You Laughed, MotherfuckerI Didnt Laugh.

You laughed, motherfucker I didn’t laugh.

PEDRO PASCAL as JOEL MILLER THE LAST OF US | 1.04 PLEASE HOLD ON TO MY HAND

just for us / erling haaland

request: omg! a sweet insta fic of erling soft launching his gf to the word and everyone being happy about it?

pairing: erling haaland x footballer!reader

face claim: julie blakstad for the city player pics

author's note: this is the first erling imagine i do hakdjsk kinda nervous. tell me if you like it!! 🤍

yourusername

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yourusername a brace and 3 important points. let's go!! 💙💙

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erling.haaland proud 💙👏🏻

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mancity

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mancity we would like to know your stylist's name, erling.haaland! 😉

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erling.haaland will remain a secret for now :)

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errrling9 he's so cuteeee 😭

yourusername

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yourusername tired after training, needed another set of legs 🏋🏻‍♀️

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erling.haaland i'm too good for you

yourusername maybe

haalandandyn announcement 📢 rn 📢

haalnd9 let them be !!! they'll tell us in their own time.

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erling.haaland

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erling.haaland beach day :)

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philfoden 👏🏻👏🏻

erling.haaland

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erling.haaland 🤵🏼‍♂️🤵🏼‍♂️

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haalanderling THE SECOND SLIDE WTFFFF

yncityzen if it's not yourusername i'll be so sad

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yourusername pretty in black

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yncityzen IT'S HAPPENING AJDHEKHX

erling.haaland 💌

yourmother we miss you two!!!

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yourusername

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yourusername pretty guy and pretty sunset.

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erling.haaland 🤍

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phil.foden 🤭

saw you were taking requests so maybe fluffy high school sweethearts with jude bellingham? happy valentines day btww 💝

this idea is so cute! happy valentines day to you too bb<3 I LITERALLY GRINDED?? GROUND?? IDK? SO HARD ON THIS SO HARD SO IT'D STILL BE CLOSE TO VALENTINES DAY WHEN I WROTE IT. i got VERY carried away with the plot tbh but i had a ton of fun writing it, this is prob my fav (and longest!) piece i've written so far.

me and you // j.b.

snapshots in time of your relationship with jude <3

word count: 3.8k

on repeat while writing: the glue song by beabadoobee, ofc

warnings: mild mild angst that is immediately followed by fluff, tooth rotting fluff story follows reader and jude at different points in their lives (ages 5-19)

You're listening to your teacher explain subtraction when suddenly, you feel a hand sharply yank one of the pigtails your mother had carefully and perfectly tied up. Furiously, you huff, turning around in your chair to face the assailant. "Ouch! That hurt," you whine.

Jude, the boy who seems hell-bent on terrorizing you, from pulling on your hair to throwing paper airplanes at you from across the colorful year 1 classroom, just looks back at you with a mischievous smile.  You stick your tongue out at him, hoping that the teacher doesn't notice, and turn back in your chair to pay attention to the lesson.

Another sharp yank, this time harder than the last. It hurts like hell, and you can't help the tears that form in your eyes, not daring to turn back in your seat lest he call you a crybaby. But, luckily, this time, the teacher has noticed. "Jude! Stop that,” she scolds, making him mumble an apology to you.

You try not to snicker at the fact that he finally got called out.

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

There are only two lines left before you reach your high score - you and your classmate, Nicholas, have been battling it out for the title of the class' touch typing champion, and you're determined to beat him. There's no prize, since the competition is completely unofficial, but you'll take any opportunity to have bragging rights. A quick, millisecond-long glance at Nicholas' screen shows that he has four lines left to type. You smirk, knowing that you've got this in the bag, and whip your head back around to your computer.

SLAM!

The screen shuts, making an obnoxiously loud noise. You scramble to open it up again, but it's too late -- Nicholas raises both his arms up in triumph, cheering, while his friends gather around to congratulate him. You groan in frustration, knowing that the screen couldn't possibly have closed itself, and having a good idea about who the culprit might be.

"JUDE!" You don't care that you're practically screeching at this point, after all, the little idiot ruined your chances of winning. And he wasn't even friends with Nicholas! He was always doing stuff like this, and you can never seem to understand why he's always picking on you.

"What is it?" he says, feigning innocence. You're smarter than that, though, you know he's the only one that could've possibly done it as his desk hasn't moved from its spot behind yours since year 1.

You're almost about to explode in anger at his facial expression, head cocked to one side, eyebrows raised, a hint of a smile on his stupid little face. "You made me lose!"

"You can't prove it was me."

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

Tears begin to fall from your eyes as you ponder the ways in which today could have gone absolutely, positively, completely differently.

When you first heard chatter from the girls in your year saying that Liam, the cutest and most popular boy in all of year 8, planned on asking you out - on Valentine's Day, mind you - you were ecstatic. All of the girls would have been, but you felt it especially, because you had never been asked out before. You'd spent more time than you liked to admit daydreaming about how he would do it - would he bring you flowers and your favorite candy? Would he do it alone, or in front of everyone else? Would he ask you to the movies, or to a restaurant? The possibilities were endless, and you and your friends had fun theorizing.

What none of you had expected was for him to approach you in the hallway after school and inform you that although he had originally planned to ask you out, he had changed his mind and was going to go out with Hannah instead.

It felt like a sucker punch to your gut, an awful betrayal, the worst humiliation anyone could ever experience. You know you’re going to be the laughingstock of school tomorrow, and you can practically see the pitiful glances from your friends right before your eyes. You slide against the wall so that you're sitting on the linoleum floors of the school, hugging your knees to your chest and trying to stifle your cries so that none of the remaining teachers or custodians can hear you.

"You wouldn't have gotten along with him anyway, you know," a voice interrupts your quiet sobs, making you snap your head up so that you can investigate its source, although you recognize the voice immediately. It's just that you can hardly believe where it's coming from.

Jude.

"How much did you see?" you mumble, too embarrassed at the fact that he's seeing you with your bloodshot eyes and tear-streaked face to come up with a clever retort.

"Most of it," Jude replies, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

You groan loudly, resisting the urge to start sobbing again under his watchful eye, even though at this point, you're trembling.

"He's way too dumb for you. You would've had to explain stuff to him all the time and everything, and that would've annoyed the hell out of you. Just sayin'." He shrugs, walking across the hall so that he can stand next to your spot on the floor.

He's right, you suppose, there wasn't really anything appealing about Liam besides the fact that he supposedly liked you and that he was physically good-looking. But you’d die before admitting that your archnemesis, the kid who seemed to take joy out of your annoyance, was right, "What do you care?" you retort, "Don't we kind of hate each other?"

He chuckles, a little shyly. "I don't hate you at all," he says. "It's just fun to pick on you sometimes because you're such a goody-goody and you get all annoyed.

"Oh. Well, thanks, I guess."

He pulls a tissue out of his pocket and hands it to you. "You're welcome."

Maybe he isn't all that bad.

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

"How was your History exam?"

You've barely had a chance to fully exit the school building when Jude runs up to you to inquire about the test you'd been dreading for the past week - you'd forgone your plans to hang out with him over the weekend (something he was able to do increasingly less because of football training becoming more and more frequent) in favor of studying for it, and could hardly keep quiet about your nerves on your morning walk to school. You feel a rush of affection for him for caring.

You bury your face into his shoulder dramatically, letting out a few pained groans. “I definitely failed it. I couldn’t remember if the Cold War started in 1945 or 1947! How the hell are you supposed to pass a test about the Cold War when you can’t even remember the year it started?” you tell him, slowly taking a few steps forward to signal to him that you want to start your walk home. He understands and begins walking with you.

“I’m positive you did alright. You probably did really well on the short answer section - you’re all good at writing and everything,” he reassures, patting your shoulder. “At least you didn’t completely bomb your French oral exam, like I did.”

That makes you chuckle, “Yeah, I heard Tommy laughing about that in the hallway. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. My dad says I just have to do a better job of balancing football with my studies.”

You hum in response and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence, as the loud noises and chattering coming from the direction of the school grows further and further from earshot. Now, only the sound of the wind, coupled with noises coming from passersby as well as the occasional car on the road fill your ears.

Jude is the first to break the silence. “Hey, have you got plans this weekend?”

You smile at him. “I’m free. Did you want my help studying for French?”

He laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck like he always does when he’s anxious about something. Before you can ask him what’s going on, he replies, “I actually had something else in mind…”

You raise an eyebrow at him, unsure about where he plans to take this. You’re not sure why, but your heart rate quickens its pace. “Oh yeah, like what?”

The poor guy is a bundle of nerves, and you notice how he’s stopped in his tracks before saying what he’d like to do with you this weekend. You follow suit, and are fairly certain  you have an idea of where this is going, and although you definitely can’t say you’re opposed, you want him to finish his sentence in case you’d completely misinterpreted the way he bites his lip, scratches the back of his neck, and stumbles over his words. 

“I was, um, wondering if you wanted to come see a movie with me on Saturday.”

Your hunch is correct — you’ve been to the cinema with him countless times yet he’s never asked you so formally before. Before you respond (and of course, you know you’re going to tell him yes) you take a moment to fully take him in. He’s shot up in height in the past year and now towers over many. His face is beginning to transition from cute and boyish to grown-up and handsome, and although you’ve always secretly held a liking to his pretty brown eyes, curly hair, and smile, he’s now becoming the object of several other girls in your class’ affections.

You almost want to laugh at how much things have changed. Three years ago, he was still the Jude that took any opportunity to annoy you, but when he’d comforted you after your first experience with rejection, one thing led to another and you’d been inseparable ever since, baffling teachers, friends, and family alike.

He interrupts your thoughts, “Uh, hello? I asked if-”

Now your cheeks heat up, realizing that you’ve been leaving him hanging for the past minute or so. “Yeah, sorry, I kinda got lost in my head for a second there. Just to clarify, you do mean like a date, right?”

His eyebrows shoot up in panic. “Uh, yes. It doesn’t have to be if you don’t want it to be, though.”

“Of course I want it to be, Jude,” you reassure him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I just didn’t want to be wrong.”

For the first time since you met him in the school’s courtyard, he breaks out into a grin. “Cool. So it’s a date, then.”

“So it is.”

You don’t stop smiling the whole way home, and for several hours after that.

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

You’ve been poring over your math textbook for about three hours now, trying desperately to stuff the most possible information about derivatives and integrals into your head for Friday’s upcoming test. You’ve eliminated all possible distractions, recopied all of your notes from class, done some practice problems, and went over flashcards, but the information still can’t seem to stick in your head. You’ve been staring at the same page for so long that the words and diagrams are beginning to blur, and you consider shutting the book for tonight and continuing tomorrow. No, you think to yourself. Then I’ll have way too much to cover the night before the exam. Taking a deep breath, you recollect all of your strewn-about papers and pencils and organize them into one spot before getting up to get a glass of water from downstairs. 

But as you’re about to turn around and walk outside of your door, you hear a strange, quiet noise coming from outside.

Tap, tap, tap.

You don’t think much of it — probably just a woodpecker. You start towards your bedroom door, but the taps start again, sharper this time.

Again, you whip your head around to investigate the source of the noise, which just keeps repeating. It seems to be coming from near the window, so you peer into it, only to notice your favorite face grinning at you in a dopey fashion. You shake your head slightly, because you can’t believe that your boyfriend, in his pajamas, actually scaled the side of your house in the dark without a ladder, and is managing to hold his balance while perched on the hinge of your second-story window. Hurriedly, you slide it open, knowing that he won’t be able to hold on much longer (no matter how much he boasts about his incredible grip strength.) He climbs through it, making sure to take his shoes off as you reclose it, and opens his arms for a hug. You bury yourself right into them, never rejecting a hug from him, and wrap your own arms around his waist. 

“What are you doing here?” you mumble into his chest, still in disbelief that he’s here. “It’s 11:00 at night.”

He pulls back slightly so that he can look at you properly, brushing some of your hair out of your face. “You hadn’t responded to any of my texts for hours so I figured you were studying. And I thought I’d come over so I could help you.”

You have to stifle a laugh at that one - your boyfriend is a lovely, hilarious, polite, kind, and talented human being, but academics - particularly math - have never been his strongest suit. Further complicating matters is his blossoming football career at Birmingham City, which leaves him even less time to study for his own final exams, let alone help you with your own. The gesture is incredibly sweet, and it makes your heart flutter, but in terms of actually helping you with the content of your exam, Jude doesn’t have much to offer. “Jude, define ‘integral’ right now.”

He rolls his eyes, but the dopey grin is still on his face. He takes a seat in the rolling chair in front of your desk and grabs Buttons, the teddy bear he’d gotten you last Valentine’s Day, giving him a big hug. “Okay, fine. Is it wrong for a guy to come over because he misses his girlfriend?”

“No, and I missed you, too,” you whisper, grabbing his hand to lead him up off of the chair and onto your bed so that you can cuddle with him. The two of you shuffle around for a moment until you’re both up against the headboard, his arm around your waist and your face laid against his chest. You both let out a satisfied sigh, and sit in the comfortable silence for a moment while you draw circles on his chest, until you remind him, “My parents are going to kill me if they find out you’re here at 11:00 on a school night.”

He laughs. “My parents are going to kill me if they find out I’m here. They’d insisted on me going to bed earlier tonight so I had to pretend to go to bed and everything, and then wait for them to go to bed and fall asleep, and then find a way to leave out of the back door without waking them or Jobe up.”

A gasp escapes your lips. “You snuck out for little old me?” 

He gives you a kiss, making a loud “smooch” noise with your lips. “What can I say? I’m a really good boyfriend.”

You giggle. “I’m so glad that you’re here, seriously, you made my night. But now I don’t want to study anymore,” you confess. “And I really have to study.”

You move to get up out of bed, but he pulls you closer. “Baby, how long have you been studying?” he asks.

“Around 4 hours?”

“4 hours? Didn’t you get a 94 on your last test?”

 You nod.

“Wow, you’re so smart, baby,” he praises, “Seriously, you don’t need any more studying for tonight. What you need is rest. You can start back again tomorrow.”

You snuggle up even closer to him. “It is really comfortable laying here with you.”

He plants another kiss on your forehead. “Well, of course it is. Like I said, I’m a really good boyfriend.”

It barely takes 10 minutes for you to fall asleep in his arms. 

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

There are only five minutes left. The game is tied 1-1, and the stakes are higher than ever – there are scouts here from several high-tier European football clubs, and they’re all here to watch one person: your very own boyfriend. The name Jude Bellingham has gained more and more recognition among football circles, as he’s begun to show his fantastic talent as the youngest player to ever play for Birmingham City’s senior team. 

You’re so proud of him, and it’s evident that you are, as you’re fully decked out - you’re got his last name and the number 22 emblazoned on the back of the dark blue jersey that you’re wearing, you’ve got blue and white face paint on, and you’re seated in the front row, next to his parents and brother. 

After an unsuccessful shot on goal from the other team, kicked out by their goalkeeper, Birmingham’s attack makes quick work of regaining possession and getting the ball down the field. Jude gets a pass from his teammate, and although his parents and brother are yelling at him to pass it to the striker, you keep quiet, wary about making him nervous or telling him to make a decision that ends up to be inappropriate for the situation. He doesn’t pass it, instead taking it up the field himself.

Sometimes Jude jokes that you’re a telepath. You’re not, but you can tell he plans to go for goal, and you watch anxiously, grabbing onto Jobe’s jacket in the midst of your nerves. “Is he trying to show off for the scouts or something?” he asks.

“I’m not sure, but it could either go fantastically or terribly,” you shout over the loud noises coming from the stadium. You sure hope it’s the former.

He’s managed to retain control of the ball thus far, and he’s in the box. You tighten your grip on Jobe’s shirt. Of course, you have complete faith in him, but you just hope that both he and the scouts can see what you see.

He shoots, and time stops while you pray for the best.

It’s in.

Immediately, you and Jude’s family all shoot up from your seats, cheering at the top of your lungs. He celebrates with his teammates, his eyes glowing with triumph, and yours with pride. You notice him looking for the four of you in the crowd, his eyes lighting up even more when he does, giving all of you a little wave. Next, he points at you and makes a heart with his hand.

Your heart rate quickens as you return his gesture, grinning.

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

Given all of the circumstances, today should be a good, happy day - Dortmund just won, he scored an amazing goal, and he’s spent the evening celebrating with his teammates.

But it’s not. Something’s missing.

The win is less sweet when you aren’t around to congratulate him, and although you’d called him to do so, nothing compared to when you would practically leap into Jude’s arms, kissing all over his face and telling him how much you loved him, how proud you were of him. 

Adjusting to life in Germany had been fairly easy - he’d found quick friendships in many of his teammates, especially Erling and Gio, and he adored playing for Dortmund. The only hard part about it was that neither you nor his father or brother could be there with him. And although he’s eternally grateful for his mother’s love and support, it doesn’t feel quite like home without the rest of the people he loves. 

His heart aches whenever he thinks about you sitting alone at your desk, studying for your university courses and missing the way that he would bring you snacks, quiz you on the topics you needed the most help on, and be there for cuddles whenever you needed a break. He’s your rock and you’re his, and FaceTime just doesn’t cut it sometimes.

He decides to call it an early night, asking his mother to pick him up from the restaurant the team is celebrating at. This way, he’ll make it home early enough to be able to call you before you’re asleep - it’s cheesy, but he loves to fall asleep while the two of you are on FaceTime, as it’s the closest thing he can get to having you next to him. 

A smile stays plastered on his mother’s face the whole way home, and he can’t help but think that maybe his win doesn’t have everything to do with it. He doesn’t know why he thinks so — he’s just got a hunch that something’s up.

When he arrives, no fancy decorations have been laid out in his honor, and no meal has been prepared (he already ate at the restaurant), so he assumes his hunch is incorrect. He sighs, thanking his mother for driving him home with a kiss on the cheek and trudging up the stairs to his bedroom. 

The door is closed. “That’s weird,” he wonders aloud, “I could’ve sworn I left it open.”

He turns the knob and opens it with a click. The lights are off - he could’ve sworn he left them on. He flips on the light switch.

“Oh, hey, Jude,” you greet him, carefree, as if you just saw him yesterday. You’re laying on his bed, scrolling through your phone, and your bags are sitting on the floor next to his closet. 

He blinks for a moment to make sure that you’re really here and that he’s not dreaming. It turns out his hunch wasn’t so wrong after all. You’re here. Finally. In the flesh. He changes his mind - today is a fantastic day.

“Well, are you just going to keep standing there or say something?” you tease, sitting up against the headboards and opening your arms out for a hug.

“I just can’t believe you’re here,” he says breathlessly. “The whole day I was thinking about how much better it would’ve been if I’d gotten to hug you after the game.”

“Well, I’m here now, so come here.” He does as you say, climbing onto his bed and holding onto you tightly, like he never wants to let go of you again. He takes a deep breath — he can smell the fabric softener on your (his) hoodie, the coconut-scented shampoo in your hair, the strawberry chapstick on your lips. 

“How’d you get here so fast?” he asks into your shoulder before pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“This trip has been planned for weeks, actually. I was thinking about how much I missed you so I just decided to come and see you over a weekend. It took a lot of brainpower to not let it slip to you over the phone, especially today,” you respond. “I was at the airport when you called after the game, actually.”

He pulls away slightly so he can cradle your face in his hands. “You mean to tell me that when I was going on and on over the phone about how much I missed you, you were here?”

“What can I say? I’m a really good girlfriend.”

“Hey, that’s my line!” he laughs, finally pressing his lips to yours. What would he do without you?

the wii incident | pablo gavi

You shouldn’t have expected anything else from him honestly, with him being as competitive as he is. You should’ve known it would’ve ended with something along the lines of this: Pablo smiling sheepishly at you from where he stands at the top of your guys’ stairs with a brand new shiner decorating his left eye.

You immediately set your book down and get up from your designated reading chair, walking towards Pablo. “What happened?” You stop before him with an impatient look upon your face and raise your hand to carefully brush his bangs out of his eyes to get a closer look at the bruise.

“So…” he begins but then stops suddenly and meets your eyes guiltily. Nothing good can come from a shifty-eyed Pablo.

“So…?” You press, grabbing his hand and leading him gently to the kitchen, to which he complies like a puppy.

“We thought Wii boxing would be fun, but I didn’t put the strap on and I accidentally socked myself in the eye...” he explains, laughing quietly as you sit him down at your kitchen island.

You nod your head and fish out a pack of frozen peas from the freezer for him. “Only you would find a way to do that.”

“Babe, it’s not my fault, I swear! Pedri didn’t wear his either.” Pablo defends himself, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“He didn’t end up with a black eye though, did he?” You reply quickly, rolling your eyes playfully and handing him the frozen pack of peas.

All he can do is nod and mumble a weak, “you’re right,” and you chuckle, playing with the hem of his shirt; your fingers often finding themselves dancing on his stomach. It felt refreshing to be with him like this; so close to him. You found yourself constantly missing him, no matter how close he was. And almost as if he can read your mind— which sometimes you swear he can— he speaks up.

“I missed you today.”

You never expect him to say things like this so out of the blue, but when he does, you always make sure to bask in it. You were glad the missing each other was mutual, because it was almost ridiculous how much you missed the smallest things. The way he smelled, the way his eyes were always on yours before yours were on his, how it felt to run your hands over his own and more. The two of you hadn’t even been apart at all, or in a weird phase or anything, you just missed him. Your Pablo.

You cuddle into him farther, cozying up between his legs and smile up at him. “I missed you too.”

He kisses the top of your head sweetly and you hum, “so did you just leave Pedri down there?”

At that, Pablo starts laughing. He nods, “he wanted to keep playing.”

“‘Course he did. Hope he learned from your mistakes and put that damn strap on.”

Not A Thing (Joel Miller x Female Reader)

Summary: You and Joel had a private moment while Ellie was asleep. Or so you’d thought she was asleep.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Implied smut, no actual smut. 18+ Only just to be safe.

Length: 1.4k

A/N: Nervous to write for TLOU but still giving it a shot! Poor Ellie for being subjected to what I am about to subject her to lols. Edit: holy shit, I did not expect this to get much attention. Thank you all sm for reading, liking and reblogging! <3

It had been an incredibly stupid thing to do.

So, so, so stupid. You knew that. Joel knew that.

You two were supposed to have been standing watch.

Not to mention, there had been a teenaged girl sleeping close by, just mere fucking yards away from the two of you had...

Jesus Christ.

Dammit, you and Joel knew better than to be so goddamn stupid.

Careless.

But neither of you could help yourselves.

It had been several weeks—actually, it had been several months since you two had been able to steal a private moment for yourselves. That moment would have been missed had you not woken up in the middle of the night to find Joel standing guard while you and Ellie slept. You offered to take his place for a few hours so he could get some rest, but instead, some few minutes and many desperate, feverish kisses later, the both of you found yourselves on the other side of Bill’s old Chevrolet pickup truck, Joel’s jeans unzipped and your own jeans pulled down around your knees along with your underwear. He had you bent over, but still standing at a point where you could peek over the bed of the truck so that you could somehow keep a watchful eye out in between the moments of mind-numbing pleasure—both for any signs of potential danger and for Ellie, who was passed out, curled up into a little ball in her sleeping bag and completely unaware of what her two reluctant protectors were doing behind the vehicle next to her.

Your bottom lip was busted, bruised from biting down on it so hard.

The deal had been: no noise, not even a whimper, although you couldn’t remember how well either of you had stuck to it in the heat of the moment. It had been a quick fuck, just enough to give you and Joel some much needed relief from all of those pent up stresses and frustrations you two were carrying on your shoulders since Ellie had entered your lives just a few days before. And just like back in the Boston QZ, Joel said nothing to you once it was over and done with.

It never hurt your feelings. It was just how things were.

It was some sort of twisted, fucked up unspoken pact you two had.

Joel Miller fucked you, and then he just pretended like nothing ever happened, not until the next time he found himself inside of you.

It’s not like you expected Joel to return your feelings.

Hell, you weren’t even sure the man knew how to feel anything but anger, bitterness, violence and annoyance.

Afterwards, Joel took you up on your offer to keep watch and slept for a couple of hours until sunrise came and had you both moving, packing up the truck and getting ready for the long drive ahead to Wyoming.

“She’s been oddly quiet,” Joel mumbled to you as he packed up the remnants of the small campsite into the bed of the pickup truck. “Go check on her.”

You nodded obediently and dropped the sleeping bag in your hands before turning away and walking over to where Ellie was sitting cross legged on the ground, her fingers mindlessly fiddling with a small, broken tree branch. “Hey,” you offered her a small smile. “It’s almost time to get going. You doing alright over here?”

She looked up at you and gave you a small nod. “Yeah. Just cold as fuck since we can’t have a fucking fire going,” she said, tossing a tiny glare over in Joel’s direction. “But other than that? I’m just peachy.”

You chuckled and shrugged out of your worn out, brown windbreaker jacket. You draped it over Ellie’s shoulders before taking a seat beside her on the ground. She may have been a thorn in Joel’s side—then again, who wasn’t a thorn in Joel Miller’s side—but you’d warmed up to her fairly quickly. A lot quicker than your partner, anyway. He was still a work in progress. “Did you sleep okay?”

Ellie nodded, clutching your jacket close. “Kinda,” she shrugged her small shoulders. “The ground was really hard and uncomfortable. I woke up a couple of times throughout the night.”

Your smile faded ever so slightly. “Oh? You did?”

Noticing the sudden change in your demeanor, a small smirk crossed the girl’s face. “I knew you and McGrumps over there were a thing.”

You nearly choked on your own saliva as you nervously sputtered out, “W-What the hell are you talking about?”

Ellie raised an eyebrow at you, shooting you a knowing look as her smirk grew.

Oh for fuck’s sake. Ellie had caught you and Joel while you two were—fucking?

Mortified did not even come close to cutting it.

“Oh god,” You muttered, your face going as red as her t-shirt.

“I really hope you two are being smart and using protection,” she added teasingly. “What’s that saying? Wrap it before you tap it?”

“Ellie!” You hissed, glancing over your shoulder. Joel went about his business and it was times like these where you were actually thankful that his hearing wasn’t what it used to be. You turned back to her and quickly started trying to explain yourself. “Ellie, I don’t know what you think you saw but—”

“Oh, it was too dark to see anything. I heard you guys.” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. “Back behind the truck.” She paused, thoroughly enjoying every moment of discomfort she was causing you. “You know, if that’s gonna keep happening, I’m gonna need you guys to find me a Walkman with some headphones. Noise cancelling headphones, please and thank you.”

You dropped your head into your hands and anxiously rubbed your face with your palms. “Fuck. I’m really sorry, Ellie,” Was all that you could say. What else could you say? Sorry you had to hear me getting fucked by my partner while you were laying just feet away?

“Sorry for what? For not being able to keep it in your pants?” Ellie giggled, slapping your knee with her hand in an attempt to get you to lighten up. “I get it. Nature. Biology and shit.”

You lifted your face from your hands. “Joel can’t know,” You warned her. “Or he won’t be able to look you or me in the eye ever again.”

Ellie groaned in exaggeration, throwing her head back. “Aw, come on! I really want to see him squirm!”

“Me squirming should be fucking enough you little shit,” You laughed, shoving her playfully with your elbow. Once both of your giggles had subsided, in a more serious tone, you told her, “And for the record, we are not a thing.”

Ellie stared at you in disbelief. “Get out of here, you lying sack of shit! You totally are!”

“I know it’s hard to understand. But just because two people…” You trailed off, trying to choose your words carefully. It was more often than not that you had to remind yourself that despite what Ellie had been through and all she had seen, she was still fourteen. A fucking child.

“Bump uglies?” she suggested, wiggling her eyebrows.

You sighed. “Jesus Christ, please don’t ever fucking say that out loud again.” You paused briefly, running a hand through your hair. “But yes. Just because two people do…what he and I were doing, that doesn’t mean anything. For a lot of people, it can be quite meaningless actually. It does not mean they are a thing. Me and Joel? Not a thing. Understood?”

Ellie blinked. “That’s…probably the biggest pile of bullshit I’ve ever heard. Even before last night, I knew you two were a thing. Whether either of you admit it or not. I can tell.”

You knew better than to play into what she was saying, but the sheer curiosity got the better of you. What had Ellie noticed about you and Joel? “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, bringing her knees up to her chest. “I dunno. The way you look at him. The way he looks at you. He’s a guy who doesn’t seem to give a shit about too many things or too many people. But I know he does give a shit about you. He cares about you. Even if he might have a shitty ass way of showing it.”

You glanced back over at Joel and then back at Ellie, confused.

“Deny it all you want, sister. But if there’s one thing that stone cold asshole cares about, it’s definitely you,” Ellie stated firmly.

Your mouth fell open slightly, unsure what to say to her.

“What are you two yappin’ about over there?” Joel called, looking over his shoulder.

“Nothing!” Ellie practically sang, causing him to roll his eyes and turn his attention back to his task.

“Well then, get off your asses and let’s get a fuckin’ move on. Ain’t got time to waste.”

pope heyward is such a cliché 80s movie boyfriend who leaves notes in your locker and climbs through ur window. pope heyward is the type of boyfriend to take off your makeup and do your skincare routine for you when you’re hangover. pope is a waist grabber before pulling you in for a kiss xx