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nonclassyparty · 4 months

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tins without labels - prologue (j.wy)

summary: Jung Wooyoung's life was always somehow intertwined with your own. from living in the same neighbourhood as kids to attending the same college; fights, bickering, bruises, teasing comments and tears. Wooyoung and you were never complete strangers but never friends either. Always somewhere in between, growing up with each other but never actually knowing one another. The relationship takes a confusing turn in your third year of college after an injury that places your football career on hold. Lonely, lost and confused, you find yourself at your first college party in the presence of none other than Jung Wooyoung asking him to show you what exactly have you been missing out on. playlist // my main masterlist // moodboard (tba) // click to donate to Palestine

pairing: jung wooyoung x reader warnings: none for this chapter i think! word count: 9.3k taglist: just reply or inbox me if u'd like to be added c: a/n: pls don't say damn when u see that i started another story. listen LISTEEEEEN. i know what u all will say..."bree should u rly be starting another series when u havent finished or started the 4757 bajillion ones that u already posted?" the answer is YES. let me explain myself briefly, this summer has been rly hard for me bc i lost someone who was incredibly important to me and i just can't write...i just can't! everything looks like shit!!! im halfway done with soot and something just isn't letting me continue. i can't write pretty on the outside or literally anything else i've started bc its all simply too sad. writing is draining to begin with despite how much i love and enjoy it but writing angst is k wording my mental health lol! so....i present to you this series, mostly dedicated to myself literally no one asked for this, i just feel like its something i need to write and always wanted to so here i go! it will be a little heartwarming series with lots of humor and coming of age shenanigans and huge chunks of it written from personal experience and i hope u guys read it and like it. i had a lot of fun writing this prologue. (p.s. i literally know jackshit about football/soccer so if by some chance someone that reads this knows their football shit....just let it go pls lmfaoo)

(prologue; when we were kids)

and I couldn't find the words, i couldn't think of what to say and all that I can do is stop and think about the days when all we used to dream about was meeting after school

6 and 8 years old;

Your mom helped you build the snowman.

An entire morning of running around your front yard, laughing and playing in the freshly fallen snow, seeing the air you breathe out in front of you that you pretended was cigarette smoke to make your mom laugh as the cold nipped at your cheeks.

The snowman was almost twice your size (which wasn't a lot, you were a fairly small child) with pebbles stuck in as his eyes and teeth pulled up in a big grin. Your mom found a small bucket in the old shed behind the house which she placed on his head as a makeshift hat and because you didn't have any carrots, there was a small twig stuck at the center of the snowman's face to serve as a long crooked nose.

(The snowman didn't have any arms, a detail that went over your head at the time.)

After admiring the big statue in the farther corner of your front yard for awhile, you finally retreated into the house with your socks wet along with the majority of your hot pink snowsuit. As you kicked off the damp clothes and exchanged them for warm, dry ones and fuzzy socks and then settled in front of the TV in the toasty living room with a mug of cocoa - you couldn't help but feel that it was a happy day.

Which is why when, in the late afternoon, once you looked out of your window to see what once used to be your snowman is now nothing but a big pile of disheveled snow with his plastic hat rolling around the sidewalk and two boys running away down the street with shrill laughter echoing after them, you simply couldn't help but burst into tears.

"Mommy!" You screamed out, running outside your front door in fuzzy socks and your sweater, as dramatic as you were. But you were six and your life still ended and began with coloring books and favorite toys, so a snowman that you made with your mom getting destroyed, surely felt like the end of the world.

Once your mom stepped out after you, about to scold you for walking outside into the cold air with no jacket on, you burst into crocodile tears as you pointed to the spot where your snowman once stood.

"Oh, no." She breathed out with a sigh before grabbing her jacket and slipping into whatever shoes were available by the door (they were your dad's old tennis shoes) and walking across the front yard to collect the small bucket from the sidewalk.

All you could do was stand and watch as you wailed so loudly after your snowman that the entire neighbourhood could hear.

"Honey, it's okay." Your mom tried to soothe you as she walked up the steps to your house, carrying what used to be the snowman's hat. "It's just a snowman, we'll make another one tomorrow!"

But you were inconsolable, bursting out in another wave of loud cries as you stomped your tiny foot and pointed to the house across the street.

"They ruined it! W-Wooyoung ruined it!" You sob, waving towards the boy's house with all the anger a six year old could possibly muster. You knew it was him, recognizing the ugly red jacket he wore this entire winter and his even uglier looking friend, Chanwook.

You weren't friends with Wooyoung. He was older than you and all of his friends were mean. You once tried to play with them when you first moved to the neighbourhood but they didn't want to play with a girl. You cried about that too.

They often teased you. Wooyoung said your crooked teeth made you look ugly!

She sighs again, "And that was very mean of him. But, Y/N, we'll just make another snowman tomorrow."

"But-" You start again, tears still sliding down your face.

"We'll build him in the backyard where we have a fence, so no-one will be able to touch him." She offers with a smile, hoping you'll finally be consoled enough to walk inside and be safe from the harsh cold.

"But I won't be able to look at him from the window." You tell her quietly, voice going hoarse from the crying and bottom lip already wobbling as another wave of tears began to sunk in. She gives you a sympathetic smile.

"We'll get him a prettier hat and we'll use two long branches to give him arms!" Your mom offers again, trying to butter you up so the tears would stop. "We'll get a carrot for his nose and big pretty rocks for his eyes!" Once she realized it was working, she continued; "And we'll take a picture of you with him so you'll always get to look at him, even when he melts away!"

You peer up at her with a hiccup, finally bribed enough; "A picture?"

She nods, holding the door wider for you to finally walk inside as you inch towards the door, fuzzy socks now soaked, "A picture. We'll send your dad to the mall to develop them."

So, you finally walk inside the warm house again, changing your socks and immediately going to your father's home office to pester him about the camera and just how long will it take for a picture to be developed.

"-Y/N, we'll just make another snowman tomorrow!"

Wooyoung heard your mom tell you as he peers at the exchange from across the street, through his bedroom window, freshly changed into dry clothes after a long hard day of playing outside with Chanwook and now, warming his frozen hands on the radiator.

When Wooyoung saw the snowman parked in the corner of your front yard, just a step away from the sidewalk, he and Chanwook thought it would be funny to ruin it.

The thing was ugly and had an even uglier bucket at the top of it's head, perfect to kick around the street!

He didn't think too much about it, if he was honest. Just saw a big lump of snow he wanted to kick at until it collapsed, so that's what Wooyoung did. It was just a silly snowman.

Besides, you were already six years old. Far too old to be making a stupid snowman. You should've been going sledding with the rest of the neighborhood kids on the small hill just a couple of minutes away from your street. Wooyoung was mature now, so his mom allowed him to go without a chaperone this year. You were always so childish, no wonder your mom didn't let you go with them. You cried over everything.

But he didn't expect you to cry over the stupid snowman!

It was just a snowman. It would've melted anyway when the weather got warmer! Or gotten ruined by someone else!

The brief fear of your mom telling Wooyoung's mom about what he'd done struck him. He'd positively get grounded for ruining your dumb snowman if she found out and then the rest of his winter break would be spent inside of the house.

You could always make another snowman. A better one. And since you're such a crybaby, Wooyoung would make sure to tell Chanwook that they won't be touching that one. Leave that ugly snowman alone.

Just so you wouldn't cry anymore.

10 and 12 years old;

"It's a shame your mother is dead, maybe if she was still around she would teach you how to act like a girl!"

Your face flushed in anger as you stared the other boy, Beomseok, his chubby fingers still wrapped around your pencil case which was how the argument started in the first place.

He was in the same class as you and a typical bully. Bigger than the rest of his peers and always using it to his advantage to intimidate and tease them. Today, he took your pencil case and when you asked for him to give it back, he only gave you a gnarly smile and started running around the classroom and eventually out on the halls, screaming taunts at you. It would be a lie to say that you didn't scream some pretty mean stuff back but in your defense, he deserved it.

Now, you both stood as if you're ready to duel as the rest of your classmates and even some upperclassmen gathered to see what the commotion is all about, your fury rising so high that tears spring in your eyes at the mention of your mom as you observe his smug smirk. Obviously, from a very young age, you were bad at managing your anger.

"I hate you!" You scream out, voice high pitched. Then you jump on Beomseok with your full weight, successfully pulling him to the hard hallway floors as your hands curled into tiny fists that started colliding with his face.

And Beomseok, for all his intimidating build, talked an awfully big game just to end up bursting into tears as your fist collided with his nose. He was bad at fighting, you notice, if he could be beat up by a lanky girl almost two times smaller than him.

"I just-" Punch. "-wanted-" Punch. "-my pencil case-" A slap. "-back!"

"Somebody help!" He screams from under you, whining under each attack but his classmates were too busy cheering you on to come to his defense.

Once you start harshly pulling on his hair, two arms wrap themselves under your armpits and pull you off of your classmate. You're standing again and are turned by your shoulders to come face to face with your teacher, screaming at you.

"Is this a proper behavior in school?!" and lots of "Your father will hear about this!"'s and "You're going to the principle's office!" as she started pulling you by your arm down the corridor that was still filled with students.

"Everyone to your classrooms! Now!" Your teacher screams from the top of her lungs as she tugs on you and you follow after her with a frown on your face.

Stupid Beomseok.

Wooyoung's stomach hurts from laughing, clapping Chanwook's shoulder who was almost sitting on the floor due to his own fit of pure glee, as he watches Kim Beomseok roll around the floor in pain, clutching his nose.

There's scratches and bruises already forming on his cheeks, little bit of blood mixed with a lot of big, fat tears. It's hard to feel even slightly bad for Beomseok, when Wooyoung heard how he torments his classmates along with the younger kids during recess. Did it count as bullying if the bully is the one getting bullied?

Maybe he finally got what was coming for him, nobody usually stood up to him and Wooyoung least expected you to be the one to put him in his place.

He deserved it, Wooyoung thinks, after what he said about your mom.

Wooyoung remembers her funeral three years ago, he remembers how much you cried and how you didn't leave your house for a month that summer. He even rung the doorbell to ask if you wanted to come out and play one time which he never did because you were a child and he was much more mature than you, you two had nothing in common. But he felt sad for you.

Your mom was nice, she always brought Wooyoung a chocolate when she'd come for a visit.

Sadly, they discovered she had cancer when you were only seven and Wooyoung was nine. By the time they discovered it, it was already too far along and your mom passed away on a summer evening while you were outside playing hide and seek.

Wooyoung remembers feeling so bad how they always made you the seeker that day because you were the youngest kid in the neighbourhood and far too easy to convince that it was simply always your turn to look for the other kids.

Your dad opened the door, smiling sadly at Wooyoung and saying that you weren't feeling well enough to come out and play. Wooyoung didn't try again after that.

The teacher is pulling you by your elbow through the crowd, yelling at the top of her lungs for everyone to head to their classrooms since class should start in a couple of minutes. You silently follow her, face twisted into an angry grimace.

Your hair has fallen out of your ponytail, long strands sticking to your face and Wooyoung is pretty sure that your shirt got ripped during the brawl.

Wooyoung might've been laughing a bit too loudly because with angry eyes and cheeks flushed, your head whips towards him just as you pass by him.

Wooyoung opens his mouth with a smile, to say something like "Good job, Y/L!" maybe. He doesn't get the chance to.

"What are you laughing at, Jung?" You ask loudly and Wooyoung's laughter immediately dies down.

"Wha-?"

And it's then, that your foot meets Wooyoung's shin in a harsh kick that makes him yowl in pain and makes Chanwook burst into another wave of laughter as his hands grab at Wooyoung who doubles over in pain.

"Y/N!" The teacher screams out again, pulling you back by your shirt and going on another rant, filled with threats of calling your dad to school and something else he can't process at the moment.

Wooyoung is too busy feeling the pain and anger that fills him up as he rubs at the place your sneaker covered foot meet his leg.

"Y/N, you psycho!" He yells after you who is still getting dragged away. You don't even bother to look back at him.

(He still collects your pencil case from the floor and throws it on a desk that a classmate of yours says belongs to you before exiting the classroom and going to his own. Wooyoung tells himself it's for no other reason but just so your dad won't have to buy you a new one. He has enough on his plate already.)

14 and 16 years old;

Wooyoung has a girlfriend.

You don't know why that's something that bothers you so much.

Maybe because you don't understand what a girl could possibly see in Jung Wooyoung to willingly let him hold her hand or...God forbid, kiss her. Ew.

That's a lie, maybe even a bad attempt at coping on your part because there's a general consensus in your high school that Jung Wooyoung is good-looking.

You didn't even think he was ugly when you were younger, when he was pulling on your pigtails and teasing you for playing with dolls. He was cute for an annoying kid back then too with his chubby cheeks and bowl haircut.

He was especially cute now, a recent discovery of yours which you have no one else to thank except puberty. It did wonders on your hormones and it did wonders on Jung Wooyoung too.

His jawline got sharper the more baby fat he lost and lips grew fuller. His boyish smile was very attractive, even his smile lines were captivating. Wooyoung grew taller as well, not by much compared to the other boys in his grade but he was tall just enough so you'd have to look up to him when you argue but not enough to be intimidated by him.

So, yes, you supposed you'd understand the appeal if it weren't for his stupid mouth and mean words more often than not, directed at you. You threw shots back as well, sometimes even started an argument first if you were feeling particularly annoying but maybe that sums up why you're so bothered.

He started dating Chaeyoung at the beginning of this summer and since you have the fortune (read: misfortune) of living in the house right across the street from Wooyoung's, you were an unlucky witness to most of their dates.

And he was so sweet to her. He'd buy her cheap flowers and ice cream, they'd walk around the neighbourhood holding hands, they'd take Wooyoung's younger brother Kyungmin to the playground in the evenings. Wooyoung would smile a lot at her and Chaeyoung would always smile back.

You even saw them kiss. Just once.

When you were folding laundry in your bedroom, you looked through the window just in time to see their lips connect on Wooyoung's front porch. You quickly looked away, feeling shy and embarrassed, not understanding why you were blushing or feeling so sad all of a sudden.

Why was he so nice to other girls but never to you? You shouldn't think too much about it, the problem isn't you. Chaeyoung wasn't just some other girl but his girlfriend. Of course, he'd treat her special.

Whatever. You scoff as you watch Chaeyoung run to Wooyoung across the quad as you adjust your sports bag over your shoulder.

She jumps into his arms and you can hear his loud, annoying laughter even to here as his arms wrap around her and he picks her up from the ground.

"What are you doing?" You almost jump out of your skin at the sound of Ryujin's voice as she nosily tries to follow where you were staring at.

Ryujin was the first friend you met since you started high school two weeks ago. She might be the only friend you have for awhile since you haven't really been trying to even get to know your classmates as you were too busy trying out for the girls football team.

You don't remember when you started actively playing football exactly. You always played it for fun with the boys from the neighbourhood (Wooyoung included) but maybe it was around seventh grade when your dad pestered you into trying out a sport because he didn't know what else to do with you so he packed you up and sent you to a sports camp for two weeks one summer, that you started actually playing.

You went there only caring about your iPad and came back saying you'll be a professional football player.

Your dad doesn't want to say it but you know he thinks it's a fickle dream that will fizzle out with age.

Thankfully, Ryujin shared the same love for the sport as you so for now, you were relieved and content to spend time with her. She was nice.

You didn't need anyone else but maybe it would've been nice if someone who was older, who you were familiar with even if you always fought, would give you a couple of words of useful advice. Regarding the new teachers and subjects and all.

High school was scary.

"Nothing." You answer quickly, turning your back to Wooyoung and his girlfriend and fully facing your new friend.

"Nothing?" Ryujin gives you a suspicious smile, eyes darting over your shoulder once more before she ruffles your hair. You yelp. "Do you have a crush already, Y/N?"

You gently shove her away with a huff, fixing your bangs, "Don't be stupid. These boys are all ugly."

A crush. As if!

She laughs at that, throwing her arm around your shoulder as she directs you both to the field where practice was held, already yapping about her own crush.

"Hey, isn't that your neighbour?" Chaeyoung nudges Wooyoung with her elbow, nodding somewhere behind Wooyoung. He cranes his neck to follow the direction before his eyes land on you.

He snorts, "Yeah."

You were standing in the middle of the football field, sweaty and red in the face from all the running, with your hands on your hips as you paid attention to what your coach was yelling towards your teammates across the field.

The school's jersey seemed far too big on your lanky form and your hair was a mess, always slipping out of your ponytail. You were much smaller in build than the rest of the team and it looked funny to Wooyoung.

He didn't expect you to be into sports, let alone a sport like football. In fact, Wooyoung is surprised that you don't burst into tears when you start arguing with the makeshift referee played by another student. It's what usually happens if you spend longer than a minute arguing with Wooyoung.

And then he ends up being the bad guy for making you cry but no one ever mentions that you sometimes provoke him first as well but can't take it when it's dished right back.

Since you're such a crybaby.

He watches with an amused grin as you bare your teeth at the referee, who is really just a senior that thought it would be a fun time but now he has to stand arguing with you. And to Wooyoung's further amusement, the older boy who is almost two heads taller than you, looks like he's about to shit his pants in front of you.

Hm. Maybe not such a crybaby when it's anyone else but Wooyoung.

"I think she has a crush on you."

He turns to look at his girlfriend with a confused look, growing further confused when she smiles teasingly at him.

"Who?" He asks and she gives him a knowing look before nodding in your direction again. Wooyoung splutters out a surprised laugh, "Y/N?"

"Yeah." She nods excitedly, giggling, "She's cute."

Wooyoung scoffs with an eyeroll, "She's a kid."

A kid who might have a small crush on Wooyoung but still, a kid nonetheless.

He'd be stupid to say he didn't notice that you sometimes stare at him a little too much but what the hell is he supposed to do about that. You just started high school, you probably weren't even aware of what you were doing. It was a childish crush because at the end of the day that's what you are - childish.

Chaeyoung giggles again, the sound is soft and sweet, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"It's kind of sweet." She sighs dreamily and Wooyoung snorts because nothing about you was sweet, "You're her handsome neighbour, the only guy who's always been close to her since she was a kid, she probably starts those childish arguments with you so you'd give her attention and then writes about you in her diary and-"

"Y/N is the last person to have a diary, first of all." Wooyoung interrupts with a snicker before looking down on his girlfriend who is teasing him, "Second of all, you sound ridiculous."

Chaeyoung lifts her head up from where it rested against him and looks at him seriously, her lips pressed together. Then she starts imitating Wooyoung's last sentence in a deeper voice that sounds nothing like him, "You sound ridiculous-ah!"

She squeals when Wooyoung pinches her at the waist lovingly and it turns to tickling her as he presses kisses to her cheeks.

As they continue to exchange kisses between hushed giggles, the conversation about you is forgotten.

18 and 20 years old;

From the moment you opened the door to greet your date, you knew that the whole night would be a complete and utter disaster.

Maybe you watched too many teen movies that romanticized prom night so much that even you ended up believing and looking forward to the glorified fantasy of it but boy, were you in for a rude awakening.

Your prom date was a boy from your Calculus class named Eunwoo.

To be completely honest, you were convinced for the entirety of your senior year that you wouldn't have a date for prom at all because not much has changed since freshman year.

You still had one good friend (two, if you count Ryujin's friend that says she likes hanging out with you) and your focus was always on football. Add schoolwork and keeping up your good grades and you truly didn't have much time left for socializing.

So when Eunwoo pulled you aside after your football practice and asked you if you wanted to go to prom together with a handsome boyish smile on his face, your excitement for that night skyrocketed.

Eunwoo wasn't exactly a friend but he was nice to you during class, maybe you were wrong but his niceness sometimes even bordered flirting. Already, you were daydreaming about a possible boyfriend to spend your last summer with before you start college.

With a date or without one, you spend the bigger portion of your senior year saving up money for prom night or should you say prom preparations.

Makeup was never your strongest suit, in fact, it wasn't a suit of yours at all. You never wore it. You never did your hair either.

Even on the rare occasion that you went to a high school party, you never wore anything else aside from jeans and T-Shirts. You were an athlete and you committed to the bit entirely, always being ready to sweat and opting for comfort of loose clothes above anything else.

But you wanted to look nice for prom, pretty. Not because of Eunwoo but for yourself. Prom is only once and you wanted to make sure you do it with confidence.

All your saved up allowance went on the hair and makeup appointment along with your dress that Ryujin helped you pick out. The dress was quite simple in your opinion, a dark red one with a square neckline held up by two thin straps that clung to your curves and flared out at the bottom.

With your hair pinned up in an up-do with two curled strands framing your face and glitter on your eyelids, you thought you looked very pretty, beautiful even. Hell, it was probably the best you looked in your entire eighteen years of life. You could even put up with the painful heels for the sake of it.

Your dad made you pose over the whole house while you waited for your date to pick you up. First a photoshoot on the stairs, then one on the front porch, then a little in front of the living room fireplace.

He seemed so excited with his camera hanging around his neck as he followed you around the house.

It was one of the moments you wished your mom was here for but nonetheless, it was much fun with your dad only as well. You were happy.

It all went to shit though once you opened the door for Eunwoo and he started laughing in your face.

"Oh my God!" He laughs, almost doubling over at the apparent hilarity of your appearance, "What are you wearing?!"

You laugh nervously, ignoring your father's glance at you from the sheer embarrassment, "What? Is it that bad?"

"No, no." Eunwoo shakes his head, wiping a stray tear that escaped while he was laughing, "It's just not like you, at all."

"Oh." You give him a sour smile, your fragilely built ego shattering completely. "I was just...trying something new I guess..."

He snickers with a headshake before offering you his hand, "Come on, let's go take a photo?"

After a small moment of hesitation, feeling your cheeks burn from the humiliation, you let him grab your hand and step out on the front porch. Eunwoo places a hand around your waist to pull you closer as you both smile at your dad's camera.

A couple of photos later, you both head towards Eunwoo's car as your dad waves you goodbye. You give him a small, almost sad wave back as Eunwoo opens the door for you. You ask him;

"Do I really look funny?"

"No, you look pretty no matter what." He answers, helping you with your dress. "It's just doesn't suit you I guess, it's not like you."

"Ah..." You say staring at the dashboard as you watch him round the car to get into the driver's seat. You glance back at your dad just to see him get back into your house and for a split second, you want to call the whole thing off and go back inside with him.

Of course this doesn't suit you. You were the girl guys dapped up in the hallways, the girl that was always covered in hoodies and sweatpants and never wore makeup. You must look stupid, all dolled up like this. What were you thinking.

Prom celebration is usually held at a hotel not far from your high school. The ballroom is enormous, with vast marble floors and high ceilings illuminated by golden, shimmery lights. It looks straight out a fairytale with colorful dresses worn by pretty princess and handsome princes in their extravagant suits. Only, you don't feel like a princess at all.

Eunwoo and you find your table and you briefly say hi to Ryujin and her date. Ryujin tells you how amazing you look and you give her the first (and possibly, only) genuine smile of the night.

"So," Eunwoo starts the conversation a few minutes after you settle down at your table with drinks, "Did you decide where you're going for college? Any scouts?"

"I'm leaning towards SNU. Their Women's Football Club is really strong and I feel like they actually get proper investments and budget." You tell him and he grins interrupting your next sentence.

"See, this is why I like you. It's hard to find a girl who knows about sports and is so chill about everything."

Your mouth stays parted, the rest of your sentence (which was really just saying that the fact the male football team was hot contributed to your decision as joke) went unsaid as his words registered. Every "compliment" Eunwoo gives you is starting to come off so backhandedly that you're beginning to realize that while he thinks he has you all figured out - he doesn't actually know you at all.

You give him a fake laugh and pray to God it doesn't sound fake enough for him to notice as you take a sip of your drink.

An hour later, your heels are killing you so much that you've completely given up on dancing. You observe Ryujin on the dance floor with her date, still going at it and sigh with the silent question of when it would be your turn. Instead, you're stuck to the sidelines with shoes that feel awful on your feet and a date that can't stop talking about how it's attractive that you're a "girl that actually eats". Eunwoo's compliments are becoming weirder by the second.

"Should I just take you home?" Eunwoo asks with an amused smile as he observes you taking off your heels for the tenth time since you sat back down.

"Ah, would you mind?" You give him an apologetic smile, feeling like a burden and a not-so-much-fun date, "I'm sorry, Eunwoo, this is unfair to you-"

"Nah, I had a fun time." He shakes his head, downing the rest of his drink, "Next time, just be yourself though, yeah?"

The weirdly phrased statement makes you pause. "What do you mean?"

"You know, you don't have to dress like this!" He laughs, playfully playing with the thin strap of your dress. You subtly move away from his touch. "It's not like you at all. I don't know if your friends talked you into it just to fit in but you shouldn't let them push you around like this."

He's so wrong that you can't speak for a moment but even if you could, you feel like trying to explain yourself to him would be far too exhausting and would lead to nowhere. Nor do you want it to lead anywhere anymore, if you were honest.

"Girls like that are so exhausting." He gives a tired sigh. "Outfits and makeup aren't the only thing in the world."

"Girls....like that?"

"You know! Like, the touchy-feely shit. Everything is about color-coordination and nail polishes with them. God forbid their hair is out of place. What a headache!" Eunwoo runs a hand through his hear before giving you an award winning smile. "That's why I'm glad I got to hang out with you! You're real."

"I'm....real?" You ask with a cocked head as your eyes start to narrow. He's too busy thinking that you like what he's saying so he continues.

"Yeah. You know, you keep it real. You're not caught up in that frivolous, girly bullshit. You're so chill, Y/N." He keeps smiling at you like he just gave you the highest form of compliment he possibly could.

But you can't bring yourself to crack a smile even if someone held a barrel of a gun to your temple at the moment. In fact, you feel like throwing up. You should've know from the start, from the moment he was so unreasonably impressed with your lack of makeup at the beginning of the year.

Eunwoo was one of those guys.

"Um," You slide your heels back on and grab your clutch, "You know what, you stay. I'll go."

"Wait, what." His brows raise in half confusion and half surprise as he watches you stand up from your seat.

"Yeah, I'll walk home."

"Wait, Y/N. Why would you walk home? I already said I'd drop you off-"

"No thanks. I don't want to get in a car with a sexist."

"What?!" Eunwoo reels back, "What the fuck are you talking about?! I'm not a sexist! I respect women!"

You huff, turning to him with a glare. "You respect women who are "cool" and "chill" and basically act like men. You should've just taken one of your dudes to prom if these are your opinions. I'm out."

So, that's how you find yourself in your pretty dress sitting in one of the plastic chairs of a convenience store with a popsicle in your mouth as you watch the cars drive by. You were too embarrassed to arrive home so early, you hyped up prom night so much to your dad - you'd rather lie and tell him you had a good time.

If the night couldn't possibly get any shittier, while you eat away at your cherry popsicle feeling undeniably sorry for yourself, you hear a familiar laugh followed by sounds of shoes scuffing against the pavement towards the convenience store.

Of course. Of fucking course, Jung Wooyoung would show up now, when you needed him least.

You try to make yourself seem as small as possible in the plastic chair, hoping he or his two friends wouldn't notice you (which in retrospect was a dumb hope, you were sitting right by the entrance in a fucking prom dress).

Ever since Wooyoung graduated high school two years ago, you only saw him in passing. He'd come home for Christmas holidays or a week or two during the summers and you'd only catch him skunk out of his house and into his dad's car if you were lucky. Unlucky, that is of course.

Maybe you were hoping he wouldn't even recognize you and although it would kind of hurt (as embarrassing as that is to admit), you feel like it would be a better option.

But since you were on a roll tonight, obviously this is just another thing that doesn't go your way.

"Nice dress, Y/L/N." You hear Wooyoung's voice speak, followed by snickers from his idiotic friends and his own attempt at stifling his laughter as they walk past you and into the convenience store, the small bell above the door signaling their entrance.

That ends up being your last straw.

You don't cause another fight or yell something back after him, no, you don't have the energy to do that tonight. Instead, you feel like you will cry.

Tears are already burning at your eyes and your bottom lip wobbles, you're not even aware that your eyes follow Wooyoung through the display of the store, watching him as he picks up a pack of beer and heads for the cashier.

He got even more painfully handsome than he was when you'd see him every day before he graduated. His hair was double toned, the top of it black and the bottom strands bleached, brushing the nape of his neck.

You think you could even see a tattoo peaking under his shirt as he moves.

Jung Wooyoung was so not your type. Not that you really knew what your type was but all the guys that you found cute in your high school years were athletes, jocks who were organized and dedicated to their routine which in your opinion showcased their maturity, got good grades and were respected by their peers. Wooyoung was really the complete opposite of that so it was hard to explain why you so weirdly hung up over his approval.

He's still laughing about something with his friends, it would hurt so badly if it was about you, as his eyes dart through the display and connect with your own.

Wooyoung does a double take before his big smile slowly slips and dare you say, eyes soften as he looks at you and his lips part as if he wants to say something.

It could all be in your head though and you're feeling even worse now that he caught you staring at him like a total creep, so you throw your popsicle in the trash and get up with a sigh, slipping back into your heels and deciding to just go home.

"Hey, Y/L/N! Wait up, I'll give you a ride home!" Wooyoung calls out after you, the plastic bag swinging back and forth in his hand.

He can hear Chanwook's hushed objection which Wooyoung chooses to ignore, instead focused on walking closer to you. You couldn't make it far since you were basically limping in your heels.

"No thanks." Wooyoung hears your response and rolls his eyes. He hasn't spoken to you in the last two years at all but he can see that nothing has changed much - you were still too stubborn for your own good.

You didn't even bother to turn back and look at him, instead you hitch your dress further up and continue up the street and away from the convenience store.

"Y/N, come on. Quit being a brat and just wait for me to bring the car around."

"I said no!" You yell over your shoulder and let out a small yelp when you stutter a bit on your feet. To Wooyoung, you resembled Bambi right now.

"I'm trying to help you!" He yells back, still following you, "Just let me drive you back-"

"Wooyoung, seriously, fuck off!" You turn to face him with red cheeks and teary eyes (maybe that's why he's insisting so badly to drive you home, you simply look pathetic), "I don't need your fucking help!"

Wooyoung reels back at your tone and harsh words and then a wave of embarrassment washes over him when he hears Chanwook and Eunhyuk laugh behind him, at the fact that he just got told off by his little neighbour.

The embarrassment is followed up by anger that prickles at his skin like needles, he scoffs and if there's one thing Wooyoung will be - it's petty; "Fine! Limp home in your stupid heels then, see if I give a shit!"

You don't give him a response and Wooyoung doesn't bother to look for it either, instead turns around on his feet and heads towards his car (his dad's car). But not before telling a laughing Chanwook to shut the fuck up.

But once he's in the car with the keys in the ignition, he stares at the steering wheel in obvious contemplation before letting out a small groan, "Fuck."

Wooyoung turns to Chanwook, "Sit in the back, please."

His friend looks at him in surprise and confusion. "What?"

"Just sit in the back, will you? Please." Wooyoung repeats, avoiding Chanwook's eyes but feeling his stumped stare.

"Wooyoung, you cannot be serious." His friend laughs in disbelief as if reading his mind, looking around before giving Wooyoung another incredulous look, "She just told you to fuck off!"

Eunhyuk is quiet in the back which is a huge relief for Wooyoung, he really didn't need to defend himself to his other friend too.

"I can't let her go by foot in the dark, you've seen her! She can barely walk!" Wooyoung says defensively to both of his friends as Chanwook moves to the back with a huff.

"And that's your problem...how?" Chanwook, like the annoying pest he is, asks.

"It's not...." Wooyoung trails off, trying to look for an excuse as to why he was going out of his way to give you a ride home. "But...but her dad would kill me if he knew I saw her and didn't drive her back. It's only right."

Chanwook smacks his lips obnoxiously loud, "Sure."

Wooyoung doesn't even need to turn around to know that his friend is giving him a very bold side eye right now.

Eunhyuk snorts but doesn't say anything else. Wooyoung is thankful for that at least.

"She probably won't even want to get in the car." Chanwook comments quietly as they reach you on the sidewalk. He ends up being ignored.

Wooyoung rolls the window of the old car down so he can talk to you, he has to say you're walking at an impressively slow pace. "Y/N, get in the car."

He hears you groan dramatically from the outside, "Jung, you're not my dad. Stop telling me what to do."

Wooyoung ignores Chanwook and Eunhyuk's snickers in the back once again, he grows even more irritated, "I'll call your fucking dad right now and tell him you're walking home alone this late. How about that?"

You turn to him with your glossy lips twisted into a scowl, "You wouldn't."

Always ready to prove a point or in this case, lie straight out of his ass, Wooyoung makes a show of stopping his car next to the sidewalk and fishing his phone from the pocket of his jacket before opening up his contacts and beginning to scroll. He doesn't even have your dad's number.

But Wooyoung is a professional bullshitter so he keeps pressing random buttons with a straight face and presses the phone to his ear before turning to you with his brows raised-

"Okay, fine!" You exclaim with an angry huff and start rounding his car as your cheeks flush a pretty pink color. Wait, pretty-? You open the door and angrily plop into the passenger's seat with a glare directed towards him, "Fucking snitch."

Wooyoung ignores you, locking his phone without another word and beginning to drive away.

There's an awkward silence in the car, only sounds being made are those of the plastic bags filled with beer that keep rustling in Eunhyuk's lap.

"This isn't the way to our street." You say and Wooyoung might be crazy but you almost sound a little nervous at that. He glances at you before it dawns onto him. Of course, you'd be feeling nervous.

It's nighttime and you're in a car with three dudes older than you who you don't know that well. Wooyoung didn't even bother telling you about his plan before he started driving. A curse runs through his head before he clears his throat,

"I'll just drop these two off at a party nearby and then drive you home." He murmurs, chest constricting a little when he sees you cross your hands over your chest, a gesture which makes you seem smaller.

"Wait, wha-" Chanwook, gosh he was really pissing Wooyoung off tonight, starts from the backseat. "Woo, I thought you were going too-"

"I will." Wooyoung interrupts him with a clenched jaw as he pulls up to the house where the party is held, "I'll drop Y/N off and then come back, it won't take more than fifteen minutes. Now get out- Wait, give me that bag right there."

Eunhyuk hands him one of the plastic bags and Wooyoung fishes through it and pulls out two blueberry ice creams out of it before giving the bag back to Eunhyuk. Which he bought for himself, of course. Not because he saw your popsicle melting on the pavement or anything.

Chanwook watches with a dropped jaw before huffing, Wooyoung hears him murmur, "Doing it for her dad, my ass-"

"I'll be right back!" Wooyoung announces loudly, far too loudly, and Eunhyuk slams the car door shut so Wooyoung can drive away.

When he pulls away, the silence in the car is almost stifling so Wooyoung offers you the ice cream, "Here."

You look at him like a second head just popped out of his shoulder before looking back through the window and ignoring him completely. Wooyoung lets out a small groan. So stubborn.

"Oh my God, just take it." He says, placing the ice cream on your lap as he continues to drive. He bites back a smile when he sees you stare at the ice cream on your lap for a long second before grasping it and opening the wrapper so you can eat it.

Wooyoung really doesn't know what he's doing right now.

He doesn't know why he bought ice creams for you, he doesn't know why he insisted on getting rid of his friends first before dropping you off home, he has no idea why he keeps glancing at you every couple of seconds from the corner of his eye and he especially doesn't have a clue why he takes the longer route home.

When tomorrow comes and he wakes up hangover from the party and probably in someone else's bed, he'll give himself the same excuse he gave the boys. He wanted to make sure you got home safely because it's the right thing to do. There was nothing else to it.

But in this moment, right now, in the stifling silence and the breeze that flows through the opened window's because the air conditioning isn't working - Wooyoung notices things that he feels embarrassed to notice, or maybe he noticed them before but never allowed himself to appreciate them until tonight.

Like, how nice your bare neck and collarbones look now that your hair is pinned up in soft curls. A thin silver necklace graces your neck. Or how the two curled strands at the front frame your face prettily. Your eyelids are painted with something shimmery which Wooyoung doesn't know the name of and your cheekbones are a soft peach color intentionally placed there beforehand.

Your glossy lips wrap around the ice cream cone and you bite off a huge chunk.

"Why are you staring at me?" Wooyoung can decipher the question even through the mouthful of ice cream as you give him a slight glare.

Because you're pretty. Is what he wants to say, honest and bare, but he obviously can't because you're you and he's Wooyoung. "Because you have ice cream on your nose."

His hands tighten against the steering wheel when he sees you quickly look to the side and wipe at your nose self-consciously. You blush a scarlet red from the embarrassment. Great, now he feels like an asshole.

Wooyoung clears his throat, "Why did you look so sad? Back there, in front of the store."

He has no idea why he's trying to make conversation with you. You two never do that, never did. The closest thing to a conversation between Wooyoung and you would be the arguments you'd have in the middle of the school hallway when he'd tease you for your braces.

Those came off as well, by the way, he can see the pearly white teeth perfectly aligned now as you speak. No longer crooked. Maybe he'd like to see them pulled up in a smile but that's borderline wishful thinking now. You smiling at Wooyoung? Yeah, right.

"No reason." You tell him quietly, slumping in your seat as you continue to eat your ice cream. You sigh with an eyeroll, "Just...prom sucked."

Likely thing to happen.

The key is to go to prom with your expectations so low that you can only go up from there but Wooyoung had an inkling feeling that having low expectations wasn't in your nature.

Besides, you were a jock. He remembers even when you were a freshman, you were already running with the popular crowd without even being aware of it, with the athletes and the cheerleaders. Prom night is sort of a pinnacle of the high school experience for people like you.

Guess it's a bummer that you look like you had a shit time.

He hums, "At the end of the day, it's just another Friday night. Nothing special. So even if it sucked, you'll get over it."

Maybe he wasn't the best at giving advice or comforting people.

You side eye him and he pretends not to see it before you quietly add, "I don't usually spend a year worth of allowance on just another Friday night."

Wooyoung cracks a smile, teasing you being a second nature even if you barely spoke since he graduated, "What? Did you expect a prince charming to sweep you off your feet so you two can dance the night away or something? I didn't know you were into that corny shit, Y/L/N."

He hears you scoff, cheeks still red as you roll your eyes, seriously annoyed, "Whatever. Forget I said anything."

Wooyoung's gives a forced snicker just to annoy you before his smile drops again and his eyes flutter shut for a moment out of pure frustration at his own stupidity, internally cursing himself. If shooting yourself in the foot was a person - it would have Jung Wooyoung's photo and name posted under it.

Why can't you just be nice to her?

The air in the car turns even more awkward and Wooyoung shifts uncomfortably in his seat while you continue to eat your ice cream in silence as you stare through the window.

He slows down in front of your house just when you're finishing your ice cream.

You crumple the wrapper in your hand, place the second ice cream on the dashboard and grab the small bag laying on your lap before grabbing the door handle.

"I hope," Wooyoung starts and when you turn to look at him, he's overcome with a sudden coughing fit which is really just awkwardness and the need to fix whatever the fuck he broke a little even more tonight, "Uh, hope you took some good pictures tonight at least because..."

He trails off, feeling like it was his first time flirting with a girl. Wait, what the fuck. He was not flirting with you. Not even a little bit. Wooyoung was simply trying to pay you a compliment. Simple as that. It doesn't have to be anything more. You don't even need to be friends to pay someone a compliment, in fact, Wooyoung is positive that regular archnemeses complimented each other at least once.

Unfortunately, compliments aren't the norm between the two of you, so whatever nice thing he says feels wrong.

Your brows raise.

"You know," He trails off, scratching the back of his neck in an attempt to seem cool and collected. He nonchalantly adds but his side glances might give him away, fortunately you're too much of a ditz to notice, "You look good."

You stare at him for a long moment, seriously it's so long that he almost changes his mind and adds an insult just so you two would be back in those familiar waters of bickering and teasing each other but then your eyebrows fall back down and a scowl overtakes your features.

"Yeah, right." You mumble and Wooyoung almost feels insulted for some reason but then you continue, "Thanks for the ride."

And then you're out of the car and already moving across your front lawn before Wooyoung can snap out of it and remember to turn the car back on.

19 and 21 years old;

"10 more minutes! Y/L/N stop arguing with that asshole and get back into your position before you're out of the game completely!"

Your coach is red in the face from all the shouting and you know what's good for you, so you keep your mouth shut as you run to your spot, thoroughly ignoring the glare your team's captain shoots at you from your right.

The 'asshole' that your coach is referring to is the referee who didn't count a player from the rival team almost breaking your leg by bulldozing into you - as a foul.

"-stole Eunha's position from her and can't even play properly." You hear a snicker behind you and don't even have to turn to know who it's directed at.

Despite it being only your first semester, you haven't made the greatest impression on your teammates (nor did you try all that much to change that impression).

So for the time being, when there was no rival team, you were the collective enemy in the changing rooms and on the practice field. A freshman who kicked their friend from the spot she had since she started college. A freshman who thought she was better than the rest of her team. A freshman who didn't know how to behave at times. A freshman that made them run extra laps because she was bad at remembering all the new rules at times.

And now, a freshman that was playing badly and fucking up things for the rest of them.

"Y/N!" A hiss from your right is heard and your eyes zero in on your captain, Jihyo, who is staring at you. "Focus."

You swallow harshly and give her a quick now before focusing your gaze to the front.

In high school, you weren't used to losing. You were a winner, it's what you prided yourself in. Failure wasn't an option when it came to football.

But turns out in college, when all the other players are as good as you, winning isn't as easy.

In fact it’s a lot harder than you thought it would be. Nearing the end of the first half the score sheet is still empty and it annoys all of the players and the fans as well. The weirdest thing is how ball is not even on your team's side of the field most of the time; your defenders did not have a very entertaining start of the game in comparison to defenders from Busan, who already look out of breath from all of the attacks to their side. Not to mention that they keep teaming up on you specifically.

You can’t pinpoint what exactly is wrong and why there was no goal to this point; half of you thinks it’s because you didn’t blend well with the team.

"Run, run, run!" Yeonjin shouts, when Sinb loses the ball and Busan’s midfielders rush to their side.

The spike of adrenaline energizes you and your eyes zero on the ball, running after it. Mina’s figure passes from your left and both of you corner the midfielder, successfully getting the ball to your side. You have it and quickly pass it to Yeonjin, seeing her signal for the ball. You watch her run off when a body collides with your own and the impact is so strong, you lose your balance, falling down.

‘What?’ You ask yourself in disbelief not understanding how you're sprawled across the grass again, slowly standing up. At first you're shell-shocked but now anger fills you to the brim when you see that it's the same girl who intentionally collided with you the first time, watching you with a smug smirk and then you're just ready to fight.

You push back at her and get even angrier when the bitch doesn't fall.

"Are you going to go tattle to mommy?" She asks with a mocking concern and you can’t hear anything; you even forget that you are in the middle of the game because your anger turns your vision red.

With a loud groan, you launch towards her and grab her by the shirt, screaming to her face that 'she's a cunt'. There are hands around you, pulling you away, trapping you and not letting you go even when you try to break free.

Jihyo's face is in front of you and you can't register what she's saying but you can see her turn red from how pissed off she is. Maybe it's better if you're not listening to her, if you can't hear anyone actually...but then-

"Hey, number nine! You better not fucking cry!"

At first, you think the loud yell came from somewhere on the field. You thought another player from the Busan team was talking shit. And then,

"Number nine! Crybaby!"

There's some laughter in the audience and it's then that you realize the voice is shouting from the fucking bleachers.

A teammate is already pulling you in the opposite direction but your eyes are glued to crowd sitting on the sidelines, the annoying voice insistently yelling. Crybaby. Crybaby. Crybaby.

The worst part is that the voice sounds so painfully familiar, you just can't put your finger on it. Who.

You're about to let it go. You're about to be the bigger person and not act like a total brute on the field, just let it go Y/N. But then-

"Hey, hey crybaby!" You stop in your tracks, head whipping to the direction the voice was coming from and eyes coasting over the bleachers. "What kind of hill did you roll down from that you don't even know how to push someone back properly?!"

Finally, you spot it. Him. In a red hoodie, making sure to stand out in the sea of blue. It's no wonder the voice sounded so eerily familiar, you've heard it screaming at you for the majority of your childhood and a good chunk of your teen years.

Because he rolled down the same hill as you with only a street separating you.

When he realizes that you've caught onto him, he gives you that smile. That grin that never led to anything good, pearly white teeth gleaming under the lights of the bleachers as he taunts you.

You blood pressure jumps so, you take a deep breath and....scream;

"Jung Wooyoung!"

#ateez angst #ateez x reader #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung imagine #wooyoung smut #wooyoung angst #wooyoung fluff #wooyoung scenarios

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ramblers-lets-get-ramblin · 7 months

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The Clink- prison guard!Javier Peña x f!inmate!reader

Mood board is just for aesthetics, no reader description is given- moodboard made by @planet-marz1

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Javi P Masterlist

Rating: E FOR EXPLICIT MDNI 18+

Word Count: ~1300

Warnings: DUBCON due to power imbalance (reader is an inmate and cannot legally consent), oral sex m!receiving, unprotected PIV, creampie

Author’s Note: this is just a silly little brain rot I was having. I would like to dedicate this fic to Mari @planet-marz1 , My Baby Love™️, for feeding that brain rot and for always being my biggest cheerleader. She is the light of my life and I am so lucky to call her my friend

After his resignation from the DEA, Javi thought that he could help his dad around the ranch and just live a peaceful life. He probably could have, if it wasn’t for those fucking boats. Day in and day out, they rode past his land, full of drugs. Gun-toting men, kids really, taunting Javi. Reminding him of his failures, his losses. Finally he couldn’t stand it anymore and decided to find a job. Something to get him away from the house, if only for a few hours a day. Anything to keep his mind off the horrors he witnessed and even participated in during his decade of service to the drug war. His nights are still consumed by them. Nightmares plague Javi every night. The filthy mattress they found Helena on, the fate they saved her from. The kid Carrillo shot right in the fucking head, and his friend’s own death. It’s rare these days that Javi gets a full night’s rest. Even rarer still that he’s able to go back to sleep after waking, soaked in sweat, from one of these nightmares.

And that’s how he found himself here, in the laundry room of the county jail, with you on your knees on the dirty concrete floor in front of him. His cock is shoved as far down your throat as it can go. His hands are curled around the back of your head as he pistons in and out. “That’s it baby, breathe through your nose. You can do it, mamita. ” He says quietly, hoping to avoid detection. You swallow around him as best you can and slip your hand down the stretchy waistband of your jail issued scrubs. You just need to get some friction before you lose your mind. The obscene sounds of Javi fucking your throat have your clit twitching beneath your fingers. It practically throbs when he praises you.

“You take me so well, baby. Doing such a good job for me.” You moan around his length and the vibrations have his eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Fuck!” He exclaims and quickly pulls out of your throat. “I’m not gonna last if you keep that up.” He explains. Your throat is thick with saliva that dribbles out between your lips. He swipes it away with his thumb and wipes it on the dark brown polyester of his guard uniform. His sweat-slicked curls stick to his forehead and the back of his neck. July in Texas is hot enough, but the jail doesn’t have air conditioning, and the humidity from the commercial grade washers and dryers make the air thick and warm, just like Javi. “Stand up.” He orders, motioning with two of his fingers. You stand and he twirls his fingers in a circular motion, indicating for you to turn around. You turn and place your palms flat on the stainless steel folding table in front of you.

Officer Peña had been observing while you and your fellow inmates washed and dried and folded. A scuffle broke out between two of the women and he sent everyone back to their bunks. By chance, you happened to be at the very end of the line. He placed his hand on your shoulder as you neared the door. “Not you. I’ve got a special job for you.” He’d said with a smirk on his face and a sparkle in his deep brown eyes. That look was reserved for special occasions. When he just had to have you, outside of your weekly pre-established time. All the guards were required to work one overnight shift per week. Once a week, he slips quietly into your bunk and your bunkie slips out. You don’t know where she goes for half an hour but she doesn’t ask any questions and neither do you.

He presses his chest against your back and buries his face in your neck. He wraps his strong arms around your middle and hugs you tightly to him. “I just couldn’t wait until tomorrow night. I had to have you now, hermosa .” He whispers against your skin. Goosebumps cover your entire body with the vibrations and your nipples pebble against the cotton of your top. You bring your arms up to hug where his are pressed against you, but he grabs your wrists firmly, but not painfully, and places your hands on the table once again. He pulls down your pants to your ankles and over your shoes and a low groan leaves his mouth when he sees the wet patch darkening the tan fabric. “Why aren’t you wearing any panties?” He asks. “Waiting for someone else?” You shake your head.

“Of course not, Javi.” He reaches around and engulfs your mound with his large palm. The other hand snakes up your shirt and tweaks your nipples.

“Better not be. This pussy belongs to me.” He growls into your ear. You whimper as your knees get a little weak.

Javi grabs the back of your left leg and lifts it. The cool metal of the table stings your knee as it comes to rest there. He doesn’t waste any more time. You don’t have any to waste. Someone is gonna wonder why the laundry isn’t getting done soon. You moan loudly when his cock begins stretching you. He clamps his hand over your mouth. “Shh, baby. Don’t want anyone hearing us now, do you?” And he feels when your pussy clenches around him at the thought. “Oh, maybe you do. Would you like that?” When you nod slightly he gives his hips a sharp thrust.

“Maybe I can call a few of my buddies in here to watch. Let them watch me ruin this pussy.” Each snap of his hips brings you closer to the edge. The filthy words whispered into the shell of your ear, the feel of his breath on your neck, the thought of getting caught, being put on display, has you coming for him within a few minutes. When he feels you fluttering around him he picks up the pace. Ramming into you over and over until you are squeezing him. “You want me to fill you up, mamita ? Let you walk around with me dripping out of you all day?” His voice sounds strained, like he’s holding back. He removes his hand from your mouth. He wants to hear you say it.

“Please, Javi. Fill me up, baby.” His cock twitches inside of you and he gives you two more quick thrusts. He stills and you feel him pulse as he empties himself into you with a loud groan. You hope these old dryers are loud enough to cover the sound. As much as the thought of getting caught turns you on, the consequences would be bad, for both of you. Javi would go to prison himself, be a registered sex offender for the rest of his life. You would get even more time added on to your sentence, likely in solitary.

Once you’ve both come down from your respective highs, Javi places a soft kiss on your neck and helps you bring your leg back to the ground. He holds your pants so you can step into them and pulls them up for you. He stands and tucks himself back into his uniform and buckles his belt. He gives you a deep, but soft, kiss. When he parts his lips from yours he places a quick peck to your forehead. “Go on.” He says with a jerk of his head. When you turn to walk away he swats your ass gently. “See you tomorrow night baby.” He says with a wink.

I no longer have a taglist! Please follow @ramble-on-fics and turn on post notifications for updates!

#javier pena fanfic #javier peña narcos #javi peña narcos #narcos smut #javier peña fic #narcos javier #javier peña x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena fanfiction #cw dubcon #tw dubcon #tw dubious consent #cw dubious consent

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bookishtheaterlover7 · 23 days

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How Long Could We Be A Sad Song?

a/n: Well, it's here! The fic that I'm most anxious to write and post. Honestly, I wrote this and got inspiration when I was in my most upset and angsty mood. Which was a few months ago, and it's been sitting within the pages of Maddie (my writing notebook), and my drafts. And somehow through a very frustrating bout of Writer's Block, as well as, the fact that I was reminded and paired my own feelings to "Taylor Swift's You're Losing Me", put it into a moodboard and boom! This fic was born.

youtube

Normally, I'd dedicate this to a special friend. But this time, I'd like to deviate, and dedicate this to myself. Weird, I know. This time though, this fic will remind me that every emotion, and every feeling is valid and if vented properly, can and will flourish into something productive and beautiful.

Alright. That's enough talk from me. I hope you all enjoy the fic. And I also hope I didn't crush you, cause well... it's angst, what else can I say? 😆

Chris Evans x Secret Girlfriend!Reader

Requested: No

WARNINGS: Panic Attacks, Angst, Established Relationship, Relationship Drama, Sad Chris, Sad Dodger

Heartbreak Divider by @firefly-graphics

Enjoy!!!

*Y/C/F/M = Your Close Family Member

Outside, the night was quiet, and peaceful. The crickets calling into the night air, frogs singing in unison, adding to the ambiance. Even the noisiest neighbor seemed to have taken some time off from being the thorn on everyone’s side. But while the world seemed almost frozen, Y/n sat in her living room, her heart pounding in her ears, and a knot forming in the pit of her stomach after she told the Love of her Life that she wanted to end their 6-year relationship. The sad part was, Chris seemed so lost as Y/n’s words hung in the air.

“I-I don’t understand...” He finally said, looking up at her from resting his head between his legs, across their living room. The space feeling more like chasm the longer this dragged on.

“I know you don’t, Chris.” Y/n sighed, getting up from her chair, and kneeling beside Chris, before taking his trembling hands in hers, hoping to give him some comfort, knowing that he could spiral into a Panic Attack in his fragile state. She knew because, if she didn’t do it for herself, she’d do the same.

They let the silence of their built home surround them, like a warm blanket. Both knew that they were only delaying the inevitable, but they selfishly wanted to hang on to what little time they had left together.

Time felt like it slowed, as Y/n’s gaze remained focused on their joined hands. Taking her back to a time years ago, on a bench, when Chris first saved Y/n...

She had been touring New York with her family, unfortunately, the crowds were too overwhelming for her, and while they were forming their lines to enter the theater of some play, Y/n couldn’t focus her breathing long enough to look at the marquee, and her chest felt tighter and tighter, as she told *Y/C/F/M that she’d like to grab a bite from the stall she saw near a bench, a few ways back, and left before he/she/they could protest.

She took advantage of the open air, and tried to regulate her breathing, by taking slow deep breaths, before arriving and collapsing on the bench. Resting her head against the back of it and feeling and inhaling the passing fresh breeze. The tightness in her chest was still there, and she continued taking deep breaths in order to regulate her breathing, not even noticing the handsome stranger, standing next to her.

“Uh, hi! Excuse me? Miss? Ar-are you okay?” He greeted, his blue eyes gleaming, as Y/n took a big breath before answering.

“Huh. Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine, Sir. Just feeling a little overwhelmed. Is all.” She laughed, wiping her cheeks. Just noticing that there were tears running down them.

“I get that. No matter how many times you do this, or come here, it can still get overwhelming... May I?” The stranger asked, gesturing to the empty space next to her. To which she nodded and scooted over a little to give him some room.

He put his bag down between his legs, opened one of the pockets and pulled out a couple of tissues, before handing them to her. That Y/n gratefully accepted, dabbing at the corners of her eyes.

“The city is actually quite beautiful, but I’d prefer it if it didn’t have so many goings on, you know?” She said, breaking the comfortable silence that settled over them.

“Oh, I definitely know. It’s places like this right here, though, that helps.” He said, admiring the way the bench overlooked a cluster of buildings in the most picturesque way.

“Is that an invitation to meet here again?” Y/n laughed.

“Maybe... Are you going to take me up on it?” The stranger laughed, his face expressing hope.

“I might...” She smiled, holding her hand out, now being able to breathe easier.

“Y/n.”

“Chris.” He replied, taking it and shaking it.

It wasn’t until Y/n returned to the theater that she realized WHO she had just met. And it definitely took her a while to shake it off, and, even if it seemed like a fluke at the time, she was pretty sure that Chris winked at her from the stage that night.

She was thankful for how he helped her. And it just became a thing for them to do the other, even a couple years later, when Chris was presented a way to possibly earn money during the pandemic.

Y/n focused her gaze on the mantel, her mind wandering to when she and Chris first made this place into their home. Moving things around, deciding which items gets put on display, what color the walls are gonna be... Back when everything was possible.

“How time flies...” She trailed off.

“Y/N/N. Baby...” Chris cried, his voice breaking at the end. Which caused Y/n to swallow a sob too.

“How can I make this better? I can fix this for us.” He said, hopping down from the seat onto Y/n’s level on the floor.

“That’s the thing, Chris. You can’t.” Y/n cried, pulling her hands away, and wrapping them around herself, in an attempt to give herself some comfort, as well as ground her.

“This is the most cliche thing that I’ve ever said, but it’s not you, it’s me. I can’t handle it... It’s getting too much for me, and the sad thing is, it’s not even your fault, because it’s my own feelings, and you’re just doing your job...” She ranted, her heart going a mile a minute, her chest feeling tighter.

“Hey. Hey.” Chris said, gently taking her hands, placing one on his cheek, and cupping her cheek, allowing her to follow his breathing, slowing hers down.

They let time pass, just holding the other close. Letting the other’s presence bring their calm. Like always.

Chris has just realized how much of a colossal fuck up he just made. How the fuck did he not notice?! That Story went from wholesome to “What did I just do?!” in just a few hours.

His heart was racing a mile a minute, and he felt like he couldn’t catch his breath. Pacing back and forth on his balcony, the fresh air rendered useless in relieving him.

“Hey. Chris, everything’s going to be alright, okay?” Y/n said, putting one hand on his shoulder, getting his attention on her.

“Deep breaths. 2 seconds in, 3 seconds out. C’mon, Babe. Do it with me.” She smiled, helping him breathe through his attack.

Some time later, Y/n helped him onto their couch. Dodger hopping on next to Chris, allowing him to pet the little guy. She had left the room to grab him a glass of water. Which after handing it over to him, she sat down behind Dodger, hand on Chris’ knee, letting her presence and silent assurance say what words may fall short on.

“We can do this, Baby. We can work through this, fight it.” Chris said, pulling back to look at Y/n’s eyes, determined.

“No, Chris. We can’t. I can’t.” She said, pulling away, and standing so that she was facing away from him, the view from their window her only comfort in this moment.

“I know that you want to make this work, because you’re you. But I can’t let you. Do you really want to stay, when I feel like a ghost in my own relationship? I literally could send you the biggest most obvious sign, and I don’t think you’d hear me.”

“But I’m here, Y/N/N. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.” Chris pleaded.

“Yeah. What happens when you need to go, Chris? When they need you to do something, again. And I have to see pics of you and her, knowing full well that that’s supposed to be me. On your arm, announcing our love and our relationship to the world. Taking on every comment, every hate, every piece of scrutiny, together. Instead, the world believes in that sham, because they don’t know I exist in your life.” Y/n cried, turning towards him, not even bothering to hold her tears back anymore.

Chris tried to reach out for her, but she took a step back. Not letting him hold her, knowing full well that if he did, everything will feel right, and she won’t be able to do what she needed to.

“This is just temporary, Baby. It’ll soon end, and at some point, we can walk out of those doors, and be able to show everyone.” Chris said, tears shining in his own eyes.

“You’ve been saying that for years. And honestly, you don’t even know when will it end exactly. And it’s destroying you. I know that you only did this to help your family, but it shouldn’t be at the expense of your own happiness.” Y/n said with conviction, her gaze filled with so much intensity, Chris avoided it and made his way to their room.

“You know, I’m right, Chris.”

“Well, has it ever crossed your mind, that maybe, I’m doing this for us? That maybe, it isn’t just for myself and my family? But for our future together?” Chris yelled, exasperated.

“And you know, that I have never cared about any of that! I don’t care if you’re some world-famous actor, or some rich gazillionaire, or whatever. I care about you, Chris. I don’t know why you could never see that.” Y/n sighed in disbelief, turning away from Chris, heading out the door to grab her bags and leave, forever.

“Wait. Baby, please wait.” Chris said, grabbing her wrist, and holding it gently, not wanting to hurt her, but make one last stitch effort to make her stay.

“I love you, isn’t it enough? I’m all yours. No part of me is ever not going to be yours. We just need to hang in there a little longer.” Silence filled the air, Y/n remaining silent for what felt like hours, until she finally spoke.

“You know I will always love you, too, Chris. But I can’t stay and end up hating you as a result. I wouldn’t be able to survive that. I’m sorry.” She said, looking at his gorgeous eyes, committing them to memory, before pulling away, and continuing her short walk to the door.

She had one foot out the door, when she felt a small tug on her pant leg. Looking down at a sad Dodger, whining, begging her to stay.

“Hey, Bubba. Don’t be sad. I will never not love you. And I need you to make sure, your Daddy remembers that too. Can you do that for me?” She said, kneeling down and petting him while smiling through her tears, as Dodger barked in reply, licking her face.

“Alright. That’s my good boy.” Y/n said, giving him a final pet before nudging him away from the doorway, and closing it behind her.

The silence wasn’t as comforting without her there. Even as Dodger assumed his duties, nudging against Chris, as he petted him. He felt numb, like a huge chunk of himself was removed and no way to fill the hole.

“It’s just you and me now, Bud... Just you and me.”

a/n: You guys still good? I hope it wasn't too bad. I may need to write something to balance out the angst, but that'll be a while... 😬

Special thanks to the best girls in the world for encouraging me, and getting me through my panic attacks to finish this. I couldn't have done it without you. Love y'all! 🥹❤️

And I'm also pretty sure that this'll be the only Chris Evans as himself fanfiction I'll ever write or post... We'll see.

But will this be my last Taylor Swift x CE/Character song fic? Definitely not 😉

Until the next one! Stay safe and sane, Everyone 🫶

❤ Booky

Main Masterlist

Chris Evans Characters Masterlist

Taylor Swift x CE/Characters Songfic Masterlist 😉

Taglist: @nescavaneck @jiyascepter @royalwriteroftheuniverse @femefetalelevelingup

#chris evans fandom #chris evans x reader songfic #chris evans songfic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans imagine #chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x you #chris evans x female reader #chris evans angst #booky's written works #dodger evans #team chris #Spotify #Youtube #chris evans

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tamlinweek · 1 month

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To all the participants of Tamlin Week:

First of all, HI!! WE LOVE YOU!!! yall are so creative and dedicated, we are so proud of this corner of our fandom! As event mods, we feel like one of the most important things we can do during a fandom event is be supportive. Me (Reyna) and Lady Midnight will be doing what we can, by reblogging every post onto our personal blogs and added comments/kudos to all the fics.

Unfortunately, we cannot pause real life, not even during Tamlin Week. Both of us have had to work quite a bit this week. I especially have had NO TIME since I've been at sea most of the week, and am starting a long, strenuous field day tomorrow (I set my alarm for 4:30 AM tomorrow with hatred in my heart). This means that Lady Midnight has been handling every single submission to make sure it is reblogged to the Tamlin Week blog in a timely manner, with tags. Therefore, she also hasn't had much time to focus on actually enjoying the submissions.

All this to say, we appreciate you so much, even if that appreciation isn't being shown right now! We want to make sure we have time to really sit down and enjoy those fics and leave thoughtful comments, because you deserve them! We want time to really appreciate the beautiful art, moodboards, and poetry that you have spent the time making. That means that it'll probably take several weeks for us to go through every submission.

We have 2 requests at this point. One, please be patient with us, and know that your work brings us so much joy, and we will be able to share that with you soon. And two, please help us pick up the slack by supporting your fellow creators. Even a simple reblog with a heart emoji in the tags can mean everything to a creator, especially since we're all making content for an unpopular character. Leave replies, comments, send messages, write funny tags, etc, to make up for us mods not being able to right now.

You are all amazing, and let Tamlin Week continue!

#tamlin #tamlin week #idek if our absence has been noted #BUT we had Sunday off and both of us could be super active and since then have been working!!!#anyway we love u all so so so so much #HUGS AND KISSES #and give each other hugs and kisses!

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bindeds · 3 months

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THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 100 FOLLOWERS ! — i genuinely can’t believe i’ve come this far with posting my brainrot for hazbin. it has and will continue to be such an honor to keep posting for you guys, and to celebrate you guys i’ve prepared a little something for you guys, hehe!

requests.

i am willing to do any requests you guys might have which includes art, gifs, character ships (radioapple, huskerdust, etc) and of course character x reader ships despite generally being an x reader blog. though of course as any sane person would, i am not entertaining angel x val.

some fics along the way …

i have been cooking up something specifically for lucifer though nothing is confirmed yet except for the fact that i want to make a longer fic for him (AT LEAST 10k words long), but i’m kinda having trouble for the plot so this kinda connects to the first thing which if you have any ideas for me to write i am implore you to hit up my askbox, please! i’m gonna need all the help i can get! i’ve also gotten a radioapple worm in my head and the premise is too good not to act on though i will say it will be shorter than the lucifer fic. because of this both of these will be on my ao3 so stay tuned!

selfships.

i thought it would be cool for you guys to tell me a bit about yourself and then from there i pick a character from hazbin/helluva (depending on which show you prefer) that i think you would like/be with romantically (or even queerplatonically for the aro/aces out there)!! i’ve seen other people do this as well and they do 3-pic moodboards sometimes and i’d love to do that for you guys! or if you guys wanna go in depth i could also make short fics dedicated to you personally upon request!

get to know me + qna!

besides all the stuff that’s stated in my pinned, i’ve been writing since i was 10 (i am 18) and i’ve wanted to be a published author for the longest time, though as i grew older i realized there’s a lot of other ways i can get my stories out to the world, like screenwriting, animating (or being both the creator and writer of my own show AHEM totally not talking about hazbin) so i’m not really sure of things yet, but i will say i’ve learned a lot about writing since i first started and even though i know this is all for fun, i take the way i write things seriously, so any constructive feedback you might have will be valuable to me! anyway, i have A LOT of opinions on everything hazbin/helluva so you can ask about those or more about me! i’m a very open person so i like to give in depth responses. but yeah feel free to ask about my opinions on helluva/hazbin as well as my personal life too!

another thing i wanted to disclose about myself since i feel comfortable after having met such wholesome people after starting this blog, is that i have been through abuse very similar to angel dust’s meaning his character meant a lot to me and he was my favorite character when the pilot first came out so yeah! definitely ask me about angel too if you have anything to ask!

#thank you so much for 100 followers #it genuinely means so much to me #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #lucifer hazbin hotel #radioapple #alastor the radio demon

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thinkpink212 · 7 months

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The Thinkpink Guide To a Pretty Pink Soft Life - Setting the tone for 2024

Hello lovelies, we've entered November and have one more month to go before we officially reach 2024! This time last year I sat down and wrote out the goals I now have fully compleated through manifestation, dedication and persistance. I've been asked before how I did it, so here is how.

1. It is important to have the mindset of a believer. More importantly, you must be a believer in you. Belive that you can and will have everything you desire simply because you desire it. You are the univers expanding, creating and experiencing itsefl. Once you believe, as well as trust in your abilities, vision(s) and start honoring yourself - You will become who you want to be (which is who you already are, just not yet)

Once your mindset is shifted, you need to get down to the specifics.

2. The Four Seasons - Work with nature, never against her. One of the reasons why I felt so sucessfull achieving my goals were the way they were divided. I had 3 major and minor goals for the whole year. These goals were centered around what would further me towards the life I wanted, with the seasons in mind divided into 4 phases. I wanted to factor in changing weather, possible shifting mood's, hollidays and much more to avoid any distraction or change of plans due to seaosn.

Examples

A. Major Goal was to graduate Massage School -> Lead to more financial abundance, freedome due to being more in control of my schedule etc. This had a deadline as school had a start and an end. It required dedication for studying, funds, and also for me to find a job afterwards. Took 8 months and three weeks exactly. B. Minor Goal Finish decorating my bedroom, in the home I had manifested -> Led to a safe, comfortable and tranquil enviorment that was costumized to my liking and need. Boosted my mood, as I had a sanctuary. This had no deadline, so it felt like a fun activity where it required funds, patience and selectivness. Took me 11 months to get 85% of what I wanted for my room. It is considered acomplished even though I may add more in the future, C. Summer is a time we want to let loose, have fun and be outside, so my goal of writing everyday felt easy enough untill the sun was calling my name everyday to go enjoy it. So, I implimented writing 30min daily, where any 30min not spend would be allocated to days were I did not have plans within that same week. Once I had to write for 3 hours (which I did) but never again did I skip my 30min. Most of it occured during late evenings as it was when I was already back home, few distractions and so on. - A habit I created was writing on public transport. The 13min back and forth was no longer spend scrolling but instead editing, writing, brainstorming etc.

3. Be selective and prepare for temporary sacrafices. Being real with yourself to choose what you truly want to dedicate the whole year to is crucial for a great year. Sometimes what we want can be stacked/combined. The more selective you are with your goals, and your words, the less things you put on your Goals list and can potentially transfer those to your Phase overview. put on your overall list of achievments. And be prepared to sacrafice time, habits and other pleasures that need to be paused for you to get to where you need to be.

Example; Major Goal 1 -> to become Financial Stable Phase 1 (January through March) -> Start Education / Courses that will alloow higher earning. -> Get a side husstle or main job earning x amount. -> Stay on budget of x amount weekly/monthly

4. Remind yourself of who tf you are Staying on track is easy while the spark is there, but after a few weeks, months, maybe even a season, sometimes that spark can start to seem like a tiny flame in the dark. Remind yourself of who you are becoming through moodboard, playlists, friends you trust who you can openly talk about your moves without fear of evil-eyes. Staying motivated is important as that is your fuel, so do what you need to keep your eyes on the prize. I personally made a pinterest board for each month, made sure to change my background to the focal of the Phase I was in, listen to the same three playlists whenever I got down. Journaling And I had an amazing tight circle of friends I would talk to about my moves.

5. Faileur is not a word you know - Rejection is redirection I do not recognize faileur, instead, I see it as the universes way to tell you you've chosen the wrong brick path and need to go left or right instead. So get up, dust yourself off and get to it. Sometimes life happens, so remind yourself that you can call it, go to bed and try again tomorrow. And I would like to emphesis on the fact that you do not have to start in January. You can rest then and start during the Astrological New Year (Aries season) and move in allignment with the Astral Plain rather then our sociatal concept of time. Just never give up, regroup and redirect.

Lastly, if you find yourself done before the year is over (like myself), spend that time further enjoying the fruits of your labor and give yourself a round of applause. Never forget that all is possible, you are a creator so create your reality even if it takes a little elbowgreese till you get the hang of it!

Goodluck to you all <3

#manifestation #guide #manifest guide #manifestation guide #law of attraction #thinkpink thoughts #thinkpink upload #soft life #black girl luxury #advice #thinkpink perosnal #manifest #loa #law of assumption #2024 #dream life #lucky girl syndrome #delulu is the solulu

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netherfeildren · 1 year

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FEAR OF GOD : Chapter IX : What should we believe in next?

Series Masterlist ; Moodboard

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC

Summary: There is no point to which you cannot return — the moment lives on forever.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Fluff (fucking finally, am I right?); smut; pregnancy kink

A/N: Art is Femme Au Tigre (detail), François Martin-Kavel

Word Count: 8.2K

Read on AO3

Chapter IX: What should we believe in next?

To love someone

is firstly to confess: I’m prepared to be devastated by you.

-Billy-Ray Belcourt, A History of My Brief Body

In many ways, you felt like the forest had swallowed you down its dark maw, and spit you back out a different person altogether – a rebirth of sorts. You’d awoken to a different set of priorities to which, you now knew, you had to dedicate yourself to like nothing you’d ever done before.

There could be no recalcitrance, no doubt, no fear. You realized it was, as ever, always choices, choices, choices that determined the value of your character, the weight of your potential. It had seemed for so long that you’d found yourself unmoored – waiting for something, Joel or your own certainty, your own desires to come to fruition. But you’d not realized, until this very moment, until death had been so close, until you’d almost lost yourself in that overwhelming wilderness, alone with only the possibility of what your future could be, and now, carrying this baby in your arms, another held within you, born of all the love in your heart you could ever hold – you realized your choice had been made a long time ago – in your dedication to survive after Beth. You remember the moment of startling revelation that you’d never considered putting an end to yourself after witnessing such a tragedy, that it, perhaps, would have been less of a struggle after such a trauma. The realization seems to be colored in a different sort of light now, after everything. You can see now that that was your decision, that was your choice. That was your moment of ownership over yourself, of taking your very life, your future in your hands, and choosing to go on. Everything that had come after that was merely a byproduct of that moment of perseverance. Joel, Connie, Jackson, your life here, those were all consequences – the fruit – of that choice. You’d chosen to live. You’d chosen to go on in a world in which there existed the great possibility of being alone for the rest of your life, of dying, of more pain, more hurt, more struggle, and yet you’d done it.

You think of that long past conversation with Connie, I would not like to see your choices taken from you once again, but what he’d failed to realize was that you’d been living in the realm of that past choice already. That the ultimate decision – the one to endure, to survive despite whatever had passed or may come to pass, had already been made. The enlightenment of that certainty, that which you could provide for yourself, to forge your own path, to survive when you needed to, was infinitely comforting in the face of all that you had to look forward to. You realize now, holding such potential for life within you, in your arms, that was what your choice was, to live. Anything that came after that was only what had always been intended, what was inevitable, what would have always happened thereafter, no matter what. A life full of inevitabilities: Beth, you, Joel, a child. The comfort that realization provides now is so profound. You wish, like in so many other moments, that Connie were here to share it with him. The great epiphany of having realized that the place your life had come to had been led here by your own hand, after having felt, for so long, so out of control. There could be no regret after that, only a great appreciation that now you had so much to look forward to; even if, perhaps, the one thing, the one man, you needed might not be part of it. Another choice to be made there. Perhaps the most terrifying of them all.

Courage, above all else, it is courage that is necessary to go on.

You look down at Kate asleep in your arms, her full belly and the gentle sway of the rocking chair pulling her into drowsiness. You run the tip of your finger over the soft peach fuzz of her tiny little brow. “Poor little girl. All alone in the world… But now you have me – you’ll always have me. And soon there’ll be another, another baby,” you tell her, your most precious secret. “There’ll be three of us then. And I don’t know where I’ll get the strength to take care of us all, but I will, I promise. I’ll find it, I’ll pull it out of myself any way I have to. I promise you.” You press a small kiss to the softest rose petal of a cheek you’ve ever felt.

Joel leans against the side of your house – listening to you talk to Kate – promising this most sacred of things as you sit slowly rocking her on your back porch. Another baby, another baby, another baby. The entirety of the face of the world could be alight with fire in this moment, and he doesn’t think he’d feel himself burning. Maybe he already is. His heart, his heart – it’s on fire. Maybe I’ve finally gotten so fucking old this’ll be the thing to kill me. Maybe I’m actually just dying of a goddamn heart attack right now. He clutches his chest. Wants to laugh and cry and scream and kiss the ever loving hell out of you. He wishes, like in so many other moments, that Sarah was here. He wishes he could tell her she’s going to have a little brother or sister, that the two of you could have known each other. He can’t move, can’t get his brain to send a signal to his legs to move. To go to you. And he thinks: this is what real wonder is. This is like nothing else that has ever come before. A baby, a baby, my Birdie’s baby.

He can’t say he’s even surprised really, has just been subconsciously waiting for this. Acting like a goddamn teenager, just discovered sex, never heard of a condom or pulling out, fucking you every chance he got. Jesus. Two babies in his fifties – he’ll never hear the end of it from Ellie. A huff of a laugh escapes, and he feels a tear run down his cheek.

“Can I hold her?” He steps up onto the porch. You startle a tiny bit, jostling the sleeping bundle, looking around yourself as if for an escape, but when you look back into his eyes, it’s almost like there’s an air of resignation in them, as if you’re now realizing there’s no escaping this.

“Of course.” You frown down a little at her as you make the transfer, a soft coo passing your lips to settle her, reassure her, I’ll be right here, don’t be scared. The warm brush of your arms along his chest sends a shivering jolt through him. He hasn’t touched you in too long, what feels like years. He takes the baby gently from your arms and settles in the rocker across from you. The tiny weight in his palms is so small and yet so magnificently significant, heavy in the weight of what she represents. It’s been so many years since he’s held a baby, his own baby, but it feels as natural as breathing. The muscle memory reawakening to remind him to support her head, keep his too-big-hands gentle and soft. He looks back at you, so lovely, always. The most beautiful thing he’s ever set eyes on in his whole life, he’s sure. He wants to go and lay his head in your lap, stay there forever. And now that he knows the secret you’ve been carrying, he’s shocked at himself, that he hadn’t noticed before, so attuned is he to the planes of your face, the slope of your mouth and brow and cheekbone, the color and warmth of your skin, your body. But he sees it now, painted upon you as if you were a canvas for all that’s shared between the two of you, this tiny little secret you’ve both created together. It glows out of the light shining in your eyes, bathes your skin in the most radiant luminescence. But you look tired now too, afraid of him, of what he’s about to say, for he can see you know there’s something he wants to say to you.

“What is it? Tell me,” you breathe, and there it is, always that keen ability you have to read his mind.

“I was afraid,” he confesses.

And yet it is not a confession, for you already know, have always understood him to his very core. “I know.”

“I had a choice to make, a moment to flinch. I chose wrong.” Your gaze is trained on Kate asleep in his arms, and he can see the roll of your throat swallowing. “I should have never turned away from you. I will never turn away from you again.”

You stifle a little gasp, turn away to look out into the dark of the surrounding trees. He can see your eyes shifting back and forth, as if you’re searching for something. Perhaps now’s the appropriate time for him to get on his knees and start begging. He watches your throat work several times, and the tears welling in your eyes tell him you’re trying to swallow your sobs. A bludgeoning would be less painful than watching the look on your face right now.

He can’t voice what he just heard you say, not yet, not yet. He needs this to be about the two of you first, about what he feels for you, about what he needs you to understand about what’s inside of him, what he’s let go of, before he lets anything else interfere in what might happen here. He needs the two of you now to come to each other of your own volition, unburdened by anything else except for what you feel for one another, the necessity of being together because without the other you’d simply die.

“Birdie, look at me. Gimme those gorgeous eyes.”

“I can’t,” you choke out.

“Please, baby. Why not?”

“I don’t want to see what’s not there. I can’t–” He gets up then, comes to kneel before you, the baby still cradled in one arm, he brings his other to grasp your face. “Look at me, Birdie. Listen to me when I tell you that I fucking love you, and I will never ever leave you again.”

“Joel– there’s something–” you cut yourself off.

He grips your chin gently, the rest of his life cradled in both hands, “I am so fucking sorry. And I love you so goddamn much. I can’t say that I’ll never hurt you again, piss you off, that’ll I’ll never make a mistake, do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing,” his voice is guttural, he has to clear his throat several times of the tightness overwhelming it before he can continue, “But I promise I’m gonna do everything in my power to try. To be the man you need, the man Kate and Ellie need. Look at me–” for you’ve closed your eyes now, silent tears streaming down your cheeks, running over his fingers to drip down onto your lap. You blink them open. “You hearin’ me?”

“Yes–” you whisper, “Yes, I hear you.” And then you’re sliding down into his lap, bottom coming to rest on his bent knee so he’s cradling you in one arm and Kate in the other. “I should've never left–” you sob, clutch at his clothes, his hair, drag your nails through the thick of his beard.

“No, baby– no. I should’a never let you go.” He tangles a hand into the back of your hair, bringing your mouth to his, and then finally, finally the taste of you within him again. He licks into your mouth, deep. The hot cave of it, opening so sweetly for him. You moan into him, breathe him in, let your head fall back for him to devour more deeply.

But he pulls back, gives you a moment to breathe. There’s still so much left for the two of you to say. He grips you around the waist and rises to his feet with a grunt, goddamn knees, the both of you clutched within his arms. “Let’s put her to bed.”

The sight of him cradling Kate’s in his strong arms, the little bundle of her, so small, he could hold her entire weight in the palm of his large hand. Watching him set her in the crib you’d set up beside your bed, so, so gently, it has images of the rest of a shared life flashing in your mind. Sending painful cramps of lust through your womb, spears of longing through your heart. He’s so solid and strong. Broad and thick and you know that nothing could ever hurt you when you’re in the circle of his arms. He makes you untouchable by anyone or anything but him.

When he turns to face you you’re already there, pressing your hands and your breasts along the broad, strong planes of his chest. Pulling him out of the bedroom and into the hallway to push him roughly up against the wall and attempt to climb him. “Jesus fuck, Birdie–”

He cradles your jaw in that strong hand he’d just so gently cradled the tiny baby with, and you suck his thumb into your mouth, the groan he lets out at that — it sets you ablaze. “Joel, please, please, fuck me,” you beg. Your voice pitched into a whine. You’ll become inconsolable soon, if he isn’t careful, if he doesn’t hurry. Your cunt, a tight furl of desperate need, you claw at his belt, his shirt. “Please, p–please, I can’t wait anymore, I need it. I don’t care.”

“Birdie, open your fucking eyes,” he gives your head a sharp little shake, you’d pressed your eyes tightly closed to keep the tears at bay, “Look at me. This is it,” he says, “You and me. Do you understand? This is it – us.” Your eyes are huge and wet, unblinking. His grip on your jaw, cheeks smushed, mouth in a pucker, forces your head to nod like a marionette – as if he could force the understanding into you.

“I love you, Birdie. Do you understand me?” And you want to say no, no you don’t understand because how could you ever comprehend something that enormous.

You look down, then, unable to meet his eyes anymore and press the tips of your fingers to his lips as if to stifle his words. How can something you’ve wanted for so long, so desperately, scare you so much now? It’s as if the two of you have switched places – as if he’s transplanted his fear into you. What would you do with the love of a man like this? What does one do once they have the possibility of everything they’ve ever wanted within arms reach? How could your love for him, the intensity of it, intertwine with his in a way that could create a life together? How did one grapple with the notion of casting away their loneliness, their aloneness, when you’d lived with it for so long? And most important of all, what about all you hadn’t told him yet? What would he say then?

So many questions, little bird.

“I’ll give you anything. Anything you want, baby,” he whispers, and you wish he wouldn’t say such things. No – you couldn’t brush up against the idea of your love for each other existing out in the world one moment, only for it to be ripped away from you the next.

His voice is hushed, he says again: “I love you,” and the words slide through your hair like water as he presses you tighter into him. You feel so empty, your cunt clenching desperately around nothing at just the deep, familiar sound of his voice.

This feels, simultaneously, like the final nail in the coffin being ripped away, setting you free, and also, being hammered home, sealing your fate away with an undeniable finality.

And Joel, he’d never been able to say the words easily before. I love you, it is a blessing – a benediction and a gift – to be able to tell the person you love, out loud, how you feel about them. To have them in front of you to do such a simple thing. To have that choice. He’d always felt too laid bare by it – vulnerable. To Sarah, to Ellie, to his brother. He’d always needed to work around it, find another word for it, another action to show them – let me do you this favor, let me bring you this thing I know you love, let me stand guard over you all night so you can rest. It wasn’t ever enough; so, he’d say it now. He’d tell you now, without fear or regret or take backs. Without pushing you away after. He’d tell you, let it settle between the two of you and exist as it would.

You rip yourself from his arms then and turn away abruptly, too much to take in all at once. Pacing away, you can feel him stalking after you, herding you like prey. His fingers ghosting along the trailing tips of your long hair. You go as far as the confines of the house allow you to escape him, and then his hands are gripping your hips, spinning you around to face him and pressing you up and against him. Patience seemingly at an end.

He presses you up against the wall, his hands everywhere, under your breasts to lift the heavy weight of them up and into his face and open mouth, kissing and sucking and biting. He bends his knees to bring his face down closer to your level, sucks whatever skin of yours he can into his mouth, breathes you in, wraps his arms around your waist and squeezes.

You moan at the feel of him, your head tipped back – you should talk, you should talk, you know you have more to say – but your eyes are cast to the ceiling almost in supplication, and he’s everywhere, touching every part of you.

“I love you, and you’re gonna listen to me. I’m gonna say it over and over until you’ve got it in your head. Do anything I gotta do to prove it to you.”

“Promise me you’ll never leave me,” you beg suddenly, “Promise me you’ll be with me always, please.”

“I promise, Birdie.” I promise, I promise, I promise.

He pulls back, presses his brow to yours, it feels feverish and you’re trembling in his arms, needy little fingers carding through his hair to tug his mouth back to yours. “Tell me– lemme hear you say it.” He does not need to specify, you know what it is he wants from you.

A tiny whimper, and then: “I love you too.”

“Fuck–” who would’ve ever thought the words’d have such a direct line to his cock. He moans, deep in his chest and slots your mouths back together, takes your top lip between his own to pepper soft little kisses on your open, panting mouth, sucking and nibbling and licking.

He straightens to his full height, grasps the hinge of your jaw to open your mouth wide for him and thrusts his tongue inside, runs it along the roof of your mouth, behind your teeth. It’s wet and sloppy and you feel like you’re suffocating in each other. His hands roam down to clutch your ass in his hands and hoist you up and into him, your legs wrapping around his waist, he rolls his already hard erection into you. “I’m gonna fuck you now, alright? ‘Nd then we’ll talk some more, but fuck, right now I need inside that gorgeous cunt.”

“I missed you – oh god,” you moan, rolling your hot center along the stiff length of him, “Missed you so mu–much.” He growls the start of your name, his ragged voice turning it into nothing more than an incoherent, wordless snarl before he’s turning on his heel and setting your ass down on the edge of the kitchen table. His hands tangle in your hair, tugging your head back to open you to his savaging, all tongue and teeth, he fucks into your mouth with all the mounted desperation and fear and need of the past few days.

Your hands are at his belt, tearing his clothes open and then your hand is there, wrapping around the hot, hard length of him and he rips his mouth back to stare into your eyes, teeth bared in a snarl. You stare at each other, open mouths panting into each other as you start to jack his cock slowly, up and down, tight little hand squeezing from base to tip, a twist at the sensitive, leaking head.

“Shit, I– I was out of my fucking mind–” and at his words a flash of hot anger burns through him. “You’re never leaving me again. This is it,” he growls.

“Never,” you promise, “Never again.”

He pushes you back onto the surface of the table and pulls your ass to the edge, ripping your leggings and panties over your hips and down your legs. He pushes your sweater up over your naked breasts, wraps his hand around the lush weight of both of them and brings his face to them, licking and sucking as much as he can into his mouth. “Joel, please, please, I need you inside of me,” you’re crying, breathy, high pitched and whining.

“Not yet, not yet. Need to feel you, Birdie. Need to feel you here with me, need to taste you.” He kneels between your spread thighs, hooks one over his shoulder, your other ankle held in his grasp to anchor you wide, pushes to rest your heel on the edge of the table, completely vulnerable and open to him. Your pussy is red and swollen and soaked, slick sliding down your thighs, between your ass onto the table. “Fuck–” he licks the broad, flat of his tongue through the mess of your cunt, drinking your slick down. The taste of you – he’ll never tire of it, never get enough. Your back arches at the feel of his mouth on your aching sex and he takes the swollen bud of your clit gently between his teeth and holds there, you pause, acknowledge that you’re caught, before he sucks hard, and the whining mewl you let out, Jesus Christ, he could come just at the sound of it. He moves back down, presses his tongue inside, fucking in and out of you, can feel the ripple of your muscles, desperate for more.

He moves back up to your clit lapping at it with his tongue as he presses two thick fingers inside to stretch you open, eyes trained on your face the entire time. He can hear you whispering his name over and over again and it washes over him like a litany of forgiveness. He will do anything he needs to, to continue hearing you say his name like that for the rest of his life.

He stands then, fists his aching cock at the thick base and presses the wide head at your little clenching hole. “Gonna give it to you now, baby. No more crying, it’s okay, I’m gonna fuck you now.”

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

He’s pressing in, then, all the way to the end of you. Until his tip is at the mouth of your womb, right where you’re carrying his baby now. He pulls his hips back, the slick suck of your cunt trying to hold on to him, pull him back in deeper, and thrusts in again a little harder, but slow, just as deep, so that you feel the entire length of him, every throbbing ridge. Your eyes are unfocused, wet – lips red and swollen. So, so fucking beautiful. He needs to tell you now. He needs to tell you what he knows. Needs to tell you that he heard. That he’s gonna take care of the three of you. That you and him and Ellie and the babies will all be a family. That you’ll never have to worry or be scared or alone ever again. That there will be no more monsters. He pushes in again, harder, his hands sliding along the slopes and dips of your soft curves, brings one of them to the crown of your head to hold you in place, anchor you against the sharp thrust of his hips.

“How is it that we always end up in this position, huh?” he grunts. “Meant to have a conversation, but instead buried balls deep in your sweet cunt.” He nuzzles into your throat and you tip your head back. You’re beyond conversation, a half laugh, half moan all you can manage. He presses again and again and again against that sensitive spot he owns inside of you, fucks up against it harder.

“I heard you,” he whispers, so soft, into the dark, tender crook of your neck, that place made just for him, not stopping the rhythm of his hips. “I heard what you said to the baby earlier.” You freeze beneath him. Suddenly filled with tense fear and trepidation, and he hates himself for ever behaving in a way that could ever pull such a reaction from you. He promises himself and you and his child within you, that he will never, ever do something again to further that uncertainty. He presses a gentle kiss to the hinge of your jaw, runs his palm over the soft swell of your belly. “Heard you’re carrying a little secret, just for me.”

“Joel–”

“Didn’t think I could ever– would– would ever have– have this again,” presses another soft kiss, grinds his cock deeper.

It is almost possible to canonize each other with the force of this feeling. To give so much to each other – to create life in a dead world– what on earth could ever, ever be as sacred as this?

“You gonna give me a baby, little bird?”

“Y– yes, Joel. Yes – Oh, God– that’s so good,” you moan.

He grips your face roughly: “Tell me again, say it. I have’ta hear you.”

“I love you. I’m gonna give you a baby.”

“Fuck — fuck.” He starts to saw his length in and out of you again, the wet squelch like some lewd song between your bodies. “Again, again.”

“Ungh — I love you, I love you, I love you, Joel.” His cock feels like it gets harder and harder the more you say it. The words sing through his entire body. He grips the sides of the heavy wooden table to keep it from scooting across the floor with the power of his thrusts, and you clutch the front of his shirt to pull yourself onto him deeper.

“Fucking tight, p– perfect,” he grits, forehead pressed into your breasts as he watches the place where his cock impales you. His hips pick up their pace, fuck you harder “I’m gonna take care of us. Gonna love you forever." He starts to feel your muscles pulse and flutter at that, the wet suck of your pussy as you start to come around him, and the tight clutch is so wet, searing, it triggers his own orgasm. He wraps his arms around your waist to arch your back up, off the table and buries his face in your breasts as he starts to fill you with his spend. Your fingers tangle in his hair, press him harder into you until he’s almost drowning in your soft musky scent, come and sweat and him covering your skin everywhere.

“What are we going to do?” The two of you lay in a nest made of the comforter dragged off your bed, your ugly orange throw draped over your naked hips. He’d gotten the fire going, the warm fingers of it licking at your back. Your head’s tucked into the crook of his shoulder, your bare chests pressed together, hot and sweaty. So close and comfortable.

“You’re not to worry about anything,” tiny kiss pressed to your nose, “I’m gonna take care of everything,” another to the arch of your brow, the corner of your mouth, the edge of your jaw.

“Two babies is a lot.” You twirl your fingers through the curls at his nape. You’ll never stop touching him now, for the rest of your life, you plan to keep your hands on his skin.

He ignores that, continues his lecture, “And you’re not going to work so hard anymore – lots of breaks and resting. And you’re not to go forgetting meals anymore either. Three times a day, three square meals. And be sure that I’m gonna keep a close eye on all that.”

“And, and, and,” you mock, “Anything else?”

He gives you a stern frown, “I’ll let you know as I think of ‘em.”

“Actually, I think I’ll do what I want.” You hitch your thigh over his hip so that your wet core is pressed up against his thigh, his come still leaking from you. Even after he’d bent to clean you with his tongue after he’d pulled out earlier.

“You’ll do as I say.” He gives your bottom a gentle swat.

“What are you gonna do? Punish me?”

He nuzzles at your nipple, “No–” gives it a little bite, “You’d like that too much. Won’t give you my cock, that’s what I’ll do. Make you really suffer.”

“What a mean old man you are.”

“You like that too.” He rolls to lean over you, your head cushioned in the crook of his elbow. He gathers your wrists in his hand above your head, runs his nose along the length of your throat, a wet swipe of his tongue over the wing of your collarbone, down to the peak of your breast where he presses a long kiss, then his open mouth dragging over the lines of your ribs, lower still to the soft swell of your belly, where he presses his forehead. No sign of your secret yet, just the shared knowledge between the two of you for now. His tongue dips into your navel and you giggle, try and push him away, but he grips your thigh to keep you in place. He has you caught, snared. His nose journeys back up, skating along the surface of your skin. He nips gently at the meat of your bicep, and then back into your hair again to breathe deep, “Smell so good,” he moans. You can feel his length hardening again against your hip and your answering wetness begins to pool. “So soft–”

Kate’s cry sounds from the bedroom.

He pauses, “I’ll get her, don’t worry.” He presses a soft kiss to your temple and brow and heaves himself up with a rough groan. You watch the long lines of his body uncoil, the messy, silver threaded curls, broad shoulders, thick arms, smattering of hair on his chest that creeps down to his belly, his cock, thick and long, even soft as it is now, still wearing the glossy sheen of your slick. All your insides clench at the sight of him. Lust mixed with the satisfying flavor of possession, and the overwhelming splendor of your love, the knowledge that he’s all yours. That his claim over you is mutual, shared in full. That you love him, you love him, you love him, and he loves you back. That you’re carrying his baby.

Thank God pregnancy’s going to give you an extra excuse to jump his bones even more than usual, you think, with a pleased sigh.

“Stop ogling me,” he grouches, but you know he likes it, likes your eyes on him.

“Never.” You burrow further into your nest of blankets and stare at his ass as he walks away.

Joel and Ellie sit on her porch in the cool evening air after dinner. Nancy makes hooch in her spare time, when she isn’t helping you tend to patients, and they nurse glasses of it together now. It’s strong as shit, and who knew old ladies’d be so good at brewing booze, Ellie laughs

“How’s she doing?”

“Good. Settled now, just a bit tired from all the movin’ around. Overturning a mountain’d be easier than trying to get that woman to get off her feet for ten minutes.” He’d moved you and Kate into his house earlier that week. He had more bedrooms. More space to turn one of the guests into a nursery for the babies.

“She’s unsatisfied with the color of the outside of the house.” Baby, it’s so dreary. It can’t be a curmudgeon lair anymore, it’s gotta be baby friendly and bright. “Too dark and dreary, according to her.” It needs to look happy. “Don’t know where the hell I’m supposed to find enough exterior paint for a whole house in the middle of the damn apocalypse but–” he sighs. And really, when you’d gotten on your knees afterwards to make him agreeable, how was he meant to do anything besides whatever it was you could ever possibly want.

“Real trouble maker you’ve got on your hands there, it seems.”

“Ah, well, what’s three more trouble makers in the grand scheme of things, huh? Dealt with you well enough.”

She freezes, “Three?” The look on her face – oh, he’s in for it now.

“Well…you see– Birdie’s… well, she’s— I’d been meaning to mention it—” he can’t even say the word to her, slow and stuttering and red in the face.

“You knocked her up, didn’t you?!” she shouts. “But h– no – oh, that is so – ewwwwww! That is so– I don’t even– I don’t even wanna think about that!”

“Don’t be immature,” he says, exasperated, “And quit your damn hollerin’.”

“Fuck you, man. That’s disgusting – I can’t think about that shit. Old man and my friend – no way. Let’s talk about something else –” she looks up at the sky, anywhere but him, pretends to whistle, even though she still can’t, “Isn’t the weather nice tonight? Not too cold, huh?”

“You’re a weird kid.”

“You’re a weird kid, you dick.”

“Don’t go gettin’ all over excited now. These things happen–”

“You knocked your girlfriend up in the middle of the apocalypse,” she deadpans.

“Ellie–”

“Oh god–” she’s laughing hysterically now, bent over and clutching her middle, “Oh, god… I am never gonna let you live this down – Dina!” she hollers, “Dina, get the fuck out here! Oh my god, the fuck are you going to do with two babies, Birdie, me and Dina.You’ve officially been overpowered by estrogen.” She cranes her neck back and screams again, “Dina, Joel’s gonna be a baby daddy!” at the top of her goddamn lungs.

“Ellie! What’s the matter with you?” he hushes, looking around the dark road, “Whole damn neighborhood’s gonna hear you.”

She turns back to him, points a mocking finger at him, “You better fuckin’ pray that baby turns out a boy or you’ll never win another argument for the rest of your sorry life, old man.”

He slides into bed with you afterwards, his hand sneaking up the back of his t-shirt you have on to slide against your bare skin.

“How’d it go?” you murmur into his hair, sleepy and warm, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders.

“Good, Dina made dinner. Me and Ellie sat out on the porch after, had a drink.” The girls had invited the two of you over tonight as a small step, Joel and Ellie’s way of easing back into the normalcy of things, with the benefit of you and Dina serving as buffers for the inevitable awkwardness. You’d been too tired to join them – the fatigue of pregnancy taking a toll on your good graces. “Nancy’s hooch s’fuckin’ strong,” he mumbles into your skin, “Think it got me tipsy or somethin’.”

You huff a laugh, “So, normal…”

“Yeah, normal, s’good.”

“You talked?”

“Yeah, we talked. Told her about the baby” he says with a small smile, softly pushing your hair behind your ear.

“Oh, and what’d she have to say about that?” You sidle up into his chest, running your hands across the strong planes of him.

“Nothing flattering or respectful towards me or for the ears of an infant,” he grouches.

“I’d expect nothing less of her. Call you an old dog?”

He grumbles, “Yeah, yeah, amongst other things. Not so old I couldn’t knock you up though, am I?” Smug bastard.

“Of course not, baby. You know your old-man-charm is what really got me into bed with you in the first place.”

“Shut up, little girl.” He buries his head in the valley of your breasts, nuzzles softly, gives the swell a soft nip. Your breath hitches, extra sensitive now. “And how were you?”

“Tired…achy,” you pout. His hands roam now, squeezing and kneading the soft swells of your curves.

“My poor Birdie.”

“Feel better now though,” you squirm a little, hitch your knee higher up on his side.

“Is that so?”

“Mmm, we missed you.” Your hips roll a little, seeking the relief of his hard length.

“Missed me?” he nuzzles deeper and laves his tongue into your cleavage.

“Missed our daddy,” you whisper into his hair, breathy, whiny. Provoking.

That shocks him into stillness, gotcha. “Jesus,” he says gruffly. His hands reach down to cup your ass, squeezing roughly, rolling his hardening length into the soft apex of your thighs. Pressing down right on your clit and pulling a throaty moan out of you.

“Jesus fucking christ–” he pants and moves to cup you between the legs. “Make me so fuckin’ hard with that mouth.” The molten heat of your core seeps through the thin gusset of your panties, already soaked. “Can’t wait to see you round and swollen with my baby, little bird.” He pulls the neck of your soft, worn t-shirt down bearing your naked breasts to him. “So goddamn pretty…” His big hands mold the heavy weight of them and gently squeezes your tits up and into his open mouth, so sensitive… I know, I know, Birdie. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle with this soft little cunt. I’ll get you nice and ready for me first.

What a cruel, cruel man.

He reaches down to free his hard cock from the confines of his jeans, pushes them down far enough to free his aching length and heavy balls. He pulls your panties to the side, exposing your aching, wet flesh to the cool air and tucks his cock under the elastic, letting the thick weight of him rest there, over your cunt, the tight stretch of the fabric adding to the pressure. Oh, he’s going to be mean, you can already tell. “Joel, please, no– no teasing– It hurts–”

“I know, I know, don’t worry, I’m gonna give it to you – Don’t worry. Just be a good and patient girl for me, just for a little.” He starts to thrust against your slick pussy, the fat head catching on your clit with every thrust up – stoking the fire in your blood. His hands on your ass direct your movements, but you need more, you need to feel more of his skin. You pull your shirt up over your breasts, and tug his own t-shirt up his chest as well, let your stomachs press together, the shared heat between your skin turning the temperature of your blood up to boiling. “Need to feel you,” you whimper.

“I’m right here, little bird.” His thrusts start to get faster, and he shifts his hips back a little, changing the angle so that the wide tip catches on your sensitive entrance with every thrust, and then up to grind against your clit. “Come for me, baby. Give it to me just like this so I can fuck you after. Need that little cunt nice and soft for me – gotta be gentle with her now it’s filled with my baby.” And God, the mouth on this man.

Your heart is beating so fast, it feels like it’s burning, like it’s going to melt and seep right into his own chest cavity. Everything below your waist starts to tighten and quicken and his cock is soaked with your slick, sliding fast and smooth, the slight catch at your opening and then the surge up to grind the entire length of him against your sex, the restriction of your panties making the squeeze tighter. You grip the thick muscle of his shoulders to leverage yourself better, roll your hips onto him harder, faster. You’re moaning his name, begging him for his cock and everything else he has to give, you want everything. And then you’re coming, the knot in your womb going loose and wet. Your head falls back on your neck, but he grips your jaw to bring your face back to his. “Lemme see those gorgeous eyes, my love, lemme see you come for me.” Your open mouth is panting into his, and he licks into you, tastes behind your teeth. He guides you through it, keeps the steady roll of his thrusts and your ass gripped in his hands bringing you further into him. “Just like that– Yeah, baby, give it to me just like that. So fucking pretty.”

“Feels so– so good,” you stutter.

He grips the base of his cock, your walls still fluttering and pulsing, and starts to press into your still clenching pussy. The wet gush of your orgasm pulls him in with a lewd suck of your walls, and then he’s there, there as deep as anyone’s ever been inside of you, right at his spot, and fucking up into it. His grip on the flesh of your ass is tight and you feel one of his hands sneak back between your legs to slot around where he’s fucking you open. “Goddamn, it does–” he growls, looking down at where his cock disappears into you. “Look at that– milking me like such a good girl. My perfect girl. Gonna give me a baby, my Birdie’s baby, huh?”

“Y– yes, Joel,” your voice is a soft, whimpering mewl. “I’ll give you anything– anything–” You dig your fingernails into the muscle of his back, try to drive your words home, into his skin.

“I know, I know, you’re fucking perfect, fucking wet– Keep going, keep coming around my cock, just like that.” He rolls you over onto your back now, settling deeper between your thighs, and picks up the pace of his hips. Your naked breasts pressed tight against his chest, the hair there rubs against your sensitive, swollen nipples. It feels like he’s everywhere, embedded in every square inch of your skin, invading, conquering. And he has, he conquered you a long time ago.

It is perhaps the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you.

One of his hands cups the crown of your head, keeping you in place, his palm so wide it covers the entire span of your skull, and the other pulls your thigh open for him wider, angling your pelvis so he can ram against the mouth of your womb, and your insides are so sensitive, your orgasm still echoing in your skin, it feels like he has a direct line to the very heart of your pleasure. He speaks to it in whispers and demands, and you roll directly into the throbs of a new orgasm. No reprieve, no moment to gather your skin around you, pull your seams together.

Joel, Joel, Joel.

“Yeah, I can feel it – Gonna soak my cock again, I can feel it–”

“Oh my fucking god,” your moan is broken and guttural, and then it’s there, overtaking you completely, your vision whiting out. Your back arches as deep as possible, somehow letting him in ever further and you feel the pulse of his come, the heat of it, as he starts to fill you.

“Fuck– fucking perfect cunt, take me so well.” He buries his face in your neck, licking and kissing as much skin as he can get his mouth on. The hinge is your jaw feels like it’s come undone, gasping and hiccuping, it’s too much. He feels so heavy inside of you, like your insides, your skin is swollen with him.

“Joel–” you whisper, trembling. He hums, pressing his nose into your hair, he pushes your head back, making room to run the tip of it along the column of your throat, kiss to the soft spot behind your ear, down to your collarbone to suck a blossom into the dip there.

He’s whispering into your skin, perfect girl, perfect pussy, so good, so pretty, let me fuck a baby into you, take me so well always. He pulls out gently, the both of you groaning at the loss, at the sudden gush of your mingled come. You’re soaked, the insides of your thighs, your panties a sodden mess. The lap of his jeans, that he’d not bothered to even take off all the way, soaked in your slick as well. He moves to shuck off his clothes, and then pulls your ruined panties down the smooth slopes of your legs. He kneels between your spread thighs, brings your foot up to his mouth, presses a soft kiss to the arch of it, then further up, his tongue dragging along your calf to your knee, another press of his mouth to the bone there, and then he’s spreading your thighs wide, a smug look of appreciation as he surveys the wet, swollen mess he’s made of you. His thumbs pull your lips apart to take in the sight of his come leaking out of your still clenching hole, a soft swipe of his thumb to your clit that has you gasping and bucking away. “Ah, ah, gotta clean you up, little bird.”

You’re too blissed out to even object, to tell him you’re too sensitive, that you can’t take anymore. His tongue is gentle, slow languorous strokes against your wet flesh. He eats up the mess, cleaning you slowly until another orgasm is right there, pooling low in your pelvis and then surging through you in gentle waves, rolling along the lines of your limbs. There are overwhelmed tears running down your cheeks, and you can see the slow grind of his hips into the mattress, turned on just from this, from the shared taste of you.

He kisses the insides of your thighs, runs his tongue along the crevice between your leg and pelvis, licking up the slick and sweat there, and it should be disgusting, but all it does is make you want to taste every single inch of his skin, as well. Finally, he lays his cheek on the damp inside of your thigh, looks up at you, and the two of you just lay there, holding each other’s gazes, quiet.

There’s a tiny bump to your belly now. The soft little swell existing between the two of you, like the most precious, perfect shared secret. This little kernel of truth that only belongs to the two of you. He’s been so smug about it, strutting around like a damn peacock. You’ve made him promise, Ellie, and Dina by proxy, are the only ones he can tell until you’re a little further along, but the cocky look he gets in his eyes every time he looks at you is practically a blaring sign. Yeah, I knocked her up, she belongs to me. And it’s also made him insatiable, relentless and needy, fucking you every chance he can get. Not that you’re complaining.

Wish I could get you pregnant again already, he’d whispered in your ear as he’d finished inside of you yesterday, bent over the kitchen table, leggings and panties around your ankles.

It is a small sort of miracle to lay here now, like this. Without any sort of distance, after everything else.

The desire for choice was the spark that animated the deepest inquiries of what now existed between you. The force that grounded the two of you together, a need for a path of your own choosing; one so savage, it overcame all other obstacles. Internal, external, human, fungus, past, present. None of those existential inquiries mattered after the choice for one another had been made. Once the helm of fear had been cast away, all that remained thereafter, was only the deepest desire to choose the path that, at the birth of the end of the world, had been stripped of the two of you. The willingness to choose for yourself that which you knew might, could, devastate you, and yet choose it anyway. To accept that a thing could hurt you, maim you, obliterate you, and yet still take its hand. To know that you may not deserve it, but that you would inevitably be hurt – that you would, yourself, inevitably hurt someone who, in turn, did not deserve it either. But that was the price of accepting your monstrousness, of cherishing it, of, at long last, letting it go. After all, to acknowledge a thing was, in many ways, to free yourself of its power over you. Your fear could not lead you, control you, if you were aware of it enough to master it, to take it for what it was, merely a faction of yourself, not the entirety of who you were.

No longer a man made up of fears, no longer a man made up of hurts.

After courage, the possibilities were endless. For courage, above all else, was what was necessary to go on.

Epilogue

Netherfeildren Masterlist

#FoG fic #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #tlou fic #ellie williams

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f3mme-f4tale · 4 months

Text

a brew of history

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧ moodboard ♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

pairing: barista!ellie x artsy!reader

✎ summary: in which a dedicated assistant collections manager at the local history museum finds her routine pleasantly disrupted when she crosses paths with ellie, a barista at the coffee shop just opposite her workplace. their daily encounters over cups of coffee gradually evolve into deeper conversations about history, art, and life. as they bond over their shared interests and develop a mutual admiration, ellie begins to see the museum—and her own life—in a new light. however, when unforeseen challenges threaten both their professional and personal lives, amidst the whispers of history and the gentle hum of the universe, ellie discovers that love is the truest artifact of all—one that transcends time and echoes through the ages.

✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮ playlist ✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮

⭒ dreams by the cranberries ⭒ i’d have to think about it by leith ross ⭒ north by clairo ⭒ steeeam by shelly ⭒ the universe by gregory alan isakov ⭒ warm glow by hippocampus ⭒ stubborn love by the lumineers ⭒ (you) on my arm by leith ross ⭒ true blue by boy genius ⭒ green is the colour by pink floyd ⭒ little willow by paul mccartney ⭒ too sweet by hozier

#ellie x reader #tlou #tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #fanfic #a brew of history #ellie fic

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sotwk · 1 year

Text

Dandelions (Boromir x she/her one-shot)

Moodboard gifted by the lovely @entishramblings

Summary: Boromir brings flowers to his lady love.

Word count: 2k

Content: G-rated Romantic fluff, pining, unnamed love interest, shy, love-sick Captain of Gondor, little brother supporting big brother

Warnings: None

To read on Ao3: Link

Dedication: For the 57% + 10% who answered this poll by @bored-artist and said they would love getting flowers:

Inspiration: This goes out especially to my friend @scyllas-revenge, whose anecdote about her childhood admirer immediately inspired me to write this. The flowers don't matter as much as the giver, and here is the flower-giving experience I think you should have.

Divider credit: @firefly-graphics

Dandelions

Third Age 3015

Minas Tirith, Gondor

“Bring her some flowers.”

Faramir’s advice seemed helpful and practical enough at the time he offered it. But it was also something he just muttered hastily to Boromir as he helped the Steward's elder son slip away from the Citadel before dawn could rouse the other residents of the White Tower. Lord Denethor was expected to remain preoccupied that entire day, conducting councils and tours for the visiting delegation from Dol Amroth. But Faramir had also assured his brother that he would cover for him should anyone come inquiring about the Captain's whereabouts.

Cloaked and hooded and bearing neither armor nor arms save for one dagger at his hip, Boromir rode his horse through the dark, winding streets of Minas Tirth and descended to the city’s bottom level. Flowers, flowers. The word tumbled around in his thoughts, but his mind could not fully conceive a plan to procure this particular item. Boromir had never visited a flower vendor in his life, although he knew stalls existed in the city markets. He could not even recall ever plucking wild-growing ones off the ground.

Or was it from trees? Shrubs? Where did beautiful flowers grow, and how could he hope to secretly obtain them if he did not know the answer?

He pondered on the matter so deeply that he barely noticed he had already reached the Great Gate, where he must face the night watch on duty before he could flee towards his day of freedom.

Dark eyes underneath a silver helm squinted up at Boromir’s face, showing recognition but registering no surprise. After a brief pause, nothing more than a cough left the sentry's lips. No names uttered, no interrogation, not even an order to lower his hood. The lead guard gave a signal to his fellow watchmen to open the great door and then stepped back, waving the Captain through the City Wall.

Concerns over being stopped had never even crossed Boromir’s mind; not once in their shared lifetime had Faramir ever failed to deliver on a promise.

And so out of the White City Boromir rode, driving his horse off the Gateway and galloping into the grassy fields of Pelennor. He headed north-east, traversing farmlands and cutting fresh trails through rough terrain just to forge the shortest possible route to his destination.

To her.

His heart thundered in competition with the pace of his horse’s hooves. Just conjuring her face in his mind, imagining how it would feel to stand within reaching distance of her, close enough to receive her smiles and be caressed by her sweet scent…

He shifted his weight forward and increased the pressure of his legs on his horse’s sides. The mare responded by surging forward with full vigor, as though charging into one of their many battles together, and Boromir made a silent promise to reward his faithful steed accordingly upon their arrival.

Bring her flowers. Faramir’s parting advice hounded him throughout the ride, refusing to be dismissed as an optional gesture. His brother meant well, but the suggestion did little to bolster and plenty to shake Boromir’s confidence. The Captain-General of Minas Tirith, Heir to the Stewardship of Gondor, commanded plenty of admirable skills, but wooing ladies had never been one of them. At least not in ways considered customary, if his ignorance on gifting protocols was of any indication. Courting traditions were something he never considered worth taking the time to learn, since there were no women who motivated him enough to care about such frivolities.

And then he met her, in whom he found every motivation to start caring. Every reason to even continue being. Boromir had come face to face with a battle he could not rely on his sword or strength to conquer. This confused and frustrated him in ways that should have made him angry. Instead, he could not think of another time in his life when he had ever been happier.

She was worth feeling like an idiot for.

Halfway through his journey, he stopped by a small stream to give his hardworking horse some water and a brief rest. As he paced up and down the loamy bank, ruminating upon reunion scenarios and conversation topics in his head, Boromir's gaze drifted across the running waters. It idly scanned the open fields that stretched out all the way to the nearest farmhouse, located at least a mile off. Suddenly, his anxiety-ridden brain registered the sight of bright yellow dots scattered about the freshly sprung carpet of pale wild grass, bobbing merrily upon their long stalks with the passing breezes.

Flowers! Boromir rushed forward eagerly, drawing his dagger to immediately start cutting up bunches and bunches of the yellow blooms, until he had enough to fill the clutch of his left hand. He produced a passably clean cloth from his saddle pack and used it to tie together the bundle of wildflowers, finally feeling relieved and mayhaps even a little proud of his victory.

The rest of his journey passed with greater ease in the knowledge he would not be arriving empty-handed. The sun had completed its ascent into the cloudless azure sky as he approached the small farming village known simply as Northmere. Once a place of such meager consequence that the Captain of Gondor did not even know of its existence, it had become the most precious location outside of the White City to him before he even had a chance to set foot in it.

A straw-roofed cottage with a fenced-in front garden and a blue-painted door. She had told him exactly how to find her house, and there were not many around to choose from. Walking alongside his horse, Boromir crossed what seemed to be the market square, just a handful of shops to provide the locals with basic essentials.

One store keeper, a burly older man with flour-dusted arms and apron, came out to his doorway to watch the stranger pass through. He caught Boromir's gaze over the distance and simply nodded his head, perhaps even cracking a smile behind his bushy gray beard. Boromir suspected some other curious eyes tracked him from surrounding windows, but no further interactions were attempted.

He found the blue painted door towards the end of a long, worn dirt road that bisected the cluster of houses comprising most of the village. Like reaching mythical treasure at the end of a quest, it filled him with triumphant excitement to approach it.

And nervousness. Valar, his hands never trembled this much clutching his sword as he faced down death on the battlefield. But there he stood at the pathwalk of the cheery cottage, unarmoured and weaponless, preparing to stand in the presence of his greatest weakness, the one who made him feel more vulnerable than any deadly foe from Mordor ever could.

He felt a sudden, firm shove on his back that made him stumble slightly. He chuckled and reached over to pat his horse's neck; he had stood there frozen for so long that his friend felt the need to check on him. "Yes, yes, yes…" he muttered, half to himself. "I am going!"

"Boromir?"

His heart soared at the voice that spoke his name, a sound fairer than any birdsong, and he turned sharply in its direction, pulsing with anticipation from head to toe.

The image of her face had scarcely left his thoughts since they parted exactly one week past. But his memory was a lying, grasping fool that had done no justice to the vision that now stood before him. She stepped out of her little front garden and walked the short path to him, her ear-to-ear smile and sparkling eyes flooding Boromir with mutual joy, even though she could not possibly be as happy to see him as he was to finally gaze upon her.

She had been tending her garden while waiting for his arrival; he noticed the potting soil that lingered on her slender hands and the smudges on the white apron over her skirt. Her cheeks bore the rosy flush of physical labor, and the long waves of her unpinned hair blew freely around her shoulders. She was so effortless in her natural grace, so wonderfully different from the prim and powdered ladies of Minas Tirith that his father regularly forced (or forced themselves) into his company.

It still astonished Boromir how such beauty could have escaped his notice for so long, and he had praised Eru ever since for opening his eyes to Ioreth's young apprentice from the Houses of Healing. For all the times he had teased Faramir for burying his nose in books instead of looking at the world around him, it turned out he had been the one cursed with certain blindness all along.

“You came,” she said softly, stopping tantalizingly short of his arm's reach. She stared up at him with open affection that warmed the Captain to his deepest fibers. "I had hoped for it, but I did not think you would be able to get away."

“I told you I would come, and nothing would have stopped me," Boromir said quickly, and perhaps too fervently.

"I… I have missed…" Her voice failed her on the last word as shyness overpowered her excitement over his arrival. She ducked her head, hiding her blush behind her curtain of hair, as she twisted up the fabric of her apron between her jittery hands.

"I just could not wait to see you again," Boromir said hoarsely. "I could not have borne a second longer without you."

"O-Oh. Y-You honor me, my lord." And the blushing maiden answered his abrupt confession with a polite curtsy.

Her sweetness and modesty crushed Boromir with a sense of unworthiness to even stand in her presence. He felt torn between a strange compulsion to fall to his knees, and an utterly improper desire to seize her and just hold her close against him.

How did he get by a whole seven days away from her? And the more agonizing thought: how would he force himself to part from her again after this?

"Are… are those for…what are those for?"

Boromir stared blankly at the bundle of yellow flowers he clutched in his right hand, an overlong pause passing before he remembered their purpose. “These are for you,” he confirmed, reaching out with the offering. “I… I thought you would like them.”

In accepting the flowers, she stepped closer to decrease the distance that separated them, and her fingers grazed against his in the transfer. Boromir’s hand twitched as impulse rebelled against manners, and he very nearly made a greedy grab for her hand.

“They’re beautiful,” she said, gracing him with a gentle smile that was real beauty beyond comparison. By Eru, Boromir thought in sudden despair. What was he thinking coming to her with such a pathetic gift, so far below what she deserved?! For a maiden as gloriously fair as the sun itself, he should have brought the finest treasures from the most expensive shops in Minas Tirith, if not the very jewels from the coffers of the Steward.

She held the posy up to her nose, sweeping the golden petals across her freckled cheeks and berry-pink lips, and Boromir felt overcome with a feverish desire to trade places with the flowers at that moment.

“It is nothing…” he mumbled weakly.

She shook her head, her face at once firm and determined. “It is everything,” she corrected, raising her gaze to meet his with renewed courage. “You are everything.”

And with two more steps to eliminate the gap, she pressed herself against the warmth of his chest, tucking her head neatly underneath his chin, their bodies already a perfect fit for each other’s embrace. Boromir enveloped her in his arms, promising with all his strength that he would find some way to be worthy of this, of her, even if he had to scour all of Middle-earth for the right flower to profess just how deeply he had fallen in love with her.

Perhaps his wise little brother could help him again.

Tagged by request: @aduialel @fizzyxcustard @laneynoir @auttumnsayshi @achromaticerebus @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @blueberryrock @scyllas-revenge @glassgulls @ladyweaslette @heilith @absentmindeduniverse @undeniableadrenaline

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#boromir fanfiction #boromir #lotr fanfiction #boromir x reader

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