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kamiversee · 9 months ago

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Sukuna’s Fuck Buddy ꨄ

[ { Synopsis } ] ➤ You agree to be friends with benefits with Sukuna, not exactly expecting to get ruined in different ways every week.

[ { Need to know } ] ➤ This is a What-If scenario that stems from my fic; The F*ck List— A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt.

[ { Content & Warning } ] ➤ f!reader, dirty talk, tw; spitting, degrading, manhandling, pet names, fingering, unprotected sex, language, brief/slight exhibitionism, & Sukuna has a filthy mouth.

[ { Paring } ] ➤ Sukuna x f!reader.

[ { Word Count } ] ➤ 4.2k

"A whore," Sukuna commented, clearly joking but his words had made you uneasy.

It was oddly specific. You hadn't thought much of it when he called you a whore the night prior, since, y'know, you liked being degraded. But, something about that being his assumption for your occupation was a crazy coincidence.

Especially considering how hellbent Gojo always is on telling you not to call yourself that. The more you thought about it...

Gojo got upset at something from Sukuna's party, he didn't want you to call yourself a whore all of a sudden, Sukuna seems to have believed that was your actual job, and you remember how pissed Gojo seemed as he thought about you sleeping with Sukuna-

Holy fuck. Are the two connected somehow? Is something going on? What does Gojo owe Sukuna? Does Sukuna know you only slept with him as payment to clear Gojo's debt? Is-

A finger had poked your forehead and you blinked out of your thoughts.

Sukuna was chuckling, "I was joking, woman. Calm down." He uttered, "I actually thought you worked at one of those beauty stores."

You raised a brow, still feeling uneasy with the man. "Beauty stores?"

"Sephora, Ulta," He shrugged, "Wherever the fuck. I pictured you being one of those cute little cashiers."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment...?" You murmured.

"Or working at McDonald's, I don't know, I didn't think too hard on it-- jus' wanted to fuck you," Sukuna admitted honestly.

Your expression drops, "Oh..."

His hand had gone to your chin and he tipped your face up, "Do you want me to want something more from you?"

His gaze was intense like always, causing chills to slip down your back. You shook your head, "I mean, no... I only wanted you to fuck me."

"We could keep doing this," Sukuna suggested with a shrug, "Make' it a weekly thing."

You batted your eyelashes at him a few times in thought. At the time, things definitely would've gone differently had you not answered his request but... Somewhere deep down inside, you wanted to make it a weekly thing.

"Really?" You had asked the man, taking him by slight surprise.

Sukuna had wholeheartedly expected you to disregard his suggestion to you but, you didn't. "Yes, really," He replied before stepping closer to his bedside where you were seated and leaning toward you, "Let's fuck every week."

You stared at him with wide eyes for a long moment, contemplating numerous things in your head. Technically, you should've said no. You should've moved on from the topic, y'know, brushed his offer off entirely.

Yet there you were, steadily nodding your head in agreement before uttering a simple, "Okay."

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Which takes you to right now, a few weeks after said agreement where you find yourself in the backseat of one of Sukuna's cars, your legs sprawled out over his as you sit prettily in his lap.

Since agreeing to be friends with benefits with Sukuna, you and him have met up once a week, sometimes twice, just to fuck each other.

In Sukuna's right hand was his cell phone, the device up at his ear as he conversed with someone as if his free hand wasn't occupied with toying with your dripping cunt-- thick fingers fucking so deep into you and curling just right against your slick walls.

Your back was against his firm chest, lips parted with heavy pants and soft moans spilling from your throat as the lewd sound of Sukuna finger fucking you filled his vehicle.

Trying so hard not to be loud in courtesy of whoever he was on the phone with, you bit your lower lip, “Mmmh… Sukuna…” You mewl out gently.

He’s been at it for a while and you could even feel how hard his cock was against your ass, his tip leaking and member twitching beneath the fabric of his sweats every time you squirmed.

Sukuna sighs heavily and pulls the phone away from his mouth only to bring his lips to your ear, “Shut the fuck up. If she hears you, I’ll stop…” Pausing mid-sentence as your cunt squeezes tighter around his fingers, he smirks, “Slut.”

“P-Please… hah… don’t stop,” Your voice was filled with pure and utter need, just as he liked.

Sukuna angles his head down a bit, planting a soft and all too teasing kiss below your ear, his breath tickling your neck, “Then shut up.”

You’re nodding, closing your mouth, and swallowing down your own moans as he purposefully shoves his fingers into you at a rougher pace.

In and out and in and out, your pussy was gushing around his fingers— mouth opening and jaw dropping every now and then as he hit all the right spots.

“Fuck,” You curse under your breath as your torso leans forward and you shoot a hand down to grab his wrist.

Sukuna’s speaking to whoever he has on the phone but you only register a few words every now and then. “Mhmmmm,” He hummed and you swore that was directed toward you as your eyes flickered back— he knew you were close.

Sukuna’s fingers slid almost all the way out of your hole just to tease you, his fingertips slipping up to flick over your clit. A breathy moan leaves your lips as he rubs your clit aggressively, drawing circles over the bud and making your legs draw together.

“M’gonna cum,” You whine out quietly, struggling to keep your noises in.

He wanted to make things harder for you so he smirks, “Yeah?” Sukuna taunted, “Gonna’ make a mess? Hm?”

Your head just barely angled back to look at him, seeing that he didn’t bother to move the phone away or mute it so whoever he was talking to heard everything he just said. This overwhelming feeling of embarrassment and arousal shoots throughout your body and your face twists up in pleasure as Sukuna sinks his fingers back into you.

“No, not you,” He spat to whoever he was talking to on call, smirking at you afterward, “I told you I was busy when we first got on the phone…”

Your hips jerked forward a bit as you unintentionally moved to ride his fingers, panting and maintaining eye contact with the man. He nearly felt like he was getting high off of merely watching you grow so stupidly drunk in lust.

“S’kuna…” You mumbled.

His cock ached in his sweats and he nodded, “Mhm, yeah, y’know what, I’ll call you back— I have a needy whore to take care of.”

You turned your head to face forward as he said that, once again feeling embarrassed and even squeezing your legs together a bit. The sound of Sukuna scoffing is heard and then his phone is, quite literally, tossed somewhere else.

He shifts and his now free hand goes to your hip as his other kneads into your pussy, making you dizzy in satisfaction as you continue trying to keep quiet.

“Look at you…” Sukuna taunts, “You’re about to cum, aren’t you?”

You nod stupidly, feeling the knot in your core build as your orgasm approaches, “Y-Yeah… fuck, please.”

“Hm? Please what?” He scoffs, as if he hadn’t had a tendency to strip you of your climax multiple times.

“Hah… Let me cum, p-please Sukuna,” Your voice was a needy but quiet whine and he bit his lower lip once he acknowledged you were still following his orders of being quiet.

Sukuna snickers, “Uhuh, I will,” He hums, “Jus’ keep squeezin’ around my fingers,” He leans forward so he could speak into your ear, low and rasped voice driving you over the edge, “Yeahhhh, like that— Fuckin’ whore.”

Your jaw drops and your mouth forms an immediate O shape as your eyes flicker, back arching, and whimper escaping your throat— you cum hard while still trying to be quiet, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you do so.

There’s a slick sound of Sukuna still toying with your cunt as you come undone and then he sits back, parting his legs a bit as you readjust into his lap and his fingers slip out of you.

Sukuna coos, “See? Was that so hard? Now here,” He moves one hand to your throat, forcing your back to be against his chest as his other hand goes to your lips, “Clean yourself off my fingers, messy girl.”

His digits that’d just been inside you prod at your lips, tapping your lower one before you part them and Sukuna pushes his fingers in. He was such a nasty man, forcing you to taste yourself and clean your slick off his fingers— you couldn’t stand him sometimes.

Not to mention how he teases you as he does so, “Taste good, right?” Sukuna asked.

You whirl your tongue around his fingers and then pull off them with a hard and firm suck, a slight pop emitting from the action, “Mhm…”

“Good,” Both of Sukuna’s hands go to your hips and he lifts you up. You hardly realize what he’s doing until he forces you to turn around and face him. Then, he makes sure you remain hovering over his crotch as he works his cock out of his sweats, his eyes on yours as if he were seconds away from devouring you.

Sukuna looked ravished for you, tired of the past minutes he spent on some tedious phone call when he could’ve been buried inches into your sloppy hole. His eyes were low-lidded, maroon shade dazed with this feral need for you.

Oh, he was about to fuck the shit out of you— as he typically does. You’d picked up on that much, how his eyes would change, his breathing grown heavier, voice low and pitched with this sexy rasp that made your cunt flutter.

“Do me a favor,” Sukuna suddenly voices out, making you blink out of your daze. Your hands were on his broad shoulders, keeping yourself hovered over him. “Sit on this dick ‘nd make another mess f’me,” He instructed, words causing you to look down at his hard, slightly curved cock that’s been freed from his clothes.

It’s so damn intimidating— the way his veins bulge, how his hand jerks at his shaft in quick pulls, tip sticky and leaking precum as you stare with pretty wide eyes.

Your legs were straddling his already so, after a moment of admiring his cock, your eyes flicked back up to his face. Sukuna was glaring at you, impatiently waiting for you to plop down onto his twitching member.

His gaze sent a chill down your spine and your body was finally moving again. You lower yourself steadily as you glance down again but because of how slow you were living and how needy Sukuna was, he goes to grab your hips and pulls your cunt down to his cock, tip pressing up against your hole.

Both of you let out a heavy exhale in sync and you rock your hips forward just a little bit to ride his flushed tip.

“Don’t fuckin’ tease me, woman,” Sukuna breathes out, voice more airy than he would’ve liked.

You smirk, “Sukuna…” Your gaze lifts to his face once more, “You’re drippin’.” You whisper tauntingly.

His brows tense and his cock suddenly pushes up a few inches into you, a shallow thrust made in reaction to your words. Sukuna’s dirty talk was rubbing off on you and it drove him crazy. The hands on your waist grip even tighter, sure to leave marks as his fingernails dig into you and he slams you down on his dick.

Your eyes widen, face twists up, and a sluty moan leaves your throat, “Oh fuck-,”

“Told’ you not to fuckin’ tease me,” Sukuna huffs out in an aggravated tone. His big rough hands slide up to your waist and he holds onto you tightly before forcing you to ride him at the pace he wanted.

You’re moving to keep up with his motions as best you can, using your legs to lift yourself up and then plop your cunt down on his cock over and over— sucking him in deep and tight each time you go down.

Meanwhile, Sukuna’s forcing you through it, making sure you don’t slow down for even a second. “Needy ass couldn’t even let me finish my phone call,” He grunts out, “Pussy just needed my cock, huh? She’s that greedy?”

Your cunt just flutters and gushes around his dick, walls closing around his shaft as a moan slips past your lips, “I… ah, oh-, fuuck… m’sorry.”

“Aw, you’re sorry?” Sukuna mocks, “No you’re nottt, you wanted me off the phone, didn’t you?”

You shake your head, “N-No…”

“No? Hah,” That smirk of his starts to appear and his hands slide down your body, caressing your skin as you ride him in earnest, “You wanted them to hear?”

Your hips stutter in movement and your eyes widen, “I-“

“Wanted them to hear how desperate you are for some cock?” Sukuna huffs out, hips suddenly snapping up into you, “How dumb you get once it’s in you? Hm?”

“F-Fuck, Sukuna-, ah, mghh.” You whine, hips coming to an almost complete stop as Sukuna fucks his cock up into you, heavy balls slapping against your ass as his tip rams up into your cervix.

To make matters worse, he slaps your ass, “Did I say you could stop? Keep fuckin’ ridin’ me.” Sukuna orders meanly, making you whine as you find your movement again, earning a smirk from him in response to how your hips match his thrusts.

There was this slight shake to his car as you bounced up and down on his cock and he kept fucking it up into you, making it hard for you to think or even moan properly.

He smirks and then holds your hips again, slamming you down slowly but roughly along with his words, “Mmmgh, just. like. that.” Sukuna groans, tossing his head back and breathing heavily.

The sight of him with his head back and neck exposed was so damn sexy, causing you to lean forward and move to his neck, pressing sweet but messy kisses all up and down his exposed skin.

Sukuna starts smiling, “Good girl.” He suddenly praises and your hips begin to rock back and forth, making his brows tense, “Aughhh, fuuuck, keep goin’, m’close.”

Because you had slowed again, you’d assume that he enjoyed it so you continued with a steady rock of your hips, keeping his thick length buried inside you as you did so.

He lets you continue like that for a minute or two but after that, he huffs, “I said ride me, whore. Don’t fuckin’ slow down.” Sukuna grunted.

For someone who was taunting you about being needy, he sure as hell had a thousand demands on how you should be riding him— as if he doesn’t know his dick is hard to take at some point.

Your brows furrow and your lower lip sticks out into a slight pout, one he finds so fucking cute. Sukuna moves his hands to your thighs, somewhat under them to aid you, and then he’s forcing your pussy to slick up and down him again.

You let out a little scoff before looking off to the side, “Shit…” Sukuna was thrusting up into you again, bullying his cock into your dripping cunt and forcing you to ride him through it.

“C’mon,” He smirks, “Take it—, fuck me.” He suddenly breathes out.

A shocked moan exits your mouth and your eyes are glossy as they find his, “W-What? Mmh…” You breathe. Did he just say what you thought he did?

“You heard me,” Sukuna’s smirk widens and slowly eases into a sexy almost fucked out smile “I said fuck me. Fuck me like you wanna make me cum,” He huffs, your body responding through upping your pace, “Yeahhhh that’s it.” Sukuna breathes, head flying back again.

The car creaked and bounced with the frantic movements of sex occurring inside, windows fogged, your tits jumping almost in his face, plush walls clamping down on his dick so good that he felt like he was losing his sanity.

Oh Sukuna was addicted. He can’t have any other woman on his cock that’s not you, not when you ride him so well and certainly not when your hand is abruptly felt on his throat.

Sukuna lets out a groan that’s treacherously close to a moan, his head tipping up from the seat as his eyes find yours, “Oh? You kinky fuckin’ woman, chokin’ me like this…” He grunts, smiling again afterward, “Can hardly feel those small fingers of yours…”

Truth is, he could feel your fingers. Blood rushed to Sukuna’s face and his cock, his mind dazed for a second as you choked him whilst riding him. He would never submit to you but goddamn you were making it difficult.

Your hole just sucked him up like a vice and your walls were so snug and warm, wetness coating his dick and even parts of his thighs. He was about to cum but he didn’t want you to think you’d got the best of him.

So, Sukuna tips his head to the side and brings a hand to your wrist, “This is cute but,” He pulls your hand off his neck, “Lemme show you how it’s done, pretty girl.”

Your lashes bat in disbelief before Sukuna’s manhandling you again, flipping you both over as his large muscular frame looms over yours. His big hands go to your legs and he spreads them fast and wide enough so that he can slam his cock back inside you.

Your back is arching off the seat of the car as soon as he pushes all the way into you, the sudden change in position making his leaky tip reach deeper than before.

One hand is propped up by your head and the other goes to your throat, Sukuna’s fingers carefully wrapping around you and feeling the way broken moans vibrate against your throat.

“Mmph… ah, ‘kuna,” You slur out as his thrusts pick up all over again. Something is mumbled under your breath and he finds it funny how you could barely get it out.

Tilting his head, “Huh? What was that? Speak up.”

You groan, “Harder,” His eyes widen and his hips just ram down into you at a merciless pace before you get out what you meant, “Choke m-me… mmh, f-fuck… h-harder, oh my… ahh, ngh…”

“Harder? You want me to choke you harder?” Sukuna repeats and you nod, earning a slight laugh from him, “Of course you do, slut.” As the last word leaves his lips, his hand is squeezing around your throat, making it hard for you to breathe while he recklessly pounds into your cunt.

“M-Mmmh,” You hum, eyes rolling back as that damn curve of his knocks into you just right, “F-Fuck. Ohmygod, f-fuuck…” You curse between a whine.

His face is hovering over yours, “Feel me in there?” You nod and he bites his lip for a moment, “Yeah?”

Sukuna just thrusts harsher and harsher, and then faster, pelvis crashing into yours over and over as the lewd sounds of sex escape his car with how sloppy it was getting. His cock was covered in you but only greedy for more, plunging in and out of you as he groans at the way you just suck him back in every time he pulls out.

“Want me to slow down?” Sukuna suddenly suggests. Again, you just nod, almost too fucked out to speak anymore. “Awww, but you’re takin’ me jus’ fine at this pace,” He praises, making your cunt throb about him.

“S’too… y-you’re so… hahh… mgh, f-fucking big-,” You moan out weakly.

Those words make his thrusts stutter and he grunts, “What? I’m what?” Sukuna questions, almost like he needed to hear you say that again. His face leans down to yours and his lips ghost your wet ones, “What am I? Say that again.” He whispers.

Your heavy breaths brush up against his lips as both of you hold such intimate eye contact with one another, “B-Big, S’kuna… S-So fuckin’ big…” You cry out, gentle tears beginning to leave your eyes.

The man unintentionally beats his cock down into your messy cunt, “Big? Ohhhh, don’t fuckin’ tell me that.” Sukuna groans, again sounding all too close to a moan, “Take it.” He huffs.

You nod yet again, “Uhuh… m-mmh, oh…”

“Yeahhh, take it you whore.” Sukuna huffed, “Every fuckin’ inch like a good girl, mhm-, fuck,” He finally moaned, eyes flickering for only a moment.

He was too into it, too into you— literally. Sukuna felt like he was in your stomach, the bulge of his cock so prominent with his every thrust. Never was he really gentle with you, not during the sex at least, there was no need to be. You liked him rough and he knew that.

“M’gonna cum inside you.” Sukuna suddenly warns, hips sloppy against you, “Fuck my cum nice ‘nd deep inside you,” He huffs, feeling how you twitch around him.

Then, Sukuna stares down at your face, his hand still around your neck as he gets a sudden thought, glancing down to your lips.

“Open your mouth,” Sukuna orders, his voice deep. Your lips are parting without a second thought and Sukuna looks you dead in the eyes as he spits onto your tongue. First, it’s one messy drip, then another filthy glob.

Oh that was nasty, he was nasty. And the fact that his action only turned you on even more really said something about you.

“Swallow it,” He demands right after, watching as you shut your mouth and do as told. Then, he feels the movement in your throat against his palm and he chuckles, “Fuck, that’s sexy… You’re such a nasty lil’ slut f’me, I like that.”

Sukuna leans down to you and the grip on your throat grows tighter, his lips moving to swallow yours up. It was a messy and heated kiss, your moans and whimpers being drowned out as his tongue slithered into your mouth.

The wet slick and slide of his mouth over yours filled the air and all you could hear was that and the brutal smack of his hips down into you as his cock unforgivingly kissed your cervix. Over and over and over again until your orgasm crashes over you.

Only then does Sukuna pull away from your lips, a messy wad of saliva hanging between the two of you as he speaks slowly and his voice makes you lose it because of that damn breathy rasp, “Pussy’s creaming ‘round me, shit.” He breathes out, slowing down his thrusts just so you can pay attention to it, “Hear that? Hear how she gushes ‘round my cock?”

It was messy, sloppy, and slick as he dragged his dick in and out of your pulsing walls. This is what it was like to be Sukuna’s fuck buddy. Whenever or wherever he wanted to take you, he would— spewing such filth out to you as he did so, no matter who heard him.

He didn’t care, he just wanted to make sure you heard him, heard his every nasty word because he knew you liked it. Hell, that’s why you’re cumming around his cock now, moaning beneath him, legs shaking, and tears streaming down your face.

Just as you’re coming undone, so is he, pace picking right back up as he fucks his orgasm into you— warm seed coating your walls as he leaned to your ear, groaning out a repeated and breathy ‘take it’ as you whined and suddenly clawed at his back.

“Take every drop,” Sukuna moans into your ear. You think he might have a breeding kink-, “Fuckin’ slut,” He adds on.

He’s going and going until he thrusts in hard one last time and stills himself. His breathing was so heavy in your ear, heavy like pants almost-, almost like you’d drained him of everything he had.

Sukuna remains still for a while before he shifts only a little, lips moving to your cheek as he kisses your wet skin. Then, it’s slow but his tongue slides out and he licks whatever's left of your tears off your face.

Your face twists up in slight discomfort due to his wet tongue and the fact that his heavy cock was still inside you wasn’t making things any better, “…Sukuna,” You sigh, “D-Don’t you have a phone call t-to return…?”

He smiles at how you remind him, despite your fucked out state and how ragged your voice was. Sukuna slowly moves to lean up but, he doesn’t pull out yet, “Mhm, I do. And uh,” He sits back a bit and pulls your body along with his, making sure he never once slips out of you, “You’re gonna keep my cock nice ‘nd warm in the meantime.”

His words catch you off gaurd, “But-“

His hand goes to your lower abdomen and Sukuna traces his fingertip over the slight print his dick makes against your skin, “You don’t want to?” He asks, tipping his head to the side.

Blinking, you just let out a sigh after a long moment of thought, “No, I do…”

“Alright then,” Sukuna smiles, “But if you make any noise, I’ll video call instead and show them the needy woman I gotta deal with,” He comments finally with a cocky little wink.

tags;

@blognicole @suguruologist @luqueam @ivoryviness @sinaxalui @rxnnie18 @carlacujo @gods-landing @bitchysouljellyfish @miles4hour @sinaxalui @annananamin @heart-snow @kiyomizzx @hanuh @acehyacinth @mccookiemonster @tojis-ball-sack @cartwheel6869 @mariluvsusstuff @addie1010 @slammynics @actualz0mbie @hisbitchhh @kay-xle @cunttee3 @voids-universe @raininglovelyfire @itsbokutosjuicyass @peaceoutbritta @barbielani @gennaray @r3inae @kfmcykdy @camiihutt @tokina @curtin81937 @hopefullydecent @nameless-shade @ureuphoriasworld @forgetfulmachine @legbouk @lilliaannn @clementineee0-0 @divinelseraph @didibxx

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joelsrose · 2 months ago

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Guns and Roses: Chapter 7

previous chapters

Chapter Summary: You and Joel settled into an effortless rhythm, a silent understanding weaving through each day, each small gesture a testament to a bond growing deeper. Slowly, Joel began to reveal just how much he cared, his actions softer, his gaze lingering a bit longer, and soon enough, it became clear to everyone that something between you both had changed. As his guard lowered, he began to open up, sharing pieces of himself he’d kept hidden, letting his feelings show in quiet, unguarded moments.

14k words yes im insane - lemme know your thoughts in the comments pleaseeee TW: mentions of blood etc

You woke slowly, a gentle warmth cocooning you as you stirred, your senses gradually sharpening. Your arms were wrapped around something solid and warm, and as awareness crept in, you realized it was Joel—his body nestled against yours, your chest pressed to his broad back. You were the one holding him, your arm draped across his middle and your fingers resting lightly on the rough fabric of his shirt. The steady rise and fall of his breathing was a quiet lullaby, soothing in its rhythm, and for a heartbeat, you let yourself linger in that fragile peace. You didn’t dare shift, afraid to disturb the moment, or worse, wake him and shatter the unexpected intimacy of it all.

You remembered going to bed with a careful distance between you, an unspoken boundary neither of you dared to cross. But sometime in the night, that space had disappeared. Now, you were wrapped around him from behind, your arm draped over his torso, fingers resting lightly on his chest. Your head was tucked close to the curve of his neck, your breath mingling with the warmth of his skin. His slow, steady breathing matched the gentle rise and fall beneath your palm, a quiet rhythm that seemed to draw you closer still.

Your gaze drifted to the back of his head, where his hair fell in disheveled waves. The strands curled slightly at the nape of his neck, revealing the way they grew in unruly patterns. It was a small, intimate detail you’d never noticed before—how a few pieces were shorter, sticking out stubbornly, while the rest fell in gentle, careless layers. The sight stirred something deep within you, an unexpected tenderness at this quiet, unguarded glimpse of him. You traced the outline with your eyes, almost tempted to reach out and brush your fingers along the roughness of his hair and the warm skin beneath.

Carefully, you shifted, mindful not to rouse him, and let your gaze drift to the clock on the wall. The hands hovered over 8:00—later than you usually rose. You must have slept deeply, the kind of rest that felt like a gift, untouched by dreams or darkness. It was as if the steady rhythm of his breathing had wrapped you in a rare tranquility, holding the world’s troubles at a distance and banishing the nightmares that too often haunted your sleep—the visions of blood and shattered bones. A quiet satisfaction unfurled within you, a reluctant recognition that maybe—just maybe—this peace owed itself to the warmth shared in this accidental closeness, the comfort of finding something solid and real, even if only for the night.

His words from the night before echoed softly in your mind, a gentle murmur that lingered, refusing to fade.

"You're someone worth taking care of."

There had been a quiet sincerity in his voice, a truthfulness that slipped past the defenses you’d so carefully constructed—the ones that seemed to crumble effortlessly under his touch, as if he knew exactly where to press to unravel each layer.

You hadn’t known how to respond then, could only look away and swallow the surge of feelings that had risen, unbidden and overwhelming. But now, in the stillness of morning, with the steady warmth of his body grounding you, those words resonated differently. They didn’t feel like a debt repaid or an obligation fulfilled.

You sensed Joel stirring beside you, a faint shift that sparked a sudden awareness in your chest. Without thinking, you slid your arms away and edged toward the far side of the bed. A wave of fear gripped you, sharp and immediate—if he woke to find you this close, he might recoil, retreat behind the walls he always kept up. The thought of him pulling away from the moment you had shared, the fragile comfort found in sleep, stung more than you expected. So you withdrew first, putting space between you before he could, as if distancing yourself might soften the sting of rejection.

He slowly turned to face you, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. His features were softened by sleep, the early light casting a tender glow over the rugged lines of his face. He looked almost ethereal—his hair tousled in careless waves, eyes still half-lidded with the remnants of slumber, and the shadow of stubble tracing the curve of his jaw. There was a timelessness to him, as if the burdens of the world couldn't touch him here, not in the quiet sanctuary of your room. When he spoke, his voice was low and gravelly, a deep rasp that reverberated through the stillness between you, stirring something within.

"Hey," he murmured, rubbing a hand over his eyes as if to clear away the last remnants of sleep. "How'd you sleep?"

There was a tenderness in his gaze that stole the breath from your lungs, and you felt a quiet relief that he didn’t bring up last night’s events.

“Yeah, good,” you answered, your voice barely above a whisper, trying to sound casual despite the lingering warmth in your chest.

"Coffee?" he offered, his tone light but his gaze steady.

“Yes, please,” you replied, forcing a small smile in return. His response came in the form of a slow, easy grin before he pushed himself up and headed downstairs. You watched him disappear down the hallway, your gaze lingering on the way his back flexed with each step until you finally tore your eyes away.

The moment he was out of sight, you let your head fall back onto the pillow with a soft groan. A deep exhale escaped you as you tried to shake off the lingering sensation of his presence—his warmth still clung to the sheets, and his scent lingered in the air.

No matter how hard you tried, it was impossible to erase the traces of him; the bed still carried the memory of where he had been, refusing to let you forget.

•••

Each day, the sharp edges of your pain dulled a little more, and you and Joel fell into a quiet rhythm that neither of you spoke about but simply accepted. It started with small gestures—a cup of coffee left on the counter, the way he’d linger in the doorway to check on you before heading out.

There was a quiet comfort in the silence, an unspoken understanding as you both moved through the space. It had become his habit to settle beside you each evening, a book or a glass of whiskey in hand. Right before bed, he’d offer the pain medication with a glass of water and a simple, “Here.”

You’d accept it without a word, the ritual itself evolving into a shared form of solace—an unspoken promise that neither of you was alone in this.

When the hour grew late and the house fell silent, he would slip into bed beside you, a quiet understanding that had taken root since that first night when you asked him to stay.

What began as a single gesture—his lingering presence in the darkness, offering comfort when you needed it most—soon became a habit neither of you questioned. Each night after that, he simply stayed, as if it were the most natural thing, a silent agreement that bound you together in the quiet hours. Though you never dared to show it, you were glad to have him there, his presence easing a loneliness you hadn’t realized you were carrying. But it unsettled you too, how safe you felt with him beside you—it stirred something unfamiliar, something that scared you more than you wanted to admit.

The bed that had once been your solitary refuge, where you had cried yourself to sleep or lain awake with thoughts that refused to quiet, felt different with him there. It had transformed into a shared sanctuary, where the weight of your loneliness melted into the warmth of his body nearby, and the stillness of the room was softened by the steady cadence of his breathing.

His presence was a silent promise, a new kind of intimacy that settled in the dark like a fragile truth, too precious to name aloud. Neither of you dared to acknowledge it, as if speaking it would unravel the delicate arrangement that had come to feel like home.

You couldn’t help but wonder if he needed it as much as you did—the quiet company of someone else, the shared solitude that seemed to soften the edges of the night.

There was a rhythm to your nights now. He’d help you settle in, adjusting pillows, making sure you were comfortable, and then climb in beside you with a sigh as if shaking off the weight of the day. Sometimes, his arm would find its way around you in the stillness, his touch tentative but lingering. Other nights, you’d wake to find your own hand resting on his chest or his fingers brushing yours, small touches that spoke of something deeper, something that grew stronger in the quiet moments where words fell away.

Each morning, you awoke tangled together, the warmth of his body a quiet comfort you’d come to depend on, even if you’d never admit it. But inevitably, one of you would stir first, disentangling from the other with gentle, hesitant movements—clumsy in their attempt to preserve the illusion that nothing had happened.

It was a practiced ritual, a silent agreement to undo the intimacy that unfolded in sleep, as if by slipping away before the light touched the room, you could keep the fragile truth of those moments hidden beneath the covers, buried where it felt safe and unspoken.

•••

Joel had noticed something was off—the way you stared out the window, your gaze fixed on the distant figures moving outside, going about their lives while you remained trapped inside. It was a cruel reminder of all you couldn’t do, a world continuing on as if you weren’t missing from it. When you finally turned back to your breakfast, you only picked at it, pushing the food around your plate without taking a bite, your eyes distant, as if you were some place far away.

Despite the slow progress you’d made, frustration had begun to root itself deep in your bones, growing stronger with each day confined indoors. You missed the freedom of patrol, missed tending to your garden with dirt under your nails and the sun on your skin. The restlessness gnawed at you, sharpening the edges of each hour, made worse by the doctor’s warning that it could be months before you were back to your old self.

You were exhausted by the helplessness, by the stifling dependence that came with being cared for. It weighed on you like a dull ache, pressing harder against your chest with every breath, refusing to let you forget how far you still had to go.

"Everything alright?" Joel's voice broke the quiet, his gaze steady as he took a slow sip of his coffee.

You let out a long sigh, setting your fork down with a soft clink. "Not really," you confessed, frustration creeping into your tone. "I’m just… tired of feeling useless. Like I’m stuck in this holding pattern, just waiting for my life to start again."

Joel set his mug down with a quiet thud and leaned forward, his eyes never leaving yours. “I know it feels that way,” he said, his voice calm and steady.

“But you’re not just sittin’ around—you’re healing. That’s not nothin’. It takes a hell of a lot more out of you than you realize.” His gaze softened as he spoke, a quiet conviction settling into his tone. “And you will get there. When you do, you’ll come back stronger than you ever thought possible.”

He hesitated, his hand lingering on the edge of the table, then added, “What do you say we get outta here for a bit?” His voice was lighter now, almost hopeful. “I’ve got the day off, no patrols. Thought maybe you could use a break from all this.” He leaned back in his chair, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Got somethin’ in mind.”

Joel reached for his jacket, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth as he moved with a calm purpose. "Gonna borrow Tommy's truck," he said, nodding toward the door. "Figured we could use the wheels—make things easier." He swung the door open, letting the crisp morning air spill into the room, its chill brushing against your skin as you stepped outside.

"Where are we going?" you asked, eyeing him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion as you followed him to the truck. There was a hint of playfulness in his demeanor, a spark that made your pulse quicken with a flicker of anticipation.

He glanced back at you, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "You'll find out soon enough," he said, his voice carrying a low, teasing edge. "Just trust me—it’s a surprise."

As he helped you into the passenger seat, his hand lingered briefly, his touch leaving a warmth that spread through you, a quiet shiver following in its wake. It was a fleeting moment, yet it left your pulse quickened and your mind wandering to what exactly he had in store. With a rumble, the engine came to life, and as Joel steered the truck down the road, it stretched out ahead like a quiet invitation, promising a brief escape from everything that had kept you confined.

The drive wasn’t far, but soon the air filled with the sounds of bleating goats and the low hum of other animals, drifting in through the open window. It was a simple, familiar noise—comforting in its way—and as you neared the source, a small farm came into view, nestled in the gentle slope of the land like a secret waiting to be shared.

Before you lay the town’s little sanctuary—a modest refuge where goats and sheep meandered under the late afternoon sun, their coats catching the warm light. A few dogs rested by the fence, tails sweeping the ground in lazy contentment, while cats prowled or perched atop hay bales, their eyes half-closed. The air was rich with the earthy scent of hay and soil, and the soft clucking of chickens formed a gentle rhythm in the background.

You took a tentative step forward, your leg free from crutches now but still stiff with a lingering limp. As you moved closer, a small goat trotted over, its tiny tail wagging in welcome. It nudged your leg with a soft bleat, as if greeting an old friend it hadn’t seen in a while.

Joel crouched beside the goat, scratching behind its ear with the ease of familiarity. “I know it ain’t much,” he said, glancing up at you with a touch of earnestness in his eyes, “but I thought you’d like it here. These guys don’t ask for much—just a little attention and maybe a snack.” His voice softened, a hint of a smile playing at his lips. “And they sure don’t care if you’re not quite back to your old self.”

You couldn’t help but smile as the goat nudged you again, its eagerness infectious. "This is perfect, Joel," you said, glancing at him with a warmth you hadn’t felt in a while.

As you scattered the feed, you soon found yourself surrounded by a gathering of eager, curious faces—goats with wide eyes and wobbly legs, sheep nudging closer for a nibble, and a scruffy old dog who padded over, its graying muzzle nudging your hand for a gentle pat. You reached down to pet him, your fingers grazing his coarse fur, and then turned to give some attention to one of the goats pressing insistently against your leg.

The simplicity of it was soothing, a quiet reprieve from the weight you’d been carrying. You reached out to pet a goat, feeling the texture of its rough fur beneath your fingertips, and let out a surprised laugh when it leaned into you, nearly knocking you off balance.

Joel chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Careful there,” he teased, stepping closer as if ready to catch you. “They don’t know their own strength.”

You shot him a playful look. “Maybe they’re just excited to meet someone new,” you said, reaching out to scratch behind the goat’s ear.

Joel grinned, his gaze lingering on you, noting the way the tension had melted from your shoulders, the way a spark had returned to your eyes. “See?” he said quietly, his voice carrying a thread of satisfaction. “Told you it’d be worth it.”

You met his gaze, and for a moment, the noise of the animals seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in that peaceful corner of the world. “You were right,” you admitted softly, almost as if sharing a secret. “I needed this more than I thought.”

The two of you wandered slowly through the sanctuary, pausing now and then to rest on a bench near the fence while the animals drifted around you. The scruffy dog trailed faithfully at your side, and when you sat, he placed his head on your knee, as if sensing you needed the comfort. You absently ran your fingers through his fur, finding a quiet solace in the familiar gesture.

“I used to dream about having a place like this,” you said quietly, your voice drifting over the stillness. There was a touch of wistfulness in your tone as you glanced around, taking in the stretch of countryside beyond. “Thought I’d end up in a spot like this someday, growing old with a few animals running around. It seemed like the kind of life I’d want.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “But, you know, life has a funny way of changing course.”

Joel’s gaze settled on you, a quiet thoughtfulness in his eyes. “My daughter… she loved animals,” he murmured, nodding toward the dog curled up in your lap. “Was always begging me for one just like that.” His voice softened, as though the memory itself required gentler handling.

“I used to take her to the aquarium almost every weekend,” he continued, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. There was a pause, a shift in his expression, as if the past had come into focus, vivid and bittersweet. “She’d get so excited, she could hardly stand still.”

“What was her name?” you asked, the question barely more than a breath.

“Sarah,” he repeated, and there was a warmth in his voice that made the name feel like an offering, a piece of a world he hadn’t shared with many. “She was a good kid, funny and smart as hell,” he added quietly, his eyes far away. “You would’ve liked her.” The words hung in the air, full of a tenderness that cut deeper than you’d expected.

For a moment, the silence returned, but it wasn’t empty. It felt like the start of something fragile and unspoken, a connection stitched together by the sharing of old wounds and small, hopeful dreams.

As the sun dipped lower, stretching shadows across the sanctuary, Joel guided you back to the truck, his hand lingering on your arm longer than necessary, a quiet reassurance in his touch. “We can come back anytime,” he said, his voice warm and sincere.

“Whenever you feel like it.”

There was a softness in his tone, a quiet invitation that hinted at more than just the promise of fresh air and animals. It felt like his way of saying he wanted to share this place with you, to keep finding reasons to bring you here—an excuse to spend time together beyond the walls of routine.

•••

You returned home with a contented tiredness settling over you, the warmth of the afternoon still lingering in your bones. Joel guided you up the stairs, his hand a steady presence on your back, offering silent support as you made your way to your room. “Get some rest,” he murmured, his voice carrying that familiar blend of gentleness and quiet insistence. “I’ll go grab a few things for dinner.”

He mentioned something about picking up fresh produce from one of the local farmers—a bag of potatoes, some greens, maybe a jar of honey if there was any left. You sank into the bed, the mattress cool against your skin, and thought about the quiet sweetness of Joel’s gestures, the way he had gone out of his way to bring a little lightness to your day.

He lingered at the doorway, and though your eyes were shut, you could feel the weight of his gaze, like he was making sure you were alright before he left the room. The silence stretched between you, a moment of quiet that felt almost tender, before you heard the bathroom door creak open.

Then, the steady rush of water filled the air, the sound of the shower humming softly through the walls, and you let yourself sink deeper into the quiet peace of the house, knowing Joel was still nearby.

Your thoughts wandered where you hadn’t intended them to go, lingering on the image of Joel in the shower—the steam curling around him, water tracing the contours of his back, rolling down over the strong lines of his shoulders. The thought took you by surprise, a flush rising to your cheeks as you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will the image away.

What were you doing, thinking about him like that?

For so long, you had worked to keep things simple, to focus on the arrangement for what it was—Joel helping you out, taking care of you while you healed. It wasn’t supposed to be more than that, and you’d been careful to ignore the way his presence seemed to fill every space, every quiet moment that passed between you.

But lately, it was becoming impossible to push away the feelings that stirred whenever he did something kind or lingered just a bit too long at your side. The warmth in your chest, the way your skin tingled under his touch, the steady reassurance in his voice—it all left you questioning whether there was something deeper beneath the surface, or if you were only seeing what you wanted to see.

And then there was the conflict simmering beneath it all. Joel had made your life hell for so long, the two of you more often at odds than not. He’d been stubborn, difficult, his gruffness a constant thorn in your side, and you’d spent countless days resenting him. But now, seeing him like this—a different version of him, the one who thought to take you to a sanctuary on a quiet afternoon, who made sure you ate, who lingered in doorways as if he couldn’t quite leave you alone—you weren’t sure what to make of it.

You shook your head slightly, as if the gesture could dispel the confusion swirling inside you. This wasn’t the time to entertain those thoughts. He was just doing his part, wasn’t he? Looking out for you because that’s who he was—a man who took his responsibilities seriously, even when he didn’t particularly like them.

A part of you chastised yourself for even considering it, for letting your guard slip enough to see him as something more than just the man who had caused you so much grief. But the truth was undeniable: right now, he was different. Or maybe, you were finally seeing a side of him that had always been there, just buried beneath the weight of all his rough edges. And that scared you—because the more you saw of that man, the harder it was to pretend you weren’t starting to care.

You rolled onto your side, willing yourself to focus on something else, but the thought of him lingered, like an ember refusing to fade.

•••

Dinner was taking longer than usual, and as you sat in the living room, facing away from the kitchen, you could hear the quiet rhythm of Joel’s movements—the soft clatter of dishes, the scrape of a knife on a cutting board, the low murmur of his voice as he muttered to himself. The scent of food wafted through the air, warm and savory, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

You couldn’t see him, but you could picture him clearly: brow furrowed in concentration, his hands working with a surprising gentleness, a quiet dedication that seemed out of place for a man who often carried himself like the world was always on his shoulders. It was a simple scene, but there was something about the way he moved in the kitchen that made you feel unexpectedly at home, as if the air itself was steeped in the quiet intimacy of sharing a space with someone.

“Dinner’s ready in five,” Joel murmured as he stepped into the living room, his voice low and warm. He moved closer, and when you looked up, it felt like the breath caught in your throat. There was something different about him tonight—a quiet, rugged elegance in the way he’d dressed, as if he’d put just a bit more thought into it.

His shirt was tucked in, the fabric fitting snugly over his broad shoulders, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the sinewy muscles of his forearms, a faint hint of stubble shadowing his jaw. The top button was left undone, exposing the hollow of his throat, and the casual disarray of his hair was different, slightly wet and slicked back.

He looked like he’d stepped out of a half-forgotten dream—his presence filling the room with a quiet magnetism that was impossible to ignore. The soft lighting seemed to highlight every rugged detail, the way his eyes caught the light, the subtle lines that etched across his brow, adding a certain depth to the roughness that usually cloaked him. It was like seeing him through a different lens, one that softened the edges and revealed a side of him that felt both familiar and utterly new, and it stirred something deep inside you—a flutter that you weren’t sure was from surprise or something else entirely.

“Hey,” he whispered, your name slipping from his lips like a soft nudge that pulled you from your daydream. You blinked, suddenly aware of the contrast between his appearance and your own—still in a loose, worn-out sweater and a pair of faded sweatpants, your hair haphazardly pulled back. It was a lazy, thrown-together look that spoke more to comfort than anything else, but in that moment, it felt almost out of place.

“Oh, yeah, sounds good,” you mumbled, glancing down. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“You need help?” Joel called as you were already halfway up the stairs, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

You didn’t answer, too focused on making a hasty retreat. Your cheeks warmed with an unexpected flush as you reached your room, your pulse quickening for reasons you didn’t want to analyze.

Why were you rushing to get ready for dinner, as if it were something more than a simple meal?

You opened your closet and rifled through the hangers, searching for something—anything—that might make you look a little more put-together, a little less like you’d just rolled out of bed. But even as you reached for a blouse that had been buried in the back, you couldn’t help but wonder what had you so flustered. It wasn’t like this was a date. It was just Joel. Yet here you were, caught up in the quiet urgency of wanting to look half-presentable, as if his effort deserved to be met halfway.

You kept rummaging through your closet until your hand landed on a dress—a simple, ankle-length piece in a soft beige. The fabric was light and comfortable, falling loosely to your feet with a natural flow. It had just enough shape to flatter, with a cinched waist that hinted at your curves without feeling too formal, and a neckline that was easy and relaxed.

It wasn’t anything fancy—just a dress you’d worn a few times before when you wanted to look a bit nicer without going overboard. You could already picture Joel giving you a curious look, maybe even cracking a small smile at your effort, but it made you feel pretty, and that was enough.

You slipped it on and wandered over to the mirror, reaching for a brush. You ran it through your hair, working out the tangles until it fell in loose waves over your shoulders, smoothing out the frayed ends from the day. You tucked a few stray strands behind your ear, keeping it casual but a little more put together. It wasn’t anything dramatic, just enough to make you feel like you’d stepped up for the evening without making a big deal of it.

You limped downstairs, your heart racing for reasons you couldn’t quite pin down. You and Joel had shared dinner so many times since he’d started taking care of you, but tonight felt different—there was a kind of anticipation in the air that you couldn’t ignore. As you reached the bottom of the stairs, you caught sight of Joel pacing in the kitchen, his movements restless and uncharacteristic.

He was nervous, too; you could tell by the way he kept rubbing the back of his neck, glancing toward the doorway as if waiting for you to appear.

When you finally stepped into the kitchen, your eyes were drawn to the dining table. It was set more thoughtfully than usual—candles flickered gently at the center, casting a warm glow over the plates, and a cloth napkin was folded beside each one. There were even a couple of wildflowers in a small glass jar, adding a touch of color. It wasn’t anything extravagant, but it had a softness to it, a quiet intimacy that gave the room a hint of date-like charm. You felt your cheeks warm as you took it all in.

“What’s the special occasion?” you asked, glancing up at him with a playful arch of your brow, though there was a hint of genuine curiosity in your voice.

Joel froze for a moment, his gaze drifting to you with an intensity that took you by surprise. His eyes roamed over your figure, lingering a little too long on the way the dress flowed around you, before finally meeting your gaze. There was a flicker of something in his expression—relief, maybe, or admiration—before he masked it with his usual gruffness.

“Nothing,” he said, feigning nonchalance as he stepped forward to pull out your chair. “Just figured we could use a decent meal, is all.”

But the subtle hesitation in his voice gave him away, a softness there that suggested tonight wasn’t quite as casual as he was trying to make it seem. There was something about the way he kept his eyes on you, like he was searching for a sign that you’d noticed the effort he’d put in. And maybe, just maybe, he was hoping it meant something to you, too.

Warmth crept up your cheeks, and you glanced away, your pulse quickening as Joel's presence loomed close behind you. He gently pushed your chair in, and you could feel the quiet care in his touch, as if he was afraid of disturbing the moment. The faint scent of soap and aftershave clung to the air around him, mingling with the rich aroma of the food he’d prepared, making the small space between you feel charged with a quiet intimacy.

Joel reached for the bottle of whiskey, the amber liquid glinting in the soft candlelight as he poured your glass first, the way he always did—without hesitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He handed it to you with a steady hand, his fingers brushing yours briefly, then moved to fill his own. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, a calmness to them that belied the faint tension in the air, as if he was carefully navigating something unspoken between you.

You took the glass from him with a quiet “thanks,” your voice barely above a murmur. As you brought it to your lips, you couldn’t help but notice how he always did these small things for you first—pouring your drink, pulling out your chair, making sure you were settled before ever thinking of himself. It wasn’t just habit; there was a care in the way he did it, an attention to detail that spoke of something more than just politeness.

It made you wonder if these gestures held any deeper meaning—if they hinted at something he couldn’t or wouldn’t say aloud. Perhaps it was just Joel's way, a quiet sense of duty or a Southern gentleman’s instinct that came as naturally to him as the gruffness in his voice.

Or maybe, there was a part of him that was drawn to taking care of you, that found a quiet satisfaction in these everyday rituals. Whatever it was, it stirred something deep within you, a warmth that settled in your chest and mingled with the slow burn of the whiskey as it slid down your throat.

You took a sip, feeling the heat spread, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine that these small acts weren’t just habit or instinct, but intention. A part of you wondered if Joel even realized the effect they had on you, the way each quiet gesture seemed to weave its way around your heart, making it harder to pretend you weren’t starting to hope for more.

There was a quiet care in the way he’d set the table, the way he lingered near you as if wanting to be close. But before you could let yourself get too wrapped up in those thoughts, you pulled back, unwilling to read too much into it or risk exposing the vulnerability stirring inside you.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence with a casual tone, pushing the thought aside. “What did you do before all this?” You gestured loosely, the motion sweeping over the candlelit table, the room, and the world beyond the walls—everything that had changed since life turned upside down.

“You wanna guess?” he asked, one eyebrow quirking up, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

This, you realized, was new—this playful side of Joel that had only recently started to emerge. There was a time when his words had always carried an edge, the gruffness of a man who’d built walls too high to let in anything lighthearted.

But lately, there’d been a shift: the way he’d catch your eye and hold your gaze a moment longer, or the rare, dry humor that slipped into his voice when he’d say something like, “Careful now, don’t get too attached,” when an animal at the sanctuary came up to you, or the times he’d grumble, “Don’t think you’re gonna get me to eat that,” whenever you’d suggest adding something new to dinner.

Now, there was a teasing challenge in his tone, the kind that made your pulse quicken just a little. The glint in his eyes told you he was enjoying this—seeing you caught off guard, watching you try to read between the lines of his sudden shift in mood. It was a side of him you were still getting used to, and yet, you found yourself wanting to see more of it, to discover what else was hidden beneath that familiar gruff exterior.

Now, sitting in front of you, Joel had you momentarily forgetting what you were even talking about. He looked so damn handsome like this—leaning back in his chair with a relaxed, easy confidence, the dim light tracing the strong angles of his face. The damp strands of hair that fell just right, still tousled from the shower. His shirt fit snugly across his broad shoulders, and there was a quiet intensity in his eyes that made it hard to look away. For a moment, you just stared, your thoughts scattering as you struggled to remember how to find your voice.

You tilted your head, pretending to study him with a thoughtful expression as your gaze traced the strong line of his shoulders and the way his hands rested casually on the table, fingers drumming lightly against the wood. “Let me guess… a mechanic? Or maybe a ranch hand?” you ventured, your tone playful, though there was a genuine curiosity behind it.

Joel chuckled, the sound a low rumble that resonated in his chest. “Close, but not quite,” he replied, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. There was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, as if he was enjoying making you work for the answer.

You tapped your chin, narrowing your eyes in mock contemplation. “Alright, how about a carpenter? You seem like the kind of guy who’s good with his hands.”

The instant the words left your mouth, you saw Joel’s expression shift—a flicker of surprise in his eyes, his gaze widening just enough to notice. A hint of color crept into his cheeks, softening the rugged lines of his face, and your own cheeks flushed as you registered the unintended double meaning behind what you’d said.

“Oh, I didn’t mean—” you stammered, the words stumbling out as a wave of embarrassment washed over you. But before you could fully sink into the awkwardness, Joel rescued you with a quick, smooth response, clearing his throat.

“I was in construction,” he said, his voice calm and steady, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Built houses, fixed up what needed fixin’… pretty much anything folks needed done.” His tone was casual, as if effortlessly redirecting the moment, but there was an amused glint in his eye that told you he hadn’t missed the implication.

He leaned back slightly, his gaze still on you, and you could sense a quiet satisfaction in the way he’d defused the situation. “Guess you weren’t too far off,” he added, a touch of playfulness in his voice. “Though I don’t know if I’d make much of a carpenter.”

You let out a quiet sigh of relief, grateful that Joel had saved you from your own slip-up. But there was no mistaking the teasing warmth in his gaze, a glint that lingered a little too long, as if savoring the moment. It made your pulse quicken, and for an instant, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you—like a thread had been pulled, tightening the space that had always existed, unspoken, between you both.

His voice softened, dropping just enough to carry a hint of something deeper, and there was a new intensity in the way he looked at you. “How about you?” he asked, the question slipping out gently, as though it had been waiting on his tongue for a while. “What did you used to do?”

It wasn’t the first time Joel had wondered about your life before all this, but his own battles—his tendency to keep people at arm’s length—had always gotten in the way. Now, though, he seemed different, like he was reaching across a distance he’d kept for too long, wanting to know more about you than the small glimpses he’d picked up over time. There was a quiet longing in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the moments he’d missed, and the way he asked seemed like more than casual curiosity; it was as though he was finally giving himself permission to see beyond what was right in front of him.

You glanced down at your glass, swirling the amber liquid as if it might offer some kind of answer. The motion was a distraction, an attempt to gather your thoughts as your heart continued to beat a little faster. When you looked back up, the warmth of his gaze hadn’t faded, and you could still feel the subtle change in the air, as though a boundary had been quietly crossed, leaving you standing on unfamiliar ground.

“I was in college,” you said, a note of wistfulness creeping into your voice. “Studying to be a teacher, actually. I always liked the idea of helping people learn—seeing that spark in their eyes when something finally clicked. It felt like you were making a real difference.”

Joel tilted his head, his gaze softening as he listened, a kind of quiet admiration in his eyes. “You’d have made a good teacher,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful. “Still could, you know. Just 'cause the world went to hell doesn’t mean people stopped needin’ to learn things.”

There was a sincerity in the way he said it, a weight to his words that made you feel like he truly believed it, like he could still see that part of you that had once existed before everything changed. The thought stirred something deep inside you—hope, maybe, or just the quiet comfort of being seen for who you used to be, and who you still could be.

You smiled, though a touch of sadness lingered. “Yeah, maybe,” you murmured, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “I was always drawn to science—especially astronomy. I loved the stars, used to spend hours studying them… even had a little telescope back home.”

At the mention of astronomy, Joel’s gaze softened, and he found himself picturing you as that college student, eyes turned toward the sky, your face lit up by the glow of distant stars. He could almost see you standing on a hill, telescope in hand, mapping constellations with a quiet passion that spoke of longing and wonder. It wasn’t just the subject—it was the way you spoke of it, as though the stars were old friends you hadn’t visited in a long time.

The thought stirred something in him. He felt an unexpected tenderness then, a quiet urge to protect that part of you, the part that hadn’t been hardened by everything you’d been through. The stars were still there, after all, steady and unchanging, even if the world had fallen apart. And in that moment, Joel made a mental note, a silent promise to himself to find a way to bring that light back into your life.

You stifled a yawn, the whiskey and warm meal settling over you like a heavy blanket, tugging you closer to sleep with each passing moment. Joel noticed, his gaze lingering on the way your eyelids drooped, how you blinked slowly, as if fighting a losing battle to stay awake.

“Wanna head to bed?” he asked softly, his voice laced with a gentleness that seemed to wrap around you, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he spoke.

Our bed, you thought, the words slipping into your mind so effortlessly it took your breath away. The thought carried a quiet yearning, an ache you hadn’t been prepared to feel. It startled you how natural, how familiar it seemed—like you’d already crossed that line in your heart without even realizing it, as though you’d begun to think of him as more than just the man who shared your space, but the one who shared your nights.

“No, no,” you replied quickly, shaking your head. “This is nice. I’m fine.” But even as you said it, your eyes betrayed you, heavy with sleep and growing harder to keep open. The comfort of the evening wrapped around you like a lullaby, the warmth and quiet pulling you closer to rest with each passing second.

Joel’s expression softened, his gaze tracing your features with quiet understanding. “Come on,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Ain’t no harm in givin’ in when you’re tired. I’ll be here when you wake up.” There was a reassurance in his tone, a promise that seemed to settle in the air, unspoken yet certain.

Then he did something different—he offered you his hand, extending it toward you with a gentleness that caught you off guard. It wasn’t like the usual subtle press of his hand against your back or the steady grip on your shoulder to keep you balanced. This was more deliberate, a choice to bridge the distance between you, his palm open and waiting.

You hesitated for only a moment before slipping your hand into his, the warmth of his touch spreading through you like a quiet spark. His hand flexed gently against yours, as if testing the feel of your palm in his, but he didn’t release—his grip only tightened slightly, a steady reassurance that he wasn’t letting go. As you rose from the chair, the room swayed ever so slightly, but Joel’s hold remained firm, grounding you as he guided you toward the stairs.

He stayed close beside you, his hand still wrapped around yours as you climbed, the slow press of his fingers flexing again, as though he could anchor you to him through that simple contact. Each step felt easier with him there, his presence a solid comfort at your side, matching your pace and silently offering his strength. The quiet rhythm of your footsteps seemed to draw you closer, a shared beat that made the space between you feel almost nonexistent.

Even when you reached the top, he didn’t let go. His hand remained entwined with yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles as he led you to the bed. It wasn’t until you sank down onto the mattress that his grip finally loosened, releasing you with a gentle reluctance that lingered in the air.

“Get some rest,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “I’ll be right here.”

•••

The next morning, after helping you down the stairs, Joel took you over to Maria and Tommy’s. “It’s just for a few hours,” he insisted, “while I’m out on patrol.” His tone was casual, but the way he lingered at the door, his hand resting on the small of your back, betrayed a quiet reluctance.

“I’ll see you tonight, okay?” he said, his voice steady but gentler than usual, as if he was reassuring himself as much as you. His gaze lingered, the words hanging between you like a promise he was determined to keep. “Maybe I’ll bring somethin' good for dinner.”

You nodded, trying to ignore the flicker of unease that stirred in your chest. It was irrational, you told yourself—you’d both been on countless patrols before; the risks were familiar, accepted long ago. But as you watched him turn to leave, his silhouette framed in the soft morning light, a sudden wave of vulnerability washed over you. There was something different about today, an unspoken weight in the air that made the world feel a little less certain, a little more fragile.

“Hey, Joel,” you called out, your voice catching slightly as he was about to leave. He stopped and turned back, the morning light catching in his eyes, casting a warm glow over his features. You swallowed, the tightness in your throat making it hard to get the words out. “Stay safe,” you said, the phrase simple and familiar, yet heavy with all the things you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

Something flickered in his expression—a brief, unguarded vulnerability that softened the edges of his usual stoicism. For a heartbeat, his gaze seemed to hold a quiet wonder, like your words had reached deeper than they should have. It wasn’t just the sentiment; it was the way you said it—stay safe—like it carried a weight, a longing that ran deeper than either of you had ever dared to acknowledge.

“I will,” he replied, his voice roughened to a low murmur, as if the promise took effort to speak aloud. His eyes lingered on yours for a moment longer than they needed to, like he was trying to memorize every detail—the concern in your voice, the way you looked at him right then, as if you were reaching out without quite knowing how.

Then, with a small nod, he turned and walked away.

•••

You sat on Tommy and Maria’s couch, gripping the warm cup of tea in your hands as though it could anchor you amidst the expectant silence. Their gazes rested on you—gentle, but far too curious to ignore.

They were waiting for you to share something about Joel, to explain how things had really been while you were recovering. When you stayed quiet, keeping your eyes fixed on the steam rising from the tea, they exchanged a knowing look.

“So,” Maria finally said, her voice light but laced with curiosity. “How are things going with Joel?”

You blinked, your fingers tightening around the cup as you fumbled for an answer. “Uh, yeah… he’s been… helpful,” you replied, the words stumbling out slowly. “You know, just helping me with stuff. Up and down the stairs.”

“Mhm,” Maria murmured, the sound heavy with interest. She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms like she was settling in for a story you weren’t prepared to share.

“And he’s not a bad cook, either,” you added, the words slipping out before you could think better of it. It had become such a routine that you hadn’t even considered how it might sound to someone else.

“Cook?” Tommy repeated, his eyebrows lifting with curiosity. “He’s been cooking for you?”

You hesitated, the weight of their attention suddenly pressing down on you. “Yeah, like… breakfast and dinner,” you said, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

“Breakfast and dinner?” Tommy echoed, a note of incredulity creeping into his tone. “Jesus, what time does he come over to be doin’ all that?”

You bit your lip, a nervous flutter building in your chest. You hadn’t thought twice about Joel being there at all hours; the days and nights had blurred together as he took care of you. But now, under their curious stares, it seemed like a bigger deal than you’d realized. “Well… he… stays,” you admitted, the words escaping before you could stop them.

A beat of silence followed before both Tommy and Maria spoke at once, their voices overlapping in surprise. “What? He stays?”

Your cheeks warmed, and you felt your pulse quicken. “I thought he would’ve mentioned it,” you said quickly, trying to sound casual. “It’s just easier this way, you know, with my leg and all.”

Tommy’s gaze narrowed, his curiosity turning more pointed. “Where does he sleep?” he asked, his tone casual but carrying a note of suspicion.

“On the couch,” you blurted out a little too quickly. The lie tumbled from your lips before you could stop it, and the memory of Joel’s warmth beside you—the way you’d wake up tangled in each other’s arms before pulling apart—flashed vividly in your mind. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as you struggled to keep your expression composed.

Maria’s eyes sparkled with amusement, and a slow, knowing smile spread across her face. “The couch, huh?” she repeated, her tone dripping with playful doubt.

“Yes,” you stammered, trying to sound convincing. “It’s… practical,” you added, though the word sounded hollow even to you. “For… you know, if I need anything during the night.”

Maria’s smile deepened, as if she could see right through your flimsy excuse. “Right. Practical,” she said, drawing out the word with a teasing lilt.

Tommy’s gaze flicked from you to Maria, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “So, Joel's stayin’ over, cookin’ you breakfast and dinner, and it’s just… practical?” he asked, his tone tinged with disbelief.

Before you could stumble over an answer, Maria stepped in, though her amusement was unmistakable. “Alright, let’s give her a break,” she said, raising a hand to halt the questioning. “Let the poor girl relax. You can grill Joel about it later.”

You exhaled a silent breath of relief, but you could still feel their eyes on you, a knowing curiosity that didn’t seem entirely convinced by your explanation.

The conversation drifted to safer topics, but you couldn’t ignore the way Maria’s gaze lingered on you, a knowing gleam in her eyes. It was as if she had already drawn her own conclusions, and there was a hint of satisfaction in her expression, like she was far too pleased by whatever she’d pieced together. When Tommy stepped out to run some errands, leaving the house quiet and still, Maria moved to sit beside you, her tone turning softer, more personal.

“Listen,” she began, her voice low and careful, “there’s something I think you should know… about Joel.”

You blinked, taken aback by the seriousness in her eyes. “What is it?” you asked, your pulse quickening, an uneasy feeling settling in your chest.

Maria hesitated, as if considering her words. “Tommy told me about what happened,” she said. “The night you got hurt… those raiders. Joel almost didn’t make it.” She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. “He went after you—took on those men without a second thought. He saved you, even though it nearly cost him his life.”

You stared at her, the world seeming to shift beneath you. “He… saved me?” you echoed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Joel…?” The name felt unfamiliar in your mouth, like you were speaking about someone else entirely.

Your thoughts spun as you remembered the blood soaking through his pant leg, the stiff way he moved afterward, insisting it was just a graze. You hadn’t questioned it then, had let yourself believe his lie because you’d wanted to. But now, the image of him fighting his way through those raiders, injured and relentless, lodged itself in your mind, and you struggled to reconcile the Joel you knew with the man who would do something so reckless just to get to you.

Maria nodded, her gaze steady. “Tommy said he’s never seen Joel like that before. Said it was like he’d lost all sense of himself, like nothing else mattered except getting to you.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “I think he cares about you more than you realize. More than he probably wants to admit.”

You felt the breath catch in your throat, your thoughts a chaotic swirl of disbelief and something you couldn’t quite name. The idea of Joel risking everything for you, of him fighting with such desperation, was so at odds with the man who kept his distance, who grumbled and kept his emotions guarded. It felt like someone had pulled the ground out from under you, leaving you unsteady.

“But… he never said anything,” you murmured, shaking your head as if you could make sense of it. “Why wouldn’t he—”

“Because it’s Joel,” Maria interrupted gently, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. “He’s stubborn and closed off, and you know as well as I do he doesn’t let people in easily. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel things… deeply.” She sighed, her gaze softening. “You didn’t see the way he looked when he brought you back. He was… terrified. I told you how he stayed by you. It was like losing you was something he couldn’t even begin to bear.”

You swallowed hard, a mix of emotions washing over you. The thought of Joel being that afraid for you, of him caring that much, was almost too much to process. The man who had taken care of you, who quietly lingered in your space and made sure you were never alone, wasn’t just doing it out of duty or habit—there was something deeper there, something you only dared to consider in the quiet moments of the night.

Maria reached over and squeezed your hand. “I’m not trying to make you feel a certain way,” she said softly, “but I thought you should know. Joel’s not perfect, and God knows he’s got his walls up, but… the way he fought for you, it wasn’t just because you needed help. It was because it was you.”

The words settled heavily in your chest, stirring something deep and unfamiliar. You hadn’t known Joel had been the one to save you, or that he might feel something for you beyond the unspoken bond you’d shared. The realization felt like a door opening, revealing a side of him you had only recently seen, a side that made your heart race with the possibilities you hadn’t let yourself imagine.

You took a shaky breath, Maria’s words tumbling around in your mind, stirring up emotions you weren’t prepared to face. “He’s been so sweet, Maria,” you said quietly, your voice trembling just enough to betray the uncertainty that lingered beneath the surface. “But… all those things he’s said to me before, the way he used to be—how am I supposed to get past that? It’s like I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to say something… to remind me why I kept my guard up in the first place.”

You looked down at your hands, the weight of your own doubt pressing heavily on your chest. “There’s this part of me that keeps expecting him to push me away again, or to say something that’ll make me feel like I was wrong to think there could be more between us. Like all of this… the way he’s been lately… it’s just temporary, just because he feels responsible.”

The words left a bitter taste in your mouth as they hung in the air, and you felt the familiar ache of doubt clawing at you. “I don’t know how to trust that this is real,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “Not when I’m always bracing myself for him to remind me why I was afraid to let him in.”

Maria’s expression softened, and she gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “I understand,” she said, her voice low and soothing. “But maybe, just maybe, he’s changed more than you think. People can surprise you, and sometimes the hardest thing is letting yourself believe that someone can be different… especially when it comes to someone like Joel.”

Maria leaned closer, her eyes meeting yours with quiet resolve. “But I’ll tell you this,” she continued, “the way he looks at you now… it’s not just out of obligation. You’ve got him caring about you in a way that scares him. That’s why he’s trying so hard, even if he’s still got a funny way of showing it sometimes. Hell, you saw how surprised Tommy was—Joel cooks for you, he stays over. If he didn’t care, do you really think he’d be doing any of that?”

Her words hit you like a jolt, forcing you to confront the significance of all those quiet gestures, the way Joel had woven himself into your routine. It wasn’t just about helping you recover; it was about being there for you, in a way that went beyond what anyone could expect.

The realization settled over you, mingling with the uncertainty and the hope, leaving you grappling with the possibility that Joel might care for you more deeply than you’d dared to believe.

•••

That night, you waited for Joel, your heart beating in time with the clock’s relentless ticking. He was later than usual, and with each passing moment, the knot of anxiety in your stomach tightened. The minutes stretched on, and your thoughts grew darker, conjuring images of him caught in a deadly struggle, his breath ragged and desperate.

You imagined him ambushed by raiders, shadows closing in as he fought for his life, or the guttural snarl of an infected lunging at him, teeth bared. Worst of all was the thought of him lying somewhere in the dark, hurt and alone, out of reach. The fears clawed at your mind, relentless and unyielding, refusing to be dismissed no matter how you tried to distract yourself.

You had nearly made up your mind to limp your way over to Tommy’s when you heard the familiar sound of the front door creaking open. Relief washed over you so intensely that you couldn’t stop the breathless word from escaping your lips.

“Joel?” you said, almost too quickly.

He stepped inside, a tired but genuine smile tugging at his mouth, unaware of the quiet agony his delay had caused. “Hey,” he said, his voice warm and familiar.

“You’re late,” you replied, your tone sharper than you intended, betraying the worry that had pooled in your chest.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said, and there was a softness in his gaze as he looked at you, as though he could sense the tension still winding through you. “I was lookin’ for something… got a surprise for you.”

You blinked, your anxiety giving way to curiosity. “A surprise?”

His smile widened, a spark of mischief glinting in his eyes as he stepped closer. “Come on,” he said, extending his hand toward you. “But you gotta wear this.”

He held up a strip of cloth—a makeshift blindfold that looked suspiciously like a piece of an old bandana.

You shot him a wary glance, the corner of your mouth twitching upward despite yourself. “Joel…” you warned, the hint of a laugh in your voice.

“Trust me,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur that softened the edges of your doubts, unraveling the last threads of your resistance.

And you did—you trusted him almost more than anyone else in this broken world. How could you not, after all the times he’d pulled you back from the edge, his steady hand reaching for you when everything else seemed to be falling apart? He had saved your life more than once, his presence a lifeline in those moments when the darkness threatened to swallow you whole.

You trusted him with every part of yourself, even the pieces that still trembled with uncertainty, the parts you hadn’t dared share with anyone else. It scared the hell out of you, how deeply that trust had taken root, how much comfort you found in the quiet moments when his presence filled the room.

You weren’t sure when it had happened, when the shift from guarded caution to unwavering trust had taken place, but it was there now, woven into every glance, every touch, every word that passed between you.

And it was terrifying—how much you needed him, how much his very existence seemed to anchor yours. Yet, in that terror, there was also a kind of peace, a quiet certainty that in a world as uncertain as this one, trusting him was the only thing that felt undeniably right.

“Okay,” you whispered, your breath catching as he slipped the cloth over your eyes. His fingers moved with careful precision, securing the blindfold without catching a single strand of your hair, his touch impossibly gentle for hands that carried the roughness of a lifetime’s worth of hard work. The calluses brushed lightly against your skin, yet his warmth seeped into you, surrounding you like a quiet embrace. You could feel his breath, soft and steady, stirring the air near your cheek as he leaned in to tie the knot.

There was a quiet intimacy in the moment, a tender pulse that seemed to fill the space between you. Your senses sharpened in the darkness, every sound, every scent drawing you deeper into the unspoken tension. It wasn’t fear that quickened your pulse—it was the awareness of him: the nearness of his hands, the heat radiating from his skin, the quiet promise held in the firmness of his touch.

With your sight taken, the darkness came alive with vivid detail. You felt the warmth of his breath, steady and close, and the roughness of his palm resting gently on the small of your back, guiding you with a touch that was both grounding and electric. His scent enveloped you—a mix of pine, leather, and sweat, earthy and unmistakably him.

The world beyond seemed to fade, leaving only the rhythm of his breath, the subtle rustle of his movements, and the lingering warmth that bridged the space between you.

“You know,” you said, your voice light but trembling ever so slightly, “it’s probably not the best idea to put a blindfold on someone who can barely walk.”

His laughter broke the quiet, rich and deep, the kind of sound that seemed to echo through the night and settle somewhere in your chest. It wasn’t a laugh you heard often—only when he was with Tommy, or when the whiskey had worn down his edges, letting the softness slip through.

“Lucky thing you got me then, isn’t it?” he replied, his tone playful and warm, threaded with a quiet sincerity that made something inside you tighten.

You swallowed, trying to brush off the weight of his words, to ignore the way you got me seemed to echo in your mind, stirring up feelings you weren’t sure you were ready to name. But there was a kind of surety in his voice, an unspoken promise beneath the teasing, as though he meant it more than he was letting on. It was enough to kindle something fragile and hopeful within you, something you hadn’t dared let yourself feel in far too long.

“Where are you taking me?” you whispered, letting him guide you forward, each step steady under the reassuring pressure of his hand.

“Patience,” he murmured, his voice close to your ear. His hand remained on your back, a steady anchor as the cool night air brushed against your skin, carrying the scent of earth and damp leaves. You could hear the rustle of trees, the faint whistle of wind through the branches, and somewhere in the distance, the soft babble of a creek.

After what felt like an eternity, he stopped. “Okay,” he said, his voice low and rough as though he were on the verge of something he didn’t quite know how to give. “You can take it off now.”

Your hands fumbled with the knot, the fabric slipping free as your eyes adjusted to the soft glow that filled the clearing.

A single lantern hung from a nearby tree, casting pools of warm, golden light across the grass. The glow illuminated a blanket laid out with care, a simple picnic set up atop it—some modest dishes, a loaf of bread, and a jar of honey he had mentioned picking up on his way home. Beyond the small scene, the sky unfurled like a dark, endless canvas, each star a pinprick of light, shimmering against the velvet blackness above. The lantern's glow danced on the edges of the night, merging with the starlight to create an atmosphere that felt both intimate and infinite.

“I figured…” he began, rubbing the back of his neck in that way he always did when he was nervous. You couldn’t help the flutter in your chest, cursing yourself for finding it so endearing. It was one of his tells, a small habit you’d come to recognize over the last few weeks spent in each other’s company. You’d picked up on other things, too—the way his gaze would flicker away whenever he was hiding a smile, the slight shift in his voice when he was trying to mask concern, or the way he would reach for the back of a chair, his fingers curling around the wood, when he wanted to touch you but held himself back.

“I remember you said you liked learnin about astronomy,” he said, his voice roughened by a tenderness he couldn’t quite disguise.

Your chest tightened as you glanced up at him—he remembered.

The lantern’s glow cast a soft light across his features, illuminating the fine lines etched at the corners of his eyes, the deep shadows beneath his cheekbones. It felt unreal, almost dreamlike.

Could this be the same Joel who had once left you crying, who had shut you out with a coldness that still lingered in the back of your mind? Yet here he was, the same man, but now so different—showing you a quiet tenderness that reached places inside you you’d long since closed off.

When you didn’t speak right away, Joel felt a flicker of doubt creep in. His chest tightened as the silence stretched on, and he began to wonder if he’d overstepped, if he’d done too much. Had he read this wrong? The thought gnawed at him, a sudden worry that maybe the gesture wasn’t what you wanted, that perhaps he’d laid his heart bare in a way you weren’t ready to accept.

Before his doubts could take hold, you breathed out, “This is beautiful, Joel.” The words were quiet but laden with meaning, carrying more gratitude than you could fully express. “Thank you,” you added, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the moment.

You weren’t sure what else to say, how to give voice to the tangle of emotions pressing against your chest—the ache of something hopeful trying to take root, of a longing that had crept up on you so slowly you hadn’t noticed it until now. It wasn’t just the effort he’d made; it was the vulnerability behind it, the quiet way he was reaching out to you without saying a word.

You sank onto the blanket beside him, the coolness of the grass pressing through the fabric and grounding you in the present. Above you, the sky stretched endlessly, a dark canvas dusted with countless stars, shimmering like scattered diamonds. The constellations sparkled with a quiet brilliance, some clustered together, others spread apart, each one a silent witness to the world below.

It was breathtaking, a kind of beauty that made you forget, if only for a moment, the harshness of the life you’d grown accustomed to—the weight of all you’d lost and the scars left behind. For just that instant, the world seemed softer, the edges blurred, as though this little slice of peace could shield you from the darkness that had become all too familiar.

There was a hush between you, a kind of sacred silence that didn’t need to be filled. It wrapped around you like a comforting embrace, allowing you to breathe deeper, to sink into the stillness. It was enough just to be here, to feel the steady warmth of him beside you, to listen to the soft rustle of the night.

He leaned in closer, and you hadn’t even realized how near he was until your shoulders touched, his warmth brushing against you. Your pulse quickened at the proximity, a nervous flutter stirring in your chest. “Hey, do you see that star?” he asked, his voice low, a hint of wonder threading through the words.

“Which one?” you murmured, your eyes sweeping over the endless sprawl of night sky, shimmering like a sea of diamonds.

Joel’s hand came up to gently guide your gaze, his fingers grazing your chin as he directed your attention to a bright, solitary point above. You followed his gesture, your breath catching at the sight. The star shone brilliantly, outshining the others with a silvery light that seemed almost alive, as if it held a radiance all its own—a beacon glowing against the dark canvas of the sky.

For a moment, you were so captivated by its beauty that you didn’t notice Joel reaching behind his back. It wasn’t until he produced a small piece of paper and handed it to you that you glanced down, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “What’s this?” you asked, unfolding the note.

Your breath hitched as you read the handwritten words—your name, etched in careful letters, alongside a simple inscription: As of this date, this star has officially been named after you. The declaration was informal, the kind of makeshift elegance that only Jackson’s post-apocalyptic world could provide, yet it carried a gravity that made your heart skip a beat.

“You… named a star after me?” you breathed, the disbelief and awe intertwining in your voice. You looked up at him, a mix of astonishment and something deeper flooding through you, making your chest tighten.

He shrugged, trying for an easy nonchalance that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You said you liked stars,” he replied, his tone light, as if naming a star after you was no grand gesture. But the sincerity in his voice, the way his gaze lingered on yours just a beat too long, hinted at something deeper.

Joel watched you as you gazed up at the sky, a faint smile tugging at his lips while the starlight shimmered in your eyes. A deep ache filled his chest, a yearning so strong it nearly took his breath away. All he wanted was to lean in and close the distance between you, to press his lips to yours. But he couldn’t—not without addressing the things that had gone unsaid for far too long. Not without apologizing for the times he’d pushed you away, for the harsh words and the coldness that lingered like a shadow between you.

His nerves betrayed him; you could see it in the restless fidgeting of his fingers, twisting together and then releasing, as if a silent struggle was unfolding in his hands. He kept glancing at you, as if searching for the courage to finally speak the truth and let the walls he had built crumble.

He had rehearsed this moment countless times—in the quiet of the shower, as the steam rose around him; in the early mornings when he made you breakfast, his hands steady but his mind racing; and in the stillness of the night, when you lay asleep beside him, and he’d listen to the gentle rhythm of your breath, wondering if you could ever forgive him.

Now that the moment had arrived, the words tangled in his throat, bound up with everything he had kept locked away. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, knowing he couldn’t keep holding back forever.

“Joel,” you whispered, breaking the silence, your voice gentle, “are you okay?”

Joel’s expression shifted, a brief flash of vulnerability crossing his face before he masked it with a small, weary smile. For a moment, you thought he might brush the question off, deflect like he always did, but tonight felt different—fragile, almost sacred, as if the starlit sky had stripped away the barriers you both had kept so carefully guarded.

He sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts. His gaze fell to his hands, fingers fidgeting as though searching for the right words hidden in the calloused lines of his palms. The silence stretched between you, taut and trembling, as if the next words might snap the tension or bind you closer together.

“I never meant to be an asshole to you,” he murmured, his voice rough with remorse. “I just… I didn’t know how to handle it.”

Your heart stopped. Was this it? The explanation you’d been waiting for, the truth behind the way he’d treated you? “Handle what, Joel?” you asked gently, your pulse quickening as you sensed the gravity of what he was about to reveal.

He hesitated, the shadows shifting across his face in the dim light. “I’ve said things I didn’t mean,” he began, his voice barely audible, thick with regret. “Awful things… cruel things. Things I wish I could take back.” His expression tightened, the pain etched deep in his features. “Things that cut deeper than I realized.”

“Then why say them if you didn’t mean them?” you asked, your voice steady though your mind was reeling. You needed to understand what lay beneath his harshness, the turmoil behind those walls.

He drew a sharp breath, struggling to force the words out. “I… I’ve lost people,” he said, the raw vulnerability in his voice tugging at something deep within you. “Too many people. And it’s a shitty excuse, but I thought…” He sighed, a deep, ragged exhale that seemed to pull the confession from his chest. “I thought if I kept my distance, if I pushed you away… I could spare us both the pain of losing someone again.” His eyes met yours, filled with a grief that spanned years, a haunting reflection of the past. “I thought it would hurt less.”

“Joel,” you whispered, his admission hitting you like a cold rush of air, the weight of his heart laid bare before you.

“It’s stupid,” he continued, his voice rough with self-reproach, “immature, and I know it. That night at the dining hall—"

I could never be with someone like that

His voice cracked, a tremor of anguish crossing his face. “It haunts me. I didn’t mean a word of it.” He looked away, his jaw tightening as he fought against the emotion rising in his throat. “I was scared. Scared of the way you make me feel… scared to lose someone else I—”

He faltered, the unspoken word lingering in the air between you, as if it would cost him too much to say aloud. But you didn’t push him; you didn’t need him to finish the thought. It was already written in every action, in every quiet moment, in the way he had been there for you—unwavering and steady, even when his words had hurt.

He took a shuddering breath, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You don’t have to forgive me,” he said, the pain in his eyes undeniable. “And I’d understand if you never did. I just… I needed you to know the truth.”

Without thinking, you reached out, your hand slipping into his. The touch seemed to steady him, as if grounding both of you in this fragile moment. “

You’re not going to lose me Joel,” you said softly, your gaze holding his with quiet resolve.

“I promise.”

His eyes widened, your words settling over him like a balm, softening the raw vulnerability etched into his expression. He held your hand a little tighter, as though afraid to let go, his fingers trembling just slightly against yours. In that moment, neither of you spoke, but a quiet understanding passed between you. Whatever this was—whatever fragile thing had taken root between you—it wouldn’t be easy. There were walls to dismantle, wounds that still ached, and a long, uncertain path ahead. Yet, beneath it all, there was something unbreakable, a shared promise that neither of you would face it alone.

You met his gaze, and in the silence, it was as if you’d made a vow without words—a vow that no matter what lay ahead, you were in it together. It wasn’t the end of the struggles or the undoing of years of hurt, but it was a beginning, a single thread of hope that you both clung to, knowing that some things were worth fighting for, no matter how many scars they left behind.

•••

The next morning, you awoke with a smile soft on your lips, your heart warmed by a quiet joy you hadn’t felt in years. Memories of last night flickered through your mind—laughter, whispered secrets, and the gentle way Joel had looked at you beneath the stars. It felt like a new beginning, a fragile hope blossoming amidst the remnants of a world that had taken so much from you.

You turned, half-expecting to find Joel beside you, but the bed was empty, the sheets cool beneath your hand. A slight frown tugged at your brows, a sense of loss stirring at the edges of your thoughts. Maybe he was downstairs, busying himself with breakfast, filling the house with the warm scent of coffee and something simple but comforting.

As you sat up, feeling a newfound strength in your limbs, the sound of hurried footsteps ascending the stairs caught your attention. A flicker of excitement rose in your chest, imagining Joel coming back to share another quiet morning with you.

“Joel?” you called out, your voice bright with anticipation. But the moment the figure stepped into the doorway, your heart stilled.

It wasn’t Joel. It was Tommy, his face flushed and lined with something far darker than fatigue. The sight of him twisted your stomach, a chill settling over you as the unspoken loomed between you.

“Tommy?” you managed, voice tight with unease. “What… what happened?”

He took a breath, and his eyes, shadowed with worry, met yours. “It’s Joel,” he said, his voice taut and strained, each word laced with urgency. The blood drained from your face, and the room seemed to tilt.

“He’s gone.”

•••

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0bticeo · 5 months ago

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aemond targaryen | you owe a debt

summary:

you grit your teeth.

you’re a long way from dragonstone. with you plummeting towards the ground, leaving aemond above, you’ve bought yourself a few precious seconds ー not enough. far from enough. your dragon is the fastest alive, yes. with you alone on his back, he could outrun vaghar. but there’s two of you, a storm is raging and aemond is catching up.

you still.

he’s there.

wc. 1.6k

tw. unreseolved sexual tension, niece!reader (targcest), mild description of blood and gore, hubris, fix-it fic set in season one epsiode ten.

the rain is cold on your face, like tiny pinpricks of ice piercing your skin. raging wind blowing through your ears, you hear your dragon roar above the thunder. the force of it spreads through your bones. eyes half closed against the storm, fists clenched on the handles of your saddle, you curse.

sending your younger brother alone, what was your mother thinking?

he wants revenge. an eye for an eyeーa fair price. he could’ve asked for lucerys’ life. ( he must’ve been itching to do it, to draw his sword, sharp blade slicing your brother’s throat. to watch the blood pour out, spilling on the round hall’s floors.)

you see it, then. the dark mass before you, coming in closer and closer with each beat of your dragon’s wings. vaghar, largest, oldest dragon in the world. a massive, battle-hardened beast, with wrath etched in every inch of her being, begging to be unleashed, held tight behind her master’s iron will. (you think you hear him begging her to stop. )

high valyrian rolls off your tongue, scraping against your throat in a bark.

faster.

visegar obliges, wings spread out against the storm. your breath hitches with how fast you’re going, strands of hair clinging to your face like you do to your reigns.

you’re close enough to see arrax now, as small and young and terrified as his rider.

close enough to hear aemond’s laughter. close enough to hear his tauntsー you owe a debt, boy . vaghar opens her gaping mouth, fangs gleaming under the pouring rainー

this will start a war. this will have your brother dying, torn up to pieces.

you will not let him die.

when you strike, it’s from below. lightning-fast, a blur of black scales, snatching your brother inches away from vaghar’s gaping maw. you feel her heated breath on your skin, the putrid scent of it – how many were left to rot there?

you meet your uncle’s eye and he recognises you.

you see it in how that mouth of his twists in a grin, tongue licking his lips in a slow drag. in how his eye traces your frame, sharpening upon noticing your stance.

“and what do you hope to do with that blade of yours?” there’s a flash of amusement in that coy grin of his. “surely, you can do better, niece .”

and he knows you can. he’s seen you in the training yard, wielding your mighty bow. he’s seen you grasping arrow after arrow, pulling them out of your quiver in an inhumanely fast gesture. he’s seen you hit target after target. he’s seen you run out of arrows and switch to the sword at your side, calling out for a sparring partner.

(he’d been the one stepping forward, lip curling in that coy grin of his.)

now, your mouth is drying.

you’ve left your bow and arrows behind in your haste to get there. at this range, the sword is useless.

you snarl, poison-laced words ready to strike because you yourself can’tー

your brother is screaming.

you look down and see arrax falling. with him, your brother. both of them, tumbling to the ground, spiralling down. arrax, almost torn in half, holding it together in a gory mess of viscera and torn up bones, wings beating erratically in a desperate attempt at stopping his fall. there’s so much red.

plunge.

plunge towards the ground at break-neck speed, visegar’s wings folding by his sides, almost brushing your arms. your shoulders are set ablaze. from the sheer strength it takes you to remain on your dragon’s back, or from your uncle’s heated gaze, you do not know.

soon you’re within arm’s reach. one look at arrax tells you trying to save them both is hopeless.

“lucerys!”

he doesn’t look at you. he can’t, not with the wind roaring at his ears, not with arrax’s pain merging with his pure terror, not with the sea and its devouring waves below, they’re pulling him in, he’s going to dieー

you grab your brother’s arm and pull , high valyrian leaving your tongue in a bark.

“visegar, up! ”

and so he obliges, your faithful dragon, leaving his brethren to crash in the hungry waves beneath. for a split second, you remain like that. floating in a never-ending storm, with your brother clinging to you, legs hanging in the void, hands in a vice grip around his flesh because you must not let him fall .

so you pull and pull , muscles begging for you to stop, praying to gods old and new that your strength doesn’t fail you, that your uncle doesn’t catch up, not now .

then he’s on your saddle, and you press him against you, arms surrounding him, firmly pressing his hands on the saddle’s pommel for purchase. you do not let him see arrax’s fall. he’s safe. for now.

you grit your teeth.

you still.

he’s there.

right behind you, hot on your tail. you do not need to turn to see the wide grin etched on his pale features. you hear it in the low baritone of his voice, in the venom of his words.

give up, niece.

and you can only weigh the odds. you cannot fight him. not with your brother there, clinging to your forearm tighter than one would to a lifeline. not with this storm. not without your prized weapons. you’re bound to lose, and he knows it.

you feel lucerys shift, looking up at you. oh, brave, brave boy with terror in his eyes.

“it’s me he wants.” he gulps. “if you hand me over to him, you might get awayー”

you bite your lip.

each beat of dragon wing drives you closer to dragonstone. you can get there. you have to. it’s not just a matter of ensuring your brother’s safety ー or yours for that matters. it’s that should the both of you die here by aemond’s hand, war would break out.

greens and blacks have daggers held at each other’s throats. the slightest mishap will draw blood. you will not let your death be the reason a fragile, relative peace is broken.

but you can’t kill aemond either, can you?

“niece.”

your attention snaps back to him. you find him already watching, hungry gaze never leaving you. he’s waiting, this wretched, cunning beast of a man. waiting for your move.

your dragon is the fastest alive, yes. with you alone on his back, he could outrun vaghar. but there’s two of you on his back and a raging storm against his wings.

but if there was only one rider…

you don’t have a choice.

beneath you, visegar rises to attention. does he feel it, your fear? does he feel it, your unyielding resolve?

your hand closes around your brother’s shoulder, gently squeezing it.

“whatever happens, fly home and do not stop .”

visegar moves. faster than all-mighty vaghar can see, faster than aemond can see, spiking above them both.

your brother is screaming.

you’re falling.

you’re falling, and there’s nothing to stop you. the gaping mouth of the sea will swallow you and leave nothing behind. you wonder if you’ll die upon hitting the water, bones shattering with the impact. you wonder if you’ll drown, if the fall doesn’t kill you. you wonder if you’ll taste arrax’s blood.

you’re falling, and everything blurs before your eyes, storm grey and rain and a blue so dark it’s almost black. there’s lightning streaking the sky above, waves crashing down below ー and you do not know what’s up and what’s down anymore. the wind is merciless, splitting your ears with its force.

you’re falling, limbs spread out, gasping for air, and it feels like thousands and thousands of hands are pressing down on your heart and you can’t breathe ー

you think the wind roars your name. you think you see a great, black void coming from above, like the meteors the maesters weaved tales about for your entertainment.

you feel as though you’re floating. you’re flying without a dragon. does that make you a god? you think you’re laughing.

you’re falling and it’s a gamble .

you’ve seen aemond’s stare. felt it burn like dragon fire on your skin, felt its pull down to your core as you fired arrow after arrow in the training yard. you’ve seen his signature half-smile widen just a tad bit as your swords clashed, felt the heat radiating off him as you pulled him closer, close enough for your dagger to brush against his jaw.

(close enough to see his eye dart to your lips, pupil dilating for a brief second. close enough to feel his warm breath on your cheek. close enough to feel the lean muscles of his chest beneath the black leather of his clothes. close enough for him to bend down, lips brushing your ear in a low voice that left you with a hollow ache and clenching thighs.

“surely, you can do better, niece.”)

you intrigue him, at the very least.

so when he comes, when he catches you mid-fall and cradles you against the warmth of him, with your name on his lips and what surely cannot be fear but is, you cannot help but smile.

your grin flashes, as sharp as your blade.

“is that better, uncle?”

#obticeo writes #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon x y/n #house of the dragon x you #aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond one eye #aemond oneshot #(no this isn't the smutshot the poll is about)

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charbydis-musings · 2 months ago

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Ambrosia: Chapter 1

This wouldn't have spawned without Anniflamma's Manwhore!Au for Epic and raving with @scyllas-dogs about Poseidon backshots on election night to cope. Enjoy. TW: Sexual themes, mild violence, biting, and Zeus. A03 link

“Enlighten me, Odysseus. What do you value most?” Patience was a waning thing in Zeus’ tone, the god leaning in close and as smothering as the humid front of a storm. A strong hand grasped Odysseus’ jaw, bringing in the king nose to nose to with a god who now stood to scale with the man atop the deck.

The unblinking eyes of his crew and the electric gaze of a king upon him, nowhere to run and none to outwit. To persuade? Odysseus raised his chin in Zeus’ grasp, shrugging off his tattered tunic from his shoulder, “There are many roads to settle a debt owed, no?”

The fingertips digging into his jaw faltered a moment, the gall of a mortal making Zeus falter for a scant moment before he spoke, “Persuade me then.”

Choose.

Not a question, but a demand thundering from the heavens. Hand braced against the mast of his ship, his last ship, Odysseus staunched his wound with little more than a trembling palm as he locked eyes with the King of the Gods.

A face he had not hoped to see again since Troy burned. Zeus loomed as tall as the decimated sails of the boat. Eyes as brilliant as lightning glowered upon him and his crew.

The fingertips digging into his jaw faltered a moment, the gall of a mortal making Zeus falter for a scant moment before he spoke, “Persuade me then.”

Odysseus steeled himself, avoiding Eurylocus’ stare weighing upon his back, going so far as to voice, “Capt-“

A glare from Zeus landed with the cracking of thunder. The god’s larger palm closed on the front of Ody’s tunic, drawing him in closer at the threat of an interfering hand. Perfect, Ody seized the opening, tangling a hand onto Zeus’ curling mane of sun bleached hair.

Odysseus tasted of sweat and the iron of blood, the same which wept from his wound and stained Zeus’ toga as the King threw himself into the kiss as if his life depended on it. In truth, it did. Zeus grasped his backside for leverage, feeling the mortal’s fragile pulse hammering against his bruised ribs like a fluttering bird.

Fragile, scuffed, and so close to breaking. A slip of the hand could fell a man in his state, left in the palm of a god. Fortunately, carnal hunger outweighed the satisfaction of dead men slain for a sin. The groan Odysseus released was a rasping one, the man’s grip slackening on Zeus’ locks as his body slumped against the god.

There was something admirable in his gumption to try. Splaying a palm over Odysseus’ back, Zeus hoisted the man into his arms with a sigh. “Ride the wind eastwards if you lot wish to see your home again. I will not spare you a second boon.”

In the clap of thunder and flash of lightning, the pair vanished from sight. ----------------------

Odysseus awoke to the babbling water and rising steam, his cheek resting against the supple firmness of a man’s thigh. His eyes snapped open, spine going ramrod straight in alarm before a strong hand cupped the back of his neck.

“Rest.” Zeus chided, pushing Odysseus’ down to rest in his lap once more.

Odysseus set his jaw, grasping the rim of the pool with a heated, “What have you done?”

“Nothing beyond what I was bid to consider.” Zeus arched a brow, “Settle your debt not in blood, little king, but with the flesh and its pleasures. I find the prospect agreeable nor is my wine bearer against the idea of a respite.”

Odysseus turned his face lower, rasping out, “I can’t be daunted again, I have to make it home-“

“To Penelope and Telemachus. You sang your plight quite succinctly to the sirens before ruthlessly butchering them.” Zeus held a freyong lock of brown hair that was increasingly streaked by gray in recent months, “A year. Withstand that sum of time in service as my wine bearer atop Olympus, then you shall find yourself returned to Ithaca.”

“…What of my crew?” Odysseus asked after a pregnant pause.

“On course to reach the isle in three days time if they follow the prevailing winds I bid Aeolus to cast.” Zeus flatly replied, “My boon is my end of a bargain struck, little king. Now tis time for you to uphold yours.”

Odysseus didn’t have time to speak before Zeus’ lips were on his throat, tongue and teeth working against delicate skin. The god laved his tongue over Odysseus’ throat with a rumbling sigh in pleasure, his hands wandering south towards the mortal’s thighs for a proper grasp.

Odysseus writhed, sputtering out a gasp as blunt teeth broke the skin of his throat and were liable to leave bruises in their wake. Zeus was unbothered by his thrashing, hiking Ody’s thigh over his hip and dipping him into a kiss in the shallow waters. Braced against the steps of the basin and chest to chest with the king of the gods, Odysseus’ pushed against Zeus’ chest and finally broke contact, “Wine bearer or whore, be straight with me!”

Zeus grimaced, “You opened this door, Odysseus, do not be affronted when I come to collect.”

A hand moved to grasp his throat, a weight and a warning as Ody’s breathing faltered in anticipation of a choke that never came. Roughly, Zeus wedged a knee between Ody’s shaking thighs and rasped against his ear, “Yield or I can cast you to my brother, little king. His sense of justice is far more inflexible than my own. He writhes and protests even now as I withhold you from the grasp of the ocean. Is his ire more alluring than my affection?”

Slowly, Odysseus shook his head, silent as the grave when he spread his legs.

“Good.” Zeus clapped his shoulder and withdrew, satisfied at having tested the waters. Odysseus was left panting on his back, tense and his member throbbing with need.

“T-Thats it?” He whispered under his breath, feeling Zeus’ fingers lift his chin.

“For now. You’re clean enough to walk these halls, come.” Zeus stepped from the bath, casting a sky blue swath of silk towards Odysseus. With it a heavy broach of an eagle lay in the cloth.

Ody swallowed thickly as he left the pool and examined the garment, “…What became of my tunic-“

“Ruined beyond measure.” Zeus stood tall over the king, not one for modesty it seemed as he was less quick to dress. Ody’s gaze tentatively ventured south, his mouth going dry at the girth between Zeus’ strong legs- the girth he’d been inches away from.

Hastily with cheeks aflame, Odysseus turned his gaze down towards marble floors.

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

In the palace of the gods, Ody mercifully could place few faces. Hermes nor Athena were present to see him at Zeus’ feet, narrowly covered by the blue toga offered to him. Much of his chest and bruised throat lay exposed, the draping toga managing to cover his backside and upper thighs at least.

The ruined canvas of bruised skin and bites was plain to see, as intended. Odysseus kept his jaw set and his eyes downcast as he raised the golden bowl higher towards Zeus’ expectant hand, fine wine sloshing in the vessel as the offered libations.

Things first went awry when Zeus grasped Odysseus’ by the throat, tender enough not to choke, yet forceful enough to draw a gasp from the king. Drawn up onto the throne, Zeus grasped the libation bowl, brows furrowed in contemplation as he mused, “A sweeter cup than gold might be the supple flesh of a man. What does a King taste like? I wonder.”

Wine was heavy and cool against Odysseus’s face, flowing in a red stream from his crown and down his cheek to his throat. Zeus was a man unrestrained in his lusts, laving his tongue up from Ody’s bruised jugular. His lips moved from neck to jaw, the god drinking his fill of wine from Odysseus’ flesh. Wincing at the drink staining his hair and beard, with one eye shut to avoid the sting, Ody grunted at the contact as he gripped a tight fistful of Zeus’ toga. The hand on his throat shifted from neck to hip, drawing Odysseus onto Zeus’ lap to straddle his hips.

Discarded, the empty bowl clattered to the tile as Zeus tangled a hand through Odysseus’ hair. Golden eyes were filled with mirth as he basked at the sight of the disheveled king, “Sweet as nectar.”

Odysseus groaned, tucking his face into Zeus’ shoulder, doing anything to avoid eye contact in his fluster. He felt the throbbing want of the god against his groin, obscured solely by fabric and feeling the heat of Zeus’ need with unfettered intensity. Rather than take his pound of flesh, Zeus was content to let the king catch his breath, a warm comfort against his broad chest.

His trends with Ganymede had been no different, his court unbothered by the sight of another fair face adorning his throne. With a face flushed as deeply as wine, Odysseus exhaled hotly as he tried to inch away from Zeus’ prodding member- halted with a hand grasping his backside openly.

Zeus’ grip on supple flesh was firmer than a soldier’s palm to a sword, ever a man reluctant to part with his spoils.

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

Odysseus cursed under his breath as he rinsed out the drying, tacky texture of wine from his hair, stubbornly looking away from Zeus as the god lounged on a chaise with a glass of wine in hand.

“Loyalty like yours is a rare thing.” Zeus remarked, chin resting atop his closed fist as he watched Odysseus, “A crew decimated, the odds of survival ever growing slim, and not once did you buckle in consorting with another. Until now.”

Odysseus held his tongue, shoulders taut as he remembered the slamming gales of the storm and Poseidon’s cruel lesson.

Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves.

“Anything to get home, it became the price I had to pay.” Odysseus replied, his tone distant as he finally saw the water run clear.

“43 men left under your command when my brother decimated your fleet. 37 with the price offered to Scylla.” Zeus mused, “Blood would stain your hands all the same, you chose who would bleed by one way or another.”

“…It was an infant.” Odysseus whispered, head low and his curling locks hiding his face.

“It was the will of the gods,” Zeus coolly countered, “Root and stem, or you suffer an endless cycle of upstarts and budding chaos. If you cannot learn ruthlessness after Poseidon’s instruction, may a year under me leave you a wiser man with an ounce of more piety.”

Odysseus worked his jaw, moving to grab the pitcher of wine and a glass of his own. Zeus watched his brewing frustration, brows furrowed as he sighed, “Hubris will be the death of you, little king.”

“Maybe.” Odysseus muttered, nursing his glass with a heated exhale.

Zeus hooked a finger though the front of Odysseus’ toga, drawing the king into his lap, “Ten years without your wife’s touch, how did you weather celibacy, Odysseus?”

“Do you not love Hera as a man loves his wife?” Odysseus questioned in return, equally as bewildered.

With a deepening frown, Zeus sighed, “Does wine always render you so morose?”

“No.” Odysseus gruffly stole another sip before Zeus had the wisdom to pry the glass away.

“If my wine bearer craves libations, he ought to be properly served.” Zeus drawled.

Ody grimaced at his glass being held aloft, his disdain faltering into disbelief as Zeus poured the wine into his cupped palm.

Sweet red wine danced and dripped from the god’s broad palm, Zeus’ grin growing wide as he grasped Ody by the front and lightly pulled him forward.

“Drink, King of Ithaca.” He crooned, enjoying how wide Ody’s eyes had become as the man bared his teeth. He refused to lean in and press his lips to Zeus’ awaiting palm. Impatient with the ling’s petulance, Zeus brought his hand to Ody’s soft mouth, grasping the man’s jaw as he guided him to drink.

Odysseus swallowed, reluctantly and with burning indignation coloring his cheeks red. Zeus admired the sight, “I will tame you yet, my wolf-“

Blunt teeth split divine skin, honeyed ichor mingling with wine as Odysseus bit the hand which fed him.

Zeus wrenched back his palm, eyes blazing in fury as electric static crackled until- gold stained Odysseus’ maw, the man licking his lips instinctively at the new taste of blood and wine. A dark thought fluttered across Zeus’ mind, there are many ways for him to taste me.

Odysseus had stepped back, wiping his mouth with a wince and not a word in apology as he cursed, “I am not your damned pet!”

“You are mine,” Zeus rumbled, advancing on the man and smoothly seizing Odysseus by his narrow waist. Draped across Zeus’ shoulder, the King of Ithaca was helpless as the god grasped his bare thigh and ass, striding like a soldier on a mission. In truth, the only mission on Zeus’ mind was to see if finally, he could have a man so proud moaning like a concubine astride his cock before the night was out.

#Manwhore!au #epic the musical #fanfic #zeus x odysseus #alternate universe

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scorpihoe1111 · 10 months ago

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💔Chiron In the Houses💔-Part 2

Chiron in the 8H👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 TW: S*xual Content

People with this placement could struggle with themes regarding sex/sexual health. This could be somebody who’s had a bad experience with sex, such as being used/manipulated into it, made to feel shamed or guilty for having it and/or (TW: SA) sexually harassed/assaulted. I’ve also noticed people with this placement may have grew up with a very conservative family who had strict views of sex, so the individual is hard on themselves or feel almost guilty for having it or interacting in sexual things. This placement could also struggle with contracting STD’s, or having overall genital/uterus health problems often in their life. I also noticed that people like this are drawn to the occult early on in their life, and something happens that traumatizes them and ruins their outlook on it. A VERY common placement I’ve seen with people who dabbled in witchcraft and it backfired or someone who consistently goes to witch doctors/psychics/mediums and depends on these people. Also, something about the mother with this placement as well. This placement is also seen in people who have been permanently scarred by the death of someone or a near death experience themselves. The idea of death in general haunts this native and they usually refuse to accept it as a part of life. They could have paranoia of those around them dying and leaving them, or them dying themselves. The mother could have passed early on, and/or the mother could have been abusive or overly possessive and controlling of the Chiron person. Could also indicate someone who went through financial abuse as well, such as a mother or other feminine figures in their life being stingy with money that was owed to the Chiron person, or stealing Chiron’s actual money from them. This placement usually has a hard time getting along with the women in their family or women in general.

Chiron In the 9H🌍

Chiron here is one of the placements I sympathize with the most tbh. These people could have grown up in a strictly religious environment and may have had religion forced upon them from an early age. This person could have went through something that traumatized them in regards to church, church goers, pastors or religion altogether. They could have had really negative experiences or mistreatment from those in the church who were supposedly supposed to be good people they can trust. Could have been gossiped about, judged for their interests/personality/looks, or sexually abused as well by those in the religious group. These people are very conflicted when it comes to religion, usually choosing to be atheists/switching religions as they grow up in order to find one that doesn’t hold them back from what they wanna do or who they wanna be. This could also be someone who had extremely controlling parents who prevented them from developing, growing or having their own free will. This was someone who always had to obey their parents even when parents were wrong. Somebody who didn’t have the freedom to do fun or normal things everyone else in their age group may have got to do. These people are deeply traumatized by a lack of freedom and being controlled and refuse to go through that again in their future relationships. These people start to rebel in their teens/early 20’s, and once they’re free they become their own boss; however because they were sheltered so much they could be still naive and overdo their new freedom to the point of getting themselves in legal trouble or creating baggage in their personal lives. These people could have a lack of responsibility and self control and end up in debt, jail, a criminal charge, unwanted kids, addictions etc.

Chiron In the 10H👨🏻‍💼

Those with Chiron in the 10H could be sensitive about their reputation. This is a placement that has been judged and gossiped about mercilessly in regards to their character. These people may have done something scandalous within their life, or they may have made a mistake that many people throughout their lives have done but get heat for it way harder than others. This placement is usually found in those who care about their reputation and image more than anything else. They put how others see them and think/talk about them on the forefront of their lives. These people unfortunately can also be yes-men, or people pleasers due to wanting to receive validation from others at any cost. These people could have been well known and placed on a pedestal at some point in their lives which is why they usually tend to get gossiped about so much, or on the flip side this person does not get the recognition or acknowledgment they think they’re owed and this can lead to them feeling like they failed at life. I usually see this placement as one that’s money hungry or honestly an attention whore in most scenarios, since I’ve mainly seen those with this placement live for approval and validation even from those they don’t even know. These people could have grown up as an only child or favorite child, and parents could have exaggerated their talents and worth to the point they grew almost narcissistic and convinced they’re owed something from everyone. Obviously, this can have bad consequences as one steps out into the real world and this placement could be humbled quickly leading to their failure feeling of not being #1 in everything. Another scenario I see is those with this placement who have been involuntarily placed on a pedestal, to where each and every one of their actions, goals and mistakes reflected on their reputations heavily. In this case, this placement could have been severely judged/bullied in their youth, and/or had something happen to them or did something that they became known for and unfairly held against them. It’s important for this placement to heal in both scenarios, as if they’re unhealed this trauma can lead to excessive insecurity, co-dependence, anger and very low self esteem. This person needs to learn to live in their authenticity and honestly just stop giving a fuck what others think or say.

Chiron In the 11H👩🏻‍💻

These placement could have suffered from bullying online or in social groups. Definitely a black sheep placement, they’ve probably went through excessive outcasting or rejection in their early years from people their age. These are people who were probably loners in school, or simply didn’t know how to make friends. Many people weren’t nice to this native, and they might have always felt like the odd one out in any friend groups they have been in. This placement honestly gives me Janice Ian vibes. That 1 outcast that becomes friends with cruel people, and ends up being vulnerable to the wrong people. They could have been the target of bullying, subject of gossip etc. They may have had friends who were intimidated of them, and friends could have projected HEAVILY on them. These people could also be naive and easily influenced, usually ending up in the wrong crowd or friend group and trusting the wrong people due to desperation of needing to fit in. These people have a hard time being accepted within society as they may be different from most people, or have interests that are considered weird among peers. They could also be subject to online harassment and bullying as well, being the main target of being harassed by fake/anonymous accounts, secrets leaked online, personal information leaked online, posting something that the internet community may not approve of and attack the Chiron person for; etc.

Chiron In the 12H💤

This placement is really interesting for me, I think because I had to do extensive studying and research as well as trying to find people with this placement in order to really figure it out since it’s such a complicated placement. From what I’ve learned so far, those with this placement may have grew up with sleep paralysis and/or horrifying nightmares growing up. These are people that had an imaginary friend growing up. They’re very in touch with their spiritual side whether they want to be or not. These people could be scarred by the things they’ve seen in their dreams, or may have lived in homes that were possibly haunted and may have trauma in regards to things that may have happened in those homes. These people are usually deeply afraid of the paranormal, because of some type of experience they may have had when young. In another sense, I’ve also noticed that these people may have been isolated throughout their life a lot and felt very alone. They may have or still struggle with mental health/illness’s. These people could also be deathly afraid of random things, such as fire, insects, heights etc. with no personal reason as to why, it just provokes something in them. This is because those with this placement have TONS of past life trauma that needs to be healed. The sad thing about this placement is that it feels vulnerable and unsafe to things bigger than life, such as a higher power etc. They could be afraid of the paranormal, God, the Devil, Demons, Angels, ghosts etc. These are very sensitive to others spirits as well. These people often experience a deep, overwhelming sadness and pain without knowing their root cause. They feel uncomfortable and hate that the world is a negative place. Sometimes they might feel like there’s an invisible wall holding them back from reaching their full potential. In a way, this placement could feel almost as if they’re being punished by these higher powers I was talking about. Like their mind and overall future is being destroyed and blocked by something bigger than us, and they have no control over it. Overall, I feel like this placement wants to be safe. I feel like this placement doesn’t feel safe or comfortable in the world in general, which is why this placement is one of the very special ones for me. I truly think they are angels sent down from earth. I also feel it’s important that this placement heals deeply, and finds themselves a higher power that brings them comfort. I deeply feel this placement may need religion or spiritually to reach their full potential and happiness, as they seem to be so connected to the divine it’s best to confront their fears and accept the calling they’re overthinking about.

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dark-konohagakure2 · 2 months ago

Note

This one could be for Tumblr or AO3. Dealers choice <3 bratty girl owes kakuzu some money and shes gotta pay him back somehow ;P. Can he teach her a lesson about the value of settling her debts?

tw: noncon, age difference, blackmail, age difference, financial abuse, groping, size difference, face fucking, choking

All characters depicted are 18+

Kakuzu is in charge of the Akatsuki's finances, and he takes that role very seriously, mainly due to his immense love of money, money is the only thing in the world that Kakuzu loves and trusts. So when he's sent to go collect a debt from someone who owes the Akatsuki a very large large amount of money, Kakuzu is on the poor soul's doorstep almost immediately.

Having someone as scary looking as Kakuzu at her door is enough to scare the living daylights out of her, a reaction that annoys and amuses the miser in equal measure. He'll immediately demand that she either cough up the money or die by his hand. The poor woman is immediately panicking, revealing that she's completely broke, just barely getting by on the food she already has. This puts a wrench in Kakuzu's mission, he needs the money, something she's clearly lacking, so she can't give him the currency she needs. But that's fine, she can pay him back in a different way.

Her cute little body looks like it could fetch him a pretty penny, but Kakuzu doesn't have time to find enough men willing to pay for such a whiny woman's body, so instead Kakuzu will consider her body his payment, although it pains him to lose a single precious cent. He won't hide his unsavory intentions at all, shamelessy palming her large breasts through her shirt as he forces her against the nearest surface.

Kakuzu isn't shy, gentle, or vague about what he's doing, groping her body through her clothes as he rubs his large erection against her backside, his unusual and unforgiving eyes staring into her's as he prepares to teach her a very important life lesson; if someone doesn't settle their debts in time, then they have to face the consequences of their irresponsibility.

"Be quiet, you little tart. This is what happens to bad girls who don't have half a mind to pay their debts. Now either take my cock or I'll be taking your heart."

Once he's done feeling up her body, he'll abruptly push her down onto the ground, undoing his pants and letting his impressive cock spring free from it's confines, his manhood looking just as big and scary as the rest of him. Kakuzu will give no warnings or preparation when he forces his dick past her teeth, letting the thick meat stuff her throat to his limits whilst he uses it like a fleshlight.

Kakuzu is rough in both the way he fucks her face and the way he holds her in place, his large calloused hand wrapped tightly around her slender throat as he pounds it, making it difficult for her to breath with the overwhelming pressure both in and outside her throat. It's of no consequence to Kakuzu if she passes out from this, just gives him more opportunity to use her without having to listen to her whining.

If she does pass out, he'll take great pleasure in wrecking her other two holes while she's out cold and unable to resist or stop him, she knows this because Kakuzu outright tells her that as he's pounding away at her tear stained face. That's enough motivation for her to try her best to stay awake, even if that's becoming increasingly difficult with his cock down her throat, his hand around her neck, and her nose shoved against his coarse pubic hairs.

Breathing will become even more difficult when Kakuzu finishes right down her gullet, filling her stomach with his thick seed. It takes everything in her not to choke on his cum, or heaven forbid spit it out, Kakuzu will watch sadistically behind his mask as she struggles to gather herself after the brutal face-fucking he made her endure, cold sadism dripping from his every word as he addresses her again.

"That wasn't so hard, was it you idiot? You better get better at taking cock by the next time I come. What? Did you think you'd be off the hook that easily? The Akatsuki always gets what it's owed..."

Kakuzu is still rather annoyed by the fact that he didn't get the money that he came all this way for, but the greedy immortal at least got the next best thing; a much needed stress relief toy he can squeeze after a long day of dealing with Hidan's nonsense and the Akatsuki's seemingly endless ambitions.

#naruto #naruto shippuden #boruto #naruto x reader #headcanon #naruto smut #x reader #naruto headcanons #akatsuki #akatsuki x reader #akatsuki smut #kakuzu #kakuzu x reader #kakuzu smut

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0xstarzx0 · 9 months ago

Text

DEBT |ONE-SHOT

Rafe Cameron x Reader x Niccolò

{OPEN COMMAND}

[English is not my native language❗️❗️]

SYNOPSIS: When your friend can’t pay off her debt, someone has to.

TW: DUB-CON, NON-CON, violence, insults, rape, hair pull, alcohol, sex V, perversion, choking, threat, gun.

______________________________________________

The music was loud, much too loud for your poor ears. You were advancing with difficulty through the people.

You’re desperately looking for your friend Kiara, you had a horrible week, so to clear your head, she decided to take you to one of the stupid parties you hate to attend.

You feel a weight washing up on your shoulder, you turn and fall on your friend, completely drunk. "Hey Y/N comes, meet my new friends!" without you being able to answer, she grabs your hand and forces you to follow her into a dark corridor.

She pushes you into a room and closes the door. You frown and hit the door. "Kiara, open the door."

She still doesn’t open it. "Fuck Kiara, I’m not kidding, open the fucking door!" You hit the door harder.

As you pounce on the door, sneers sound behind you. You stop every move and look over your shoulder.

Two men are on a sofa, the lights that illuminate little the room does not help you see them clearly.

You hardly swallow your saliva and back up to the door. "How cute, you know we don’t bite." Said one. He gets up and approaches you like a predator.

He’s tall, much taller than you, his blond hair falls on his forehead. His arms are huge, and his blue eyes pierce you. He approaches you and puts a hand on your cheek. You push it away and he laughs.

"My name is Niccolò and this is my friend Rafe, do you know why you’re here?" asks the person sitting on the couch. You don’t answer. "Your friend didn’t pay what she owed us, so she’s paying us by bringing you here." You’re shocked.

You arrived at the Outer Banks not long ago, not knowing anyone you quickly trusted Kiara because she was very positive. You didn’t think she’d do that to you.

The blond guy grabs your arm, you slap him hard. "Don’t touch me, you bastard!" you say, running to the door. "This cunt is not laughing" You try to open it but it is still closed.

Rafe grabs your hair and pulls it, he drags you to the sofas. He throws you violent before placing himself above you.

He grabs the top of your shorts and pulls it down, his gesture burns your skin. You scream but he grabs your throat. "Keep yelling and I swear I’ll choke you." Niccolò says as Rafe holds you.

Rafe takes off his shorts and his boxers, his dick is huge. He stands in front of your hole and pushes you tearing you a hiccup of surprise.

You try to struggle when the brown guy grabs your wrists. He leans in your ear. "If you try to escape while the night is not over, I will make you regret it, my sweet." He kisses the tears that flow from the corners of your eyes and watches Rafe fuck you coarsely.

Your body and your brain do not agree, one hates what Rafe makes you while the other takes pleasure. Rafe hits your G-spot several times, you moan while crying.

Rafe leans over and kisses your neck, he leaves traces of his passage on your breasts. It becomes more and more brutal so he accelerates.

Rafe pulls out, he cums on your belly and turns you around. "Ready for a second round?" he asks. "Please let me go." You’re crying. Rafe shoves your head into the couch while he shoves you from behind.

Rafe is violent, with each push he sinks further widening you. "Damn it’s so tight man!" Says Rafe as he continues to rape you.

Niccolò laughs, his bulge is clearly visible. He will never admit it but his dick hurt him so much it was hard.

You feel Rafe shaking inside you, indicating that he will arrive soon.

Rafe arrives but does not withdraw from you, there are a few seconds inside before withdrawing.

You fall back on yourself when your hair is caught, forcing you to lift your head. Niccolò takes off his belt and his pants, his boxers follow the movement. He stands in front of you. "Bite me, hurt me, and I swear you’ll regret it." He glances briefly at the table. On it is a gun. Your blood is freezing.

Niccolò forces a passage with his cock to enter your mouth, you do not struggle. Terrified by the turn the situation could take.

He grabs your head and forces you to suck it, he delicately fucks your face, as if you were both consenting.

He is gentle in his gestures, compared to Rafe. Maybe you hurt him. But for you that is impossible. These two monsters have no feelings.

Niccolò comes several times in your mouth and on your face. When he has finally finished, he wipes his face. He kisses you from the top of your head and forces you to look at him. Your eyes are glassy, full of tears. Your throat hurts and you’re not sure you can get up.

Rafe looks up at the gentle gesture of the Italian. "Rafe is stupid, doesn’t pay attention and just stays focused on me, my sweet." he says, but your eyes follow both. If your body would allow it, you would have already tried to kill one.

Rafe gets up and throws your clothes away. "We got what we wanted, she’s out now." Rafe puts on his shorts. Niccolò puts his pants back on but you don’t move.

This has the gift of driving Rage Rafe crazy. "Dress up." He orders you, you do not move. Rafe shoots you with the look. He grabs the gun from the table and with a tone he announces. "If you don’t harp now, the first bullet will be for you." Rafe." said Niccolò.

You lift your shameful head. "I can’t move half my body!" You say in tears. Rafe tightens a little more the weapon before growling and throwing it some parts in the room.

Rafe grabs your shirt and puts it on, puts your shorts back on. You cry about it, you look like shit. Rafe lifts you when Niccolò blocks him. "What again?" said the exasperated blond.

Niccolò gives him a bad look and gives you a drink. "Drink it should make your sore throat go away and it helps with aches."

You weren’t planning on drinking until Rafe forced you.

______________________________________________

You have no memory of that night, you remember going and looking for Kiara. After that, it’s nothing.

The next day you had bruises on your breasts, thighs and neck. Your legs made you suffer martyrdom and your head hurt like a dog.

Since this evening you try not to think about it too much, rout is quite weird and mix.

But apparently at this party you made new friends.

Niccolò and Rafe.

You get along great with them even though sometimes you feel like a few bells with them, that they are… bad.

______________________________________________

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the-californicationist · 1 year ago

Text

he trims his beard

Pirate!Price/Reader

God, I want to write thirty damn chapters about Pirate!Price so badly. Someone tell me not to, please? Lol. Otherwise, y'all might be getting thirty chapters of Pirate!Price...

MDNI/18+ TW: virginity reference

Summary:

Captain John Price is king of the Seven Seas, and after he saves your life, you owe him a debt. His fee? To take you as his wife.

The Mediterranean Sea, 1708

“I just can’t…ARGH!” Price slammed his hand down on the porcelain basin as he tried to shave his chin, unable to use his right hand after the accident.

You pitied him, but you were still terribly afraid of him. When he rescued you, you thought he had been Death riding in on his ghostly white ship. But, now that he had been with you going on a fortnight, you realized the hardened, gruff exterior was but a hard shell encasing the soft, warm center of Captain Price, leader of the Queen’s special unit of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy.

You’d been marooned on Cassadaga Island for two days, stripped of your jewelry and purse, beaten within an inch of your life, and left for dead. Your would-be husband had planned the whole attack, hoping to cash in on the dowry money. The joke was on him. Your father had a gambling problem and had not two coins to rub together. The musket he kept above the mantle didn’t even have any gunpowder in it, you were so destitute. As soon as your fiancé found out about your lack of adequate funding, he tossed you overboard on his father’s ship. When Captain Price found you there, you were barely hanging on.

The captain had nursed you back to health, promising to chase down the vagabond and kill him for his dishonor. He’d been true to his word, slaughtering the lot of them, but during his vengeful assault, he’d been shot through the hand with a musket. You’d cleaned the wound, and he had yelled at you for the pain. Now, you were cowering in the corner of your shared room, back to being a prisoner.

He eyed you from his shining mirror above the basin,

“C’mere, girl.”

You edged closer. It wasn’t quick enough for him, so he crossed the room, his black leather boots banging on the ash wood of his quarters.

“I said come here,” he growled, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you over to the wash bowl, razor in his uninjured hand.

He let go of you, straightened himself, and sighed, fixing his harshness into a more genteel tone,

“My apologies,” the words came out of his mouth oily and practiced, not at all his natural verbiage, “Would you be so kind as to trim my beard? With my injury, and my left hand being more useless than a fuckin’ hook, I am at your mercy.”

He handed you the razor and you took it from him,

“Yes, sir - I mean, Captain. Yes, Captain.”

You were stuttering, full of abject fear at his possible retaliation.

As you approached his face with the razor, your hand was trembling and he noticed it. Something in him softened, his icy blue eyes melted just enough for him to hold you around your waist and gaze down at your face,

“It’s okay, pretty girl. My bark and my bite are both nasty, but I won’t harm you.”

His warm body was so close to yours, and with him leaning over you, breathing into your space, you could smell the tobacco scent that lingered in his clothes and beard. His long, braided hair was adorned with gold coins, bent and twisted into it to make little beads, and he had been caramelized by the sun. At the top of his sternum, you could see thick tufts of curly hair poking from his shirt. You tried not to stare.

“Captain,” you asked as sweetly as you could, “Can you sit, sir, so that I may reach your cheek?”

He smiled,

“Alright, love.”

He sat on his down mattress. The bed creaked at the addition of his familiar weight.

At this more convenient angle, you were able to reach his face and neck, so you began your task. You applied the foam in thin layers, working gently as you went, mindful that the captain kept his blades sharp enough to cut steel twine. What you hadn’t realized was that, by requesting that he sit, he was in full, direct eye sight of your heavy breasts. They were corseted up, as was the fashion, but without your normal over-dress to cover you, your nipples ghosted through the thin chemise, hinting at little pebbles beneath the surface. He had not stopped staring at them since you began to shave him.

You looked down while you were cleaning the blade, trying to discreetly glimpse at his growing passion, curious and fearful all at the same time. His breeches could barely contain him, and his thick phallus pressed into the join of his pants. He caught you staring, and he laughed at your rosy complexion, rolling his eyes,

“Ha! Embarrassed at your thirst, pretty girl? Surely those vagabonds did not leave you a virgin during your ordeal.”

“They did, sir,” you admitted, returning to your work, sad at having been discovered sinning with your abject perversion.

He made a small noise, unable to talk while you were shaving his prominent chin, careful around the curve of the bone. He liked to keep the sides long, trimming them with shears, but he always shaved his chin. You followed the razor’s line down his neck, careful not to knick his protruding Adam’s Apple.

“Is that so?” The captain purred.

“Yes, sir. At my fiance’s order.”

“Ah, I see.”

He was silent again, his eyes growing hungrier at the sight of you. His hands returned to your hips as the waves tossed the large vessel on the high seas. You stilled, feeling your belly flutter, wondering if it was seasickness or excitement from his newly focused touch.

“You alright, love? Bit choppy tonight. Storm’s brewin’.”

“Oh,” you nodded, finishing with his neck, “There. All finished, Captain.”

He moaned, holding your hips tighter, situating you between his open knees,

“Shame, that. I was enjoying your skillful hand, pretty girl.”

You blushed, setting the razor cleaned back in its case,

“Thank you, Captain Price. And thank you again for your rescue. I would be dead if not for your mercy. I am in your debt.”

“Aye,” the Captain eyed you slyly, “a steep debt at that. Your dowry should solve that for us. Then, you’ll be on your way. When we land in Málaga, your father can pay me.”

“Sir,” you gasped, “I don’t have one. My father took it to the game house and lost it on his cards.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you looked down at him in shame, hoping his mercy was deeper than his greed.

“Hmm, I see. Then, perhaps you would consider a captain as your betrothed?”

You looked up at him in shock, and he was amused by your fear. He used one hand to hold you by the hip, and his other, uninjured hand delicately pulled at the silk ribbon of your bodice, aiming to free you from your painful restraints.

“Y-y-yes…sir,” you could feel the heat on your cheeks, “My family would be most pleased with such a match.”

“Bugger your family, girl. They left you for dead. If you’re mine, you’ll be only mine. Once I have a bounty in my grasp, there’s not a man on God’s green earth who could take it from me. Does that scare you, girl? Do you want to run off home, turn to the cloth, become a nun instead?”

“No,” you shook your head, “No, sir. I owe you my life, and if it is my hand that you wish, I must oblige you.”

“I wish not your hand, love…” His tone was darkly suggestive, “Well, maybe at first.” He laughed warmly.

It was a joke that you had missed, but you knew it was your innocence that kept you from divining its meaning. In your core, your body yearned for him. Seeing him command his men, the fiercest swords on the Seven Seas, watching him take down pirates and vagabonds like it made his heart beat in his breast, it was mystifying. His huge muscles and broad bones made his tall figure all the more imposing, and every port you landed in, women swooned over him while the men cowered in fear. Yes, you’d enjoy him as a husband. No one would ever dare lay a hand on you again.

“What are your terms, Captain, should I accept your proposal?”

He ran a finger into the hole he had created in your leather bodice, letting you feel his warm touch through the thin fabric of your chemise. It electrified you.

“You’ll be mine, and only mine. I’ll be yours, and only yours. When I fill you with my seed, you’ll carry my children, and you’ll love them in earnest. You’ll sail with me, and learn the trade. There’s no comfortable manor house awaiting you, girl. What say you?”

“I agree to your terms, sir. But, I have one of my own.”

“Name it.”

“You’ll not lay a hand to me or our children, no matter the height of your rage.”

“Never. You have my word.”

Looking into his eyes, softened and vulnerable now, he meant it. You felt relief for the first time in weeks. Safe, protected, cared for, and welcomed into his adventures. It was everything you’d dreamed of. All of your childhood friends had dreams of servants and painting rooms and buying linens, while you had wanted to see the world. Here he was, offering it to you.

“I accept.”

“As do I, love. Now,” he finished removing your corset and bodice top, letting it fall to the floor, “as your husband, I’ll have what I’m owed.”

“Yes, Captain. But, please,” you felt a tear roll away from your wet lashes, “be gentle with me.”

“I promised no such thing,” he said, lowering his mouth to your nipple, sucking it and wetting the silk of your chemise, using his hand to pull down the fabric on your other breast, exposing it to the sea air.

You gasped, feeling his hot mouth explore your skin, your nipples tightening in the heat of his attentions. He was using his tongue to flick back and forth across the tip of your breast, not caring that you were trembling at every swipe of his tongue or thumb. You moaned, involuntarily, as you felt the sparkle of pleasure rush into your belly, making you wet under your skirts. While you had explored yourself plenty of times to discover the hidden secrets of your body, to have a man - especially such an aggressor like Captain Price - do it, it was so much more exciting. His forbidden fruit made you clench your legs together, upset and tingling within your core.

“Mmm,” he praised you, “Like that, love?”

“Yes, Captain,” you whispered softly, placing your hands on the back of his neck, rubbing the firm musculature you discovered there.

“Good girl,” he told you, pinching your nipple cruelly to make you moan again.

He kissed you then, full and with his long, ravenous tongue, forcing it into your mouth to feel your tongue and throat, the silky skin of your cheek. As he kissed you, he was busy rucking up your skirts, searching for your dripping heat. He found it, and he stilled. Barely moving, he stopped kissing you and looked up into your eyes with his stark blue ones, a look of pure delight on his face.

“Oh, my stars. There it is. You’ve been hiding it from me. So willing? Tell me the truth. Have you been hungering for me as I have been for you?”

It would not be proper to confess such a thing, even to a man who would be your husband. You shook your head in denial, pressing your lips together to keep from telling the truth.

“Say it! Tell your naughty thoughts to me, love. This is not the cunt of a frightened girl.”

You blushed, red as a rose, unable to meet his gaze.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he moved his finger inside of you then, gently sinking into his drooling sheath, ready to send home his sword to it.

“Y-yes,” your voice was barely audible.

“Yes? What have you been thinking of?” He returned to your nipple, pressing his finger deeper into you, massaging your walls as he explored.

“You…when you fight pirates, sir. You look…”

He chuckled, biting your firm nipple softly, teasing you,

“You like seeing me murdering those devils, do you? In all my days, I never thought I’d find a lass who had a taste for war.”

“Not the war, sir. Just the warrior. You seem to be in command of the chaos, and my body…well, I guess…I am unsure how to describe it.”

He pulled you down to the bed and tossed you on your back, rutting against you with his length, letting his hardness press into your core through his breeches.

“You like seeing me in charge, hm? Your captain, barking his orders, tossing those traitorous rats into the drink, yeah?”

“Yes, sir,” you confessed, rolling in the broiling pleasure he was building inside of you, his hand knuckle-deep inside of your core.

“Good,” he said smugly, “Then, I have a command for you.”

You looked up at him, watching him roll your skirt up above your knees, his eyes never leaving your dripping folds. He smiled when he saw it gleam for him.

“What do you ask of me, my love?”

“Open your legs, girl. Feed yourself to your Captain.”

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #captain price #captain price x reader #john price #cod #captain price x you #pirate price

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asilentsongbird · 2 years ago

Text

Baby trapping/breeding anyone? Just me? Alright

This post is ridiculously self indulgent.

Characters: Childe, Diluc, Ayato, Albedo

TW: dubcon/noncon, baby trapping, sex, general yandere content

~~~

Childe

Oh you know this man puts a baby in you day one.

Condoms? Never heard of them. Come on, they dull the feeling. It'll be fine just this one. And next time.

Would absolutely baby trap you. Maybe even blackmail you into it.

Oh, you owe the fatui? You can work off your debt. He'll make it nice for you, don't worry.

Once you're pregnant, you're never getting away.

Diluc

He was raised with the idea of having a wife and child.

Diluc doesn't really have to try, really, he just doesn't wrap it up. And he fucks you pretty often.

So unless you're taking birth control (which he definitely wouldn't tamper with, that's not like him no siree) you're gonna get pregnant sooner or later

He dotes on you while you're pregnant. Gives you anything you want.

Even let's you wander through the winery grounds until he deems you should be on bed rest.

Better get used to it because Diluc's always wanted a big family.

Ayato

Would be one to mess with your birth control like Diluc but would also be way more obvious about it.

Oh? Your pills are missing again? That's fine, he'll wear a condom. Promise.

Pretends it's just a happy accident but secretly you both know the truth

Bringing it up won't change anything though. So you grit your teeth and bear it.

Albedo

Wouldn't even try to hide it.

Once you're in his lap on Dragonspine. That's it. You're never getting out so might as well experiment.

And what better experiment is there other than to find out if a prince made of chalk can produce offspring?

It's fine. Don't worry. Albedo knows what he's doing. Don't cry.

He'll take great care of you. And the baby.

#yandere genshin impact #genshin impact #yandere #yandere albedo #yandere ayato #yandere childe #yandere diluc #childe #diluc #ayato #albedo #albedo x reader #diluc x reader #ayato x reader

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yanderenightmare · 1 year ago

Note

Geto with curse reader?

Geto Suguru

TW: implied noncon, held hostage-ish, Geto uses the word monkey

gn reader

You backed up to the very far end of your cage. Holding your knees tucked tight to your chest as you shivered on whimpers and troubled breathing. Your captors, in the dozens, all lay limp on the floor – while the man who’d killed them all made ripples in the bloody pool with his sandals.

You couldn’t see his face. You couldn’t see much more than that below his waist. But you sensed it nonetheless – he wasn’t a normal man. You figured, since you only barely saw him, he wouldn't see you if you stayed silent – but naturally… if you sensed him, it was only a matter of time before he sensed you, too.

“They’re all gone now.” He said, and there wasn’t anyone else there besides you.

Still, you kept quiet. Hoping maybe he was simply talking to himself.

But then he took steps in your direction, making splashes in the blood soiling the floor, until he crouched down next to your cage. He pulled back the curtain hiding you and revealed the blood splatter decorating his smiling face.

“You don’t have to fear anymore, I won't hurt you.”

Humanlike curses aren’t normally all that feral – with exceptions, of course, but you weren’t one. As someone who’s tasted plenty of curses, he could tell your type. You weren’t violent in nature. Unlike most curses, your technique wasn’t defensive but simply protective and could only inspire carnal passion – almost like an aphrodisiac. And like a squid’s ink, it would seem you couldn’t control it either – releasing it like a mist when you were rattled.

The room went thick with it now – but weak a curse as you were, it hadn’t much of an effect on him.

Still, he found you quite cute where you sat, eyes wide, looking at him warily.

“You’re a- a sorcerer. You’ll kill me too. That’s why you’ve come, isn't it?” You whispered – as though you didn’t dare speak any louder.

He could only imagine what they’d done to you, but if your state told him anything… he’d say it wasn’t very humane.

Monkeys are an ugly pest, not just a stain on sorcerers – but curses too, it would seem.

“I came to slaughter the pigs piled on the floor.” He corrected. “They owed me a lot of money, you see. Their fates were sealed the moment I heard they were all broke.”

It didn’t seem to ease your worry. You still looked as though you were waiting for something. Something you dreaded with every inch of your goose-bumped skin.

“Suppose, now that they’re all dead, you’re the only one left to pay their debt.” He chuckled, but you didn’t find it very funny.

Sure, he could twist you into a ball and consume you like he does all the curses he encounters – you’d be a nice addition to his collection, and you didn’t seem like you’d taste any bad either. But still… there are other methods of coveting something – especially when they’re as pretty as you – though perhaps not in a cage.

Either way, you didn’t seem like you’d be much trouble, and besides… he’d been meaning to get a pet to cure the loneliness of coming home to an empty temple.

He smiled, standing up.

You felt your cage lift from the ground, swaying as you were carried above the bloody bodies growing cold with death beneath you.

“Don’t worry, pretty curse. You alone will be payment enough.”

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thisblogisaboutabook · 5 months ago

Text

Bound for Hewn City

Balthazar x Reader, Azriel x Reader - Angst- One Shot

Azriel owes a debt and fate has its own plans.

“He fought for his life but finally fell captive, certain he'd come to the end of his days. His fight was over, his fate was sealed by the will of a leader of a rogue war band.”

TW: character death, alcohol, language

“Promise you’ll be careful?”

“Of course love.”

A small smile battles against the dread I fear each time he leaves. Eight years, now. Eight years since he defected from the Illyrian army, tired of the backwards ways that were too slow to change, and decided he’d be the change in his own way.

The night he’d found me tied down, my father’s merciless hands pinning me down, moments away from making that life altering incision, robbing me of flight for the rest of my days.

We fled and never looked back.

Balthazar’s hand reaches my face, his palm a warm, comforting touch molded perfectly to the rounded curvature of my cheek. I lean into it, never growing tired of his touch.

My lashes flutter involuntarily at the connection. As I look into his eyes, my heart squeezes. “Sure you don’t want to go for one more round in the bedroom?” I tease, knowing very well that our girls wouldn’t leave us alone for a moment to do such a thing. In fact, said little girls, are peeking around the corner now, giggling as Bal gives me another kiss.

“Hurry back, okay? I’ll be waiting patiently.”

“You? Patient? I never knew you to be a liar, love.”

I roll my eyes at the jest. Patience isn’t exactly my strong suit.

Balthazar crouches down, the girls running to his arms. “Daddy!!” Celeste’s little voice is pleading as she gives him the biggest eyes possible. “Can you bring us back lolli’s this time, pleeeeaasseee?”

Balthazar pretends to contemplate the request, as if there has ever been a time he hasn’t brought them back for the girls.

“If you promise to be super good for momma, I’ll bring some back for you, yeah?”

Celeste looks to her little sister with a grin, they both cheer gleefully practically knocking him over as they swarm him for one more hug. He presses a kiss to their foreheads, mussing their hair with a broad palm playfully. “I’ll be back soon.”

His strong form raises up from his crouching position, wings tucking in tight as he moves swiftly forward, pulling me into his arms, peppering my head and cheek with kisses, before bringing his lips to mine, with a warm kiss, full of promise. I relax into his grasp, reveling in the kiss. “And Bluebell seeds for my wildflower.”

I smile at the gesture. Flower seeds aren’t necessities like the vegetable ones for our gardens, nevertheless he knows what joy they bring me.

And with that, he’s on his way to fetch supplies in the Hewn City. I watch him as he walks through the wards surrounding our home. They’re not the best, but we’ve learned to weave magic over the years, they’re enough to help keep our quaint little cabin out of view. I don’t miss the misty eyes of the girls as they watch the empty space where he’d been.

——————————————

It was the middle of the night when they came.

The girls were sound asleep in bed with me, as they always were when Bal was away.

The first sign was the unmistakable boom of Illyrian wings, of several wings, there was no hiding that sound from even the sleepiest of ears.

“Girls” I whispered to wake them.

I signaled in the candlelight showing them where to hide. The loose floorboard under the bed with a shelter big enough for the two of them.

I geared up as quickly as possible. Suiting up with my leathers that Bal had worked tirelessly on for months. Our first taste of freedom after leaving the war camp, our first “fuck you” to the patriarchal bullshit that had oppressed me for so long. On our fifth anniversary, he surprised me with my very own siphons. He’d worked hard in obtaining those, crafting wood carvings, cultivating our property, and selling our goods whenever it was safe to, and was able to discreetly have a set made for me.

My heart sung when he’d presented them to me in a hand carved box of his making. The meaning was not lost on me. Yes, they would allow me to channel my power and defend myself- but they also represented exactly what we’d left Illyria for, equality. They signified that I was indeed, Bal’s equal in every way.

My siphons glowed brightly, he’d chosen a blue to match my favorite flower, the Bluebell.

I held my head high as I exited my home, my wings flaring wide in a show of defiance as I greeted the rogue band of Illyrian warriors at my door.

My siphons glowed brightly under the moonlight. Twelve towering males stood before me.

Many had fought them.

Many had died.

The leader, the largest of the males took me in, eyes catching on my siphons. In the dark his gaze was calculating and something like admiration shown in them as he took in the female he was was about to overtake- the only female Illyrian to ever don siphons.

His low, gravelly voice finally broke through the night. “Where is your husband?”

I was going to die.

I unsheathed my weapons and my siphons flared brighter.

But I would not die without a fight.

“I wait for a man who is bound for Hewn City, flying alone fetching seeds and supplies.

Leaving behind his home in the canyon wife and two children with tears in their eyes.”

———————-

Azriel was exhausted. Between Rhys and Feyre being too busy ruling the Night Court while simultaneously juggling parenting and all the joys that come with it, Mor still playing Courtier and Cassian dealing with the Illyrian war camps, helping with the Valkyries when needed, and preparing for the arrival of he and Nesta’s little one, it left Azriel taking the brunt of top secret missions.

Which brought him to the gods-awful Hewn City.

The Moonstone palace, at least, was a reprieve.

And as much as Azriel hated the Hewn City, there was a particular pleasure hall serving ale that rivaled even the best that Velaris had to offer.

And gods, he needed a drink after dealing with Keir all day.

After a stupid amount of time trying to flag down the bartender Azriel noticed another Illyrian male enter the bar.

“Fantastic.” Azriel muttered to himself. His disdain towards the Illyrians and their backward ways was not unknown among their kind.

Between Azriel’s dislike of his own kind and the fact that this male was in the Hewn City, the “probable threat” analysis was not boding well for the newcomer.

Alas, Azriel remained seated at the bar, sipping his brew and listening for any alert from his shadows.

To Azriel’s surprise the male had kept his distance instead of making the usual insults toward a “scarred bastard” of Illyrian upbringing. The male simply sat, ordered a light fare for dinner, and minded his own business.

It wasn’t long later that Azriel’s head started to feel… off. His usual stoic public demeanor became aloof, woozy.

Some of Keir’s brutes entered the bar, seating themselves beside Azriel. He bristled, knowing that this would end in a fight. Azriel threw back the rest of his ale and braced himself for the inevitable brawl to come.

His siphons sputtered as his head spun. Gods, what was in this drink? The males only smirked as they watched Azriel’s pathetic attempt to summon his power.

“Ahhh looks like the Illyrian bastard can’t handle his alcohol.” One of Keir’s darkbringers sneered.

Az tried to brush it off, pushing himself up to leave. He had no interest in a messy drunken brawl.

“Bet he didn’t even taste the faebane in this ale.”

Red flags immediately went off in Azriel’s head. Fuck, he had been so bothered by the day that he didn’t even consider his drink.

The bartender’s voice boomed “Did you tamper with my ale!?”

Azriel was too bleary to register the sounds around him. And then a darkbringer brought his fist to Azriel’s face.

Azriel threw a fist back desperately trying to take on the brutes surrounding him but in his intoxicated state and his missing powers, he was out numbered.

As Azriel became bloodied, the other Illyrian male in the bar stepped in, his siphons flaring. “Where is your honor?” his deep voice inquired.

The largest darkbringer sneered “Honor? An Illyrian dares speak of honor?” before throwing a punch at the male. The Illyrian caught the punch and twisted his arm and managed to take down multiple darkbringers as Azriel fought for some semblance of composure.

It seemed that Azriel and the Illyrian stranger would win before several more darkbringers entered the bar. Az and the Illyrian fought hard but when a knife met the strangers heart, Azriel knew the male’s Illyrian healing powers wouldn’t be enough.

The bartender quickly tossed a tonic to Azriel to counteract the poison and it took affect nearly instantly as Azriel’s powers began to come back. The darkbringers saw the siphons flare and knew they stood no chance. A few fled but Azriel managed to take down several on their way out.

Azriel fell to his knees beside the stranger who had helped him but it was too late. The male’s final breaths were approaching.

“Why? Why did you help?” Azriel asked.

The male only murmured something about the Valkyries in the rite and the Shadowsinger that helped give voice to the voiceless.

Azriel had never been taken by surprise in such a manner by another Illyrian. “You mean Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie?”

The male attempted to nod in recognition as Azriel’s attempts of stopping the male’s bleeding were failing.

“Find…. My wife.” The male stuttered. “Behind wards, in the Night and Day borderlands”

Azriel was caught off guard. An Illyrian living outside of the war camps was unheard of.

“Your wife, is she Illyrian?”

The male sputtered a “yes” before his body gave out.

Azriel couldn’t help the tear that slipped free as the male’s heart gave way, his soul returning home to the Mother.

The male had no reason to defend Azriel and yet… he gave his life in his aid.

He would find the male’s wife. It was the least he could do.

The bartender approached with bandages he’d found but Azriel signaled that it was too late.

The bartender shook his head in mourning. “He was a good male. Simply passing through for supplies, bluebell seeds for his wife, and lollis for his daughters. Came through here once every so often.”

The pang that ran through Azriel’s gut had nothing to do with the lingering poison in his system and everything to do with the fact that the male who gave his life had a family. One that he loved dearly.

“Lying there's a man who was bound for Hewn City, flying alone fetching seeds and supplies

Leaving behind his home in a canyon, wife and two children with tears in their eyes”

———————————

Azriel ignored the lingering effect of poison that the tonic hadn’t fully remedied and trudged out into the night. He would find this female and her children and pay his debt to the male who lay dead in the Hewn City.

He trudged through the night and into the early morning searching the borderlands of Day and Night for the male’s family.

As he fought through the tiredness, the hangover, the aftermath of the poison, he didn’t even notice the sounds of Illyrian wings. He fought through his daze against the rogue band of twelve but fell captive.

One of the most powerful Illyrians in history, felled twice in twenty-four hours. And now, he’d die not only with his debt unpaid, but the Illyrian who had saved him in the Hewn City died for nothing. He refused to beg or plead, not to the Illyrians. He fought as they administered faebane, taking away his powers once again.

So much for calling out to Rhys through the mental bond.

The males forced him along for some time, arms and wings bound with a sack over his head. This was humiliating in every way possible.

As the morning sun rose fully the males pushed Azriel to his knees, ripping the sack off his head.

Azriel couldn’t believe it when he opened his eyes to find an Illyrian female standing before him outside of the cabin, with her own set of Illyrian siphons.

“You’re not Balthazar…” she spoke softly yet with an air of confidence and concern. “Who are you?”

Two little girls stepped out from behind her. “Mama? Where is papa?”

Azriel choked up as he took in the enigma of a female before him, whispering, “I’ve… been looking for you”

To Azriel’s shock the band of Illyrian males only gave the female a respectful nod and took to the skies.

“Where’s Bal?” She asked, her lip quivering as if she already knew.

Azriel looked at the little girls clinging to their mother and could only manage a shake of his head.

The mother sent the girls inside, keeping a brave face and letting them know she had to speak to the male, to Azriel.

As soon as the door closed to the house, she fell to her knees with a guttural cry for her love that was lost.

Azriel gave her time before he told her the story of the male he owed a debt to, the family he would care for in gratitude for the life that was sacrificed for his own. The woman was broken. She was in pain and Azriel’s heart couldn’t take it. He embraced the female as she cried into his shoulder, comforting her for as long as she needed it.

“I'm in debt to a man who was bound for Hewn City flying alone fetching seeds and supplies

Leaving behind his home in a canyon, wife and two children with tears in their eyes.”

When she finally settled and looked into Azriel’s eyes, he knew he couldn’t tell her. Not yet.

Not that fate arranged this star-crossed meeting.

For now, he would pay his debt.

And someday, he could tell her what happened when he saw her step out of the cabin today.

About the moment that his soul found its match.

————————————————

A/N I’m a sucker for cowboy ballads and when I heard this song, I knew I needed to write a fic based on it.