#this is a very brief answer and i apologize for that but the hour is late and boards part one is eating my brain | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pedgito · 1 year

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summary | a story of how things began, where they ended up, and where they might go. a collection of patrols over the course of several months is forcing you closer to joel than you ever imagined, tense circumstances leading to hasty decisions and one bad choice after the next. [17k+]

pairing | joel miller x fem!reader

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no explicit use of y/n, set post s1 (but not specifically stated), lots of characters from the game (but not significant if you're unaware) grumpy!joel, friends (?) with benefits, sex under stress as a means for distraction (consensual), graphic depicition of an attack of raiders (it's brief, easy to skim over), a litany of sexual escapades (oral, unprotected, ect) semi-public sex (no one's around), orgasm denial, repressed emotions

author’s note | um, yeah. i had this idea back in february and had an outline that finally came to fruition over the past month. this was a serious labor of love and purely self-indulgence. if you make it through the entire thing, thank you! if this has typos please ignore. i proofread this like 4 times and i will cry

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Patrolling with Joel was always something. Miserable when Joel was having a bad day, mildly enjoyable on the days where he managed to have enough coffee that morning when you weren't on the rotation for the shitty patrols that took hours to trek through in this weather, the snow halfway up your shins nearly everywhere.

It’s been a few months now and Joel is still who you favor going with over anyone else—he’s thoughtful, methodical, always watching over his shoulder for danger. And Joel does warm up to you eventually, but the reluctance in his eyes is always there. He’s seasoned in the art of surviving, avoiding connection when at all possible. He doesn’t talk to you for the first month out of simple answers or orders, helping you get accustomed to a route you haven’t run before, but small talk? It’s nonexistent.

Maybe that was for the best.

Because the first time you find yourself pinned under his gaze, fingers clenched around your wrists in warning, the unseemly thoughts invade your brain.

He doesn’t sleep often during patrols, either. So, it’s a little intimidating when you find him curled up on top of his sleeping bag when he swore he was taking a quick break, resting the ache in his back that quickly melted into a deep slumber. You can’t dare to wake him up so soon after, seeing how peaceful he looked when he slept, almost at ease but still carrying that deep scowl, permanently on his features. It was a part of him.

Tommy and Jesse had arrived to rotate and relieve you guys back to Jackson, something that wasn’t out of the norm, but you find yourself battling with leaning over him, shaking him awake and disturbing his slumber. And on a dime, the moment your hand connects with his shoulder, Joel is awake—very awake and subduing you with little resistance, your leg forced hastily between his own, eyes dark and pensive from where he held himself above you.

“Joel, Joel—it’s just me,” You spit out in a panic, “Tommy and Jesse, they’re outside.”

You’re not sure what breaks his stupor, be it the panic in your voice or the terrified look on your face, he relents quickly, apologizing half-heartedly under his breath.

You release a tight breath when he finally lets go, rising up slowly as he does, grabbing your pack without a word, as does he, watching as he rolled up his sleeping bag, something you’ve seen him do a million times before, but he feels you watching him, almost hesitant to speak now.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks lowly, the thickness of sleep in his voice.

“No, um—“ You shake your head, rubbing the skin of your wrist absently, “I guess I should’ve been more careful, but you fell asleep and I figured you needed it.”

He looks even more apologetic, more so for his actions but for also leaving you up alone, not that it really mattered to you. It was an easy patrol spot in the watchtower— it never caused trouble, so falling asleep was the least of your worries.

You shrug when his eyes glance over your slightly hunched frame, shivering from the cold but an arm clutching around your middle. It’s defensive, a subconscious movement that Joel doesn’t even think you realize you’re doing.

He shouldn’t feel shitty about it, but he does. Still, he won’t admit that out loud.

“Next time I’ll keep six feet and poke you with a stick,” You joke, “kinda like waking a bear.”

You smile when Joel huffs reluctantly, a subtle motion of his chest as he chuckles. It’s faint, but you see the involuntary quirk at the corner of his mouth as he shoved his sleeping bag into his pack and rose to his feet.

“Hey, you’ve still got decent reflexes,” You shrug, passing him by with the soft scuffle of your feet, shoulders rubbing against each other awkwardly as you turn toward him over your left shoulder, his body too close for his own comfort, “for an old guy.”

He scoffs at the implication, though any maliciousness in his expression is void, “Old?”

He knows it’s the truth, he just hates the implication. He’s weaker, but not any less that man he was than that he is now. He watches your face scrunch up in amusement, a soft laugh slipping past your lips.

“Joel, I’m fucking with you,” You tell him, the tense in his brow relaxing slightly, “it’s gonna be a long ride back, isn’t it?”

“Ah, don’t know—think you can handle travelin’ with the old guy for a few hours?”

Joel doesn’t divert to humor often, but when he does, it’s a sweet sight, that rough exterior cracking under your gaze more often.

“Please,” You puff your lips out in a quick huff, yanking your back over your shoulder, “I can handle you just fine.”

Once you got to know him, it was actually quite easy.

Joel nods his chin forward silently, ignoring your teasing for the time being, a long ride ahead of you and not nearly enough patience on his end to deal with your antics.

And you try to ignore how intensely his touch lingered on your skin, rubbing the tender spot on your wrist during the long ride back to Jackson.

Joel keeps his distance behind you, but he sees it—the subtle look over your shoulder every now and then, your eyes lingering with him when he forces eye contact.

It’s only the start of what was to come, something neither of you were prepared for.

The rotation is adequately simple over the first few months, keeping the pairings fair by filtering them out evenly—Ellie is fun to be around, a lot more relaxed and less jaded by everything. She keeps things light, always bringing along her comics for extra entertainment or spending her time drawing you or whatever she could find, something to keep her busy when things get boring. And she talks, freely, to you—something Joel never did. Besides, Ellie kept up to date on the town drama, so in turn, so did you.

And Tommy is, well, Tommy. He’s efficient, likes to do his rounds, sign the patrol sheet, scope the area, then spend the rest of the night or day relaxing away when things aren't going awry. He talks about before—his job, how people lived in Austin, the summer cookouts in the neighborhoods that you were never privy to. Tommy’s nice, you’ve always liked him. It was Joel who proved to be the difficult one, something Tommy would wholeheartedly agree with.

Eventually you find yourself paired up with Joel more often than you’re used to, now Ellie would stick to patrols with Dina when she could, occasionally Jesse. She always complains when she has to ride with Joel, something about:

“We live together, but we’re not attached at the fuckin’ hip.”

Joel doesn’t complain, his hesitancy toward letting Ellie take more responsibility waning by the day when he realizes how well she holds her own.

You take the patrol further west, a lodge that he and Tommy cleared out some months prior when you were still new—you’ve only ran into infected there once, end of the summer, but Joel cleared them out no problem.

It seemed like an easy patrol. It was. Joel even seems a little more cheerful than usual, making comments to some of the information you were relaying to him that Ellie told you, some pointless gossip to fill the lull.

“It’s why I mind my business,” Joel speaks over the soft trollop as you ride alongside him, “nothin’ good comes from stickin’ your nose where you shouldn’t,” his head turns, eyes glancing over your frame briefly, shrugging his shoulders in an effort to loosen them, “it only breeds more problems.”

“I’m just the messenger,” You shrug, “I keep to myself—you know that.”

He does. He finds the shyness endearing in a way, a contrast from how exuberant Ellie could be when he spent patrols with her. It’s why things worked so well with you—you respected his space, he respected yours.

“Remind me to check that guitar place for those strings Ellie’s been buggin’ about,” Joel tells you, “I’ll hit it before we leave.”

“She’s improved a lot,” You compliment, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “props to her teacher, I suppose.”

Joel shakes his head, emitting a bit of fondness every time he talks about Ellie, “That kid is determined. I don’t think she would’ve needed my help either way.”

“You know,” Your tone bleeds something teasing, putting Joel on edge as he tilts his head your way, looking expectantly, “she said you’re a pretty good singer.”

Joel opens his mouth for a beat before snapping it shut, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to sing,” You promise, “but—I don’t know, just didn’t pin you as the type.”

“I’ve got a type about me?” Joel seems dully interested, a soft smirk on his face as he yields the reins to a stop, leading you to follow suit as you both guide the horses to the makeshift stable tucked away on the side of the building, gathering your things before you make your way inside.

You leave Joel in a curious silence until you’re able to relax, closing the doors behind you with a heavy shove once Joel has done his quick walk-through, the fireplace setting unlit in the middle of the room looking all too appealing right now.

“Look, I’ll just keep askin’,” Joel says, clapping his hands together deftly to grab your attention, throwing the lighter stuffed into your coat pocket at his waiting hands, cupped as he catches it with ease, setting up a fire that crackles to life instantly, “first I’m an old man, now you’re judgin’ me, doesn’t really seem fair now does it?”

It’s the most he’s talked to you before, suddenly invested in getting an answer out of you. It’s playful, his intention, and you can’t help but find it a little enjoyable to watch him squirm. You take a seat around the circular fire pit, feet propped up against the brick surrounding it, hands laying flat over you stomach, jacket unzipped but still snug on your body.

“You’re a big grump all the time,” You tell him honestly, his face morphing into something indecipherable, “—Ellie’s words, not mine.”

You hold a finger up, pointing in his direction.

“But, she’s not wrong.” It earns a subtle shrug, Joel’s arms stalling over the back of the couch that wrapped around the fire pit, a few feet away from you still. “I’m just saying, most of the people in town who enjoy that stuff—you know, music and all that. They’re loud about it, a little showboaty if you ask me.”

“What? I’m not loud enough for you?”

He was loud when he needed to be. Directive and strong, aggressive to anyone who may cause him harm or anyone he cares about—you’ve seen it a few times, but never on the side of it being just you and him. Part of you is thankful for that, but you can’t help the wanted to feel that type of fierce protection aimed toward you.

You snort softly, “Forget it, Joel. It’s a nice surprise, I bet you have a great voice.” It’s free of any teasing or ill-intent of riling him up. A true compliment, one that cracks Joel’s surface, just barely.

Joel hits you softly in the chest with a bag of jerky a while later, chewing on a piece quietly as he rests, neck hung against the back of the couch, eyes closed. The heat creeps in slowly, forcing you to strip down a few layers—jacket first, then your sweater, down to just your jeans and shirt, wiggling your feet out of your snow boots in hopes that they’ll dry by the fire quicker.

And truthfully, your bored out of your mind. It was hard to stay dormant like this, holed up in a place for an extended period of time with nothing to do but entertain yourself—and because Joel was about as entertaining as watching wet paint dry, you took the initiative into your own hands.

“Have you ever played pool?” Your voice slices through the thick silence, one of Joel’s eyes peeking open curiously, head still reclined back. “I’ve been dying to try this out since Tommy found those balls a few months ago.”

“It’s been years,” He mumbles lowly, tapping his fingers against the back of his right palm, “—what about you?”

“Not a chance, Joel,” You reply, voice oozing with a flippant vagrancy, “I was fifteen when the outbreak happened, I’ve never even stepped foot into a bar, let alone some place like this.”

Even now, twenty years into a world that had crumbled to the ground, the lodge still held up nice.

Normally you would expect Joel to make up some excuse, roll over on his side or lay down and pretend he was asleep or keep watch by the door, his demeanor never faltering for more than a second, clipped answers to your question. But, that was Joel wasn’t here now.

He’s warmed up to you, partially—but you could tell there was still a long way to go. He still keeps his distance, less of a chance to bump into your or accidentally brush shoulders. It makes you feel forlorn, like maybe you had scared him by how you reacted, eyes wide and terrified underneath him.

Truthfully, Joel doesn’t want to scare you again. He couldn’t handle it. Not with how reluctantly fond he’s grown of you, something he kept close to his chest and didn’t dare tell a soul. He’s got his own justifications for it.

“We can play a game,” Joel suggests, “it’ll kill some time, I guess.”

Joel didn’t need to know how easy it would be for you to play him under the table, having spent most of your time around the guys at the bar who like to hustle bets for pool. They never stood a chance. And Joel never frequented The Tipsy Bison outside of parties thrown for the community as a group (and that was still rare), always dragged along by Ellie or Tommy. They were insufferable to attend.

You could share the sentiment.

“Any bets?” You tease, stripping the pool cues off the wall and handing it to him as he approaches, strip down to a similar state as well, tanned skinned under a navy blue shirt, wearing the jeans he seemed to never take off and boots that were barely holding on.

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Joel decides, “I’ve got nothin’ in mind anyways.”

“God, you’re no fun,” You pout, pulling an eye roll from Joel, his eyes flicking toward the ground briefly as he reconsidered, “come on—anything.”

“Jesus—uh, I don’t know,” He chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully, “huh, how about the loser just owes the other a favor?”

You blow a raspberry with your tongue, “Lame,” You tease further, but his quick switch to defeat has his arm slumping at his side forcing you to reassess, “—fine, fine. A favor is fair, I’m running low on those anyways.”

It’s a small hint at your competitive nature, something Joel is clueless to pick up on, guiding you through the basics of the game with ease—you listen intently despite how badly you were going to destroy him, the stakes surprisingly high.

A favor. For anything.

The small crack of a smile on Joel’s face is enough of a reward as he watches you attempt to break the set, barely tapping the center as it rolls back slowly, your face scrunching up in annoyance.

“Oh, fuck you,” You scoff playfully, “you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Joel shakes his head in a blatant attempt at lying, heaving his cue up to show you his stance, “Keep your dominant hand on the end and your other near the type, you’ve just gotta guide it through with some force.”

You feign innocence, switching the cue to your dominant side, though still looking visibly uncomfortable and rigid.

Joel thinks it over in his hand, rehashing his decision making a million times over until he’s resting the pool cue aside and joining your side, hesitant as he brings his hands to your elbows from behind, keeping a careful distance.

“Keep your arm a little further back,” He pulls at your dominant arm, thick fingers wrapping around your bicep, his body leaned forward slightly to adjust the other when he can’t reach, spreading your fingers to wrap around the other end, tucking your thumb under the cue gently at wrapping your index over the top, “it’s almost like you’re holding a pencil, if that helps. Sort of.”

You nod slightly, his touch lingering lightly as he leaned over you, pointing toward the center of the table, “Just use that hand as a guide, don’t grip it too tight and let the cue follow through. Here, try it.”

He crowds you in slowly, aiding you in the force of your cue as he guides it back and through with a sharpness, hitting the ball dead center and the rest of them scattering as a result.

“Just like that.” He praises, a softness to him that wasn’t there before when speaks over your shoulder. You roll your shoulders insignificantly, nodding at his response.

He notes how unbothered you are this way, in this situation compared to the latter, his touch guiding and soft compared to rough, suffocating, the force he only used in situations where his opponent wasn’t going to make it out alive.

Joel parts without so much as a word, shifting into his typical stance, favoring his right leg as it bends slightly, using the cue for support as he leaned into it. “Got it?”

You nod silently, feeling warm all over, too warm. It’s your own fault, really—not a soul to blame but yourself. To be fair, you didn’t think Joel would bother to take the bait. But he did, almost too eagerly. It was enough to mentally knock you on your ass, leaving you to play the rest of the game with a cloudy mind filled with how warm his touch felt against your bare skin, craving a touch you haven’t felt in months. It’s pathetic, but you can’t help it.

Joel sinks the last ball with finality, slapping his hand against the felt table in triumph, a surprising show of emotion for someone so sullen as him. He was full of surprises you were quickly finding out.

“M’sorry, darlin’.” He tells you, sounding authentically apologetic, “I don’t expect you to owe me any favors.”

“Screw that,” You shake your head stubbornly, annoyed at how easily you let him get the better of you, “one more.”

“I’m not sure if that’s—“

“One. More.” You tell him adamantly, reracking the balls without an answer, nodding pointedly toward the table, “Pick a pocket.”

Joel’s eyebrow furrowed in confusion, “You want to play one-pocket? How the hell do you even know about—I thought you said you’ve never played.”

“Joel, pick a damn pocket.”

You don’t choke this time, letting him take the first hit, watch the ball sink, and the next one he misses.

You don’t miss, one turn after the other passing him up as you sink them in succession.

He stares at you with wide eyes, nose flared like he’s going to laugh, mouth spread into a subtle smile, his teeth peeking through.

“You’re a fuckin’ pool shark, aren’t you?” Joel questions, tossing the pool cue aside. “That was goddamn impressive, I’ll give you that.”

“How do you think I score the steak sandwiches for our routes over the tuna and cheese?” You ask redundantly, “I’ve played Tommy under the table enough times that he won’t even play for fun anymore.”

“Well,” Joel shrugs, “guess we both owe each other favors, don’t we?”

You could care less about the favors now, battling with the conflicting feelings as you stared at the man ahead of you, seeming like a completely different person to you now. He's acting nothing like the sulky man you walk by every day in Jackson.

“Shit—one more,” Joel insists, “no holdin’ back on each other. No bets, just braggin’ rights.”

Joel never hears the end of it that night, falling asleep to the faint giggle of victory.

Another few weeks later and things are even more different.

You spot Joel from a mile away, tucked against the corner of the bar with wistful eyes downturned toward his drink, the ice in the glass swashing alongside the dark whiskey. The squeal of a couple kids and their scattering feet as they ram into you and pull your attention away, guiding them away to safety and out of the crowd with a gentle hand, a pair of apologetic parents waiting off to the side.

He must’ve seen the interaction halfway through, smirking with amusement as you approach, though still eerily silent.

Your friendship since the pool game has blossomed slowly, he jokes with you more often, shares his food when he hears your stomach growl, no matter how much you refuse. He even talks about his hobbies, things he enjoys, and it feels like he’s less of an enigma now. Real, tangible, someone you can make a connection with.

He still keeps his distance, mostly—the pool game was a fluke, a split second decision he hadn’t thought through and fully regretted after the fact. He’s gone from tackling you to the ground in fear to feeling you up for a good shot and that just doesn’t sit right with him, but he never apologizes. He can’t find it in him to embarrass himself further, figuring that by getting his ass kicked at pool was already punishment enough.

But, it doesn’t help that he always finds himself in situations that end up with him closer than he intended—he can’t tell if you’re being intentional about it anymore, but tonight, it’s all you.

“Damn, who dragged you out of the house?” You ask, a huff of a laugh muffled by the glass that tips to his lips, your fingers drumming silently against the bar as you asked for a beer, smiling at a familiar face. “Wait, let me guess—Ellie?”

Joel shakes his head honestly.

“Shit—Tommy?”

“No.”

“Maria forced Tommy to force you to show up?” Joel actually has a laugh at that, the idea not that far-fetched, but it’s another wrong answer.

“Joel Miller—“ Your finger wags in his face, landing on the center of his chest as you sip from your own drink with your opposite hand, “did you actually wander out of your house on your own free will?”

Guilty as charged. Joel would never make decisions like this, but he knew you would be there—and goddamnit, he couldn’t help it. He’s dressed incredibly suave too, a clean, slick dress shirt that works well on him, a nice change from his usual thick coats and plaid button ups.

“Hey, brother,” Tommy claps a hand down on Joel’s shoulder warmly, flashing you his trademark grin, teeth and all, “ma’am.”

You grimace at the word, “God, Tommy—you gotta stop calling me that.”

“Sorry, habit.” He chuckles before glancing over at Joel briefly, eyes connecting with yours in question, “So, what are we thinkin’—hell finally freeze over?”

“Seems that way.”

You play along, teasing Joel with no reluctance, enjoying the pinched look on his face as he downs the whiskey.

“Well, sorry Joel, but I came to steal her away for a dance,” He informs Joel, jabbing his thumb in your direction, “it is tradition, after all.”

Joel didn’t know that, of course. How could he?

Tommy always takes a minute or two to dance with you, one of his favorite songs being played by the band of townspeople—Maria doesn’t enjoy dancing as much either, spending most of her time mingling and helping out where it was needed, it’s an easy compromise.

It’s an upbeat song, something country that you can’t be bothered to memorize the words of, but it’s all big twists and twirls, dancing with little precision and more for pure enjoyment than anything else.

Joel tries not to stare, he does. But, it’s nearly impossible. It starts at your face, lingering as he savored that huge smile plastered across it, arm flying above your head as Tommy spun you, squealing in joy. Eventually it travels elsewhere, lower and lower, until Joel can’t help but keep his gaze stuck on the curve of your jeans, the way the denim cups your ass perfectly.

And it feels wrong, almost demeaning, but you don’t seem to have a care in the world, turning on your heels and to Joel suddenly, who’s already straightened up by then and shoving his glass away, poised to make his excuse to leave until you’re bounding toward him, hand outstretched as Tommy watches from the side, hands settled on his hips. He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

“Come on, Joel.” You try to persuade, using a grabby motion with your hands as you approach him closer, bordering on shoving yourself between the bar top and his legs, “Just one dance.”

“Darlin’ I don’t—“ His refusal is imminent, obvious in your eyes. But, you’ve got a trick up your sleeve that he’d never hear the end of if he denied you.

“My favor,” You play your cards, “I’m cashing’ in.”

You cock your head to the side, awaiting his answer with a pointed look, satisfied smile creeping onto your face as he sighs, letting you take his hand in reluctance as you pull him to your feet.

Joel’s at least thankful the tempo of the song is slower, but that leads to a minacious closeness he wasn’t prepared for, your delicate set of fingers resting over his shoulder, the other slack in his hand. He settles one against your waist, touching cautiously light and his other hand enveloping your own.

“This is a waste of a favor, you know.” Joel comments off-handedly, his eyes dragging toward the floor as he swayed to the gentleness of the music, dancing with an ease that still stuck with him, even after all these years.

“I don’t think so,” You shrug, “I get a dance, you’re no longer in debt to me, seems like a win win.”

Joel shakes his head with a fondness, eyes flicking up toward you briefly as he bows his head, his grip tightening ever so slightly as he seems to relax, realizing that the only eyes on him were you now, Tommy having gone off to search for Maria.

“All these other guys and you want to dance with the old man,” Joel starts, “how’d you come to that decision?”

“You’re never letting that go,” You roll your eyes half-heartedly, pulling him in closer on a whim, trading your current position for one where your arms rest of his shoulders, fingers interlocking behind his neck loosely, his own hands adjusting against your hip more casually, fingers dancing over the sliver of bare skin from where your shirt had started to rise, “can I tell you a secret, Joel?”

“It’s not a secret if you tell me,” He counters slyly, “besides, I’m terrible at keeping ‘em.”

And blame it on the lingering remnants of his second whiskey, but you can feel his fingers drag against your skin, finding home under the fabric of your shirt, his expression never changing—but it feels like a test, like he’s waiting for you to have a reaction. There’s not a word traded during the subtle interaction, ignoring his actions as you spoke.

“I’d choose you over any of those guys,” You say, a rawness that bleeds truth, Joel doesn’t have to second guess you, he sees it, “and Seth is way older than you and a prick, give yourself some fuckin’ credit, Joel.”

Joel settles quietly, shaking his head at your soft outburst. It shouldn’t surprise him, your shared devotion having grown over the past few weeks, small moments that made Joel second guess everything he’s taught himself to be.

Distant, hard, cold. But with you, it just wasn’t possible anymore. At least, not lately.

“And,” You sing, wiggling excitedly under his grip, “I may have saved your ass for patrol tomorrow.”

Joel looks at you expectantly, pulling you in closer when a quick pass of two rowdy kids has you stumbling forward.

You laugh at the sudden change in motion, hands slapping against his chest to keep you steady. He doesn’t try and move you away, which is surprising. But, you don’t try to move either, enjoying the slow guide of your chest against his as you sway to the music.

“Tommy’s takin’ coverage with Eugene,” You tell him, “I know how much you hate patrolling with him.”

Joel huffs out a laugh, “I don’t hate him, he’s just—“

“Talkative? A little too cheery for you?” You ask, leaning your head back an inch to examine his face fully, “Damn, I guess I’m not much of an improvement, either.”

“Now, I didn’t say that.” Joel responds defensively, though his face is still relaxed.

“Then?” You tease.

“Let me ask you,” Joel switches things around, “You’d rather patrol with Tommy over me?”

You shrug before thinking about it for a moment, actually thinking—and no, you wouldn’t. “No, guess not.”

“Why?” He questions, putting you on the spot.

“You’re prettier to look at,” You say with a nonchalance, “and Tommy really likes to reminisce, like…a lot.”

Joel snorts a quiet laugh at that.

“So, you see my issue with Eugene then.” Joel brings the conversation to a head, watching as a smirk appears on your face, realizing his mistake in real time.

“Hold on— that’s why you enjoy our patrols so much?” You turn your head into your shoulder to hide your laugh, quickly gathering yourself to tease him further, “Because, I’m prettier to look at and I keep my mouth shut?”

Joel shakes his head in amusement, ignoring your question. “You do realize where we’re going tomorrow, don’t you?”

“Of course, we’re stationed out at the dam.” You respond casually, “It’s not that bad, Joel.”

It’s the one place you and Joel haven’t had the opportunity to patrol together, always paired up with someone else—it’s a cramped spot, loud, and uncomfortably cold at this time of year no matter how many fires you set. Plus, it’s a lot of leg work to check the dam, making sure it’s still in good working condition. It’s what powered Jackson, without it, you wouldn’t be dancing with Joel right now, let alone even allowed the luxury of having a weekend to unwind and enjoy the party.

Joel looks hesitant.

“What?” You pry, “Don’t like the idea of being stuck in a tiny room with me for that long, one bed, nowhere to sulk off into a corner?”

If anyone else had approached him like this, it would’ve ended in a broken jaw—his own internalized anger getting the best of him. But, it’s you. And he knows you’re right.

You squeeze in closer, leaving barely any room between you now that the center of the hall was filled with other dancing bodies, shifting Joel’s hands down over your ass, the tips of his fingers adjusting over the curve and leaving little to imagination as he can feel every ridge and curve of your body, his solid chest against your own.

Your heart clenches at the idea that he might pull away, something akin to a bad sting and finally give up on his attempt at being sociable—he doesn’t move an inch.

Doesn’t say a word.

In fact, his gaze is even more intense now than it was before, edged with a look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before.

“I’ll sulk wherever I feel like it.” Joel retorts, falling into his usual scowl. “It’s probably about time we turn in for the night, don’t you think?”

You blink slowly, gaze never faltering. There’s a darkness behind his eyes, something still undiscovered. You nod blanky, but secretly acquiesce what he’s about to say.

“Long day tomorrow,” You agree, the shift in the air evident to the both of you, an innocent attempt at pulling some enjoyment out of Joel devolving into something dangerous and uncharted, “I’ll see you bright and early, yeah?”

“I’ll walk you back,” Joel insists, “maybe my sulkin’ will scare those boys who’ve been eyeing you all night.”

“I can handle myself, Joel.” He knows it—doesn’t make his offer any less tempting, though. He was a protector, you liked being protected. It was a devious offer that would find you in trouble soon, but you relent, accepting his help. He doesn’t make the first move, leaving you to take that step.

Joel doesn’t realize how badly he’s craved to touch you until he was, the second he laid his hands on you it was over for him—and he hates himself for letting you in, letting you wear him down. Joel’s close behind as you turn, navigating your way through the crowd quietly.

“Never said you couldn’t, sweetheart.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

There’s a hammering in your chest that doesn’t calm the entire way back toward your house, a small street near the edge of the town, a few houses away from the one he shared with Ellie.

You clear your throat awkwardly, a thickness there that crept up on you, watching as Joel shoved his hands into his front pockets, leaning on his better leg, always favoring the left.

“I can ask Tommy to switch things back if you’re really bothered,” You remind him gently, wondering if that was why he seemed so bothered now, his face brooding and flat, “I won’t get my feelings hurt, I promise.”

But inside Joel’s head, his mind is filtering through a thousand bad decisions to make, every one of them involving you.

“No,” He tells you surely, “You’re doing me a favor—shit, so I guess that means you don’t owe me anymore, actually.”

You shrug slightly, “Keep it, this one’s free.”

Joel has an inclination that you wouldn’t do that for just anyone, watching your face morph into a tired smile.

“Careful,” He teases, “you’re goin’ soft on me.”

You snort softly, ignoring the still burning tingle that lingered on your skin long after Joel’s touch disappeared. It was the same ache you felt the first time he touched you, tackled you to the ground and kept you pinned under his grip. He hasn’t gotten much better, still jerking awake in most situations, but you’ve learned to keep your distance.

“Sorry,” You slip your hands into your back pockets, your thick jumper pulling tight over your chest, “didn’t realize that was a bad thing.”

Joel shakes his head slightly, still lingering on your doorstep despite himself. Old Joel would hightail it home, old Joel wouldn’t have even offered to walk you back to begin with—but, here he was.

“I should turn in.” You tell him, his subtle nod in response.

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea.” Joel agrees, “long day ahead of us.”

The clipped responses are feeding a tension you don’t realize until you’re both still standing there, unmoving, swaying with the gentle breeze and somehow feeling warm all over while still surrounded by the bitter cold.

And there’s a quick flash that invades your mind, even while stone cold sober, that has you twitching under his gaze. He sees it, clocks it with his eyes.

There’s no indication that he’s attempting to get a reaction out of you, just lingering in wait, waiting for you.

You never make a move to open your door or walk inside and that’s what he’s waiting for, to see you home safe. It’s the whole reason he walked you back, wasn’t it?

Joel says your name quietly, a beckon to bring your attention back to the surface, drowning in your own thoughts but your gaze never faltering, stuck on him.

“Somethin’ on your mind?” He asks.

It’s a question that has too many answers. And it’s a test too, wondering if you’ll slip up and speak on what you’re trying so hard to hold back.

Too much—is what you should say.

You—is what you want to say.

But instead, you act. That itching feeling overflowing and forcing you to make haste decisions, tired of hearing his voice in the back of your mind, how easily it drove you crazy. The endearing twang that echoed in your head all day long, even when he was miles away.

And you find that Joel is almost expecting it, his hand cupping your face gently, warming the skin as you press in to kiss him cautiously, top lip slotting over his bottom and relaxing, your opposite hand mirroring his own.

It feels too tender, like suddenly Joel is just as breakable as you—it’s terrifying. You pull away suddenly, coming to your senses, wide eyes staring him down. He looks calm.

You hate it.

It feels embarrassing.

He expected it, or at least anticipated it. You can see it on his face.

“Goodnight.” He tells you tenderly, sounding upset with himself but avoiding the choice to make things weird and you’re forever grateful.

You release a soft breath, nodding absently.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

You turn on your heels and enter your house, finally. Maybe it wasn’t too late to change Tommy’s mind.

It was.

Joel was already waiting by the gates by the time you arrived, food and supplies secured in your bag for the road, two rifles slung securely over his shoulders as he held the reins to the horses, both of them neighing impatiently.

“All good?” Joel asks, avoiding the obvious air of unspoken instances surrounding you two.

You nod confidently, taking the reins away silently.

“All set,” You assure him, guiding your foot through the saddle and mounting the horse, settling yourself as he followed suit, “you?”

Joel echoes your response.

You sigh internally, a deep annoyance settling into your bones. Annoyed with yourself, annoyed with Joel. Just annoyed, wholly and plainly.

Joel didn’t need to admit that he hadn’t gotten any sleep the night prior—he already had enough trouble sleeping on a normal night, but you in his head? That didn’t help.

And it flooded into the morning, still, Joel watching your body sway and rock slowly from the motion of the horse, head tucked away slightly to counter the breeze that prickled your cheeks.

When you finally make it to the dam he breaks the silence, slipping the reins from your hand and nodding toward the front entrance, “I’ll tie ‘em up if you want to settle and sign us in, you can get a fire going?”

He’s asking, not telling. You nod, hopping down carefully and unhooking your bag from the saddle.

“I’ll scream if I need help.” It’s a joke in poor taste.

Joel doesn’t take it too lightly, scowling in response.

“Sorry,” You apologize lamely, “bad joke.”

“Be careful,” Joel stresses, face softening, “keep your gun out until you’ve done a once over of the place.”

It feels like fate is fucking with you, most days. Dangling your life in front of its prey and savoring the outcome, because even with your gun poised carefully at your hip, knife tucked into the strap at your thigh, it doesn’t prepare you for what’s waiting on the other side of that door.

There’s a split second where you think you can talk things down, buy you some time so Joel could get here and settle their nerves, but they’re already on high alert, as are you, and there’s no time to think.

Plus, they don’t seem to be keen on listening.

“Grab her,” The burly man says, blunt weapon held tight in his grip as he goes for your arm, the other man forcing you to the ground with a harsh gasp escaping your chest as your back hits the concrete floor, “just gut her—fuckin’ do it.”

Your brain shuts off, realizing that your strength isn’t nearly matched with theirs, your shrill scream cutting through the commotion.

“Joel!” You tell, hoping he’ll hear, dodging the hand that comes your way to muffle your yells, barking out an even more broken, “Jooooel!”

Your gun is long gone, tossed away in a corner with your hand pinned under someone’s knees, eyes squeezed shut as you struggle for the knife around your thigh blindly. They didn’t have the wits or common sense to strip you properly before they were attacking you, the younger one hesitating at the other’s words.

“I thought you said we were just tyin’ her up.” He responds, sounding panicked.

You grab the knife successfully and pierce it through the young one’s gut with a sickening squish, a garbled groan ripping from his throat—and a rush of a shadow overhead as Joel wrested the other down, coming in from the door on the opposite side of the room, fists connecting with the attackers face with a sickening crunch.

The rage overtakes quickly, adrenaline flooding your body as you shove the man away, pulling the knife out to sink back in once, twice, until the blood fills his mouth and spills over, lifeless eyes staring back.

Your chest heaves with a breath, adjusted your clothes from where they had been pushed aside in the tackle, tossing your knife aside and putting enough distance between your body and the one who’s your killed, watching as Joel sunk the tip of his own knife through the throat of the larger man, draining the life from him in an instant.

Joel has a ferocity in his eyes when they land on you, tossing his knife to the side momentarily as he rises, towering over the body beneath him. He can't be angry with you—he can't.

“Grab your gun,” He tells you, ignoring how easily the rage would have overtaken his body in most situations, buring it away for the moment when he sees how badly you’re shaken up (it wasn't fear, not even close—more like rage), moving around rigidly to grab your gun off the floor, “knife too—then sit down.”

“But the—the bodies, Joel,” Joel can hear the uncertainty in your voice, shaking his head insistently, “we’ve gotta go back—tell Tommy, let them know.”

Joel shakes out his muscles, adjusting his thick leather jacket around his frame and steps over the dead body, moving to stand in front of you, touching you for the first time since last night. It’s not soft or gentle, more leading in an effort to get your attention and pull you out of your gaze, his fingers cupping your jaw, chin falling in the curve where his thumb and pointer finger connect.

You wonder how many times he's done this before—how he'd come to learn to calm people down through his intense eye contact and grounding voice. He could mask his emotions for the sake of others, even when they were threatening to boil over.

“I’ve got it, I’ll take care of this—” His eyes never left yours, eyebrows raising in question as he awaited your acknowledgment, a small nod coming from you, “go wash the blood off and come straight back, okay?”

You nod again, deftly, eyes empty and void of emotion.

“Hey,” Joel calls out, pulling your attention back, “I need you with me—you with me?”

“Yeah—yes,” You mumble weakly, ignoring how tenderly his thumb rubbed the junction of your jaw at the admittance, something you’re sure he wasn’t even aware he was doing, “I’m with you.”

“Go.” He instructs, releasing his hold on you.

His face morphs into resentment as you leave.

He should've stuck by your side. But, then he thinks back to the joke you made in passing and it fuels the anger more.

Joel’s taken care of the bodies by the time you returned, shrugging off his own jacket as he yanked the door closed, barricading it closed with the vacant table stuff in the corner of the room, letting his own paranoia get the better of him. It wasn’t a crime to be too safe, not anymore.

“If they’ve got a group they’ll come here looking for ‘em,” Joel tells you, “but somethin’ tells me we won’t have to worry about that.”

“So, no fire then?”

Joel shakes his head, nodding toward the few camping lateens left haphazardly on a desk, “We’ll use those tonight, better to be safe.”

He would have to explain this to Tommy when he saw him, put the town back on high alert for a while and go to sleep every night worrying that someone was going to snatch his family away again—snatch Ellie away, snatch you away. It was another problem, another stressor, but none of that was new to him.

“I’m gonna do a walkthrough,” He tells you, cocking his gun loudly, a little unnecessarily in your opinion, but his anger is still there, radiating off of him, “keep your gun out and shoot at anything you see that isn’t me.”

He doesn’t want you letting your guard down, which is why his apprehension to relax is valid. You nod quietly, sinking in on yourself as you take a seat on the old, torn up couch.

He’s gone for an hour or two, the sun nearly nonexistent outside now, lamps scattered around the room and bathing you in a low light, gun still clutched in your hand on your lap, safety off.

Joel knocks on the door shortly after, startling you to near death. You hated being jumpy like this, nothing to calm your nerves. You’d always prided yourself for being able to handle yourself in situations like that and you couldn’t explain why you froze—but deep down, you knew.

It was Joel. Worry for him when he wasn’t there, what threat might be awaiting him if they could get the jump so easily on you. You stumble to your feet and pull the door open, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the mattress in Joel’s grip.

“Tommy must’ve moved it last time—he doesn’t like sleepin’ when he’s on watch down here.”

You open the door wider, letting him inside and taking the opposite end to help with the weight, settling the mattress up against the edge of the couch and shifting the folded blankets down onto the surface, crouching down onto your knees with a soft sigh as you spread out the blankets.

You don’t realize Joel is watching you until you chance a glance up his way, wondering if this was the moment he’d let you have and berate you until he was blue in the face.

You’ve witnessed it once, with Jesse. He’d nearly risked Ellie’s life on a patrol that should’ve been easy—he still seems a little jumpy in Joel’s presence, rightfully so.

“Look at me,” Joel beckons, adding your name in a demand to grab your attention, “you with me?”

And it breaks you, what little patience you have left in your body.

“Yes, Joel. I am right fucking here.” You snip back at him, throwing the blankets down and standing to full height. You’re tired of his act, hidden behind his pathetic excuse of a kind guise, wanting him to say what he really felt. When he looked at you earlier, hovering over that man’s body, all you could see was contempt. He was upset with you—upset that you allowed yourself to be in danger, ignoring his lectures time and time again, that you weren’t mindful of your surroundings, upset with himself that he wasn’t there from the beginning.

Joel looks offended, like maybe you wounded his ego or something similar, his hand held up defensively.

“You’re the one over there shakin’ like a leaf,” Joel accuses, “I told you to keep your damn gun out, told you to be careful—don’t you try and take that anger out on me.”

“Jesus, Joel,” You cry out in desperation, “careful? Two against one and you’re telling me I wasn’t careful? Fuck you.”

You toss your gun and knife sheath aside for good measure, stripping out of your coat and extra winter layers, his hardened gaze stuck on you.

“I’ll take first watch.” You tell him flatly, reaching for the lantern on the table beside the door that led to the rest of the plant, a maze of halls and room. “I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

Joel knows that if he lets you leave, there is no repairing what little relationship you had—it would return to a tolerance rather than anything else. His hand wraps around your closed fist, forcing the latent back down as he moves to stand in front of you, head tilted your way.

“I’m sorry,” He apologizes, though it feels unsympathetic coming from him, and he’s blaming it on his tone, “okay?”

“It doesn’t matter, Joel.” You tell him adamantly. “You said it, it’s done. I’ll let Tommy know you don’t think I can handle myself anymore and you can keep running patrols without me. That’s what you want, right?”

Joel scoffs.

Say no, please say no.

“What are you getting at?” Joel challenges.

“The first time I make a mistake—one that almost kills me and all you can think to do is shift the blame on me? That somehow I’m responsible for not handling it myself?”

He shifts slightly, jaw clenching as he moves his outstretched hand to rest against the doorframe, blocking you from the exit.

“You never let me go alone,” You remind him, “why all the sudden today?”

Joel doesn’t answer. He knows why. He trusted you, trusted that you could handle it. Joel knows you’re not the one to blame, but he can’t battle with his internal guilt of putting you in that position, letting it come out in bursts of wrath.

You lean in slightly, his eyes mindful of your body language, shoving a finger into his chest roughly.

“Why isn’t it your fault, huh?” You ask, baiting a reaction out of him before you can’t stand the look on his face, mouth shut tight as he his eyes trace your movements, the soft brown irises now an encroaching darkness.

You scoff, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” It’s a snide comment that has you feeling a surge of confidence that you’ve finally rendered him speechless. “Don’t act like you haven’t been bothered being around me all day—if the kiss bothered you that much you should’ve just told Tommy to switch out. Now, move.”

Joel doesn’t budge.

Now your patience is wearing then, reaching to shove his forearm out of the way, but he’s as solid as steel and doesn’t take too lightly to your touch, gripping your wrist and pulling it back in a harsh grip, one that has your face grimacing in pain.

“Say that again.” Joel demands, his voice shaking you to your core, the sickeningly dark turn it’s taken.

You double down, “Move, Joel.” You say through clenched teeth, yanking your arm back to no avail.

You hadn’t realized how wound up you both were until now, the shared frustration and pique boiling over the edge.

You yank away again, forcing a quick change of position as Joel retaliates, shoving you against the table by the door, your legs buckling from the force of it as he towers over you.

“I apologized,” He glared at you through hooded eyes, chin tilting down slightly, “it’s your turn.”

You scoff softly, never making a move to push him away, his legs crowding between yours as they spread involuntarily, the only thing keeping you upright being the grip he had on your arm, leaving you hanging by a thread. If he let go, you’d surely collapse.

“Why don’t you tell me why you really switched patrols?” Joel suggests, tilting his head in interest. “Don’t lie to me—I’ll know.”

There was a side of you that couldn’t stand being around him, his proximity driving you crazy. But, there’s a bigger part that yearned to be around him, by his side—it was never like this at first, but you found yourself unable to escape him lately.

You want to blame him for letting you in, letting his guard down—but you can’t. It wasn’t just his fault. It wasn’t just yours.

You craved each other. Plain and simple.

“You tell me,” You counter, “I’m not the one keeping you from leaving.”

It snaps Joel—that feeling he’s been burying away all day. He’s nearly insatiable over it.

He trades his grip on your wrist for your face, too quick to counter before he’s gripping your chin again like earlier, but under completely different pretenses, your mouth lolling open at the force and pulling a soft grunt from your lips, eyes narrow in defiance.

“You are so goddamn stubborn,” He complains, eyes scanning over your face slowly, “—and you know exactly what you’re doing.”

You laugh bitterly, a choked gasp.

He's never touched you like this, but intensity is all too familiar.

His grip was tight, your mind flashing back to the first time he held you, though involuntarily. There was intention now, meaning—and you needed him to give in to it.

You blink once, slow, eyes staying shut for a moment longer than needed. There’s a soft sigh that leaves your nose, ghosts over Joel’s outstretched palm. When you open your eyes, there’s little left of the Joel you’ve become accustomed to.

“We’ve got all night, Joel.” His nostrils flare in warning, “Go on—do it.”

He won’t. Joel wouldn’t let himself. You’re waiting for the moment he lets you go, shuffles away and tucks himself into a corner for the rest of the night. But, it never comes.

Instead he’s surging forward, tilting your chin up roughly and forcing his lips against your own, nothing like the delicate kiss shared the night prior. There’s no gradual increase, no soft sighs and hesitant touches. He doesn’t want that and neither do you.

You open your mouth in an airy gasp of breath and Joel jumps on the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips, into your mouth, pressing against your own until you finally, finally return his touch. He feels the heat, the weight of your hand where it rests against the seam of his jeans, fingers resting over his belt and your knuckles pressing into the firmness of his stomach, his breathing steady despite his eagerness to ravish you. He greedily pulls your bottom lip between his own, sucking lewdly until his teeth drag against the skin, pulling back with untamed eyes.

You narrow your eyes with intrigue, mouth quipping up into a smirk at his final break of self control, allowing himself what he wanted. There was no turning back now.

He grips your hands, yanking you upright and forcing you to turn until your hip bones are hitting the blunt edge of the table, his movements haste but pointed, his palms rubbing over the soft curve of your hips, pressing underneath the material of your shirt and squeezing the skin.

“Joel—“ You sing softly, your tone mocking.

“Keep quiet,” He warns, pulling you back suddenly and against his front, the heaviness of his cock pressing into your backside, strained through his jeans and craving a selfish need for release—it’s been too long for him and he’s bursting at the seams, “don’t wanna hear your smartass remarks.”

And you can hear the restraint in his voice, drowning in his thoughts—he wanted to ravish and pull you apart, not thinking about how he would put you back together and make you whole again. You shift back against him, a greedy rut of your ass against the stiff denim and he’s grunting under the weight of it.

“Get ‘em down,” He instructs, yanking at your jeans briefly before his touch is gone, hands working swiftly at his own.

The rustle of his belt is deafening, metal clanging against something solid, the quick shuffle of his zipper and the shifting off fabric. You rise without hesitation, unbuttoning your jeans and wiggling them far enough down your hips until they hit your knees, underwear following roughly as Joel shoved them down impatiently, bunching your shirt higher up your back as he rubs his fingers over your cunt sleazily.

He’s waiting a beat, eyes examining you from behind and looking for any sign that you didn’t want this—it never comes. In fact, the subtle push back into his fingers is enough, two thick digits sinking inside slowly.

You gasp ruggedly, feeling the immediate difference in fullness to your own, the touch of someone else that you haven’t felt in so long. Joel is desperate, but so are you.

You turn your face to the side, cheek pressed against the hard surface, fingers gripping either side of the table and you let yourself melt into his touch, his fingers working you over steadily, his other hand squeezing at the soft globes of your ass, following the insistent and impatient wiggle of your hips as you seek more friction, more fullness until Joel can’t stand it anymore, palm coming down in a rough slap to your backside to still you, a warning.

“You treat all the ladies like this?”

He should’ve known you wouldn’t give yourself over this easy, his stifled chuckle coming from behind, low and dark, until he’s quickly switching back to menacing, his fingers increasing with speed and intensity, dragging a third finger along your center and pressing it in smoothly, forcing a lewd moan from your lips as you grip the edges of the table harder, willing to strain your neck for a look his way, a glimpse at his face to see how this was affecting him. You could only imagine, his groans stifled behind heavy puffs of air forced through his nose when you forced yourself back against his cock, inadvertently rubbing yourself against the length of his shaft.

“Fine, keep acting like you hate me.”

The loss of fingers is sudden, fingers fisting into your hair with a sudden fierceness as he pulls you upright, your hands grasping for purchase. He tilts your head back, allowing you the smallest glimpse of his face as he looks forward, talking to you but never allowing you the eye contact you desperately craved.

“You’re playing a dangerous game here, sweetheart.”

You shake your head in disbelief, lifting your hand up to wind into his own overgrown hair, curling wildly. You pull taut, reveling in the grunt that slips past his lips.

“You don’t scare me, Joel.”

He never could. You’ve seen all sides of him, the good and the bad—there was nowhere left for him to hide.

But, he should, he thinks. You should be terrified.

“I don’t remember sayin’ I wanted to hear your voice,” Joel reprimands, “can’t fuckin’ listen today, can you?”

He turns his head toward you slightly, catching the playful glint in your eyes, the type that was asking to be pushed. Begging for it.

“Depends,” You smile, releasing the rough grip on his hair to slide between your bodies, cupping his cock from where he’s tucked it over his briefs, also pushed haphazardly down his hips, “are you going to fuck me, Joel?”

His name shouldn’t sound like that, falling from your lips in such a circumstance, but it drags a rabidness out of him he’s never felt before.

“Say it again.” Joel demands—and you already know.

“Joel,” Your voice is sultry, dangerous, adding a squeeze of your hand to his length, thumb rubbing over the head of his cock, smoothing the slick of precum over the slit, “you started this, too afraid to finish it?”

Joel smirks at that, a smug expression crossing his face as releases the grip on your hair, shoving your hand away and gripping himself at the base, removing his fingers from inside you and replacing them with a slow press of his cock, watching your expression fall lax, mouth hung open in a silent release of pleasure.

“You underestimate me,” He shakes his head in amusement, his own brow furrowing at your snug hold on him, walls clenching around him involuntarily, “Now, why don’t we teach you a lesson?”

You nod numbly, gasping loudly at the sudden change in pace, body shifting to lean forward and Joel’s hands slotting against your body, one secured firmly on your hip, the other guiding you back with a steady pressure against your shoulder, immediately blanking your mind, whatever rude quip you had poised was failing you.

“So — goddamn — stubborn,” He echoes from earlier, punctuating each word with a snap of his hips, no restraint, divulging in the pleasure both of you have been seeking for a while, “don’t fuckin’ listen, always testin’ me.”

You release a soft cry, reaching an arm behind you to squeeze at his side, tightening with every sharp thrust, the head of his cock nudging something deep inside of you, the feeling coiling in your gut despite yourself. It’s a dull ache, mewling desperately when he forgoes his hold on your hip to keep your arm stuck, thick fingers wrapping around your wrist to hold you steady, eyes shifting to watch you sink onto him with an unrestrained eagerness.

“Nothin’ to say now?” Joel pesters you, thumb rubbing the tender spot at the base of your neck, the start of your spine between your shoulder blades—your silence lingers, at least in words, your pathetic noises keeping you busy.

He feels like he’s finally got the upper hand with you, he just never realized this was what it would take.

“Fuck—fuck, Joel.” You say through a stuttered sigh.

Joel grimaces from behind you, that longing feeling of release creeping on him, too long without it and he feels pathetic for it, but you—the sounds, the view.

Oh, the view. It’s your neediness for it that sucks him in, how eager your cunt is to take hold, the wet squelch growing louder, your slick soaking the base of his cock.

“Why’d you kiss me, huh?” Joel questions firmly, trying to draw the truth out in the heat of the moment, your movements growing desperate as you orgasm creeped in, blunt nails digging into his skin. He hissed, pulling you in tight, trading the hand on your shoulder for a squeeze to your chest, palm the mound of your breast through your shirt—still enough contact to drive you insane.

“Wanted to—wanted to see how you would react.” You admit, but there was also that selfish need. You kissed him because you wanted to—and you knew he did too.

Joel huffs in response, not fully believing you.

“Try again,” Joel assesses the way your body tenses when his hand shifts down, pressing over his fingers over your clit and driving you over the edge in an instant, your body arching into his touch as you come, a broken moan falling from your lips, “why?”

“Doesn’t matter—you kissed me back,” You argue tiredly, “You wanted it just as much as I did. Clearly.”

And in a way, it’s all the confession he needs.

Joel growls lowly, pulling out abruptly to grip himself, squeezing himself at the head to delay his orgasm until it fades, face scrunching up tightly in anguish.

“What—what are you doing?”

Joel is already tucking himself back into his pants by the time you turn around, his expression stiff and avoiding your gaze.

There it was again, the avoidance.

You don’t know why it bothers you so much, but it does.

“I’ll take the first watch,” He says, shuffling backwards slightly, “get dressed.”

You stare back blanky, at a loss for words.

“Did you hear me?” He asks bluntly, brow now permanently furrowed in frustration.

“But—you didn’t—“

The silence lingers, your head tilting in question. Your expression softens suddenly, pulling weakly at your jeans to secure them back over your hips.

“Get some sleep, we’ll head out early tomorrow.”

You still had to send a bigger team to scout the place thoroughly, a distant memory now.

You’re so fucking confused. A few minutes prior he was lost in the moment, though still wound up and tense—but it was the biggest break in demeanor he’s ever given you, the most he’s allowed himself to touch you, be close to you.

Joel didn’t want to admit it, but he didn’t deserve it. He was trying to convince himself it was a mistake, that this was a fluke.

He clears his throat awkwardly, hesitating for a brief moment as his hand hovers over the doorknob before he’s leaving you alone. Again.

Joel handles himself later that night, long after you’ve gone asleep, a permanent frown on your face when he peeks his head in before he’s traveling down the hall to a separate room, cupping himself in his palm eagerly, groaning out your name as he comes.

Somehow, it makes him feel even worse.

The week that follows is tumultuous.

Tommy swears you and Joel off of patrol for a while, tells you that as soon as he has you two alone, gathering the full story of the attack, but somehow—Joel always weasels his way out.

He’s gone most of the daylight, leaving you to fill your days around Jackson, helping wherever it was needed. And when it wasn’t, you were stuck inside your home, watching the snow melt from the ground, only to be covered with a new blanket of it the next day.

Joel always comes home late, heavy feet scuffling down the sidewalk after dark and entering his house, Ellie having already turned in for the night. His bedroom light comes on a few minutes later and it never shuts off, his shadow crossing the window every now and then.

He can’t sleep, but neither can you.

At first you blamed it on the bodies—but none of that was new to you. You’ve killed before, animals, infected, raiders, even a few bystanders in a situation long ago, nothing they’ve done to end up the way they did.

You followed a bad group for too long, but eventually you found Jackson—things were different here. Joel’s told you about the horrible things he’s done to survive, assures you it wasn’t anything you could blame yourself for.

This world made people rabid. It made people afraid.

There were people, much like Joel, that used to terrify you. But this Joel, he was lost and worn down, weathered by the world and by age. He’s afraid to let himself indulge, enjoy—you saw it that night, his hesitancy to look at you afterwards.

And that ache that lingered for a few days, it made you realize that you were missing something you couldn’t have. It was clear on Joel’s face that he’d made a mistake. With you.

Joel looks bitter the week that follows, you having convinced Tommy to let you back out, assuring him that nothing was wrong. He’s hesitant, rightfully so, but you’re too convincing.

You even offer to run patrol with him, or Jesse—literally anyone but Joel, who seemed obviously disgruntled by your presence that morning.

Tommy clocks it immediately, swiping a finger between you both, “You know what—I’m sending you two out together.” It’s dreadful. “Take the lodge again,” and Tommy waits for everyone to part ways, except for Joel and you, before he’s eyeing you both down, “work out whatever argument you both have going—or you’re both coming off patrols until I feel like putting you back on.”

Joel grumbles at that, adjusting the thick gloves over his hand and shaking his head with a look down. Tommy seems slightly apologetic when you lock eyes, but it’s necessary. You were too scared to admit it to yourself, but it’s exactly what you needed.

You can’t be bothered to stay still, wandering around the lodge aimlessly, picking up some scattered trash, sifting through the small library that had accumulated over time, worn and slightly rained over books, the pages stiff and discolored.

Joel’s cheeks are still tinged pink from his last watch, arms crossed over his stomach as he glares at the small fire burning in the fire pit, crackling softly in the silence.

He’s being insistently stubborn, somehow managing to avoid any exchange of words in the past eight hours, not giving you his usual orders, whether delivered in a clipped tone or a kind one—it’s just nothing.

And considering how talkative he was last time you ran patrol with him, you found it to be bullshit.

You grab a random book, large and bulky and make your way toward him—he sees you coming but he ignores it, the book hitting solid against his chest as you force it there, making a snide comment to rattle him.

“To entertain yourself, since you’re so miserable,” Your eyes drag over his face, his eyes lilting up your way, the fire melting them into a warm, honey brown, “and you won’t even have to worry about finishing.”

He grabs your wrist suddenly, thinking that he might pull you toward him, but he tosses it away, throwing the book to the side too. You sigh through your nose, frustrated.

“What’s it gonna take, Joel?”

There’s an ire of defeat in your voice, a willingness to do just about anything to put this to rest.

“Do I need to leave Jackson, is that it?”

That gets his attention, his gaze narrowing fiercely.

“Don’t say that shit,” He bites, “you got a death wish or something?”

“Well, you clearly don’t want me around, so who cares?”

Joel bites at the inside of his cheek—he didn’t agree with that.

“Give me something, Joel. Anything.” You plead, hand accidentally brushing his thigh as you fall into the spot beside him, imitating the closeness he craved but couldn’t bring himself to ask for, not again.

He tenses under your touch, fist curling at his side, noticing how you pointedly keep your grip there.

“Sweetheart.” It’s a warning.

But, it’s the biggest sign he’s given you. There was still a fondness there, lingering behind wall after wall that he’s built up.

He doesn’t move your hand either, your fingers dragging up the inside of his thigh, along the seam and stopping where his jeans creased at his groin, palm settling over the curve of his thigh.

“So, do we work things out or not?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper, talking like you might scare him away.

And, yeah—Joel wasn’t big on hashing things out, confessing his thoughts or emotions and conveying them into words, that was never a surprise to you. But, you needed equal ground.

You weren’t looking for a confession or some dramatic change in pace with your relationship—whatever you could classify it as. A partnership, maybe?

You need something mutually beneficial, something that was give and take on both ends.

You squeeze at the junction of his thigh, taut muscle giving way as Joel shows little signs of being affected. His eyes follow though, acutely aware of your intention.

This was you returning the favor.

This was you cornering him, like he had you—if he didn’t want it he would’ve pushed you away ages ago, but he does want it. He needs it.

His jaw flexes under the weight of your grip, watching you move slowly to sink to the ground, thankful that this floor wasn’t nearly as dirty as most places. Joel shifts slightly to accommodate you, thighs spreading open to box you in, hands coming to rest down at his side, flat against the cushion.

You push at his coat lightly, forcing it away from his chest until he gets the idea, stripping himself the rest of the way, his unbuttoned flannel falling open.

You work quietly, eyes flicking up toward him occasionally to check in, make sure he was still with you. He’s mesmerized now, despite himself. Locked in.

He doesn’t stop your hands when they reach for the zipper of his jeans, unbuttoning and loosening them in one fluid motion, tugging at his jeans until, again, he catches on, forcing them down just enough.

It’s surprising how in tune he is with you despite how hard he tried to keep his distance, hoping that one big mistake would fade away—but frankly, it hadn’t left either of your minds since then.

“Touch yourself.” You command softly, an amused aspect to your voice.

Joel balks slightly, his bewilderment something to enjoy.

“What?” You ask innocently, “Is that too personal? Sorry–I should’ve considered that when I let you fuck me over a table.”

His nostrils flare in annoyance, but he listens. Thank god. He slips his fingers under the band of his underwear, palming himself lightly under the fabric, leaving you to lean back onto your heels, enjoying the lazy show he put on for you.

He had nothing to be ashamed of.

His fingers roll against the taut skin of his sack, drifting upwards over his shaft until he finally has the courage to shift his underwear to sit snug under his balls, watching your eyes drift from his cock to his face. Joel’s mouth parted briefly, rubbing his thumb over the head, glistening with a sheen of precum, your hands itching to touch him.

He knows it will lead to nothing but bad outcomes, but he’s indulging in it. Allowing it.

“Come here,” He’s using his free hand to beckon you forward, leaving his palm extending for you to lean into, resting your chin there gently, “open your mouth.”

You obliges, sweetening the deal by sticking your tongue out, earning a gruff laugh in response, softening your gaze on him. There were plenty of other ways to resolve things, but this was so much easier.

He slides the head over your tongue in a deft slap, slipping it past your lips slowly before he’s pulling back and repeating the process again, watching as you eagerly follow his movements until you’re bordering on impatience.

“Don’t think you have the upper hand here, sweetheart.” Joel says, eyebrow quirking up in amusement at your annoyed expression. “You want it?”

You tilt your head at him, eyes narrowing. “You want me to beg for it?”

Joel chuckles at the thought, shaking his head. “I didn’t pin you as the type.”

Cheeky Joel was something to admire, rolling your eyes and shoving his hands away, allowing yourself to take over fully and leaving him with nothing to do but watch, rolling your tongue around the head and through the slit, mouth enveloping the heady taste of him.

Joel was always good at keeping his composure, even now–but you were looking to break him down, nothing but a mumbling, begging mess of himself, even for a brief moment.

You take him in slowly, soft and parted lips pressing down the length of him, the heavy weight of his cock pressing against your tongue, cheeks, until he’s nudging the back of your throat and you swallow out of reflex.

His knuckles flex, turning white as he curls them inwards and digs into the cheap cushion, the stitching protesting under his grip.

There he is.

You make a small noise, a soft bubble of laughter out of pure enjoyment, pulling back with a showy drag of your tongue up his shaft until you’re sinking down again, burying your nose in the short, trimmed thatch of hair at the base of his cock, ignoring that telltale feeling to let up, breathing deep through your nose.

“Goddamnit,” He curses, the hand not gripping the cushion rising slightly before slamming back down in a fist, the material taking most of the blow, “you gotta ease up on me.”

He doesn’t add the please, but you can see it’s implied.

You smile sweetly when you pull away, a thin line of spit connecting your lips to the wet head of his cock, stroking him languidly to keep busy, running your thumb along the thick vein that traced along the underside.

“Don’t think so,” It’s sickening, tone laced in sugar and daring him—for what, you weren’t sure, “—more?”

Joel nods quickly, widening his stance as he sunk further into the couch, your hands bracing against his stomach as he filtered his fingers through your hair, framing it away from your face as you continued, driving him to near insanity with how easily you would take him down over and over again, stopping to tease your tongue over the head of his cock, realizing just how sensitive that part of him was.

He grunts on a particular rough pass, yanking your hair back and allowing a centimeter of reprice as your lips barely brush the aching tip, “You can stop, sweetheart. It’s alright.”

It feels like a punishment, not allowing himself to seek that relief—he sees it as a barrier, that by not allowing it, things won’t ever reach a point of no return. Not that this wasn’t already dangerous enough—it’s a ridiculous rule, but Joel follows it. He’d give you as much pleasure as you asked and then some, if that’s what you wanted.

And it clicks in your head slowly, his cock pulsing dully in your hands, begging for it.

No. He wasn’t doing that again.

“No,” You echo your thoughts, “Give me your hand.”

“Darlin’—“

“Joel, shut up.” You demand, gripping his open palm and replacing it with your own, “I want you to come in my mouth.”

Joel looks conflicted, eyebrow pinching in a mix of pleasure and regret, his mind blanking the moment you press a gentle kiss to the head, pressing your tongue flat again and moving his hand in tandem until he starts to give in, his breaths becoming shorter, more strangled.

“That’s it,” You mumble a praise through his haziness—he doesn’t know how to take it, the feeling so foreign to him, “take control, Joel.”

His eyes fall shut briefly, forcing focused breaths through his nose as his free hand grips your face, keeping you still as he strokes himself roughly, that last string of self control breaking under your gaze when he tilts his head down to look at you, soft gaze staring back at him and he’s coming over your tongue and into your mouth with a warm rush, the taste of him overwhelming your senses as he squeezes up to the tip, milking every last bit of himself into your mouth before he’s pulling away and gently guiding your mouth closed.

“Shit—“ He groans quietly, cupping himself tenderly as he pulls away, watching you swallow and tracing a trace of him at the corner of your lip back into your mouth with your thumb, staring him down intently, “you’re fuckin’ greedy, you know that?”

You shrug proudly, rising to your feet slowly, the ache from sitting crouched so long singing a protest from your joints.

“Add it to the list,” You snark at him, taking a casual seat beside him as he tucks himself away, your hands working carefully to roll up your jacket and tuck it under your head as you recline, laying down on your side, “right?”

Joel scoots away to accommodate you, looking perplexed at how quickly you’ve changed your demeanor, yawning until your eyes squeeze shut.

“Stop staring and get some sleep, Joel.” You gripe, reaching blindly to ball his coat up and toss it at his chest, “Problem solved, we’re even now.”

Joel puffs through his lips, ignoring that lingering feeling as you very quickly forced the distance between him and you—a payback to his own previous actions. It hurts, stings, and now he realizes what that meant and why that frown never left your face before, not even on the ride home or long thereafter.

He’s fucked.

To say things escalate is an understatement.

The two of you never actually talk, avoiding all aspects of emotional vulnerability in turn for your usual interactions—small conversations, jokes, driving each other up the wall with the constant close proximity due to your assigned jobs. But, now there’s more.

There's the Joel that wants and takes, stops holding back his desires and gives you just about every possible orgasm from then on. This Joel is insatiable if he allows himself to be. He’s downright filthy and terrifying when it mattered and he found that the more you seemed to give yourself over, the easier it was for him to stop worrying so much.

And he seems lighter nowadays, happier—though, it was still Joel. There was only so much to enjoy, his smiles few and far between. However, that smirk, laced in a smugness he carried with himself when he was alone with you—it had become a regular sight to see and something you craved when you’d finally get him alone.

It never starts off slow. Joel’s always itching by the time rotation leads you his way. You two keep it close to your chest like a secret–saving times like this strictly for patrols.

Joel doesn’t even wait sometimes, cornering you the moment the horses are tied up, bags set aside, crowding up behind you as he wrangles your jeans down, along with his, and presses himself inside you with a deep grunt, pressing you up against whatever hard surface was near–it didn’t matter, the ferocity of his thrusts clouding your mind.

It’s punishment for how well you tease him on the rides there, thighs spread wide over the saddle and always riding just a few inches ahead, leaning forward enough that you can stick out your ass, Joel’s eyes drawing toward you immediately.

It was easy.

“You like messin’ with me, don’t you?” He chastises, palming at the inside of your thigh in desperation, pulling you wider and wider for him until it aches and you have nothing to do but take it. “Fuckin’ with my head?”

You laugh breathily, head thrown back against his shoulder as you moan wantonly, thick fingers bearing down on your throat, keeping you tight against him. “It’s not my fault–fault you can’t control it.” You reply innocently, stumbling over your words when his fingers press against your core.

And it’s often like this. Fast, hurried, no care or soft, caressing touches involved. It’s simpler that way.

But, eventually, Joel breaks down–little by little.

A week or two passes by and Joel seems desperate.

“What did I just say?” He seethed, voice laced with annoyance, “Keep your eyes open.”

He’s right there, his hand, his fingers, buried deep inside your cunt. Joel’s on edge again, having ordered you to strip down naked while he remained completely clothed, the cold air prickling your skin like this, the lingering days of Winter coming to a close. It’s dark here, wet and mucky, the only barrier between you and the floor is an old blanket that Joel had stowed away in his saddle. He spent the last two weeks dealing with a copious amount of shit–killing more infected than they’re used to, dealing with mundane problems around Jackson that shouldn’t be his problems, but in being Tommy’s brother, he took a piece of the burden off of him.

You gasp sharply, feeling the force of Joel’s grip as he orders your eyes open, an impossible feat in the moment with how easily he’s able to bring you near the edge with just his fingers–something he found out fairly quickly.

“Joel–Joel, please,” You beg–it’s new for you, something you don’t do often, “let me–fuck–”

“Hmm, sweetheart?” Joel questions, igniting a fire in your belly that won’t go out. He likes you this way, clawing at him, nearly on the brink of tears over how bad you need him. “Spit it out.”

You’re hastily shoving him away, brow pinched in determination as you shove him down, working desperately at his buckle, his pants, working them down with little care or finesse, gripping the length of him and sinking down in one quick movement.

It punches a moan out of Joel’s chest that you’re not used to, his head slamming pack against his bag, the makeshift pillow he’s got stuffed behind his head as he grips your hips tight, eyes locked on the center where you’re both connected, grunting with the hurried bounce of your hips, losing what little patience you had left as you chase your orgasm, shoving his shirt up his chest to feel him–all soft, tanned skin under your fingertips as you brace yourself against him, using the surface for leverage.

He can’t stand to watch you this way, tits jostling with every hurried thrust, blunt nails clawing at his abdomen, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, again. He likes you facing away because he can hide his own inflections, how well you drive him wild–you’ve never cared, especially not now.

Joel grunts raggedly, forcing out a hoarse whisper, “You’re fuckin’ killing me here.”

A soft laugh bubbles in your chest, head lolling forward and eyes opening to look at him.

“Mmm, eyes on me, Joel.” You beckon, his slow gaze trailing upwards, nodding in response to his wrecked state, hair sticking up wildly, teeth grazing his bottom lip gently. “God–it feels so good, doesn’t it?

Joel nods absently, his hands slipping from your hips to cup your ass, squeezing the flesh in his hands, aware of how your touch burns a trail up toward his face, coaxing his bottom lip to freedom, grazing your thumb over the soft tissue, soothing the ache.

You ignore how easily he takes the pad of it over his tongue and lets you press the digit beyond his lips, how willing he’s being to let you take what you want.

He pulls out before he comes, spilling into his hand to contain the mess, leaving you enraptured with his expression as his face pulls up in anguish, the same expression he has when he’s bothered or annoyed but edged with something more, his breath catching.

He rolls you back over soon after, replacing his hand with his mouth, hot tongue lapping into your folds and tasting, savoring, the mix of you two tangled together and he devours until you come, hand yanking hard at his hair.

April comes quickly—it means longer patrols, more problems out in the field with the infected less dormant, and Jackson coming alive more often at night, everyone enjoying the weather after a bitter winter.

You find yourself at Tommy’s doorstep one night.

Maria had been planning this dinner for a few weeks, something special for Tommy’s birthday, and somehow you got roped into going.

It was Ellie.

Joel was the least bit surprised when you showed up at the front door that night, dressed up nicer than he’s had the privilege to witness. You’re smiling, a flowy dress cutting off mid-thigh, forgoing the usual sweater with the air warming up, leaving your shoulders bare.

Joel nods in greeting when Ellie peeks around his shoulder, beaming at the sight out of you.

“Thank god,” She groans, “Those two are insufferable together,” Tommy and Joel, “—they’ve been arm wrestling each other in the backyard for the last hour.”

Your eyebrows raise, looking over at Joel. He’s got the hint of a smile on his face, looking down at Ellie before he’s shoving her away with a palm to the crown of her head, his arm flexing under the fitted cotton shirt he wore, muscle on full display.

It’s easy to forget how strong Joel is under all those layers, but it’s even more apparent now with how often you find him stripped down underneath you, behind you, watching him become more and more comfortable around you as the weeks pass, finally giving in to whatever it was that you two were indulging in.

It was mostly sex—a means for release and often a cure for boredom and neither of you minded it much, but there was something lingering in the shadows.

You were good at ignoring it, apparently so was Joel.

He leads you to the backyard with a silence you’ve become accustomed to, and spends most of the dinner laughing at Ellie’s terrible and poorly timed jokes. It’s such a sight, seeing how effortlessly Ellie can break that man down, and you realize just how deeply he cared for her, even if she wasn’t his daughter.

He glances at you frequently, a silent check-in.

You were fine—a little tired, maybe?

You excuse yourself to the bathroom with a flick of your hair behind your ear and a whine in protest from your chair as it scrapes the floor, leaving the rest of the party in the backyard while you traverse inside.

It isn’t long before there’s a knock behind the closed door and that unsettling creak, only to be met face to face with Joel. He looks relaxed, placated, his face falling into a natural smirk.

And based on the drink in his hand, slightly inebriated.

“Lost?” You tease, fixing yourself idly in the mirror, watching as Joel crossed the threshold and nudged the door close behind him. “Joel–”

“Don’t worry, darlin’.” Joel soothes, “Tommy thinks I’m using the one upstairs, everyone’s outside.”

You don’t need him to explain to know what he’s implying. But, for him to want you here–now? That was different. You hate how it made your heart skip, realizing how willing he was to risk this bond of secrecy because he just couldn’t get you out of his head.

His glass slides against the countertop, the soft scuff of his boots grazing the floor as he moves in behind you, causing you to pull away slightly as he raises a hand, brushing your strap down your shoulder and mouthing the skin there, “You’re drunk.” You muse, earning a subtle shake of his head.

“Not at all,” Joel denies, “can’t be in a good mood?”

You sigh at his touch, opposite hand grazing under your dress and over the skin of your stomach, pinky finger grazing the hem of your underwear.

“When are you ever?”

Joel ignores your snark, “Don’t act like you don’t want it, sweetheart.”

He can feel the heat radiating off your body, the wetness that coats his finger as he dips it under the fabric and down the center of your cunt, “Joel,” You stress, “there’s people outside, we can’t.”

“Don’t worry about that,” He says softly, “Ellie’s gone home, Tommy and Maria are busy with a neighbor–if you want me to stop, tell me. You don’t need to make excuses.”

Your silence is all the answer he needs.

“Been needin’ this all day,” He admits, cupping your mound roughly, shifting to press the hard line of his chest against your back, pulling you taut, his idle fingers playing with the soft material of your dress, “This is cute–it’s a nice dress.”

You roll your eyes, though fondly. He can’t see it, face buried into your neck as he mouths along the skin, slipping the straps of your dress down until your tits spring free, nipples pebbling under the cool air.

“Are we talking or fucking?” You ask impatiently, pointedly rubbing your ass back against his body, earning a dark chuckle in response.

“I never said anything about fucking,” Joel points out smugly, “but since you’re askin.”

It’s the impatiences that brings you to take matters into your own hands, sliding your dress up high enough that Joel can yank your underwear down, undoing his pants with one hand and freeing himself hastily, sliding into you roughly, forcing a strained gasp from your throat.

Joel shushes you, covering your mouth with his hand.

“Careful, these walls ain’t soundproof.” He warns, his forceful thrusts plunging you forward, eyes dragging toward the mirror image of you and him, a sight to see as he smirks from behind, admiring you openly. “Look at you.”

He grin’s devilishly, your senses overwhelmed, showing through your eyes as you squeezed them shut, only to be forced back open by Joel’s coaxing voice.

He clicks his tongue in warning, breath hot against your ear. “Open those eyes, sweetheart. Need you to see how good you’re takin’ my cock,” You whine into his hand, his brutal thrust driving you further into the countertop, ignoring the pain that spreads, overtaken by the insatiable need to come, “and how pretty you look when you come.”

Pretty. He’s never used that word before. It sends a flutter through your chest, down to your core.

It’s more intense this way, the subtle pull in Joel’s face when he drives deeper, his own orgasm on the horizon. His teeth grit hard, small peaks of it as he bares his lips back in a growl, squeezing at the soft planes of your body that he could reach, driving you over the edge with little warning, not that you needed the help.

Seeing him this way was enough. God, was it enough.

“Fuck, fuck—“ He curses a symphony, holding himself back as he gripped at the base of his shaft and you jump at the opportunity, turning to him in a haze and sinking to your knees despite the cold floor beneath you, urging him with a silent plea as you open your mouth to him, nodding subtly.

That’s all it takes for him, a few quick strokes of his cock and he’s spilling into your mouth, head hung back at how intensely it hits him, the skin of his neck straining over the muscle, his mouth open in a soundless grunt.

Luckily, Joel is the one that takes care of the goodbyes. You wouldn’t be able to face Tommy or Maria after such an instance, adjusting yourself back to a semi-presentable state in the bathroom, with some of Joel’s help as he sets your dress back over your shoulders.

It shouldn’t feel endearing, not in this context. But, it does.

“Wait for me out front,” He tells you, buckling his pants, eyes connecting with yours briefly, squinting curiously, he reaches a hand forward and wiping a mix of spit and what you can only assume is his come, away from your mouth and onto his jeans, “—you had a little…”

You both laugh at the unspoken, rubbing a tired hand over your face as you nod, shoving him away playfully.

Things are vastly different when you’re facing him on your doorstep now, his lingering presence a hint at what he didn’t have the courage to ask.

“Stay for a while?” You suggest softly, nodding toward your front door.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” Joel agrees.

You never realize how much Joel likes to talk about music until he’s finally found himself relaxed, your body reclined into his open, outstretched legs as he adjusts himself sideways. It doesn’t feel intimate, no—but it feels different. Joel rests a hand over your shoulder, massaging the tight muscle with a steady grip. His voice is nice, soothing.

You fall asleep like this, but Joel is already gone by morning.

By June, things are confusing. Good, but…confusing.

Joel and you have a routine by now—off days were usually spent at your house, occasionally Joel’s (but rarely) and only when Ellie wasn’t around, the days that were spent patrolling were fairly normal, aside from the insistent touching you both allowed yourself now, always leading to something neither of you could be bothered to stop.

Joel’s vocal about things now—what he likes, what he wants, but he’s also holding back. You can see it when things get a little too intense, hands grabbing at clothes, pulling each other in with a rabidness that neither of you could calm.

He doesn’t kiss you, not really. He likes to nip and bite and leave bruises where only he can see them, but he won’t allow his eyes to linger on your face for too long, your lips, too afraid things might be misconstrued.

Not that it mattered, Joel was already fucked beyond repair. He’s only ever felt this intensely once, before—his relationship with Sarah’s mom was a fling that turned into something more, but ultimately fizzled, crashed and burned. It gave him Sarah, but he never understood what heartbreak was until then, young and naive and wanting to make things work.

Clearly, they never did.

He feels that with you, though he’s smarter now. He can be cold and distant when he feels that pull in his chest, push away just enough that you won’t pry. But, you’re smart—you’re stubborn, so goddamn stubborn.

And he knows eventually, things are going to implode.

He just didn’t expect it to happen like this.

You were starting to hate the lodge, finding yourself lingering to the connecting shops down the road—a guitar store that Joel and Tommy picked through often, a small coffee shop further down the way that didn’t have much left for picking, but it helped when you felt cooped up, a nice change of scenery.

But even then, the lodge wasn't a luxury to patrol anymore. Summer is practically unbearable most days there, the building always too warm, too stuffy.

Joel had other ideas this time around, stripping you down slowly by the couch nestled against the large window that overlooked the rest of the small town surrounding it.

It was quiet here.

Joel presses you into the soft velvet cushion, his own body stripped bare, a combat to the heat, he says.

You didn’t mind. In fact, it was everything you wanted.

He’s never allowed such contact, all of you against him, the slow push of his hips inside of you has you gasping softly, fingers gripping his biceps. His place is slow, dreadful, and you both are already sweating, skin sticky and damp.

Joel doesn’t seem to mind.

He seems needier today, more willing to let the sounds slip from his mouth, his hands more curious, pulling your knee tight around his hip and gripping at the knee, head tilting up as he huffed through his nose, tense jaw, teeth clenched. He’s looking off distantly, not at you or your body, or anywhere in your vicinity really, but the torture on his face is all the same. He couldn’t hide it.

You moan softly, mumbling soft praises under your breath when he fucks into you hard enough it has you clawing at his chest, gripping tight at his shoulder, seeking whatever skin you could touch.

Eventually, your touch lingers near his face, palm spreading over his warm cheek, thumb running along the strong hook of his nose, forcing his attention down toward you. Your fingertips graze his lips gently, other hand mirror the action as you caress his face, his eyes closing under your touch.

The arm holding him upright nearly gives you, barely catching himself as his chest is pressed in tight against yours, changing the angle immensely.

That couldn't have been you’re doing—not a chance. But, you’re curious. You guide his face to your chest, his mouth sliding lazily against the skin as he pumps into you steadily. You meet his rough grunts with whispered praises, his breath becoming more frantic as time goes on until he’s finally chancing a look your way, eyes soft and pleading. He looks lost. You frown slightly, guiding his face toward yours and ghosting your own lips against his, never quite indulging, keeping the praises going with a soft whisper.

“God, you always fuck me so good,” You say in a breathy whisper against his lips, “so good, Joel.”

Joel squeezes you tighter, a sign of his impending orgasm. “Right there,” You sigh, “fuck—you feel that? Need this all the time, everyday.”

This. Him.

“Sweetheart—“ He warns, grunting into your open mouth, knees buckling as you slide your tongue against his teeth, grazing his top lip.

“Don’t—don't,” You panic, eyes connecting with him suddenly, “wanna feel you, all of you.”

It was something Joel could reflect on later, consider the consequences, because now was not that time—not with you looking at him so earnestly, pleading with him.

He slips a calculated hand between your joined bodies and has you both hanging over the edge in seconds, gasping into each other’s mouth in desperation as Joel does something completely selfish and unlike him.

He kisses you, no qualms or hesitation. It’s messy and wet but it’s him—his mouth soothes the ache as your orgasm overwhelms your body, his own chest rattling at the force, moaning pathetically against your mouth as he comes in hot, warm pulses inside of you, cunt clenching around him tight, like a glove.

Joel soon slumps against your body, all energy drained from him, your hands weaving through his hair gently, caressing the soft spot behind his ear.

He doesn’t complain, letting you hold him until his cock softens, pulling out of you with a disgruntled noise before he’s resting on the cushion beside you, back pressed tight against one side to make room for the both of you, tilting himself sideways and letting his fingers drift over your naked frame, indulging in every part of you.

“Should we talk about this?” You ask curiously, voice softened under his gaze, his fist pressed to his cheek.

There it was.

Joel looks down briefly, his touch stalling over the spot between your breasts, right over your heart.

“I’m not even sure what this is,” Joel admits, the most honest he’s ever been with anyone, “just that—I enjoy it.”

He's being honest, he's letting you in. Your heart soars.

Joel was tired of fighting it. He'd be ignorant to think you didn't see it just then or even before.

“I would classify it as fucking,” You joke lightly, “but that—that didn’t feel like fucking to me.”

Joel shakes his head, “No—it didn’t.” He agrees, grabbing for the blanket draped over the back of the couch, spreading it gently over your frame despite the heat, finger fingers grazing along the underside of your breasts, a teasing touch that has you giggling in response, his own laugh following.

It’s a beautiful sound.

“Or we don’t have to figure it out at all,” You suggest, realizing that trying to force something out of Joel was not the way to go, it never had been—he’d come to whatever conclusion he felt on his own, “that’s okay, too.”

“We can save it for another day,” Joel promises, his fingers tracing up toward your jaw, his palm resting to cup your cheek, a tender gesture that’s all new, “right now, I just wanna quiet that pretty little mouth of yours.”

He sees your eyes light up with intrigue, already tilting toward him eagerly.

“You want that?” He teases, earning an eager nod in response before he’s closing his mouth over yours again, kissing with a leisureliness he didn’t have before, “Answer me, sweetheart?”

“I’ll take whatever you give me, Joel.”

And it terrified Joel, because he’d give you anything.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

#joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfic #my writing

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haddonfieldwhore · 8 months

Text

sweet dreams - mike schmidt

mike schmidt x gn!reader

pt.1 here

warnings: a bit more angst, nightmares, brief mention of blood, i don’t know fnaf lore super well so if anything is inaccurate i apologize!! i’m trying my best

word count: 965

groaning as the alarm on your phone blared for the second time, you rubbed your eyes as you sat up in bed. reaching for the screaming device, you shut off the ringer and looked at the time - 5:45. shit, you thought, jumping up out of bed, nearly slipping as the covers tangled around your feet. mikes car was in the shop for a flat tire and you were going to be late to pick him up from work. sliding on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, you threw one of mikes hoodies over your torso and sorted out your hair quickly before grabbing you phone and bag and running out the door. the cold weather prickled at your skin and you pulled the sweater tighter around yourself, the faintest scent of mikes cologne wafting into your nose. it was only about a 10 minute drive to the pizzeria, but still you were cutting it close and didn’t want to leave your boyfriend standing outside. starting your car, you turned the heat up to keep the cold morning air off of your tired body.

as you pulled into the parking lot, you noticed mike already sitting against the building, and you checked the time - 6:01. you were relieved that you hadn’t kept him waiting outside, and pulled up next to him. he jumped slightly as the car stopped in front of him, as if he hadn’t been paying attention or had been too zoned out to see you pull up to the building. standing up and dusting off the seat of his pants, he opened the passenger door and got in.

“hey,” he sighed, giving you a small smile.

“hey mike,” you smiled warmly back, leaning over to kiss his cheek gently, the shirt stubble there tickling your face. “i mean this as someone who loves you, but you look terrible.” he laughed under his breath.

“just tired,” he brushed it off, but you took a closer look at his face. there were dark circles under his eyes, and you noticed a cut above his eyebrow that was still bleeding a little. you grabbed a tissue and gently dabbed at his temple. “what are you- ah,” he hissed and you muttered an apology.

“baby, you’re bleeding. what happened?” mike touched his fingertips lightly to the injury, inspecting the crimson stain left on his hand.

“i must’ve hit my head on something… i’m okay.” he gently held your wrist as you tried to wipe at the blood again. how could he tell you the truth; that an animatronic animal had clawed him while trying to get into his office to stuff him into a costume? “really, i’m fine. you worry too much.” you sighed, not satisfied with his answer, but nevertheless put the car back in drive and finally pulled away from the building. out of the corner of your eye you noticed your boyfriends shoulders relax slightly as you left the parking lot.

“mike you promised me if anything weird happened-“ you pleaded.

“i know i know baby. but it’s only been like 4 days since i started. i’m just … getting used to the sleep schedule still. that’s all,” he assured you, but the uncertainty in his voice wasn’t very convincing.

“you mean the not sleeping schedule? mikey you haven’t slept more than 2 hours without waking up in days.” mike shuddered, trying to cover it up with a cough, but he wasn’t fooling anyone.

“y…you’ve noticed?” he mumbled.

“of course i’ve noticed.” you sighed. “it’s hard not to when you sleep next to me.” you laughed softly.

“i’m sorry-“ he began to apologize but stopped when you gave him a sympathetic look.

“you don’t have to apologize for having nightmares.” he nodded slightly in response, before looking out the window at the passing surroundings. he leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. you focused your attention back on the road for a second before out of your peripheral vision you noticed mike drift off to sleep, his head falling over towards your side of the car before you caught him with your hand. the gentle impact shook him awake, and he looked around to figure out where he was, a scared look on his face.

“what-“

“mike you’re still in the car with me. we’re almost home,” you gently stroked his hair as he leaned into your touch again.

“sor-“ he began to apologize again. “right.”

arriving at the apartment, you parked the car and got out, walking arm in arm with mike into your flat, sliding your shoes off and dropping your bag on the floor. you locked the door behind you as mike, too tired to walk to the bedroom, flopped onto work out couch in the small living room. you checked the time on your phone - still having a few hours before you had to leave for work. you set an alarm on your phone before walking over to the couch and cuddling up next to mike, who’s arms wrapped around you tightly so you wouldn’t fall.

“don’t you have to go to work?” he mumbled in your ear, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“hmm not for a while. and i think i might take a personal day anyway,” you sighed, nuzzling closer to him and you felt yourself drifting off to sleep. “if you have any nightmares just wake me up okay? anything that’s trying to get you has to go through me first,” you promised, and mike chuckle slightly, sending a vibration through his chest.

“okay, i will,” he mumbled, nearly asleep already as he kissed your neck innocently, although he felt a pang in his heart as he thought to himself

you have no idea what you’re signing up for

#fnaf imagine #fnaf #fnaf fic #five nights at freddy's #fnaf movie #josh hutcherson #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt imagine #michael afton

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bunji-enthusiast · 2 months

Note

I HAVE ARRIVED TO TELL YOU AN IDEA

I NEED- to read a jealous Dogday scenario-

I wonder if you could make this before the incident happened or the Hour of Joy(?). So I was gonna ask if, Dogday sees the player(or Angel) talking to another caretaker. Where he feels kinda jelly cause Player has been spending a lot more time on the other caretaker, and even Dogday seeing them hold hands and him feeling more jealous? So wat Dogday did was drag the Player into a bed or a cushion where employees rest, and have a cuddle time with Player becos he's very jelly. (And him whining why the Player is spending time with another caretaker and not him😭❤)

IF YOU CAN MAKE THIS I LOVE YOU AND IF NO THEN I LOVE YOU AGAIN (apologies if my explanation is bad-im just very obsessed with Dogday now😭)

Dog’s Time

Note || everyone is all over the sun /j

It was one thing, now it was the other. He couldn’t recognize why he was feeling so bothered now and then, you were just merely doing something what is known as interacting with another person. But why were you so close?

So close to someone that way? He should be the one to receive that kind of treatment, the attention.

Now he already feels guilt, the rumbly old feeling churning like the bitter taste of iron blood if he even knew what it was.

They were just another caretaker, but why are you standing so close to them?

You were his caretaker, not theirs.

Simply enough of it, he wanted to take you away now. So that it was he did, DogDay walked up to you, picked you up as if he was plucking corn from the ground and walked away with you just left in pure confusion and even more confusion.

DogDay felt the heavy weight of the emotion from before churn a little less as he had dragged you into the resting area, laying down. “DogDay, why are you doing this?”

Doggedly he had pursued you, now he wasn’t so entirely sure. But he was an honest person if it weren’t for the end of it.

You raise a brow at the fluffy dog, who had already trapped you in his bear hug embrace. Admittedly he was very warm though, having received many of his loving embraces.

A stout silence hangs in the air for a minute or so, quickly interrupted as DogDay finally answers you.

“The other caretaker..” He whined nuzzling close to you as he buried his large face into your midsection. “Why are you not spending time with me?”

Quickly you finally connect the dots that reign in mind, figuring out the cogs that had resumed jealous performance for DogDay.

“Jealous much dear?” You grin, ebbing a reassuring hand on the top of his familiar but fluffy head. “They were just a friend I wanted to catch up with, I haven’t talked to them for a good year.”

DogDay’s face was burning with embarrassment now, he couldn’t feel it contort, yet he could feel the warmth rising to his face. He takes brief notice that you hadn’t pointed attention to it.

He was glad that he was wrong.

#poppy playtime #dogday poppy playtime #poppy playtime x reader #poppy playtime chapter 3 #x reader #poppy playtime dogday

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remusluvr · 9 months

Text

heart to heart | james potter

summary: James is your safe haven, he accepts you with open arms. content: secret relationship, brief talk of death (like one sentence), unedited

Time had frozen when you were told. This was the one thing you had been trying to avoid for as long as possible. It's unavoidable now.

"It's time you step up and do something for once," your mother berated, "There's a meeting in an hour. You will be expected to make your decision then. Do not embarrass me."

Fear flowed through your veins after she left the room. There was only one way out of this messy situation - your bedroom window. And so, knowing exactly who to go to, you quickly packed a bag and left. You ran as far as you could before apparating to Diagon Alley where you would be able to find a floo transport to get to your destination.

Your fist pounded against the old door as you looked behind you as each second ticked along. What if they knew where you were going? What if it was a trap to see what you would do? What if they are after you? Raising your fist to knock again, the door opens to a confused James Potter.

"Jamie," you sighed, tears welling in your eyes now as you push yourself into his arms. You can feel his beating heart as he pulls you into his house. He kept you held to his chest as you calmed your breathing. You were safe.

"Can you tell me what happened, sweetheart?" he asked, taking extra attention to make sure his voice was calm. He didn't want to scare you. Sirius came trotting down the stairs, watching the interaction between you and the other Gryffindor boy.

"What the fuck? When did this start?" is all he says as he stops at the end of the staircase. James waves him off, turning his attention back to you. His eyes held so much love that you just wish you'd never have to interrupt your staring with such a heavy topic.

"They tried to make me become a death eater," you sniffled, lip wobbling. He pulled you back into his chest, holding you tight against him. Sirius gasped, excusing himself. He can get whatever answers he's looking for later. Right now you clearly need James to yourself. "I can't go back there, Jamie. I can't."

"You won't, baby. I'm not going to let you."

Your heart is racing when you pull away, wiping at your tear-stained cheeks. He doesn't let you go far, keeping your hand in his. When his mom comes into the room, you straighten up and quiet down.

"I know Sirius is listening at the top of the stairs. He can show you my room, let me talk with my mom." You hear Sirius grunt and can't help but giggle, hugging James one last time before grabbing your bag and heading upstairs. You and Sirius have never gotten along, not when you have been living very precariously, trying not to anger your family. He went the different route, going out of his way to anger them.

He gives you a half-hearted smile when you reach him and you want to apologize for all the mean remarks you spit his way. You both understand though, you were in the same situation.

When James returns to his room, around thirty minutes later, he crashes down on the bed beside you, kicking Sirius out. He had stayed to keep you company, still a little too nervous to be left alone.

"I'm sorry for barging in. I just had nowhere else to go."

"Please don't apologize, I'm glad you're here. You know that I worry when you're home. Now, I don't have to worry."

"Yeah, until we're back in school and all of my housemates want me dead." He frowns at that. James is always optimistic but he knows that you're right. They're not going to take your denouncement of Voldemort well and there will be consequences but he promises to never leave your side and that you can sleep in his dorm all you want if that's what it takes.

His kindness makes your heart ache and at the news of you being allowed to stay here, it only aches more for his family. Why couldn't your own family be this way?

"Only thing is that you have to sleep in one of the guest rooms," he sighs, rolling his eyes. You giggle as he pulls you to lay with him. "Good thing we can be sneaky."

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writeforfandoms · 5 months

Text

Run Wild 4

Find the series masterlist

I apologize for the long wait on this one - between life stuff and the chapter fighting me, it's been longer than I intended. This is a nice long chapter though to help make up for it.

Things are going well and you're settling into the pack... and then the three of you get sent on a survival training refresher. Just the three of you. Alone in the woods. For three days. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

Warnings: Swearing, animal death (unspecified fish and birds), yearning, shifter behaviors, pack behaviors, allusions to sex and intimacy, brief mention of blood.

Word count: 3.6k

Horangi healed just fine from the gunshot. Of course he did. It didn’t even take long - less than a week. König did, in fact, fuss over him, which you got to witness a couple times. It was pretty funny, at least from the outside.

But you did make a mental note not to get injured. You didn’t need someone fussing over you that way.

You’d spent the morning and part of the afternoon doing other tasks, since you didn’t actually get to spend all your time with your pack. Which was fine. You’d been without a pack for a long time, you didn’t need one to function.

But even so, once you were dismissed, you headed back to the pack room. You wanted to see if they were around, maybe pester Horangi into some pool time now that he was allowed to shift again.

You paused outside the door. Something was different. Head tilted, you listened for anything unusual, but all was quiet, but for a very faint rumble.

You poked just your head around the door.

Horangi and König were on the bigass couch (a LoveSac, König had told you once), neither of them facing the door. You noted Horangi’s missing sunglasses first. Then the flash of König’s hair, auburn longer than you would have expected.

Then the smell hit you. Even with the window open, it was easy for you to smell that they’d been intimate.

You backed off immediately, unwilling to disturb whatever peaceful bubble the two had.

You weren’t quite embarrassed - you hadn’t caught them in the middle of it, at least. And with your sense of smell, this was far from the first time you’d smelled this on someone. Friends. People you knew.

(Looking back on it, you continued to be a little amazed you survived basic without anyone knowing you were a shifter.)

No, the most confusing part was that you weren’t vaguely grossed out. Far from it, really.

You wanted to investigate, nose around, see how this changed their normal scents.

Nope. Nope nope nope. Not happening. You shook your head, hard, trying to knock the thoughts out too.

You were absolutely not attracted to your two packmates. Nope. Not happening.

You threw yourself at the obstacle course for a good hour, working to beat your record. It was a good distraction - you couldn’t just rely on muscle memory, you had to pay attention.

It wasn’t until you had sprawled out on the ground, panting, trying to get your breath back enough to go shower, that anyone bothered you.

“Have fun?”

The semi-sarcastic question made you lift your head to look at Horangi, the alpha standing off to the side. His sunglasses were back on, was the first thing you noticed.

“What’s up?” You asked instead of answering his question. You pushed yourself up to sitting, not quite willing to lay prone in front of him. Not after what you’d almost walked in on earlier.

“We’ve got a refresher on wilderness survival,” Horangi drawled, voice flat. But he didn’t smell angry. Hm. “The three of us.”

Oh. Oh boy. Three or so days living in the wilderness with the two of them.

This was definitely going to go wrong, somehow.

“When are we leaving?” You’d have to pack up a few things. Not a lot, you usually weren’t allowed a lot, but still.

“Tomorrow morning, 0800.”

“Got it.” You pushed up to your feet, absently brushing dirt off yourself. “See you in the morning, sir.”

Horangi nodded once. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you could feel his gaze on you, even as you turned away and headed inside.

You resisted the urge to look back at him.

Wilderness survival was honestly not hard. It wasn’t something you hated, either. You had done something similar with your dad many times.

Although when you’d done it with him, you’d both been shifted. It was a little easier to find natural shelter as a mink than as a human.

This time, you had your two packmates with you, one on either side. The three of you got dropped in the middle of nowhere in a forest with a map, some basic supplies, and an exfil location.

The first stretch of the hike was lovely. The weather was nice (for once), the sounds of the forest soothing, and even though you were walking with giants neither of them pushed the pace too hard.

The sun was high in the sky by the time Horangi paused, consulting the map. You stayed back a bit, watching as König peered over the top of the alpha’s head at the map.

You tipped your head back, enjoying the sunshine, the birds singing, the faint trickle of water…

Wait. Water?

Focused now, you turned a slow circle, trying to pinpoint where you heard the water coming from. You paused facing slightly away from Horangi and König.

“I hear water,” you told the two of them, glancing over only to find them already watching you. You blinked, startled, and shifted your weight.

“Lead on, then.” Horangi motioned you forward with a lazy wave of one hand.

You eyed him for a moment, uncertain if he was being sincere or not. But he didn’t move, so you did.

It was easy, picking a path through the forest. No major terrain changes, no gunfire to dodge. Just the peaceful noises around you… and your two packmates behind you. They were both quiet, impressively so considering how big they were (König moreso), but you could track them easily by sound alone, if you needed to.

The sound of water grew louder until you paused at a stream. It wasn’t large, you could jump it if you wanted, but it was moving fast and clear. A good source of water was an excellent start.

“This should empty into a lake,” Horangi said from behind you. “See if you can find it.”

You grinned over your shoulder at him and started walking parallel to the stream, moving a little faster with the lure of a lake. The light increased in intensity ahead of you, and you slowed right at the edge of the trees.

The lake spread out in front of you, sunlight sparkling off the water. It was decent-sized, and looked deep. There were probably fish in there, and for a moment you longed to shuck your gear and jump in.

It had been a long time since you’d gone fishing the proper way.

Reluctantly, you turned your back on the water to trot back to the other two.

“Found the lake,” you told them, grinning. “It’s not far.”

Horangi nodded. “We’ll set up for the day there,” he agreed, nodding you forward again.

Which meant fishing. Elated, you practically bounced back to the lake, ignoring the two of them behind you, both laughing.

It didn’t take long to find a good camping spot, the two of them more than capable of setting up a temporary shelter for the three of you. (And it was for the three of you - when you mentioned finding a spot nearby, Horangi put his foot down and said it was better to stay together. You didn’t object. Pack cuddles sounded really nice.)

You and König gathered tinder while the light was good, setting up a spot for a fire later. This part you really needed no help with - you’d done this enough. You had extra cotton balls and a fire starter in your bag for a reason, after all.

“Dinner?” König asked, slanting a look at you that you could tell was amused, even with the hood still in the way.

You perked up, trying not to seem too desperate. “I could fish?”

Horangi looked at you for a moment before he nodded once. You got the feeling he was amused, despite not being able to see his expression.

You resisted the urge to buzz happily, instead trotting down closer to the lake. It took moments to pile your boots to one side, tossing your outer layers next to them, before you shifted and wriggled out of the rest of your clothes.

The first dip into the water was perfect - a little cool (although your fur helped insulate you), clear, and beautiful. You spent a minute darting around, half searching for fish and half having fun.

It had been far too long since you’d let yourself have fun like this.

It didn’t take long to find fish, and you spent a few moments just watching them. The bigger fish were down near the bottom of the lake, which wasn’t too far, really.

Three would probably do the job to feed you all.

The first fish was the hardest. You had to remember how to grab it right to hang on and drag it out of the water. The fish, of course, didn’t make it easy. But you succeeded, even though the fish was bigger than you.

You left it on the shore, far enough away from the water that it (probably) couldn’t flap itself back in, and dove back in to get the next fish.

Except when you dragged this one up the shore, Horangi was handling the first fish, cleaning and prepping it. And it looked… not big in his hands.

Hm. Maybe three wouldn’t be enough.

“Leave it there,” Horangi said, gaze flitting to you. He’d removed his sunglasses at some point, letting you feel the full weight of his gaze.

You chittered at him, leaving the fish and diving back into the water.

But you didn’t stop at three fish. You caught two more, dragging the fifth fish up to Horangi before trotting away to shake yourself off at a polite distance.

When you shifted back, you caught König looking at you from his spot by the fire. It was difficult to tell, between the distance and the fact that you were shoving yourself back into your clothes as fast as possible, but this look was… different.

There was something different, anyway. Hell if you could pinpoint what.

“Well done,” Horangi praised quietly, gaze flicking up to you before he picked up all the fish, which he’d cleaned.

You fought down the urge to buzz. It didn’t translate as well when you were human, and it was weird. But you did wiggle, just a little, as you jogged after him to the fire to help cook.

Sitting with the two of them while dinner cooked was… nice. Odd, but nice. They were both quiet by nature, which you didn’t mind. König kept giving you little looks, which you couldn’t decipher. But he didn’t say anything, so you figured it was just a him thing and left it alone.

Horangi tested the first fish and deemed it edible, nodding to you. You picked one for yourself and settled in to eat, humming a little. This was nice. This was the kind of nice you could get used to.

Even though you shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be like this once the three of you finished this training. It would be back to the norm - eating by yourself in the mess, spending time with them in the pack room when you weren’t on duty.

You shoved the thought down with your next bite of fish, swallowing hard. Focus on being hungry. That was safer. But you ate a little slower than the other two. They needed the extra fish.

“Here.” König tore off a chunk of his second fish, putting it on your plate.

“But–” You looked at him, eyes wide.

Horangi clicked his tongue, and a second piece of fish got deposited on your plate. “Eat,” he ordered you. “We have plenty.”

A little chagrined and a little confused, you worked on the additional pieces. And. Okay. You knew they hadn’t meant it this way.

But they’d put their food on your plate.

And your instincts were screaming, just a little.

The rest of the night was quiet. König took your plates to wash, and you ended up lounging on your back by the fire, looking up at the stars twinkling through the treetops.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”

You frowned. You hadn’t meant to say that aloud. But… nothing catastrophic happened. Your packmates were both quiet, at least until Horangi sprawled out next to you.

“Oh?” It was a gentle prod, but it was very much a prod.

You pursed your lips, considering how to answer for a few moments. Then you sighed softly. “My parents used to take me out places like this. Wasn’t far off from what we’re doing, really.”

Horangi chuffed softly. It sounded odd coming from a human throat but you still recognized it for acceptance. “Why did they stop?”

Your heart ached, and you shoved up to your feet. The stars held no appeal for you now. “That’s a story for another night.” You checked on the tarp for your shelter overnight, pushing your pack into a corner where it would keep dry. There wasn’t much else to do, really.

So you shoved yourself into the corner next to your pack, curling up. That was as clear an indication that you weren’t going to talk as you could do.

You didn’t manage to fall asleep until you felt Horangi and König settle down near you.

You woke slowly, warmer than you'd expected to be. It got cold overnight out here, after all. But you weren't cold at all.

A little confused, you patted around. Maybe one of them had given you an extra blanket?

Your fingers met fur, warm and coarse. Hm. That was different. And nice. Nice and warm.

Wait. Fur?

Your eyes flew open and your breathing halted. You could see only part of an enormous bear curled around you and Horangi both. Horangi had his back to you, shoulders moving steadily with his breathing.

Oh. Oh this was bad. First they put food on your plate, now this? Pack cuddles with one of them shifted, and the alpha trusting you with his back?

Oh no. No no no. Nope. This was going to end so badly for you.

You just needed to shove your feelings into a little box and stuff it away somewhere. That would work. You’d be fine. No problem.

You tried to ease away from the two, only for König to rumble at you. The bear lifted his head to look at you, grumbling.

“Hush,” you whispered, patting his fur. “Be right back.”

He huffed at you but settled down again. This time he didn’t protest when you shuffled away, careful not to disturb Horangi.

You moved a safe distance away before you sat, putting your head down in your hands. These two really needed to stop giving you mixed signals like this.

Although, when you really thought about it… were they even mixed signals at this point? Or just signals you didn’t want to think about?

You made a face at yourself and breathed in deep. Two more days of this and then it would be back to base. Back to business as usual.

You could manage two more days.

One more deep breath, and you headed back to camp, the low light barely a problem for you. Sunlight was just peeking through the trees, the rest of the forest just waking up.

Horangi was up when you got back to camp, and he simply nodded to you before breaking down camp. By the time the three of you were done and ready to move on, it was like you’d never been there at all.

Horangi took the lead again, and you followed him while König took the rear.

You were surprised again at how easy this was. The quiet between the three of you never felt strained. You never doubted that Horangi knew where you were going. König never snuck up behind you enough to spook you.

If you wanted to be real honest with yourself… this was even better than camping with your parents had ever been.

And not just because you were an adult and didn’t need to be watched all the time.

These two were rapidly slipping under your skin, and you weren’t sure how you felt about that.

Especially when you all stopped to set up camp again and Horangi said he’d hunt for the three of you. König settled next to you in front of the fire, his knee knocking into yours.

“You know much of the plant life here?”

You blinked at the out of the blue question and shrugged. “Not really,” you admitted. “If I don’t recognize it, I don’t touch it.”

“Good.” König nudged you with his knee again. “Come with me.”

Confused but not quite willing to push, you stood and followed him away from the fire. He didn’t take you far, though, instead crouching next to a tree to show you a plant. And then another. And another.

Before you knew it, you were side by side with him, peering over plants and doing your best to remember which ones were which.

It was surprisingly fun, actually. You’d never given plants this much thought, but with König? It was fun.

Hopefully he wouldn’t quiz you, though.

“Here.” König pointed to a berry bush. “Gather these.”

You started picking berries, doing your best to avoid the thorns. König moved away, though you could still see him in your peripheral vision as he checked on the fire and brought over a dish for you to set the berries on.

“How’d you learn all this?” you asked, half-distracted, trying to reach a juicy looking berry without having your hands cut to ribbons.

König was silent for a few moments, shifting his weight next to you. “I learned as a boy,” he settled on. You had a feeling there was more to it than that, but you certainly weren’t going to push.

“What do you think Horangi is bringing back?”

König snorted, shoulders relaxing again. “Birds,” he said softly. “He likes birds.”

You filed that little piece of information away, just in case. “Good to know.” You made a face when a thorn caught the tip of your finger, blood beading up against your skin.

König clucked softly, catching your hand in one of his before you could pull away. “Careful,” he rumbled, low and soothing.

“I’m fine,” you dismissed, trying to tug your hand back. But König ignored you, lifting your hand to look at the cut himself more closely.

“No more injuries,” he said, voice soft even as he met your gaze. “Ja?”

“Okay,” you agreed, a little breathless.

His thumb smeared over the tiny cut, cleaning away your blood. He blinked and looked down between you, the vice around your chest relaxing somewhat.

“Thanks.” You tried to keep your voice dry, to show you hadn’t really thought his fuss necessary. But you were just a little too breathy to make it stick.

He hummed softly, a pleased rumbly little noise. But he didn’t move away, keeping hold of your hand.

Until a twig snapped behind you. Then he leaned back a little, gaze lifting over your head to look.

“Done already?” König stood, still holding your hand and pulling you up to your feet as well. You huffed at him.

“Still have to clean them.” Horangi held up two birds. You had no idea what they actually were, but they were decent sized, and one of them was colorful. Probably the male.

“I’ll help,” you volunteered, gently tugging your hand away from König. It had been a while since you’d had to clean and prep a bird, but you didn’t remember it being that hard.

You were wrong. It sucked. Mainly because plucking the damn things was awful.

Horangi chuffed in amusement every time he caught you making faces at your assigned bird. Which was often. But he didn’t actually make fun of you, which was good.

Dinner was quiet, though again not the uncomfortable kind of quiet. Just quiet. It was weird… but nice.

You were getting entirely too comfortable with these two. Part of you insisted that was only right - they were pack, and you should be comfortable with pack. The rest of you screeched about protecting yourself first and that pack did not automatically mean trustworthy.

Your head was a bit of a mess.

This time, you didn’t run off to bed before them, and ended up between the two. Nobody was touching (that you could see or feel), but they’d still put you in the middle. Intentionally. With the sort of planned grace that came from working together often.

It was odd. Kind of nice. Definitely confusing.

You resolutely shoved it out of your mind for now, letting the steady breathing on both sides of you lull you to sleep.

You woke again to warmth, and resisted the urge to cuddle back into fur. Instead you opened your eyes, breathing slowly, taking a few moments to orient yourself.

Horangi blinked slowly at you, head turned towards you even as he reclined against König’s mass. “Finally awake?”

You blinked, feeling a little slow still, and warmed. “Sorry,” you mumbled, dropping your gaze.

He huffed, tucking one finger under your chin to pull your head back up. “No apologies,” he murmured, low and warm. “You were cute all cuddled up.”

You warmed further, unable to duck your head because of his grip on you, and settled for dropping your gaze to the space between the two of you.

Apparently deciding to have mercy, Horangi tapped his thumb twice against you chin before he released you, sitting up. “Let’s break down camp,” he ordered. “Get to exfil early.”

You nodded wordlessly, rolling to your feet to assist with clean up.

But the phantom feel of his finger under your chin, his thumb against your skin, didn’t leave you all day.

#run wild #shifter au #horangi x könig #horangi x reader x König

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double-hoe-seven · 6 months

Text

Belated Birthday Present

Summary: After missing Jamie's birthday, you begin to make it up to him. Pairing: Jamie Tartt x Reader Word Count: 1,100 Warnings: Smut, m receiving oral, blowjob, slightly blink and you miss it subby Jamie.

A/N: It has been far too long since I've written smut and I did it on 4 hours of sleep. Definitely not me compensating for missing Jamie Tartt's birthday yesterday. This man just deserves a nice blowjob.

1:47 AM. That's what time your phone said it was when it automatically adjusted the time zone while you waited by the carousel for your luggage. You were supposed to be home yesterday morning, but a technical issue delayed your flight by a day, making you miss your boyfriend's birthday. After grabbing your suitcase, you head out to the pickup area where an Uber was waiting for you. The ride to your home was long and quiet as you fought yourself to stay awake. When the driver finally pulled up to your curb, it surprised you to see the lights on. After thanking the driver, you walked inside to find Jamie lounging on the couch in his sweats. "Hey babe, welcome home," Jamie says with a tired smile. "Jamie, what're you still doing up?" You question, locking the front door behind you and taking a seat beside him. "I wanted to make sure you got in alright." He yawns, planting a quick, gentle kiss to your lips.

Jamie held you against his side for a few minutes, giving you both time to enjoy each other's proximity again after five days apart. "I'm so sorry I missed your birthday, Jamie." You apologize with a slight frown. "It's not your fault. I know you would've been here if you could." He hums. "Your boss is a fucking twat, though, for making you travel so much." He jokingly adds. "Trust me, everyone knows Billy's a dick." You agree with a chuckle. "Have you heard back from any of the places you applied to?" He asks. "A couple." You tell him. "That last place I interviewed with ended up wanting me to relocate to fucking Birmingham." "I thought they had an office here," Jamie says. "They do but they lied about which location they were hiring for." You explain with an eye roll. "What dicks." Jamie scoffs. "I certainly know how to pick 'em." You joke. "That's alright, babe. Even if you pick shit bosses, you still picked me and I think I'm pretty great." He boasts jokingly. "You are pretty great." You say genuinely. "You're fucking amazing, Jamie." "I'm just trying to be the best me I can be," Jamie says with a soft, almost bashful smile. You just smile and snuggle into his side, taking in the smell of his body wash and letting it relax you.

"So, what happened to my super secret, super special birthday surprise you were so excited about?" He teases with a grin. "I was gonna take us out of town for the weekend to this romantic little Airbnb I found." You answer. "It was this very cute little place with a hot tub and it's right next to a little pond, too. I thought it'd be a nice, brief escape from the chaos." "God, that does sound nice," Jamie admits. "Roy's been on my fucking ass for weeks." "You did ask the man to train you." You remind him. "Yeah, I know, and now I'm paying the price." He jokingly grumps. "Poor baby." You mockingly coo. "I know!" He pouts. "Let me make you feel better." You hum, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, then another to his jawline. Jamie lets out a couple of softer hums as you kiss down the column of his neck. "I also got you a few things I know you've had your eyes on." You hum vaguely as you trail kisses down his chest.

When your lips reached the waistband of his pants, you looked up at him with a smile. "Do you want your birthday gifts first or my very sincere apology for missing your birthday?" You ask him. "Apology." He says immediately. Instead of making a joke about how quickly he answered, you pull his sweatpants down until his member was free of the cloth constraints. He audibly gulped when he saw you lick your palm before wrapping your hand around his base. "I'm so sorry I couldn't make it back home to celebrate your birthday with you, Jamie." "I might be able t-to forgive you," Jamie says with a slightly shuddered breath as you kiss the crown of his member, licking up the bead of pre-cum already forming. "Fuck, I missed you," Jamie moans as you slowly take his tip into your mouth. "I missed you too, love." You hum after pulling off of his length, using your spit as lubricant to stroke him.

This time when you leaned forward and took his length back into your mouth, you took as much of him as you could. "Jesus Christ." Jamie hisses when he hits the back of your throat. His moans get louder the more you find your rhythm, resting a hand on his thigh as you lavish his length with attention, teasing the vein that ran along the underside with your tongue. His moans fill the living room of your home, echoing off the walls of the space as his head falls back in abject bliss. When he starts getting close, he tangles the fingers of one hand in your hair while his other hand grabs the arm of the couch in a vice-like grip to keep himself up when he feels his knees almost buckle. As his breathing becomes more ragged, you double your efforts to push him over the edge, bobbing your head just a tad faster and reaching up to massage his balls. The moan that follows comes from deep in his chest as he spills his release down your throat.

When his orgasm subsides and you've swallowed every last drop, you carefully pull off of him, looking up at him through your lashes as you lick him clean. "Apology fucking accepted." He jokes with a breathless chuckle, offering his hand to help you back up after tucking himself back into his sweatpants. "I love you, babe," Jamie says sweetly, pulling you into a quick, gentle kiss before the two of you head to your bedroom. "I love you too, Jamie." You hum happily. While he pulls the covers back, you change into your pajamas, grabbing a couple of gift bags from the back of the closet. "Here are your birthday gifts by the way." You tell him with a sheepish smile. "What's in the pink and white one?" He asks, doing a poor job of masking his lust as simple curiosity. "Something I picked out for this weekend with you in mind." You answer vaguely, a teasing smile on your face as you crawl into bed with him. You set the gift bags in his lap and smile, pecking his cheek. "Happy belated birthday, my love." You hum as you watch him impatiently tear into the pink bag first, completely ignoring the other one.

Dedicated to the people who have yet to give up on me: @bdffkierenwalker @anarchistbeauty

#Jamie Tartt #Jamie Tartt x Reader #Jamie Tartt Smut #Ted Lasso #I am my own target audience

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ghcstao3 · 5 months

Note

Have you ever done a Vampire!Soap with Human ghost before 👀👀

i don’t believe i have! that has now been changed

Let it be known that Ghost is not a coward.

Over the years he’s grown desensitized to so much that hardly anything scares him. He knows only how to incite fear, not feel it, and he certainly has no fear of Soap.

It just happens that the idea of the sergeant being a vampire makes him a little… squeamish.

Most days, Ghost can forget about the fact that his sergeant isn’t human. He can forget about the spare bags of blood stored in the back of the common room fridge just for him, he can forget that his strength is superhuman when Soap still loses their spars.

He can forget, until they’re deployed and Ghost sees Soap sinking his teeth into the enemy, ripping open their throats with fangs instead of any manmade weapon. He can forget, until Soap’s eyes, normally a vivid, lively blue, flash a bloodthirsty red as he feeds, as he has yet to come down from a rampage.

Ghost isn’t afraid of those moments, he’s not. He’s not afraid of Soap. The sergeant just makes Ghost feel all the more human.

But whatever it is he feels, whatever it is that’s making him wary, Ghost never confronts it. He never lets show his discomfort around Soap whenever he’s suddenly too aware of the man’s vampirism. Doesn’t need to.

They work just fine together.

Until it all comes to a head, after a particularly gruelling mission.

They’d underestimated the demand of the mission, landing Ghost and Soap alone, exhausted, after nearly two weeks of nonstop action. Their transport is hours out, Soap has been incessantly scratching his arms, and Ghost may or may not be in need of medical attention.

Overall, things could be better. Significantly.

“Would you quit that?” Ghost snaps. The sound of the scraping of Soap’s nails against his skin is grating.

Soap freezes. Slowly lowers his arms, revealing red, irritated lines left behind. He looks almost sheepish, hunching in on himself in a way that makes him look small, shy, like Ghost has never known him to be.

“Sorry,” the sergeant apologies. “Haven’t fed in a while.”

Ghost frowns, turning to finally give Soap a proper look.

Soap looks paler than usual, cheeks gaunt, under-eyes a deep purple. Ghost’s brows knit together.

“You didn’t bring any spare?”

Soap shrugs helplessly. “Don’t usually need it. Usually there’s hostiles to solve that problem,” he mutters.

“But you have some back on base, yeah?”

Soap nods. Ghost sighs.

“That’ll do, then.”

Ghost has the brief idea to offer help, but it’s disregarded almost as fast as it crosses his mind. He reasons he can’t because he’s already bleeding—and he’s sure Soap can smell it—but Ghost knows it’s not really the why.

When transport finally arrives, Ghost is constantly sending glances over to Soap, who drags his feet as they climb into the Humvee. He throws out concerned looks the entire way back, but eventually loses the chance to continue worrying when they return to base, as Ghost is dragged away to have his wounds checked.

He forgets about it, like everything else to do with the vampire, until Ghost discovers Soap pacing in the common room in front of a refrigerator that had been just about completely torn apart.

“Soap,” Ghost calls.

Soap doesn’t answer.

“Johnny!” Ghost barks.

The sergeant stops mid-step. He pivots on his heel to face Ghost, chewing on nails with fangs that somehow look duller. His eyes are wide, and noticeably crimson, and the wild look on his face almost has Ghost… scared.

“Sit-rep,” Ghost demands weakly.

Soap is trembling. “Someone threw it all out.”

Ghost could very well guess what he’s referring to. Still, he asks, “Threw what out, sergeant?”

“My…” Soap casts an almost forlorn glance toward the fridge and its emptied-out contents. “It’s gone.”

Ghost huffs. “When’s the last time you’ve fed, Johnny?”

Again, that timid expression reappears on Soap’s face. He wraps his arms around himself, though it does nothing to hide the way he shakes.

“A month,” Soap murmurs.

Ghost doesn’t like that he drinks blood. Doesn’t like that it’s another person’s life force that fuels him. But he still feels pity. Sympathy.

Vampire or not—he’s still Soap. And he looks on the brink of a second death.

“Need to be more responsible, sergeant,” Ghost says carefully, slowly. He takes a step toward Soap, and tries to do his best to ignore the ache in his heart when Soap moves backward.

“I know.” Soap’s head dips in an aborted half-nod, refusing to meet Ghost’s gaze. “‘M sorry.”

Ghost takes another step. This time, Soap remains glued in place.

“Don’t apologize,” Ghost scolds. He softens, then, with a quiet sigh. “Can you ask anyone to…?”

Soap shakes his head. “Gaz ‘n’ Price are deployed,” he says. “Don’t trust anyone else.”

It’s a split-second decision that has Ghost blurting out the option he’d hope to never propose. “What about me?”

Soap’s eyes snap up to Ghost’s, startled. Still red, but somehow transformed into the eyes of prey. “You…?”

Ghost swallows thickly. “You’ll… you need it, so—“

“I cannae… cannae ask that of you,” Soap croaks. Though he doesn’t really need oxygen, Soap’s breathing is erratic, almost like some animalistic part of his brain had been unleashed, finally unlocked once the idea of being fed has become real again. The refusal is only to be polite, Ghost is sure of it.

His heartbeat is loud in his own ears. It’s probably louder in Soap’s.

Slowly, never once taking his eyes off Soap, Ghost pushes up a sleeve and offers out his forearm to the sergeant. His jaw ticks, watching Soap carefully.

Soap hesitates. For a long moment, Ghost begins to think Soap would rather hope he’d get blood some other way than taking from Ghost—but then, tentatively, he grabs ahold of Ghost’s wrist and steps closer, before bringing the lieutenant’s arm to his lips.

The initial prick of sharpened fangs has Ghost wincing, but after a moment of adjusting to the strange sensation of Soap’s feeding—it isn’t nearly as horrible as Ghost had imagined it to be. Especially not when Ghost is more focused on the healthy flush of colour that returns to Soap’s cheeks, and the warmth that finds his palms.

But with blood comes a renewed vigour and strength, and Ghost has to attempt to wrench Soap off of him when his knees start to feel weak. But he finds no success—instead suffering from a roaring panic that had always existed under the surface, fearful of something like this ever happening.

Then, mercifully, only a few seconds later Soap seems to sense the change. Seems to recognize he’s taken all he’d be able to without hurting Ghost. He pulls off Ghost’s wrist, licking the wound until the skin knits together without blemish. He swipes his tongue over his owns lips afterward, now stained a deep scarlet.

His pupils are blown wide. What’s visible of his irises are… their usual blue.

Unlike every other time Soap comes off feeding.

Ghost hardly notices that he’s being moved to the common room’s ratty sofa after a moment, a strong, supporting arm snaked around his waist. Soap sits with him, thumb tracing gentle circles into Ghost’s side—a gesture far more intimate than Ghost wants to think about.

“I’m sorry,” Soap is whispering. “I’m sorry, I’m—“

“Why?” Ghost tilts his head, incidentally sending a new wave of dizziness through his system—but he pays it no mind. “Offered t’ help, didn’t I?”

Soap gapes, mouth bobbing open and shut as he tries and fails to find his words.

Ghost shrugs to himself more than anything, slumping further into Soap’s side. A weight suddenly tugs at his eyelids, and they fall sleepily closed. He feels fine, really. Lightheaded at most.

“Jus’ don’t let it happen again, Johnny,” he mumbles.

Ghost doesn’t think Soap notices his hold getting tighter. He’s not certain either of them really care.

“‘Course not, LT,” Soap says.

Ghost falls asleep to the comforting pressure of Soap surrounding him.

He’s not sure if he’ll feel any less afraid when he wakes up.

(part 2)

#ask #wow ok got a little out of hand #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #ghoap #vampire!soap #writing

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earthtooz · 2 years

Text

𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑽𝑨𝑳𝑹𝒀

synopsis: todoroki is a gentleman, even when he's stood you up

warnings: very brief and very mild humiliation, todoroki being majestic (yes that's a warning), fluff!!! todoroki calls the reader beautiful n shit, gn!reader

wc: 1k

todoroki is a gentleman. through and through.

he pulls your chair out for you, he opens the door and lets you go first, he holds your hand in assistance when you are wearing shoes a little too risky to be walking in or when you are fixing how it fits, he gives you his jacket when nights are too cold, he kisses your hand as he gazes up at you with wonder in his eyes, and he goes above and beyond by spoiling you whenever he feels like it or whenever you need it, and despite how you always protest against him wasting money on you, one cold look from him paired with a chilly ‘i insist’ will always shut you up.

chivalry exists!

so why are you sitting in the middle of a lively, three michelin star restaurant, wondering why you've been stood up?

the heaters are on but all you can feel is the chilliness of desertion, no longer comfortable in the outfit that made your jaw drop when you first saw it in the mirror.

you just wanted to go home.

todoroki wasn't answering your calls or texts, and you knew work ended a while ago for him so what gives? where could he be?

it's been almost an hour since you sat down, bypassing the regulations that the restaurant has for how long you can occupy a table. when you make eye contact with the waiter who has been so very polite and hesitating to come bother you, you know it's time to leave.

you'd rather not get kicked out in front of a crowd of expensive-looking people with high incomes to match. regardless, you felt rather humiliated.

the walk of shame out the restaurant isn't pleasant either. with an empty stomach and an even emptier heart, you're texting todoroki one more time, informing him that you're about to leave.

except the text never gets sent because to your right, you hear the iconic, sharp crystallisation of your boyfriend's quirk, getting louder and louder. glancing towards the direction of the sound, the familiar sight of your illegally beautiful partner takes your breath away despite his dishevelled appearance and frantic expression. his white hair has completely tangled with his red strands and whilst one palm is emitting ice, the other is on flames, melting the ice path he left behind.

when he meets your eyes, a lovestruck look appears.

sliding to a stop just a few feet away from you, a chill runs up your spine from the frost.

he doesn't say anything except stare at you wide-eyed, lips slightly parted, jagged huffs and pants escaping his fluctuating chest as he tries to catch his breath and slow his heart rate. now that he’s up close, you can see that there are ice in some strands of hair.

at least he made an effort to show up presentable. he looks breathtaking in his button down and slacks, paired with a somewhat loose tie.

"hello, shouto," you greet with a nod, breaking the silence.

his eyes scan you up and down, "you look beautiful."

you feel heat crawl up your neck at his compliment, but you don't really know how to further address him. the irritation that bubbles within you due to his flakiness is beginning to boil, and you don't mean to be harsh... but you don't really want to see him right now.

todoroki snaps out of his trance, meeting your eyes once more with panic in them, "i'm sorry," he takes a deep breath, "i didn't mean to be late and i promise i didn't forget. i got carried away with work at the agency."

his words are curt and quick but you know better. as ever, todoroki isn’t a man of many words that can express how he’s feeling. he's worried.

"thank you for your apology, shouto," you murmur but your grace does nothing to calm the nervousness raging inside him. todoroki is familiar with you, he knows every little quirk of yours so the fact that you were slightly facing away from him with your arms crossed over your chest is a blatant indicator that you haven't forgiven him.

"you have every right to be mad at me, y/n, i'm really sorry," he suddenly perks up as if he’s remembered something. then from somewhere (his back pocket, perhaps?) he presents you a devastatingly beautiful bouquet of flowers and if you looked hard enough, some petals were singed and burnt as a result of his fire. "here."

"thank you, shouto. they're beautiful."

"you are more so."

you hate the way your traitorous body reacts to him, but there's always something about receiving a compliment from a man who has been sculpted by the gods and written by a woman, "you flatter me."

"i'm serious. you look absolutely stunning and i can't help but feel like a jerk that i let you down."

he stuffs his hands in his pockets, a frown tugging at his lips. it makes your heart ache. you really needed to learn how to resist him.

but that could be reserved for another time as you take a step towards him, resting a hand on his shoulder and placing a kiss on his cheek. he relaxes against you, hands instinctively coming to hold your waist.

"i am still mad at you," you reaffirm, "but i'm thankful that you came."

when you part, he tightens his grasp on you as a silent way of expressing that he doesn't want you too far away. you begin to pick the fragments of ice clinging to his hair and you're just about done when the rumbling of your stomach catches todoroki's attention, a reminder of his negligence.

he frowns again, guilt washing over him once more.

"do you still want our reservation or would you like to go home to eat?"

"isn't it too late to try and get a table?"

"i think i could do something about that," he offers you a small, intimate smile, one that has you melting into his grasp as you chuckle at his statement.

the number 3 hero could definitely do something about a last minute reservation.

"besides, i’d love to show you off. it's up to you though, what would you like, beautiful?"

"well, you have been wanting me to try this spot, and we are here so why not?”

todoroki takes the hand you placed on his shoulder and guides it to his lips, you can feel his smile against your skin, “your wish is my command.”

#todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #my hero academia x reader #mha x reader #mha #bnha #my hero academia #todoroki shouto x reader #shouto x reader #shoto x reader #shoto fluff #shoto x reader fluff #shouto x reader fluff #shoto fic #shoto drabble #shouto fic #shouto drabble #todoroki shoto x reader

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xiaosonlybeloved · 6 months

Note

Hi! Saw your requests were open and I wanted to ask for Heizou and the Hanahaki prompt, please? 🙏🏼 you try your best to hide it from him but being the genius detective he is, he figures it out. I’d love to see how you write it!

Melancholy -Heizou

featuring:- Shikanoin Heizou, fem!reader, brief mentions of Kujou Sara tags:- Hanahaki AU, angst, hurt/no comfort, brief mentions of blood a/n:- im so so sorry anon for writing this so late! But here you go, and i hope you like it :) thank u for requesting! (i think it would kill me to actually write fluff for once)(also if i made a taglist, would you guys sign up?) wc:- 2.5k

masterlist

∼⟪◍⟫∼

‘He knew.’ You realised with a sinking heart as his firm eyes searched yours for answers, a hint of disbelief and concern in them. He’d figured it out.

∼⟪◍⟫∼

Everything started out small. It always does.

For you, it started the very day you two met, little by little. You’d needed someone to help you find and retrieve some books from your treasured collection that had gone missing, and good old Detective Heizou was the one assigned to help you.

He didn’t take long to draw you in. The charisma and confidence in his voice, the intelligence and wit sparkling in his eyes with a hint of mischief, the amusement dancing subtly across his face. Everything about him pulled you deeper in. Not to mention, you were incredibly impressed at how efficient he was at his job, despite his carefree, playful attitude- within 24 hours, each and every one of the missing books had been neatly stacked in a pile along with an apology letter from the thief, and Heizou had returned them to you, with that charmingly cocky grin of his. You’d thanked him profusely then, and he’d waved it off as just helping out a bit. He even refused to take payment, insisting that if you really wanted, you could repay him with a nice lunch or dinner.

Since then, your ‘friendship’ with Heizou only grew.with time.The next time you met, it was an accidental encounter in the streets of Inazuma, and then you’d repaid him with that promised lunch. After that, you two just seemed to bump into each other more often, or perhaps you both just noticed each other both. More than a year passed, and you two were fast friends.

Just friends.

You didn’t know when those pesky feelings started to develop, but they did, taking root in your heart like a bug. And your poor heart cracked a bit more everytime Heizou called you his best friend with a grin, or when he casually flirted with random people, your emotions covered with an airy smile that betrayed none of what you felt, unfortunately for you. If only he knew…

∼⟪◍⟫∼

“[Y/NNNN]!” Heizou called over to you with a grin as you stood talking to the owner of one of the flower shops in Inazuma, running over as if to give you some great news. Your heart jumped a bit to see him again, even if it had only been less than a day since you last saw him. “What is it now, ‘Zou?” you chuckled. “Which uncrackable case have you cracked now?” He stopped right in front of you, breathless. “Guess what? Kujou Sara confessed to me! Can you believe it? The high and mighty, proud general Sara?” He was laughing.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to mask your surprise and disappointment. She got there first, huh? “Well? What did you say?” “I said yes, of course. Now boom, we’re dating.” Heizou replied easily.

You took in a deep breath, feeling like a hundred knives had been stabbed into you. But you needed to hide it, because Heizou was still looking at you expectantly, awaiting your response.

You’d always be his best friend. Not his lover.

This cold truth seemed to sink into your heart, as you controlled your facial expressions, making an excited smile that probably seemed very fake to the sharp eyes of someone like Heizou. You quickly followed it up. “Dang, I never thought I’d live to see the day when you actually dated someone! Man alive, am I surprised.” Heizou laughed again, his eyes crinkling, driving the wedge deeper into your heart. “Never thought I would too.” Then looking at his phone, he apparently remembered something as he quickly said, “Oh darn, I totally forgot I had to meet up with a client right now. See ya around, [Y/N]!”

You smiled sadly as he ran away, your heartbreak now visible on your face. You return your attention to the store owner who looks at you curiously. “Sorry, Ma’am, but I won’t be needing the flowers anymore. Could you please cancel my order?” The lady looked at you in sympathy as she nodded, probably having figured out who you were planning to confess to.

Back at home, you suddenly doubled over in a coughing fit, your lungs hurting.

∼⟪◍⟫∼

You’d stayed holed up at home for the next few days. Believe it or not, it actually wasn’t because of your broken heart. You’d fallen ill, and it greatly annoyed you. You kept coughing your throat out, and it wasn’t stopping. You did go about your normal routine for the first few days after Heizou told you, but then it got bad and you started staying home. Your friends often visited you, keeping you company. With their presence, you did seem to get a bit better.

So why was it that Heizou coming over out of concern for you always made you cough more?

One evening, he’d come over like always, with some medicines this time for bad coughs. Looking at his worried face at your deteriorating health, you wondered just how cruel it was for him to be always looking out for you, never knowing what you felt for him or what being with him did to you.

Unfortunately, it was in front of him that your illness grew worse- you started coughing out blood, him panicked and trying to help you.

Once you were temporarily better, he was insistent on staying the night with you to make sure that you didn’t get worse, but you made him leave reluctantly to get some rest. Immediately, you seemed to breathe a bit easier, even though your throat felt like there were vines practically growing in it. With that came an inkling suspicion of why you weren’t getting better. But it couldn’t be that, right?

Then, a week later, you coughed out your first petal, confirming your worst fears.

∼⟪◍⟫∼

Purple hyacinths were known to mean sorrow, longing, etc. 'How fitting.' You thought bitterly as you ruminated upon your less-than-ideal situation. You’d known for a while now that you held strong feelings for Heizou, but you never thought it would actually develop into Hanahaki. Damn it… What do you do now? You had to at least confess to Heizou for a chance at surviving, no matter how slim. But that would be very hard to do, considering he’s literally dating. That thought brought a bitter taste in your mouth. The other option would be to get the surgery, but it would mean removing Heizou from your life for good, but you weren’t quite keen on doing that. If not… You’d die.

No. You would most certainly not allow yourself to die for a failed love. Sure, you really loved him, but there was no point in throwing away your life for someone.

As you were thinking about this, there came a series of soft but strong knocks at your door. With a sigh, you dragged yourself down the stairs to see the visitor, noting that the knocks didn’t sound like Heizou’s or anyone else.

When you see the person at your doorstep, your eyes light up after a long while. “Kokomi!” You exclaim as you run to hug your old friend. You’d been forced to part with her after you shifted from Watatsumi Island to Narukami Island, but you’d regularly kept in touch. Kokomi frowned as you led her into your home. “You’re ill, aren’t you?” “Yes indeed, Doctor Kokomi.” You tried to joke. Kokomi narrowed her eyes at you. “You smell of blood. What sickness do you have? I can heal you.”

You hesitate for a moment, unsure of whether to tell her or not. Not because you don’t trust her- she’s probably your most trusted confidante apart from Heizou, but because you’re a bit afraid of her reaction. With a sigh, you say, “Hanahaki.”

You could see it in the way her eyes fell. “Who is it? Heizou?” She asked, immediately understanding. You sighed in affirmation. “Can you heal me?” This time, it was Kokomi who was hesitant as she responded, “... I do know how to conduct the surgery, but there’s no other way out unless you confess and he accepts.” You grimaced. “Can you please keep this a secret from Heizou for now? I’m still thinking on what to do.” She nodded, looking resigned, but said, ”Alright, but you need to decide fast. To me, it looks like your illness is already quite severe. There is a certain stage beyond which the surgery cannot be conducted and the only option is to confess or die.” You nodded. “Thank you so much, Kokomi.” A while later, after you two had caught up with other topics, she left to go to the hotel she was staying at, giving you her address and telling her to come see you immediately if anything happened, along with some medicines for delaying the growth of the hanahaki.

∼⟪◍⟫∼

While you were chatting with Kokomi, Heizou was flipping through books on diseases and illnesses. Needless to say, he was worried sick on seeing that it had been weeks and your condition had only grown worse.

On a different note, he had just broken up with Kujou Sara that morning. Things just weren’t working out, and he wasn’t interested anyways- he just wanted to try things out. So now, he had more time to find something to cure you.

He groaned as he went through the list of symptoms. He had a feeling that he knew what was wrong with her, but he was too afraid to admit it. ‘Heavy persistent coughs that slowly deteriorate to frequent bloody coughs, along with a feeling of being unable to breathe. In the last stage, which is almost certainly fatal during the later phase, the victim coughs out flower petals symbolic of their situation, along with blood. When the flower petals change into full blooms, the surgery cannot be conducted anymore, and the disease becomes fatal.’

His heart sank- his worst fear had been confirmed. You had hanahaki. He hadn’t yet seen you cough out flower petals though- so there was still time. He’d talk to you about it today, unsure of whether you knew about Hanahaki or not.

He also wondered who it was who was dumb enough to not accept or return your feelings. He would, in a jiffy.

∼⟪◍⟫∼

You sigh a little, enjoying the cool breeze hitting your face after so long. You were going over to pay Kokomi a visit, taking this as an excuse to get out of your house, which had started to feel cramped and stuffy. But of course, your moment of pleasure just had to be interrupted by another bout of flowery coughs as you hurried into some street corner to ensure that no one sees it. As you hurriedly stuff the purple flower petals with red, bloody edges into a bag you were carrying, a voice calls out to you that made dread settle in your heart.

Heizou stands there, staring directly at you and the bloody purple petals in your hands.

‘He knew.’ You realised with a sinking heart as his firm eyes searched yours for answers, a hint of disbelief and concern in them. He’d figured it out.

“You didn’t tell me it had gotten this bad.” Heizou said quietly, stepping closer to you. “I didn’t want you to know.” You murmured a response, looking down at your feet to avoid his stare, his eyes still looking at you in disbelief. “Why? Why, [Y/N], why? Who is this person?”

You gulp under his stare as you debate whether to tell him or not. Yes, you knew he was dating Sara but still… You were on your way to Kokomi’s anyways. The opportunity had presented itself, you should take it.

“It’s you, Heizou. You’re the one I love.” you whisper as you look up to meet his gaze.

You wish you hadn’t. Then you wouldn’t have seen the way the disbelief in his eyes changed into shock, surprise, and denial.

It was clear as day to you- Heizou didn’t return your feelings, you were dumb for thinking you had a chance.

You ran past him straight to Kokomi’s, wanting to escape. On the way, you could feel another round of flowers coming up your throat, but you held them down till you reached your destination.

Meanwhile Heizou stood still, shocked at what had transpired, a hand outstretched in the direction you had ran.

It was him.

As his brain finally processed things, he was still in disbelief and shock. He had been smart enough to figure out that you had hanahaki, but much too dumb to realise who it was directed towards. It was then that he forced his body to run, to search for you.

Late into the night, he still had no idea where you went, as he stood in the desolate streets of Inazuma, hands clenched.

∼⟪◍⟫∼

More than a year had passed since then, and he had no clue of your whereabouts, or if you were even alive or dead. Everytime he thought of you, regret and guilt filled him as he cursed himself out.. If only he’d told her his feelings instead of hiding them like an idiot. If only he’d run after her immediately. If only he’d figured out your feelings faster. If only, if only…

He was in Watatsumi Island for a new case, although his efficiency at work had decreased over the last year. He thought he might as well take some time off for himself, give himself some time to recuperate quietly.

But it seemed fate had other plans for him, as his eyes fell upon a figure in the woods of Watatsumi Island, one more than familiar to him.

His heart jumped into his throat as the figure straightened, then turned to look at him. “...[Y/N]?” He ran towards you to engulf you in a hug, but stopped short on seeing the expression on your face. There was curiosity, but not an inkling of recognition.

Ah. So that’s why he didn’t see you anymore. You’d taken the surgery and moved out.

“Oh, do I know you? May I help you? I see you are new here.” You said with a kind, polite smile, the one that you usually reserved for strangers.

His heart and fists clenched as he realised that you had no idea who he was anymore. As he realised that once again, he was too late.

[requests are open for now (please check requests page) ] tags and comments are very much appreciated!

#skylia's works #genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic #genshin angst #genshin #genshin drabbles #genshin oneshots #genshin hurt/no comfort #heizou #shikanoin heizou #shekinoin heizou angst #heizou angst #heizou hurt/no comfort #genshin hanahaki #shikanoing heizou x reader #heizou x reader

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cockslutpadalecki · 11 months

Text

Second Time Around

Summary: After a brutal assault by one of your co-workers, you choose to turn your experience into a positive, eventually becoming an ambassador for other victims, and in turn, an unintentional household name. However the good Captain America doesn’t seem to take to your newfound fame very well.

Characters: Dark/Mean!Steve Rogers x Ex!Shield!Reader.

Words: 3K.

Warnings: non-con, mentions of previous sexual assault, mentions of previous date rape/drugging, oral sex (female receiving), multiple orgasms, size kink. MINORS DNI.

A/N: Been working on this for far too long and finally managed to finish it. Beta: @princessmisery666 but all the general bullshit is entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Please support your content creators by sharing our work.

Your prideful smile is reflected in the face of everyone in the audience. The crowds acceptance is contagious and you can’t smile wide enough.

Another successful seminar completed. With every one you host around the state, your happiness grows, knowing that your words are having an impact. Your message is spreading like wildfire, but instead of burning everything in its path, empowerment blooms instead.

The sound of applause is loud in your ears— thunderous and overwhelming, yet you find yourself not wanting to run from it. It brings you to tears, joyful ones that you have trouble holding back until you feel your assistant’s hand on the small of your back.

“I have someone in your dressing room requesting a moment of your time,” she mutters softly into your ear.

You turn a little, trying to keep the smile on your face from dropping. You’re deeply grateful for every single person who shows up to these events, and you do your best to meet with as many of them as you can, but as you're booked for another talk that starts in less than an hour and two towns over, your time is stretched thin.

“I can’t, Allison,” you tell her gently. “We have to leave in ten minutes.”

The other woman glances at her watch awkwardly before looking back at you, unease pulling at her features.

“Please pass on my apologies, but-” you begin, but Allison quickly interrupts.

“I’m sorry, but they told me they have to meet with you, and they won’t take no for an answer.”

The message riles you up, instantly setting your nerves on edge. Isn’t that what these talks are about, setting boundaries, saying no? If whoever this person is knows the reason for you being in Brooklyn perhaps they should have chosen a better time and location for an impromptu meeting. Yet you find yourself, reluctantly, agreeing, just to keep the peace

You walk the short distance to your dressing room, determination and a shred of annoyance propelling you towards your mystery guest. You feel guilty for being irritated and you don’t understand why. Allison hurries along behind you, quickly answering your questions as you fire them at her over her shoulder.

Did they give you a name?

Did they tell you what they want?

She tells you very little, unable to give you the answers you seek. All you know as you approach the door is that a man stands on the other side, waiting for you, his intention unclear.

For a brief moment, you’re afraid it’s the damn movie producers again— determined to break you, whittle down your resolve into agreeing to turn your experience into a dramatization with very little fact. Something to twist the narrative and essentially make you the villain.

Bidding Allison your thanks at the door, you enter slowly, peeking around it. Your eyes land on a Herculean-sized figure— all broad shoulders and rippling muscles— and suddenly all of your previous fears rush from you like a waterfall. You know this figure, even from behind.

“Steve?” Your voice is intentionally quiet because even though you’re sure it’s him, there’s still a part of you that questions your memory.

He spins on the spot, lips split into a giant smile as he takes you in like you’re the first person of the opposite sex he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he replies with a heavy sigh. He steps towards you, arms outstretched as he envelopes you in a tight hug. It’s hard but warm. Comforting in a way you had forgotten exists. His smell reminds you of the past, but instead of allowing it to trigger unwanted memories, you inhale deeply— telling yourself that you’re better than being a victim, what happened to you doesn’t define who you are.

It’s what you preach to your audiences day in day out.

Don’t let yourself become a victim.

“You’re a hard woman to pin down,” he smiles wide.

“Sure am now that I’m no longer stuck behind a desk,” you return with a little jest.

He gives you another of his best All American grins. All white and perfectly straight teeth. “I still walk past it daily. It’s not the same without you there.”

You return his smile with ease, unsure of how to respond. Instead, you turn out, “What can I do for you?”

Steve shrugs. “Ah, well I thought that seeing as you’re in my hometown, we could go out for dinner? Haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“Can’t say I wanna stay here longer than I’m needed to these days.” The reason lingers in the room, unspoken. Not since it happened. Steve flashes you a sympathetic look and that inexplicable sense of guilt returns. “But one dinner with the Captain can’t hurt.”

Hours pass by in a blur of decadent food and conversation. You’re ready to head back to the hotel when you leave the restaurant, but Steve doesn’t want to end the night so soon, insisting you join him back at his apartment for one last drink. Neither of you know how long it will be before you cross paths again and though he probably doesn’t mean to, he makes you feel a little guilty that it’s been so long.

The kindness in his eyes stops you from saying no.

You barely check your phone all night— too caught up in conversation and recounting lost memories, until Steve excuses himself to go to the bathroom. During the time alone, you find yourself mindlessly checking it while you wait for him to come back. Your screen is flooded with notifications— the usual messages from Allison, “just checking in x,” along with tweets and mentions praising your seminar.

But one particular tweet, “Cap looks absolutely ready to murder someone,” catches your eye, and before you know it, you’re clicking the link, your curiosity piqued, wondering what on Earth it can be about.

Though he often neutralizes bad guys, he’s rarely called a murderer. Steve and murder don’t go into the same sentence often, if ever.

You stare down at the video that begins to play— catching sight of yourself talking animatedly on stage, your hands flying around in all directions. Your hair looks a little neater and the flowing dress you’re still wearing is a little less creased than it is now after a whole day rushing around Brooklyn.

“There are times when I do miss working at S.H.I.E.L.D, yes,” you listen to yourself admit through the speakers of your phone. “If only for the friendships I made and unfortunately lost. But I know now that that wasn’t where I was meant to be, so I guess I should be thanking him.” Your scoffs bring you back to the moment, and you finally look up, realising Steve has returned to sit beside you.

The audience on the video laughs, but there’s an awkwardness to it. Like they shouldn’t find your experience funny, but because you’re making it so, they feel like they have permission to do the same. Giving Steve a cursory glance, you don’t miss the way his face drops at your poor joke and immediately you feel guilty.

Guilty? For trying to make light of your past? Trying not to let it represent you?

You swallow hard. You’ve skirted around the issue all evening, not wanting to dampen the fun you’ve been having. It feels ridiculous when you think about it— being so reluctant to bring up your experience with him when you find it so easy to be candid with strangers in regards to it.

Maybe it’s because of that very reason. They’re strangers. They didn’t witness you leave with the man who assaulted you. They didn’t help to get him arrested and convicted for his crime.

Steve did. Steve is closer to the harsh details of that night than anyone— apart from you. And your rapist.

Another question quickly pulls your attention back down to the screen.

“You’d really do that?”

“I get to see more of the world than I did before, so,” you watch yourself shrug as someone else pipes up.

“If you came face to face with your attacker now, what would you say to him?”

The video pans to the back of the room— a quick blur of color as it passes by the audience, and focuses on Steve standing by the door. You almost recoil in shock at the sight of him, not realising he had been there at the time. Still watching, you look at on-screen Steve as he stares down at the floor, listening to you speak.

It surprises even you how quickly you don’t hesitate. “I hated you for so long, but now I just pity you for being such a coward.”

Steve’s eyes flicker up at that moment, his jaw taut in fury.

The clip ends and you look towards him, eyes inexplicably full of tears.

“You look so angry,” you observe quietly.

“I was,” he pauses, seemingly like he’s trying to calm himself down. “I loathe being called a coward,” he finally says. His tone seems off suddenly. Like he’s annoyed somehow at you.

“Pardon?” Your brow furrows in confusion, the uncomfortable silence lingers for a moment, baffled by Steve’s change in attitude. He’s not making any sense. Nor does he elaborate.

“Your parents must be so proud of you,” he adds tersely.

It’s a strange statement. One that immediately sends a wave of ice through your body. You take another sip of your drink, licking a drop from your lip, and they tingle as if going numb. You haven’t drunk that much.

“Yes, I suppose they are,” you affirm, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “In a roundabout sort of way.”

“Strange thing to be proud of,” he smirks, huffing out a puff of air through his nose. “Their little girl famous just for getting her legs spread.”

You stare at Steve, the words swirling around in your brain, not making any sense. Maybe you have had too much to drink. But did he just-

“Ex-excuse me?” you manage to stutter out.

“C’mon, you did look pretty slutty for a work party,” he says, rising to his feet. “That tiny little dress you were wearing was practically inviting us all to fuck you.”

You sit aghast, too revulsed to move from your seat.

“No wonder we thought you wanted it. Especially when you let Mike take you home.” Steve shakes his head.

“I- didn’t,” you try to defend.

He tuts in disgust. “I saw it, sweetheart. Saw him climb into that cab with you. Saw how much you were all over him.”

“N-no, that’s not true.”

“But of course, when you realised that he would tell everyone what a little whore you are, you just had to cry rape, didn’t you?”

Tears flow freely down your cheeks as you protest, “Wh-why are you saying this?”

He slowly moves closer, bending over in front of you until his face is inches from yours. “Because it’s the truth.”

You shake your head furiously. Your head fuzzy with the turn of events. “It-it’s not.”

“You believed what I told you,” he says, matter of fact. “You were unconscious, how do you really know that it was Mike that fucked you?”

The fact he uses the term fucked instead of raped makes your stomach roll with nausea. Fucked would imply you had given consent.

“But you-you saw us,” you stumble out.

Steve laughs bemused, like this is all a joke to him. “Mike did take you home that night, he did put you to bed, but he didn’t fuck you.”

There it is again. Fuck. Not rape.

You think you’re going to be sick as one solitary question crosses your mind. If Mike didn’t attack you, then who did? Another thought hurriedly strays past, replacing the first. What if Steve is covering for the real person responsible?

He straightens up, hand reaching out to cup your jaw. With gentle coercion, he lifts your chin, smiling down at you when you finally make eye contact. His usual warm sapphire gaze is cold. Hard like ice.

“Y’know, you should be grateful. I’m the one who made you famous.”

The revelation hits you like a freight train and everything suddenly seems to make sense.

He doesn’t need to say it out loud.

He’s not covering for anybody but himself.

Abject horror fills you at the frightening realization that there’s an innocent man rotting in prison because of Steve. Mike did nothing except make sure you got home safe, and Steve took advantage of that opportunity to frame him for his own heinous crime. The perfect crime.

You’re frozen in place, too afraid to move as he smears his thumb across your bottom lip.

“All those rousing speeches you make, all those uplifting messages for your fans, and you’ve got nothing for me, huh?”

“Fuck you,” you manage to spit out with venom.

Steve’s demeanour sours in an instant. His smile drops into a foul grimace, full of contempt and hatred. His hold on your chin tightens and tightens until you can feel the bones in your jaw protesting beneath the weight of his grip. Just this action alone is enough to make you realise that with one small twitch of his hand, he can easily break you.

His breath is hot on your cheek as he leans down, hissing in your face, “You should be fuckin’ thankin’ me.”

He snaps, grabbing you around the waist and hoists you off the chair in one fluid motion. You kick and hit out as he lifts you into the air, dumping you onto his shoulder like you weigh absolutely nothing.

You scream and yell, but Steve makes no attempt to silence you as he carries you into his bedroom. He throws you down onto the bed, quickly covering your body with his as you continue to hit him, but they just bounce off his biceps and chest without even so much as a flinch.

“Stop, please,” you beg when he roughly pushes up your dress. The plea falls on deaf ears, Steve already working open his pants as he tears your underwear in two.

He stares between your spread legs as he lines himself up to your opening— his cockhead hot and sticky against your pussy lips. Steve’s eyes flicker to you, watching your mouth drop open and your eyes squeeze shut as he sinks into you, the sheer girth of him punching all the air from your lungs. He doesn’t fit past the first inch.

“C’mon, let me in,” he breathes above you, stroking his thumb over your clit. A whine escapes from your throat and he manages another inch— just.

“It’s a shame you don’t remember anything from before. My fault, I guess, gave you too much ketamine,” Steve shrugs nonchalantly. “But I spent hours worshiping you,” he softly adds. “Eating out your delicious cunt, making you come all over my tongue.”

He pulls out, and you let go of the breath you don’t realise you’ve been holding in. He shimmies down the bed, face level with your pussy and looks up at you once more. His tongue darts out just as you lift your leg to knee him in the head, but Steve’s faster. He licks up your sex and all of your motor functions cease to work. Your leg falls to the bed useless, and he curls his arms around your thighs, pinning you in place.

Steve gets to work, licking and kissing his way up and down your sex while you lay beneath him— body reacting to every precise touch as your mind revolts at the sensation. He slides in a finger, then two— both perfectly crooked inside you as his tongue flicks over your clit and you’re coming whether you like it or not.

You’re still trembling when he climbs up, smoothing his cock through your soaked lips. Steve doesn’t miss the way your entire body jolts when he rubs it across your clit, and he grins down at you with a smile that used to make you feel safe.

Now it just terrifies you.

“See, your body remembers me, even if you don’t,” he cajoles, teasing his cock against the entrance to your cunt. “And I think she’s wet enough that I can just slide straight in.”

Steve drives his hips forward. He pops inside you with no resistance, easing into you inch by inch until you can feel him heavy and swollen in your gut.

Your back arches, and your hips cant towards him, forcing him deeper.

“That’s it,” he praises, wrapping his hands around your hips to keep you impaled on his cock. “Look at you takin’ me nice and deep.”

He pulls out slowly, but he’s even slower sliding back inside you. His eyes don’t leave yours, watching the way your face contorts and shifts as he fills you up.

“I didn’t get to enjoy this look of pleasure on your face last time, now at least I get to savour it.”

He starts to fuck you— rapidly building to a pace that has you sinking into the mattress with each deep thrust. It’s not meant to be pleasurable, but the pain slowly fizzles away until all you can feel is heat.

The coil in your gut tightens— aching, straining to snap and you try to block out the sensation. It does nothing and you come around Steve like you actually want it, body jolting and tensing as ripples of ecstasy possess you.

You try to block out his staccato praise and heavy moans, but the more you attempt to focus elsewhere— the less you’re able. The sounds Steve makes, the touches of his fingers on your skin, the feel of his cock brutalizing you— it’s a horrible, pornographic concoction that you can’t escape and the inevitable sobs come.

Tears run into your hairline and pool in your ears as Steve claims you over and over— one deep, guttural thrust at a time. Disgust hurriedly replaces the dull pleasure still swirling in your gut, violation thick as all you can do is take everything he gives you.

You recovered from the trauma before, able to move on, evolve into the person you are now. Stronger for your experience. But as you stare up into the eyes of your true nightmare, you’re not sure you’re going to be able to overcome it a second time.

***

CE: @buckymydarlingangel @broadwaybabe18 @captain-asguard @chamberofsloths @cevansgurl @dreamlessinparis @deanwinchesterswitch @fandom-princess-forevermore @hurricanerin @kellhems @ladybug05 @mugi-chwan95 @navybrat817 @otomefromtheheart @oneoftheprettynerds @patzammit @rebel-stardust @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @sammykb1994 @syrenavenger @saiyanprincessswanie @sunwardsss @selfsun @threeminutesoflife @vicmc624 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wintasssoldier @xoxonotme

4EVS: @amirra88 @andreasworlsboring101 @b3autyfuldisast3r @cheesyclaire @chibijusstuff @callsignrambam @dangertoozmanykids101 @daughterofthenight117 @doozywoozy @foxyjwls007 @geekofmanyforms @heyyouwiththeassbutt @i-opened-the-chamber-of-secrets @ilovefanfic86 @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay @letsby @letsdisneythings @labella420 @mogaruke @maliburenee @notyourtypicalrose @nik2write @obsessivelycapricious @patrick-hockslutter @princessmisery666 @phildunphyisadilf @sage-writing @sea040561 @sweeterthanthis @slutformarvelmen @smokeandnailz @stoneyggirl @stoneyggirl2 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @thegirlnextdoorssister @unfortunate-brat @wayward-dreamer @warriorqueen1991 @xoxabs88xox

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #mean!steve rogers #dark steve rogers #chris evans fanfiction #marvel fanfiction

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twistedwonderlandimaginesblog · 1 year

Note

Hei! I'm new here and on this fandom two questions can I ask from the kissing prompt #4 with Idia? And how many characters is the limit for each ask in this case? Thanks in advance ♥️❤️

(For the kiss prompts it’s only one character per ask and one prompt per request!)

Idia Shroud:

4. An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose.

Idia was cornered.

The look on Crewel’s face told him all he needed to know; he would not be exempt from this project, regardless of his avoidance of people. It might be just fine for him to send technology to class instead of himself but this was still something that required two heads, no matter how intelligent Idia insisted he was. He was cut off time and time again with a cruel glare that sealed his fate, a main quest that had first been thought of as a basic side quest.

“We could be partners, if you want. You know me better than most others in the class anyway.” You had offered yourself up so casually, Idia suspected you had no clue that he was on your romance route at the moment; perhaps you were the perfect companion for this quest, just so he could raise his affection with you and unlock more interactions for the future.

This option being presented to him was also assuredly leading him down a certain path, and if he were to deny your kindness… a bad end surely awaited him. He could see the words dripping with blood and ink as your head tilted, awaiting an answer. All he could do was vigorously nod his head yes before disappearing, knowing there was quite a bit of work to do before he could let you step foot in his disaster of a room.

After hours of necessary prep work to not lower your affection you received the all clear from Idia to come over, your notebooks in hand as you prepared to settle down and finish the project in one night. You figured it would make it easiest on Idia but you had failed to notice the difficulty of the prompt Crewel gave, almost as if he purposely made it so Idia would have to have longer human interaction. He’s cursing his teachers name as he researched alongside you, sweating as time marched on.

“Ah, wait!” You pointed at one of his many screens, Idia glancing back to see what had gotten you excited. “I think this is the piece we’re missing! If we add that in, then it’ll all make sense, and we’re done!”

“…! You’re right!” You had found the missing puzzle piece, the final component that would have you both racing to the next cutscene. “There, it’s been added in… We’re done!”

After countless hours of reading over text and desperately problem solving to make the assignment work properly, you’d finally reached the finish line. You’re giddy as you come to sit next to Idia to admire your work, turning to him with a smile so bright it was more blinding than his screens in a dark room.

He must have missed the QTE, hit a wrong button somewhere in his brain, because his body moved before he had any idea what he was doing. In a move that was far bolder than his courage stat could possibly allow he pressed his lips against yours in celebration, the move so quick that you didn’t have much time to react to it. He must not have known the stun effect his lips had but you must have some sort of shield that bounced magic right back at him, as he suddenly became frozen in his spot staring at you.

The excitement that had given a brief boost to powers allowed him to melt the ice that had encased his body, his face and hair becoming a light shade of pink mixed his normal blue. If this were to go poorly he would have lost all your friendship points anyway, so what was one more for the road? He dipped down to steal another kiss, the very last kiss he would ever have in his life, before he pulled away with a concerned look on his face.

Maybe he shouldn’t have gone back for round two.

Maybe he should’ve hit the apology button.

Nothing he could do now except wait for your response.

#Idia Shroud #TWST #Twisted Wonderland #TWST Imagines #Twisted Wonderland Imagines #TWST x Reader #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #Twisted WOnderland Imagines #kiss prompts #scenario #Idia Shroud x Reader

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zhng96 · 8 months

Text

8:12PM — shen ricky

↳ req: this may be kind of specific butttttt can u do a ricky onehsot where he’s been busy w work and he forgot that he has a date w u, and he arrives late then the rest is up to uu

↳ pairing: shen quanrui x gn!reader

↳ warnings: angst to fluff!! also comfort lolll, reader feel insecure at the beginning, ricky misses a date

perm taglist (open): @tzuberry @hrtattcker @yueriots @neohyxn @avocarua @dwcljh

ricky has never been anything short of a great boyfriend. he was attentive, cared so much about you and showed through his affectionate words, constantly checked up on you and all in all made you feel every ounce of love you deserved- today was just... an off day.

you knew that he was busy; when they called, he had to answer. but a promise is also a promise, and this has been the very first time that he's broken one.

there you sat, dateless at a fancy restaurant in the downtown area of the city.

despite knowing that ricky could easily afford to take you here, you found it quite hard to fit in. your eyes darted around the restaurant, finding well-cleaned-up families, and women with hundred-dollar dresses, with their dates who dressed along the same price tag.

a sudden guilt errodes your brain- ricky was the only reason you were able to make a reservation here, where you leaching off of your boyfriend? albeit the hurt caused by the man in question due to missing your date, the thought still consumes you whole and eats up at your concious.

(more under the cut !)

nodding to yourself, you finally take a stand and walk around the circular table meant for two- which only ended up sitting one for about an hour. you give a curt yet embarassing nod to the waiter, whose eyes lingered on your figure, their pitious gaze punctured your being as she continued to watch you walk out of their restuarant shamefully.

hailing a cab over, you open the door before thanking him, hopping into the backseat and sheepishly telling him your address.

as if the driver knew of your current predicament, he keeps glancing at the rear view mirror, causing you to shift uncomfortably in your spot. you could sense the burning question lighting up the tip of his tongue but also the hesitation that singed his lips.

however, he chose against asking the question, making you forever grateful.

stopping in front of your complex, you thank him, handing him over your cash before leaving. the breath of fresh air once you exit offers no relief and you sluggishly walk through your entrance and into the elevator to make it home.

just as excited as you were to go on this date, you were now just as excited to jump into bed and sleep your emotions away- but your were met with a familiar face as the elevator doors slide open.

a bleach blonde makes it's way into your vision as the elevator doors slide open and ricky looks at you in shock.

seeing the way his tie is messily done, a pinch of his shirt untucked from his pants and his face in distress- every emotion crashes through your body all at once.

"oh." was all you could muster as you try to fight the tears that rimmed your eyes.

"yn, i'm so sorry. i tried to come, i was just on my way- i'm so sorry you had to wait that long-" his apologies were quickly cut off by you stepping through the passageway of the elevator, taking his torso into an embrace.

he tenses for a brief moment before relaxing, his arms circling around the upper half of your frame.

"you made me wait for an hour... the waiters even knew what happened and i didn't have to tell them... my taxi driver too... god, it's so embarrassing."

the blonde winces at your sobs, his guilt now overflowing- every sob adds another ounce of guilt into his veins.

"i'm so sorry..." you pull away and nod, trying to calm your rapidly beating heart. you turn to press the button of your floor before moving away from him.

sniffling, you refuse to make eye contact with him, "let's just head to bed..."

"hey, wait, yn let's talk about this..." before he can try to pull you in again, the door opens, revealing your floor and you walk out of the elevator.

juggling through your keys, ricky struggles to keep up as you rush through the halls towards your apartment. finally finding the right key, you walk up to your door, stick the key in and swing the door open.

surprisingly, you hold the door open for the distressed boy and he finally manages to catch you. the door slams as no one is there to gently close it, and his hand wraps around your wrist delicately.

"don't do this.." he calls, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked at you, concern threading through his features.

"do what?" you mumble avoidantly, trying to pry your wrist out of his grip.

"don't dismiss your feelings. tell me how it hurt, and tell me what i can do to fix it."

the two of you stand there for a moment and you shift on your feet uncomfortably at the silence.

he nods at you, trying to fish your emotions out and you lick your lips before huffing, "it hurt a lot."

you cringed at the sound of your voice cracking but with his comforting gaze, you found it hard to stop yourself, "even though it's not your fault you weren't allowed to leave, and technically neither was the pity that the taxi driver and waitress gave me, and that it was also your first time you missed a date... it still really hurt. honestly... i'm also embarrased. i didn't belong in that fancy restaurant, i only go there because of you... you can afford it, and that makes me feel like i'm leaching off of you..."

"yn..." at the sight of you looking away, ricky grabs your other hand to keep your attention on him.

"i take you there because i want to, not because i feel like i have to. you leaching off of me is never what i intended to make you feel like- neither was making you feel like you weren't worthy enough to be in that restaurant. if you feel more comfortable, we can start going to cafe's.. all i want is for you to be happy..."

"no, ricky... i'm happy wherever i go with you, i just... i guess i felt insecure in the moment- and getting stood up kind off added to that i guess..."

ricky cringes at your confession, "alright... how can i make it up to you?"

"js' being here with me is fine..." you sigh, finally looking up to lock eyes with him.

"you sure?"

"yeah... just try not to miss another date..."

“trust me, i’ll never let it happen again.”

navi. mlist.

#. . . 🖋️ zhng’s prose #zb1 fluff #zb1 x reader #zerobaseone x reader #zb1 #zerobaseone #shen ricky x reader #shen quanrui x reader #ricky zb1 x reader #zb1 ricky x reader #zb1 imagine

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theforgottenmcrmy · 5 months

Text

Oaths~ Part 1/3 (Ser Harwin Strong x Reader)

᯽ Please note that this is an overall Part 21 to the series Growing Strong. The masterlist, and part 1, can be found HERE ᯽

Pairing: Ser Harwin Strong x Tyrell! Female Reader

Warnings: GOT typical sexism, canon divergence, mentions of past character death, super mildly suggestive themes

Summary:

But the core issue at hand was not of your own fate, or even your husband’s. You did not think yourself as strong as Rhaenyra; having to bury any one of your children just might destroy you. And Rhaenyra had pleaded with you to consider all of your options. If betraying a friend of many years and sacrificing whatever semblance of honor House Tyrell still had could ensure the safety and survival of your children, why would you not consider it?

A/N: As stated in the preview, I have no excuses, only apologies. Thank you to everyone who has continued to read this story. 🖤 And to anyone who's new since the last update, welcome. I hope you all enjoy. Next part is planned to be posted 11/23.

The late night had given way to the earliest hours of the morning.

After finding a mutually agreeable means of which Harwin and you could expend some of your pent up energy, sleep had finally claimed you at long last. However, not unlike the vast majority of nights over the past few weeks, your sleep was light and mostly dreamless. Not even your arrival at the haven that was Dragonstone had been sufficient enough to subdue your inner turmoils and ever-growing fears.

It was not long at all before you rose. It was prompted by a gentle, but still very apparent, dipping of the mattress beside you.

You blinked several times, trying to will the haziness away. You felt your face scrunch, a frown coming to your lips as you looked over at the space beside you with mild confusion. “Harwin?”

Though your sight was still a bit foggy, you took the silence that followed as your answer. Most assuredly, had someone besides the two of you been so bold as to have entered your chambers unannounced, Harwin would have had some sharp words at the ready for them.

If not a well placed strike with his fist or sword.

Once the grog had lifted, you were able to make out your husband’s figure standing across the room. His back, still bare, was towards you. In the blink of an eye, he had swiped up whatever it was that he sought, and moved to return back to the bed without delay. You lifted up the sheets for him as he neared, and he softly smiled at you in silent gratitude.

He hastily settled into the bed once more, tucking the sheets back around himself before scooting over closer to you. He pressed a brief kiss to your temple, and his next words out of his mouth were little more than a quiet mumble. “Forgive me, My Love, I did not mean to wake you. You should get some more rest, whilst you still can.”

Between the mere fitful bouts of rest you had been able to snag thus far, and the simple fact that you knew your husband was now wide awake, it was abundantly clear that there was little chance of Harwin’s suggestion coming to fruition. Instead, with a raised eyebrow, you pivoted, “What do you have there?”

Sheepishly, as if knowing his own refusal to succumb to sleep was part of the reason you would not be resting either, Harwin presented you with the object he had deemed necessary to retrieve from the other side of the room at the odd hour.

The letter from Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower.

“I could not sleep,” Harwin explained as he cautiously began to unfold the letter. With the seal having already been broken by you earlier, the parchment gave him little resistance at all. “I know you wished to discuss this with me later, but my curiosity got the better of me.”

It was as best a time as any to have the conversation, you supposed. You had wished to discuss Alicent’s letter with Harwin immediately after returning from dinner with the royal family- before the two of you had gotten swept up in one another. But in hindsight, you had no qualms about how you and Harwin had chosen to spend the time that had passed since.

Besides, Queen Rhaenyra expected an answer from the two of you in the morning, by way of whether you and Harwin attended the council meeting she intended to call.

You had been wary of Harwin’s reaction to the letter ever since it had been presented to you. You carried that hesitancy with you still, and silently watched with an increasing sense of apprehension as Harwin read the dowager queen’s letter line by line, word for word.

The look on Harwin’s face as he finished reading over the terms was practically indiscernible. Perhaps that was what gave you pause the most.

“Say something, Dearest,” you bid him pleadingly after a moment, concern painting your every word.

Harwin’s eyes remained locked on the parchment in his hands.

Since the day you had met, he had been mindful of his infamous temper, and how he managed it, around you. But something of this nature was almost completely uncharted territory for either of you.

You reached out for his closest hand slowly. “Harwin?”

Hearing his name, along with your hand coming to rest upon his own, finally snapped your husband out of his stupor. Harwin blinked up at you blankly one, two, three times. “... I do not know what to say.”

Of all the ways you had imagined Harwin would react to Dowager Queen Alicent’s letter, a lack of a reaction altogether had not been a possibility that you had considered. Regardless, you felt the response was completely valid.

You pursed your lips, still waiting for Harwin to make the first move.

As you had initially expected, anger was the first emotion Harwin eventually settled on after the shock had passed. His brows furrowed sharply, his normally calming eyes turning dark in the already dimly lit room.

“The nerve of that woman. Is the dowager queen truly so daft as to believe her demands are anything less than an insult to any one of us? Not only would we be stripped of our own birthrights, but how could she truly expect us to disinherit Selwin in such a disparaging fashion? … The Crown may have many powers, but whilst members of our blood still live, the line of succession for House Strong and House Tyrell is business of none other than its current lord and lady.”

You remained silent, sensing that was not the end of Harwin’s musings. Your suspicions were proven true less than a moment later.

“And I’d rather eat my own boot before pawning off my son to carry a sword for that insufferable Cole, let alone that oaf of a cousin of hers all the way over in Oldtown.”

You fought your initial instinct to laugh at your husband’s chosen phrasing. “If we take the Usurper’s offer, it would mean sacrificing our plans for our houses’ inheritance, yes.”

You had intentionally refrained from acknowledging Harwin’s final phrase- any topic dealing with the disgrace that was Ser Criston Cole had the propensity to send your husband on a long-winded tangent. Perhaps rightfully so.

“If we take the Usurper’s offer?” Harwin countered. He looked over at you with wide eyes, and in a tone more imploring than harsh, he questioned, “You cannot seriously be considering such a thing?”

Despite knowing that Harwin meant no harm, you could not help but flinch. Fortunately, the movement was so miniscule, Harwin had not even perceived it. Withdrawing your hand from Harwin, you sat up straight, taking the sheets on your side of the bed along with you. As serious of a conversation as it was, conversing in anything less than a decent state would have felt a bit improper.

“I do not wish to concede to the Usurper’s terms,” you assured him truthfully. “But our queen has asked us to at least give some thought to it, and I agreed to heed her. We owe her just as much, do we not? The realm is on the brink of war, Harwin- we cannot pretend that whatever decision we make, whether it be to support Rhaenyra or join ranks with the Usurper, will be entirely free of consequence.”

Harwin sighed, making him sound even more tired than you already knew him to be. “I know, My Love. But conceding to these terms would be foolish at best, and could spell disaster for our family at worst… Did you read of their intentions for Luciya?

A grimace that sprang to your lips at the thought. Still you persisted. “She would have a title of her own…”

“And though I think she is equal to her brothers in deserving as much, and though I believe with my whole heart that she would grow to be just as capable as her mother in shouldering the responsibility that would come along with it, would any of it be truly worth the price we would pay? The price she would pay? We would be selling our daughter to your foul cousin’s son. Is that something you could make peace with? … Whether or not you’d be able to stomach it eventually, I do not think I ever could.”

You suspected Harwin would have a difficult time coming to terms with any betrothal arrangement for your daughter, but the point he was attempting was fair. If the proposed betrothal and subsequent marriage went through, Luciya would be nothing but a pawn in the long-standing and twisted game your cousin Lord Garrett Redwyne had been attempting to engage you in for the better part of twenty years. If wed to Luciya, the young Lord Justan would inevitably become Lord Tyrell in all but name. And far be it from your cousin to rise above attempting to exercise control over his son as a means to achieve his own ends.

“I detest the very thought of it, Dearest. But they are both young, and would not have to wed for some time. And in the meantime, I would still rule in Highgarden as regent. Ten years, if not more, is ample time for us to find a way to undermine the betrothal. We could agree to the terms now, and make our own arrangement, one more agreeable to us all, for Luciya after.”

“And how would such scheming transpire, when your every move will be scrutinized by an advisor of the Usurper’s choosing?”

It was your turn to sigh. Though sleep did not call to you, your mind felt suddenly heavy. Your eyes fell to your hands, where your fingers weaved in and out of one another with absentminded worry. “I understand that all I have said may seem futile. But I am only wanting to ensure we have discussed this matter thoroughly.”

“That you are attempting to see any good at all in this egregious proposal from the dowager queen speaks to more than just that.”

Your fidgeting hands stilled when Harwin’s gently captured them. You took a moment to watch your entwined hands, before looking up to meet his gaze.

Harwin’s eyes held nothing but love and concern. It was a damning combination that had proved you as more than a willing victim to his multitude of persuasions time and time again. It was so moving- practically overwhelming, really- that it was very tempting to look away. But you could not.

“What is on your mind?” he pleaded. “If you have any doubts, share them with me. There is no need for you to shoulder such burdens alone.”

Never, in all your years, had you doubted your decision to support Rhaenyra as the successor to her father’s throne. Nearly twenty years past, your own father, joining many other lords and ladies of Westeros, publicly swore such an oath. When he’d passed, your brother had done the same.

And when fate had placed the lordship of House Tyrell upon your own shoulders, you too had made such an oath. Now, you were bound to Rhaenyra’s cause by honor. Honor you had inherited, both by the name of House Tyrell and by the actions of your father and brother, and honor you had intended to carve for yourself. You had knelt before King Viserys and publicly swore that you, your house, and each and every one of your bannermen would uphold Princess Rhaenyra as King Viserys’s one, true heir.

Even as the years passed, and when not one, not two, but three sons had been born to King Viserys since your father’s oath had been made, doing anything but keeping the honorable word of House Tyrell was simply unfathomable. The thought of breaking the oath you and your predecessors had made had never, ever crossed your mind.

Until today.

It was no mere whim that tempted you to break your oath. Just the thought of betraying Rhaenyra was nearly painful. So harsh was the idea, that it almost outweighed the fear that her inevitable wrath would inspire.

You were a Tyrell long before you had become Harwin’s wife. As the lady of your house, you owed just as much to the Tyrell name as Harwin owed to that of House Strong. You and Harwin were blessed with a union that was mutually agreeable, and working together to further the interest of both your houses proved easy more times than it did not. But ultimately, the fate of House Tyrell, and the furthering of its line, rested upon your shoulders alone.

Becoming fully entrenched in a war was a gamble, and a risky one at that. Whatever glory House Tyrell could possibly earn from bloodshed in a quest to restore the rightful heir to the Iron Throne would be all for nought if you paid for it with the lives of any of your children. What was the point in furthering the grandeur of the Tyrell legacy if there was no one left to inherit it?

…

Neutrality was not an option, so it was a shame that Alicent’s terms were simply unacceptable. Not only were the terms demanding, but you had little to no faith in her ability to keep whatever petty promises she had made. Perhaps her intentions, however misguided as they were, were as pure as she suggested in her letter… But Otto Hightower’s certainly were not. And, as Aegon’s supposedly chosen Hand of the King, it would only be a matter of time before that forked tongue of his earned him the Usurper’s ear and trust. Whatever power the dowager queen believed she may still have of her drunkard of a son would undoubtedly dwindle with time.

Your family’s safety could not be guaranteed, regardless of what Targaryen heir House Tyrell chose to support. But you knew, beyond all other doubts you may have held, that you would not meekly step aside and let others dictate your fate. You would not sign away the future of your children to save your own neck. And you would not be bullied into silent obedience.

“I am bound to House Tyrell, as you are to House Strong- but I will not side against you in this. We must be united in our decision.” You lowered your eyes, your line of sight falling upon your intertwined hands once more. “We will support Rhaenyra, as we have both sworn to do.”

“But?” Harwin encouraged.

“We cannot lose. Rhaenyra must succeed.”

The unspoken sentiment behind your words clung heavily in the air between you.

Failing to win the war would mark you both, along with Rhaenyra, and any other of her supporters, for certain death. And you had an eerie suspicion that the Usurper’s method of choice to place you into the hands of the Stranger would likely be more fiery in nature than merciful. None of you, not even the children, would be likely to escape the resulting flames of his ire.

Harwin’s grip on your hand tightened. It should have been almost uncomfortable, but at that moment, it was particularly grounding.

“She will. If war is to come, so be it. But when the grounds have been scorched, the flames have dwindled, and when nothing but embers are all that remain, Rhaenyra will be the one atop the Iron Throne.”

You let out a joyless laugh. “You say it so simply. It almost makes me want to believe you.”

“Then believe.”

Something about Harwin’s insistent and clearly intentional flippancy of the matter did wonders to shatter the tension that had been built. You let out a half-heartedly frustrated huff and turned to look at him with narrow eyes.

“You are far braver than I to place so much faith in Rhaenyra’s imminent victory.”

“Nay, I doubt that very much… Although, perhaps I am better at feigning my courage.”

Despite everything, you found a small genuine smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Perhaps you have chosen the wrong path in life then. A fancy for acting would have suited a traveling performer far better than it would a lord.”

Harwin grimaced playfully, the thought crafting a rather amusing image in both of your minds. Harwin, in colorful garments, performing dramatically, and most definitely comedically, for an audience? It was impossible not to snicker at the thought.

“Though you propose quite the humorous painting of my life, taking such a path as that would not have led me to you.”

“Some would argue that there is more to life than finding love, Harwin.”

“Perhaps some would. But a life without love, and a life without you, is not one I’d care to live.”

You smiled through the overwhelming feeling his flattery so often bestowed upon you.

“Shall I?” Harwin questioned, raising Queen Alicent’s letter with his free hand.

The flames in the fireplace across the room were very demure by then, but certainly still hot enough to fulfill Harwin’s intent. Once you confirmed your consent with a quick nod, Harwin rose from the bed for the second time, letter in hand.

As he approached the fire, your mind felt suddenly more at ease. Harwin was willing to admit that supporting Rhaenyra was not without risk- but you both knew it was the honorable thing to do. Loyalty was earned, not bought. Rhaenyra had won the loyalty of House Strong and House Tyrell before either you or Harwin had ever had a true say in the matter. Your queen’s victory was not guaranteed, but Harwin was confident in her ultimate success. It was hard not to take heart from his steadfast belief.

But as soon as Harwin tossed the letter into the fire, and the parchment began to light aflame before being reduced to ash, words from your last conversation with the dowager queen echoed in recesses of your mind.

“…When loyalties become one’s only purpose for being, you will be lost to the bigger cause. Your loved ones will soon be as good as dust, if they weren't already.”

You shook the eerie thought from your mind as Harwin returned to bed with a smile on his face.

“Now,” he began, plopping rather unceremoniously back onto the mattress. His unruly curls fell haphazardly into his face as he propped up his arm to support his head. Finally, he turned to face you. “How are we to convey our unyielding support to the queen? A formal letter, signed and sealed? A dramatic declaration before the court?... Or, presenting her with Otto Hightower’s head on a spike, perhaps?”

You rolled your eyes with light hearted scoff as you turned over and mirrored his posture. “No such theatrics will be required, I’m afraid. She intends to call a council meeting tomorrow morning. Our attendance will be sufficient in reassuring her that she has our support.”

Harwin hummed thoughtfully, his eyes glistening and soft smile unwavering as he looked over at you. “Why, morning can’t be more than a few hours away by now…”

You reached over to absentmindedly brush some of his curls up and away from his face. “So it would seem.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence.

“Now would be the most opportune time to rest,” Harwin admitted. “‘Tis almost a shame I do not feel tired in the slightest.”

“Is it?”

Harwin eyed you unabashedly, and without a trace of shame. “No.”

A freeing laugh escaped your lips as he unceremoniously pulled you closer to him, his lips brushing against your neck.

Unlike what felt like a leisurely pace of a day before, something in the air of the new dawn suggested that something meaningful was about to transpire on Dragonstone.

The shared guest chambers of young Tyrell-Strong lords, while nearly cavernous in nature due to the dark and cold stone walls, were still comfortable enough. And despite the rather eventful last few weeks, Derrik found that he had slept more easily there than he could recall in all his recent memory. With the warmer weather and changing season rapidly approaching, the luxurious furs provided were more than sufficient to keep warm. And that was just as well- fire of any sorts still left Derrik, and his younger brother Selwin, feeling fidgety and anxious. And leaving any fire unattended, even a small one, whilst they slept was simply not an option.

The fire at Harrenhal had been many years ago. Some of the finer details of that night had been lost to memory, but some of the more harrowing moments Derrik had seen that night were stuck with him still. The horrid images had never strayed too far from his mind.

Perhaps they never would.

After a surprisingly fruitful night of rest, Derrik and Selwin had risen on their own before the sun. Without much direction otherwise, it was not long before the elder of the two suggested they meander back out into Dragonstone’s halls. Selwin had been a bit apprehensive about it, just as he had been the day before. But a few quick words of reassurance from Derrik was all the motivation his younger brother needed to ultimately agree. It wasn’t that Derrik desired to cause trouble- it was quite the opposite, in fact. Besides, Selwin was far more inherently likely to find himself in mischief than Derrik ever had been.

But something was brewing within the realm, and even on Dragonstone, isolated from the mainland, he could feel it just the same. And as Prince Daemon had so tactlessly pointed out the night before, Derrik was near the age his father Harwin had been when he had first come to King’s Landing. His father’s knightship had followed shortly thereafter.

It wasn’t a knighthood Derrik sought, but the Rogue Prince’s comment had reiterated what Derrik had known for some time: he was no longer a child. Most anyone in the realm, if asked, would readily agree that he was a man. Even if he was a considerably young one at that.

And with the realm on the fringes of war, he longed to be more. He wished to be more than some entitled young lord idly passing the time, waiting in the periphery of the political arena until the Stranger met with one of his parents and the torch was finally passed off to him. Be it House Strong or House Tyrell, the holdings of one was to be his inheritance. So too would be the name. And Derrik longed to be of use in whatever way he could to help his family and secure their safety- their survival.

Though some holed up just across Blackwater Bay, over in King’s Landing, there were no immediate enemies to stand up against. Even if there were, Dragonstone was as well-guarded and patrolled as the Red Keep at the moment.

All of this led Derrik to the inevitable conclusion that the most viable way in which he could be of use to the family was to conduct a bit of information reconnaissance.

The rising sun’s rays had yet to reach most parts of the castle as the Strong boys’ soft footsteps echoed off the stone corridors. Though many armed guards were undoubtedly awake and about, if the queen and the rest of the royal family had yet to rise, it was easy to infer that the protectors would be more centralized near their living quarters instead.

They had come across the kitchens during their perusal of Dragonstone the day before. What had seemed like an observation of little import at the time had proved to be quite the opposite come the new day.

Because of their intent, or perhaps by just pure sheer luck, Derrik and Selwin made it to the kitchens without having been detected. As the boys descended the stairs on light feet, all the usual sounds of a kitchen coming alive could be heard from within the archway at the bottom of the landing. There was an unspoken balance to be struck- the two knew they needed to close enough to the bottom of the stairs to hear anything of significance, but the closer they drew, the more they risked being seen from those within. Regardless, it was a hurdle that both of the Strong boys were mutually agreeable to tackle.

Once they could reasonably hear the voices from within the kitchens, Derrik silently gestured for Selwin to follow his lead. The two pressed their backs against the nearby wall in an effort to remain out of view. After a few more careful paces forward, the two paused and listened with bated breath.

“... -Maester Gerardys has requested hot water be brought where?”

“The Sea Dragon Tower.”

“But I have already taken out all the pots of hot water the royal family requires for the morning. Why must I drag another all the way over there? Aren’t our guests being accommodated in the Windwyrm?”

"The Sea Dragon Tower is where they have put him.”

“Him?”

“The Sea Snake!”

At this, Derrick exchanged an intrigued look with his younger brother briefly as the conversation from within the kitchens continued.

“The Sea Snake? When did he arrive?”

“His ship docked no more than a few hours ago. Her Grace the Queen thought it best to keep his lodgings closeby to her own.”

That was not surprising to Derrik at all. It was an ill-kept secret that Lord Corlys’s fleet and well-seasoned sailors would be a boon of great magnitude to whichever Targaryen he ultimately chose to support in their vye for the Iron Throne.

“Princess Rhaenys has been with him since they arrived; I heard she refuses to leave his side. Poor woman. She might just be one of the strongest women in all the Seven Kingdoms, but I have always said her only weaknesses were her husband and their children- gods rest their souls.”

“How does Lord Corlys fare? Does Maester Gerardys think he will live?”

“He suspects as much. Although, with all the great hopes placed in his healing capabilities, I do not know if he would dare say otherwise, even if it were true. Regardless, as it stands, Maester Gerardys says the wounds are certain to haunt Lord Corlys for the rest of his days.”

“Do you think he will be well enough to attend the council meeting Her Grace has called today?”

A meeting with the queen’s council was to be held? That was news to Derrik. Judging by the surprised look on his face, it was news to Selwin as well.

“Perhaps. Maester Gerardys said he was lucid at some point, although it comes and goes. If he is awake, I am certain Lord Corlys will at least make an attempt to be present. Although, I would not be surprised if Princess Rhaenys does not try to dissuade him, if only to ensure he continues to get some rest.”

“Well, the Sea Snake’s presence at her council meeting is not the only one Her Grace will be anticipating, I would venture.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I ought not tell-”

“Then you best not.”

“-However, yesterday morning, I had gone to the queen’s chambers to retrieve the pots of hot water that I had brought in earlier that morning. When I arrived, the doors were closed, and I realized that Her Grace was present.”

“And so, you left, so as not to disturb her?”

“That was my original intent. But then I overheard Her Grace from within, and she was speaking to another-”

A gasp. “Surely you did not-”

“-I did not mean to, but my curiosity got the best of me, I suppose. I overheard Her Grace speaking with Lady Tyrell.”

“That is what all this fuss is about? Why, that is hardly surprising at all. The two of them are known to be close.”

“The Usurper knows this as well. Apparently, Dowager Queen Alicent sent Lady Tyrell and Lord Strong peace terms on his behalf, all in the hopes of persuading them to join his side, and to turn cloak against Her Grace.”

Another, if not more appalling, surprise. After another quick glance at his younger brother, he determined that Selwin looked just as disturbed at the notion as Derrik felt. Neither of their parents had made any mention of such terms… not that he would have wanted them to, or believed they would, ever accept such an offer.

“That is a bold move, to be sure, particularly when their family is being hosted by Her Grace here. But how is any of it relevant to the council meeting today?”

“Her Grace strongly advised Lady Tyrell to discuss the matter thoroughly with Lord Strong. If they attend the council meeting today, she will interpret that as reassurance that she has both of their houses’ support.”

“... And if Lady Tyrell and Lord Strong do not attend the council meeting?”

“Her Grace shall have her answer either way.”

“Please?”

A moment of silence was followed by a soft, yet regretful, sigh.

“I am sorry, but I do not think it wise.”

The hopeful looks on Derrik and Selwin’s faces fell. In the chambers their parents were given for their own accommodations, it appeared that you and Harwin had had great success in making yourselves feel right at home. The two of you sat at the table near the fireplace, breaking your fast. On Harwin’s lap, Luciya sat with a smile, taking food off of his plate as she pleased.

The scene was not unlike one Derrik might have witnessed at home. But Highgarden was leagues away. And beneath the seemingly calm exterior, he could sense something was amiss between you. The sun had just risen, and yet, your shoulders were tense. Even Harwin, who was normally quite expressive and joyful around Luciya, was more quiet and reserved than normal.

Not even Derrik’s revelation that the Sea Snake had arrived in Dragonstone, and was believed to attend said council meeting, was enough to sway you to give in to your sons’ request. It did, however, cause a look of surprise to flash across your and Harwin’s faces- a fact that Derrik allowed himself to take some small joy from.

“How did you learn of the council meeting?” you inquired, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at your sons as you refilled your goblet.

“I- We- It is of little consequence,” Derrik sputtered, ultimately deciding against confessing the truth, lest he lose all of his leverage, existing and potential. “The queen has called for one, has she not?”

“She has,” you answered carefully.

“And you and Father have been invited to attend?”

“Aye,” Harwin supplied.

“Will you attend the meeting?” Selwin chimed in. “We know the Usurper and Dowager Queen Alicent have sent you terms to try and win your support. Do you mean to accept them?”

You cleared your throat, narrowly avoiding choking on what Derrik suspected was wine. Once you had regained your composure, your lips settled into a frown.

Across the table from you, Harwin did a double take, though he was still mindful to steady Luciya as he did so. “How did the two of you come to learn about the dowager queen’s letter?”

“What terms the Usurper offered in exchange for the support of House Tyrell and House Strong?”

“Does it matter?” Selwin countered, giving Derrik a look of bewilderment. “We cannot accept them!”

“We?” You echoed, chuckling dryly. “I do not recall the two of you being addressed in the dowager queen’s letter. It was only addressed to your father and I. Was it not, Dearest?”

Harwin merely hummed, seemingly finding Lucyia’s attempt to snag a loaf of bread off his plate suddenly far more interesting than the conversation at hand. After a moment of her struggling, he gave her a helping hand, ripping off a portion of the loaf and depositing it into her small hands swiftly. The frown upon your lips softened, eventually giving way to a fond smile as you watched the scene from across the table.

“It may not have been addressed to us, but if you intend to agree to them-” Derrik held out a hand to stop his brother from protesting beside him- “we deserve a say in that decision as well.”

The room fell into a brief, uneasy silence. It was not often that any of you had argued with one another. Every family had squabbles, or at the very least disagreements, and your family was no exception. Even so, disagreements were a rare occurrence. You and Harwin had instilled respect and understanding in both Derrik and Selwin from a young age. Discussion, not aversion, of problems had always been the example set for the Strong boys.

But the stressful events over the past few weeks, combined with tiring travel and an undeniable uncertainty about the future, weighed very heavily over you all. And Derrik knew that if he did not redirect the conversation, and soon, an argument would be the least of his concerns. Stirring up unnecessary strife would not be helpful in the slightest, particularly when to be of help was the only thing he had had on his mind that morning.

“Is that so?”

Though you appeared somewhat affronted, based on your raised eyebrows, crossed arms,and puffed up chest, the neutrality of your tone betrayed you. You might have been asking Derrik to explain his rationale- but you were not demanding it. Instead of forcing him into a corner he had so neatly placed himself in front of, it almost seemed as though you were giving him an opportunity to free himself. It was as though you were posing a challenge to him.

A test.

“Selwin and I’s cooperation with the terms are essential to the Usurper’s proposal, are they not?”

When the contemplative look on your face faltered slightly, Derrik’s assumption was proven correct. Though you recovered quickly enough, he took the opportunity your slip presented to press on.

“You and Father are too close to the queen. Perhaps Aegon is as daft as everyone jests him to be, but anyone with their wits about them would know that Otto Hightower is anything but. And if he is counseling the Usurper, he would be certain to impart to his liege that, should you and Father be welcomed back into his good graces, Aegon would be foolish to trust the two of you outright. However, if Selwin and I were to be installed in your places-”

“I will admit to this,” you interjected, holding up a hand. “Dowager Queen Alicent does mean to displace us both. After we will have sworn our allegiance to Aegon, she would have your father and I renounce our titles. But what would transpire with the succession beyond that is not what the two of you may think.”

Selwin asked quietly, “What would happen?”

You looked away from Derrik then, turning to Selwin with a softer look in your eyes. Though the root of which was still unknown to either of the Strong boys, you offered Selwin a sympathetic smile. “‘Tis nothing I would burden you with the details of, My Darling.”

“And far too insulting to repeat,” Harwin agreed under his breath, breaking off another piece of bread from the loaf and handing it over to Luciya.

Anxiously, Derrik prodded, “So, you will not accept the Usurper’s offer?”

“No.” Your attention shifted once more to Harwin, who gave you a reassuring nod that was so subtle, Derrik might have missed it, had he been looking anywhere else. “As we have sworn to do many years ago, your father and I will support Rhaenyra as the one true Queen of the Seven Kingdoms… But as for the two of you, neither of you have yet made any such oaths. And as long as that remains true, your presence at the council meeting this morning will not be required.”

Gods, you were stubborn. Fortunately for Derrik, it was a trait he had inherited from you. A trait he was rather proud of.

“It may not be required, but let us attend anyway. Let us observe, let us help. I wish to be more than a mere pawn in all of this. As much as you and father may try, neither of you can protect us forever. If the realm is to go to war, we will be vulnerable. It is time for you to teach us what you kno, and to help prepare us for the responsibilities that Selwin and I will one day inherit. Arm us with the tools and knowledge that we need to fight for this family… to survive.”

For a few long moments, all was quiet, save the soft crackling of the nearby fire. Harwin’s eyes flickered between Derrik and Selwin, and you. However, your focus was reserved for your sons alone. Your eyes narrowed, your lips in a tight line, the look on your face was ruminative.

Meanwhile, Derrik stood tall. He met your strong gaze with what he hoped was a look just as firm. Selwin shifted on his feet beside him, visibly uneasy with the tension.

Even Luciya went still in Harwin’s lap, her interest in the food having been temporarily abandoned in favor of taking in the suddenly silent shift in the room. Her wide eyes flitted to Harwin, to you, and to Derrik and Selwin with a speed Derrik had not thought was possible.

…

Finally, you rose from your seat. Wordlessly, you stepped around the table, plucked Luciya from Harwin’s hold and settled her into your own arms. Then, you turned, and walked across the room. You came to a stop before your two sons, and gave them each an appraising look.

“So often you are soft spoken. It has been far too easy for it to slip my mind just how clever you truly are,” you told Derrik, gentle pride lacing your tone. “But I needed this reminder. As I also needed to be reminded that you and Selwin are no longer boys, but young men… Will the two of you forgive me?”

Derrik did not hesitate. “There is nothing to forgive, Mother. I know you mean well.”

“And still, I will strive to do better,” you promised the both of them. Balancing Luciya in one arm, you reached out with the other, and grasped one of Derrik’s hands in your own to punctuate your point. After a brief squeeze of his hand, which Derrik could only interpret as a form of gratitude, you turned to Selwin.

Selwin watched silently as you smoothed out the collar of his doublet, which had likely gotten disheveled during the escapade to the kitchens earlier. Once you were satisfied with your efforts, you smiled at him, sparking a smile that mirrored your own to be returned.

“See to it that you tidy yourselves up a bit before the council meeting. It would not do for any member of House Tyrell or House Strong to appear anything less than impeccable.”

“Yes, Mother,” Selwin vowed, his smile deepening as he and Derrik’s victory had begun to be realized within his mind.

“And do not speak unless you are spoken to,” you added seriously. “We narrowly avoided a spat with the Rogue Prince last night, but I do not believe we are fortunate enough to get away with such a feat twice in two dawns.”

Derrik nodded obediently. “We shall keep quiet.”

“Good… Now, I ought to return Luciya to Bryna’s care.” You raised your daughter further up on your hip, and met her inquisitive gaze. “Unless you wish to attend the council meeting as well, Sweetling?”

Luciya said nothing, and once she realized that all eyes were upon her, she turned and shyly buried her head into your shoulder. Laughingly lightly, you smiled at your sons once more before heading towards the door.

Once you had disappeared from view, Derrik waited an additional few moments to allow for you to make your way down the corridor. Once he was certain he would not be overheard, Derrik turned to Harwin and raised an eyebrow.

“We could have used your support, Father.” For a moment, Derrik had lost all hope that you would make any concessions at all.

Harwin merely smirked. “You should know well by now that your Mother and I are of the same mind on most matters. And even when we were not, I have better sense than to question her judgment in front of the two of you…. There are not many things in this life that instill any sort of fear within me, my sons, but the wrath of your mother is certainly one of them. I can only hope you heed this lesson for when you have wives of your own one day.”

Selwin rolled his eyes playfully as he crossed the room to take the seat that you had abandoned. Derrik followed after him at a leisurely pace.

“Besides,” Harwin continued, pausing briefly to finish off his goblet of wine, “I was led to believe, as young men, that the two of you were more than capable of having a simple conversation with your mother, no?”

Derrik groaned tiredly at his father’s light hearted teasing.

A/N: Thank you for reading!🖤 Next part is planned to be posted 11/23.

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