bruno agrees,” he added with a chuckle, glancing down at the dog who was watching them intently from the rug.

A slow warmth bloomed in her chest. All the years she’d spent hiding this part of herself, making it small, keeping it quiet, afraid of being ‘too much’ felt a little lighter now. Like the weight of it wasn’t just hers anymore.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever made me feel like it wasn’t a burden,” she murmured.

“Then they were idiots,” Franco said softly, eyes bright. “Every single one of them.”

She let her head tip back against the sofa, a smile curving her mouth. The fog was lifting. And in its place, something warm and easy settled.

“Stay for dinner?” she asked gently.

His grin was bright, boyish, utterly full of joy.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

By the time her blood sugar had settled and the shaky edge of the hypo had faded, she felt something else creeping in, the familiar, creeping ache of tiredness. But Franco was still there, hovering in the kitchen like he belonged, sleeves shoved up, hair a little mussed. Bruno was stretched out across the rug, head on paws, watching the world with soft eyes.

She smiled faintly as she pushed herself to her feet.

“Gotta make you tea,” she said quietly, padding barefoot into the kitchen.

Franco glanced over his shoulder, grinning. “Only if you let me make dinner. I don’t trust you not to pass out in the middle of a microwave ready meal.”

She gave him a look, half amusement, half mock-scolding. “I can feed myself, you know.”

“I know. But I’m already here. And you’re knackered.” He turned back to the fridge. “Let me look after you a little bit, por favor.”

There was something in the way he said it, not pity, not fussing, just simple care. Warm, gentle. Like it was the most normal thing in the world to want to make someone dinner because you liked them.

So she let him.

They made pasta, nothing fancy, just penne with roasted peppers and garlic, and far too much cheese grated over the top. She leaned against the counter, barefoot, tired in that soft, loose way that didn’t feel so heavy anymore. He moved easily beside her, sleeves still pushed up, humming some quiet tune under his breath.

Bruno curled up by the door, snoring gently.

“I could get used to this,” Franco said after a while, tossing a pepper strip into his mouth.

“What, raiding my kitchen?”

“Cooking for you,” he said simply, flashing her a smile. “Being here. Feels easy.”

She felt the warmth creep into her cheeks, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It settled low in her chest, quiet and sweet.

They ate curled on the sofa with plates balanced on knees, Bruno snuffling by their feet. And when the plates were cleared and the quiet of the flat settled over them like soft dusk, Franco didn’t reach for his keys.

He turned towards her instead, sitting cross-legged on the cushion beside her.

“Can I say something?” he asked gently.

She looked at him, heart soft and slow. “Of course.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly a little boyish, a little shy.

“I like this. You. Bruno. Even the hypo alarms and the way you pretend you’re not tired when you are. I like all of it.” His dark eyes met hers, steady and honest. “And I know you’ve spent a long time thinking you had to do everything alone. But you don’t. Not if you don’t want to.”

Her throat felt thick. She swallowed.

“Franco…”

He smiled. Small. Quiet. And then, softly, carefully, so slowly she could’ve stopped him a hundred times, he leaned in.

His hand came to rest on her cheek, thumb brushing just beneath her eye, feather-light.

“Can I?” he whispered.

Her breath caught.

“Yes,” she said, voice barely more than a breath.

And then he kissed her, soft, gentle, like the world had slowed to this single moment. No hurry. No heat. Just warmth, and sweetness, and the quiet promise of something that could be safe and steady and real.

When he pulled back, she found herself smiling without meaning to. A proper, easy smile that made her chest ache in the best way.

“See?” he murmured. “Easy.”

She laughed softly, leaning her forehead against his.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “Easy.”

Bruno gave a little snuffing sigh from the floor.

“And you,” Franco said, glancing down at the dog. “Best wingman in the world.”

She chuckled, warmth blooming quietly in her chest.

For the first time in a very long time, her little flat didn’t feel quite so quiet. Or quite so empty.

Following that night, Franco spent almost every evening in her bed, grumbling, as predicted, that Bruno took up far more space than any dog rightfully should.

“He’s small,” she’d argue sleepily, curled under the covers as Franco tried to shove the labrador’s hefty backside out of the way.

“He’s massive, cariño. And he’s doing this on purpose. Look at him, smug as anything.”

But he never made him move. And in the quiet that followed, with the soft hum of the city outside and Bruno’s gentle snores filling the dark, she’d sometimes lie awake for a moment longer, smiling into the pillow.

Franco introduced her properly to Lando and Isack not long after.

“About bloody time,” Lando had said, grinning as he handed her a beer at the barbecue they’d dragged her to one sunny Sunday. “He never shuts up about you, you know. Never. You’ve saved us, now he spends the nights at yours instead of waking us up at stupid o’clock singing in the kitchen.”

And she liked them, she liked the way they fit around Franco, noisy and teasing and full of warmth. She liked, even more, that they thanked her sincerely for ‘taking him off their hands’, and when she mentioned, half-joking, that they had a spare room if they ever missed Franco, they did exactly that six months later, and stayed for a week when their boiler exploded.

Life moved gently after that. Sweet and slow.

They chose, together, never to get engaged, not out of fear or hesitation, but as a quiet rebellion against the noise of expectation. Against the pressure that had hung, for so many years, in the background of her life, her mother’s endless sighing wishes for the white dress, the ring, the photographs on the mantelpiece.

“No rings?” Franco had asked softly, tracing her bare hand with his thumb.

“No rings,” she’d smiled. “Not for us.”

And he’d kissed her for it, slow and sweet and sure.

A few years on, one cold January, he’d come home from a long shift, cheeks pink with cold, and said, quite suddenly:

“Come to Argentina with me. I want you to meet my parents.”

She’d gone, of course, flown halfway across the world with Bruno stuffed in his travel carrier and her hand tight in Franco’s as they stepped out into the warmth of Buenos Aires. She’d eaten empanadas in the garden while his mother fussed over her and his father taught her the names of the birds in the trees.

“I could live here, you know,” Franco had grinned one late evening as they wandered by the sea, barefoot in the warm sand. “Open a little clinic. You could work at the hospital in the city. Bruno would love the beaches.”

She’d laughed, called him a dreamer, but six years later, that was exactly what they did.

A quiet little house by the coast, sea breezes and sun-warmed tiles and the smell of salt and lemons in the air.

He worked with the emergency services there, still grumbling when he got woken for the early shift, still flashing that warm grin as he tugged on his boots.

And she found a place in the local hospital, gentle and slow, with patients who called her mi amor and left baskets of fruit by her desk.

Bruno grew old by the sea, greyer around the muzzle, slower on the sand, but always with them. Always part of the quiet life they’d built, steady and real and soft.

And in the quiet of warm evenings, with the sea sighing outside and Franco’s hand tucked in hers on the sofa, she sometimes thought, maybe this was the ending she’d never dared to hope for.

No rings. No noise. Just love. Just them.

And that was enough.

Always enough.

the end.

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[sweetiebugwrites]

Marvel VS Kissing

Fandom: Marvel, Avengers

Pairing: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Thor Odinson, Peter Parker, Sam Wilson

Notes: Marvel Headcannons. As always, I've not proofread and let me know if you have any feedback. <3

Steve Rogers – The Gentleman 

Style: Slow, deliberate, and reverent.Steve kisses like every moment with you is precious. He’s the type to pause just before he kisses you, letting that one breath of tension build before he closes the distance. There’s a sense of awe in the way he touches you—his hand often gently cupping your cheek, thumb brushing your skin like he’s memorizing every part of you.

Forehead kisses? Constant. He adores them.

He’s not overly possessive in public, but when the moment’s private, he’ll kiss you like it’s the last time before a battle.

Whispered “You okay?” or “I missed you” between kisses. He’s verbal. He wants you to know how he feels.

Freebie: Rain. Slow dancing. Quiet after an argument. He’s all about emotional resonance.

Sweet Love in Jazz Park

They ducked beneath the edge of the old park gazebo, where the string lights swayed gently in the breeze. The crowd was thinning, laughter fading under umbrellas and retreating footsteps, but Steve didn’t want to leave—not yet.

“Looks like we’re not the only ones caught off guard.” You said, wringing the fresh water droplets from your hair, your eyes never leaving Steve’s.

He smiled softly, wiping a drop from his nose. “Yeah, but I’m glad I’m with you.” The words felt like an unexpected gift, as if they were both testing the edges of something new. His voice, low and honest, felt steady and sure.

A few seconds passed, the rain still pouring down in sheets around you both, but it didn’t matter anymore. The world had narrowed to just this—a small, quiet space where you don’t need words to feel everything that needed to be said.

Steve stepped closer, one hand gently brushing your cheek, his thumb catching a stray raindrop, and without hesitation, he leaned in.

It wasn’t a kiss born from fireworks or passion—it was softer than that. It was the kind of kiss that spoke of beginnings, of the small moments that create something bigger. A kiss of trust, of vulnerability, of something still unfolding.

Bucky Barnes – The Desperate Softness

Style: Raw, emotional, and grounding.Bucky’s kisses feel like they’re pulling him back into the present. He kisses you to remind himself he’s alive, that he’s loved, and that he’s safe. He can go from slow and soft to desperate and needy in a heartbeat, especially when he’s scared of losing you.

Often buries his hands in your hair, pulling you in like he’s afraid to let go.

Prefers private moments—he’s uncomfortable with too many eyes, but behind closed doors, he’s endlessly affectionate.

Loves quiet, close kisses where your foreheads rest together after. He breathes with you.

Freebie: Kissing your knuckles or the back of your hand when words won’t come.

I’m Done Holding Back

Bucky had been quiet in your shared room when you had asked if he was alright. He insisted he wasn’t but it was okay, that he had you and that he was just thinking, which was never fully a good thing when he was left to simmer too long by himself. You let him rant, only offering silent encouragement.

“I want to show you something, though. Something that’s mine. That’s ours.”

He stepped closer to you, closing the distance between you with a purposeful stride. You didn’t back away, didn’t hesitate. Instead, meet him halfway, your breath hitching as your bodies were just inches apart.

Bucky hesitated for a moment, then reached up, his fingers grazing your cheek gently, almost as if testing the sensation of having control of this moment—having control over himself. His eyes searched for any trace of doubt, but there was nothing. Only love. Only trust.

And then, without another word, he kisses you.

It wasn’t a tentative, unsure action. It wasn’t a soft or gentle press of the lips. It was a kiss of desperation—the kind of kiss you give when you need to remind yourself of your own humanity, when you need to prove that you are alive.

Thor Odinson – The Gentle Storm

Style: Passionate, dramatic, and joyful.Thor is an all-consuming romantic. He kisses like he loves—with the force of thunder and the warmth of sunlight. There’s no holding back. Every kiss feels like he’s celebrating life, like you’re the most important moment in the universe right now.

Likes to dip you without warning.

Palm cradling your face, leaning in with eyes sparkling, then brushing your lips like it’s a ritual.

Loud laughter after kisses. “By the Norns, you’re magnificent.”

Freebie: He kisses your forehead and nose when he’s being playful, but crashes into your mouth when he’s serious.

Let Me Worship You

The fire crackles low. Outside, rain falls in sheets. Inside, Thor kneels behind you on the fur-draped floor, brushing your hair away from your neck with the gentleness of a poet.

You don’t speak. You don’t need to.

He presses a kiss just below your ear, slow and reverent. Then another, lower. His breath is warm, his touch even warmer. You tilt your head slightly, giving him permission.

He murmurs something in Old Norse against your skin—his voice like velvet and thunder.

You twist to face him, and when your eyes meet, he looks almost shy for a second. Then his lips find yours—deep, slow, sacred. Like you’re the treasure at the heart of Asgard. Like kissing you might bring back the stars.

“I have seen a thousand galaxies.” He says softly, lips brushing yours again. “None are more radiant than you.”

Peter Parker – The Tender Enthusiast

Style: Sweet, nervous, and always 100% invested.Peter kisses like each time is a gift—and he doesn’t want to waste a single second of it. He’s so in love it radiates off him. Early on, he overthinks everything (Where do my hands go? Am I too much?), but once he’s comfortable with you, he’s golden.

Can’t help but smile during kisses. His lips twitch mid-kiss. He’s hopeless.

Loves quick, constant pecks throughout the day: cheek, temple, top of your head—he’s a hummingbird of affection.

But when he’s serious? He’s surprisingly good at slow, deep kisses, with hands on your waist and a whispered “You’re everything.”

Freebie: He apologizes after first kisses. “Sorry if that was—uh, I mean, was it good? You’re amazing. Can we—can I do it again?”

Unexpectedly Bold, Unshakably Confident

You’re rambling. Peter’s watching you with this half-lidded smile—quiet, focused, and something else. Something... new.

“You’re staring.” You say, finally catching it.

He tilts his head. “Yeah. I am.”

You blink. “What?”

“You look really good when you ramble.” He says, standing from his chair. He walks toward you slowly, a subtle swagger in his step. “And I’m kinda done pretending I don’t want to kiss you every time you do.”

You open your mouth to respond, but he’s already there—his hands at your hips, his mouth finding yours with certainty and heat. It’s not sloppy or shy—it’s deliberate. Practiced. Grown.

When he pulls back, you’re breathless. “Where the hell did that come from?”

His lips pull to form a sly smirk. Offering a wink to you before going back for more. (He’s been watching youtube tutorials.)

Sam Wilson – The Steady Flame

Style: Smooth, slow, and deeply reassuring.Sam kisses with intention. He’s confident, relaxed, and knows exactly how to read your energy. Every kiss from him says “You’re home.” He’s present in every moment, and he makes you feel like the most grounded, loved person in the world.

He makes eye contact first. That lingering, soul-seeing kind.

His kisses are full of warmth and pressure, but always gentle. He doesn’t rush.

Will lean in and kiss you mid-sentence if you’re rambling or worried. Just to calm you.

Freebie: Pressing a kiss to your temple and murmuring, “You’re doing great” when you doubt yourself.

I’m Not Letting You Walk Away

You’re halfway to the door, shoes on, jaw clenched. The argument was low-key but heavy, and you need air.

Sam moves before you can turn the handle.

He grabs your wrist—not hard, but firm. You turn, about to snap, but he steps into your space. No words. Just presence.

Then he kisses you.

It’s not gentle. It’s not casual. It’s him saying everything he couldn’t get out in the heat of the moment. His lips are demanding, his grip strong as his mouth claims yours like he’s trying to erase the distance between you. You kiss back, surprised, breath catching in your throat.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, breath shallow.

“I don’t care if we fight. I don’t care if we’re mad. But you don’t walk away. Not from me. Not from this.”

You nod, dazed. He kisses you again—softer this time—but it’s still fire under the surface.