#I did not forgot the tags u saw nothing

[jackalsraised]

the best engagement i get is w.illiam a.fton and specific h.atter gifsets when they look slutty (affectionate) so logistically i should make more of those, but ima do what i want which is why theres been sm general h.atter n a lot of d.anielle— also bc big gifs receive more traction for some reason i’m gonna redo those s.eb in a bathtub scenes in big form at some point

[capuccinodoll]

— A haunted body, part two: "In a lifeless memory, there you belong" ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆‧₊˚ (jackson!joel x f!reader)

fic masterlist | ao3 | capuccinodollupdates | previous chapter | next chapter

— Chapter summary: After two weeks of seeing Joel almost every single day, you start crafting quiet little strategies, soft edges to try and smooth the sharpness between you. But he seems resistant, like the idea of letting you close the gap is something he’s not ready to consider. wc: 11k

A/N: I love u joel i don't care if you're an asshole. Don't forget to let me know your opinion in the comments, it helps me a lot! <3 (TAG LIST OPEN)

Jackson. Early, early morning.

When you were little, there was a girl in your class who made a habit of bothering you. Nothing major, just enough to make your stomach twist when you saw her in the hallway. One morning, sitting beside your father in the car while the engine idled outside the school, you told him about her. He listened quietly, nodding once or twice. Then he said, “You should ignore her. And if you have to treat her, treat her nicely. Don’t rise to it. That’s what she wants. Do you understand?”

You nodded. And you did exactly as he said.

At first, it confused her. She tried harder for a day or two, needled you with more effort, as if trying to provoke a reaction she could count on. But when you gave her nothing back—no anger, no tears—she seemed to lose interest. By the end of the week, she asked if you wanted to play with her during recess. You did. You never forgot that, how choosing not to retaliate could feel like a kind of quiet power. Your father was good at that kind of thing. Advice that didn’t expire.

So this morning, after a restless night, you got out of bed earlier than usual and made up your mind. You’d be kind. Or at the very least, unshakable.

It had been two weeks since you started working alongside Joel. Fourteen days of exchanging only the necessary words, of him speaking to you like a coworker he neither trusted nor disliked, just tolerated. And maybe he didn't even do that. Every morning you walked into the office, nodded at him, and took your place at the other desk. You filed through the day’s assignments—who was scheduled to patrol, who needed supplies, who was still waiting on repairs for faulty plumbing or a leaking roof.

Sometimes you'd go out with Joel to inspect the repairs. You carried your notebook and wrote down what the workers needed, the things Joel muttered under his breath as he ran his hand along cracked drywall or faulty beams. You didn’t ask questions, only noted what mattered. That time, Tommy had looked over your notes and the two of them agreed that the Fisher house needed priority—there was a child involved, five years old, and their walls were practically coming apart. 

That was the rhythm of your mornings now: paperwork, coordination, quiet observation. Joel barely acknowledged you, but you didn’t take it personally anymore. You’d gotten good at the job. Better than expected. You were fast, you remembered names, and people liked you—at least, enough to stop you in the hallway to say hi, or ask if you’d seen their gloves, or if Joel was really as grumpy as he seemed.

You’d found yourself thinking about your father a lot last week—his voice in the car, the warmth of his hand on the steering wheel, the way he always made things sound easier than they actually were. Maybe that’s why, this morning, you got up earlier than usual. 

The sun hadn’t fully settled over Jackson yet. Everything outside looked pale and rinsed out. The air had that crisp, early-hour bite, sharp enough to flush your cheeks pink by the time you walked into the office. You loved the smell of it.

You shrugged off your coat and hung it on the rack, your fingers numb and tingling as they left the fabric. Your eyes still felt puffy from sleep.

Joel’s desk was already cluttered, as if it, too, had started the day before he had. A notepad sat open, pages crumpled at the corners. There were pens scattered like breadcrumbs across the surface, a few maps rolled into loose cylinders, and a mug—white, ceramic, stained faintly at the rim. Empty, as usual.

Without thinking too much, you picked up the mug and stepped out into the hallway. A few steps down was the shared kitchen. It was barely big enough to fit two people comfortably, but it had what mattered: a chipped oven no one used, a stainless steel sink, and, most importantly, a coffee maker that always smelled faintly burnt. 

No one really used the kitchen all that much. Just you and Joel. Lately, it felt like you were the only one keeping it company.

You turned on the tap and let the water run warm before washing the mug carefully, the way you'd do your own. It wasn’t much, but you had noticed a pattern. Joel came in every day, usually right on the edge of eight o’clock, washed the same mug with a weary kind of efficiency, made tea or coffee —that is, if he was lucky enough to have a little bit of it— drank it down, repeat a few times, and left the mug behind for tomorrow. Like it didn’t matter. 

You thought maybe this one gesture might shift something, even if just for you. So you filled the machine, let it gurgle and spit to life, and stood there in the quiet hum of the kitchen as the smell of it spread into the corners. 

A group had come through a few days ago, bringing coffee with them—real one, the kind that made the whole place smell delicious. You had no idea what kind of deal Joel had made, what he'd traded or promised or given up, but somehow, he ended up with a decent stash.

That morning, when you walked in and the scent hit you, it stopped you in your tracks. It reminded you of mornings back home, before everything changed. Of your dad, already dressed for work, sipping from a chipped mug. Of your mom singing in the kitchen. Of cereal boxes and rushed ponytails and school shoes you never liked.

You thought about asking Joel for a cup. Or a sip. Just a little. But it felt like too much somehow.

Later, without a word, Tommy handed you a jar. Just placed it in your hands like it had always been meant for you. You didn’t ask how he got it. You just held it, and let yourself smile, a little.

Back at your desk, you poured yourself a cup and sat with your legs tucked under you, the book Audrey had lent you open across your lap. She worked in the kitchen most days and was always recommending stories with women who didn’t apologize for being soft or tired or stubborn. You liked her.

You sipped the coffee. It tasted a little bitter but warm, grounding. Outside, the morning light stretched further down the town. You watched it move while the room stayed still.

When you glanced at the clock again, it read 7:46 a.m.

Fourteen minutes. You didn’t hear his boots yet, but you would soon. He was nothing if not consistent. And today, for once, you were ready before him.

You stood up from your chair. The office was still quiet. You walked into the kitchen, holding your empty mug, and turned on the faucet. The warm water ran over your hands, comforting in a way that made you pause

A couple of minutes passed like that, the silence in the building stretching between walls and doors. And then you heard it— the sound of the front door opening. Heavy footsteps, measured, familiar. Joel didn’t stop. He walked past the kitchen without looking in, the thud of his boots leading straight into the office. A beat later, the scrape of his chair echoed faintly, followed by a tired, worn-out exhale that sounded like he was already annoyed at the day.

You didn’t rush. You just took his mug from the counter and poured coffee into it, plain and black, the way he drank it every morning. You didn’t need to ask. You already knew.

When you stepped back into the office, he hadn’t noticed you right away. Then, he startled— just slightly— and turned to look. His eyes widened for a second, his body tensing before recognition caught up to him. His brows furrowed, and he exhaled again, sharper this time. You scared him. The way you’d managed to catch him off guard made something flicker inside you, something amused and smug that you tried not to show.

You set the mug down on his desk without ceremony.

“What’s that?” he asked, his voice already edged with suspicion. You were walking back to your own desk, your back to him.

“Coffee,” you replied, as you lowered yourself into the chair.

“I know it’s coffee. I can smell it.” 

“So?” you shrugged lightly.

He picked up his notepad with exaggerated purpose, flipped to a page he probably didn’t need to read. His eyes never met yours.

“You’re early,” he said finally.

“I know.”

A heavy sigh. The notepad dropped back onto the desk with a dull slap.

“I take my coffee without sugar,” he said, looking up now, his expression bordering on accusatory. He was waiting for a misstep, a reason to dismiss the gesture.

“I know.” You met his gaze without flinching, the corner of your mouth twitching before you could stop it.

He didn’t speak. Just stared for a few beats too long. Then he cleared his throat, and without breaking eye contact, reached for the mug. He brought it to his lips and took a sip.

You didn’t look away. You wanted to see the exact moment he realized he had nothing to complain about.

Then, without a word, he placed the mug back on the desk, his fingers brushing the ceramic for a moment too long. His eyes dropped to whatever was in front of him, but his voice broke the quiet.

“Sean asked to switch partners,” he said. His gaze shifted toward the whiteboard behind his desk, eyes landing on something you couldn’t see. “Says Leo gets too distracted. Not the first time I’ve heard that.”

You didn’t reply. You just let your mouth curve slightly at the corners, quiet and unseen.

For the next hour, he didn’t speak much. He moved through the room without saying where he was going or why. He leafed through folders, erased a few words from the board, wrote down new ones. Every few minutes, he’d sigh—a soft exhale that seemed to come more from habit than frustration. You didn’t ask questions. You just worked beside him, familiar now with the rhythms of your shared silence.

It wasn’t until he came back up from downstairs that you stood. You reached for your coat on the rack near the door and pulled it on, smoothing the sleeves as you turned back around.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” you told him, like you didn’t expect a response.

You didn’t get one. So you stepped into the hallway, hands tucked into your coat pockets, offering a wave to the two men heading toward the stairs. They nodded back, mid-conversation.

Outside, the sun hit your skin nice and tender. It softened your cheeks. Jackson was awake now. You could feel it—the quiet hum of people living, talking, moving. The scent of something warm and cooked drifted in the air as you neared the dining hall, and your stomach responded before you could think.

“Hey, Snow,” someone called behind you, just as you reached the bar inside the place. You turned. It was Lucas, walking toward you with a worn clipboard in one hand and a beanie barely covering his ears.

“How are you?” he asked, falling into step beside you. “Can I run something by you?”

You nodded, still heading toward the bar. “Of course.”

Lucas followed without hesitation, already launching into a description of a structural issue near the east exit—something about the door, rot setting into the wood where the wall met the ground. You listened, pulling details into a mental list you knew you’d jot down later. The kind of thing Tommy and Maria would want to hear about before someone else noticed. 

Ten minutes later, you set a brown paper bag down on Joel’s desk. The sound of it landing was soft, but he looked up immediately. His brows knitted, not in anger exactly, but in that vague, unsettled way he had when something didn’t follow the routine he trusted.

“Lucas says the east exit’s getting worse,” you said, not giving him time to ask. “Rotten wood near the base of the door. Snow and last week’s rain didn’t help.”

You turned away before he could answer, dropped your own bag onto your desk, the motion casual, maybe even careless. Then you took off your coat, shook it out a little, and hung it on the hook beside the door—just to his left. When you passed him again, you felt his eyes on you. Measuring something, maybe.

“What is this?” he asked, eyes back on the bag like it might explode.

You didn’t stop moving. Just walked to your chair, pulled it in, opened your own bag with a practiced flick of your fingers.

“Food,” you said. “Breakfast.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. You heard the paper crinkle as he peeked inside.

“Why’d you bring me food?”

You flipped open your book, the spine soft from overuse.

“Thought you might be hungry,” you said, keeping your voice light. “Figured I’d take a chance.”

“You don’t know what I—”

“It’s a breakfast sandwich,” you interrupted, without looking up. “Egg. Cheese. Chicken.”

You tilted your head slightly, pretending to read, though your eyes hadn’t moved past the first sentence. You could feel the pause in the air between you.

When you finally glanced up, Joel was still staring at you. Or maybe through you. His face was unreadable, but his mouth was set like he was preparing for something.

“Sure,” he muttered eventually, and stood, lifting his empty mug as he did. “Thanks.”

You watched him cross the room without another word, stepping through the doorway with his shoulders pulled slightly back.

“Anytime,” you said into the space he’d left behind. 

You could see it happening, the confusion settling into his body. The shift in his posture, the faint narrowing of his eyes, as if he was trying to piece together a puzzle that had started rearranging itself without his permission. Joel had come in expecting resistance. He was ready for it, even. Braced for your irritation like someone ducking before a storm that never quite arrived. And yet, there you were, soft-spoken, steady, placing things in front of him like he hadn’t raised his voice last week or shut a door a little too hard just yesterday.

You hadn’t forgotten. He had saved your life — yes, that much was true. But that didn’t grant him a free pass to act like a man untouched by consequence. Still, you were careful with him in a way he hadn’t earned but also hadn’t asked for. Not lately, anyway. He wasn’t cruel, not anymore. Just curt. And you had met curt before. You had shared days and nights with curt, loved curt, worked beside curt. You’d healed in the aftermath of people much harsher, more dismissive. Joel didn’t scare you.

Over the following days, it became a quiet pattern.

When he walked in —always early, always scowling— you slid a mug of hot coffee or tea across the table toward him. No commentary. Just a quiet “Good morning,” spoken without inflection. Each time, his brow creased like he was trying to read you through smoke. He didn’t say thank you. Didn’t complain either. You could tell he noticed the drink was good. He drank it all, every time.

You didn’t coddle him. You weren’t interested in becoming one of those people who believed gruffness equaled depth. Most days it was just coffee. Once, on a Thursday, you added a plate with a slice of apple pie you’d got from the dining hall, because you’d had too much and he looked like someone who needed sugar and softness. But that was it. You weren’t going to make a habit out of kindness for the sake of earning anything back.

On Friday, you climbed the stairs without thinking much about it, already mentally checking off tasks for the morning. You passed the kitchen on your way to the office, but something pulled you back. Two steps. That was all.

Joel was there, pouring coffee into his mug, his shoulders hunched like they always were this early, like he hadn’t quite put on his armor yet. He didn’t turn to look at you.

“Morning,” he murmured. His voice came out rougher than usual, sleep clinging to it like sand.

You smiled, just slightly. A breath of a laugh left your nose.

You didn’t say anything. Just walked past him, footsteps quiet against the floor, your body moving with calm. When you reached the office, you glanced up at the clock on the wall. 7:12 a.m. You shrugged out of your coat and hung it on the back of your chair.

You sat, unzipping your backpack and reaching for a book — not the one you’d been reading all week, but a new one. Something about plant behavior and cellular memory, lent to you yesterday by Ian, the guy from the greenhouse who always smelled faintly of rosemary and talked too much about soil. You didn’t open it. Just laid it on the desk beside you.

Joel appeared in the doorway a moment later, his mug in hand. His expression was unreadable.

He set the mug down with a muted thud and lowered himself into his chair.

“Not responding to a good morning is kind of rude,” he said, his tone flat but pointed.

You laughed. Not loudly, just one of those involuntary little sounds that catches in the back of your throat and comes out anyway. Because of course he would say that. It was absurd. Coming from him, it almost felt like satire.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer. Just stood, smoothing your palms over the edge of the desk before heading out of the room and down the hall. The kitchen was quiet, the light soft and yellow over the counter as you made a single cup of coffee, taking your time measuring everything, pouring water. When you came back, he was exactly where you'd left him.

The minutes that followed felt thick. You sipped your coffee slowly. Occasionally, you let your eyes wander to where he sat, glasses perched low on his nose, flipping through a tattered magazine that looked like it had been rescued from a waiting room. You could tell he wasn’t really reading. His fingers moved too fast, the pages turned too frequently. He was just there. Killing time. Sitting in your space, doing nothing, possibly for the sole purpose of making his own damn coffee without you touching his mug.

Then, without warning, his voice cut through the quiet.

“I can feel you watching.” He didn’t look up. Just said it like it had been on his tongue for a while. “Another thing that’s rude.”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t even smile.

“I wasn’t watching you,” you said. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

You kept your voice neutral, your posture relaxed. You turned a page in the book you still hadn’t started reading.

“You’re early today,” you added, not looking up.

“That’s right.”

You waited, but nothing else came.

“You do the same thing all the time,” you said after a few moments. “Don’t you think that’s rude?”

Joel looked up. His eyes narrowed just slightly, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly. 

You leaned back in your chair, shifting your weight.

“You ignore my greetings. You stare at me without saying anything. You do it constantly. Doesn’t that seem rude when you do it?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze stayed on you, unreadable as always, and then he set the magazine down with a quiet rustle. Removed his glasses and folded them carefully.

“Is that why you didn’t answer me earlier?” he asked finally. “You trying to make a point?”

You tilted your head slightly, the corners of your mouth not quite smiling.

“Mmm, no, Joel,” you said, resting your forearms on the desk in front of you. “I’m not trying to prove anything to you.”

A quiet sigh slipped out of his nose, and he went back to the magazine, flipping through the pages without really seeing them.

You let him be, and the silence stretched, not hostile, just familiar, for now.

Eventually, when footsteps began echoing in the hallway and voices started filling the air outside the room, Joel glanced at the clock. He stood up with energy.

“I should go,” he said, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve. “Time for patrol.”

You looked at him, confused. “What?”

“I’m covering for Leo,” he said, flatly. No explanation, no elaboration.

You watched him step out into the hallway, his boots heavy against the floor. And even after he was gone, the question stayed with you: Why the hell had he come so early just to sit around doing nothing? Just to stop you from making coffee?

By the time the clock hit eleven, Tommy appeared. He skimmed through the notes you’d written down, nodding here and there, murmuring things under his breath as he read. Then you both walked outside together, your steps falling into rhythm naturally.

He told you about something Benji had done the day before and you laughed, despite yourself. Then he talked about Maria. His tone shifted when he mentioned her, softened like a sunbeam catching on glass. He smiled in a way that made your chest ache just a little.

There was something about watching them that settled somewhere deep inside you. A kind of warmth that didn’t feel naïve. Just rare. Sweet.

In the middle of a world that had broken and bent so many people, they’d found each other. And more than that, they’d built something. Were building something — brick by brick, hour by hour. Maria especially. She was steel wrapped in skin. A woman who had brought life into this hollowed-out world and refused to let it crush her. You admired her deeply, in the quiet way women admire other women, with something closer to reverence than envy.

Here, in the remains of the world, they were still choosing hope. Choosing to make space for the new. And that, to you, felt pretty fucking extraordinary.

The world, as you knew it, had never been gentle. It had teeth. And it had taken everything from you with them.

That kind of loss didn’t happen all at once, though. It unraveled in fragments, in quiet disappearances and sudden, brutal moments. Sometimes the violence was so abrupt it felt almost clean. Other times it dragged out, long and clumsy and cruel. You’d lived through both kinds.

Your parents were the first to go. Not to infection, not to panic or blood or fire. A traffic accident. You were still a child, almost a year before the outbreak. The world was intact, more or less. You remembered the sound of the phone ringing, someone else’s voice delivering the news, the way everything after that moment felt thin and bright and unreal.

It was the most painful thing you’d experienced then. And yet, somewhere deep in your chest, you’d come to feel a kind of twisted gratitude that they didn’t have to see what came next. They didn’t have to live through the collapse. Or through what it made of people.

You did.

The years after their deaths blurred into the first scattered pieces of survival. You were shuffled between shelters and checkpoints and concrete rooms that stank of bleach. Men in uniforms who looked through you. Rations passed over counters by hands that didn’t shake yours.

You were alone for a long time. Not metaphorically, literally.

Then, at fourteen, you met Frances. And for the first time in what felt like years, someone looked at you like you were still human. Like you mattered. You stayed close to her after that, clung to her like you would’ve clung to a lifeboat in the middle of a black sea.

At sixteen, the two of you ran. No plan. No destination. Just the shared understanding that whatever waited for you outside the walls was less terrifying than what was happening inside them.

The next few years were a mixture of hunger and fleeting safety. But you found people—your people. Gabriel. Pia. Robert. Each of them complicated and bruised and resourceful. Pia and Robert were married, both in their fifties, and had the kind of tenderness between them that you hadn’t realized was still possible. Robert had been a cop once. He still moved like one. Gabriel was barely older than you, lean and quiet, with kind eyes that tracked every sound.

And Frances—Frances was still your anchor.

You were a makeshift family, built from necessity and luck and a strange, tender kind of loyalty. You shared food, watched each other’s backs, stayed warm by the same fires. You were never supposed to be apart.

Then Frances got pregnant. With Gabriel’s child.

And the dynamics, so carefully held in place, began to shift.

At first it was manageable. But as her belly grew, so did the risk. She tired faster, moved differently, couldn’t outrun the kinds of danger that used to just brush against your group. Still, no one abandoned her. You would never. Neither would Gabriel. Pia and Robert were endlessly gentle with her, wrapping their practicality in affection.

Eventually, you found the house. Abandoned, weather-worn, but intact. It made you believe, if only for a second, that things could maybe, possibly, hold.

You stayed. A few days. That was all. A pause in the rushing current.

The stronger ones went out for supplies. You stayed behind with Frances, who was almost full term, whose hands curled instinctively toward her stomach whenever she slept.

That last night, you laughed. Really laughed. Frances had a way of pulling that out of you. Around her, you could still be soft. Still be young. She made you feel like the version of yourself you’d been before the world twisted everything out of shape.

She loved fiercely. Not just Gabriel. Not just the baby. She loved you too, in a way that was simple and unselfish. And she was the first person who’d ever made you believe that you deserved to be loved back.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the way it ended.

The raiders came after midnight. You didn’t hear them at first, but later, you'd wonder if you'd sensed something before it began—some tiny ripple in the air, some unplaceable unease. They had been watching, you’d find out later. Waiting until you had just enough worth stealing.

You remembered the screams. Frances’s, sharp and ragged, as labor overtook her in the middle of the chaos. Gabriel, bleeding out just feet away. Robert shot. Pia's body crumpled against the hallway wall. You remembered how silence descended in pieces, punctuated by the wet sounds of dying.

And you. Still breathing.

Death passed over you like smoke. You should have died. Maybe you did, in some invisible way. But your body stayed.

So did Frances, for a little while longer. Just long enough to give birth to a baby you held in your arms, shaking, sobbing, rocking back and forth on the floor while the house burned around you, metaphorically or otherwise. You don't remember screaming. But you must have. You must have.

And then—

The door slammed behind you. A sharp sound. Present. Real. It pulled you out of the memory with a jolt, like someone tugging a cord that had been wrapped tight around your ribs.

You blinked. The room reassembled around you. And you were no longer that twenty-year-old girl soaked in death and blood and grief. You were here.

Still breathing.

“So how’s it going with Joel?” Tommy asked as the two of you walked across the dining hall, the soles of your boots brushing against the wooden floor. He gestured toward a table by one of the windows, where the morning light fell unevenly, casting long, uneven shapes across the surface.

You lifted your shoulders in a vague shrug, a noncommittal answer you hoped might pass for honesty.

“It’s... normal,” you said, not sure what that even meant.

Tommy’s mouth tugged into a grin as he dropped into his seat.

“Ah, I see. But you’ve adjusted really well. It shows.”

You pulled the chair across from him and sat down, tucking one leg underneath you as your eyes flicked to the window.

“You think so?”

“Sure. Listen,” he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like this was something meant only for you. “I think you’re doing a great job. Really. But if you’d feel more comfortable in a different job, or with someone else, just say the word. I know Joel can be... hard to read. Or just plain hard.”

You smiled at that, almost without meaning to, and let your gaze drift back outside. Ellie was walking across the street, her stride loose and confident, her mouth moving fast as she talked to a tall boy who gestured wildly with his hands.

“Joel and Ellie are pretty close, aren’t they?” you asked, watching them for a beat longer before turning your eyes back to Tommy.

He nodded. “That’s right. You’ve met her?”

“Mm-hm,” you said softly. “She’s cute.”

“She must like you, then,” Tommy laughed.

You laughed, too—not because you meant to, but because it was contagious. “Why?”

“They’re similar. Joel and Ellie. Doesn’t always look like it, but they are. They don’t warm up to just anyone.”

“Ah.” You looked back toward the window, where Ellie was now halfway across the street. Something about her made you ache in a way you couldn’t name. 

You were about to ask Tommy something else when a voice came from beside you.

“Can we talk?”

You turned, startled. Joel stood a few feet from the table, one hand resting on the back of your chair, his other gripping a battered metal thermos. His shirt was a flannel one you hadn’t seen before, dark grey streaked with muted blue. His hair was a little windblown, like he’d just come in from the gate.

You blinked at him.

“Um, sure,” you said, voice softer than you meant. You didn’t move. Just looked up at him from your seat.

Joel frowned. “I was talkin’ to Tommy.”

“Oh,” you said quickly, your face heating as you stood. “Right. Sorry.” You stepped back, barely meeting his eyes.

“See you later, Snow,” Tommy said lightly behind you.

You gave him a wave without turning fully around. But you didn’t miss the way Joel’s eyes followed you, the faintest crease forming between his brows. There was something in his expression that always landed just short of anger, but never softened into anything else.

As you passed by, you caught his gaze and held it for a beat longer than necessary. And maybe it was petty, or stupid, but you let your eyes flick down the length of him the way he sometimes—often—looked at you. Then you raised your brows just slightly, something almost defiant in the tilt of your chin.

If he could glare, so could you.

You were nearly at the door when someone called your name. Your real name.

The sound of it made you stop. You turned your head and saw Isabella approaching, her gait easy, familiar. Beside her was another woman—Florence. You’d met her only three weeks ago, in passing, but she’d been here longer than you. Just a couple of months. She was twenty-seven, and there was something about her—maybe the cadence of her voice, or how she always seemed to lean in when she spoke—that reminded you of Frances in a way that was soft and slightly painful.

They both had bright smiles stretched across their faces.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Isabella said, her hand reaching out instinctively to brush your arm. “Haven’t seen you in forever. How are you holding up?”

“Sorry about that,” you said, already feeling the guilt seep in. “I’m fine. How about you? And Hugh?” You glanced around out of habit, searching for Mr. Rowell, as everyone still called him, even though he insisted on just ‘Hugh’. But he wasn’t nearby.

“We’re good,” Florence answered for them, her voice soft and bright. “Saving our stomachs for later tonight.”

“For what?” you asked.

Isabella grinned, her hands moving to Florence’s shoulders with a light shake of affection. “It’s this one’s birthday today.”

Your mouth opened slightly in surprise, and then closed again as a ripple of guilt moved through you.

“Oh. Right. Friday.” You reached out and rested your hand gently on Florence’s shoulder, not quite sure how to express affection anymore, but doing your best. “Happy birthday. What are you planning?”

“Getting drunk,” Florence said with a sparkle in her eye as she slid her arm through yours. Her laugh followed. “Tonight. Tipsy Bison. You have to come.”

You smiled, genuinely. “I’ve never been to an adult birthday celebration. Not a real one, anyway. I won’t miss it.”

Isabella’s eyebrows rose. “Seriously?”

You nodded. “Seriously.”

“Oh, baby,” she said, grinning wide. “Then tonight’s your night. In a world like this, celebrations are sacred. Parties are the last flickering lanterns, and we keep them lit even if all we’ve got is some post-apocalyptic mystery alcohol and a half-broken speaker system.”

That made you laugh, really laugh. The sound escaped you before you could temper it, high and unexpected, bouncing off the walls like a misplaced echo.

You turned your head at the sudden awareness that someone was watching. Joel. A few feet away, still talking with Tommy. His posture stiffer than usual, arms crossed. The expression on his face looked like the aftermath of biting into something sour.

Your eyes met. He didn’t look away.

You let out a quiet snort under your breath, not hiding the smirk as you looked back at Florence. 

"I wouldn't miss it," you said, smiling.

Jackson. Tipsy Bison. That same night.

You threw your head back, your laughter bright and brief. Florence’s hand rested on your shoulder, fingers splayed casually, and she was laughing too, mid-story, telling everyone about something absurd her parents had once done a few years ago before they got to Jackson—something involving a river and a miscommunication about something you didn't catch entirely. 

The bar was full. Crackling with low music, the low thud of boots against the floor. Amber lights flickered above you, casting a warm hue on everyone’s skin, faces golden and half-shadowed. Around you: the Rowells, Florence, Audrey. Jesse, the boy you’d noticed earlier standing beside Ellie, was there too, smiling shyly into his drink like he didn’t know quite how to take up space in this group yet. 

You brought your glass to your lips. The taste hit sharp and fast, a bloom of heat down your throat. Your eyes closed without thinking.

Now Isabella was recounting something about how she’d met Hugh, how he’d followed her around a library for three weeks before saying a word to her, and everyone was laughing, even you. That was when you felt it—a shift in air to your left, a pocket of coolness brushing the side of your face. The front door had opened.

You turned your head instinctively.

Joel walked in, Sean just behind him. They were in mid-conversation, Sean gesturing with a kind of youthful exaggeration that didn’t match the lines on his face. He looked around forty-eight, maybe older, tall and broad-shouldered, his hair streaked with silver. A thin scar cut across his face, from eyebrow to jaw.

Your gaze fixed. Not on Sean.

Joel walked toward the bar, his face unreadable, like always. But something about his posture, his shoulders slightly tense, the way his hand hovered at his side like he hadn’t quite decided what to do with it, made something sharp flicker in your chest.

You barely registered Isabella calling out: “Oh, Joel!” Her voice was light, bright, insistent. She waved him over.

Your gaze dropped, instantly, to your lap. As if not seeing him would mean he wouldn’t come over.

But you felt it when he arrived. The shift in gravity. The awareness. You didn’t look at him, but your body registered him anyway, the shape of him in your peripheral vision.

He said nothing. You assumed he had nodded or waved in response to Isabella, some small social gesture that bypassed you entirely, of course.

“Sit down and have a drink with us,” Isabella offered. She was still smiling. “We’re celebrating Florence’s birthday tonight.”

He didn’t answer immediately.

You looked up. It felt like something you weren’t supposed to do, and yet, your eyes met his, only for the briefest flicker. Like he hadn’t meant to. Like it slipped.

He turned his attention to Florence then, and there was the faintest movement at the corner of his mouth. Almost a smile, but not quite.

“Happy birthday,” he said. “They’re waiting for me at the bar. Y’all have a good night.” He tipped his head, a quiet farewell.

You lifted your eyes again just as he was walking away. He looked back at the same time. Your eyes held his until the distance dissolved it.

A sound escaped your mouth. Not quite a sigh, not quite a groan. You fell back against the chair, legs crossed, shoulders loose now with something that wasn’t quite relief.

When you glanced around, Isabella and Florence were looking at you. The rest of the group was busy talking about something else.

“What?” you asked.

Florence raised her eyebrows. “What was that?”

“What?”

Isabella leaned in. “Did something happen between you two, sweetheart?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Then a small laugh broke loose from somewhere in your chest. You shook your head.

“No,” you said eventually. “He just doesn’t like me, I guess.”

Isabella frowned. “Why would you say that?”

Florence tilted her head, watching you carefully.

You shrugged. “I don’t know. He just doesn’t.”

Your drink was half-full. You took another sip, slower this time, and looked toward the bar. Joel stood beside Sean, his back to you. He was saying something, nodding slightly.

“But you’re so nice,” Florence said, giving your arm a playful nudge.

You smiled, but didn’t answer.

You weren’t sure how long it had been. Maybe an hour. Maybe longer. Time had stopped behaving like it usually did. It wasn’t linear anymore. It folded around the laughter and the flickering lights and the easy way the alcohol moved through your body.

This was new to you. Not the drinking, but the feeling of doing it without fear. It was strange. Almost peaceful. You hadn’t had many chances to get drunk in a way that felt light instead of dangerous. The world had already cracked open and crumbled by the time you were old enough to even consider rebellion. Most of your memories of drinking involved half-empty bottles found in places you weren’t supposed to be, always glancing over your shoulder, always sharing nervous grins with Frances in the dimness of an abandoned building.

That night with Frances had been jittery and loud, a night where you laughed because you were scared, and scared because you were laughing. This night was different. Here, you didn’t have to whisper. You didn’t have to listen for footsteps or wonder if someone had followed you in. The people around you were kind, familiar. Nobody had a gun in their lap.

Jesse was telling a story. Something about what he’d seen on patrol the week before. Two infected, a broken fence, the moon looking wrong in the sky. His voice was pleasant, but your attention wandered. You let yourself drift.

“I’m gonna grab another drink,” you said into the space between voices. Someone murmured something behind you. Maybe Florence, maybe not. You didn’t check.

You stood, stretching your arms behind your back with a quiet exhale, and made your way toward the bar. The room swayed a little in your vision, but you felt steady enough.

Eric was there, talking to someone as he leaned against the counter. He repaired furniture, you remembered. Nice guy. You’d spoken to him once or twice, always in passing. He greeted you with a nod and a half-smile.

“Hot night,” he muttered, lifting his glass.

You returned the smile out of politeness, not intention.

“Yeah,” you said vaguely, he was already turning away. “See ya.”

Your eyes followed the space he’d left, the void he’d carved by leaving.

And there he was. Joel. One seat over.

His posture was relaxed in a way that didn’t look natural, like he had to think about how to appear at ease. One forearm rested on the bar, fingers curled around a half-empty glass. His eyes were fixed somewhere else.

You held your smile for a few more seconds, just long enough to finish the gesture, and placed your order with the man behind the bar, your tongue lazy in your mouth. You could hear it. That little shift in articulation that meant you’d definitely had more than enough.

You smiled to yourself, lips barely parted.

And then Joel spoke.

“You should ease up on that.”

You turned your head, just enough to check if he was actually talking to you.

He was.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, curious.

His gaze shifted forward again.

“The drinking,” he said. “You might want to take it easy.”

A short laugh escaped from you. “I’m fine.”

“You’re drunk.”

There was no judgment in his voice. Just a plain, unwavering observation, like he was reading from a manual.

You didn’t answer. What was there to say?

The bartender slid a glass across the counter toward you, and you turned away from Joel entirely, focusing on the way the drink caught the light.

When your fingers curled around the glass, there was a brief flicker of indecision. You could leave. You almost did. But you didn’t move.

Instead, you spoke, your voice dipping just slightly into something meant to sound casual, maybe even teasing.

“I’ll be at my desk later tomorrow. In case you were worried about me screwing up your drink. I’ll leave your empty cup exactly where you left it, untouched and perfectly-perfectly still.”

Joel didn’t look at you. His eyes stayed on the bar like it was the most important thing in the room.

“You don’t need to show up tomorrow.”

There was a beat. Your mouth curved into a faint smile.

“I’ll be fine.”

Now he turned to you. His expression was unreadable at first glance, but then you saw it: seriousness cut through with a sharp edge of finality.

“I meant you’re not needed. Someone else will cover for you. Just... remember that in the morning.”

Your smile lingered for a second too long, then wavered. It began to fall in slow increments, first at the corners of your mouth, then in the tightening between your eyebrows.

“What do you mean, someone’s going to cover for me?”

“Just that.” His face turned back toward the wall of bottles.

You watched him lift his drink. Your eyes tracked the movement automatically.

“It’s my job.”

“And it’s not working.”

“That’s not true.”

He turned again, meeting your gaze head-on, and this time it was hard to hold it. His eyes were darker here, more shadow than color.

“I say it is.”

You didn’t speak right away. You were too busy analyzing the lines of his face, the tension in his jaw, the way anger didn’t make him louder, it made him quieter, more dangerous. You didn’t like how familiar that looked. And yet, you didn’t look away. You couldn’t.

The silence stretched for a second too long. You felt heat rise in your chest. Not the good kind, not the alcohol-kind. This was something else. Rejection, maybe. Or disappointment.

Then your father’s voice crossed your mind. Calm. Gentle. Something about not giving up on people just because they made things hard.

So you softened your features. A smile, careful and polite, found its way back onto your lips. You leaned slightly away from the bar.

“Then tell me what I did wrong,” you said, voice low, almost kind. “Tell me what I need to fix. I’ll get better.”

He looked at you like you’d just said something entirely absurd. His frown deepened, confusion and irritation knotting together.

But you didn’t wait for an answer.

You turned and walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last. The table was only a few feet away but you could already feel something sour beginning to build behind your ribs. Something bitter and raw. It spread through your chest like smoke.

Anger. Rejection. A familiar sense of helplessness. You didn’t want to name it. You just kept walking.

The voices around the table formed a blur of warmth and movement. Someone was laughing—Jesse, maybe, or Florence—and someone else was talking over them. You nodded when it felt appropriate. Smiled once, faintly. But your mind wasn’t anywhere near them.

It was the alcohol, yes. Liquid and pulsing, filling the hollow space behind your ribs. But it was also Joel. Or rather, the words he’d said to you at the bar, the sharp clarity of them. You kept hearing them again and again, turning them over like pebbles in your mouth. You’re not needed. Someone else will cover for you.

He couldn’t mean that. He didn’t have that kind of authority, right? You weren’t entirely sure. Tommy and Maria made the decisions; they were the ones who assigned the jobs, ran the meetings, kept the town functioning. But Joel was Tommy’s brother. That had to mean something. That had to count in ways you didn’t fully understand.

Still, Tommy liked having you there. He’d told you that more than once. You were good at your work. You showed up early, stayed late when needed. You’d learned how to manage the schedules, the maps, the tool checklists. You were even starting to understand the patrol rotations, and which teams needed what. It had taken you time, but you’d made something steady out of it. Something reliable. You had something to wake up for.

You didn’t want to be reassigned. You didn’t want to fade into some other task, tucked away in the greenhouse or in the kitchen.

Your gaze drifted without purpose until something shifted in your peripheral vision. Joel was getting up from his stool at the bar. He moved slow, with a kind of tension, a tightness held beneath the skin like a wire pulled taut. He didn’t look back.

You watched him turn toward the exit. His shoulders squared. The door opened. A few words trailed behind you—Isabella’s voice, asking something, maybe where are you going—but you weren’t really listening anymore. You were already standing, already moving.

The door clicked shut just before you reached it, and for a second, you stared at the wood, uncertain. Then both your hands came up. One beat, then the next, and you pushed it open. The night air hit your face.

He was ahead of you on the street, walking with that same guarded posture, all straight lines and clenched muscles. You watched the back of his shoulders for a moment. And still, your feet moved. Fast enough to close the space between you. Something inside you pushed up and outward, a combination of anger and something smaller.

“Hey,” you said, your voice catching a little in your throat. You kept walking, your boots crunching softly. “Joel.”

He turned, just slightly. A pause so brief it almost didn’t register. Then he kept walking, his boots hitting the pavement in a steady rhythm, as though your presence behind him hadn’t made any difference at all.

“I’m talking to you,” you called, your voice rising as you picked up your pace.

You reached out and caught his arm. The fabric of his sleeve felt coarse against your fingers, and the heat of his skin underneath startled you with how real it was. He shook you off, not violently, but not gently either. The motion was abrupt, like he couldn’t stand the feel of your hand there.

“What?” he said, his voice clipped. It wasn’t angry exactly, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of tension, like he was trying hard not to raise his voice.

You folded your arms over your chest, forcing yourself not to shrink beneath the weight of his disapproval.

“What did you mean back there?” you asked, chin lifted.

He exhaled through his nose, eyelids heavy as if something unseen pressed behind them. When he looked at you, his gaze was hooded and sharp, like a blade dulled by use but still dangerous.

“Go home,” he said. “You’re drunk.”

He turned again, dismissing you like it was nothing, like you were nothing. And that did something to you.

You reached out, again. Your hand landed on his arm. This time, he turned even faster, face hardening.

“You can’t take me out of it,” you said, your words a little breathless now.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.

“I’ve been doing a good job,” you insisted, stepping closer to him now. The distance between you had shrunk to inches.“I know I have. I’ve worked hard to learn everything. Tommy knows it, Maria too.”

He exhaled harshly through his nose, the muscle in his jaw twitching. His face was made of hard lines and sharp shadows here, his features drawn and difficult to decipher. But something in the way his jaw locked made your pulse beat faster.

“You’re not the one who decides that. I am.”

You tilted your head up toward him. “Oh, and you think I haven’t been doing well?”

“I think,” he said, stepping back, “that if something’s broken, you fix it. You don’t keep pretending it works just because. And you don’t work for me.”

You parted your lips to respond, to tell him he was wrong, but he had already turned, already started walking away like the conversation had ended.

It hadn’t. Not for you.

“Tommy doesn’t think that,” you said quickly, following him. Your feet carried you back to his side before you fully registered it. “He told me this morning. He said I was doing a good job.”

Joel kept walking. His gaze stayed fixed ahead. “I talked to him later.”

That pulled a laugh out of you, bitter and short.

“Right. Is that why you went to find him after patrol?” The memory struck you with a fresh kind of clarity. “You interrupted our conversation just to ask him to pull me off your side?”

Joel didn’t say a word.

You stepped forward, voice already sharp at the edges. “And what did he say to you?”

He stopped then, feet halting against the ground, body pivoting with the kind of restrained force that made your pulse kick. When he turned to face you, his eyes were shadowed, unreadable, and his voice came out low and rasped like it had been dragged across gravel.

“What do you think he said? If something isn’t working, it isn’t working.”

You stared at him.

“If?” you echoed, the word brittle and incredulous. “I want to know what he actually said. Right now.”

Your hand found its way to his chest, more instinct than intention. You pushed, not hard enough to move him, not really, but enough to make a point. Then you stepped past him, your feet carrying you down the path toward Tommy’s house before you fully realized that’s where you were headed.

You didn’t even know what you were doing, what your end goal was. It was late, the windows would be dark, and you had no intention of waking Maria or Benjamin. But it didn’t matter. You weren’t walking to get answers. You were walking to see if Joel would follow.

He did.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” His voice chased after you, footsteps following now.

You didn’t turn around.

“I want to hear it from him,” you snapped. “I have a pretty good idea of what he’ll say.”

Behind you, you heard a click of his tongue, like he couldn’t believe what you were doing.

Your steps quickened. You felt wired, your heart thrumming hard under your ribs. The air was thick with tension and residual whiskey.

You turned your head, only to find him already close. His hand clamped down on your arm.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he barked, breath hot and sharp. His face hovered too near yours, and his grip tightened. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

You jerked your arm free, violently, the words practically torn from your throat. “Don’t touch me.”

You turned away again, this time with real purpose. But before your second step landed, his hands were at your waist, strong and sudden.

“Joel—fuck!” you shouted, struggling as he hoisted you off your feet.

A growl ripped out of him—not angry, not even purposeful, just something primal and raw that erupted from his chest without permission.

“What the fuck are you doing?! Let me go!”

But he didn’t. He slung you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. One of his arms locked tight around your thighs to keep you from kicking, the other bracing your weight. The street spun upside down in your vision. Your hair fell across your face, and you felt his heartbeat against your stomach where your body was slumped over his back.

“You’re insane,” you yelled, breathless, every word bouncing off the night air. “Put me down. Right now, Joel!”

But he kept walking, dragging you—furious, humiliated, burning—to wherever the hell he’d decided was far enough from whatever this had turned into.

“What are you doing? Put me down. Joel, I swear to God—put me down right now!” You beat your fists against his back, your voice ricocheting off the quiet street. His flannel shirt bunched under your grip, your fingers clawing at the seams like that might anchor you, or shame him into letting go.

“You’re making a scene,” he muttered, the words strained and annoyed, barely audible from your position flung over his shoulder. “You’re drunk, and you’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Uh-huh, you're embarrassing me,” you hissed.

“Be quiet,” he snapped.

A frustrated breath escaped your chest, somewhere between a sigh and a groan. You reached for somethin. His shoulder blade, the collar of his shirt, even the curve of his hip, but you couldn’t find your footing or your dignity. And for a terrifying half second, you considered grabbing his ass purely out of spite.

His boots kept hitting the ground with the same relentless rhythm, the world still upside down in your vision. Your body jerked with each step, and just when you thought he might set you down, he adjusted his grip instead, his arm tightening around your thighs.

“All this,” you muttered under your breath, “over a fucking cup of coffee—”

“I told you to shut up,” he bit out again, this time harsher.

“I’ll talk to Tommy in the morning!” you shouted, twisting in his grip, trying to get your voice to hit something inside him.“You don’t get to decide this for me.”

“You’ll have plenty of free time in the morning. Do whatever you want.”

Your head throbbed from being upside down for so long, the blood rushing to your temples, and the indignation that had started as a low hum now threatened to swallow your entire body. You clenched a fistful of his shirt again.

“Joel,” you gasped, trying to lift your head. “For God’s sake, let me—”

And then, without warning, you were back on your feet. He pivoted with one abrupt motion and set you down. You stumbled a little from the shift, instinctively catching yourself by grabbing his shoulders. His hands were gone before you could find balance, his body stepping back as if he didn’t want to be touched for even a second longer.

You blinked and realized where you were. The porch. Your front door. He’d carried you all the way back without saying a word about it.

He didn’t stay. He turned around instantly. You watched the slope of his shoulders retreating, the rigid tension in his spine, like he was holding everything in with both fists.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you called out. “Joel.”

He kept walking. The sound of his boots was steady and infuriating. He wasn’t going to stop. He wasn’t going to look back.

“Joel!” This time, your voice cracked.

And then, without even really deciding to, you bent down and grabbed a small stone from the edge of the porch, something barely larger than a coin. You tossed it—not hard, just enough to get his attention. It hit his back with a faint, almost pitiful sound. You froze.

Joel stopped.

His hand came up to the back of his neck, resting there for a second. Then he turned, first glancing at the ground like he wasn’t sure what he’d just felt, and then lifting his eyes to meet yours. 

“Did you just throw something at me?”

His voice wasn’t loud, but it landed hard.

You swallowed, your throat tight. Some part of you wanted to smile, but it didn’t quite reach your lips.

You crossed your arms and stepped back, not in fear—never in fear—but to hold your own ground.

“I’m not afraid of you, Joel.”

His jaw flexed, and his eyes flickered. He didn’t say anything right away, just stared at you in a way that made the night air feel denser.

“I don’t know what the hell your problem is with me,” you said. “But it’s not my fault. I haven’t done anything to you. You’re just—” you paused, tasting the line on your tongue— “you’re just acting like an asshole.”

That landed. You could see it in the shift of his posture, the way he turned fully toward you now.

His voice dropped, hard and low. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

Your arms tightened across your chest. You met his gaze with your chin tipped up just slightly, unwilling to retreat.

“I didn’t call you anything,” you said. “I said you were acting like one.”

There was a flicker, barely there, at the edge of his mouth. Not a smile, not really. But it vanished as quickly as it came, and then he was striding toward you.

You moved instinctively. Backward, step by step, until your spine hit the solid wood of your door. The thud echoed somewhere low in your chest. You stayed there, heart hammering. He stopped in front of you, close enough to steal the air from your lungs. His breathing was uneven, sharp. Like he'd run farther than the porch, farther than the length of the street, and hadn't noticed until just now.

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he said. His breath carried whiskey and heat and something mean.

You tilted your chin up, refusing to shrink.

“Or what?” you asked. “What are you going to do?”

He let out a low, humorless laugh, more of a sound than a reaction.

“I’m not afraid of you, Joel,” you added, quieter now. “You’re not going to hurt me. I can see it. It’s written all over you.”

That’s when his hand came up.

His fingers wrapped around your neck. Not tight, not painful, but firm. Enough to make your back press harder into the door. Your lips parted, surprised by the contact. Your hand lifted, almost involuntarily, to his wrist.

“Is this supposed to scare me?” you whispered, your fingers brushing over the back of his hand. “Is that what this is?”

He didn’t answer at first. His eyes weren’t even locked on yours—they kept flicking downward, to your mouth, your throat, your breath. His jaw clenched.

“You’re reckless,” he said at last, almost grinding the word out. “No wonder you ended up almost dying out there in the snow.”

Something in your expression shifted. The humor, the heat, the challenge... gone. Your brows drew together. You blinked.

“You don’t know a fucking thing about me,” you spat, your fingers tightening around his. “I’ve faced worse than you. Men with no soul in their eyes. Men who didn’t even flinch. You don’t scare me.”

He leaned in, the wall of his body pressing yours deeper into the doorframe. His grip didn’t tighten, but it didn’t fall away either.

“Exactly,” he said, the word shaped like a curse. “You don't know me. That’s what I’m talking about. Reckless.”

The disgust in his tone wasn’t loud. It was quiet. Cold. It sank into your skin like snow melt. You stared up at him, and your eyes stung before you could stop them.

You swallowed. “If you were going to hate me that much,” you said, voice shaking in spite of yourself, “you should’ve just let me die.”

You didn’t remember anything about that day. Nothing concrete, anyway. Just the endless walking, your boots crunching through frozen silence, until your legs gave out and you collapsed into the snow. Cold and still. Then, a flicker: your eyes cracking open, your body hollowed out by exhaustion and pain, your face brushing against someone's chest. Joel.

That was it. That single, dim fragment was all you had. And somehow, that was all you remembered, where he existed—in a lifeless memory, half-buried and weightless.

You pressed both hands against his chest, shoving him with more strength than you expected to find in yourself. He staggered back a step, not stumbling, just readjusting. Your palm came instinctively to your neck, your fingers brushing over the sensitive place beneath your jaw—the familiar ridge of scar tissue, faint but present.

Joel’s eyes dropped. You could see the moment he noticed it. His gaze locked there, unmoving. Something in his expression shifted, so subtly it might’ve gone unnoticed.

“I have nothing,” you said, your voice steady. You stepped toward him, and this time, he didn’t move. He just watched you, his jaw tight. “Nothing in this world. You dragged me here, so what was the point? Why bring me if you were going to treat me like this?”

He didn’t speak. You tilted your chin up, trying to catch the truth on his face.

“What did I do to you?” you asked.

For a moment, his eyes softened. He looked down.

You studied him in the quiet. The lines under his eyes, the uneven scar near his temple. The tanned skin. And his hair, with a few stray curls that fell behind his ears. You wondered if he ever let anyone touch them.

Then he looked at you again, and whatever softness had surfaced vanished.

He reached forward, his palm flattening briefly over your chestbone. It wasn’t affectionate. It wasn’t violent either. Just a firm press, like a boundary made tactile. Then he stepped away.

“I told you from the beginning,” he said, voice clipped. “I didn’t want you close.”

“You think I’m chasing after you?” you snapped.

“No. Get another job. This one’s not for you.”

And then he turned, like it was over. Like he’d said everything that needed to be said and there was nothing left worth staying for.

“No,” you said.

It was quiet, but he heard you. He stopped. Turned.

His face twisted slightly, confusion etched into the anger like he didn’t understand what game you were still trying to play.

You didn’t offer him any more words. There was no dramatic speech waiting behind your lips. Just the heat of everything rising in your chest, too big to contain.

You turned your back to him. Fingers found the lock, turned it. The door creaked open. You stepped inside without looking back to see whether he was still standing there or walking away.

You didn’t care.

divider by: omi-resources

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[strawberryraviegutz]

Part of me starting to have second thoughts about sinners. Not the movie itself but more or so the fandom…

From ppl completely disregarding and ignoring the movie’s themes about racism, to ppl watering down Remmick through a black and white lens either comparing him to the Klan(even tho the Klan hated Irish ppl back then)or saying that he did nothing wrong and uplifting him more than the black cast(apparently it was confirmed by someone who worked on the movie that Remmick isn’t racist. I forgot his name tho), along with ppl going after others for…finding a VAMPIRE VILLAIN hot??(and or anyone talking about Remmick in a positive light in general.)

I literally just saw the film yesterday and I’m already being put off by the way a lot of yall are acting.

While what Remmick did was certainly by no means any better than what the very oppressors he hates are doing(cuz at the same time he did sorta use his whiteness to his advantage when tricking those 2 klan members into letting him in), I think it’s just disingenuous to ignore what exactly LED HIM to that mindset which was the Catholics colonizing his home along with forcing Ireland’s ppl into famine.

Like I just dont get it…For as long as vampires and villains have been super popular and beloved in media for decades and even centuries , how are yall gonna act super surprised when ppl find a hot villain vampire character attractive/appealing??

Plus I thought it was common sense then ppl can like villains but not agree with their actions. No one here thinks that Remmick was in the right by forcing other black ppl against their will into assimilation into vampires(at least I hope not).

And again assuming it’s only white ppl who find him hot(which isn’t even inherently a bad thing. It depends on the context) and writing smut of him while completely ignoring/erasing all the black women/afabs and or black ppl in general who are thirsting for Remmick in the tags along with telling ppl to die over shipping Remmick with ppl…and also thinking that there’s only Remmick x reader fics when…no?? There’s A LOT of other x reader fics with the twins(smoke especially), Bo Chow, Annie, the twins, Sammie, and Mary within the tags.(also can we NOT call Remmick’s actor ugly please? That’s just flat out mean.). Speaking of which the way yall are treating Mary and Annie is just deplorable..

I literally had someone comment on my last post related to the shipping of Remmick and Sammie and I couldn’t even respond to them cuz they blocked me??(idk how to feel about the ship but I’m not gonna get onto other ppl for liking it since they’re both adults from what I can tell and as long as they aren’t erasing or ignoring the themes/message of the movie)

How are u gonna comment on my post and then block me when I was just trying to further explain my opinion that you had no intention of listening to in the first place??

According to these ppl I guess I must hate my own race now for thinking that Remmick is hot/sar

Way to make ur own ppl feel isolated from their own community as if that doesn’t also go against the message of Sinners at all../sar

Edit: meant to say the British not Catholics, my mistake

[dilftaroooo]

hii new anon🎀

ex-boyfriend gojo who has an obsession over you and has been following you around. you’ve “moved on” and invite a man to hookup but he just couldn’t make u cum. as soon as the guy leaves gojo comes over and fucks you dumb.

>.<

gojo being on the sidelines before coming in to finish the job is kinda crazy. i can imagine he followed u from the bar you were in before leaning near the door to your apartment. waiting for your hookup to leave.

★tags/tw: stalking + toxicity + bathtub sex + he fucks u with his clothes on while ur bathing + fem!reader w she/her pronouns + nipple play + unprotected sex + unsatisfied sex (with ur hookup) + ummm home invasion but not, really?? + idfk I'm not a judge + gojo kinda comes in unannounced + attempt at proofread bc im sleepy so some shit might look janky.

The small dicked fucker left as soon as he spurted over your abdomen, the runny substance cascades through the crease between the start of your thighs and the edge of your pussy, which, hasn't released a drop of arousal the whole night.

The man you hooked up with had to blow a glob of spit onto your folds before he'd rub a finger on your make-believe clit, 'Yeah, know you like that. You came to the right person, sweet thing'. Why did you even bring him over? He's not even doing this shit properly. You're sure he wouldn't know where your clit laid even if you made a map and pointed it out for him. If you're gonna be cocky at least do it right.

Your hot bath gave you more pleasure since it was the perfect ratio of water to bubbles. The white foam didn't completely submerge you and you took the time to let the liquid stray you from your mind while listening to the sound of bubbles crunching from around.

Apparently, smelling the medicinal aroma of eucalyptus must've blurred the taps of footsteps making their way into your apartment and into your master bathroom.

"There she is. Taking a bath already? Your one-time fling came here, what, not over ten minutes ago and left? I'm sure you had the night of your life." The mockery in the intruder's tone was evident with each word he spoke.

His hair was still the absence of color, resembling the white sheets stacked high at the corner of your room. His skin was pale and somewhat glossy with expensive moisturizer. Aqua spheres were decorated with flecks of adorable baby blue. He's buff, perhaps buffer than the last time you saw him. But most of everything was unchanged.

He squats next to your incredulous as well as vulnerable figure in the ivory porcelain of your bathtub.

"How'd you get in here?" You inquiry.

"It's no good to leave the keys to your apartment under that more than obvious vase next to your front door. It's corny and you can get robbed that way too." He takes a peek at nipples covered by a translucent blanket. The bubbles had disintegrated leaving you exposed from the lack of foam.

You forgot he knows about the key underneath your grandmother's vase. You're the one who told him about it and you silently wish you hadn't.

"Well, congratulations on committing a federal crime. Now leave, Satoru."

"Oh, but darling you trusted me enough to tell me about those keys so I'm doing nothing wrong. Now, enlighten me, did that guy make you come so hard that he had you seeing stars?"

The lukewarm water kisses your pores in an attempt to soothe your beating heart. The scent of your ex was still riddled with that same lustful scent of mint and cinnamon, a cologne that you remember gifting him for the sole reason of how arousing it was paired with taut muscles and blue eyes.

You felt like a needy omega, shaking in the comfort of your den as your eyes water at the sight of your alpha and cowering at the pheromones leaking off his body and into your awaiting nostrils. He smells so fucking good.

"I know you heard me, sugar plum." You won't forget how much he loved to jeer at you. He wanted to hear you admit how much of a bad fuck your hookup was and how he didn't even get you to come. How you wished it was Satoru that took his place and filled your achy cunt til his balls smack your ass.

You adjust your seating when a warm palm engulfs your cheek whole. Not a trace of your skin color reveals itself under Satoru's hand. He's big even when squatting down to your size. The scowl on your face juxtaposes the grin on Satoru's.

"That's none of your business. We're not together anymore. Stop riding my dick."

"Though I do love a good ride, I think it's you who wants to do the riding, sweetheart."

Fingers crawl over your neck, down to the tops of your breasts, and onto your perky nipples. He continues to tease you by drawing circles around them making you tremble with unadulterated desire.

"Am I wrong? You can't even look me in my eyes. Bet you're not even aware of how heavy you're breathing. Poor girl. He didn't give you what you wanted. Say it." It almost sounded commanding if not for the lithe of his voice

"Fuck, hah, fuck you, Satoru..." The man cheeses.

"Right now?"

"Shit, yes."

"Knew you’d come around."

His patience must've ran thin because he didn't even bother taking his clothes off. Only unzipping his flyer to pull out his aroused dick and fleshy balls before joining you in the now cold water.

You were still his pretty princess as you took him in deep into your cavern, the bath water that surrounded you sloshed with every dominant thrust Satoru pounded you with and you did nothing but moan the name of your supposed ex like a vintage record player.

"Was he able to reach that spot that you liked hit, baby?"

"Mm-mm." You muffled.

"And why is that, huh?" His cock has that cute upturn that repeatedly nudges at your slimy walls which encourages your arousal to spill and combine with the bath water. You were better off taking a shower.

"Because he wasn't you." Your words came out in increments as he beats your pussy raw. The sound of almost every syllable slurred like a drunken man's tongue.

"That's it. You got it now, darling. You still missed me, didn’t you?" The fabric of his clothes is now soaked due to his stubbornness but there was no room for complaints when cotton and denim cling to jutting muscles. The pink of his areolas revealed itself under wet clothes. His nipples were as hard as yours. “Let me show you how it’s done.”

[twijaxx]

Female Itoshi Rin x Female reader, Vampire Rin, She is lowkey kinda possesive? smut, occ Rin.

wc: 0,6k

The sun lightly peaked thru your window, you didn’t want to wake up just yet, but you decided to look at your phone to see what hour it was. 10:34 shit, that’s kinda late for you, so u decided to finally get up from your bed and do something productive since it was your day off.

“ahh… what i’m gonna eat for breakfast today?..”- you thought as where sitting on the toilet “i wanna eat some cereal” the thought suddenly popped out in your mind as you wipe yourself down there. (what the fuk am i writing) Blood, fuck you started your period, the worst six days every woman can go thru every month. You put on your pad (omfg i’m cringing so hard) and went to the kitchen for some pain killers.

As you walked in you saw your gorgeous girlfriend Rin, but something was off.. it was bright outside and she was just sitting on the couch like nothing happened?! “Rinnie it’s bright outside! what are you doing here?!! you’re gonna burn yourself” ahh you forgot to mention, Rin was a vampire so it really was confusing when you just saw her in the middle of the day in your living room, since half of the time she’s showing up when the sun comes down so she don’t hurt herself.

“Nahh it’s fine, it’s just.. a little warm..” “are you sure? i don’t want you to get hurt baby” -you said as you sat on Rin’s lap slowly kissing her face. Oh yea you came here to take painkillers and eat breakfast, so you stopped kissing her and stand up to do what you came here for, but she grabbed your waist and pulled u back on her lap.

“where do you think you’re going? you where so surprised that i’m here just a moment ago, and now you want to go somewhere?” What’s gotten into her? she usually don’t act like that only sometimes… Oh right, she probably know you are on your period by now. “Rinnie i just want to eat breakfast and take some painkillers, i started my period my stomach hurts..” - you said as you tried standing up again, she let you go this time. “that’s why you smell so.. ripe” What the fuck did she just said? “what…?” -she didn’t respond, so you just ignored that and started your day.

The day quickly ended, it was time for sleep now and you decided maybe Rin wanna cuddle together till you fall asleep?? that was almost an hour ago and now you’re just laying there while Rin is between your thighs eating you out like she didn’t ate for years!

You can’t remember how many times you came already.. four? five? You didn’t bother counting, it just felt so amazing, you were so sensitive because you were on your period ;3 You felt like the coil in your stomach is about to snap again!

“Rin ahh! i’m a-about to cum! mhhh!” You saw stars as you came on Rin’s tongue but she just kept licking between your folds! her nose bumping against your clit “Ri-nnie, no more!”

“You’re doing such a good job… my sweet girl can give me one more, right?”

You where too far gone to respond, just screaming out her name as she kept going and going. Good that you lived in the middle of nowhere cause you would already get noise complaints from the neighbors :3

You didn’t know when you came again but Rin slowly helped you come down from your high and you watched her pull away, her chin was covered in blood and your slick, was that a bad moment to say she looked heavenly? anyways, she just stood up without a word.

“Where are you going?…” She didn’t respond, but she came back seconds later with a wet rag and started cleaning you up, then she laid down beside you pulling you into her arms.

“I love you [name]… but you are aware that vampires are not able to feed off period blood right?”

“I love you too Rinnie… wait.. what?!”

tags: @isaisliterallyhim <3

Chat did i cook[flushed] lowkey it’s one of my first long “fics” but i guess its because its fem lock AND I FUCKING LOVE FEMLOCK and i love rin too the ending was kinda rushed cause i ran out of ideas THANKS FOR READING POOKS😝 oh and from everyone’s request… uh… i told yall… im lazy as fuck BE PATIENT

[oligbia]

Hello! Glad to see that you're back! Could I request an Izuku x reader with canon Izuku (teacher/pro hero) and the reader is a disabled support item engineer, preferably wheelchair bound? I'm disabled and would love some domestic vibes if possible please!

Hello!! I dunno if we knew each other or not before my hiatus or not but regardless thank u for the warm welcome on my return :)

I want to let you know that I myself do not have a physical disability so please, if you want something else or had a more specific vision, let me know! I did what I could with some research!

Your Smile

SPOILERS FOR CURRENT MANGA PLOT

Tags: Izumi X fem!reader (reader is referred to with she/her pronouns), Fluff, wheelchair user reader (no specific disability described)

Word count: 1k

Songs I thought about while writing this: "Would That I" by Hozier, "Sweet Nothing" by Taylor Swift, "Love You For a Long Time" by Maggie Rogers

When Izuku started his hero career, he thought the biggest pride he’d ever have was saving lives. He always imagined each life saved would be a reminder of why he got into the hero field, giving him reasons to get up the next day and risk is life again and again. 

He never imagined that your smile would be the thing that keeps him going. After the war, the loss of his quirk, the change in career- he never once lost hope or motivation because he had the lasting image of your smile in his mind, one particular sweet memory that reaches his deepest soul whenever the exhaustion sets in, the paperwork gets too high or the work gets too draining. 

He remebers when he bought you that house. He never told you he was buying land by the beach to build a house, it was a surprise he somehow managed to keep for over a year until the house was done.  But when it was finished, and he took you to see it, he never forgot the smile you had when you saw the ramp he had made for you to the front door that had large, beautiful bushes of roses in front of it. He finds strength again every time he remebers how your smile grew even warmer when you went inside and saw how he carefully and intentionally modified every single space in the home- lowered countertops, a less shallow sink, a large shower without a tub and a bench- dozens of details methodically planned out for you. 

What you never knew was the months he spent courting you, he took detailed notes. He took note of the tasks you still managed to do, but with less ease than others. He remembered how you had to work a little harder to reach the countertops in the dorms, how you struggled with doors that opened outwards rather than inwards- he never tried to do anything for you without your asking. To him, you were always more than capable and didn’t need his help. But it didn’t stop him from knowing early in your relationship that if you ever blessed him with the opportunity to have a home together- he was going to make sure the house was one that you could call home without strain. So things like a lower oven with a slide-in door, lower light switches, and a sink that can raise and lower were worth every single penny. 

His favorite part? The special lab space he had made for you with state-of-the-art equipment and top-of-the-line tools- all of it just for you. A space for you to expand your career as a support item engineer. He loved your mind as much as your smile, if not selfishly more. He always had an appreciation for what goes into making hero gear, to him a hero is nothing without support items. That reality was cemented even further for him when he gave up his quirk but maintained a hero career in a suit that almost perfectly mimicked his quirk- the one you helped make. That’s how he met you and your beautiful mind, in his worst moment you were a radiant soul. 

Coming home one night from a particularly grueling day, finding you humming happily in the kitchen was all he needed. He basked in your light for a while, watching how you roll with ease from the counter to the stove, cooking vegetables and rice on the stove for him. You hummed a sweet tune, a soft smile on your lips as you stirred the vegetables. He pushes himself off the wall he was relaxing on behind you to come behind your chair and place a soft kiss on your head. 

“You’re too perfect for this world, honey.” 

You perk up at his sweet whisper, your smile growing. He steps back from your chair so you can turn around. He kneels in front of you to be at face level with you. “You’re home,” You say with warm affection in your eyes. You reach out to hold his face, his smile is genuine but exhaustion is in his eyes, “you look so tired. Long day?”

Izuku chuckles, you always can see right through him. He rests his hand on top of yours where it rests in your lap, “The longest, the students were extra restless today and then there was this robbery by the docks- must be the moon.” 

You smile, hand moving from his face to his hair, brushing through his messy locks “It’s a full moon tonight.” 

“That would make sense then. What are you making?” Izuku tilted his head, leaning into your touch in his hair. 

“Chicken stir fry- go take a shower and relax okay? No more hero work today, just Izuku tonight.” 

He looks at you like you just hung the moon and the stars in the sky for him. He loved you so much. He loved the way that you not only encouraged him to let down his load, but you helped him carry it. You never demanded strength from him, just dependability. You never needed him to be a hero with you, you just wanted Izuku. You supported him in his hero work, but more importantly, you were his rock outside of it. 

He nods and presses a sweet and soft kiss to your lips, hand resting on the back of your neck for a moment before standing up. “I’ll be just a moment, okay?” 

You nod and roll back to the stove to continue dinner when he leaves. He wanders to the back of the house to your large bedroom with an ensuite bathroom. He heard you start singing softly to yourself from across the house. His eyes soften and his smile grows as your sweet voice fills his ears and his eyes briefly land on the small ring box that holds both of your futures in it that he has hidden on top of his dresser- and when he gives it to you someday soon, he will be sure to include that you are his soul motivator. 

Tag List: @pomigranit

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writing about anyone in mha has me a little rusty. I lowkey stopped interacting with the fandom when there became a clear disconnect between like-- who actually likes MHA and who likes the fannon idea of MHA. Does that make sense? is that mean? idk. anywayyysss i love current up to date with the manga deku. Also can you tell i didn't really edit this? Bc like i gave it some edit but like i really was a little unsure of what my plot goal was other than 1k words of this man being WHIPPED

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[gingerteafairy]

hey queen will u ever write for james brennan or columbus? (if you've ever watched zombieland) i'm a bigger sucker for jesse eisenberg ugh <nerd boys3

that's funny 'cuz i wrote TWO FICS ages ago and forgot to post them. It's really bad, so don't expect anything well-written. It's just me crushing super hard on jesse eisenberg <333

columbus x vamp!reader

summary: Expert in zombies, down bad for vampires. In defense, zombies can't make out like the bat girls, and that makes them the most dangerous creatures on earth.

tags n warnings: suggestive, language, canon typical violence, teasing. word count: 1.5k

Columbus found himself in the worst possible situation. And, as usual, he kept one rule in mind: kill zombies, not vampires—especially not one this beautiful.

He saw you days ago, running from zombies and immediately rushed to save you. Shooting all the disgusting creatures that crawled at your feet. You looked absolutely terrified, your screams echoing through the buildings, but the moment you spotted him, you leapt into his arms like he was some kind of hero, clinging to him tightly.

You were so charming, so calm—too shy for the stereotype. You almost fooled him, like a clueless little duckling, if not for the one undeniable detail that no vampire could ever hide: the hunger for blood. And, of course, it had to show the moment he’d managed to scratch himself.

"I'm so glad you're here. Zombies scare the shit out of me." You sighed, pulling back to look at his flushed face. "You're my hero, Mr..."

"Columbus." He answered shyly, raising his eyes to meet yours. "I'm glad you're safe. Now I need to go to..."

"Can you stay with me?" You pleaded, an adorable pout that made even Columbus himself melt like a ice cream.

What wasn't really difficult. He literally trusted every girl with sparkling eyes and a pretty face.

Still, Columbus had seen enough games and websites to know all the repetitive vampire rules. But instead of overcomplicating things, he went with the most basic method that worked on every creature: a bullet right in the heart.

You dropped to the ground like a ragdoll, and for a split second, he actually felt bad seeing you so weak. Well, it was either him or you.

He gripped the wooden stake in his hand, waiting for you to wake up. Occasionally, his eyes drifted to how strangely beautiful you looked, tied to the iron chair. Your hair cascaded over your face like a wild mountain waterfall.

No. Now was not the time for that.

Shaking his head, he tightened his grip on the stake and took a cautious step closer. The bullet caused a ugly hole on your pretty shirt. Still unmoving. He let out a breath of relief. Another step. Nothing. Good. Just to be sure, he prodded your knee with the tip of the stake.

Not even the slightest flinch.

"Oh, thank God she's—"

“Boo.”

Columbus screamed, stumbling back as the stake slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor.

You burst into laughter, tossing your head back. “Oh my God, you should've seen your face. It was hilarious.”

“Stop that! That’s not funny.” He tried to sound tough, pointing a shaky finger at you. “You’re… You’re evil.”

“And you’re the best man in the world, Columbus.” You rolled your eyes, tilting your head to toss your hair back. “You shot my heart, honey. Not exactly in a position to judge.”

“You… Yeah, okay, fair point. Sorry. My bad.” He muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “But… but you were about to attack me first.”

“Yes, but I didn’t.”

“…Huh. You didn’t.” He frowned, tilting his head. “Wait. Did you just admit you were gonna attack me?”

“Of course, darlin.” You grinned mischievously, shrugging. “You’re the sweetest guy. Traveled with me and didn’t even lay a finger on me. The best blood is always from the untouched, you know what i mean.”

“Untouched? That’s a lie and—” He started, but the argument died in his throat as realization sank in. Damn it. You had a point.

"No, I can't. You're..." Your laughter grew louder, victorious. You feet kicking on the air like a kid in a candy shop. "Wait, I'll stop. Just a sec."

“And you,” he scrambled for a comeback, jabbing a finger toward you, “you’re, like, super old. Bet you’ve done everything already.”

"Old?" You snapped. "Are you really calling me old? And... What do you mean about I did everything? Are you calling me a..."

"A bitch. Yeah. And sit down your ass down. No, you're already sat. But shut the fuck up or I'll call the zombies here. I know you're scared of them. That's a thing you can't..."

“You really wanna piss me off?” You cut off, your expression turning dangerously unreadable. "I shouldn't have said that, cutesy."

Columbus stiffened, clutching the hem of his hoodie. “I-I’m not scared of you.” His voice wavered, more of a high-pitched squeak than a threat. A terrified little kitten.

“Oh? Not scared of me?” You arched an eyebrow, lips curling into a slow, dangerous smirk.

“Not at all.”

“Then pick up the stake.”

“T-The stake?” He stammered, his eyes darting to the weapon lying on the floor between his feet. Oh, crap.

“Yeah.” Your voice was syrupy-sweet, but your smile was sharp as a blade. “Go on. Look, I’ll help you.”

You gave the stake a small kick, nudging it closer to Columbus. He glanced from your face to the weapon, carefully weighing his options before even considering moving.

Yeah… this reeked of trouble.

But you were tied up.

Swallowing hard, he took a step forward. Then another. One foot after the other, like walking straight into a trap.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Losing patience, you stood up, grabbed the stake yourself, and shoved it against Columbus’s chest. "I thought you were braver."

“H-How did you—?!”

“Did you really think you could keep me tied up with those cheap ropes?” you mocked, thoroughly enjoying the terrified look on his face. “Next time, use zip ties. Vampires hate plastic.”

“Wait, does it… kill you?”

“No, we just hate everything that smells cheap or fabricated.” You laughed, lifting a hand toward him. He flinched. “Relax, I was just gonna pat your head.”

“Can I even trust you?” he asked, eyes wide with a glimmer of hope. It made something in your long-dead heart ache—he was just too damn cute.

“You’re so adorable,” you cooed, ruffling his curls with both hands. “Look at this—like a little puppy. So soft. So fluffy. Who's my good boy?”

“Stop that,” he grumbled, but Columbus had far too soft a heart to actually mean it. He practically melted under your touch. “You don’t seem like a vampire.”

“Huh? Why not?” You tilted your head, letting your hands wander down to squish his cheeks playfully.

“I dunno… you don’t smell dead or, like, rotten. You just seem really… cute.” He mused, watching as your fingers froze mid-squeeze and your expression shifted into something shy.

“Oh, you’re turning my own trick against me,” you teased, shaking off your flustered reaction as you cupped his face and squished his cheeks even harder, forcing his lips into a pout. “If I were alive, I’d be blushing so fucking hard for you right now.”

“Your hands are cold,” he mumbled, brows furrowed, which only made him look even cuter.

“Wow, you do have a really handsome face. Look at these shoulders... God, you could’ve been a model at my time." You murmured, leaning in. "Why did you remain untouched? You're majestic."

"You mean it?"

"Yeah..." You mumbled, squeezing his biceps. "I could fall for you, Columbus."

You could hear his heartbeat pick up, his pulse quickening beneath his skin. The sound made your mouth water.

“W-Wow, um. Is that—are you serious? I mean, I don’t even know if that’s possible, given your, uh, condition of being, you know, dead. But that’d be kinda cool. A vampire falling in love for me, I guess—”

You shut him up with a kiss. Columbus’s eyes flew open, darting around as if trying to process what the hell was happening before settling back on you.

Your lips weren’t as cold as he’d expected. In fact… they were nice. Soft. Like silk. That realization alone made him shut his eyes and—without even thinking—tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, just like he always imagined.

The warmth radiating from his body swallowed up your icy skin, sending shivers down your spine—an unfamiliar sensation, even after centuries. Without meaning to, you pulled him closer, craving more of that warmth.

“Columbus…" you called, pulling back just enough to raise an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah?"

"Are you hard?”

“What? Me? No,” he huffed, flustered, stepping back. But you yanked him right back in. “Oh, yeah? That’s your vampire magic, messing with my head—”

“God, I think I am falling for you,” you giggled, planting another soft kiss on his lips. “I can’t handle how cute you are.”

"If you fall for me, promise you won’t eat me?" he asked, his face twisting in embarrassment, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks.

"Why? Would you rather If I suck you out?" you murmured teasingly, tugging at the collar of his hoodie.

"Jesus Christ."

"You're so horny, Columbus. Is this the real you coming out? You coming for me?" You kept up the teasing, blinking at him with feigned innocence. “First you're hard, now you're wanting me sucking you like a milkshake? God, you're way more interesting than I thought.”

"You… you—just stop doing that to me." He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to look at you, forcing himself to focus. Zombies. Blood. Stomach ache. Zombies. Bathroom. Zombies. Cream. Sucking. Milkshake. Pie.

"Oh? Am I messing with you?" you grinned, pushing him a little further.

"You are," he admitted with a pout—one so ridiculously cute that even you couldn’t resist easing up.

"Alright, I’ll stop," you relented, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. "I wouldn’t want to make my boyfriend mad."

"Boyfriend? Oh my God—" he whined, nearly toppling over when you pulled him into a crushing hug.

Columbus had just discovered yet another weakness to add to his ever-growing list. And without a doubt, he’d be making a note in his journal: Vampires are the most dangerous supernatural creatures out there.

Minus points for zombies.

[phneltwrites]

"may never make it out challenge" thank u @saynomorefic

Post a 1-5 paragraph excerpt of a WIP / fic idea that may never make it out of your drafts but is near and dear to your heart

let's not talk about the graveyard of ideas but this one has words in it. tagging

This is omegaverse but I think I never decided if it was beta4beta (a hilarious concept already) alpha4alpha or beta4alpha but regardless it takes the o out of a/b/o

“He’s going into bond shock,” Felice says.

Simon pulls the phone away from his ear, double checks that he’s connected to a call and not hallucinating. “That can’t be right.”

Felice makes a frustrated noise. “Did you buy into that bullshit about how mate rejection syndrome only happens to omegas?”

“No!” Simon’s mom is a nurse. She’d be so disappointed if he did. That’s not why. “That’s not… whatever. I’m coming.”

Marcus looks up. He’s got Simon’s coat in his hands. “Where are you going?”

Simon waves him off. He takes his coat. “I’ll call you later,” he says to Marcus, “I have to do something.” The pizzeria is on the bus route so he goes to the stop. The wait is less than five minutes but it’s interminable, knowing that Wilhelm is in shock. He gets on the bus and it doesn’t help; now he can’t even pace around to deal with his energy. He tries to take deep breaths to stay calm, but it isn’t working well. No one is sitting in any of the seats near him, all of the elderly passengers giving him looks out of the corner of their eyes. 

He walks directly to Wilhelm’s door with no one to stop him now that Malin and the guards are outside. He knocks and Felice opens it immediately. He takes a step and she puts a hand on his chest. 

His top lip pulls back. “You called me here,” he says.

She looks at him, eyes sparking. “You really think you can go in like that? Smelling of him?”

Simon isn’t going to back down. “And what about you? You’rehis room; you’re both always covered in each other.” He hears the whispers at school, the titters. Crown Prince Wilhelm found himself someone more appropriate. People are speculating like Simon doesn’t exist, like Wilhelm never came to his house, never curled up against him, never told him he loved him.

“Simon?” Wilhelm’s voice is weak. They both forget their posturing, turning towards the bed in unison. Wilhelm is pale, lips almost white, and he’s shaking even though he’s under a pile of blankets.

Simon steps fully into the room and then he takes his coat off. Then his shirt. He wouldn’t let Felice stop him but the idea of bringing Marcus in here turns his stomach. He crawls into Wilhelm’s bed in his boxers. Wilhelm latches onto him immediately, arms wrapping around Simon. Simon lets him, helps his uncoordinated limbs grip on. Simon arranges them, lifting his chin enough for Wilhelm to bury his face in Simon’s neck. Wilhelm breathes him in with gasps. Simon can feel the edge of Wilhelm’s teeth when he exhales and he has to suppress a shiver.

“How did he get like this?” Simon asks Felice, holding Wilhelm against him. He can’t resist smelling him in return, face buried in Wilhelm’s hair. He took Wilhelm’s sweater but it’s nothing in comparison to having him for real. There’s a spicy scent to him, like cinnamon, that Simon could never get enough of.

She’s standing halfway across the room, hands on her face. “He saw you kissing your boyfriend at the competition. I found him outside maybe an hour later and it’s been getting worse.”

This is what doesn’t make sense to Simon, because he did pay attention in class, and also, “Hey, Wille,” he says. Wilhelm is lying still in his arms. He isn’t shaking anymore. “Can you talk?” Wilhelm makes a small whining sound, which Simon takes as a no. “Can you tell me why this is happening? You told me you have bond damage.”

“What?” Felice asks. Simon forgot she’s still here. “No, that’s not right. I mean, look.”

She’s right. Wilhelm shouldn’t be able to go into bond shock if his ability to bond is damaged. And it has to be bond shock just based on how much better he is with Simon here. “His family bonds…” realisations are falling in Simon one after the other like snowflakes.

She slides her hands under her hair. “I’d rather not. He hasn’t been talking to them since they made him lie, and I’m worried that they’ll…” What could they do? What could they possibly do. They can’t take Wilhelm away from Simon in this state, not if they want him to recover.

@margotdanslebois @toffeelemon @astronicht @dulosis

[thedvilsinthedetails]

rosekiller band au microfic pt2

yayyy part 2 is here! (Again if there’s any typos lmk ty)

(also yeah I changed their ages slightly, the skittles r now 23 not 25 what r u gonna do about it?)

anywayssss here’s the ppl that asked to be tagged/said they wanted more so im tagging them anyway (sorry if u didn’t want that): @always-reading @lady-stardust-incarnate @lulublack90 @idk-what-to-put-here-123 @weirdtinkerbellversion @depressedtheatrekiddo @blu3stars @nikholascrow @good-oldfashioned-lover-girl @picklerab23

(As always if u wanna be tagged or not tagged pls lmk I won’t mind at all <3)

Link to Part One

Link to Next Part

***

Evan woke up the next morning to the harsh bleep of his phone that always managed to elicit pure terror in his body. He groaned and rolled out of bed. He’d forgotten to turn off the alarm and of course he was awake at six in the fucking morning on a Saturday.

He threw on a dressing gown over his tank top and plaid pyjama bottoms, slipped into his fluffy slippers and trudged to the kitchen for some coffee.

Once he got to the kitchen he saw Dorcas was already sat at the little island she passed him a warm cup of coffee as soon as he sat down. Dorcas had always been the earliest riser of the band, always eager to get ready quickly and get the hell out of the house, he supposed that’s what growing up as the eldest sister to four brothers did to you. 

“Heard your alarm go off, figured you’d forgot to turn it off.”

“Dorcas you lifesaver. And I mean seriously a lifesaver, I might have murdered someone without this coffee.”

Dorcas laughed.

“Who?”

Evan rubbed his eyes.

“Barty probably. He’s fucking annoying.”

“Any excuse to get up close to him then more like.”

Evan’s head snapped up.

“What?”

Dorcas rolled her eyes.

“Please you’re shit at hiding it.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout Cas.”

Evan mumbled, taking a long drink from his mug. 

“Please, save the crap. If you don’t have a crush on him, why do you get so worked up by people calling you a couple. It consumes your every waking thought, now why is that? Tell me.”

“Ughhh I don’t want to think about it.”

He groaned and stared into the brown murky depths of the mug he was cradling close to him.

Dorcas softened.

“Look, Marls and Barty are really close, our next tour stop is London which means she’ll obviously drop by rehearsals. I can get her to ask him if he-“

“He doesn’t.”

Evan ran his thumb over a tiny chip in the ceramic. It was a mug Barty had painted around four years ago, Dora had decided for her sixteenth she wanted to go to a pottery painting place like when they were little. Barty was- honestly pretty shit at painting. The background was covered in vast uneven strokes of black. He’d tried to paint a white ferret on it - ‘Ev this one is for you, if you were any animal I’d say you’d be a ferret.’ - thing is it looked more like a snake with legs that was also, well, a zombie. It was Evan’s most prized possession. He’d be taking it to the grave. He turned it to look inside the handle. Barty had been too lazy to paint that part so instead he’d just written crudely with the brush - ‘B + E forever bitches!’. His eyes crinkled fondly as he read it. 

“I just need to get over it.”

His expression hardened and he looked up at Dorcas again.

“Get over what?”

They both turned to find Barty in the doorway. His hair was sticking up in all directions. Fuzzy spikes of green and black. He stretched his arms all the way up as he yawned, flexing his wrist so his ‘SKITTLES’ tattoo was on full display. He had one of Evan’s jumpers on over his pyjama top. Evan really wanted to reach out and hold. Why’d he have to go and look so soft? Wasn’t fucking fair. 

“Nothing Jr.”

Barty nodded in response as he padded over and sat himself in the chair next to Evan.

“Why’re you even awake?”

Dorcas asked.

Barty dropped his head down onto the island counter dramatically.

“Forgot to turn off my alarm.”

Dorcas laughed out loud, fully threw her head back and everything.

“Two birds of a fucking stupid feather you two are.”

She got up and put her mug in the sink before heading out of the kitchen. Barty turned his head up to look at Evan as soon as she was gone.

“You don’t have to tell me anything Evan, but if you want to you can. You know that right?”

Barty lifted his head and propped it up on his hand as Evan nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah I know Barty.”

“Good.”

Barty shuffled his chair closer before dropping his head onto Evan’s shoulder and falling quiet. It was instinctual, the way Evan brought his arms up around him. After a few moments he looked down though, Barty was suspiciously silent.

“Bee?”

He whispered.

“M’awake. You’re just comfy Ev. You’re really good at hugs.”

Might be ‘cause I was built to hold you.

Damn that’s a fucking stupid thing to say. Fuck I’ve turned into Reg whenever he’s around James.

Yeah Evan needed to get over this like fucking yesterday.

•••

Barty breathed in deeply, face buried in the crux of Evan’s neck. He couldn’t help it really. Evan smelled like home. Probably a creepy thing to say, oh well wasn’t like he said it out loud. Evan was home though, plain and simple.

He didn’t want to move, probably ever. Still eventually as the rest of the group came pattering into the kitchen and things got livelier he had to shift away.

•••

They got on the train at noon, ready to head to London. Evan took the window seat watching as the city turned to rolling hills turned to city again. Barty kept sneaking glances over at him, wasn’t really sure what he was looking for honestly but-

“What?”

Evan asked finally, tone irritated.

“Nothing, just bored.”

“Oh um-“

Evan glanced around, he and Barty were in a two seater while the rest of the band sat around the table in front of them, chatting animatedly.

“S’fine Ev, not anything you can do about it, I’m gonna be bored till we get off this bloody train. Fucking buzzing.”

“Excited for tomorrow then yeah?”

Barty turned to him with shining eyes. 

“D’you remember when we were eighteen? First time at the O2 for a concert? Fuck d’you remember seeing it like that, covered in all the lights ‘n shit. Eventim Apollo doesn’t even compare.”

Evan chuckled. They’d gone to the O2 for the first time June 2019 to see a concert when Evan was still in his backstreet boys phase, something no one was allowed to talk about now under any circumstances.

“D’you remember what you said to me?”

•••

“Look at that stage Ev. Imagine playing there. For all these people.”

Evan turned to Barty and ruffled his hair.

“One day Bee, we’ll be playing here. I promise you yeah? We’ll be playing here and it’ll all the fucking sold out.”

“You think?”

•••

“Yeah. Yeah I do.”

***

AHHH I HOPE U LIKED ITTTT (idk when part 3 will be coming but hopefully soon <333333)

[dewdr0pz]

Ok so hear me out

Wilbur and Y/n arguing.

Then y/n wanted to k!ll herself but..

Guess what Wilbur did...

He moved the knife away and kisses her...

💔 There’s a Reason London Puts Barriers on the Tube Line 💔

Summary: You & Wilbur have a massive argument & all of your su!c!dal thoughts came back, so you ran to Jubilee Line to do your deed. What you forgot is that Wilbur can track your phone.

A/N: Hello! Tysm for the ask! I changed the story up a bit so that the reader doesn't use a knife since knives kinda trigger me :/

word count: 796

proofread: nope

tags: @vibestillaxxx@joviepog@ax-y10@themonsterunderurmom @wilburstan@smolsleepykitten@funnyreally2009@crows-death@dykepunz@aresriiots@0miamor0 @cathers-world@defonotval@chipch0p@mazzistar16@unmellowyellowfellow@justalittlebitofchaos@thosecolorfulsheets@vopix@taylors-version-from-the-vault@aine-lasagna@merianakross@veeislost@urfav-sapphic-siren@shazbaz58-blog @wifiatthetrainstation@mcr-pr-fob@shd454@universe-friday@rqvii@idioticion@m0thza (let me know if u don't or do wanna be tagged!!)

warnings/cw: the reader has su!c!dal thoughts, two attempted su!c!des, mentions of an overdose, arguing/yelling, swearing

This was the worst argument you'd ever had with him in your three years of dating him, & it made your head hurt & your chest feel tight. You had attempted to kill yourself two days ago by overdosing on your anti-depressants.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Wilbur shouted. "Are you fucking stupid, Y/N?! You could've seriously hurt yourself!"

"That's the point!" You shouted back. "That's why I did it! & I already told you I didn’t want to talk about it, yet you kept insisting!"

“That’s because I fucking care about you!” Wilbur yelled. His fists were balled & his eyes, like yours, were bloodshot.

"Well, did I ask for you to care about me?” you cried.

He let out a loud groan of anger & pinched the bridge of his nose. "God, I fucking hate you."

Your eyes widened in shock. He'd gotten angry at you before, of course, but he'd never said that he hated you before. "You don’t mean that," you murmured as more tears rolled down your damp cheeks.

"Right now, I do," he said icily. "More than anything in the world.”

You glared at him. "More than the I love yous?”

His eyes met yours & his expression softened slightly. “…You’re being unfair."

"How the hell am I being unfair?!" you exclaimed. "You're being the unfair & shitty one here! Instead of asking me if I'm alright, you just--you just get mad at me! & when I say I don't want to talk, you keep pressing & pressing & pressing!"

"It's not my fault nor my problem that you're a depressed bitch who doesn't do anything to try & improve their mental state!" he yelled.

With burning tears in your eyes, you started to tie your shoes. Wilbur sighed & said, "No, please don't leave, I-"

"Just shut up," you snapped before you walked out, slamming the door behind you. You started to walk through the rain to Jubilee Line, which would take about forty minutes. You stepped in a few puddles on your way, which drenched your shoes & legs, & you forgot to grab a hoodie, so your entire body was soaked in rainwater.

When you finally arrived, tears rolled down your cheeks & mixed with raindrops as you remembered the song that Wilbur had written a year or two ago. He was rambling on & on about how crappy the mental health was in London & how the city was doing nothing to help their citizens, & how he'd see people kill themselves on Jubilee Line & nobody would say anything or try to stop them, & instead of trying to help the people by improving their mental health services, the city just built barriers on the tube, & the barriers didn't really do anything. & you told him that he should write a song about that. Within an hour, he'd written a song about it, & for the majority of that hour, he would tell you how much he loved you & how creative you were.

You walked up to the barriers & saw that the next train was arriving in five minutes. You kicked with all of your might on the glass until the glass broke. You smiled sadly. The barriers, like Wilbur had said, were shit.

You took a deep breath & held back your tears. You took a step forward.

You were about to fall onto the tracks.

This was it.

It would finally work.

You heard a familiar voice scream your name from behind you.

& then somebody pulled you back & hugged you. It was a sobbing Wilbur.

"L-love, I don't ever want you to die, please...don't die..." he said between his sobs. "I-I'm sorry for yelling, I'm sorry for hurting you, I didn't mean it, I didn't mean a fucking word, I don't hate you, I never would, darling..."

You pressed your face into his chest & sobbed with him as you both murmured apologies to each other. He pulled you away from his chest only to pepper kisses all over your wet face.

"Please, don't go...I just need to feel your arms around me, mon amour, that's all I've ever wanted," he cried. "I don't want to lose you."

"I'm sorry," you whimpered. "I'm sorry for-"

He cut you off with a kiss. When he pulled away, he cupped your face & said, "You have nothing to be sorry for, Y/N. You're the one who's struggling & I didn't even think about that, & I was such a dickhead to you."

"So you don't hate me?" you said with a sniffle as he wiped your cheeks.

"I would never hate you," he whispered. "C'mon, let's go home. I think there's a lot that we need to talk about."

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

Hi, I'm the person who did the last ask you responded to. First of all, I'm so happy you liked it! And I love the spiderverse movies too, they're literally my favorites. Dw abt doing the vibes justice bc they fit, I loved it and it made me giggle so much. I honestly forgot I made the ask and then had to do a double take when I saw u responded. I low-key wish I didn't ask on anon bc I feel like if I write anything related to this idea it's gonna look like I'm copying. (it's rlly not that deep lmaooo) But also I'm so anxious over everything and can barely keep my posts up before deleting them. Ur like a friend crush to me but like tumblr lol so it means a lot to me that u liked the idea. Pls, pls, pls have a good day and take care of urself <3

OMG HELLO HELLO!!!! IM SO GLAD WE MEET AGAIN OMG !!

and yes omg i adored this ask sm i wanted to do it justice, i'm glad so so glad you enjoyed it even if im tackling it very late (again so sorry about that lololol) :333 and hey if you wanna write something inspired by it just state who you were inspired from im sure it'll be no prob honestly ive seen some people on this almost completely copy some aspects of my writing or other things bar for bar and i'm way too scared to confront them anyway so i guess you can do what you want ! 😭 but hey since this was your original ask nothing wrong w writing what you want!! (and if you, pls tag me i'd love to see :3)

and twin we were meant to be tumblr friends if you also love the spiderverse movies WE WERE MEANT TO BE!!!

take care of yourself and have an amazing day!!! and tysm for reaching out to me again :3 <333

much luv!!!

[g1rldrool]

hihihiiiiiii, I was thinking like in a streamer!reader x ellie or vi headcanons

btw I love how u write, xoxo <3 

STREAMER!READER X ELLIE

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

plot: how you and ellie met:3

warnings: nothing!

word count: 0.4k

notes: I loveee this idea I hope you like this and tysm!🫶🏼

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

-okay so hear me out, ellie had like a huge twitch phase, she would watch streams all the time, but one day she kinda just stopped and deleted it, I mean she thought she wasn't even gonna use it again

-then one day at like 3am while she was mindlessly scrolling on tiktok she saw a fanedit of you and her jaw dropped, she liked the edit and looked at the tagged accounts

-she hardcore stalked you and followed you, then she redownload twitch made a new account and just to watch you

-she woke up the next morning and of course the first thing she did was grab her phone and go on tiktok, and she saw you followed her back and called her pretty on one of her videos, she FREAKED out

-later that day she got the notification you were live and was one of the first 10 people in the live, when you turned your webcam of she was stunned by your beauty even though she had stalked all of your socials

-she kept chatting all throughout the stream, and at a certain point she mentioned how you followed her back and complicated her and when you read that out loud she blushed and giggled (a second after she did that she deeply regretted that)

-when the stream ended she got a dm from you and she took a screenshot and immediately put it on her private story (it just said "hi!")

-for a second she almost forgot to respond to you then she rushed back to tiktok and tried to play it cool and just said hi back

-you asked for her Instagram and you both started talking, and you actually had a lot in common and the conversation was flowing

-then one day she called you while you were on stream and chat freaked out, because she was low-key flirting with you but also some of them actually followed her😭

-the next day she gained about 3000 followers and she dm'd you confused and the she realized they were all your followers

-when y'all stared dating she would basically be in every stream, she even download discord so she could participate on stream

-she's always the number one gifter, she's gifting like at least 100 subs per stream!!#supportivegf

-and she's still shocked that she literally has a famous girlfriend all because she saw a fanedit of you a couple months ago

[pinkaditty]

How have you been doing, pink?? Are you recovering well?

Also I saw your tags in that one thing we did abt things we could talk abt for an hour and I almost forgot to ask: how did you get into gyaru??

hihi aya i am recovering well!! not in much pain anymore besides my legs bc they were nearly crushed in the accident but im otherwise okay! my immune system is total dogshit though so i was immediately hit with a bad cold after most of my pain had left and im STILL recovering from that cold. im so tired of being ill

and please call me mal or malibu, ur a trusted moot atp

also i read ur tags on ur post 4 the same thing and im soso curious. please. what do u know about celtic mythology....

anyways. me yapping about how i discovered gyaru. sorry! tw 4 mention of racism.

im just gonna immediately dive in2 the gyaru thing: it started when i was in my first year of college. i hadn't learned of it earlier and almost every day i wish i had discovered it sooner but so be it! i think it was in a random twitter thread about j-fashion that caught my interest. iirc gyaru was the most interesting out of all of them so i decided 2 do some more research on that one.

relevant background: by this point in my life, as all late teenagers do, i was working on completing the mesh that was supposed 2 be my sense of self and i hadn't really decided on a style that was perfect 4 me. i had styles i liked and disliked but nothing that really felt "perfect". i had robbed myself of allowing myself 2 be girly in most of grade school out of the internal need 2 be "different" and simultaneously being depressed, so i was going through my fashion discovery phase a bit late.

anyway, upon going through threads abt gyaru, i found myself just wanting 2 try it out 4 fun. id found myself more attracted 2 girly things lately, so it was hime gyaru that caught my eye first. as cool as yamanba, tsuyome, and ganguro seemed, i just didn't think i quite fit the bill 4 those, so i half-heartedly settled on hime gyaru. the label of gyaru felt right, but being hime gyaru in specific didn't feel like the best-fitting glove 4 me. this is why 4 the first month or so of being in2 gyaru, i wasn't super emotionally invested, but i found myself wanting 2 start anyway. my wardrobe slowly shifted and began 2 include things along the lines of hime gyaru outfits, which were cute! but after a while grew old far quicker than id anticipated. at first, i was dissatisfied, thinking that maybe this was just a fashion phase. despite that, i still decided 2 stick with gyaru, because i liked it, but i still couldn't put my finger on what substyle suit me best.

i should probably clarify that the reason i wanted 2 stick with gyaru so badly was probably because of the history i had found behind it after some digging. gyaru was inspired by many, many things, but an important factor was the style of western african american women in the 70s-80s. bold makeup, long nails, showy clothing, and lots of accessories were in pretty strongly then, considering the surge of black pride after the jim crow era. as a black woman myself, i was immediately inspired. it can be hard 2 interpret when you've never experienced it firsthand, but an entire life of rejection, assumption, and limitation simply due 2 a feature about your skin that you cannot control really sucks, so i, at that point, was also learning how to take pride in my own skin after years and years of being subjected to questionable, at best, and abusive, at worst, treatment from my surroundings. i was totally in awe that something made by people i descended from had become so popular that it inspired one of the biggest J-fashion movements ever. plus, i liked the droop makeup. it was a cute twist. and something really filled my heart upon discovering that japanese women created this style 2 break free from limiting beauty standards. no more conforming. no more coloring in the lines. they wanted 2 escape, and that was admirable. i wanted 2 escape, too.

after a while, a switch flipped. im not sure how or when or why, but a switch flipped. suddenly the girly, frilly, cutesy vibe of hime, roma, and himekaji no longer attracted me. i wanted bold colors, bold nails, bold makeup, and a bold attitude. i wanted 2 do away with the classic girliness of hime and instead veer towards more crass, wild, and colorful styles. "get wild and be sexy" was all i thought about. i wanted 2 get wild and be sexy and stop conforming 2 whatever the white-dominated society of america deemed appropriate. and suddenly! my favorite substyles were yamanba, ganguro, banba, tsuyome, and onee! suddenly i wanted 2 tan my skin a bit more! suddenly i liked hibiscus flowers and plumerias and wanted them in my hair! suddenly my favorite braiding hair color was blonde! suddenly i had the confidence 2 wear bikinis! it was like a tidal wave of change. once the wave had cleared, it had left an entirely new beach in its wake, and that beach was me.

2 be honest, i think the switch was triggered by realizing i didn't have 2 conform 2 the girly standard if i didn't want 2. i could just. be me. and accept the truth that it didn't matter if people liked me or not. at least i was being me.

not much else 2 tell besides that! i changed my wardrobe, started getting long acrylics (i can't function now if they're not xtra long), practiced makeup, decorated my room, changed my attitude (this took some time), and changed the way i type! the whole reason i use "2" and "4" is 4 the sake of the 'textspeak' vibe and because it's cunt. that and i use a lot of gyaru language, but with my friends specifically. im working on integrating it in2 my general lifestyle.

i still have a lot of steps 2 take, but gyaru lives in my head at this point. its been 3 long years of self-discovery, and each step has been perfect. this style is perfect. even before i discovered gyaru, when i would do my makeup 4 fun, i would draw my eyeliner downturned and connect it 2 my eye, like a droop! in a way, it was meant 2 be.

anyways that's that. i promise there's more between the lines here but im tired and its late and i wanted 2 get this ask out b4 too long. just know that if there was a gyaru version of the scarlet rot that Melania from Elden Ring has, i would have it. if you want more details, feel free 2 ask, but they won't be answered immediately... still writing a romeo x reader fic in which he teaches u makeup and that's currently sucking up most of my commitment.

[andydrysdalerogers]

Sliding Into Home ~ The Next Adventure

Pairing: MLB!Frank Adler x Abigail Hernandez (OFC)

Synopsis:

After a trade from Boston to Los Angeles, first baseman Frank Adler would seem to have it all. Money, women, an amazing niece, yes Frank should have it all. Except for one thing. One thing that left after a mistake five years ago. Los Angeles should be the chance to start over. Except she is supposed to be in Boston. Not his new medical director.

* A Frank Adler AU x Major League Baseball Story**

Warning: ANGST (i can't stress this enough), second chances, cheating, S~M~U~T!!, slow burn, drug use, abandonment issues, betrayal, domestic violence (i may have missed some), flashbacks

Dividers by me

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Previous: On The Hunt For Mike Weiss

Sliding Into Home Master List Main Masterlist

Frank stood on first base, the sun beating down as he watched the batter, Johnny on the mound. He leaned in as Johnny let go of the baseball. The Yankee batter swinged and connected, sending the ball right to the short stop, Miguel Rojas.  Rojas scooped it up and launched it right at Frank.  He caught it, never letting go of the bag, making the third out of the inning.  He jogged with a smile towards the dugout, bumping fist with Miguel as they went in. He looked for Johnny, who was in the corner with his eyes closed.  

“Storm? You ok?” 

“Yeah, Adler, I’m ok.  Just frustrated.” Johnny popped a bottle of water and took a long drink.  “I’m in a slump,” he admitted.  

“What are you talking about? You’ve been pitching great.”  

“Not a baseball slump.  Watching everything that had been happening with your family, Susie’s been avoiding me, just... my mind is all over the place.”  

Frank patted his back. “I never did thank you for all of your support during this crazy time.”  

“It was nothing,” he shrugged off.  

“It's not nothing Johnny. My little Nugget asks me about you every day. Because she considers you her friend and her family. That’s huge for her man.”  

“Frank, I want what you have,” Johnny looked at him directly. “Well not the hard weird stuff, but the family, the home, the dog.”  

“You are not stealing Dodger. Worth more than my life.”  

Johnny scowled. “Asshole, you know that’s not what I meant.” He closed his eyes.  

Frank studied him. Johnny has always been a carefree spirit but lately he had notice he had become more subdued. It was starting to affect his game. And then it hit him. “Come to dinner.”  

“What?” 

“Come to dinner at my house.  Scott and Abby and mine’s new assistant are joining us, and Abby hired a chef.  We can talk after with a couple of beers.”  

Johnny studied his friend and saw the sincerity. “Sure man. Thanks.”  

“Best friend man. At least I hope I am.”  

“Best friend.”  

“Adler! You’re on deck!” The coach yelled down the bench 

And with a fist bump, Frank got ready to bat.  

Abby was talking in her office with her assistant, Katie, about the family schedule.  Katie had become Abby and Frank’s assistant in helping them keep their schedules and running the house for them.  They had offered the job to Scott but he wanted the freedom that came with Mary in school. “Katie, let’s make sure that security is aware of Mary’s extracurricular activities for next week.”  

“No problem. Any reason?” 

“Frank will be on the road trip, and I forgot that I need to be on that trip as well. It's just Scott as Mary’s guardian. Marco shouldn’t have any issues with the adjustments, but I just want to be sure.”  Abby looked up from her tablet.  “Oh, and let the chef for tonight know we have one more for dinner. Scott is bring a friend, he said.”  

“Ok. Is it still ok if I tag along?” 

“Of course, this is just an impromptu dinner, and I thought my exams with the team were going to be longer than I thought. Normally I would have cooked.”  She shrugged. “When I explained to Frank, he didn’t want me to stress about it.”  Her phone beeped and she looked at the message.  

Frankie: Johnny is coming to dinner too. He’s upset 

Abby: everythign ok? 

Frankie: Its fine Cricket, he’s just needing a break 

Abby: okie dokie, love you.  

Frankie: love you more.  

“Katie, sorry, its two more for dinner.” Abby sighed. “Frank is bringing a friend and with those guys, having more food is better than being short.”  

As Frank and Johnny approached the front door, Frank slapped Johnny’s back.  “C’mon pal, everything is going to be ok.”  

“Says the man with the perfect family,” Johnny grumbled.  

“Its not perfect. Look at all the shit we’ve gone through so far.  Just relax man, enjoy a quiet meal with friends.”  He opened the door and caught Dodger’s collar before the pup could make his escape. “Mary!” 

“Dodger! Come back!” Mary streaked into the entryway. “Thanks!” She took the dog in her arms.  “Hi Johnny!” 

“Hey Strawberry!” Johnny kneels down to her level.  “Whatcha doing with Dodger?” 

“Trying to teach him to fetch. Can you help me?” Mary batted her eyelashes and Frank snorted, knowing she was going to get her way.  

“Lead the way.” Mary took his hand and pulled him back to the living room. “Ok the first thing we need to do is...” he stopped when he spotted a strawberry blonde seated in the room, looking at the tablet. “Umm,” she looked up and recognition hit her face. 

“Hi, you must be Frank’s friend.  I’m Katie,” she offered her hand.  

“Storm, John, Johnny Storm, I mean...” he ran a hand through his hair.  “Hi, I’m Johnny.”  

She giggled. “I know. Best pitcher in the National League, with a 2.69 ERA, second in the entire league behind Othani.”  Katie blushed after she rattled off her knowledge. “Sorry.”  

Johnny’s mouth was open and when she blushed, he snapped it shut. “No, that’s impressive.” Johnny flashed her a smile. “I hardly ever meet a girl with knowledge like that. Mostly, they talk about their dress or makeup.” He patted the back of his head.  “Sorry, I’m...” 

“Its ok. I think the only other woman I know who knows baseball is Abby so I understand.”  

“Well, I’m just going to help Strawberry with Dodger, but we’ll move to the backyard to give you space.’ Johnny stepped back but never took his eyes off Katie. 

“Oh, what are we working on?’’ 

“Fetch,” Mary said. “C’mon Johnny.” She pulled his hand.  

“I’m done for the day, I was just catching up on my fantasy team.” She stood up and smiled. “Let’s see if we can get Dodger to fetch.” Her smile was bright, and it took everything in Johnny not to swoon. Frank watched from the doorway. Abby appeared next to him.  

“Huh, I did not see that one coming.”  

“Just like Susie and Marco?” Frank looked down at his wife, eyebrow raised.  

“No idea what you are talking about.”  She gave him a sly smile and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders with a laugh.  

“Love you, Cricket.”  

“Love you, Frankie.” 

A couple of weeks later, Frank had just come back from a road trip and was in bed with Abby, resting. “I wanted to talk to you about something Cricket.”  

“What’s up?” She put her book down and looked at her husband. He was scruffy, his hair a bit longer that suited him. His arm was behind his head, flexing his forearm. God, she loved those arms when they were around her, holding her tight. Pinning her to him as he railed her.  She got lost in the look of him for a second before she heard, “Perv.” She snapped back into reality.  “I am not a perv.  I don’t look at men like this.”  She booped him on the nose.  “Just you.”  

“Best you only be looking at me like this,” he growled. He kissed her gently and then moved down to her jawline and neck.  Abby slide down with him, moaning softly as he continued his assault. “Taste so sweet, Cricket.”  

“Frankie,” she moaned. “I thought... shit... I thought you wanted to talk.” She closed her eyes as his lips trailed over her collar bone.  

“We will, when I’m done.”  He moved to pull her chemise away and kissed the flesh of her breast.  She squeaked when he tugged on a nipple with his teeth, not hard but just enough to bring them to attention. When he’s done lavishing her breasts, he moves south, kissing and licking, tasting the skin that is his. “Always so sweet, Cricket.” 

Abby squirms as Frank kisses around her waist. “Frankie,” she mumbles.  

“So impatient,” he tsks. He gently pulls the scrap of lace she calls panties away from her body. He sees that she’s glistening for him. He kisses right over her clit, and she arches her back with a soft moan. “So sensitive.” He looks at her face as he teases her clit with his tongue. Thank fuck their room was on the other side of the house from Mary and Scott, because Abby lets out a loud moan from the action.  Frank grins and dives in, sucking and teasing her core, placing a hand on her stomach to keep her from moving.  

“Oh god, Frankie,” she cried out as he pushed her higher and higher. “Please, fuck, please,” she pleaded.  

He let a large finger get covered in her juices before he slid it into her entrance, pulling out and adding another, hearing her wail as he hit that soft spot inside her. “So tight Cricket, fuck, squeezing me tight.” Over and over, he hit that spot and suckled on her swollen clit before she shattered under hit, eyes rolling to the back of her head, a cry of pleasure leaving her lips.  He guided her through before he pulled away.  He licked his finger clean, giving her a moment to breathe before climbing on top of her.  

“I’m gonna fuck a baby into you, My Cricket.”  

And he thrusted home. She gasped, his thick cock still surprising her. “Frankie!” she moaned. “So Full!”  

“Yeah baby, you like that? Such a good girl, taking my cock so well.” He slides back and thrusted in again, feeling her walls clamp over him. “Fuck Cricket, my queen.” He was slow and steady, hard and deep.  

She cried out as he hit that spot that only his dick or fingers could find. “Frank, I can’t.”  

“Yes, you can my love. Give me one more. Let me feel you cum all over me.” Frank pumped his hips harder into her before reaching down and stroking her clit, causing her wail as she reached her peak again.  “Fuck yes baby! Ah shit!” Frank roared as cummed in her hard as she pulsed around him. He collapsed on her for a moment before getting on his forearms, keeping most of his weight off of her. He watched as he eyes focused again on him, the dizziness from her orgasm clearing.  He kissed her softly. “I love you, Cricket.”  

“I love you Frankie,” she whispered. She kissed his lips and then his cheek as he went to kiss her forehead. He pulled away gently, rolling onto his back. She cuddled into his side; his arm wrapped around her. There was silence for a few moments, just their breathing could be heard as it settled to normal.  

“About what I wanted to talk about,” Frank started.  

“Is it bad?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” He sighed, kissing her hair. “I’ve been thinking about our situation.” She moved to sit up, but he held her close. “No, not that. I was thinking that maybe we should talk to Mary.”  

“About what?” 

“About becoming her parents.  For real.”  

This time, Abby forced her way to a seated position, clutching the sheets around her chest. “Are you serious?” 

Frank could usually tell what his wife was thinking. But tonight, in this moment, he was lost. “Cricket, if you think it’s a bad idea or if you don’t...” 

“Shut up Franklin.” Abby’s eyes became shiny. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was make Mary our girl, officially.  She’s mine, she’s always been ours.” A single tear fell. “I just thought you never wanted to because of Diane.”  

“Baby,” he cupped her face a wiped the tears with his thumbs. “I didn’t want to before because I wanted to do it with you. You’re her momma.” He kissed her gently and Abby cried. “That a yes, Cricket?” 

“Absolutely.” She started to get out of bed.  

“Where are you going?” 

“To tell Mary.”  

“Its 1 AM Cricket. She’s asleep.” Frank pulled her back into bed as she pouted. “We gotta talk to Andy to make sure we can first.” He kissed her temple and pulled the covers over them again.  

Abby laid down and stared at the ceiling. “We still gonna try for a baby? Because, you know, I have to stop my birth control for that to happen.”  

Frank stilled, realizing what he had said in the heat of the moment. “I know.”  

“You still want kids with me?” Abby chewed her lip.  

“Cricket, I would have a baseball team with you, if you let me.”  He smiled. “But for now, let's just try for one more.”  

Abby smiled. “So, this is our new adventure?” 

Frank tilted her face up. “The next adventure.” 

NEXT

Taglist

@patzammit

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@before-we-get-started

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@bunnyforhim

[dio-the-thot-exterminator]

I feel so weird and like I'm doing something wrong?? My Boss manager always being so passive aggressive to me or maybe I'm just not used to ppl being so stupid.

She's like "you NEED to be selling the credit cards more. You know we base your scheduling on how many credit card u sell and if you don't have high numbers then when I start hiring new people..."

HIRING WHO?????? HIRING WHOO???? Id like to see all the people you’re hiring hmm? Where? You can barely keep ur own managers from constantly calling out of work. So ur forced to do 60 hr work weeks every month. I know u ain't talking to me And the other two associates always call out or don't show up so I have to come and cover for them…I KNOW YOU AIN'T TALKING TO ME!??!??!?!?

"Your job is to sell the stuff at the counter and credit cards" ok then why am I sweeping the floors and cleaning the bathrooms and wiping the mirrors and pricing merch and tagging and taking out the trash and dusting and packaging online orders etc?

She like "even tho ur just an associate u NEED to be reading the emails everyday" girl how is knowing what the stores over n Texas and Florida make gon help me 💀 She acts like she got hella people on stand by bitch u dont she tryna lecture telling me I need to do more... All you do is talk on the phone and ask ppl to join ur church.

She be in the corner somewhere on the phone and the customers are like "um...excuse me?" And she ignored them so I gotta help them. Even tho she tasked me with scanning all the fucking items in the store!!

And she literally told me "u need to pay attention more to the customers YOU'RE NOT HERE TO COMPLETE TASKS!!!" AHHHHHHUAHHHHHHHHHHHHH what do you mean???????? Wtf am i here for then??

I'm bout to snap on her fr maybe I'm too combative… she got me pushing around this chart.

She was like complaining "uh make sure you fix that bcuz y'all like to leave it a mess 😒" And I was bout to say "bitch who tf is y'all??????" I KNOW how you are and I know you complain about every lil thing, so whenever i'm pushing that chart around it be looking neat and tidy and I put it back like that too. 

I'm da best employee she has!!! My other managers Jays and Red were literally like “ugh we were so lucky to have found you” and the other day a customer had came back into the store to tell my manager Red what a good job i did helping her find what she needs and being accommodating…The other associates dont do shit.

The college girl who barely works saw a box all messed up, she tried to quickly close the top (didn't work) and then she just walked away. I was like "um aren't u gon fix that?" And she was like "oh yeah right" Like??? And all she does is stand behind da counter. The store be a mess and she be standing.

The phone guy just be on his phone and he be chilling in da back. I know u are not on my case. when u let a whole ass employee stay in the break room his entire shift 💀.

I feel like she get someone sort of power trip off it and she just needs someone to terrorize and she choose me because I'm always there 🥲 (this is the reward i get for being a real ass employee??) 

Boss manager was like "I'm going to start quizzing you guys on what was in the manual  bcuz y'all act like talk forgot, you NEED to be following them!!" Girl still on shit from da "training" videos. Shit she don't even follow…

Yesterday she was like, “go reprice the entire clearance section, make sure you don't leave the chart out!!! Every Time someone walks in the store, put the chart back and greet them!!! (she's standing next to the entrance doing nothing) Well this NEEDS to be done before your shift ends so get it together hurry up!!! And you can actually leave the chart out when u need to ring someone up on the register (she is one the phone and didn't notice someone standing there) OMG WHAT ARE YOU DOING THAT GUY NEEDS HELP!!! HELP HIM!!! GOOOO!!! AND TAKE THE CHART WITH YOU!!!!! OMG OMG STOP STOP LEAVE THE CHART HELP THAT GUY NOWW UGHHHHHHH!!!!!" and she is...standing there doing nothing...he walked up to her first bcuz she was closer…

Its so awkward asking someone to apply for the credit card, bcuz the boss manager expects you to harass every customer (she literally follows them around the store and asking them repeatedly to sign up i counted once…she asked one person 7 times) AND it's not even only the credit card, it's everything in the damn store. AND she only wanted 1 person on the register even when its rlly busy, trying to sell everything in the store…. (you guys only 2 people are allowed in the ENTIRE STORE one associate and one manager bcuz the company wants to be cheap)

It's like the customer places whatever they’re buying down and I have to say “hey this thing is buy one get on half if you're interested, and we have this item on sale, also if you wanted any of these items they’re behind you. Do you want any of this? I can show you the different ones we sell. And we have this too. I can help you pick out the one you need. We also have a credit card, if you want, you'll earn coupons and get a discount off today's purchase :D"

And she wants us, to say that, TO EVERY SINGLE CUSTOMER!! Everyone…

So it gets so awkward asking, especially if they are just buying like one little item. And to make things worse she's so nitpicky about everything like I was asking if they wanted to join our rewards and she was like "ugh if you ask it like that of course they're gonna say no!!!" And then she...didn't give me a way I should ask them…

I just nod and say "okay" whenever she starts ranting. She just get on my nerves a lot but that's also bcuz ima hater. Idk i feel like i do everything correctly and efficiently so idk why my managers are always attacking or complaining about me. 

Can I pleaseeeee have a job where I only need to complete tasks??? Where are those jobs?? Someone point me in the right direction

[shrrpteeth]

hello shan, thank you very much for the tag but unfortunately i forgot my spotify password. but here are my top 10 repeated songs rn, just for you to judge 🙏🙏 (also if u saw the reply no u didnt im a bit slow but then i was like wait lets send an ask instead... anyway 😭)

before we begin - broadcast (a meredith/addison one-shot based on this song is cooking rn)

future starts slow - the kills (song that permanently rewired the electrical circuit in my head that lets me pretend im human when i was 10 years old , nothing has been the same since)

gimme shelter - the rolling stones (wild dog freaking tf out gif)

blue jeans - god herself

bette davis eyes - kim carnes (my mom and i love this song plus it has always reminded me of meredith)

i wish i didn't love you so - k.d. lang (i may be a hater but i am also a lover❤️)

strangelove - depeche mode live at 101 concert (sex)

addicted to love - skylar grey (villaneve... but also addison ? perhaps 🤔 much to consider)

ultraviolence - lesus del rchrist

ain't nobody - rufus, chaka khan (i have these like. OCs i guess / this series called "limelight" i daydream about and sometimes write the script for which is about a young hairdresser and makeup artist falling in love with an older actress and this would be the song that plays at the end of the episode where they finally figure out their shit and kiss at a hockey game (like u kno how theres a kiss cam etc) and make their relationship public. very specific ik . sometimes im like hm i kinda wanna go to film school and become a script writer and maybe even actress but then i remember im eastern european and need to get that bag or else my parents will late term abort me 💯🙏)

so yeah ❗️❗️ thanks again for the tag. nothing i love to do more than yap ESPECIALLY about myself ❤️

sjdhsj yes i did see ur reply and was confused why it was gone after like a minute. also def not judging u have a Very Cool And Sophisticated And Mysterious music TASTE and im not in any position to judge w my Very Basic music taste😭 also love the little notes w each song ty bestie🫶🫶 (would love to hear more abt that meddison oneshot pls pls pls)