#FUCKING !!! WREN GET OUT OF MY HEAD !!!!!!!!!
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i have a script that i need to have by tomorrow and here i am at 4 am in the fuckin mornin, listening to too sweet by hozier and thinking of nasty wrenpc fucking.
#FUCKING HELL#FUCKING !!! WREN GET OUT OF MY HEAD !!!!!!!!!#okay anyways im gonna log off to try and finish this script#so i can SLEEP#god#i need to stop procrastinating until 3 AM !!!!!!!!#dean rambles#anyways mayhaps upcoming comic idea would be wrenpc
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Five years ago, Wren MacGowan was an ordinary farm kid from a small town who ran away to join an adventuring academy.
Now, after pretending to be nobleborn for a few months, a potential war, a military invasion of the school, an ongoing clone conspiracy, a god-like being known as "Salvation", dropping out of school, half a decade in isolation from their friends, and a lesbian situationship with a traumatized Rogue, Wren must prepare to face a new, but old, threat that has been left alone too long: themself.
#my art#my ocs#d&d#d&d character#wren macgowan#paladin#context: we're in the kinda final stretch of the campaign and clones that were made of us pre-timeskip popped up again#and tried to get us killed in a dark dank cave - we got out and survived (mostly)#so now we're one-by-one hunting down our clones to stop them from ruining/taking over our lives or generally just. being evil#our monk/barbarian's clone was nothing but rage and pain and loneliness (kinda the least overtly evil of the ones we've seen)#our selunite favoured soul's clone was a full sharran and was like a clerical equivalent to a dark justiciar (which fucked Hard we loved it#and wren's is a dark armored general of a small army devoted to hextor (an evil god of war and destruction and opposite to heironeous)#so they're our next target bc they're uh. headed straight for wren's hometown. which is not a good sign#anyway hehe haha i love wren so muchhhhhh
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Previous // Next
Alex: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! [wheeeeeeze] Byrd: Woah, lady-.. I know karate! Wren: No, you don’t. Byrd: [whispers] She doesn’t need to know that. Wren: It’s Alex, dipshit. Byrd: Ohhh-.. wait, really? Wren: Sure looks like her.
Alex: Oh my god, I found you-.. and I followed your CAT! I missed you so much!! I hope you’re not mad at me-.. I’m so SO sorry for not writing! I thought I was being organised by printing some labels out to save time, y’know? But then I forgot them at home when we went to my uncles and dad said we’d only be gone for a month, so I figured it wasn’t a huge deal, but then we stayed for what felt like it’d be FOREVER and I couldn’t for the life of me remember your address which is ridiculous ‘cause I SHOULD’VE had it memorised by now and I felt so awful as the months passed. I tried to remember it a couple times but you never wrote back so I figured I obviously got it wrong-.. then I tried finding your house on a stupid online map but the internet was crappy at best and the Bay is WAY bigger than I thought it’d be and I’ve never really seen your house in full view from the street either so, like.. I barely knew what I was looking for, and what if that camera car didn’t even map your house, y’know?!
Ava: That was.. a lot. Alex: Sorry-.. you’re not mad, are you? [Robin shook his head and took a breath, but nothing came out] Wren: Oop. Byrd: Yeah, I think he broke. Ava: Ooh, do you know sign language? Alex: No-.. I totally should’ve learnt! I guess I didn’t know I’d be coming here though… Byrd: I can teach you! Well, some, I’m still learning, but Robin knows a bunch. Ava: He’s not mad, by the way. He was just worried. [Robin shot his younger siblings a look, fruitlessly warning them not to embarrass him] Byrd: I’m sure he’d say hi, if he could. Wren: I bet he’d say you look pretty too. Byrd: He’s been extra mopey without your letters-.. or maybe that’s just what puberty does. Ava: He has to wear deodorant now, otherwise he STINKS! Wren: You should stay for supper, dad’s baking something.. again. Alex: Ough.. I was supposed to be home ages ago, dad’ll kill me.. wait, what school do you go to?! Byrd: Bay C-… Wren: Not us-.. he goes to Copperdale. Alex: Ohh, yay! I promised dad I’d finally unpack tomorrow but the day after that is Monday, right? Wren: Well done. Alex: Okay-.. ahhhh! SEE YOU AT SCHOOL!!
…
[Robin deflated as soon as Alex liberated him from another bear hug and sped off, releasing a breath he’d kept tucked beneath his ribs for an uncomfortably lengthy amount of time] Robin: Ouuuuuuuuuuuuugh. Robin: Why-.. why am I like this? Wren: You’ll spew something out eventually. Oscar: Alright losers, pie’s-.. what’s up with him? Robin: I’m fucking BROKEN. Wren: I mean.. you’re a little fucked, but still good! Oscar: Quit it with the swearing-.. what happened? Wren: Alex showed up n’ he broke. Robin: I didn’t even get to say hi or ask why she’s here, or for how long-.. and you just had to be embarrassing! Oscar: What’d she say? Robin: She said Alex was pretty on my behalf and I’ve never said that and she’s a DICK! Oscar: That’s tame-.. for Wren. Robin: I hate you all right now. Wren: Not as much as you hate yourself. Oscar: Hey, too much! Robin, c’mon-… Robin: SHUT UP! Oscar: Right, you’re on dish duty. Wren: Seriously?! Oscar: You reap what you sow, honey.
#ts4#sims 4#simblr#ts4 story#sims story#forever in between#fib#alexandra sampson#oscar finch#robin finch#wren finch#byrd finch#ava finch#ᓚᘏᗢ#i think this is my new favourite scene#siblings can be so embarrassing anyway.. nvm when u have selective mutism n they talk on your behalf 🙈#wren is so pleased with herself LMAO#alex is so hectic i love her#like tell him where u live so he can help u unpack!!!#just like weee FOUND U!! now imma go get my dad off my case cos he's been begging me to unpack for a week whilst i've been trying to find u#byeeeeeee#🤸♀️💨#skjkjd#it's ok she'll see him all the time now right?!
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Stacy’s mom… is a butch?
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Contains: Fingering, strapon sex, risk of getting caught, cheating, age gap, breeding kink, daddy kink, possessive kink, rough sex. Most notably, mention of a character topping despite not really liking it, but in the end all stone related boundaries are respected within the action of this story. Enjoy!
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Wren had been dating Stacy for 6 months when she decided it was time to meet the family. Things has gotten pretty serious, after all. They saw each other multiple times a week, their friends had met, they had a beautiful candlelit 6 month anniversary dinner, it was the natural next step. And Wren Loved Stacy. Probably.
She hadn’t said it yet but it had to be true, right? It didn’t matter that she never quite felt that spark that people talked about, but that’s more a myth and a turn of phrase… right? Stacy was easy, comfortable, like a best friend. And the sex was… pretty good! All things considered. Wren had never been easy to please or quick to orgasm, not like Stacy. And she was sure that guilty twinge she got when she topped was just a little leftover perfectionism, because she wanted to please her girlfriend so badly.
Everything was going perfectly. Or as close to perfect as could possibly be expected.
Nothing could have prepared her for meeting Stacy’s mom.
She had been warned that Stacy’s mother was an old fashioned butch dyke, and not to be intimidated by them. Apparently they had gotten pregnant as a teen and came out a few years later, raising Stacy with a revolving door of girlfriends her whole life. When Wren saw them herself, she understood why they never seemed to be lacking for a woman.
Tall, short hair, thick arms undoubtedly filled with muscle and broad shoulders filled the doorway as Wrem stumbled her way through introducing herself. How could she not stutter and blush? The perfect image of a butch, dominant and suave was staring down at her with piercing eyes and a 50’s greaser aesthetic. For a moment she forgot she was standing with their daughter’s hand on her arm.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am. Thank you for welcoming me into your home.” She managed, sticking a hand out awkwardly.
They laughed, mouth twitching into a smirk, and shook her hand firmly. “Please, call me Sir, not ma’am.”
“Y-yes sir. Of course”
Wren tried not to think about how large their hand was, tried not to look like she was getting wet from a handshake.
Stacy just rolled her eyes and grabbed Wren’s arm, pulling her away from the butch’s strong grasp and inside the house towards the stairs.
“Ignore them,” she said, “They like to fuck with people, they think it’s fun. Let me show you my room, babe!”
Wren let herself be pulled away from the doorstep, but allowed just the quickest glance back. Her breath caught when her eyes met theirs, watching her go with the smirking expression of a predator who just spotted their next prey.
——
Wren tried to convince herself she was fucking crazy. Her girlfriend’s mom? Really? What kind of lesbian lunacy was she on now?
And of course Sir wouldn’t be interested in her, a femme half their age who was dating their daughter. The thought alone was insane. The way they had looked at her in the doorway was just her brain playing tricks after the long drive over. No, it was definitely all in her head.
She kept telling herself that the entire first week of the stay.
She imagined them staring at her while she sunbathed in the back yard in only a bikini.
She made up the time they grazed a hand over the small of her back while passing her in the kitchen.
She dreamt of a time when they complimented her dress before her and Stacy went out to the club, and the way their gaze dragged down her body with unconcealed lust.
She hallucinated when she found herself almost pinned against the wall of the hallway, hot breath ghosting over her lips as they wiped some chocolate from the corner of her mouth, large thumb nearly slipping between her lips before they walked away without another glance.
Eventually though, some things get impossible to deny.
Like the day they watched a movie together. The three of them, squished like sardines on the small couch facing the TV. Wren was in the middle, Stacy fast asleep next to her, and Sir on the other side, wide awake. A blanket draped over all three, keeping it cozy as period action clanged out from the television.
The movie was good, but not entertaining enough to make Wren not notice the brush of fingertips against her bare thigh. Not her girlfriend’s fingers, theirs.
She tried not to change her breathing, pretend like she didn’t notice. It could just be a innocent graze.
Those rogue fingertips drifted up the outside of her thigh, calloused and rough against her soft skin, then dragged down between her legs.
Not innocent.
Her breath caught. She could feel their gaze on her but she tried to keep her eyes glued to the screen, terrified that any acknowledgment of what was happening would make it stop. Their fingers pressed against her clit through the fabric of her shorts and underwear. She gasped, her eyes flicking to her sleeping girlfriend.
“She won’t wake up.” They whispered, barely audible over the TV’s noise.
Wren didn’t respond, she couldn’t fathom how to gather a single coherent sentence. Instead, she slowly opened her legs as wide as she could without disturbing Stacy. They got the message and chuckled softly, dragging their hand up to her stomach then diving underneath her clothes. The track of their fingertips felt burned into her skin. Even though they touched her lightly, she wondered if it would bruise and give away her filthy new secret.
Their fingers pushed past her clit and dipped into the wetness gathered below. She was dripping, sitting next to them for an hour with their shoulder against hers had already been tantalizing enough to get her desperate. They massaged over her folds and clit, exploring, drawing shuddering breaths from her lips.
“Do you want more?” They breathed against her ear. She burned with guilt and pleasure as she nodded.
One thick finger slowly pushed inside her. So much larger and somehow warmer than Stacy’s fingers. She slid down in her seat to help the angle as they start to shallowly thrust inside her. They soon added a second finger that stretches her deliciously, her eyes fluttering closed as ripples of pleasure spread through her body. She still can’t look at them, but she can feel their hot breath on her ear and face and her neck. She wonders if they’ll kiss her.
They push a third finger inside her and she can’t help but let out a squeaky moan. Stacy shifts, and the fingers in her pussy stop moving immediately.
Stacy rubs her eyes and groggily asks if the movie is still going on. Sir answers.
“Yeah it’s got like an hour left, why don’t you go to bed honey? We’ll finish it then head up after you.”
Wren nods, unable to speak and hyper aware of how her girlfriend’s mom’s fingers were stretching out her pussy beneath their shared blanket. So deep inside and just barely grazing her g-spot with how they curled.
“Yeah, okay that sounds good.” Stacy says, detangling herself from the blanket while barely opening her eyes. She leans down and kisses Wren on the mouth, Wren clenches involuntarily on the thick fingers inside her. “Goodnight babe.”
“Goodnight.” Wren Squeaks, trying and failing to keep the tension out of her voice. Luckily, Stacy is too tired to notice. She slowly stumbles up the stairs and moments later the door to her bedroom clicks shut.
Wren lets loose a ragged sigh of relief that turns into a low moan as the butch’s fingers start to move at a brutal pace. Faster than before, and curling deep inside her each time.
“That was close.” They growl, then hot lips connect to Wren’s neck and she feels herself ramping up to the quickest orgasm she’d ever had in her life. She bucks her hips into the palm of their hand and tilts her head so they can access more of her neck. With each thrust the base of their hand grinds against her clit until sparks fill her vision. The orgasm hits her like a truck. She clenches around their fingers, own hands twisted in the soft blanket.
In the aftershocks they pull the blanket back and extract their dripping wet fingers from her pussy. She gasps in ragged breaths, not sure what would happen next, only certain that she just experienced the best orgasm of her life with the last person in the world she should have.
“Clean them up for me.” Sir purrs in her ear, touching the wet fingertips against Wren’s open mouth. She obeys. She opens her mouth wide and sucks greedily on each finger as it’s presented to her, tasting herself. Stacy hated when she sucked on her fingers, but they let out soft groans as they watch her head bob while she meticulously licks her own cum off. Their clear arousal at her enthusiasm gives her a rush of courage. She takes all three fingers in her mouth at once, almost gagging on the length, and she makes eye contact for the first time that night.
It flips a switch in them. Only a moment after those piercing eyes meet hers, she’s straddling their lap with those rough hands moving all over her body, pulling off her flimsy pyjama shirt and leaving her breasts exposed to the cool air. They grope her chest roughly, pinching and twisting her nipples as she squirms against them. With a shock she realizes they’re hard packing. Stacy never used a strap. No matter how much Wren begged and pleaded, she didn’t like the way it brought men into the bedroom. But grinding her hips down on the hard plastic in their pants now, Stacy knew there was nothing man about this. This was all Butch. This was what she wanted.
She decides to own it, to take advantage of this butch and everything they were offering her. She wants it. She wants it all. So she digs her sharp nails into their back as they take a nipple into their mouth and suck. She drags her nails through their short hair as they leave hickeys all over her chest. Fuck it.
They grab her hips and lift her to her feet, then pull down her shorts and panties so she is left standing completely bare in front of them. The way they look at her body sets her on fire. Utter desire. Complete dominance.
She sinks to her knees between their legs and unzips their fly, peeling back the rough denim until a long, thick strap pops out. Her hands then travel up their torso, slipping beneath the white T-shirt and just barely grazing warm skin before their large hands stop her. She looks up with concern, worried that reality had sunk in and they had decided this was too much, too wrong. But instead they put her hands back on their waist, on the outside of their shirt.
“I don’t like to be touched on the first time. I need to know a girl better. And even then, I don’t bottom.” They explain, a twinge of pain in their eyes. They’d had this conversation before and it had not gone well.
But Wren didn’t feel disappointed, she felt warm tingles spread through her body. Comfort. Freedom to not do anything she wasn’t fully comfortable with. To fuck and be fucked without guilt.
“Do you kiss?” She breathes, completely captured by their eyes and messy hair and warmth radiating through their clothes.
“Yes. Do you suck strap?”
“I’ve never tried, but I want to.” She says, shifting her gaze down to the long silicone cock only inches from her face.
“Give it a go, pretty girl. I’ll reward you with a kiss.”
She nods, feeling her wetness dripping on the hardwood floor. Never in her life had she experienced arousal like this. With one hand she takes the strap, slowly pumping it like she’d seen people do in porn. Leaning in, she licks up the underside, then swirls her tongue around the head. Her eyes flick up to see their reaction, pleased to find their mouth hanging open and chest heaving. Without breaking eye contact, she takes the strap deep into her mouth until she gags. Then again, and again, taking it a little bit deeper each time. Their hand tangled in her hair, pushing her further onto their cock. Her hands grip their thighs through denim as she gags continually and tears run down her cheeks. They use her hair to pull her off and smile at the sight of her watery eyes and the drool connecting her mouth to the strapon. Wren smiles back. This is what she wanted.
They lean down and grab her hips, easily tossing her onto the couch next to them. Crawling on top of her, they spread her legs apart and slot themself between so the strap pokes at her entrance but doesn’t quite slip in. Wren moves her hips, needing something.
They kiss her.
Her world melts away. The perfect kiss, so teased and anticipated, bruising, dominant, attentive. She arches her back and wraps her arms around their neck. Almost twenty more years of experience kissing makes a master, their tongue slipping in and out of her mouth, they read her like kissing girls is their first language.
After an infinity or maybe just a few minutes she breaks away, “Please fuck me. Please Sir, I need it.”
They chuckle, “As you wish, baby.”
Strong hands grip the backs of her thighs, pushing them up to her chest, she grabs them and holds them there instinctually. They line up the strap with with her pussy, dragging it through her wetness.
“So fucking wet for me. Who knew my daughter’s girlfriend was such a slut.”
Wren whined, guilt and pleasure and desperation mixing to create a headrush. They laughed at her pathetic expression, and push deep inside.
She had never felt a stretch like that. Never been so impossibly full. She could suddenly understand what people meant when they described sex as rearranging their guts. With the strap fully seated inside her and the masculine weight looming over her, she knew she would never be able to fuck a femme again.
They hooked her legs over their shoulders, and grabbed her face with both hands. This position is a mating press, she knew that much. Her poorly repressed breeding kink raged to life just thinking about it. She melted when their eyes caught hers and she saw that they were just as affected by all this as she was, the hunger in their eyes vivid.
“Are you ready for this? I’m going to knock you up, pretty girl.”
She nearly came on the spot. “Yes yes yes please Sir, knock me up please.”
They responded by driving their hips forward.
Wren held on for dear life as waves of pleasure ripped through her body. She forgot about her girlfriend upstairs and moaned with each impact of their hips against hers. The base of the harness rubbing against her clit sent extra zaps of pleasure shooting up her stomach and down her legs. She had never felt pleasure like this. Never been fucked like this. They knew exactly what pace to keep and how to flick their hips to hit spots inside she had never known existed. The pressure kept mounting so she bit hard into their shoulder and dragged her nails down their back, claiming them, pushing down her screams of pleasure. They moaned loudly and fucked her harder, moving one hand from her face to her neck.
Putting pressure, they pulled back to look her in the eyes. “You’re with my daughter, and I’m about to get you pregnant. You should really start calling me daddy.”
Shame and guilt and extreme arousal brought tears to her eyes. “Yes daddy.” She moaned, her whole body burning in every way possible.
They kissed her hard then looked at her with that crooked cocky smile, the same way that they had looked at her in the hallway that first day. Like she was theirs.
“That’s my good girl.”
Wren came so hard she thought she might die. Her vision went black and every muscle in her body tensed and released all at once. Wave after wave crashed into her until she felt like she was floating outside of her body, but they kept fucking her at a brutal pace, drawing it out even further.
“Say my name.” They growled, their face flushed and thrusts getting sloppier, her pussy squelching obscenely with each movement.
She could barely think but managed to whine “D-daddyyyy!”
They thrust deep one last time and stayed there as they convulsed on top of her, ragged breaths hitting her neck.
They both stilled for a few minutes, catching their breath in silence. Eventually, they moved her legs off their shoulders, instead looping loosely around their hips. They didn’t pull out. Wren could feel her used pussy throbbing and clenching around the strap as they buried their head in her chest. Little kisses and bites trailing between her nipples, making her twitch and sometimes whimper. She traced imaginary patterns along their scalp, down their neck to the collar of their T-shirt, then back up again.
The movie was over, credits rolling by to a cinematic score. Reality started to sink back in. She had just fucked her girlfriends mom. On her girlfriend's childhood couch. With her girlfriend right upstairs, hopefully still asleep despite how noisy they had gotten.
In fact, her girlfriend's mom's strap was still inside her treacherous pussy.
She lifted their head from her chest and looked them in the eyes, “What now?”
They didn’t answer, simply leaning forward and claiming her mouth. Every thought and feeling of guilt melting away with the sensation of their tongue sliding over hers.
Everything was perfect.
They started thrusting again, slow and languid, sending aching pleasure rippling through her tired body.
“You’re mine now.” They breathed against her lips.
“Yes daddy.”
#it starts out slow but really ramps up#this is the first thing I’ve written in months really & it feels nice :)#Butch#femme#stone Butch#stone femme#femme writing#Butch writing#lesbian writing#dyke writing#kinky lesbian#daddy Butch#daddy k!nk
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After She Left | Seven
Words: 7k Minors DNI
As it becomes increasingly clear Sarah's mom is here to stay in Jackson, you realise whatever's going on with you and Joel needs to stop. It's fine, because you've already decided you're not that sad about it. Telling Ellie you can't tutor her anymore, though...that one's going to be tough.
Chapter warnings: Finally get to some of the SMUT team! Oral (f receiving), tiny little bit of dirty talk
A/N: Things are still a little bit crap for me but writing has actually been a nice release (heh). I know some people aren't feeling super safe around here at the moment, but I want to reiterate you will always be safe with me. And in the meantime I will just keep writing my angsty smut for my own amusement, and suggest ya'll do, too.
Six | Series Masterlist | Eight
The new arrivals cleared quarantine in 48 hours. The two men, Wren and Steven, were put up in a share house with a few of the other men around town but Shauna was given her own place, a studio out the back of Tommy’s, nothing much more than a converted garage. Joel didn’t understand why Tommy wanted her so close, and also understood exactly, seeing as how he wanted to both crawl out of his skin when he thought of her, and also into her chest.
He waited exactly a day and a half after she settled into her studio before knocking on her door. The evening was just settling in, and it had been a warm day, the kind of day that gives you a warning of the summer about to descend. She wasn’t even surprised when she opened the door to him. Just beckoned him inside, pushed some old blankets off a chair and pulled it out for him.
The place had a long window running up near the ceiling to let the light in, but other than that it was cool, dark.
‘You’ll need heat in the winter,’ he said, smelling mildew. He wondered how long it had been since anyone had been back here. Tommy didn’t even use it to store his tools.
‘You got any suggestions?’ Shauna asked, smiling thinly at him.
‘Move into a better place,’ he replied.
She snorted. ‘Figure I got a couple of months to figure that out I guess,’ she replied.
‘So you’re stayin’? You settlin’ in?’ Joel asked her, firing questions at her like an interrogation, hearing it in his voice, the sadness and the fear and the sound of something tinkling at the bottom of a well.
‘Don’t know, Joel,’ she replied, sitting heavy on the bed while he stood up, took three or four paces before he had to turn around and pace back again. There was a bare bulb hanging in the middle of the room. He checked for outlets, found a few where you could set up a nice lamp. He had one she could borrow, over by the bed, so she could read of a nighttime.
‘Fuck, Shauna,’ he started, and she shrugged at him. ‘You had no idea I was here?’
‘How could I have, Joel?’ she asked. In the half-light the curls of her hair glowed around her head like a crown. He could remember the smell of Sarah’s shampoo, the first time he’d been able to recall it in years.
‘Twenty-five years and you happen to head here?’
‘Of all the gin-joints…’ she started, but he raised his hand to stop her. He couldn’t do jokes right now. He couldn’t do much but gawp at her and try and get his brain to stay with him, here in this moment, in this little garage at the end of the Earth.
‘I just…I never thought I’d see you again.’
‘I know, baby,’ she said, and he winced a little at the nickname. She caught it, cheeks red at the habit. ‘Sorry,’ she said, when he glared at her. ‘Mistake.’
‘What do we do now? How do we do this?’ he asked, turning to her. She had always been good with the decisions. Had made him eat healthy, not stay out too late, had filled his head with ambitions of owning his own business, of bringing Tommy on with him, showing him the ropes. He remembered then that she didn’t know he’d done it, that she’d been right, and he’d never let her have that. He opened his mouth to tell her, catching himself just in time.
‘I don’t know, Joel. Wren and Steve are here, and we’ve been a pretty tight crew for a while…’
‘You with one of them?’ he asked, and she smiled.
When she’d been pregnant, properly pregnant, her bump finally poking out from beneath her ribcage, Joel had developed a habit of resting his hand on it in supermarkets, out for dinner with Tommy and her parents, would follow her to the bar and rest his chin on her shoulder as she ordered a seltzer and a beer for him. Even then, barely out of school and struggling to grow into his limbs he was protective of her, possessive of her and the baby in her belly. There were times she could practically hear him chanting ‘my girls, my girls, mine,’ as she walked beside him.
‘It’s complicated,’ she said, after a while. ‘They’re brothers. I met them coming out of the QZ in Kansas, and its...well, y’know how brothers share.’
She watched as he reared back, his shoulders rising so fast he nearly knocked into his earlobes.
‘You’re with both of them?’ he asked, and he could hear how panicked he sounded, and couldn’t be certain what was behind it, but he didn’t like it, didn’t like Wren or Steven, didn’t trust ‘em.
‘Technically, Joel, I’m not with either of them. Not with with. Just…it gets cold on the sides of mountains. It gets hard to keep going. It’s about…securing the bond. Loyalty.’
‘Jesus Christ,’ he said, cocking a knee and wresting his hands on his hips. ‘Are you…in some kind of sex cult with those men?’
‘Joel, you can not be this naïve. Not after twenty years in the apocalypse. You know women have to…we gotta survive.’
Thoughts of you popped up in his head, instant and unbidden. You hadn’t done any of that stuff, he was sure of it. He wouldn’t allow himself to imagine any different. He knew you’d been in a QZ for a while, but you’d been FEDRA, and that would have afforded you some kind of luxuries. Security. Fuckin’ loyalty.
He swallowed. He knew FEDRA were as bad as all the others, possibly even worse since they were armed. He knew what women had to do to curry favour with them. But not you, he decided. Not you, because you would have talked your way out of it, would have charmed them with your smile and your sweet, pretty face hiding your enormous, glorious brain. You would have figured out a way around it. You would have…you wouldn’t have…
‘Joel?’ Shauna called him out of his panic, and he swallowed down.
‘Ain’t judgin’ ya,’ he said, and she scoffed a little.
‘You sure about that?’
‘I can’t…imagine…’ he said, and he felt the heat on his cheeks now. He could imagine. He just didn’t want to.
‘Yeah, well…things were bad in Kanas. They got me out. I guess I was grateful to them.’
‘You ain’t movin’ in with ‘em?’
‘It served a purpose and maybe now it’s done? Besides, not sure Maria really understands, or endorses…’
Joel nodded, grunting his understanding. Jackson ran on family values, and scorching gossip. Maria would have done it to protect Shauna as much as to keep up appearances.
‘Joel, can we talk about her?’ Shauna asked, and he found himself shaking his head.
‘Can’t,’ he said.
‘Please, Joel, I just want to know how-’
Joel felt the switch flip in his brain, the one that meant he could talk about her while he slipped himself out of the way to let the facts through.
‘Army, military, the first night. I was gettin’ her out, me and Tommy, if we could just find a road. She was hurt but I had her. They…’
‘No, no,’ Shauna said, stopping him because she could see he had fallen into the vortex, that he was miles away now, years away, bleeding and scared and holding their girl in his arms. ‘No, I…I meant, I wanted to know how she grew up. What was she like, when she was a teenager?’
Joel swallowed, felt the tears in the back of his eyes, the strain across the back of his throat.
‘She was…’ he didn’t know how to describe her. Shauna had left when Sarah was 9. 10 years they’d spent together after they’d found out she was pregnant, trying to save a marriage that had barely been more than a high school romance. He’d known it wasn’t working, had known that he was hurting her by making her stay, but he couldn’t imagine a world where Sarah would choose him if her parents split, couldn’t bear the idea of his little girl splitting her time between two houses, two Christmases, two sets of books, two sets of school bags dropped by two different doors.
He'd underestimated them both. Shauna for her ability to just outright abandon them. Sarah for her ability to know that loving her mom meant setting her free.
‘She was brilliant,’ he said, after a while. ‘So smart, basically ran the household, kept me and Tommy in line. N’she was capable, could handle her own shit. I guess…she had to grow up pretty fast, but she did it, and she was sweet about it too. Made me drink my juice in the morning,’ at this Joel smiled, tears threatening to spill, Shauna’s eyes wet as she watched him. ‘She was a brilliant little girl, and she was turning into a beautiful woman.’
He cleared his throat, letting himself remember her head on his shoulder as he all but forced her to watch some shitty Western on TV. Carrying her to bed, tucking her in, praying she never got so big he couldn’t lift her anymore, then after she was gone praying one day, somehow, she would.
Shauna wiped the tear from her cheek. ‘I figured when she was older, when I had my life back together, maybe we could…reconnect,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry, Joel, I know I left you both, left you the most, but…’
‘You were already gone,’ Joel said. ‘All those years, you were never really in it.’
Shauna let out a quiet little sob. ‘I wanted to be,’ she said, and he could tell that she meant it, and also he didn’t care, could never really care, when he saw the chunk she took out of their daughter when she left them, watched as that brave little girl grew out of the scar.
‘She never asked about you,’ he said, and he wanted it to be comforting and he wanted it to be cruel. He wanted to hurt her, and he wanted to hold her, wanted her to know that he’d long given up on her, even before she left them, but that he had been holding on anyway, because he thought that was what you did when you had a kid.
Shauna gasped, letting out a little hiccup of sadness.
‘Is that true?’ she asked, and she fixed him then with a hurt on her face unlike anything he’d seen in a long while. No one walked around that sad for the world to see in a place that would kill you for any weakness. He swallowed down the bile burning at the back of his throat.
‘No,’ he said, because she had written letters every week for a year to her mother that he had never sent. Because each Christmas she wrapped up a little gift for her mother that she hid behind the tree down by the corner, where she thought he couldn’t see. Because each year on her birthday she waited for the mailman, sat with a book on her lap she was pretending to read while she watched out the window, and he had to see her face fall when all that got delivered was just bills and a lottery ticket from Uncle Tommy. She never said the fuckin’ words, but she asked for her mother every day.
He had hated Shauna for it. Had burned up all the energy he had left in him working to hide his fury from his little girl.
Looking at her now, sad and folded up against herself on the end of the bed he wondered what for. All those feelings, so hot and so bright and so sharp at the time now faded, now boxed up. He wasn’t even sure if this was the same person in front of him, the one who started taking shards of his heart the moment he met her, who stranded him with the weight of her absence over years.
He wasn’t sure if he hated her anymore for it. He wasn’t sure if he felt anything at all.
‘Don’t cry,’ he said, because she was still snuffling.
‘I thought I was making it better for her, that she could finally be herself if I stopped crowding her. You know when two vines are planted in the same pot either one of them will strangle the other to survive? Only way to save them both is to get ‘em out.’
Joel watched her, understanding, not wanting to.
‘I didn’t want to…pull the life out of her anymore, Joel. I had to break the pot.’
He felt the creak in his knees, the old scar on his abdomen starting to ache from standing too long. He crossed his arms over his chest, looked down at his shoes to assure himself he was still on solid ground.
‘Yeah, well, you broke it,’ he said. Shauna nodded, pulling at her sling and wincing slightly. ‘You hurtin’?’ Joel asked, and she sighed.
‘Yeah, but Wren said he’d try and get me something from the infirmary. I told him not to bother. Don’t feel like I can ask for anything when we just got here.’
‘The town’ll be suspicious,’ he informed her, plainly. ‘Three of you in one go, s’a lot.’
‘I figured I could tell them I’m a Miller,’ she said, watching his face, the way it fell. He swallowed. ‘I mean, technically I still am.’
‘You ain’t been a Miller for years, even when we were still together,’ he said, and this time he didn’t want to hurt her so much as state the plain truth.
‘I know, but…could be useful in a place like this.’ Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sarah, aged 9, at the doorway, peeking in at her separating parents, wondering out of her room for all the shouting. He blinked her away. ‘I won’t do it if you don’t want me to,’ Shauna continued.
He thought of you. Your warm classroom, the little wood figurines he’d carved for you lined up on the edge of your desk.
‘Don’t,’ he said, grim and firm and honest.
‘Ok, Ok,’ she said, raising her hands in defeat. She sighed, dramatic and maybe just a little for effect. ‘I’ll let the town hate me.’
He remembered what it was like to argue with her. How she’d end up bursting into tears and he’d rush to comfort her, always wrap his arms around her even if he still seethed, and afterwards he’d always wonder if she was actually sad or if it was only ever just to win a point. Worse, when he realised he didn’t care, didn’t feel anything, either way.
‘They might hate ya,’ he agreed. ‘But just until they discover your winnin’ personality.’ She examined his face, searching it for anger, for hurt. He grinned at her. Let her off the hook.
--
It wasn’t that you were sad, exactly, although some part of you knew that you were. It wasn’t that you were mourning, because you knew what that felt like, and besides which, you hadn’t lost anything, not really. It wasn’t that you were lonely, because you’d already decided not to be. It was just that for a second there, things had been different. There had been the prospect of something, and now it was gone.
You watched as Joel sat with Ellie, Tommy, Maria and now Shauna. Maria bouncing Robin, growing like a weed despite barely more than a newborn, on her knee while Ellie cooed at him, tried to spoon feed him stew. You couldn’t help noticing the way Shauna ignored him, the way she almost turned her back to the infant, to instead lean in close to the adults at the table. You were probably missing it. You were only stealing glances, after all.
Word had spread that the three were staying, and you knew that Wren was already out on patrols because you’d seen him go out with the morning group to check the perimeter. The other one, Steven, was apparently good with animals so he had been placed on stable duty. Shauna was helping out with the town council, doing admin and filing and things. It made sense, and it was easy work, and you wondered how she’d survived so long on her own without apparently being able to shoot or ride worth a damn, but it didn’t matter because it didn’t involve you, anyway, unless Shauna happened to decide she needed to redo grade school.
Joel didn’t look at you, and you didn’t want him to, you really didn’t, not at all. A few times Ellie waved you over and you had to pretend you hadn’t seen her. You should have brought a book with you to try and make it even vaguely plausible. You would remember, next time.
You just weren’t sure how you were going to tell Ellie that you couldn’t tutor her anymore. It didn’t feel fair that she had to lose out, but at the same time you knew you didn’t have it in you. The idea of sitting at Joel’s kitchen table, remembering his lips on yours, his arms holding you to his chest, his little gasp as he consumed you. Rose would have been able to carry on. You weren’t Rose.
You weren’t sure why you came down to the mess for breakfast. Normally you just grabbed an apple and ate it at your desk. As you left, you noticed some of Ellie’s stars were still strung up along the walls. You wondered if they would ever come down.
--
‘Didn’t you see me?’ Ellie asked, bounding up to at the end of the school day as you wiped the chalk from the board.
‘Pretty sure I’ve been seeing you all day,’ you said, and she made a face.
‘No, I mean this morning. You came by and then you sat on your own?’
‘Oh, you were there? Sorry, I had my mind on…the eggs. Just hadn’t had them in a while. Must have been craving it.’
‘Are you ovulating?’ Ellie asked, in that unnerving way she had of cutting you directly to the quick.
You paused, considering your answer for a moment.
‘I’m not sure why you ask,’ you said, eventually, settling for truth.
‘Craving eggs,’ Ellie shrugged, as if this was the most obvious explanation.
‘I don’t think that’s how it works,’ you said, and then you paused, because to be honest your sex education also stopped around the end of the world. ‘I don’t think that’s how it works,’ you clarified.
‘Well, whatever, I just wanted to ask you what time you wanted me for tutoring today. You didn’t tell me last time.’
You felt your heart rate pick up. Part of you had wondered if you just said nothing maybe she would forget.
‘Hey, I’ve been thinking about that,’ you said, smiling like you were about to bestow her with good news. ‘You’ve been doing some really great work, really strong, and I can see that you’ve come along so much.’
You paused for a moment, watching the pride break like a dawn over her face, wanted to take a mental photo of it, laminate it and stick it in your memory for eternity.
‘So yeah, I don’t think you need me anymore,’ you said, the smile feeling forced across your cheeks now, the strain in the muscle pulling across the back of your scalp.
You watched as her face collapsed, the light immediately shuttering away from it. You swallowed. ‘Tutoring, I mean…I don’t think you need tutoring,’ you said.
You knew Ellie was doing better socially, you could see she was more talkative in class, that she and Dina were edging their way towards friendship. But you knew, too, how much of a comfort it was to have routine after so long of living through chaos. That the two of you in the dying light of the evening waiting for Joel to finish cooking dinner so you could stop pretending that you were doing any work and take yourselves in to him, that there was a gift in that, that there was a prize in it, and that you were taking it back from her now, snatching it from her arms. You swallowed, heavy and tired and wondering if you were doing the right thing and knowing that you were. That it was necessity. That it was choice.
‘Oh,’ she said, and you nodded at her, smiling still, trying to keep her energy up, trying to dull the blow.
‘You really are doing so well, I’m super proud,’ you said, and then you felt wrong, like you were her mother when really, you realised, you had become her friend.
‘Is this because of Joel being a shithead?’ she asked, and you shook your head to hard and so fast you could hear your neck creak in protest.
‘No,’ you said, tightly, trying to regain your composure enough to get the girl over you and out the door. ‘No, it really is just that you’re…a superstar.’
‘So why don’t you want to keep going, then?’ she asked. ‘It’s not like I know everything.’
You had thought of this question, and had prepared an answer, and even though it wasn’t even remotely true you knew it would appeal to Ellie’s better nature, that it would work on her, and you hated yourself for it even as your mouth started to form the words.
‘It wouldn’t be fair on the other kids,’ you said, and she nodded her head, immediately understanding, immediately agreeing, immediately nailing the last of your self-worth to the floor beneath your feet.
‘Right,’ she said, but she was quiet, and she was backing away, and you saw that her face was closed off, and that she was turning inwards again, just like she had been when she first got here. You stepped towards her, but she was already out the door.
‘Thank you for everything,’ you called after her, and you realised at the same moment that you said it how final it sounded, and how trite. You had dismissed her, thoroughly. Had slammed the door behind her as she left.
For a long while after you stood in your classroom and surveyed the tables in front of you, the pictures on the wall, the photos you’d pulled from old, half-rotten Encyclopaedias and taped to the walls. You couldn’t bring yourself to turn, to see the wooden figurines lined up along the edge of your desk. You stood, instead, facing where Ellie had been minutes ago, half an hour ago, an hour ago.
You wondered if you could unspool time around you, just wind it down to a stop so that you didn’t have to move into the next moments, into the ones without her, without you at their kitchen table, without Joel’s warm eyes on your face as he spooned mac and cheese into your bowl.
--
Joel didn’t like that Wren guy, and he wasn’t too sure about Steven, either. He didn’t like the way Steven eyed off the women in the town, like he was figuring out how best to herd them, seeing as how he was apparently a cattleman. Wren, well he just got on too well with the rest of them, had fit right in with Guillaume, and he fuckin’ hated Guillaume. That was too strong, maybe. He just didn’t trust any of ‘em, when it came down to it. Preferred to be defending himself and his loved ones if it ever came down to it, if he had somehow failed to get them all far, far away.
He found himself turning over what Shauna had said as he surveyed them now, coming to the end of his shift on the wall. He wondered if that was really something women out there were doing, having to do, to keep themselves alive and he knew that of course they were, knew that as much as he had seen it in the raider camps he’d had the unfortunate luck to come across, but now Joel was wondering what kind of man would let a woman do it. What kind of man would let her make the offer, let alone accept it. He knew the answer to that one, too.
As his shift ended, he decided he’d go talk to Tommy about it. Tommy had a good read for things like this. Would have the sense Joel didn’t to see it straight.
Except that it wasn’t just Tommy when Joel got back to his little office, the room crowded again with half of the town council, Maria and Shauna sitting perched on Tommy’s desk.
‘Seems risky,’ Tommy was saying, and at this Shauna rolled her eyes.
‘Course it’s risky, but show me something that isn’t,’ she huffed. Joel recognised that tone, had it imprinted somewhere along his spinal column.
‘Don’t see why its necessary, we have everything we need here,’ Robert was saying. Joel liked Robert. Robert was steady and had survived the fifteen-some years on his own by living off the same ranch he always had with his wife of thirty-years. He only came off it when she died, and he found himself unable to justify working land that size for one man. Joel could respect that.
‘If we don’t keep pushing out, we won’t have everything we need for much longer. We need to…keep up,’ Shauna was saying. Joel caught Tommy’s eye, who was looking at him as if this was somehow his fault.
‘What’s goin’ on?’ Joel asked, stepping forward and trying to ignore the way Shauna brightened when she saw him.
‘Town council meetin’,’ Robert said, ‘though as far as I can see it’s only half of us here.’
‘Not everyone was available at short notice,’ Shauna said, and he grunted at her.
‘That so?’ he asked. Joel watched his face carefully, as the older man gave absolutely nothing away.
‘I’ve got plans to expand, just an idea, really,’ Shauna said, backtracking when she saw Joel’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Thought I should bring it in for…consideration.’
‘You ain’t been here five minutes,’ Tommy started, but Joel waved his hand and the younger brother immediately stopped. He wasn’t happy, Joel saw the way he rolled his shoulders, the little tic in his jaw Joel was fairly sure his little brother had learnt from him, but he quietened down, just the same.
‘Not for me to say,’ Joel said, trying his hand at post-apocalyptic diplomacy, ‘but that feels like something…if the town council thinks it has merit, mind…seems like something the whole of Jackson should get a vote on.’
He watched as Shauna’s smile faltered, for just a second, and Joel was surprised to find none of her tells had eroded over time. It wasn’t the answer she had hoped for, he could see that. What he couldn’t see was why.
‘We’ll call a proper meeting, with all the council, to consider it first,’ Maria said, definitively. ‘Now it’s dinner time, and some of us got family we need to get to. G’night, all.’
Joel saw Shauna move towards him, darting off Tommy’s desk and over to his side, but he was quicker than her, pulling away through the side door and out onto the street before she could get to him. He didn’t know why he did it, just that his brain stem had told him to get out of there. He felt a little bit sorry about it, but not enough to change his mind.
At home, he slipped his feet from his boots and left them by the door, calling out for Ellie as he stepped inside. She wasn’t at the table doing her homework, wasn’t on the couch reading her comics. He felt a little shiver of hope in his belly as he walked out the back, hoping to maybe catch a glimpse of the two of you before it got too dark to work.
‘Am I interrupting?’ he asked, only a little bit hoping that he was, as he rounded the corner to the back porch. He stopped when he saw her, folded up against herself with her head resting on her knee. It took her a moment to notice him, so she didn’t turn her gaze to him right away. When she finally did he stuttered, saw that her eyes were red-rimmed as she furiously tried to wipe the evidence away.
--
Later that evening you dozed on your couch, finding yourself deserving of the strain in your neck and the ache in your lower back. You would eventually take yourself off to bed but for right now you had your blanket and some pulpy murder mystery you were starting to realise you’d read two summers ago.
The pounding on your door startled you, jolting you up and off the couch. You could feel your pulse roaring up your neck as you looked down at your trembling hands. You allowed yourself a second to catch your breath, another second to wonder if there was ever a future for you where you didn’t startle at the slightest sound. This wasn’t slight, though, and it was still coming from your front porch.
‘Hello?’ you called out, willing the panic to evaporate from your voice such that whatever burglar or murderer was trying to get in would immediately reconsider his actions and retreat.
‘Teach!’ Joel bellowed, and you took a step back, his anger striking genuine fear in your belly. ‘Open the damn door,’ he followed up when you didn’t reply.
‘It’s late, Joel,’ you said, not moving, and you heard his grunt of frustration.
‘Open!’ he demanded again, and you wondered how far he’d go if you let him, if he’d splinter the wood. You tried to shake the tremor from your hands as you moved towards the door, bracing yourself against the frame as you pulled it open.
‘What the hell is the matter with you?’ Joel asked, his eyes crackling with barely restrained fury.
You knew. Of course you knew, although you hadn’t expected him to be so angry about it. ‘She’s really doing so great…’ you started, but he wasn’t there to hear you out, wasn’t there to do anything other than chew your face off, it seemed.
‘Why…she’s barely talkin’. She’s over there all quiet at the kitchen table, won’t even swear or nothin’, tells me you said she don’t need you anymore?’
‘She doesn’t…’ you tried again, your voice feeble.
‘Ah, that’s bullshit,’ Joel said, and you faltered, casting your eyes down, unable to look at him. ‘You know it was more’n that.’
‘Joel, she’s a bright girl.’
‘You know what it’s like to lose someone?’ he asked you, and you reared back like he’d slapped you. ‘Because you actin’ an awful lot like you don’t.’
You could hear Rose in your ear, whispering at you to think for a second, reminding you that he was hurting, that he was worried for his girl.
‘You can’t fucking come here and ask me that,’ you said, instead, drowning Rose out. ‘On my fucking front porch? Fuck you.’
‘Fuck you,’ Joel shot back, shouldering his way further into the doorway while you planted your heels, squared your shoulders. You were furious now too, angry and hurt and wanting to tear his stupid gorgeous face off his stupid beautiful head. ‘She’s only ever had like…three people in her life she trusted, one she had to shoot, and the others is you and me.’
You didn’t hear him, not at first, priming an insult on the tip of your tongue, getting ready to spit venom and bile such that Rose had to scream over your shoulder to get your attention.
‘Wait…’ you said, faltering, ‘she had to what?’
But it was too late, now, Joel was too far gone, too angry, too hurt, too confused why he was telling you to fuck yourself when all he wanted was to carry you up to your bedroom and do it himself. Too surprised he was sitting at the table at the mess hall with fucking Shauna as if she hadn’t abandoned her daughter and him, as if Sarah didn’t matter, as if the loss could be erased just by her mother resurfacing. Too hurt for Ellie, too aware that it was hurt you had every right to inflict, that he had been the source of it, that you were just protecting yourself. Too sad and too old and too fucking tired for any of it. For parenting a teenager. For reparenting his daughter’s ghost.
‘You gonna stand there and tell me you don’t care about her?’ he was seething, barely hearing his own thoughts. ‘You gonna tell me you don’t care you’re ripping out her heart?’
For having you and not having you. For missing you and having to try so hard to look away from you in the mess hall.
‘Joel,’ you said, and suddenly your voice was so small, so far away. He looked down at you, saw that your eyes were wet. ‘What did she have to do?’
‘Let her tell you herself, if she’ll talk to you,’ he said, and he watched as your shoulders slumped.
Guilt, then. Already he could see he was snuffing out your light, your warmth. Not two minutes talking to him and you were drawn, pinched, folding in on yourself. He couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t keep going to you just to push you away. ‘M’sorry,’ he said, all the adrenaline retreating to leave him woozy and sick. ‘That wasn’t fair.’
‘No, I get it,’ you said, sniffling.
‘She just…she’d been doing so well.’
‘She still will,’ you said. ‘She’s so tough, tougher than I ever…’
‘F’you could find your way to still work with her…’
‘…but I just can’t…it can’t be where…’
He was nodding, too, the two of you nodding at each other so neither would have to say the words, talking over each other so you didn’t have to hear your own thoughts let alone the other person’s.
‘It’s different, now,’ you said, and he knew it, agreed immediately, tasted bitter across his throat that told him just how much he didn’t want it to be true.
‘She has her eyes,’ Joel blurted, surprising you both. ‘Shauna. Has Sarah’s eyes.’
He looked at you from under his brows like he was asking you a question, and you supposed in a way he was. Asking you to understand that he had this piece of her, this fragment, that he couldn’t turn away. Asking you to hold it for him, the brightness and the heat of it, that part of himself still reverberating with the spark of her, with the love of her pierced through it, hold it for him lest it scorch him. Asking you to forgive him, to let him go.
‘Oh, Joel,’ you said, and you wanted to throw your arms around his neck and bury your face in his shirt, hold him as he shook with it, with the love and the loss and the grief of it, as it wrung him dry.
You took a step forward, holding out your hands to him. Without a second thought, he stepped away.
‘OK,’ you said, retracting your arms and wrapping them instead around your middle. ‘I’ll work something out with Ellie.’
‘Want us to still be friends,’ he said, barely scratching the surface of the things he wanted and knew he could never have.
You paused for a second, considering this.
‘We’ve always been friends, Joel,’ you said, after a while. You smiled at him, that same fixed grin you’d deployed on Ellie not six hours before.
You supposed it worked about as well as it did, then. In the circumstances, it would have to do.
--
Joel was cold. It was late, and it was dark, but his room had no business being cold like it was the dead of winter. He rugged himself up, put his jacket on over his old woollen pyjamas, blew hot air into his fingertips. Ellie had gone to bed after he’d got back, even if she’d been a little happier knowing you’d still agreed to work with her. He could read it on her face, knew Ellie better’n she knew herself in a lot of ways. It didn’t feel great that her Dad’d needed to go over and beg you to stay with her. He knew that, just as he knew the alternative was worse.
After she’d gone to bed he’d found himself wondering the house, trying to tread as light as he could so as not to disturb her, but still unable to still his hands. He considered going down to work the wall for a while, see if he could be of use, but coupled with his inability to stand still was also a bone-weary fatigue that would have made him dangerous up there. A herd of elephants with dynamite strapped to their bellies could have sidled up to the gate and he probably wouldn’t have clocked ‘em.
Up in his room he checked the window seals, looked for any lifting of the wall from the floor, checked the cornices for any gaps that could explain the cold. It made it impossible for him to settle, his bones jangling with the sharpness of the chill, his knee pulling him up to standing to try and shake some of the tightness out of the joint.
He felt like he might be going crazy. More than a few times he went and stood on the porch to try and figure if it was colder inside the house than outside of it, but each time he forgot exactly how vicious the chill had been. He worried, then, about a gas leak, that the town wasn’t getting any heat, that people would freeze in their beds even though it being a late Spring night, and he was walking, then, down the familiar path only because he’d taken it so many times in his head, right back to your front door.
Your lights were still on. For the second time that night he wrapped on your door, and when you pulled it open, he knew you hadn’t been sleeping either.
‘I just got so cold,’ he confessed, and you blinked up at him. He could feel the heat on his face radiating out from behind you, knew that if he lifted his fingertips to your cheek he would find it warm, welcoming.
He pulled you to him, snug into his body, and put his icy lips on yours.
Warm honey, slow and calming, seeping over the tip of his tongue.
It’s hands, then, up under your shirt and onto your warm skin, backing you into your hallway and up against the wall, your head knocking with a thud into the plaster and neither of you noticing. Joel’s mind, finally quiet, just seeking out your warmth, driven by the want to have all of your skin mapped by his fingers, driven by the want to have all of you, take you apart in his hands. You hitched your thigh over his hip, felt him lift you and carry you over to your worn-out couch, leather and patchy and somehow now always reminding you of Joel.
Just a quiet huff as you both landed, Joel’s mouth seeking out yours again to latch to you, keeping his arms tight around your back, pulling you down onto him, grinding you onto his cock, already straining under the flimsy twenty-year old material of his sleep pants. You gasped into his mouth, the ache in your core screaming for attention as you shivered against him.
‘So fuckin’ beautiful,’ he muttered, almost too himself, as he lifted you, one arm on the back of the sofa to steady you both as he deposited you down onto the cushion beneath him, shucking off your own pyjamas as he slid down onto the floor beneath you. You mewled, wanting him back on top of you, wanting his heat and his muscles rippling under his soft skin, his broad chest pushing hard into yours as he hovered over you, the press of him into the seat of the couch.
He sensed you needing him, lifting one hand and running it up over your belly, coming to rest, palm up just below your breast where you grabbed it, held it in yours, let him anchor you to him while you threw your head back and hooked your ankles over his shoulders.
‘Fuck, Joel, fuck…’ you whimpered, needy and breathy and already so wet you could feel it trickling down between your cheeks to the leather. Joel, rearing back on his heels, took a moment to admire the view, his eyes dark and wolfish as he surveyed his prey.
‘I need to taste it,’ he grunted, palming himself through his pants as you glistened in front of him, warm skin glowing in the lamplight as he spread you, reached down with his hand and slid his fingers up the inside of your thigh, inching towards your drooling cunt.
You couldn’t speak, the back of your throat so dry you could only swallow and gasp, nodding your head at him, the thundering of your centre so encompassing now, so deafening, you could barely hear his high, gentle whimper as he descended, sliding his lips over you, his tongue licking a fat and not at all tentative stripe at your slit before pulling up, opening you, descending on your clit like he had a homing beacon, every nerve ending screaming for him as he sucked the fraught bud between his teeth.
Joel felt it, your warm nectar, sweet and scorching, sliding down his throat and he swallowed it down, consumed it, drank from you, felt the heat pooling in his belly where it would sustain him for another day. Still gripping your hand in his right, he slid his left further up to tease at your slit, the slick of you collecting on his skin as he hooked his fingers, spreading you further open again, unfolding you, fastening you to him as he reached high and forward, found that spongey spot that made your breath hitch.
He wasn’t even sure he was doing it for you, just needing it for himself, greedy and desperate, hunting for your heat. You were enlivening him, emboldening him, giving him something to shield and something to shield with. He muttered against you, little whimpered praises neither of you could make out, as he felt your cunt tighten around him, left your hand go to steady your hips, pull you harder onto his face as you bucked against him.
He wanted you to come. Wanted to hear you scream, feel your hands in his hair, wring you out with his tongue and his fingers, wanted to be the one that made it happen. He wanted you for his own, to consume you, keep you tucked away inside himself for crisp afternoons and chilly midnights. Wanted you, always wanted you, here like this, split open and writhing for him, always wet and dripping on his skin and his floor, open and needy and crying for him, grasping him to you, calling his name.
And when you did, when you finally released around him, when he swallowed down your come and your cries, with your hips in his hand and your cunt in his teeth he knew, then, this was it for him, that he’d never feel a heat like it again, that the wanting would be all the worse for having finally held it, for just a moment here in your living room, while you gasped and writhed and trembled, your breath the only sound as you fought to catch it.
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@millersamour
@delicatetrashtree
@wand-erer5
#joel miller#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#joel miller x you#pedro pascal#joel miller fanfic#joel miller smut#pedro pascal characters fanfiction#the last of us fanfiction#pedro pascal fic
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Going Home
Travis Wheatley x Dutton!Reader
Warning: Smut, Language,
Note: No one ever writes for Travis, so I decided I was going to. Also, he's not a whore in this. lol
The Middle Child
The Youngest Daughter
The Favorite Child
Y/N Dutton…well technically she had been Y/N Wheatley for 8 years now hell she was the only one outta her siblings that seemed to be popping out more than one kid. Then again that was more because even after being together for 15+ years her and Travis still couldn’t keep their hands off each other. That’s actually how they ended up in their position now with her bent over his office desk and him fucking her from behind. “With the bruises you will have on your hips I’m gonna owe you flowers.” Travis said as he leaned down kissing his wife’s neck. “Fuck flowers buy me a fucking horse and fuck me for the rest of our lives.” She said turning her head to give him better access. “God, I fucking love you” he said as he brought his hand around to rub circles on her clit after a few moments they both reached their climaxes. After a few minutes he pulled out and kissed his wife’s shoulder and popped her on the ass. “I’m almost positive that you are pregnant with baby #5 after that.” “Well considering we’ve been fucking like rabbits in heat I would hope so.” Y/N said after they were both dressed. Y/N turned and hugged her husband knowing she had to tell him the real reason she came in here. “We need to go back to my dad’s ranch for a little bit I’m not sure how long. I just know he called and said he needed all of us there for a little bit.” She said looking up at him with hopeful eyes. “Ok. We will leave in the morning I’ll have Rayden and Harlow help Stetson and Wren-Leigh pack. If you will go ahead and get our bags packed, I’ll get the SUV read and have Lucas follow behind us with the truck and horse trailer?” He said as he pulled her, so her head was on his chest. They stayed like that for a moment with him rubbing her back before there was a knock on the door then the voice of their oldest child Rayden who was 14 years old. “Mom Aunt Beth’s on the phone she said Uncle Jamie is in deep shit with the rest of the family.” Y/N walked over and opened the door to take the phone and reminding her child to watch his mouth. “Hello?” She asked “God, do you ever answer your fucking phone? I have called your mobile like 4-5 times.” Beth scolded her. Y/N felt bad as she looked over and saw her phone on Travis’s desk. “Sorry I was busy handling something.” “More like busy handling a certain horse trainer.” “What did you call for Bethy?” “Jamie is running for Governor of Montana, and I need my dear sweet sister’s help to take him down.” “We will be on the road first thing in the morning.” Y/N said before disconnecting her son’s phone then handing it back to him and sending him to go pack and help his younger siblings pack. “Holy shit. What the fuck is Jamie thinking. Like Governor? He wants to be governor now?” She said as she crawled into her husband’s lap on the couch of his office. “I don’t know darlin.” He said wrapping his arms around her and kissing her on the forehead before standing up with her and carrying her to their bedroom. Sitting her on the bed he started to pack for both of them. “Make sure you pack your green hoodie.” Y/N said as she walked to the bathroom to pack up their bathroom bags. After she got done packing the bathroom bag, she helped Travis finish packing. Then they parted ways with a kiss so he could go start loading bags in the car and she could walk through the house to finish helping the kids pack.
She came to a stop in front of her youngest's room where Harlow was helping Wren pack. "Why don't I finish packing Wren's bag and you take your stuff down to your daddy ok?" Y/N said as she walked up to her daughters. "Ok Mama." Harlow her 10-year-old daughter said as she grabbed her 4-H duffle bag, and walking out the door. "Mama are going to see Grandpa?" Wren her 5-year-old asked looking up at her. "Yeah, baby we are. Mama and Aunt Bethy have to take care of something for grandpa." She said looking down at her blonde headed child that she swore she could have had completely by herself. "Does that mean I get to see Uncle Rippy?" the small child asked as she grabbed her stuffed moose who she took with her everywhere. "Yes, baby that means you get to see Uncle Rippy, and Uncle Kayce, Aunt Monica, and Tate." "TATE?!" Wren screeched as she stopped in front of her dad that had just walked into her room to get whatever was left.
"Wren-Liegh Wheatley inside voice." Travis scolded as he grabbed her 4-h duffle from Y/N. "Sorry daddy I'm just really excited to see Tate." The small child looked a Travis with the same puppy dog eyes her mom uses. Travis gave his youngest a kiss on the head before sending her to go help her siblings feed their horses. "How do feel about leaving late tonight instead? Get there a lot earlier if we do." Travis asked his wife as he set the bag down and brought his hands to rest on her hips. "Yeah, that sounds good. I'll let Beth know we will be there earlier." She said leaning up to kiss her husband. As they kissed Travis's hands moved down to grab at her ass, but before it could get to heated, she pushed away a little keeping her hands on his chest. "We will definitely finish this later." She said as she fully pulled away and went to walk past him, but he was quicker, and his hand made contact with her ass. "Yes, we will." He said laughing following her out to the vehicle.
#imagine#yellowstoneimagines#Travis Wheatley Imagine#beth dutton imagine#yellowstone ranch#beth dutton#rip wheeler imagine#y/n dutton#john dutton#ripxbeth#taylor sheridan#horse trainer#jamie dutton#kayce dutton imagine#kayce dutton#tate dutton#monica dutton
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Yandere Reader × DOL
Warning: Extreme Content, unsafe sex, Crazy Reader
Bailey - Eden (M), Sydney, Ivory, Whitney, Kylar - Mason, Avery, Harper, Alex, Wren, Great Hawk, Black Wolf, Robin
Bailey's boobs! Eden's boobs! These 2 squeezeing your face! DIE! HAPPILY!1!1!
"What are you doing? I'll be charging you for this." Bailey spat as he watched you sucked his tits, hands groping it like a squishy. Eden on the other hand lets you use his tits as some sort of pillow. Ah... heaven... bless.
Sydney's anal bead, I'll squeeze it down your throat instead of using it as a rosary!
Sydney's hand gripped yours tightly as you used the anal bead inside their throat, fuck, they didn't expect this at all. Please, don't stop. Better yet, use your hand or your cock/strap-on on their throat now!
"Mwooh... mhoreeee....!"
Ivory's Necklace, right, fuck you wanna do if I swallow it whole?
"Get it out..." Ivory throatfucked you as their hands and tentacles choked you, "get it out right now, fuck, get it out!" Actually, you doubt they were throatfucking you to get this shit out. They were just trying fuck their cum out.
Walking Whitney
Whitney and a leash on your hand, no, not a leash to you but to them! Crawling the school hallway naked, how did it feel like to have the table turned now? Oh... look at how turned on they are, "fucking slut, you like people seeing your sex hmm??"
"Shut up..." they growled back but the trail of cum they left said otherwise ♡
Kylar and Mason the undies sniffer
Look at them. You understand if it's Kylar but Mason? Really? Sniffing your undies while you were swimming?
"K-Kylar did it! He did it first!"
"That still doesn't change the fact that you are a teacher. Oh, aren't you a perverted one? Just how down bad are you to the point you are caught sniffing with this," you pulled Kylar by his hoodie, "damn fucking loser who jerks off to my picture?"
"Uuu... you look so cute in that jacket so..."
Avery and alcohol
Fuck, you are sick of them raging at you every now and then. So? What to do? You eyed on the alcohols they got for the two of you and...
Crash
You hit their head with it. Just before they could say anything, you forced the alcohol down their throat, burning it. Just as you noticed they were wasted from the hit and burning sensation, you stripped them down and,
"I think you'll look great with your hole stuffed with this," you showed them a bottle of alcohol, "I don't give a shit about safe sex, feel free to have a check with Harper soon."
Doctor Harper...
Harper groaned as you plunged yet another syringe into their arm, the content? It's empty. Better be empty than fill it in with the drug they would use on you right?
"I bet it feels good, getting injected here and there right you fucker?"
Wren the smuggled
"Ehehe~ look at you~ so adorable in my bag, all tied up hm?"
The smuggler had been smuggled. Fuck, you were so going to enjoy fucking them while charging everyone fortune just to watch you fuck them dumb.
Milking Alex~!
Oh, the farm was growing. Look at it, the milk production got better in both quantity and quality! As expected of Alex! Now, it's time to milk Alex with your mouth and hand again!
Great Hawk the terrored
"Come on now, walking is better than flying right?" Great Hawk whimpered as you handed him his daily food. You caressed his bandaged wings that you broke with your own hands. "Good boy~ now eat, you'll need the energy to mate."
Black Wolf, awooooooo
Black Wolf did so as you fucked him dumb. What a pack leader he is, a great breedable alpha all along.
Robin, burn your fat down.
At this point, they were probably either traumatized or suffered from the masochist traits. Look, look at those marks ♡ how many times have you whipped the fuck out of them? It'll help burning down some of the fat they had.
#dol#degrees of lewdity#dol whitney#dol alex#dol sydney#dol bailey#dol eden#dol black wolf#dol harper#dol mason#dol kylar#dol wren#dol robin#dol avery#dol ivory wraith#yandere dol#dol great hawk#dol smut#yandere x reader#yandere reader
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just finished listening to episode 34 of worlds beyond number, "something to remember you by," which is the end of arc 3 of the wizard, the witch, and the wild one, and i feel sick from how incredible it was. the physical reactions my body made to some of the words and music in this podcast really took me by surprise. i'm still reeling.
some thoughts:
i'm so happy that suvi is questioning the citadel, her reaction to silver's letter was inspired, and i LOVED her interactions with the quartermaster. she's so clever and intimidating (holy shit that was HOT), but i'm worried about what's happening to silver. i have an inkling that the witches may have already started making moves alongside the man in black, and i wonder how that will affect suvi going forward. and going to try and save silver before returning their "precious cargo" to the citadel... i hope suvi can keep questioning, and that whatever she faces, she doesn't let the justification machine run its course any longer.
eursulon meeting up with tefmet was really cool. i enjoyed the return of the strongest man in silbury immensely. it was extremely funny. and then, when eursulon asked to help and succeeded on his persuasion checks, it was solemnly touching. i love eursulon's power being in steadfast support and protection, and how to him, it's not about opposing the citadel in its entirety, it's about saving spirits, great and small, from those who would use them. and that's something he can do while still protecting his true friends.
ame let the chaos OUT this episode, and it was delightful and nerve wracking and thrilling to listen to. she's very bossy and it's so funny to hear how immediately eursulon goes along with it, despite not knowing what "it" is. growing up watching grandma wren, she seems to have gained a natural authority that makes people who love her listen to her when she asks them to perform innocuous menial tasks. but that's also interesting, because her chaos is focused, if imprecise. she knows what she needs to do and will do it, damn the consequences. as long as she can get away, who cares what she leaves in her wake? that's a problem for future ame.
they stole some brass knockers and a lion! they kidnapped nif to save her from being killed by indri! tof burned bright to free a vrock! suvi heads to war, eursulon and ame TO TOMA! (i almost cried when eursulon said those words and the music swelled. what the fuck, lou. what the FUCK taylor and jared. i'm not okay!!!)
and then of course, brockvale. holly hill. the resting place of sir curran of the hawthorn, who unknowingly sent eursulon on a quest that would lead him to our story. the man in black, the pilgrim under stars, the king of knight, the stranger, holds sir curran's shield. he comes to make an offer. will this poor old guard bid a weary traveler to step over this threshold?
this is why worlds beyond number feels so different to me from other dnd shows and podcasts. these artists have come together with the shared goal of not just playing a fun game that they all enjoy, but with the express aim of crafting a brilliant story. i love a goofy campaign full of shenanigans as much as the next person, but i adore how every choice in this show is given weight and meaning. there are no decisions made for laughs. it doesn't feel like playing a game. it feels like living in the story.
and there are also moments like the ending of this episode. a snapshot of elsewhere in the world, something the players don't know, but the audience gets to. it fills out the edges of the story and provides a richer tapestry of lore and reasoning behind the machinations of those who oppose our heroes. it gives life to the tale.
my heart is beating so fast. this show is incredible. thank you, @worldsbeyondpod , for the world you're creating.
#i don't feel ok#my body is trembling#and i am alight with wonder and fear and joy#if you want to hear maybe the best fantasy story i have ever had the pleasure of experiencing#listen to worlds beyond number#worlds beyond number#wbn pod#wbn: www#wbn#wbn spoilers#the wizard the witch and the wild one#wwwo#wwwo spoilers#suvirin kedberiket#suvi the wizard#the wizard sky#suvi wbn#eursulon toma#eursulon the wild one#eursulon wbn#ame of toma#ame witch of the world's heart#ame wbn#nif wbn#tof wbn#indri wbn#the stranger wbn#sir curran of the hawthorn#sir curran wbn
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a/n; this one’s pretty fucked up :-; more rape & more murder but it’s a story about a sex slave & a weapon so that’s just kinda what you get ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ my bad !
tw/cw: rape, noncon, mutilation, dismemberment, decapitation, murder, grievous bodily harm, misgendering, transphobia, psychological torture, urine, gore, bodily fluids
living weapon whumpee, multiple whumpers, revenge, military
There has not been a time, since his creation, that Silas has been above ground.
Everything that’s been done to him, everything that he’s done, it’s happened hundreds of feet below the ground in the concrete labyrinth of the district. Every surgery, every slaughter, every field test.
Even the fuckin’ field tests. The field tests are training exercises, combat training, but they don’t trust Silas above ground to participate in them. They’re probably right not to. They’re smarter, sometimes, than Silas will ever give them credit for.
Within the labyrinth there are these arenas, these massive, open spaces made up to look like a world Silas has never seen. There’s a number of them, made to look like different practical terrain; forests and deserts and small villages and mountains and cities. It would be impossible for Silas to fathom if he ever had the time or the means to sit and try and fathom it. He’d almost think he left the district were it not for the concrete sky, hundreds of feet above his head.
He didn’t always mind the field tests. It was a chance to stretch his legs. The enemy was always played by military recruits, young and green. Silas isn’t sure if they know what they’re getting into when they enter the arena, if they are briefed on exactly what Silas is, but none of them ever walk out again. Their grieving families will bury a flag and a handful of teeth on Silas’ most generous day.
Barbarity is encouraged. Bloodshed is lauded. It’s always a slaughter, but it’s expected of him. It’s always been a good way to blow off some steam, even if he never walks away unscathed. He gets to use his hands.
But the rules had changed since they’d taken Wren from him.
The rules have been the same for every field test so far — kill or be killed. The recruits get weapons and machinery and supplies and dogs; Silas doesn’t even get a shirt. He gets a pair of prison grey joggers and his own two hands. Kill or be killed.
They didn’t tell him they’d added civilians.
He doesn’t realize that anything’s wrong for an entire three days. He soldiers through the rainforest arena and kills recruits with tooth and talon. When the lights get shut down for the third night, nighttime in the wilderness, Silas has become that thing the field tests always stoke to life in him; Silas isn’t human anymore. It slides under his skin, that feral, rabid thing, and it rips limbs from screaming bodies, it peels skin back with his teeth. When the lights get shut down for the third night, Silas’ hair is glued to his back and his throat with the thick layer of blood that crusts his skin. None of it is his own. Not a single recruit had gotten a single shot in yet. It was going exceptionally well. Silas should have been suspicious.
He should’ve fuckin’ known. He should’ve done better. He should’ve been faster. When he finally sees Wren again, his Wren, bathed in the flickering firelight of the enemy camp, all the human parts of him are reignited with a screaming rage and a sort of guilt that makes Silas feel heavy. He should’ve known something was wrong. He should’ve been here three days ago.
The surviving soldiers are set up around the fire, cocky and comfortable. Wren’s in the dirt at their feet.
Fuck, Silas had missed him. Silas had missed him in a big, impossible way, and he can’t even be happy to see him because Silas wishes more than anything that Wren was not here. Wren would be safer almost anywhere but here.
He’s dressed like a child and his hair is down, grimy and matted, pooling in the dirt around him. He’s face down, limp, and Silas has to blink red mist from his vision. Before he’s close enough to stop it, one of the soldiers stands, pulls his belt, and pisses in Wren’s hair.
Wren doesn’t move or moan or otherwise react in any way. He’s still limp — he’s so still, actually, almost unnaturally still, and Silas is — he can’t be too late, Wren can’t be —
Another soldier stands, some blond puke, and he turns Wren onto his side with his foot before he boots him in the stomach.
Weakly, Wren groans. Weakly, softly, but he groans. He isn’t dead.
Silas is gonna cause a fuckin’ bloodbath.
“Stop passing out on us,” the blond groans. “You got a long night ahead of you, girl.”
Wren doesn’t make another sound and the recruit kicks him again, so hard he’s forced onto his back. He groans softly.
A soldier with a shock of red hair spits in the dirt next to him as he stands. “I know how to wake her up.” His grin glints in the firelight and the blond laughs. He spits again as he takes a handful of Wren’s hair, coiling it around his fist, hauling him across the dirt and a safe distance away from the bonfire. He whistles back over his shoulder at the other recruits, watching him with varying degrees of obvious humour. “C’mere. Hold her open for me. Hold her down when she starts fighting and I’ll let you have a turn when I’m done.”
No.
How can this keep happening? How can this be somebody’s life?
There’s something casual, something genuinely amused in the way the recruits laugh between themselves as they splay their hands over Wren’s skin, as they hold his limp body into the dirt and he whimpers. The redhead tugs his belt free before he kneels between Wren’s legs, shoving the frilly hem of his little dress up and around his ribcage. He settles over him, his knuckles white against the purpling bruise of Wren’s skin. His answering groan is loud and low and satisfied.
Silas can hear when Wren regains consciousness because of how horribly and primally he screams.
All of the recruits laugh, but it’s the blond that coos, pleased, “there she is.”
When Silas breaks the tree line it’s his shadow that gives him away. One of the soldiers, holding one of Wren’s thighs, looks up, distracted, and the double take he does would be comical if Silas weren’t out for blood. He jumps to his feet, fumbles for his gun, green and unprepared. He cries, “what the fuck is that?”
Silas grins, but it isn’t nice.
The rest of the recruits look up in militant unison but react quickly with varying degrees of unrestrained horror. Almost every one of them scrambles to their feet and for their weapons. Except, of course, the redheaded puke knelt between Wren’s thighs. He stills, a picture of cruelty.
Silas cracks his knuckles.
Wren’s head lolls against the dirt and he finds Silas through the idiot cavalry. This’ll be easy; the recruits are always just as evil as the soldiers — a requirement of them, apparently — but they aren’t nearly as dangerous. They aren’t trained, polished, quick in the way the soldiers are, they aren’t used to Silas the same. This will be embarrassing for them.
Wren looks up at Silas with huge, wet eyes and the way the relief crests across his face would probably make Silas cry if he were capable of it.
“What the hell is that thing?” The recruits are shouting. “Who are you? Back up! Back the fuck up!”
Silas barely hears them. To Wren, he says, “I’m sorry I’m late.”
Wren tips his head back as he sobs.
The redhead looks down at him quickly as he hisses, “what the fuck is that?”
He folds an arm over his face and his chest hitches as he cries into the grime.
The recruit tries to grab him, to pry his arm from his face, hisses something else like “look at me when I’m talking to you. What the fuck is going on?”, but Silas is across the camp in a second and he takes his ginger head in both hands. The recruit flails, pulls away from Wren, and as soon as he does Silas turns, trying to shield his Wren from the splatter with his bulk. He crushes the redhead’s skull between his hands.
The noise it makes is like a crack of lightning.
The sort of silence that’s close behind unrecoverable trauma settles over the camp and Silas grins so widely something clicks in his jaw. He’s merciful — the recruits won’t have to live with this for long.
“What are you?” The blond asks, and his voice is thin.
Silas cracks his neck. “Does it matter?”
A different recruit swallows so thickly that Silas can hear it. But he’s trying to be brave, so he says, “back up, freak.”
Silas does not, in fact, back up. The blond is standing close and he doesn’t react quick enough when Silas grabs him by the collar — he panics, flailing as Silas lifts him clean off the ground. It kind of wakes up the recruits, who lift guns and take aim, but what’s the worst they can do to him? Really?
It’s one of the worst things about these men, about this place. It’s one of the reasons Silas hates them so viscerally it’s become interwoven into his DNA. Silas, in a way, gets off easy — Silas just gets shot, and he can take a fuckin’ bullet. It’s the least he can do. Wren isn’t so lucky. They aren’t afraid of Wren. He’s small and he can’t fight back the way Silas can. What’s the worst thing they can do to a fuckin’ machine? They’ll shut him down, and he’ll begin again. Wren is vulnerable.
He pries a handgun from the blond’s flailing grip hands and forces the barrel down the back of his throat. He grabs at Silas’ wrist, frantic, and Silas grins at him as he pulls the trigger.
He bursts into blood and viscera and the other recruits explode into shouting and panic. “Get back!” The brave one shouts, and he makes the grievous mistake of getting too close. Not within reaching distance, but still too close. “Get the fuck back!”
“What are you gonna do?” Silas asks, raising his eyebrows. “Shoot me?” The recruit lifts his gun, a threat, and Silas grins at him. “Tell you what. Let me do you one better,” and he points the gun down, firing a round into his own foot. It crackles with a pain that the simmering rage quickly dissolves.
The soldier gapes, hesitating, and he only hesitates for half a moment but it’s a full moment too long. Silas raises the gun again. “Now it’s your turn,” he says, and unloads three rounds between his eyes.
He drops to the dirt and another recruit steps over him quickly, into Silas’ personal space.
Silas doesn’t take kindly to that.
He takes him by the jaw and wrenches his mouth open. As he tries to scream around Silas’ hands, Silas hooks his fingers behind each row of his teeth and rips his face in half through the middle. His throat is still working as Silas pushes his body out of the way with the side of his foot.
“What the fuck?” A recruit cries, standing too close, splattered with blood that isn’t his own. Silas reaches out to him with his free hand and tears out his windpipe with bloody fingers. As he chokes, Silas breaks his nose back into his brain with the base of his gun. His eyes are rolled back into his head when he dies.
There are four surviving recruits, and they try to scatter. Silas lets them try, because he enjoys the panic, but he doesn’t let them get very far. Eight rounds, one for each knee. There are cries of pain and noises of impact and Silas laughs loudly.
He weaves his way across the camp slowly, tauntingly, and he kills them one at a time. He crushes both hands and the throat of the first recruit; he removes both hands and the throat from the second. The third is decapitated, and not quickly or cleanly; Silas removes his head with force, and the way his skin splits is like wet paper.
The last recruit had pissed in Wren’s hair.
Silas approaches him with the unhurried stalk of a predator. The recruit trembles, trying to scramble away from Silas, but he’d been shot in both knees and he’d fallen hard, the bones of his calf poking out from his flesh in opposite directions.
“That’s gotta hurt,” Silas says.
“Please,” he’s begging, and his voice is trembling, “please, please, don’t — don’t —“
Silas brings his foot down on his fractured leg as hard as he can. Puts all of his brawn and bulk into it.
The recruit tips his head back against the dirt and screams at the concrete sky.
Silas lets him scream. Who gives a fuck? He crouches next to him and takes his left arm by the elbow. The soldier screams again, tries to pull out of his grip, and Silas rips his arm out from the socket of his shoulder.
He shrieks at a pitch that Silas finds kind of irritating and he reaches across the recruit to grab his other arm and pull him over onto his stomach, face down in the dirt. He breaks his right arm off at the elbow.
He screams again and he’s screaming still when Silas stands to toe him back onto his back. As the recruit screams, Silas shoves down the waistband of his joggers, pulls out his dick, and pisses in his mouth. It’s only fair.
He flails with what’s left of his right arm and chokes in panic. It makes Silas grin. When he snaps his waistband back into place the recruit stares up at him with a look that Silas has come to recognize as resigned hatred. It never gets old. Weak and wet, he drawls, “they told us we didn’t have to worry about her dog.”
Silas raises his eyebrows. “They lied.”
The recruit chokes out a sound that would probably be a laugh if all the blood in his body weren’t seeping into the earth beneath him. “C’mon, man,” he tries. “Don’t — don’t. Please. Come on.”
Silas lifts the gun.
The recruit inhales quickly. “Please. Come on. Please.”
“Eat shit,” Silas tells him sincerely, and he empties the gun into his face.
#pulled from the GREEN folder this time#ive kinda started going through & trying to find all the whumpiest parts#but it’s hard for my to pick & choose because it’s ALL THE WHUMPIEST PARTS#WHAT DO I DO#wren & silas#human weapon whumpee#living weapon whumpee#whump#whump community#whump scenario#whump scenes#whump story#whump stuff#whump writing#whumpblr#whumpee#whumper#caretaker and whumpee#soft whump#whump things#whump series#whump tag#whump prompt#whump tropes#emotional whump#revenge whump#military whump
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Secret Santa 2024!
This one is for @wren-l-winter for the secretsanta2024 exchange! Prompt: Explore the dynamic between two rivals. One, an ancient vampire, and the other, a new vampire hunter eager to have her name written into legends.
It was a properly dramatic confrontation. Sheeting rain, lightning flashes, a marble floored pavilion in the middle of the city's oldest cemetery. The hunter skidded across the water-slicked surface on one knee, ending in a half-spin and a perfect three point landing, sword out and eyes narrowed.
The ancient vampire, the dreaded apex predator herself, rolled her eyes. "For fuck's sake," she said in a perfectly modern accent, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "It's going to be a clear night tomorrow, and this rain is going to wreak hell on all that fancy leather you're wearing. Can't we do this then?"
The hunter sprang. The sword flickered out. The vampire flung herself down into a shoulder roll. Sparks exploded against the pillar, inches from where her neck had been moments ago.
"Ow," said the vampire, brushing water off the shoulder of her wool coat. Somehow, none of the rain seemed to stick to her pale skin or dark hair. "How fun to see someone with a sense of the dramatic. Do you talk?"
"No," the hunter said and lunged again.
The vampire hissed, dodging and retreating from the flurry of blows, leaping with superhuman grace up onto the banister. "C'mon, kid. I'm giving you a chance here to walk away. I don't know which mothball-ridden cult trained you in sword-fu or whatever this is, but I can tell you this won't end well. It never ends well for your type."
"Don't try to get in my head, you monster!" the hunter snarled. "I grew up on social media, and believe me, your psychological warfare has nothing on unsupervised teenage girls."
The vampire arched a flawless eyebrow. "Oh honey. If that's your idea of evil, you are not at all prepared for this."
"If that's so," the hunter said with just the tiniest sneer, "why are you retreating?"
The vampire shrugged, and thunder boomed behind her as she spun around a pillar. "Maybe I'm sick of killing. Maybe the long centuries have infected me with a sense of empathy. Maybe I just don't want to deal with vampire hunter secret society bullshit again. The last time that was in fashion was the nineties. You don't want to go back there, kid. The economy was great but those cargo pants were a nightmare."
The hunter flicked water off her sword. "I think you're afraid," she said, letting the tip of her sword ring against the marble as she stalked closer. "I think you've gotten too comfortable, too lazy. Too used to picking off the easy targets. You don't remember what it's like to face a real threat-"
"I think you're dulling your blade," the vampire said with a half smile.
For a brief moment, the hunter glanced down. The vampire moved.
The world turned upside down with a painful crack, and suddenly the hunter was on her back, head dangling over the edge of the loggia. Hands empty, wrists pinned.
The hunter froze, adrenaline turning to ice in her veins. Oh god, her veins. Oh, no no no. It wasn't supposed to end like this.
"So," the vampire said with a fanged smile, shifting her weight over the hunter's hips. "Now what, honey?"
The hunter swallowed, and then flinched as the vampire's eyes flicked down to her throat. "You said something about a rain delay?" she said hoarsely.
The vampire chuckled, a noise like glass shattering. Her eyes seemed to widen, turning a honey-golden color as slow and sticky and sweet as molasses. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. Who are you, sweetheart? More importantly - who sent you?"
The hunter gasped and slammed her eyes shut, before the hypnosis could take her.
"Now, now," the vampire purred. "No need for loyalty. You have potential, I'll grant you that, but whoever it was that sent you after me as your first target is either cruel or insane. Or," she said thoughtfully, almost to herself, "they wanted to send a message. Run a pawn out to take a swing at the queen, while they get the board in order. What an opening move. Where did that sword go?"
Abruptly the vampire's weight and grip were gone. The hunter flailed up to her feet with all the grace of an overturned hedgehog. The vampire was across the pavilion, examining the blade, her back to the hunter as if she'd dismissed her from her thoughts. As if the hunter was nothing.
"I am not a pawn!" the hunter screamed, water running down her face and empty hands. "They sent me to end you and I will!"
"Sweet girl," the vampire said, tucking the sword smoothly into her belt as she stood. "You're a Christmas gift to me from an old enemy. A little holiday treat before the real fight begins." She tilted her head. The hunter took a step back. "But. You do have potential. I'm rather curious to see what happens if you do make it across the board, if you'll be a rook, a bishop, a knight. Yes. A little catch and release might be fun. You go on back to your masters, tell them I reject their trap. Look them in the face and ask them what game they are playing. But-" The vampire's eyes lit up from within. "-that's after you pay the penalty."
The hunter turned and fled. She made it down before a clawed hand caught in her hair, yanking her back into an iron embrace.
"J'adoube, little pawn," the vampire whispered into her ear. Hot breath and sharp points sank into the hunter's throat and everything went white and cold.
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kinktober day 14: being forced to beg (m!wren x gn!pc)
word count: 897
tags/warnings: begging, criminal activity mentioned, blowjob, kinda not what the prompt is at all actually but idc
You groaned as you crouched on the ground. Another fucking empty box. Tonight’s attempts at looting the docks was basically a failure. Where the hell had all the good stuff gone?
“Well, what do we have here?” A voice from behind made your blood run cold. You quickly weighed your options and were about to run away when a hand met your shoulder.
In fear, you turned around, only to come face-to-face with Wren. You let out a sigh, half relieved, half annoyed. “Oh, it’s just you,” you rolled your eyes and stood up, tugging down your face mask now that you knew you were safe.
“Just me,” Wren echoed, eyes searching over your body. “Someone having a difficult night? Bummer.” He held up a nondescript bag and shook it slightly. Your eyes widened as you jumped towards him.
“The hell?” You tried to reach for the bag, but he pulled it away. “I worked all day to memorize what was where. How the fuck did you beat me to it?”
He shrugged casually, holding the bag away from you. “I have my sources too, you know.”
“Whatever,” you grumbled, turning on your heel. Might as well just leave. But instead, Wren called your name.
“Hey,” he said, and you turned back, feeling more annoyed than ever. He had a devious look in his eyes. “I’m not evil. I’m willing to share, since you worked so hard. But…there’s a price.”
You thought it over. You didn’t want to owe Wren anything. But money was tight right now, and you knew right now you didn’t have enough to pay Bailey, and it was due in less than two days. So you relented. “Alright, I’ll bite. What do you want?”
Wren smirked. “You have to beg for it.”
Begging? Begging Wren in particular didn’t sound fun. Though, in the grand scheme of things, maybe it wasn’t too bad. Even a fragment of the loot would be enough to pay Bailey this week. Then it could give you some time to figure out a better plan for infiltrating the docks so you wouldn’t go through this again.
“Yeah, okay,” you sighed. Wren grinned.
“Ah, come on, you could show a little more enthusiasm!”
Rolling your eyes, you clasped your hands together. “Oh, pretty please, Wren, share with me?” You said sarcastically.
“Mm, nope,” Wren said. He tugged you to the side where you were hidden from view. “Try harder.”
You got down onto your knees and looked up at Wren through your eyelashes. “Please, Wren. I need your help.”
That one must’ve worked better, because Wren faltered momentarily before regaining his composure. “Better.”
You inhaled deeply, gearing yourself up for what could end up being some of your best work. “Please. I don’t know what to do. I need your help, Wren. I can’t do it without you,” you even managed to get some crocodile tears forming. “Please. I’ll do anything.”
That caught Wren’s attention. “Anything?”
“Yes,” you whispered, trailing your hands up his legs. “Anything.”
Wren sucked in a breath, placing a hand on your head. “Show me how bad you want my help.”
With nimble fingers, you unzipped Wren’s pants, pulling them down slightly. You ghosted your fingertips across his lower belly before pulling his underwear down too, revealing his still mostly-soft cock. You gently took his shaft into your hands and began stroking.
“You’re so kind and helpful, Wren,” you said, feeling his cock growing harder in your hands. “You’re always there when I need you. Won’t you help me out, even just this once? It would make me so happy.”
“Fuck,” Wren mumbled, his fingers threading through your hair. “Keep going.”
You kept begging as your hands worked his cock to full hardness. “Please, please. I’ll do anything for you. Anything you want. Just please help me out.”
He looked down at you, eyes dark. You put on the most innocent-looking face you could muster, and then swirled your tongue around his tip, gathering precum in your mouth. Wren hissed.
You smiled at him as you kept pumping his cock. “You’re the best, Wren. Such a great guy for helping someone like me. A poor little orphan. Please help me.”
With that, Wren shoved his cock into your mouth, fucking your face as your braced yourself with your hands on his hips. You hummed around his thick shaft, swirling your tongue around and around as he kept fucking you.
“Fuck,” he groaned, balls slapping against your chin as you took in his full length. “You’re just so fucking–” his words were cut off by his own moan.
As you choked on Wren’s cock, you kept looking up at him innocently, keeping your eyes wide and channeling your begging through them, since you obviously were unable to speak. “God, your mouth feels so good,” Wren gasped.
You smiled and kept at it, sucking hard. You could feel his dick twitching in your mouth and you suddenly pulled off, replacing your lips with your hand. “So nice,” you cooed. Wren’s face was beet red and he was breathing heavily.
You closed your eyes and stroked his cock until you felt his hot, sticky cum splatter on your face. Then, licking your lips and opening your eyes, you offered Wren a sweet smile. You could feel the cum dripping down your face.
“So, was that begging enough for you?”
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My Sister's Keeper
Cleon remembered the first time someone made her confront her relationship with Swan. It was Cochise, because of course it was, and it happened about three months after Swan first came into the Warriors - the morning after Cleon almost lost it.
It being her morals. Her ethics. The line in the sand she promised to never cross or blur. Yet what made her actually feel guilty that morning?
The sheer look of terror and panic on Swan's face. Cleon never wanted Swan to look at her like that again. Ever.
So Cleon had been brooding on the roof that morning, when Cochise came to find her. She dangled her legs next to Cleon's, over the edge, and stared out over the buildings.
"I never liked Peacock," Cochise said. "Remy and Warren weren't strong, either."
"Is that seriously how you want to start this?" Cleon asked.
"You know you fucked up. I'm not going to badger you about it."
Fucked up was almost too gentle a way of saying it.
"Do you want to talk about it, though?" Cochise asked.
Not really.
"You played it off pretty well," Cochise said. "Most people thought you were just trying to make a point. Scare the shit out of them and make them feel lucky that you only jumped them out."
That didn't make Cleon feel any less shitty. She never wanted people to be afraid of her, to follow her orders because they were afraid of what she might do.
"Cleon. Come on. What happened yesterday?" Cochise pushed once more.
"They could have killed her," Cleon finally said.
Her mind kept going back to the night before, when Rembrandt came running down the boardwalk and barely able to speak.
"What's wrong?" Cleon asked, because it clearly was something. Rembrandt could run, fast and hard, so to see her this out of breath was concerning, on multiple levels.
"Swan's jumping off roofs."
"The fuck do you mean Swan is jumping off of roofs?!"
Just that, it turned out. Cleon raced with Rembrandt to the streets with a few abandoned buildings. Some had storefronts on the first floors, with the upper levels being largely vacant or even abandoned. Down on the street, Ajax had Remy up against a wall, arm on her throat while Warren tried in vain to get Ajax off of her.
"Tell them to come down, now!" Ajax roared. "Or so help me God, Wren, I will crush her-"
"Ajax, let her down!" Cleon ordered as soon as she caught sight of them.
Ajax lessened her arm against Remy's throat, but did not drop her, turning furious eyes to Cleon. "Peacock's got Swan up there jumping-!"
"Fuck, there!" Rembrandt pointed up and, sure enough, there was Swan, leaping over the alley and onto another roof. Then back again.
Ajax swore under her breath before saying to Cleon, "She's been having her do that for nearly an hour, according to these clowns!"
"Then why didn't you go up there?!" Cleon demanded.
"Because Peacock locked all the fucking doors!" Ajax yelled back.
"I wanted to try scaling the fire escape, but Ajax lost her shit," Rembrandt crossed her arms.
Ajax looked at Cleon, almost begging Cleon to back her up, and Cleon could understand the very quick leap Ajax would make from Peacock making Swan jump between buildings to tossing Rembrandt off of one.
"No. No, you did the right thing, getting me," Cleon said as she yanked off her outer jacket and fuck it was cold. "Hair-tie?"
Rembrandt handed her a hair-tie.
"You're going up there?" Ajax asked.
Cleon nodded. "Meeting at the bar. Immediately. Rembrandt, go tell everyone. Ajax - get these two idiots to the bar."
Ajax and Rembrandt shared a look.
"Yes, ma'am," Ajax half-saluted, before heading off, Remy and Warren ashen-looking behind her.
Rembrandt hung back just an extra second. "Everyone everyone?"
"Any single soldier associated with us, I want them there."
Rembrandt's eyes went a bit wide, but she nodded.
It wasn't too difficult, in the end, using the fire escapes to get up to the roof, until the last one. That last one involved a bit of a precarious jump, but she survived. The look on Peacock's face was more than enough.
"Swan, if you even think about jumping one more time, I'll have you scrubbing dishes in Jenkins' for a month," Cleon threatened as soon as she stood on the roof. Swan jumped off the ledge, back onto the roof's floor.
"Cleon-" Peacock tried.
"Don't talk," Cleon all but growled, eyes narrowed. "We're having a meeting at the bar. Get there. Now."
"But-"
"I said don't talk!" Cleon yelled. Peacock's teeth clacked with how quickly she shut her mouth. "Get there. If you even think about running, you better fucking pray you're out of this city before I'm able to track you down."
Peacock nodded and practically ran to the door to get off the roof. Once the door closed behind her, Cleon turned to Swan, fully prepared to read her the riot act.
Only to find Swan doubled over, hands on her knees, breathing heavily.
Shit.
"Hey, hey," Cleon was at Swan's side in a second, hand on Swan's back. She could feel her breathing, feel her heart racing even through her shirt and vest. "Breathe, c'mon. You okay?"
Swan nodded. Took a couple more heaving breaths. "Yeah. Yeah, just- just tired."
"Sit down," Cleon helped Swan sit, leaning up against the roof ledge. Swan's skin felt hot to the touch and her face was covered in sweat, even in the cold. "Shit, Swan."
"Sorry," Swan managed through her breathing, eyes closed and head leaned back as she tried to catch her breath.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" Cleon couldn't help herself.
Swan shrugged.
"I'm gonna need an answer." Anger tinged Cleon's words.
Swan opened one eye, looked at Cleon. She closed it once again and sighed, her face the picture of resignation. "Initiation."
Initiation? "You've been initiated."
"Not to Peacock," Swan said. "She said mine wasn't good enough. That I hadn't proven myself to the other soldiers."
Cleon blinked. "You went toe-to-toe with Ajax."
"Who went easy on me."
"Ajax goes easy on no one. Not even Rembrandt," Cleon said. "She just doesn't let Rembrandt hit the floor as hard as she lets the rest of you."
Which Rembrandt bitched about anyway, but that was their business and Ajax rarely sparred against Rembrandt in the first place.
Swan scoffed. "Then how'd I get her down so fast?"
"...because you're a good fighter."
"I'm not stronger than Ajax."
"You aren't stronger," Cleon agreed. "But you use your head. You figured out her weaknesses and you used her own strength and frame against her. Not to mention, Ajax practically taught you how to take her down. She wanted you to win, fair and square. Even if she'll never admit it."
For as much as Ajax had bitched that night, now over a month ago, Cleon saw the smiles. The way she ruffled Swan's hair. Ajax had been proud about how that fight went down, proud of Swan, happy with her own ability to teach new Warriors. Cleon had been happy with her choice of an initiation task for Swan. The task had only been to have an official spar with Ajax, she didn't require Swan to win, but the win had been an undeniable bonus. The other soldiers looked at Swan with a new respect, talked to her a bit more seriously, stopped looking at Swan like the little Boardwalk Stray Cleon brought home to die on her couch. Overall, a good night.
"Did Peacock say Ajax threw the fight?" Cleon asked.
Swan didn't say anything.
"Swan."
With a sigh, Swan nodded.
"That fucking bitch," Cleon ground her teeth.
She'd had issues with Peacock before. Peacock came to them a massively insecure person and, despite her near year long tenure with the Warriors, still caused problems about it. Cleon had been trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, but this was too far, for anyone.
"How the Hell did she come to the conclusion to have you jump roofs?" Cleon asked.
"...I didn't want to go to the Wonder Wheel."
"She was going to have you jump off the Wonder Wheel?!"
"No!" Swan exclaimed, laughed a bit even at Cleon's panic. "No. Some of the others wanted to go ride the Wonder Wheel and I said no. She asked why, said I didn't want to. She pushed more and I said I'm afraid of heights. And I am, so..." Swan shrugged.
Cleon felt like Swan dumped a bucket of ice on her head. "You're afraid of heights?"
Swan nodded. "Always have been. Weak in the knees and everything. Which is stupid and I need to get over it and Peacock said she had a way of helping me get over it."
It was then that Cleon started to lose it a bit. She barely remembered helping Swan back to her feet and down the building. She remembered walking into the bar, eerily quiet for how full it was, and Swan freezing for just a second, forcing herself to not hide behind Cleon the way she so clearly wanted to.
Cleon remembered telling Swan to go stand with Cowgirl, who seemed concerned and quickly put an arm around Swan, whispering and handing her a bandana to wipe off her sweat-soaked face.
Cleon did not remember what she said in that meeting. Some accusation about Peacock trying to kill a new member, which was a bit of an exaggeration. At some point, Cleon threatened to make the three of them jump from rooftop to rooftop, asked how they would like it. Some grandstanding about her girls having choices, being allowed to do what they wanted in their free time, and if anyone had an issue with someone else's initiation, they could address those at Cleon. And somewhere along the way, Cleon made it clear that she wanted Peacock, Remy, and Warren dead.
Which went against everything Cleon ever claimed to stand for. Her worst punishment, the absolute, was jumping out. That was it, she'd always said. And if Cochise hadn't been there, hadn't shook her head, hadn't cocked her head at Swan, who looked absolutely terrified-
Cleon wasn't sure what she would have done.
But Cochise was there and Swan did look like that and Cleon demanded the three's colors and told Ajax to throw them out of the island. Said she never wanted to hear their names again and that was that.
"Why would they do that?" Cleon asked Cochise, back on the roof, back in the sunshine.
Cochise sighed. Shook her head. "Who knows? Peacock...Peacock has problems. Maybe she was jealous?"
"Jealous?"
"You've never been this close to a recruit before," Cochise said. "And...you haven't had a number two before, either. Everyone's been more or less equal."
"Really?" Cleon deadpanned, gesturing to where they sat.
Cochise laughed. "You have friends. Sure. But you don't let anyone else make calls. You don't delegate the responsibility, really. I mean, you've got me. You use Cowgirl and Ajax to manage the soldiers and Rembrandt keeps the scouts in line, mostly, but you don't ask us to make decisions. You don't run your ideas by us."
"I don't do that with Swan, either," Cleon said.
Cochise tilted her head from side to side, before, "Yet."
"...yet?"
"You haven't introduced me personally to any of our neighbor gang leaders," Cochise said.
"She lives in my apartment!"
"Yeah, isn't that interesting?"
Cleon groaned, rubbing at her temple. "I just- I care about her. I care about all of you!"
"Hey, she cares about you, too," Cochise checked her shoulder. "I think she's enjoyed being the little sister, for once." Then, after a moment, "I think you've enjoyed having one again."
Cleon felt sick. "Please don't."
"Okay. Okay, I won't," Cochise promised. And she didn't, that day. They moved on and Cleon tried to ignore what Cochise said.
Ignore. Explain away. No, Cleon was not paying extra attention the time because she sent Swan on that job. And even if she was - Swan was still new, youngest recruit Cleon ever got at only seventeen, it made sense to be more vigilant with her.
No, Cleon did not purposely give Swan a task to do at home when the others wanted to go out to a bar. And even if she did, seventeen, Swan was too young for that shit, even if Ajax got her a fake ID.
It doesn't matter what happened to that fake ID, they would get Swan a real one soon enough, when she turned eighteen, don't worry about it.
Over the years, it got harder to ignore, but easier to live with. Swan would narrow her eyes sometimes, when Cleon did something a bit too overprotective, would raise an eyebrow and ask Cleon to repeat herself. Usually, that would be enough for Cleon to back down. Adjust it to a more reasonable request, particularly after it became clear that Swan was quickly on her way to becoming Cleon's number two. Especially after Cleon named Swan her number two on Swan's twentieth birthday.
"That means you're going to have to let me make decisions, you know," Swan said later that night, curled up on the couch in their apartment, clearly tired but not wanting to go to bed just yet.
"I trust you," Cleon said. Honest.
Swan nodded. Was quiet for a moment, in that way that meant she had something important to say. "I love you, you know."
"I love you, too."
And Swan smiled, got up from the couch and pressed a firm kiss to the top of Cleon's head, before going to bed.
It was three years later when the Night from Hell came. When Cleon got separated from her crew and spent the night cursing Masai, the Riffs, even Cyrus, all to try and drown out the beating drum of You made them come.
You made Swan come, when she didn't want to.
When she was afraid.
When she asked you- begged you to reconsider.
You made Swan come.
Cleon's biggest failing as a leader came as the sun rose on Coney Island and her first thought upon seeing her crew, upon learning about Fox and Ajax: Thank God it wasn't Swan. She would never forgive herself for that one, even as the pain hit properly. Ajax - they would get Ajax back, but when was still unknown and Rembrandt looked shattered.
Fox, though? Fox was gone. Forever. In a horrifically familiar way that reminded Cleon of shattering windows and a young girl's last moments and-
Cleon couldn't think about it too long.
On top of all of that...Mercy.
Strange name for an even stranger girl who Cleon first met wearing Swan's vest. Cleon made sure to get Mercy a vest of her own quickly, seeing as Swan was apparently allergic to Mercy not wearing Warriors' colors.
As Cleon handed the vest to Mercy, with eyes so wide Cleon worried that they might actually pop out of her head, she looked at Swan: "And put your own damn vest on. It's been days."
Swan just rolled her eyes, a soft smile as she watched Mercy put her vest on and taking her damn sweet time putting her own back on. Cleon felt a little better as soon as the vest was on. Made her think a little less of a young teenager curled up in the sand under the boardwalk.
"You've got to stop staring at Mercy like that," Cochise said after about a week of Mercy living in her house.
"What are you talking about?" Cleon looked at Cochise. Mercy and Swan had just left, leaving the two of them alone in the living room.
Cochise raised an eyebrow.
"Listen," Cleon tried to defend herself. "This is the first time Swan's recruited someone. I'm just getting a feel for her."
"Uh-huh. And how good of a feel are you getting scaring her out of every room she's in?" Cochise asked.
"That's suspicious, right?" Cleon asked.
Cochise took a deep breath. "What do you mean?"
"Its suspicious that she's so nervous around me. Why would she be so nervous if she wasn't hiding something?"
"Oh, good God, why did I think this was going to go any other way?" Cochise rubbed at her forehead. "Cleon. I'm serious. Don't fuck this up for Swan."
"I'm not-"
"Cleon. Listen to me. Swan really likes her. I mean, really likes her and I think she's the only thing keeping Swan together right now, you cannot become Scary Big Sister right now."
Cleon sputtered. "I am not-"
"You are."
Cleon quieted. Stewed for a moment. "Swan won't talk to me about Fox."
Cochise snorted, a defeated sound. "Join the club. She won't talk to anyone."
"Except Mercy," Cleon filled in.
Cochise nodded. "Exactly. Don't have a singular clue what it is about this girl, but...Swan feels safe around her."
Which was great! Cleon was happy about that! She really was.
So she tried. She really, really tried to talk to Mercy.
Mercy just had a very great ability to not be in the same place as Cleon, ever, unless there was at least two other people around. When there were others around, she was fine. She talked, joked, and Cleon found that she even kind of liked Mercy. Hell, if Cleon met Mercy on the street and Mercy seemed on the look, Cleon might have tried to recruit Mercy herself.
"How'd you end up running with the Orphans anyway?" Cleon asked one Sunday morning, a couple months after the Night from Hell, about three weeks after Ajax got home.
"Oh, yeah! What was the story behind that?" Cowgirl asked through a giant mouthful of pancake.
Mercy winced a bit. "Uh. No story, really."
"...are you sure?" Cowgirl poked, everyone now staring at Mercy.
"Cowgirl-" Swan started, eyes narrowed.
Mercy came to Cowgirl's rescue, though, with a groan. "It's not like that, it's just embarrassing."
Which peaked Ajax's interest, "Okay, now you have to tell us."
Mercy groaned, louder, burying her face in her hands. Swan chuckled a bit, rubbing Mercy's back. Swan laughed a lot more now. That was a point in Mercy's favor.
"I didn't realize Sully was hitting on me," Mercy said into her hands.
Silence. Cowgirl even stopped chewing.
Rembrandt carefully put her cup of coffee back on the table, straightening a bit and leaning towards Mercy. "Mercy. Mercy, what does that even mean?" Her voice was barely restrained from a laugh at the mere implications of what Mercy said.
"I didn't realize Sully was hitting on me. I thought he knew about some youth shelter," Mercy still would not remove her face from her hands, but she did peak through her fingers. "And it was really cold and the next thing I knew, I'm standing in front of his gang and he's saying I'm his girlfriend. I didn't know what to do, so I just went with it. You showed up, like, two weeks later."
Silence.
Then, Rembrandt: "You knew Swan was into you when you-?"
Mercy threw the napkin at Rembrandt's head as everyone else exploded into laughter. "Swan was a lot more direct than Sully!"
"Direct, she says, as if she didn't start a rumble and then help us light up her own gang," Ajax laughed.
Which-
Yeah.
Cleon had not heard that part of the story. "What happened exactly?"
"You know, it's really not that important," Cochise tried, but trailed off at Cleon's look. Instead, "Swan, you're a dumbass."
"It wasn't a big deal," Swan tried after Cleon had all but dragged Swan to her bedroom.
"One rule. We have one rule with recruits, what is it?" Cleon asked.
"No kids," Swan deadpanned. At Cleon's glare, she tsked, "No one who's ever shown violence to our own."
"Exactly."
"She wasn't violent!" Swan argued. "Besides, she helped us-"
"Against her own gang!"
"She just explained that she never meant to join that gang!"
Cleon shook her head. "I don't like it. I don't like that it happened and I don't like that you didn't tell me!"
"Because I knew you would overreact," Swan said.
"We agreed!"
"She wasn't violent-!"
"Then why not tell me?" Cleon asked.
"Because I knew you would overreact. You always overreact when it's me!" Swan yelled. "She already had a strike against her because I liked her, I didn't want to give you another reason not to like her!"
"I did not-"
"Then why haven't you spent any time with her?" Swan asked.
Cleon sputtered, "I've tried!"
"No, you haven't. At all. And I know Mercy's jumpy around you, but it's because she's scared of you! She's worried you're going to decide to jump her out if she steps a single toe out of line-"
"She should be!"
Swan stopped. Stared at Cleon and Cleon knew she fucked up. "That's awful."
Cleon swallowed bile in her throat, "That's not what I meant."
"That's what you just said," Swan retorted.
How did this go wrong so fast? "Can we sit down?"
Swan sat as far from Cleon on the edge of the bed as possible, arms crossed and scowling down at the carpet.
"Look, I trust you," Cleon started. "And because I trust you, I trust Mercy. To an extent. Learning that you kept this from me...It makes me wonder if I can trust Mercy after all."
"You've never been like this with Rembrandt and Ajax."
"Rembrandt and Ajax came to us as Rembrandt and Ajax," Cleon said. "This is different."
Swan scowled harder. "It's different because you don't trust me."
"I do," Cleon stressed. "But- I mean, c'mon you hid-"
"You don't trust me, you don't listen to me, which is why I couldn't tell you," Swan interrupted, looking at Cleon.
"When have I not listened to you-?"
"When I told you I didn't want to go uptown!"
Cleon felt all the air leave her at once. Felt like she wanted to cry and throw up at the same time. "Well. At least that was honest."
Swan looked horrified. "That wasn't what I meant."
"That's what you said," Cleon muttered, feeling hollow.
"Fuck," Swan muttered under her breath. "Cleon, I don't- I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but you kept- I don't blame you."
"You should." Cleon did.
"I don't," Swan stressed.
Cleon felt the bed shift, just slightly, looked up to see Swan doing that hovering thing she did. When she wanted a hug, but didn't know if she was allowed. Cleon held her arm open and Swan was right by her side, Cleon holding her tight.
"I'm sorry," Swan said, quiet.
"I'm sorry, too. I should have just trusted you. Ajax wouldn't have joked about it if she thought it was serious." Then, after a quiet moment, "Do you talk about that sort of thing with Mercy?"
"...about that night?"
Cleon nodded.
"Yeah," Swan said. "It's easier. She wasn't there for the lead up and...I don't blame you, but I was...angry. In the beginning."
Cleon never even knew. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't want to be angry," Swan said. "I didn't think you deserved it. I just felt it, which was weird. Mercy says that happens sometimes."
Damn.
Out of everything, emotional intelligence was not a skill Cleon expected from Mercy.
"I'm not worried about being little, broken Swan in front of her," Swan continued. "Everyone else...I'm worried that if I tell them that shit, they'll just think of the kid you found on the boardwalk."
"I get that," Cleon sighed. As much as she hated it.
Cleon put more effort into spending time with Mercy after that. Starting with running jobs with Mercy alone, which made the girl go alarmingly pale the first time Cleon announced it.
Mercy did not speak the whole way into Manhattan. Nothing more than a "yes, ma'am," while on the job. And nearly nothing on the way back.
Until Cleon finally broke and said, "I do like you, you know."
Mercy's eyes widened. "Oh! Uh- that's good!"
Wow. Mercy really was freaked out by her. That was not supposed to be a good thing, Cleon tried to remind herself.
"You're good for Swan," Cleon said. "That helps."
Mercy shook her head, "Swan's good for me. She's- she's the best person I know."
Good. "Yeah. I think so, too."
Mercy smiled at that, just a bit.
"You better not hurt her," Cleon said. Because she had to.
"Full permission to push me off the top of the Wonder Wheel if I do."
It also helped that Mercy was genuinely smart. The more jobs they ran, the more Cleon saw it.
Then Mercy saved her ass. Pulled her deep into an alley, directed them into a double back, and onto a train headed into the Bronx that they changed for the southbound at the next stop.
Because she noticed a cop tailing them that Cleon never spotted, until they were running from him to catch the train.
"Holy shit," Cleon muttered as soon as they were on the train home, Mercy out of breath next to her from the sheer anxiety. "Okay. That was way too close."
"Too close," Mercy nodded in agreement. Then, "Swan doesn't need to know-"
"Absolutely not, she doesn't need to know shit," Cleon agreed.
Mercy nodded. But then a conflicted look appeared on her face.
Cleon sighed, "You can't actually not tell her, can you?"
"Not a chance," Mercy admitted.
Fantastic.
Cleon couldn't help but smile a little, though, even when Mercy guiltily recounted what happened on the job and Swan launched off into lecture mode on the two of them.
They were good together, Cleon decided.
Mercy was good for Swan.
#warriors concept album#warriors musical#fanfic#swan the warriors#mercy the warriors#swercy#my writing#the warriors fanfic#wonder wheel anon
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October 8th
Breeding, Papa Nihil x Reader
Masterlist
Words: 1.3k
Warnings: Breeding; power imbalance; dubcon; Nihil is a selfish lover tbh; no after care; dirty talk; degradation; manipulation; this is actually really creepy and dark, please don’t read this if older men manipulating younger women for sex triggers you; use of scissors to cut off clothes; no foreplay; unprotected sex; piv sex; minor restraint; praise kink;
Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask (if you want to be added to the list please let me know!)
The following fic contains scenes and elements that some may find disturbing. I have highlighted particular content warnings above that may be particularly triggering to some. If you are in any way in a place where this fic could trigger you, please do not read ahead. Your mental health is more important than a work of fiction.
I do not condone the actions taken in this fic. Please remember that it is a work of fiction, and meant for entertainment purposes only.
Thank you.
🔞 MDNI 🔞
As this is dark fiction, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my rating. Thank you.
You were merely a young sister in the Satanic Church when you met him. You’d barely taken your vows, just out of your teenage years and not even making a name for yourself in the Ministry when you assigned your first job. Papa Nihil, the founder of the Ghost Project and head of the Satanic Church, was spending the early 60s touring multiple countries, attempting to topple governments and recruit new members to the church. It was your job, while on tour, to make sure Nihil got everything he needed and that he was comfortable. His son, Primo, who was the same age as you, had been left behind to run things in his father’s absence and take care of his two infant brothers. His father got to gallivant and do what or whom he liked.
Nihil enjoyed the fame and success the Ghost Project brought him and the church, and while it wasn’t considered “righteous” to fornicate with others out of wedlock, it still didn’t sit correctly in most people’s moral codes. He enjoyed strings of girls, each one a different variety to the other. Nihil wasn’t picky, and that was perhaps the only good thing about him. If you had a vulva he wanted you, end of story. But this was his biggest problem, as he was already promised to a different sister, a future Prime Mover - and it wasn’t his favourite Ministry squeeze, Sister Imperator.
But this was how you found yourself sat on your 45-year-old Papa’s sofa, his hand grasping harshly at your thigh and his painted lips attached to your neck. That very same hand moved up towards your core and began to rub you through your tights and panties. You weren’t entirely comfortable with this situation. You wanted to give Nihil what he asked for, and in fact your body was craving it, but your mind constantly thought of his future Prime Mover and his lover, who was only in the next room. You told him this, said that you could go and get Sister Imperator for him. But it was no good. Papa Nihil wanted you. “You wouldn’t deny your Papa, would you?” He murmured into your neck. His fingers were swiping just right on your clit and had you gasping out. “More importantly, you wouldn’t deny your Dark Father, would you? He loves the gifts you give him. Will you, scricciolina? Will you give Him what He asks for?” Little Wren. He liked calling you that because you were as sweet and soft as one, a fitting name for someone so cute and pliant.
You nodded. “Y-yes, Papa.” You replied, your hips beginning to buck to meet his hands.
“Brava ragazza. Stendersi. Spread yourself open for me.”
You lay on your back on the couch, Nihil pulling himself away from you just long enough to let it happen. It didn’t matter that you were still fully clothed, Nihil always preferred it when you were while in public spaces. Not that he’d stop fucking you if he got caught. He always said it was to preserve your modesty, but there was always a darker look in his eye when he grabbed the scissors from their location and sliced through your tights. He’d slice your panties too if he were impatient enough, which, today, he was.
You heard the familiar rip of your tights before you felt the coldness of the blade against your labia. One horizontal snip later, your panties were now destroyed and your sweet, delectable cunt exposed to Nihil’s predatory gaze. He palmed himself through his trousers at the sight of you, but it didn’t take long before his cock was out and lined up to your entrance. You were wet enough to welcome him without pain, but not so wet as for the stretch to be completely comfortable or pleasurable. But even so, he pushed all the way in not even considering your own state. The groan he released was somewhat primal, and just the feeling of your unprepared hole was enough to get the man going.
He braced himself on top of you, letting his whole weight on your body and pressing you down into the sofa. He began babbling incoherently in your ear as he fucked you for his own pleasure. “Ecco, take it like a good girl. Take your Papa’s cock.”
You felt completely degraded but there was a huge part of you that was thrilled by this. Knowing that Nihil didn’t care for you, knowing that he was just using you to get what he wanted excited you to the point where you should be concerned. But the more he thrust in and out of you, the wetter you became. The closer he got to cumming inside you, the tighter you squeezed without realising you were doing it.
What if he came inside you? What if he got you pregnant? The thought of it should disgust you. This man was old enough to be your father, and barbaric enough to enjoy this because he thought you were sweet and innocent. But you were losing yourself to the pleasure, to the idea that he would release his white, sticky cum inside you and put you at risk for pregnancy. If you were pregnant, then everyone would know. Everyone would see that Papa Nihil had laid claim to the newest sister. You were part of his harem, at his beck and call. Free to use whenever he liked.
“Talk to Papa,” he said, “t-tell me what you’re thinking.”
You moaned. “Papa!”
“Your… your cunt is so tight, scricciolina. Why?”
“I - mmm fuck! Papa! I want your c-cum!”
Nihil chuckled above you. “You want to receive your Papa’s cum, hm? Want - merda - Nihil to knock you up? Fill up this tight cunt and fuck a baby into you? Is that it?”
“Yes!”
“Want to be round and full with my spawn? Such a good. Fucking. Girl.” Each word was punctuated with a thrust.
You had heard rumours from the other sisters who had been in your position that Nihil’s biggest kink was spreading his seed around. Because of your words, he seemed to lose a little more control than he had previously. His mind began to wander and his mouth let slip every single thought. “Cunt so good, might make you my Prime Mover. Might fuck you until you’re pregnant with the antichrist.” Your stomach dropped at the thought, especially since your previous worries had returned at the mention of ‘Prime Mover’ but your mouth released a moan so loud, it bordered on pornographic. The coming of the antichrist was a big deal for the church, and an honour for the woman who bore him. You hadn’t considered it before, but now you had, there was no turning back.
Your legs wrapped around Nihil’s waist and kept him trapped between them, only allowing him to pull back a certain amount. “Fill up my c-cunt, Papa! I want your cum so badly.” You were practically wailing now, your nails running down his clothed back. “Get me pregnant, sh-show the Ministry who I belong to. Please, Papa!”
That seemed to do the trick. With one final and brutal thrust, reaching all the way to the back of your pussy almost painfully, Nihil stilled. His cum spilled out of him while his mouth released a groan so low, it was practically a growl. “Th-that’s it.” He stammered. “T-take my seed.”
When he pulled out of you, you felt his cum leaking from your abused hole. He noticed it too, and spent a little while watching it ooze from you before standing up and dressing himself. “You should head back to your room.” He told you, not even looking in your direction. “You have an early morning, don’t you?”
You adjusted your own clothes, feeling his cum running down your thighs as you stood. “Yes, Papa.”
And with that, you left.
Previous Day ⛧ Next Day
#mel writes#ghost#ghost bc#ghost band#ghost the band#ghost fanfic#ghost fanfiction#the band ghost fanfiction#kinktober 2023#ghost kinktober#papa nihil#papa emeritus#nihil emeritus#papa emeritus x reader#nihil#nihil x reader#papa nihil x reader#smut
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Sweet Creature: Epilogue
Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader
WC: 1609
Warnings: 18+ Blog: p in v, established relationship, fluff, Dieter in distress, mentions of sobriety
Series Masterlist / Playlist / Main Masterlist
Previous
The morning light filters through the sheer curtains, a harsh reminder of how time is of the essence.
A sheen of sweat drapes over your bodies, a give and take shared effort, bedsheets lost in the shuffle of positions and tangled limbs.
“Yes, Dieter— Don’t stop! Please!” You whine.
Your fingers digging into the bulge of his biceps, his arms flexed and teasing you, delicious eye candy from where you're situated below him.
“Fuck! Poppy, I’m close— shit! You gotta help me out here babe, I’m gettin’ a fuckin’ cramp in my ass cheek.” His hips begin their signature staggering thrusts, signaling his climax is imminent.
You snake your hand between your bodies, bypassing your tiny bundle of nerves, your fingers sliding through your spread folds, feeling the way his cock sinks into your pulsing cunt repeatedly.
“Dammit, Poppy! Quit fucking around— fuckfuckfuck! I fucking love that you want to enjoy this, but I n-need you to come with m-me— ah!” His neck tensing as he tries to stave off his mind-blowing finale.
It doesn’t take much, your fingers nimbly work in circles over your sensitive clit, triggering your cunt to seize up, building up a network of arousing tingles across your spine.
The room is filled with a blend of explicits and desperate moans— both of you slingshotting over the edge in euphoric unison.
His head rests on your chest, your rapid heart beat punching up against his ear as you try to regulate your breathing.
Your fingers scratch at his scalp in a casual manner, his locks damp and clinging to your skin.
“Happy 6 years sober babe!” You manage to breathe out.
“Thank you.” Lifting his head, a kiss to your heart then a kiss to your awaiting lips. “I love you, Pops!”
“I love you, babe. What time is it?”
Dieter looks over to your side of the bed where your alarm clock sits on the nightstand.
“It’s 7:35.”
“Shit! Oh fuck! Get up, I’m late!” You push his exhausted body, his softened cock slipping out of you as he rolls to his side, his cum dripping down your thighs as you scramble out of bed.
Throwing open your closet door to grab clothes for the day, the clothes you had asked Dieter to throw into the dryer and put away are nowhere to be found.
“Dieter— did you put those clothes in the dryer yesterday? I can’t find any of my clean work clothes.” Actively searching through every hanger and shelf, only spotting a few pairs of dirty slacks and blouses shoved into the laundry that didn’t make it into the wash.
“Uh, no— definitely did not. Sorry, Wren and I got sidetracked making cookies and I must have forgotten.” He replies, still sprawled out and naked on the bed.
“No— it’s fine. I’ll just wear casual clothes again, hopefully the ladies in the office keep their glaring to a minimum this time.” You give him a pointed look.
“What? You say that like this is a regular occurrence.” His hands shoot in defense.
“That’s because it is, this is the fifth time just this month alone Dieter.” You say as you grab for the jeans and shirt that have been making a regular appearance over the last 5 years that you and Dieter have been together.
“Well, I never hear you complaining in the moment.” He has a point.
“Fuck! I don’t have time for a shower either, you're going to be dripping out of me all day!” Using a dirty shirt to wipe up Dieter’s spend that’s smeared between your legs.
“Not gonna lie, that’s fucking hot—“ The shirt you had used to clean yourself flies across the room and hits him in the face.
“They should do away with a teacher uniform all together, seems very not with the times to require adults to wear stuffy clothes when they’re dealing with kids all day. Bring that up at your next meeting.” He suggests, pulling the cum covered shirt away from his face, giving it a quick experimental sniff before tossing onto the pile of bedsheets on the floor.
“Yeah, I’ll make sure to bring that up at the next meeting.” You laugh, but you can’t help but agree with him.
It’s a mad dash to pull yourself together, but you manage to look like you didn’t just get fucked to pieces.
“Alright, I gotta go— I love you.” Crawling back on to the bed to give him a goodbye kiss.
“Love you.” He moans as he tries to deepen the kiss.
“Oh my god! You’re the worst Dieter! I’ve got to go.”
“Wash your dick today, it was smelling a little musty earlier.” You yell back down the hall, before heading out the door.
“Really?” Dieter says to himself, looking down at said dick laying flaccid over his thigh.
*
As predicted, the glares were on display as you walked onto the school grounds, bypassing a stop at the teachers lounge for the comfort of your classroom— you decide the whispered snickers between the office ladies were not high up on your ‘things I want to deal with today.’
Despite your lateness, students must have sensed your off kilter presence and were on top of their responsibilities of reading and writing while you sifted through your daily lesson plans.
To your surprise, you had managed to forget to make copies yesterday for 3 worksheets needed after the students were done with printing their weekly words.
There’s a light knock on your open classroom door that grabs your attention.
Standing in the doorway is Dieter, with two coffees in hand.
“Hey! What are you doing here?” You ask, knowing at least one of the coffees he’s holding is for you.
“Figured, since I was partly to blame for your tardiness, I thought I’d try and make it up to you.” Giving you his best puppy dog eyes, holding up both coffees in your direction.
“Two?! Oh my god, I love you!” Grabbing for both of them, giving each cup a glance over to see his cute little notes perfectly placed on the sides of both—- setting them on your desk then returning to where he’s still standing by the door.
“Are you busy?” You ask, looking over your shoulder to double check your students are still working on their assignments.
“No, I’m free today. I’ve got the new girl running the gallery on her own, so far no calls of distress.”
Dieter’s hand reaches out taking hold of your fingers, his thumb running over the tops of your knuckles. He tilts his head forward to look at you over the frames of his sunglasses.
“You need something from me?” His eyebrows waggling at you.
“Actually, yes!”
His smile grows nearly ten times.
“I need to make some copies, you think you can watch them for me?”
Your idea of needing something was not what he had in mind, but he’s more than willing to help you out.
“Yeah, I got them. Go do your teacher things, I’ve got this handled.”
*
It takes you no longer than 5 minutes to head straight to the office and make your copies, avoiding every side-eyed glance shot in your direction.
60 sheets of freshly printed worksheets, warm and neatly stacked in hand, you make your way back to Dieter and your students.
You can hear Dieter’s boisterous voice as you walk closer to the classroom, taking a minute to watch from outside the door.
All 20 kids seem less than entertained by him, deadpan stares and little to no excitement— it could be worse and they could be like last year's students who convinced him you let them go to break early, coming back to an empty classroom was heart attack inducing and thankfully no one picked up on the random man with a group of kids chasing each other in the soccer field.
A hand in the back of the class gingerly raises.
“Yes, kid in the back— you don’t happen to have a brother with a weird haircut, do you?” His eyes narrowed as he sees a slight resemblance in the hair department to a past student of yours.
“I don’t have a brother.”
“Huh, weird coincidence then. What’s your question?”
“Why do you wear your sunglasses inside if there’s no sun?”
Your hand comes up to muffle you laugh, but Dieter catches the snort that emits from your nose.
“That’s enough questions for the day.” He retorts quickly, then makes his way to where you’re still standing outside.
“Okay class, go ahead and pull out a sharp pencil, I’ll be there in a minute so we can do our math test.”
You lean back against the wall, taking in Dieter’s defeated demeanor.
“This class isn’t as fun as your previous ones, those kids in there are ruthless. They refused to call me Uncle Dude too— You need to get a new class stat.” He points in the direction of your students, completely flustered by the fact that not one of them found him fun.
“If I remember correctly, didn’t you play a teacher once?” You sarcastically ask him.
“That’s enough outta you.” He smirks, crowding you against the wall, giving you a less than appropriate kiss for school grounds— you welcome it fully.
A passing teacher clears their throat at the sight of Dieter and you, prompting him to pull away and rest his forehead on yours.
“Thanks for watching them for me, and thanks for the coffee. I’ll see you later Uncle Dude.”
Dieter leans in one last time, a kiss for the road.
“I’ll see you at home, Mrs. Bravo.”
A/N: Thank you all for this amazing journey with Dieter and Poppy!! I’m going to miss them so so much!! But, I do have a few one shots already planned, and blind drabbles for them. I can’t thank @gnpwdrnwhiskey enough for diving into every chapter with me and being the most amazing beta to ensure everything was right for these two!! My ‘Asks’ are always open if you ever want to chat or scream about the series, Dieter and Poppy or anything else! Xx
#sweet creature series#dieter bravo#dieter bravo x fem!reader#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x f!reader#dieter bravo x female reader#dieter bravo x reader#dieter x poppy#pedro pascal#wildemaven writes
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After She Left | Ten
Words: 5k
After the dramatic expulsion of Steven and Wren, things settle down a little in Jackson. You've found a way to keep tutoring Ellie that keeps you out of Joel's orbit, and Joel is trying to adapt to his new situation at home. He'll fight hard not to feel things, but he'll always lose when it comes to his girls.
Chapter warnings: Angst, reader gets drunk but isn't out of control, reader is almost as bad at feelings at Joel is, lots of pining coupled with vague attempts to deny anything's wrong
A/N: Coming to the end of the second act now, which means things are going to ramp up again soon. Ya'll wanted emotionally tortured Joel doing penance for being a dick, and you got it!
Nine | Series Masterlist | Eleven
‘Ok, who can tell me what the capital of America is?’ you asked, nearly saying ‘was’ before you caught yourself. Almost all hands raised in the air.
‘Washington DC,’ Dina answered, confidently. You nodded.
‘Excellent, and why was it named Washington?’
‘It was named after George Washington!’ Mika nearly screamed, because he liked a competition.
‘And who was he?’ you prompted, trying not to laugh at the way he was practically bouncing up and down on his chair.
‘He was the first president!’ Mika yelled again, and you grinned.
‘Very good, but take a breath my man,’ you said. He slumped, sucking in the air around him like he’d run a marathon.
‘How did he die?’ Ellie asked, suddenly. She’d been quiet all morning.
‘He got sick, umm…a throat thing,’ you said, trying to remember your eighth-grade history.
‘That’s it?’ she asked.
‘Was he infected?’ Mika asked, suddenly panicky, and Ellie rolled her eyes.
‘They didn’t have the fungus back then, dumbass,’ she hissed.
‘Ellie!’ you gasped, surprise on your face. ‘Apologise to Mika right now.’
She looked at you, just as surprised by your tone. A moment passed between you, a correction, you realised, of a dynamic that had started to creep. You were her teacher and her tutor and her friend, and also for a while you had been sort of seeing her Dad, but that wasn’t a thing anymore and now you had to discipline her, and Jackson was a really fucking small town but right now it felt like it could fit on the head of a pin.
You thought, for a moment, that she was going to fight you. But you watched her deflate, the anger seeping out of her bones.
‘M’sorry,’ she said. You hazarded a glance at Mika, who was now almost completely folded in on himself.
‘It’s OK,’ he said. It wasn’t.
You waited until the end of the day to pull Ellie aside.
‘Ok, what was that before?’ you asked, and she shrugged. She had been quiet again for the rest of the day, not willing to be drawn on questions you knew she had the answer to, and when it came to math in the afternoon she had just stared out the window and drew circles on her paper. You held in a sigh. ‘Mika looks up to you, y’know,’ trying the time-honoured tradition of guilt tripping to keep a teenager in line.
‘I know,’ she said, looking up at you, then, defiant and angry again. ‘I know he does but how is that my job?’
‘OK…’ you started, feeling already that you were getting tugged out to sea by her riptide. ‘I think maybe we need to reset…’
‘Like, did he even ask me if I wanted him to follow me around like a fuckin’ puppy? No. And I don’t want him to. I don’t want to hang out with some stupid fuckin’ kid. It’s embarrassing. What about what I want to do?’
It was a lot in a short period of time, and you were torn on how best to approach it. On the one hand you should probably cool her down, on the other she was finally speaking up about whatever it was that was bothering you. On a third hand she was swearing quite a fucking lot.
‘Ellie…’ you started, but you stopped when you realised her eyes were growing red. ‘Hey, kiddo…’
‘Don’t,’ she said, holding her hand up to you. ‘Not your kiddo.’
‘No, but…but I care about you…’
She bit her lip, obviously wanting to take it all back. You felt a compulsion to wrap her up in your arms and hug her tightly to you, but you knew she wasn’t the type for that. She tugged on her long sleeves. ‘Why do I feel like this isn’t really about Mika?’ you hazarded.
‘He’s moving her into the house,’ Ellie spat, the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. ‘He didn’t even ask me what I wanted.’
It had been weeks since you’d been over there, Ellie choosing to come to you for your sessions. You had thought, initially, that she was trying to spare you from having to deal with Joel, but suddenly you saw it in a different light. You were respite. You were a port in a storm.
You swallowed your own feelings down, a little kick in the gut that would have looked a lot like anguish if you decided to turn your gaze to it.
‘He said she could have the spare room, but then she just moved all her stuff straight into his.’
You weren’t going to think about it. Not about her asleep in his sheets, wrapped up in his arms, his lips pressing soft kisses to her forehead while she slept. None of it.
‘Oh, that’s…’ you started, but couldn’t think how to answer that question. Part of you was howling, while another part of you was working so hard to remind yourself you didn’t care anymore.
‘I’m gonna move out,’ she said, and your attention snapped back to her.
‘What? Ellie you can’t…’
‘There’s a studio out the back, its got proper insulation. Tommy checked in. It has electricity. I’m fuckin’ going out there.’
‘And Joel is OK with that?’ you asked, and she looked down at her shoes.
‘He seemed kind of relieved,’ she muttered. You put a hand on her shoulder.
‘That can’t have been it,’ you said. She looked up into your eyes, and you plastered what you hoped was a confident expression on your face. ‘Can’t have been,’ you repeated.
--
You were restless. It had been a few hours since your conversation with Ellie and you’d been turning it over in your head like a puzzle you could put together if you could just find the right piece. It was silly, but you wanted to know if Joel had ever felt anything for you, or for anyone in the past twenty years, or if it had been Shauna the whole time. If he’d just been waiting for her, hoping and pining, and you’d been a convenient way to spend his time until she appeared.
It just seemed so fast, that they were already together. You wondered if they had ever really, truly, been apart.
You paced in front of your doorway. The nights were getting cold again, and it was getting darker earlier, and so you didn’t really feel like going for a walk. You wanted to go and see Maria and Baby Robin, but you felt strange about it now, seeing her with Shauna as often as you did. You had the strange feeling of having been corrected and replaced, a new version of you with edits, out and about living the life you should have if you had been any good at it.
You’d already eaten. The little makeshift library would be closed. You thought about dropping in on Billy at the wall, but the wind was picking up and you weren’t sure when Joel’s next shift was. You hated that you still navigated by his bearings.
At your front porch, you let your legs walk you where they wanted to. As you listened to the crunch of your boots on the gravel you thought of life beyond the wall, tried to imagine all the horrors Shauna would have been dealing with out there. She travelled with two men, and you weren’t so naïve that you didn’t know what that would have cost her. You wondered if she’d spent time in a QZ, if she’d had a job there. She didn’t seem like the type to be enlisted; she probably would have been too old on outbreak day.
You had to believe it was unintentional, her finding Joel and Jackson. You couldn’t think of any way it couldn’t have been, and you tried. So, what was it then that she had found him, in a world almost totally wiped clear, other than a kind of kismet? Who were you to interfere in luck that strong? In something so fated as to be almost impossible. You weren’t a religious person, not spiritual in any real way, not after everything you’d seen and lost, but even you had to respect when the Universe was sending such an obvious message.
You stopped, looking up to discover your feet had marched you to the Bison. Fair enough. If you weren’t going to ignore clear and obvious and pretty fucking painful messages from the Universe, you better not start now.
--
Joel was irritated. More than irritated, more than frustrated. Shauna was in his place all the fuckin’ time now, and he wasn’t entirely sure how it got to be that way, and now Ellie was talking about movin’ out to the studio right as the weather was turning, right as the cold was going to set back in, and he was going to go knocking on her door one day and find her frozen fuckin’ solid under some thin little blanket Tommy has scrounged up for her instead of warm and safe under his roof.
He stood out the front of his porch, looking suspiciously at the potted plants Shauna had lined up against the railing. She said it was about being homely, about bringing in a little colour, but Joel couldn’t help but notice all of her womanly touched appeared at the front of the place. Visible from the street.
He paced. He’d done another shift on the wall and normally he’d be desperate to sit down, rest his knees and his back. Take some of the pressure off his aching bones. But now his house felt different, like it wasn’t fully his own. He’d lost something. Another something.
Ducking under the side windows he made it way around the back to the studio, careful to push the door open just enough to slip in unheard from the house. He didn’t turn the light on, didn’t want to draw any attention. He stood in the middle of it, staring at the bare window and the cold concrete floor.
He’d been grateful for the peace, for a while. With Steve and Wren excised from the community things settled in. Shauna was getting back on track with the council, seemed to have settled more into her role as Maria’s almost PA, as Tommy’s kind of but not quite assistant. She hummed when she cooked dinner, some kind of tuneless melody that might have been a song he could recognise before she mangled it. She was no better chef than she was twenty years ago.
It had just come on so quickly, his history clawing out of the depths and grabbing him by the middle. Fast enough he hadn’t noticed until he was pulled under.
He heard the door creak and he swung around, bracing.
‘Sorry, brother,’ Tommy said, arms up in surrender. ‘Didn’t realise you were in here.’
‘Keep your voice down,’ Joel muttered, pulling his brother in and easing the door closed.
‘You in hidin’ in here?’ Tommy asked, and Joel huffed out a frustrated sigh.
‘Just didn’t feel like…dealing with anything for a minute,’ he said. Tommy watched as his older brother grimaced, holding his hip.
‘You hurt?’ he asked.
‘Nah,’ Joel dismissed, waving the brotherly concern away. ‘Just been on the couch the last few weeks, ain’t sure it ever had springs worth a damn but twenty years ain’t helped it none.’
‘On the couch, huh?’ Tommy asked, surprised by this little glimpse into Joels’ home life.
‘I ain’t with Shauna,’ Joel said, because he could read his brother’s mind, being so similar to his own.
Tommy nodded, walking to the wall of the room and leaning against it, one leg bent at the knee as he rested his foot behind him.
‘So what’s goin’ on there, brother?’ he asked, and watched as Joel turned away.
‘She just…she’s just suddenly everywhere,’ Joel said, after a while.
‘When you moved her out of ours, I thought…’
‘She said it was too damp, that it was makin’ her stuffed up. I dunno. She used to get real sneezy in the Spring.’
Tommy nodded at this. He’d been happy to have his garage back, but he considered now he might have been a little too keen to push her out.
‘How did I lose it again?’ Joel asked, almost to himself.
‘What do you…’
‘She was under m’roof, now she’s movin’ out here to the cold. We were a family, for a second, we were safe. There was a kind of…’
‘Peace,’ Tommy supplied, and Joel nodded.
‘I failed her again, Tommy,’ he said, voice thick enough that Tommy faltered. ‘Both of ‘em,’ he said.
Tommy didn’t need to ask who. He’d seen the change in his brother when Ellie started tutoring, had seen the way he was fighting happiness like he couldn’t quite believe it, like he knew all too well what it was like to have it ripped out from under him, to have it bleed in his arms. Knew his brother and that he was a fast learner, that he wasn’t often fooled twice.
‘You didn’t believe it,’ Tommy said, after a while. Joel nodded, fighting hard to keep tamping down whatever was currently trying to crawl up and out of his sternum.
‘Every time I look at Shauna…’ he said, stopping for a second to catch his breath. ‘She has her eyes, Tommy.’
Tommy smiled warmly at this, having noticed the same. It might have been why he offered Shauna the garage in the first place, so sure he was watching Sarah stare back at her uncle through her mother’s eyes. It had made it impossible to say no, and he hadn’t wanted to.
‘No…’ Joel was saying, ‘you don’t unnerstand.’ Tommy realised there were tears threatening to spill down Joel’s cheeks. ‘She’s there every time I look at Shauna, but she’s not there, not in the right now. Every time I look at Shauna I think about m’little girl. I think about all the love for her, cuz it’s still right there, Tommy.’ Joel rubbed at his chest, thumping over his heart. ‘And…I think about losin’ her. I think about those eyes going hazy starin’ up at me in that damn field.’
Joel felt his stomach roll, worried for a moment the memory was so strong he would conjure it in front of himself. He could smell her blood again, mixed in with the dirt and the long grass.
‘Shauna’s here all the damn time, and now it’s like it was all yesterday again. I see m’little girl’s face gone all pale, I feel her in my arms…’
Joel stopped. He didn’t have the words anymore, couldn’t trust that he would be able to speak them out loud. He realised he was shaking, that he was close to toppling over when he took a step back and had to steady himself on the bench. In moments he was wrapped in his brother’s arms, holding on nearly as tight as the moment they’d been reunited the first time Joel made it to Jackson.
‘I know, brother, I see it too,’ Tommy said, feeling his own tears tracking down his cheeks.
‘Shauna’s costin’ me everything. Teach, maybe Ellie… I can’t stand it, but I can’t… I want her near, Tommy. I gotta look after her, cuz there’s my little girl in those eyes, and I can’t fuckin’ fail her again.’
Tommy nodded, his words too caught up in his throat. All he could do was nod, clap his brother on the back a few times. After a minute he let go, rearranging his jacket and clearing his throat as Joel composed himself a few paces away.
‘When Ellie said she wanted to come out here I was almost…it almost felt like a good thing. I dunno…some kind of, separation maybe? From history and…whatever the fuck this is now.’
Tommy didn’t really understand, probably would never, but he agreed with his big brother just the same.
‘We can make it real nice in here, Joel. We can make it warm, make sure its dry. I’m already thinkin’ about rugs, Maria reckons she can sew up some curtains.’
Joel appraised the room. He had seen his brother repair worse.
‘She’s a teenager, would have wanted her own space one day anyhow,’ he rationalised, and Tommy agreed.
‘It might be good for you both, especially with…’ Tommy nodded to the house. ‘You really want an angry teenager in your house 24/7?’
‘Dealt with you OK,’ Joel said, and he was smiling again, if a little tentatively.
‘Ahh, I was a fuckin’ angel compared to you, brother,’ Tommy said. He slapped his brother on the back again as if he could push the shrivelled little kernel of loss out, shoot it out of his chest and onto the floor beside them, let it rattle around unnoticed, roll under a cabinet and gather dust.
--
You’d found a seat at the bar, the booths mostly taken out by groups or couples. You hadn’t considered that you would be so obviously alone when you first walked in, and you scanned around you to see if anyone was looking. To your relief, none of them were.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t spent hours of your life drinking at the Bison. But usually with Billy, or Maria before Tommy came along, and then eventually Tommy, too. But this felt different. You ordered a whiskey from Paulie on the bar, and willed your fingers to still.
It took twenty minutes for you to relax, exchanging glances with Paulie and feeling the hairs on the back of your neck tingle each time you thought someone was looking your way. A second whiskey in you found yourself caring less, the warmth running down your throat and into your chest. It was starting to feel more and more like a very good idea to come in here.
You heard laughter to your left, and turned to see Guillaume and Jonah chuckling to each other. You caught their eye, not able to look back fast enough, and they clocked you watching. They nodded to you, raising their glass. Embarrassed, you did the same.
It took a few minutes before Guillaume pealed away, leaving Jonah on his own. You swallowed, watching out of your peripheral vision as he slid off his stool and came to stand within striking distance of you.
‘Hi,’ he said, when you insisted on still pretending you didn’t know he was there. You felt your shoulders tighten as you turned to him.
‘Hi there,’ you said, trying to sound bright and easy but your tongue suddenly sluggish under all that booze. He was smiling, though, his face open as he moved to perch beside you.
‘Drinking alone?’ he asked, and you shrugged.
‘It’s after 5,’ you reminded him, and he grinned.
‘That’s true,’ he said, raising his hands in mock apology. ‘You go about your business.’
The way he said it reminded you of so many of the FEDRA soldiers you had worked besides, and sometimes opposite. Go about your business, uttered to the gathering crowd while a rifle wavered in the face of a thirteen-year-old kid caught stealing from the breadline. You blinked, those memories almost ten years old and still enough to jolt you right down to the bone.
‘You’ve been abandoned,’ you observed, your voice oddly strained.
‘Nah, I asked Guillaume to take a hike,’ Jonah said, shrugging.
‘You did? Why?’ you asked, and he put his head on his side to observe you properly as he grinned.
‘Wanted to talk to you.’
Oh, you thought. Fuck. Flirting. What was that again? You felt your face arrange itself into a look of surprise, without your instruction. Jonah’s grin faltered.
‘Unless you don’t want me to talk to you…I mean, if you want to be alone of course I’ll leave you…’
It was just so different. He was just telling you what he was thinking, and he was considering your feelings, and he was smiling warmly at you without giving the impression that it cost him something to do it.
‘No, keep me company. If you leave it’ll really look like I have a drinking problem.’
As he ordered himself another beer and a lemonade for you, you studied his profile. He was younger than Joel, either in his late 30s or early 40s – it was hard to tell because the apocalypse tended to age a person – and you observed that he had deep lines around his eyes from when he smiled. He was clean-shaven, kept his hair short except for an unruly curly bit on the top that looked like it had a mind of its own. His nails were neatly trimmed. You didn’t know why that mattered to you, but for some reason it did. He was good looking, you realised. In a conventional kind of way. In the real world he would have done well for himself.
‘I’ve gotta say, I was kind of scared to talk to you,’ Jonah said, and you caught the way he was blushing even in the dim lights of the Bison.
‘Oh? Why’s that?’ you asked, and he grinned at you.
‘I mean, you’re the one up on that hill teachin’ all these kids to read, about history and stuff, how the world works.’
‘You intimidated by a smart woman?’ you asked, and his smile faltered, slightly.
‘Intimidated…’ he said, as if he was tasting the word for the first time. ‘Maybe a little. Maybe just kinda shy.’
You genuinely weren’t sure what to make of this revelation. You let it roll around in your head for a while to see if you could make sense of it.
‘You worried I’m going to correct your grammar?’ you asked, and you laughed a little to let him know you were kidding, mostly.
‘Just not used to being so outgunned,’ he said, and oh he was very fucking charming when he wanted to be, actually. You felt your own blush creep up your cheeks to match his.
--
He went in eventually, ate dinner at the table with Shauna while she prattled on about her day, but he was restless again by bedtime, the couch and the scratchy blankets not appealing even despite the long day.
‘You could always join me upstairs,’ Shauna said, and Joel exhaled long and slow.
‘Ain’t gonna do that, Shauna. Told you before.’
Shauna shrugged at him, climbing three steps before stopping and turning back to him.
‘We’ll see when it gets real cold, Miller,’ she said, and he wasn’t sure whether she meant it to sound so much like a threat.
He decided on a whiskey, just one, to ease his body into sleep. He had generally been sober, seeing as though he had no hope of pills nor inclination to raid the infirmary and take from the community that sheltered him and his girls, but he stared at the ceiling enough nights to know he didn’t have it in him now.
There was a chill in the air, he noticed, as he walked silently to the Bison. Shauna was right, it would get cold in the living room soon enough. He’d have to check to see if there were heavier blankets. Put in a special request to Gollum next time there was a patrol.
He felt a little better, having talked it out with Tommy. He’d been finding it hard to figure what was going on, why he was so mad all the time, why he was dreaming of her again. It made sense when he said it out loud. Felt like he’d lanced some kind of mental boil, maybe a little. Didn’t feel so tight in his chest. He hadn’t realised he’d been walking around with a fist clenched in his gut until this moment, when it had finally, and ever so slightly, eased its grip.
The Bison was quiet, only a handful of couples and groups left in the booths. He’d taken three steps when he heard your laugh, a sing-song little thing that he’d first heard twinkle out of you when Ellie was reciting some of her favourite jokes from that damn pun book. His body turned on instinct to the sound.
You had your hand on the arm of one of Gollum’s men, his new patrol partner. You were smiling so warm and pretty as he told you some stupid fuckin’ story that had you giggling, light radiating off your face. There were a couple of empty glasses between you, your cheeks rosy from the warmth of the booze in your blood.
You were happy and you were relaxed, he realised, and he hadn’t seen you like that in a long time. Not since Shauna. Not since he…just…not since him.
Joel realised the clenched fist in his gut had only lessened its grip so that it could wind up a punch, hard and radiating right up to his solar plexus. He looked away, shame burning hard on his cheeks.
He wanted to march over there, rip you off the barstool and throw you over his shoulder, spank you on your behind as he carried you back to your place and reminded you who you belonged to, who wanted you.
Wanted to wrestle the little patrolman prick to the ground, kick a boot into his side and make him spit blood for the simple crime of having tried to take you from him.
Wanted to run over there, pull you into his arms and beg for your forgiveness.
Wanted to run.
He turned, fast, on his heel, pushing the door open and hearing it swing back behind him with a crack. He was down the step and out onto the street too fast to find out if anyone was following him, couldn’t imagine that they would. He let his brain tease him for a second that you had seen him, that he’d hear your sweet soft voice callin’ for him out of the nighttime, your little siren song.
He wondered what he’d say to you. If he had the words to make it better, what those would be. He sighed, frustrated with himself, heading back to his house and to the couch and to the scratchy blanket.
So many nights on that thing, staring at the ceiling and practicing what he might say to you. Night after night and not a single sentence to show for it.
--
You heard the door slam, momentarily drawn from your conversation with Jonah to wonder if everything was OK. You waited for the room to stop spinning, realising you’d had way more than you’d intended. You felt warm and kind of slippery inside, and you couldn’t remember if it was a school night, but your skeleton had stopped trying to crawl its way out of your body, and that was good enough for now.
‘You wanna keeptha party goin’?’ Jonah asked, and you blinked at him, wondering for a second what he could possibly mean.
‘You mean go back to your place and have sex?’ you asked, because the alcohol was making you blunt, even for you. You watched as Jonah spluttered, choking a little on the glass of water Paulie had insisted you both have.
‘I mean…if you’re…’
‘No,’ you said, simply. Not angry, not sad, not anything really. Just, no. You didn’t feel like it, weren’t sure you’d enjoy it when you’d had this much to drink.
‘Can I walk y’home, at least?’ he asked, and you considered it.
‘You might be more drunk than me,’ you concluded, and Jonah, in turn, gave this some thought.
‘I’d say there’sapretty goo’ chance thassright,’ he said.
‘If anything I might have to walk you home,’ you said. You were smart when you were drunk, you thought. Maybe you should be drunk more often.
‘Can’t do that, I’d feel lessofaman,’ Jonah said.
You were standing now, and so was Jonah, although he appeared to be having more difficulty with it.
‘Y’know the way?’ you asked, and he looked puzzled for a moment.
‘I do,’ Paulie said, clear as a bell, from behind the bar. ‘I’m closing up now, I’ll take him home myself.’
You nodded at this development. Yes, good. That made perfect sense. Everything did, all of a sudden.
‘Well then, I bid you…umm…adieu,’ you finished, with a flourish. You also spoke French when you were drunk, apparently. You contained fucking multitudes.
Out on the street the cold sobered you, and you winced a little as the world came back into focus. You had liked it when everything was just a little soupy. It had felt uncomplicated with Jonah. It had felt…good.
You followed the tracks in frost up the street, not stopping to consider whose they might be. As you got to the corner of your street you noticed that they veered off to the left, towards Joel’s house. You wondered if his lights would be on, if he would be up reading in bed, or whittling on his porch. You considered how late it was, and that Shauna was in there with him now, and you felt your stomach turn sour. You turned, walked the untrodden path to your place.
--
In the morning, a little packet of two not-terribly-expired Tylenol and a bottle of water appeared on your doorstep. More hungover than you could ever remember being, you drank the water and the pills down without stopping to question it. You marvelled at how well Jonah could apparently handle his drink. You wondered why he didn’t knock, or want to come in, but then you looked down and realised you were still in your clothes from the night before, and it made a little more sense. Your mouth tasted like you’d deepthroated a urinal cake. You imagined. You might have still been a little drunk.
Joel stood on the corner, watching you appear at your door in a way that he hoped appeared less creepy than he felt. He hadn’t slept, not a wink, so was able to get down to the infirmary first thing.
It hadn’t been his intention, but he was relieved to see you were still in your clothes. It wasn’t like he was curious, but he supposed that meant you had gone home alone.
The sun in your eyes, you didn’t see him. You let the doorframe hold you up for a while, adjusting to the glare of the dawning Saturday. It was really kind of Jonah to get up this early to come care for you. When you were human again, you were definitely going to make it up to him.
Taglist:
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#joel miller#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfic#pedro pascal#joel miller smut#pedro pascal characters fanfiction#the last of us fanfiction#pedro pascal fic
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Male love interests + wren + leighton reacting to their S/O deepthroating them?
Contents: AMAB LIs, Leighton, and Wren (he/him); GN Reader (you/your); oral, deep throating, reader giving; a bit of throat fucking and vomit talk
Words: ~144 words each
Alex
Surprised! When you kneeled down in front of him, he’d thought he was getting a blow job, yeah, but not this.
Has been deep-throated before but, still, he didn’t know this was going to happen!
Not upset that it’s happening, but he can’t help himself, his hips bucking forward a little.
If you don’t stop him, he’s going to take it as permission to keep going, taking control of how fast he’s pumping into your throat.
Just as vocal as he normally is during sex, though he swears a bit more under his breath.
Likes if you gag, likes to make a mess of your face.
Won’t request you to deep-throat him, but won’t turn it down either. Ever surprise him with deep-throating and he’ll end up fucking your face unless you stop him.
Likes to cum on your face, on the ground, in your hand, on his stomach, in your mouth. Wherever, really.
Avery
You knew what Avery wanted, and he knew what he was doing.
Had you lay over the bed, head dangling off the edge.
Let him have all the control over how far and fast he fucks your throat, just what he adores.
Also another fan of gagging and making your face a mess. Might specifically request you put on makeup, mascara and lipstick, before you deep-throat him so he can ruin it.
Ready to tell you exactly what to do to make it feel better for him.
Lots of murmured praise when at low rage, things like “you’re taking my cock so well, sunshine.” Doesn’t try to press you into taking him too far too fast.
High rage Avery is less concerned with your comfort. Doesn’t particularly care if he’s too rough, as long as you don’t vomit on his cock. Snarled insults.
Likely to pull out and cum across your face.
Eden
RIP your throat, good god this man is hung.
Might actually let you have some control over how far he goes down your throat because he doesn’t want to rupture anything. He doesn’t want you in the hospital, after all.
Also, would not appreciate you vomiting on his dick.
A third one who likes to hear you gag on his cock and make a mess of your face. Loves pulling back to see your chin wet with drool.
You’ll have to use your hand as well, gripping the part of his shaft that you can’t fit in your throat and jerking him off in time to bobbing on his dick.
Always cums down the back of your throat. Would like the aesthetics of pulling back and spending himself across your face and chest but doesn’t like the cleanup.
Kylar
The fact that your head is between his legs already had Kylar excited. You don’t even have to take them into your mouth. You could just stay like that, letting your breath caress their cock and stroking their thighs and Kylar would be happy.
They’d also cum on your face if you keep it up, so don’t draw out the foreplay or you’re going to spoil it for yourself.
Squeaks when you take him into your throat, hips bucking forward on instinct. Apologizes when at low hysteria, letting you set the pace.
Might cum right away, honestly.
Kinda likes the sounds of your gagging but is also worried about hurting you. Doesn’t really like getting drool smeared on your face but does like ruined makeup if you wear it.
Conflicted on if he wants to cum in your throat or on your face. He wants his seed inside you but the marking aspect of his cum on your face excites him.
If you’re going to give him a blow job, he’s going to ask you to deep-throat him. Loves that you’re taking him so far into your body.
Leighton
Oh, he has so much to teach you
Coos as he strokes your cheek with his thumb, telling you to relax your throat and take him deeper.
Yet another who likes hearing you gag, though only when you’ve taken him down to his base. Also likes making a mess of you, making sure to leave his mark in a visible way.
Let's you set your own pace but always encourages you to go faster, take him deeper.
That is, unless you've been a brat lately. Then brace yourself, and you better not throw up on his dick.
Rather composed through it all, though he breathes heavier than normal.
Expects you to deep-throat every time you give him a blow job after a few ‘training’ sessions.
Robin
So, Robin isn’t completely naive. He just really didn’t know what to expect.
Nearly chokes the first time you take him down your throat.
Regardless of confidence levels, Robin always lets you dictate how things go when you're deep-throating him. That said, if you tell him to take the lead, he will. Still, he goes slowly.
More vocal than he usually is.
Not one to request you deep-throat him often, honestly.
Doesn’t like if you gag, often stopping to ask if you’re okay. Something about seeing your face a mess after deep-throating him does make him feel all fluttery, though.
Doesn’t mind where he cums, though somewhat prefers cumming down your throat.
Sydney
Pure
Oh my god, he didn’t actually know what deep-throating was.
He knew about blow jobs in a very loose sense.
Whines the first time he’s in your throat, hips twitching forward before he stops himself.
Desperately wants to cum in your throat. Feels like that's the only place he should ever cum, really.
Gets worried if you gag, not partial to making a mess.
Always lets you set the pace.
Corrupt
Is aware of what deep-throating is and asks if you wanna try it out.
Also whines the first time you take him in your throat, but he’s also laughing a little, excited.
Wants to cum everywhere: down your throat, across your face, on your chest, in your hand. As long as it’s on or in you.
Also gets worried if you gag, but likes the mess. Hopes he’s just as much of a mess as you with drool and cum on your chin.
Might lose himself and fuck your throat.
Whitney
Whitney is a big fan of blow jobs. He's made you deep-throat him before and he’ll do it again.
Doesn’t always want to be deep-throated, honestly.
But, when he does, you’ll find out when he’s got your knows mashed against his pubic bone and his cock lodged snuggly in your throat.
Might actually take the time to throat train you, a lazy day away from all his friends where you spend your time kneeling on a soft pillow between his legs while he smokes and he mutters about having your slutty throat trained properly.
Otherwise, he just, doesn’t give a fuck for your comfort. Likes hearing you gag, loves your face covered in drool and cum. Adores if you cry, especially if you wear makeup.
Just as loud and vulgar as always, with maybe the occasional ‘good slut’ murmured under his breath for only you to hear when at high love.
Wren
Wren knows what deep-throating is. He knows. The thing is, he already becomes something of a mess when given head. Deep throat him? Yeah, he’s gone.
Breathless laughter and little whines, cheeks dusted a light pink. Rarely gets like that and definitely not in front of his friends.
Likes the mess and the gagging, just so he knows he's not the only one affected by all this.
Usually lets you set your own pace but sometimes fucks into your throat without thinking.
Cums where you dictate but he prefers to paint your face. Again, likes making a mess of you, especially when he’s falling to pieces in your mouth like this.
Kisses you afterward.
#degrees of lewdity#alex the farmhand#avery the businessperson#eden the hunter#kylar the loner#leighton the headteacher#robin the orphan#sydney the faithful#sydney the fallen#whitney the bully#wren the smuggler
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