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foli-vora · 1 year

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once again in your arms

joel miller x f!reader

A/N: mwahah, hello boys i’m baaack (10 points to whoever knows what movie that quote's from). took an unexpected break coz life, but i’m ready to get back on track. this was requested by a beautiful anon a while back (sorry for the wait angel), but i hope you enjoy! x

Request: hello! so this is kinda angsty: joel and the reader are married and have a baby (plus sarah, obviously). the day of the outbreak, reader and baby were in town and she couldnt call joel (or viceversa) cause the phone lines were down. they were separated for a few years until they arrives at the quarantine zone he's in, and he recognizes them in the crowd.

Word count: 4.5k-ish

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, birth and having a baby, domestic fluff, angst, pre and post outbreak, some spoilery things if you haven’t seen the show yet, heartbreak, loss of a child, apocalypse things, i sweat at the idea of caring for a baby during the end of the world, soft reunions, fluff, cameos of my fave oc’s made in a different series

It’s a fact you had learnt in the very early days of your relationship... the Miller men knew how to care for a lady. Whether it was Tommy sliding in to open the door for you before you could reach for the handle, or Joel draping you in blankets and taking on the responsibility of keeping your hot water bottle warm to fend off cramps for the evening, not a moment went by when you didn’t feel the constant reassurance of their care.

Especially now, fresh from the hospital and tender from your days of excruciating pain and an extensively long labour, Tommy quickly slaps the pillows into something plusher, hands gentle as they guide you down until you’re reclining into the armchair.

Joel keeps an eye on you from across the room, the brief wash of concern slipping away with the easy smile that grows along his lips when your eyes meet.

He rocks the wrapped bundle in his arms softly, a big hand dwarfing the small head that peaks from the blankets. His fingers brush through the light smattering of hair peeking out from the cotton burrito, his index running along the tiny peak of a nose and you feel your heart swell in your chest.

“Dad,” Sarah whines with an eager smile, shifting restlessly on the couch, “come on, I’ve been waiting all weekend.”

“Oh my god,” Joel drawls sarcastically, “all weekend? Baby girl, how are you survivin’ right now?”

“Shut up,” her grin widens, “give me my baby brother before I explode.”

“Well, we don’t want that mess all in the livin’ room,” Joel quips, stepping over your weekend bags tossed on the floor and closer to the couch, “ain’t treadin’ your brain all into the rug—thing was damn expensive.”

Sarah shrugs, readjusting her body to sit straighter and holding her arms out expectantly, “Least I have a brain.”

Tommy snorts in amusement, grinning at his brother's expense, “That’s true.”

“Are you still here?” Joel side eyes him, barely fighting the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

They bicker, throwing their little snippy sibling comments back and forth before Sarah clears her throat, her eyebrows rising in impatience.

“Alright, alright. Here, watch his head,” Joel instructs gently, a smile playing along his lips, “that’s it, baby, you got him.”

It’s a beautiful picture, Sarah carefully bringing the baby closer and tucking him carefully into her arms, and the sentiment is shared with Tommy as the flash and click of a camera goes off. He removes the polaroid sliding from the slot and sits it on the coffee table to develop before instructing Joel to slide in next to her and smile.

Both Joel and Sarah are oblivious to his instruction, lost in the bubble that has overcome them. You find peace watching them, warmth spreading along your limbs by the sweet tenderness of it all. The love is clear between the three of them cuddled on the couch, and it’s almost too much for your heart to bear.

Sarah beams down at her baby brother, cooing soft words and stroking a gentle finger down Matthew’s cheek. Joel throws an arm to rest on the top of the couch behind Sarah, turning into her and answering her questions quietly.

8 pounds, 3 ounces. Smaller than you. No, he didn’t cry at all—gave me and the docs a damn heart attack. She sure did a great job.

Your Joel was never a man to wear his heart on his sleeve, but the emotion shines from his eyes, bleeds through the lines in his face and it’s enough to bring tears building along your lash line.

“You okay over there?”

His familiar drawl brings your attention to him, and you smile at him, tired and fully at peace. It’s bliss, despite the ache of birth still hanging in your limbs. M

“I’m fine,” you respond quietly, lids heavy with exhaustion, “I’m just so happy.”

He fucking beams. His grin creases his cheeks and he nods softly.

“Me too, honey,” he mutters, turning his attention back to his children and playing with a strand of Sarah’s hair as he gazes down at Matthew, “me too.”

—

Four months later.

Chaos.

Matthew wails against your chest, the deafening sounds of screams, bullets, sirens and explosions setting him off into hysterics. Your arms tighten around him, keeping his face tucked closely into your throat so your scent could hopefully provide him some reassurance.

You crouch beside cars, you run until your legs ache. You take cover in stores, the soles of your shoes crunching over broken glass of the shattered windows. Every phone you try gives nothing but a dull tone. Radios are filled with static and emergency broadcasts play on the view screens you run past in your effort to escape whatever the hell is happening.

Worry stirs along the edges of your mind. Is Joel okay? Sarah? Tommy? You can’t call him, you can only run and hope nothing takes you down in your effort to get back to your car. You pass people crouched over others, blood smearing along their lips as they tear unforgivingly into the flesh of another.

It’s a nightmare, and it’s everywhere you look.

Almost there.

You see the sign of the parking lot and it only makes you run that much faster, even though your legs threaten to give out at any minute. You pass an elderly man crouching beside a woman, blood flowing from the open gash on her throat, and the ache clutching your heart only increases when his pleas reach your ears over the mayhem.

“Gloria,” he mutters in an aged rasp, “up you get, love. You’re alright, come on now—”

You can’t help it.

Somewhere in your mind you can feel Joel screaming at you to keep running, to get yourself to safety and not give a damn about anyone other than Matthew, but the image of this man cradling his wife’s wrinkled, bloodied hand is enough to get you advancing to him before anyone could hurt him.

“Sir—”

He ignores you, too busy with brushing the woman’s blood soaked white hair from her face.

“Sir, we have to move—”

You wrap your fingers around his shoulder and shake firmly. His head gives a shake of denial as he clutches his wife’s hand tighter.

“No… no, she’ll need help—she has a bad ankle.”

Shifting Matthew unsteadily onto your hip, your fingers wrap under his arm and tug him onto his feet. He fights you, bats your hold away with an infuriated expression at your rough handling of him.

“I’m so sorry, but she’s gone—we have to run. I—I have a car, please… just come with me, please!”

“I won’t leave her—”

“Please… they’re coming! I—would she want this for you? To die like this?”

He blinks, his frown softening ever so slightly before screams pierce the air, much closer than you anticipated, and terror claws up your throat until you feel you’ll vomit.

You hold out a hand, relieved when his own rough, calloused hand finally takes it, and then you’re running, albeit slower than before, but you make it to your car with no issues.

You dive into the driver's seat, passing Matthew over to the stranger when he makes an impatient gesture to hold him and then you’re tearing out of the lot, running down the few rabid looking beings that advance on you with bloodied expressions of hunger.

You don’t think you take a proper breath until you’re past a military barricade that had seemingly been destroyed in the attack, flying down the highway and around other panicked drivers with sweat slicking your skin.

Taking a deep breath to slow the brutal pounding of your heart, you look at Matthew, now calmed and looking up at the stranger with an obvious shine of curiosity. The old man is clearly softened by the baby, letting his small hand wrap around his finger and wiggling it playfully in his hold.

“That’s Matthew,” you mutter shakily, meeting the eyes of the elderly man before gazing back out the windscreen. You take another breath before giving your own name, tears biting at your eyes when you utter the name Miller.

Do you still have a husband? A step daughter? A brother in law? The unknown scares you, outright fucking terrifies you.

The man nods in your peripheral vision.

“Harold,” he finally says, voice rough and tired.

—

There are people everywhere, screaming, crying.

People run, shout, wail over family and friends.

Tears have long dried on his face, his head thumping relentlessly with the remnants of his heartbreak. Tommy’s grip is firm on him, tugging him out of the way of people tearing down in their direction, pulling him to where a makeshift table is thrust under a tent as a reception of sorts.

He doesn’t care about the people already there asking about their family and friends. He shoves them out of the way, hands shaking as they clutch the edge of the weak table.

“I’m lookin’ for a woman… she’d be with a baby boy, not even four months old—”

His voice shakes. He can’t get it to stop. He struggles to get out the detailed descriptions of you both down to the clothes you were wearing, speaking your names through trembling lips. His stomach jolts at the thought of you somewhere, lying helplessly on the floor with your flesh getting torn into while Matthew screams in his car seat.

He’s a damn baby. He wouldn’t know what’s happening, wouldn’t know why his mama’s not there with him—

The woman gives a small expression of sympathy over the thin surgical mask covering her mouth, “I’m sorry, sir. We’ve had no babies that young come through, and nothing like that has come in over the radios.”

He retches.

His body heaves, almost as if it’s rejecting the mere idea that you weren’t somewhere safe waiting for him. He had failed. Failed to keep Sarah safe, failed to keep Matthew safe, you—the vows he had made now meant shit. He hadn’t been there for better or worse. He’d hadn’t done what a father should have and kept his kids free from harm.

Sarah had died, terrified and in agony, in his hold. Her bloodied handprints remain dry and caked on his arms. Matthew had died, not even making it to six months. A baby, still fresh to the world, only just able to hold his own head up. You had died, not knowing where he and Sarah were, if they were even safe.

Tommy hauls him to a close trash can, rubbing a firm hand up and down his back as he chokes on vomit, tears soon streaming down his cheeks when his body eventually has nothing left to give. His heart hammers in his chest, thundering against his ribs and filling his ears until he’s unaware of the noises around him.

“They’re gone,” he whispers hoarsely, clutching at the rim of the trash can in an effort to keep himself up.

“Now we don’t know that—”

“God damn it, Tommy, you saw what it was like out there!”

Tommy sighs, his own eyes filling with tears. “We gotta keep hope, Joel—”

“Hope?” Joel spits at his brother, “What good is hope against that shit out there? She would’ve been alone, you know as well as I Matthew only would’ve slowed her down. They were in the city. We couldn’t even keep safe out here! They’re—they’re gone. My wife… my baby boy, my baby girl—”

The sobs tear from his chest, harsh and painful. He mourns for hours, unseeing of the flurried movement still happening around him, his sorrow mixing with the flood of agony filling the makeshift safe zone with every new unhurt civilian looking for someone familiar.

Tommy doesn’t take his arms away from around his brother until dawn starts to pierce the horizon,

—

Two years later.

He still fills your thoughts daily.

Your life, your old life, would flash behind your eyelids at night when sleep would finally claim you. You’d feel his touch, kiss his lips, touch his face. It all felt so normal. The dreams would be nothing but memories, and somehow, it made them feel more like nightmares.

Mornings making breakfast with Sarah, dancing to the music falling from the radio. Family game nights, watching Tommy and Joel get more and more competitive with each game. Grocery shopping with Joel, simply wandering down the aisles and relishing in his comforting touch warming your lower back.

You could never quite make peace with the possibility that he was dead. It didn’t sit right. The idea that your Joel had been lost to the disaster that had claimed the world just seemed impossible. Your heart rejected the notion, refused to accept that its counterpart wasn’t somewhere out there, living, breathing, surviving,

Sarah and Tommy, too.

They had to be somewhere, holed up safely and keeping well. They had to.

“They’ve established a quarantine zone close by,” you say quietly, mindful of Matthew sleeping on your lap, “it’ll be a lot safer there than out here. I think we should give it a go… find a more secure place to live. I’ve heard they have work available, good flow of food and medicine…”

Harry snorts quietly, shifting under his old, thick jacket, “That doesn’t mean they’re happy giving it out. There’ll be a catch somewhere.”

You eye the long carved frown in his features and lean forward to fix the blanket covering his tired legs, “Don’t you think we should try at least?”

“Maybe they’ll put a bullet in me,” Harry grumbles moodily, “I’m old—I can’t work like they’ll want me to. Although, it’ll beat living through this bloody nightmare any longer.”

“Harold,” you chide softly, heart aching at the thought of losing the grumpy old man after spending so long by his side.

He’d quickly become a grandfather figure of sorts, to both you and Matthew. The little boy was obsessed with him, and had been since the day you had come together, and though he tried to hide it behind his usual icy facade, Harry was smitten, weak from the boy learning to call him pa.

“He’ll be safer in there,” Harry finally grumbles, gazing at the sleeping toddler. “This is no life for him out here. It’s getting worse and worse. Stability will do him good.”

“And you’ll come with us?”

He sighs sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. “Fine—I’ll come. But if they don’t kill me, I’ll be bloody upset with you.”

You snort in amusement, a grin curling your lips. “Fair enough. Now drink your soup.”

“I’m not hungry. You have it.”

He shoves it away, pushing it in your direction, as he usually does. It’s a daily fight—him refusing food in favour of giving you and Matthew more, ensuring you both never went hungry despite his own hunger and rapid weight loss due to the sudden lack of food.

You give him a playful frown and hold the small cup out to him.

“Don’t make me force feed you, old man, drink it.”

—

The walls of the Quarantine Zone are a lot more daunting than you had originally thought they would be. They tower high, and the barely there movement of soldiers along the front and top of it have nerves start to build in the pit of your stomach.

Maybe this isn’t a good idea. Surely they wouldn’t shoot without asking questions? Would they even give you a chance? What happens to you if the zone is full? Would they let you go on your merry little way?

God, you feel sick.

The ice creeping along your skin doubles, and you tighten your grip on the baby carrier strapped to your chest. Matthew hums quietly against your back, his little fingers tracing random patterns along your shirt as he bounces with your each step. Harry walks somewhat steadily beside you, his cheeks reddening with the more distance you cover.

He gives you a reassuring nod when you look to him for guidance, and you continue forward, swallowing the lump building in your throat when you become aware of them yelling about your presence.

Their guns are raised when you eventually make it closer, and it’s automatic to throw your hands up in surrender.

“We’re not infected!” you shout, hoping they’d listen.

A soldier steps forward. “On the ground, now!”

“Shit. Okay! Please, I—we’re not infected—”

“Get. On. The. Ground!”

“I have a kid! I have a—please, we’re not—”

“Get the kid out.”

Panic flares to life in your chest. You fight the tremble in your fingers as they raise to the clip across your chest, winding a supportive hand around to your back to keep Matthew from falling out of the carrier as it loosens from your torso.

After a bit of shifting, Matthew stands on shaky legs, his eyes darting between you and the few soldiers with their weapons raised.

“It’s okay, baby,” you soothe softly, “we gotta do what the man says, okay? Can you do that for mama?”

You continue to lower until your front hits the rubble covered ground, and you motion for Matthew to do the same, heart breaking as he cowers in fear and falls to his knees before copying your posture and hiding his face against the road.

More voices fill your ears, the obvious presence of more soldiers swarming from the gate causing your pulse to skyrocket as Harry lowers on the other side of the small toddler.

“Check ‘em.”

“Everything’s fine,” you murmur, keeping your gaze on Matthew and smiling when he peeks at you from between his fingers, “we’re okay. Keep your eyes on me, baby. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

It stings.

You automatically flinch away from the device someone holds at your neck, freezing when more weapons are raised in your direction. The device gives a small beep and the soldier gives a loud clear, before moving for Matthew.

He cries out at the pain, his chest heaving with his growing sobs. The guns move in his direction and you’re flying towards him before you can even think, yelping when arms pull you away from your baby before you can console him. His screams worsen.

“Please,” you beg, “he’s just a baby—!”

The soldiers remain emotionless.

Another beep, another clear.

The fingers digging into your arms loosen and then you’re free, hurriedly crawling on all fours until Matthew’s in your arms, his tear stricken face pressing into your throat. You soothe him softly, murmuring how well he did and that he’s safe with you while the soldiers move their attention to Harry.

When the device gives a final clear, another soldier steps forward, a small smile stretching his lips.

“Sorry about that,” he says, stepping forward until he’s only a step away, “but we can’t be too careful.”

It’s surreal being around people again.

For the longest time, it’s just been you, Matthew and Harry. The people left after the event had turned cruel, desperate for any remaining resources and resulting to violence left, right and centre. It’d been sheer luck that you three had escaped some of the nastier characters you’d come across during your treks. Sure, you’d lost a few supplies every now and then, but you were thankful you all were still here at least.

The man leads you into an office of sorts, with rusted old chairs to sit on while he goes about ‘registering’ you. You’re surprised at the process of it all, confused when he says you’re in luck because after this morning, there are new rooms available. What does that mean? Had something happened to the occupants?

Your stomach turns, but you dare not dwell on it.

Safety for Matthew, that’s all that matters. That’s why you’re here.

It feels like hours before you’re stepping into the sun again, lead out onto a relatively normal looking street with written directions to your new accommodation. The door bangs loudly behind you, fully closing you from the horrors of the outside world, and you try not to focus on the looks of curiosity, borderline hostility, as you start to walk further into the QZ, the height of the wall casting a large shadow over your path.

There’s a main square of sorts, filled with small stations of people selling various items. Your stomach grumbles at the sight of shitty looking food, desperate to eat something other than the random old bits and pieces you’d find through your looting, but you’d have to begin work to even afford a single half burnt bread roll. The two ration cards you had received at your ‘registration’ wouldn’t make a dent in what you’d need to afford any of it.

You pass the sellers, sharing a sullen look with Harry as he too realises he wouldn’t have enough for any of it.

There’s crowds, and you try to keep to yourself as you move, but something catches your eye, as if your sight had been automatically pulled to that direction and you’re oblivious to the people bumping into your frame.

For a moment, you’re sure you’re dreaming.

Did they end up shooting you at the gate? This couldn’t be real, couldn’t be unfolding right before your very eyes. You feel alive. You feel your pulse, your breath. You feel Matthew shift in the carrier, you hear Harry making comments about the people and the surrounding buildings.

You can’t look away.

You’re pulled in his direction, certain with every bone in your body that it’s him. It’s him.

The man turns, and his eyes are meeting yours through the crowds before you can even brace for it, and you see the moment it hits him.

He freezes, his eyes unblinking as if they don’t want to risk losing the hallucination his mind had conjured. He steps forward, and again, and again, slow in his movements, cautious.

“Joel?” You breathe, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear you over the bustle of your surroundings and the distance between you, but he must see your lips mould his name because then he’s running, ducking through the people and heading straight your way.

You start to jog, careful not to disturb the carrier holding Matthew too much, and then he’s there. He’s there and he’s real and he’s saying your name so sweetly, a broken rasp of disbelief and a tremble taking over his hands as they raise to cup your cheeks.

You sob at his touch.

The tears flow from your eyes and you grasp at whatever you can on him, your fingers tightening around the jacket hanging from his frame as you attempt to pour two years of loss into your embrace. He cradles the back of your head, keeps your face pressed tightly against the dirtied skin of his throat as he mutters brokenly about how he thought you were dead and that he’d missed you so damn much.

“Oh baby boy,” he rumbles, noticing the baby carrier and the toddler within it with tears filling his lash line, “look at you.”

You hurriedly unclip the harness and sweep Matthew out of it, bringing him into the middle of your embrace. Joel runs a hand along Matthew’s cheek before sweeping down and kissing him on the forehead, his tears dropping over the toddler’s cheeks in obvious relief and utter joy.

“How—”

You shake your head, nuzzling into the rough hand holding your cheek. “Later. We’ll talk later about everything, I just—god, I’ve missed you so fucking much, Joel.”

His head lowers until his forehead is pressed against yours, and his eyes flutter closed. You feel it in the simple gesture, how much he had missed you, mourned for you. He gives a small nod, followed by a quiet okay, before another presence suddenly makes themselves known.

Your body jolts with the weight hitting your side, and you jump in fright before your eyes come across a slightly skinny looking Australian Shepherd desperate for attention.

His tongue lolls from his mouth as he attempts to lap at your cheek, and you chuckle through your stream of steady flowing tears at the cheerful dog.

“Chip,” Joel grunts in slight annoyance, shoving the fluffy beast away from where he tries to jump and sniff at Matthew’s cheeks, “down—down, boy!”

“You have a dog?” You ask in curiosity, reaching out to pet the animal. Your smile widens when he eagerly nuzzles into your touch with an excited whine.

“He was wanderin’ the QZ when I came in,” Joel replies, one of his hands leaving your waist to deliver a rough rub to the dogs head, “followed me home one night and hasn’t stopped botherin’ me since. Tommy said he’d be good for me.”

“Tommy’s here? And Sarah?” You perk immediately in excitement, your eyes flying past his shoulder to look for his brother and the other part of your heart that’s been missing for years. “I’m so glad they’re alright, where are they?”

You don’t notice how considerably quiet he’s gone until you look at him. He’s defeated, guarded, his dark eyes drawn to the floor. He can’t look at you. Why can’t he look at you? What’s happened?

“Joel?”

“Sarah… she—she—”

He struggles to finish the sentence, the words stick uncomfortably on his tongue. His features twist in clear anguish and you feel the world around you shatter. Sarah, she… she’s gone? When? How?

Your heart sinks, weak and broken by the unexpected news. Your mind struggles to wrap itself around the notion that you’d never see her again, that the last time you saw her was truly the last.

Regret begins to build in the pit of your stomach. That last day… you should’ve hugged her tighter, kissed her forehead, told her how much she meant to you and how lucky you were to be in her life—

The tears begin again.

“Oh Joel, I-I’m so sorry,”

You both share the heartache, wrapped in each other's arms and breathing in the other. His tight hold doesn’t loosen for a second, and you attempt to put every ounce of energy in your tired body into returning it.

The world stands still, just like it did that cursed day.

How can you be so elated that he’s here, and yet be filled with so much pain at the same time? How long has he been lost, no doubt blaming himself for his baby girl not making it to where he is now? You mourn her, mourn him for being lost, stuck on a path of despair and believing he had lost everything for so long.

What had become of him? What had the pain done to him? Surely it would’ve been pure torture for the man who practically breathed family.

Harry can wait. Introductions can wait. Food, drink, sleep—you care for none of it. Not now. All that matters is that Joel is here, truly here in the flesh, wrapped in your arms and holding the child he hasn’t seen for two years. All that matters is that you had found one another in the violent hellscape the world had become.

Peace, but that tranquillity will forever be tainted by loss, a void hanging in the midst of relief, never to be filled again.

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tags that have continuously not worked will be deleted from my taglist soon x

#joel miller x reader #joel miller f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x wife!reader #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

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princess-tulip-writes · 1 year

Note

hiiii 💗 were you thinking about Az and reader best friends taking showers together after a mission? something cute and also very intimate, maybe some smut if you want to put it, feel free. everything that you write is well done, so I will just trust 🥹🥹💗 thank you 🤍

“you don’t have to turn around, az. i’m perfectly comfortable with you seeing me naked.” you snort as you wash your body off.

his back was facing you, hands covering his gentiles to not flash you them. with anyone else, you might have been insecure about being completely naked in front of them, but not with azriel. he was far too sweet to judge and you were certain he could keep his eyes to himself. he was polite all of the time, even while everyone else feared him. he was the least judgmental being on this earth, centuries of friendship proved that to you.

yet, he was still shy as ever, his cheeks tinted pink as he practically hid from you.

“are you sure?”

you scoffed playfully at his question and rolled your eyes at his manners.

“yes, i am positive.” you giggled as you rinsed off your wings.

you watched the planes of his back and stems of his wings tense, as if he was hesitating to turn around and face you. it was cute, you thought. the way such a flirtatious male could seem so shy with a naked female in a small space with him.

suddenly, it dawned on you that maybe he didn’t want to look at you. you were different, everyone knew it. not only were your wings large for a female illyrian, but your figure was plusher than any fae you had met before. it was something it had taken you years to comes to terms with on your own, with some help from azriel along the way. he would make you feel normal, special with his flirty banter and lingering touches but he had never seen you naked, ever.

perhaps he wasn’t interested to and it made him uncomfortable. you grimaced at the thought of that, feeling some self-hatred bubble it’s way into your throat and tying a knot in your stomach.

“you don’t have to. just know that it’s okay to.” you mumbled.

this mission was very stressful, and you wanted nothing more than to snuggle up in bed with your favorite male and drift to sleep. your wings felt heavier than usual, dirt and blood was packed under your nails and your hair felt unbearably filthy. azriel wasn’t much better; blood was splattered across his back, shoulders and legs, with mud caked in his raven hair. his shadows swirled at his feet defeatedly and the muscles in his back looked utterly exhausted, like the mighty wings perched could fall any second. part of you wanted to lift them for him for some relief but you knew better.

a heavy sigh left his lips before his deep voice cracked through the air. “if i turn around, can you promise me you won’t laugh?”

you furrowed your brows, confusion clouding every sense as you stared at his scarred back.

what on earth would you laugh about? you knew about the scars all over his body from protecting loved ones, and they were nothing to giggle about. you’ve even seen him naked accidentally a few times; nothing was laughable about the shadowsinger’s stunning body.

“why would i?”

“just.” he sighed. “just promise me.”

“okay, i promise.” you said softly.

the shadows at his feet whispered to him, a language you couldn’t begin to understand even after years of hearing the unique communication. you hoped they weren’t making fun of you.

azriel puffed out a breath before shuffling his feet around, revealing himself to you sheepishly. his head hung low, eyes trained on his feet and the dark mist that enclosed the tile floor. his body language looked awkward, as if he felt uncomfortable baring himself to you.

not uncomfortable, embarrassed.

you took him in, trying not to let your eyes travel too low but looking him over enough to find what was funny.

you found nothing but a godlike male in front of you, marred with breathtaking faded scars and toned… everything. not an area of him was soft, his body was completely toned.

so what was there to be nervous about?

“azriel, i swear i’m not just saying this, but what are you talking about? you’re beautiful.”

the spymaster’s cheeks tinted pink at your compliment as he shifted his feet nervously under your intentive gaze. he prayed that your eyes wouldn’t catch sight of what his hands tried to cover, that you wouldn’t kick him out and never speak to him again because of it.

“by the mother, azriel, you are so gorgeous.”

you couldn’t stop yourself from letting another praise slip from your chapped lips. it was so easy, especially since he’s told you how beautiful you are plenty times before. the goal wasn’t to make him flustered, or anything really. his beauty was just so enchanting that you couldn’t help but express it.

screwing his eyes shut, he felt all the blood in his body rush downward as your words replayed in his mind over and over.

‘you’re beautiful.’

‘you are so gorgeous.’

“are you okay, az? are you hurt?” you asked as you took notice of his pained expression.

the mission was dangerous, but you could have swore he was clear of injuries— you checked thrice. maybe it was something internal, like an ash arrow splinter or some kind of spell. whatever it was, you needed to rush him to a healer immediately.

without thinking of how naked you both were, not that he was looking anyway, you stepped closer to him and grabbed at his forearms worriedly, paying no mind to the way he tensed harshly. his eyes found yours reluctantly, trying his best not to pay too much attention to way he could fucking see everything given your height difference. even as he kept his focus on your concerned face, the full imagine of you was there and temping him to stare.

“i’m fine. it’s nothing, just a small headache.” he lied.

he should have known better, really. azriel was a fantastic liar, he even did it professionally, but never to you. you could always see through his fibs, big or small. with one knowing look, he would crumble and tell you the truth. just like now.

“i can’t tell you this time, i’m sorry.”

you glanced around the tile walls in thought, trying to come up with what he could possibly be hiding from you. you and azriel had a no secrets rule, one he set when you when on a date with cassian once, and he took it very seriously on his part. so keeping one now was out of character for your beloved best friend. it worried you deeply, like he couldn’t be himself anymore around you. the thought sickened you.

“why? you know you can tell me-“

he cut you off with a long sigh. “it’s embarrassing.”

“and you think me being naked in front of you right now isn’t?”

azriel knew you had a very valid point, even more so considering your past with body image issues, and he kicked himself for being so insensitive.

“it-“ he sighed once more as he tighten his closed eyes. “i’m sorry.”

you were now immensely curious as to what secret he harbored, what could possibly be so embarrassing that he couldn’t even tell his most treasured friend. the way his eyes were screwed shut tight concerned you greatly.

what if it wasn’t his problem, per say, but it was you? what if he was repulsed by the thought of your naked body? so much so that he couldn’t even bring himself to look at you?

so many negative thoughts ran through your mind, causing you to overlook the way his eyes finally opened as your gaze fixated on the bottle of body wash behind him.

this time, he couldn’t help himself. he tested his luck the last time he looked at you, and his restraint was no longer there, exhaustion made it thinner than usual. his eyes flicked to your breasts immediately, and once they caught his attention, he couldn’t stop drinking them in.

his cock was already hard as a rock, the exact thing that had been kept from you, just from the glimpse of your bare stomach earlier from when you tore your leathers off. but now, he was sure it would take him forever to get it down.

“is it me?”

your voice was weak, the exact tone you would use when stressing over your looks to him. it broke his heart into a million pieces to hear you say that, especially when you weren’t technically wrong, but still way off base.

you were right; it was you. you and your godsdamn body that got him in this situation.

“is it because i’m not as pretty-“

“don’t you dare finish that sentence, y/n.” azriel practically growled at you. “because my cock is so fucking hard right now just from the sight of you.”

your breath caught in your throat at his confession. no way this was real. no, this was impossible. a fever dream, you were dreaming. azriel would never think this way of you in a zillion life times, you were absolutely sure of it. this male, your partner, your best friend, was far too out of your league for him to ever think of you this way. he was lying, no doubt.

but he wasn’t, gods he had never been so turned on in his life.

“you don’t have to say that-“

before you could finish, his hands dropped to his sides for the first time since he stepped into the shower with you. instinctively, your gaze flickered to where the movement occurred, a trait from your spy training you picked up, and the whole world stopped.

you always thought in the back of the chambers of your mind that azriel was big, his wingspan and overall energy gave it away— not to mention the rumors around prythian. but never would you have expected to ever see it.

your cheeks heated incredibly, and you were sure he could hear your heart beat quicken.

for a moment, he had thought he made a grave mistake. your silence and wide eyed expression terrified him to no end until he could see your nipples perk up and smell the sweet scent of your arousal.

“az..” you mumbled breathlessly.

“you are the most beautiful female i have ever laid my sights on, y/n. for centuries i have longed for you, and sat by and listened to the awful lies you’ve said about yourself. everything that you hate, wished would change; i have fallen so in love and lust with. I’m sorry, I just don’t have the energy to lie to you anymore and keep myself away from you. I know it may be very uncomfortable for you right now, and I understand if you no longer want to be-“

before he could finish, you smashed your lips to his. instantly, he returned the kiss and placed his hands on your plush hips, giving them a long awaited squeeze.

“fuck, I want you so bad.” he growled against you.

“then don’t hold back.”

#azriel 🌷#azriel fluff #azriel smut #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x reader smut #azriel x reader fluff #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader smut #azriel shadowsinger x reader fluff #acotar x reader #acotar smut #acotar blurb #a court of thorns and roses smut #acotar x reader smut #acotar fluff #acotar x reader fluff

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sm-baby · 4 months

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Im assuming all Humans that enter the carnival are put into different forms, like Caine and Able...

Once the humans die, do they return back to their original human form? Like, if Caine died, would he return back to a normal human? Or are Caine and Able just special

Players are basically object heads and have smaller, plusher, bodies! (This is so there aren't any problems adjusting to different forms)

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pityroad · 1 year

Text

— Forfeiting My Mystique, Kaveh Akbar, in '100 Queer Poems, an anthology' (2022)

[text ID: Hafez said

fear is the cheapest room / in a house, that we ought / to live in better / conditions. I would / happily trade all my / knowing for plusher / carpet, higher ceilings.]

#kaveh akbar #quotes #fear #home #100 queer poems #mine #queer poetry

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sed4906 · 2 months

Text

an attempt at texturing Plusher.

#plusher

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dmitriene · 3 months

Text

THOUGHTS ABOUT PRICE AND PREFERRING SITTING ON HIS LAP OFTEN.

cw: tooth rotting fluff, comfort, slightly suggestive, established relationship, lap sitting, flirty teasing, pet names, touching, intimacy, kinda cuddling, male anatomy, hard on, hints on blowjob, desperation and horny price, reader doesn't have gender description in the story, john might be ooc since he's wearing a glasses. pairing: bf john price x gf fem reader

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

there was something in john’s thighs that attracted you every time, like an affectionate yard kitten, to the lap of a passing person.

of course, the point is not at all in how attractive his muscular, wide thighs look in his military cargo pants or jeans, in which the second only further emphasizes how wide and soft his thighs are, and his light home shorts reveal them fully every time, making them even plusher, exposing dark thick hair hiding a scattering of healed scars underneath.

a great place to sit down.

therefore, you can never resist climbing onto the limp muscles, just at the moment when he smokes his usual cigars on the viranda, thick clouds of smoke dissolve with a tart smell around his figure when he holds a half open book with his free hand, glasses on the tip of his nose, not a necessary necessity, but convenient in order to preserve his eyesight, slightly weakened with age and military service.

john feels your presence almost immediately, as soon as the door opens slightly, albeit almost silently, but he clings to the slight shuffling of steps, and intuitively raises his hand with the book just when you fall into his arms, plopping your butt right on his rounded thighs, feeling how the muscles beneath you tense before relaxing, and a heavy hand traces the curve of your hip and waist, thick fingers tenderly squeezing the skin over the fabric of your light clothing.

— “feeling comfy, sweetheart?„

he purrs with a hint of hoarseness and a chesty, amusing grumble, blowing thick smoke through his nose and rings through his lips, letting the smoke rise up from his mustache and dissolve in the light breeze, blue eyes narrow as he examines you, familiarly running a warm palm along your leg and to the hip bone, tracking your satisfied purr with a smirk on his lips, corners of his lips hiding under facial hair.

— “very much so„

you answer sincerely and satisfactorily, settling on his lap with a slight fidgeting of your butt on his thighs, pressing against his wide chest with comfort and fluttering eyelashes, when you look into his blue eyes, cold in color, but so warm when he looks at you, despite at your sly squint and the way you move soft touches over his chest and to his thighs, outlining the skin with your fingers, as if planning something.

and john will know what excatly very soon, when you'll imposingly rise from your usual comfortable place only to kneel in front of him, settling between his already spread legs, not looking at the slight discomfort in his knees from the wooden surface of the veranda, completely concentrating on his darting gaze and slightly nervous swallowing when you place soft palms on his thighs and move them, causing his hairs to stand on end while your face getting closer.

he rolls his head back with a slight chesty growl and a scratch of his beard when you, so charmingly cunning, nose yourself between his legs, poking into his wide thigh and very close to his crotch, where under shorts and boxers swells and throbs from your mere presence next to him and a reverent gesture in his direction, holding him on the edge almost all the time, and now only further inflaming the feelings seething inside him.

a heavy hand rests right on the top of your head to gently stroke your hair, lightly scratching and moving towards your face, cupping with one palm and gently tickling the skin near your ears with the callous pads of his fingers, while you lean towards the touch, catching notes of tart tobacco and light woodiness, a characteristic, relaxing aroma, and he sees how your facial features soften into absolute limpness, lazily fluttering your eyelashes and causing a slight chuckle in your direction.

— “looking adorable down there, darling, hope you're enjoying this position, eh?„

he earns a meek nod and an almost sleepy — “mhhmm„ in his direction, before you press yourself tighter, not into his palm, but into the skin of his leg, creeping further, closer to his crotch, and john fidgets slightly uncomfortably, not from your actions, but from not wanting you to notice his obvious arousal, although this is pretty noticeable in the dark pupils enveloping the blue of his eyes and in the way his eyelids become heavy, his eyelashes cast a shadow over his eyes, and the bulging silhouette of his cock enthusiastically rubs against the fabric of his shorts and press into the barrier.

you will definitely repay him in full later, but for now you will remain a little longer in the same place, where his legs themselves slightly squeeze together, squeezing you slightly between them, rolling pleasant sensations across your skin, and you lick your lips, not immediately registering his strangled, breathy sigh in response to your actions and how much tighter you are pressed against him, your parted lips practically where he burns and demands, but he waits, patiently, until then he allows a quietly grumbled word to slip from his lips — “killing me, all looking like that, shi'..„ before john takes another drag from his almost finished cigar, calming himself, as you smile to yourself in response to his words.

you will definitely take care of him, just a little later, promise, john.

#.𐙚july's writings #john price smut #john price x female reader #john price fluff #john price x f!reader #john price comfort #john price x reader #captain john price fluff #captain john price x reader #captain john price smut #captain john price x female reader #john price drabble #captain john price x you #john price cod #john price x you

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