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eupheme · 2 months ago

Text

— in the soft light of morning

joel miller x f!reader

rated e - 1.7k

tags: soft and needy jackson!joel pov, possessive!joel, just the tip, piv, established relationship, light somno elements, thigh fucking, masturbation, come marking

a/n: one shot but can be read as a part of these fics

In the morning hours like this, the promise of spring slipping through the cracks of the curtains, it’s enough to almost make him forget.

Tucking away everything he’s done, forcing it back down his throat and locking it away.

Here, he’s just a man.

Joel wakes warm.

His eyes half-lidded, already alert. Ears pricked to the creak of the house, the old clock that ticks each early-morning second by.

Still not used to this.

Even as the years pass, he still wakes throughout the night. Muscles bunching and teeth bared against the tap-tapping of a bare branch against the roof. The high whistle of the wind, rattling glass.

The knot in his chest gradually easing - as it has been, lately. When he feels the way you’re tucked against his chest. Body curled against his, legs entwined.

It’s only then, does he breathe. Let every inch of his body sink back against the threadbare sheets. Tipping his nose until it can tuck against your hair, quietly inhaling. Soaking in the scent of you. Of home.

Holding, exhaling, as he tugs you back against him.

Needs to get up soon.

That internal alarm clock kicking in, from those days so long ago. Never had to get used to a routine until recently, but it’s like his mind never forgot.

Skipping over those years of taking what nature gave him. Rain and the sting of wind and too-warm summer days. Sweating through the single shirt he had on work detail, stuck between four walls at the QZ.

A much different kind of wall surrounds him now. Solid wood, built strong. In the morning hours like this, the promise of spring slipping through the cracks of the curtains, it’s enough to almost make him forget.

Tucking away everything he’s done, forcing it back down his throat and locking it away.

Here, he’s just a man.

Molding himself to your form. Slipping back before the grown-long hair flecked with silver. A moment’s ease from the aching joints and that pain he carries beneath his ribs. It’s never forgotten, never will be.

But with his eyes closed, he just - exists. Instinct and muscle memory moving his hips, a low groan as the morning-hard jut of his cock grinds against the soft curve of your ass.

The shiver that runs up your spine when his lips press against the base of your neck. A hand curling around, splaying flat across your stomach.

It still feels strange, not to rush.

Feels wrong, like he’s spent too much time waking with his hand wrapped around a knife. Like he doesn’t deserve this respite, the safety of the thick gate around Jackson and something that almost feels like a family.

There’s a throb in his chest. He erases it with the press of his mouth against your throat. Another rut of his hips, smearing your skin with his need and the remains of a dream that he’s sure was about you.

Your soft hum shoots straight down to his cock. Thighs parting until he can tuck the stiff length between them, his breath hot against your ear as he grinds himself against your slit.

A hand covers his, dragging it up. Cupping the curve of your breast with his calloused palm, encouraging him to squeeze.

The shift of your hips is slow and lazy. He’s being selfish - Joel was the one who agreed to meet Tommy early. Fix that leak in the mess hall before the storm blew in, not you.

But he can’t help it. Never could.

Once he got that taste of you, he was helpless - fingers itching to take what was his. To dent soft flesh as he pins you under him.

On top. Bent over - anything and everything he could get.

Gone already, when he feels the way he fits against your folds. Parting you, the head catching against your slick pussy. His fingers pinch at your nipples, as his teeth scrape against the curve where your neck meets shoulder.

“Baby.” You husk, voice thick with sleep. A little jolt of your hips as you try to match his pace, movements molasses-slow.

He grunts as he smears the dampness against your skin. Fingers drifting down to touch the tip of his cock that juts between your thighs, then up to rub at your clit.

Your moan pitches longer, lower. He fucks your thighs slowly, an arm shoved beneath your waist, holding you against him.

The other pressing and circling.

“I know,” He rasps, “Can’t help it, darlin’. Just needed to feel you.”

Content with this, until he’s not. Until it’s torture - this slow, slick slide. Warm and wet but not nearly enough, not when he knows how it feels to stuff you full of him.

It’s enough that he’s nudging you beneath him.

Leaving you blinking up at him, as your legs spread to make room. A hand wrapped around a heavy cock, the other curving at your hip to pin you against the bed.

“Just a little more, alright?” It rips from him.

Angling the tip to nudge at your opening. The slightest press before he eases back, blown-dark eyes dragging up to meet yours.

Watching for your moan. The little nod of your head, as your eyes snag on his mouth. Drifting down - across his chest, the whorls of hair and the curve of his stomach.

Snapping back up, as he sinks into you. His own caught on the little pinch of your brow. The gasp that loosens, as you stretch around him.

Shallow in the way he eases just the head inside. The slightest flex of his hips.

Doesn’t have a lot of time, but this is enough, too.

A taste of what he’ll give you, later. Unable to work you open the way he wants to - with three thick fingers and the flick of his tongue - enough for you to take every inch.

Knows you could. Knows you have - frantic fumbling on patrol, quick fucks in a house that stinks of rotten wood and mold. Dirt worked into the knees of your denim jeans, tell-tale scrapes against the floorboards.

But he’s slowed, in the years that have passed. Softened oh so slightly, at the edges. Given up some of his other vices, leaving him to crave others.

Crave this.

It’s enough that a rumble slips in his chest when he feels you clenching around the tip, as if reading his mind.

“Yes,” You breathe, a hand at your chest. The other drifting down - slipping over slick skin. Touching yourself as he did, as he matches the pace you set.

His hand sliding over his shaft. Two fingers and a thumb working - watching as your hips swivel, easing him just that little bit deeper.

Not too much. Still holding himself back. Just needs to feel your warmth around him. The heartbeat of your pulse and the way your knuckles brush against his.

Watching you work yourself higher and higher. Hushed and panting breath as he gives you something to clench around, as the wire inside winds tighter and tighter.

Groaning as your thighs spread wider, head tipping back. Eyes fixed on the way you take him, that slick slide that leaves his shaft glossy only for his fingers to pass over it a minute later.

Your soft exclamation becomes a babble, the hushed “oh my god” stringing together - fingers pressing harder.

Time has loosened his tongue as well, filth pouring from it like it used to - a lifetime ago.

“Come on, sweetheart.” His hips rock to meet yours, “Wanna feel you come on this cock.”

The whine that rips from you is near feral, sleep long forgotten. Your body pulling tight as he thumbs you open, holding himself still inside you.

“Need this, don’t you?”

As if he doesn’t. His heart thundering as he watches as you fall apart - the pulsing flutter of your cunt as your knees close around his hips. A hand scraping down to wrap around the one at your waist, nails digging into his skin.

The sharp sting only has him moving - drawing out the waves of pleasure. A rough noise at the way you drip now, each plunge loud and slick, in the quiet room.

He should be careful. Shouldn’t chase this feeling, the urge to sink his teeth into your shoulder and bury himself deep inside you.

Something loosened, seeing Tommy hold that little bundle. Cracking open, when it was passed to him, held in arms that still cradled instinctually.

An exhaled breath. A silent stirring.

A fantasy.

One he rips himself out of now, as his eyes find yours. Dragging across your face - the way they darken for him as you come down from your high. Soaking in his bare skin. The curls across his forehead - loosened from your fingers the night before. The need written so plainly across his face.

Looking at him like he’s yours, and maybe, if nothing else, that was enough.

More than he deserved. Everything he wanted.

There’s the pinch of teeth against your lower lip as you bite back the very thing he’s trying to resist. Eyes that roll shut, even though there’s so much of him left cradled in the wide palm of his hand.

A little nod, his name gasped out in a rush of breath. Pleading.

Permission to give in, to let himself get swept away in the building, rushing current.

He inches deeper, feeling you clench around him. A sound caught in his chest as his hips flex faster, the shallow thrusts turning sloppy.

Winding, building, breaking.

“Fuck-”

Joel yanks himself from your warmth, just as the pressure peaks. Throbbing as his fist works faster, smearing your slick across the tip. Pitching forward to spill against your stomach.

It arcs up towards your tits with his need, following the path his hand had taken. Painting your curves.

Too early in the morning for words, but he manages a heady moan - a semblance of something sweet as the sound stretches out, pleasure ricocheting through his system.

Relief flooding through, as he empties himself thoroughly against your skin.

Head dipping between his shoulders, as the tension eases. Cupping the heft of his sack, squeezing. Already missing your warmth.

Already greedy - his eyes flicking towards the space that’s empty without his cock. Thumb dragging through his mess, smearing his release against the swollen bud of your clit.

Your lips part with a huffed laugh - hand shooting out to wrap around his wrist.

“Joel.” You sigh. Almost an admonishment, if not for the way you push yourself up.

Sensitive. He knows.

Eyes closing as your lips pressing against his palm. The meat of his thumb, just before your tongue flicks across the pad. Leaning into the way your hand layers to cup his - fingers curling around ones stained with so much red.

And as the day begins, in the soft light of morning-

Joel finds himself smiling, too.

the trailer and new photos really kicked my ass into gear 💖 I’ve missed writing for him!!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #tlou smut

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stylesispunk · 2 months ago

Text

"The one that got away"

outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

summary: the one where you lose joel and must say goodbye.

wc: 4k>

warnings: extreme angst (shocking), mentions of blood, grief.

a/n: since i wasn't able to work on chapter ii of blind faith, here you have this. The trailer (when it got leaked) made me feel things. reblogs and comments are always appreciated.

dividers by @/enchantings-a

A soft, breathy laugh pulled you from sleep.

You stirred, the warmth of the blankets heavy around you, your body resisting to leave the beauty paradise of dreams. But then a rough palm smoothed over your arm, soft lips pressing against your temple, and you let out a slow, contented sigh, as if you had just found pleasure on a tiny action.

“You were whispering my name,” Joel murmured, his voice sounded rough, still thick with the morning sleep. Amusement laced on his words, his chest rumbling softly as he chuckled. “Should I be worried about it?”

Blinking awake, you turned onto your side, eyes adjusting to the grey light of the cold winter slipping through the curtains. He was already looking at you, that boyish smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, the one you had become use to look at, the one you always cherished.

“I was dreaming about you,” you admitted, your voice rasping slightly from sleep.

Joel hummed, pressing a lazy kiss to your cheek, then another to your jaw, as he always did every morning of the last 6 years, “Good things, I guess.”

You exhaled a quiet laugh, your fingers brushing the silver at his temples. “I always dream good things about you,” you murmured between his kisses, “but I love waking up to the real you better.”

Joel stilled for a fraction of a second, his forehead resting against your temple. His hand slid to your waist, holding you just a little closer, like he was trying to imprint this moment to memory. There was something in his eyes, something deep, serious, real.

A man who had never let himself love this way before. A man who had lost too much to believe he could ever deserve something like this. A man who never though he would have had a chance to love someone as much as he loved you.

That’s why he had let himself love you completely. He was devoted to you in body and soul.

“Damn right, you do,” he finally said, smirking as he stole another kiss, trying to mask the weight settled in his chest.

You had become his favorite person, his favorite sight to wake up to.

“I love you,” you whispered.

He kissed you again, slow and lingering, as if he didn’t want to let go, “Love you too, baby.”

The words never lost their meaning. They had never come easy for him, but for you, they always did.

But then the morning caught up to you both.

The sound of hooves outside. The faint voices of patrolmen gathering. Joel sighed, pulling away, but his hand lingered on your waist like he didn’t want to leave.

“I should get going,” he muttered.

You didn’t like it. He wasn’t even supposed to go today. He’d filled in at the last minute, and something about it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Still, you didn’t stop him. You just reached for his wrist, fingers tracing over the rough, scarred skin. “Be careful.”

The moment Joel pulled away, a weight settled deep in your chest, thick and unshakable, like something was pressing down on your ribs. You swallowed against it, willing the feeling away, but it stayed.

Something wasn’t right. It didn’t feel right.

You watched him sit at the edge of the bed, tugging on his boots with slow, movements. You he didn’t want to go, not really. You knew he didn’t want to go, but lately he had feeling he had been making strange choices. Volunteering for extra patrol shifts he didn’t need to take. Fixing up broken fences on the outskirts of Jackson, long past sundown. Riding out to check on the dam when it wasn’t his turn. It was as if he was trying to keep moving, to keep doing something—anything—to drown out the thoughts he wouldn’t say out loud.

You knew why. Ever since that fight with Ellie, he had been different.

He hadn’t said much about it, but he didn’t have to. You had heard enough through the walls of your home, Ellie’s voice, shaking with the hurt of his betrayal, and Joel’s, rough with the kind of pain only a father could know.

Silence had filled the house after that. She hadn’t spoken to him since. Not really.

At least not until last night. Ellie had come to your house and both of them talked. There was something, a flicker of hope on Joel’s eyes the moment he stood back inside the house. Like someone had given him a chance to feel things would be better. He would try to make them better.

After all, Joel had spent so long building something with her, who had softened for her, who had let himself become a father again and the weight of her absence felt like an open wound.

You had seen it in the way he carried himself. In the deepening lines on his face, the nights he sat on the couch, staring at the front door like he was waiting for her to walk in and forgive him. In the way he pulled you closer at night, held you longer, kissed you slower, like he was terrified that if he let go, he’d lose you too.

You tried to remind him, over and over, that he wasn’t alone. That you were here. That you loved him despite all the choices he had made.

But it didn’t stop him from throwing himself into things that didn’t make sense, like taking a patrol shift at the last minute.

You wanted to believe it was just his way of coping. That he would come back, tired but safe, like he always did. That he would walk through the front door, set his rifle against the wall, and pull you into him like he needed to feel something real again.

But the feeling in your chest told you otherwise.

Still, you didn’t say anything as he reached for the doorknob. You just watched him, memorizing the way he looked in the early morning light. The way his shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. The way his hair fell, a little messy from sleep. The way he turned back at the last second, as if he knew you were still watching.

His gaze softened, and he took one step back toward you, leaning in to kiss you, slow, familiar, warm.

“I love you,” he murmured against your lips.

You exhaled. “I love you too.”

The words left your mouth easily, instinctively. The way they always did. But this time, they felt heavier, like they were holding something bigger than just love.

Maybe he felt it too, because when he pulled away, he hesitated.

Only for a second. Joel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll be back before sundown.”

It wasn’t a promise. It never was.

You nodded anyway. “Be careful.”

He gave you one last look before stepping out the door.

And as it shut behind him, the weight in your chest didn’t leave.

It only grew.

The fire crackled softly in the quiet night, sending flickers of warm light dancing over Joel’s face. The air smelled like damp earth and wood smoke, and somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. Ellie was curled up in her sleeping bag, her soft breaths steady and even, lost in a sleep neither you nor Joel had the luxury of most nights.

You sat beside him, your knees nearly touching as you both nursed the last bits of coffee he had brewed over the fire. It was bitter, but warm. Comforting.

Joel had been quieter than usual that night.

“Something on your mind?” you asked, voice hushed so as not to wake Ellie.

He glanced at you, then back at the fire. “Not really.”

You hummed, not convinced. “You are though”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Okay, I’ll leave you with it” you continued.

Joel sighed, shifting to lean his forearms on his knees. “I hope so.”

It was the most honest thing he had said all day.

You watched the flames lick at the dry wood, letting his words settle between you. This journey had been wearing him down. You could see it in the lines on his face.

Maybe he was.

“I think about my family.” you admitted.

Joel glanced at you again, something softer in his gaze now. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Not even the big memories, just… little things. Like the way my dad used to hum while he cooked. Or how my mom always burned the toast in the morning” You smiled faintly. “Stupid stuff.”

Joel was quiet for a long moment. Then he spoke, voice lower than before. “It isn’t stupid.”

You turned to look at him, and your heart ached a little at what you saw. The man who had spent so long keeping people at arm’s length, guarding himself with gruff words and cold distance, was letting you in—just a little.

Something about it made your chest tighten.

Joel held your gaze for a beat longer than he usually would.

Then, before you could think too much about it, before either of you could break whatever this was, he reached up, his rough, calloused fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. The touch was so gentle, so unlike the hardened man you had come to know.

Your breath hitched.

“Joel—”

And then he kissed you.

Slowly, he hesitated at first, like he wasn’t sure he had the right. But when you didn’t pull away—when you melted into him, letting your hand rest against his chest—he deepened it. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, but they fit against yours like they had always been meant to.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. His eyes were still closed, his breath warm against your lips.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you murmured, even though you didn’t mean it.

Joel exhaled a quiet laugh. “Yeah. But I wanted to. For a while, really.”

You swallowed. “Me too.”

Neither of you said anything else after that.

You just sat there, the fire crackling between you, while the weight of the world felt just a little lighter for once.

You had become each other everything ever since.

Back then, you hadn’t known what the world had in store for you both. You hadn’t known that the man who had kissed you under the flickering light of a campfire would become your home, your heart, the one thing you couldn’t live without.

And now, five years later, that same man had kissed you goodbye in the early morning light, promised to be back before sundown, and left you with a weight in your chest that refused to go away.

You stood, wrapping your arms around yourself, as if that would shake the feeling, but it stayed.

Something wasn’t right.

You went through the motions of the day—feeding the animals, checking in at the dining hall, helping with repairs on the greenhouse—but it all felt distant, like you were moving through water. People spoke to you, and you answered, but your mind was somewhere else.

With him. With Joel.

By the time the sun started sinking below the horizon, a cold knot of dread had settled in your stomach.

Joel wasn’t back.

You paced near the gates, arms crossed tightly over your chest. You told yourself he was fine, that patrols ran late all the time, that he would walk through that gate any second, grumbling about how he was too damn old for this shit.

But as the minutes stretched into an hour, and the other men started trickling in—without him—the weight in your chest grew heavier.

Something was wrong.

The moment you saw Tommy and Ellie passing through the gates, you knew.

The weight in your chest turned to ice, spreading through your veins, numbing you before the truth could even reach your ears.

Tommy’s face was grim, his jaw tight, his usual steady presence shaken. His hands were covered in dried blood. Not his.

Ellie looked worse. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face pale beneath the dirt smudged along her cheek, adorned by purple bruises. She was stiff, walking like each step was too much, like if she let herself stop moving, she might collapse.

They were alone. Joel wasn’t with them.

Your breath hitched. The world around you blurred, the sounds of Jackson—chatter, hooves, the clang of metal—fading into nothing. All you could hear was the pounding of your own heartbeat.

No.

No, no, no.

Tommy stopped a few feet in front of you, and for the first time in all the years you had known him, he couldn’t meet your eyes.

Ellie, though—Ellie did. And in them, you saw the truth before either of them had the chance to say it.

Joel was gone.

Your knees nearly buckled, but you forced yourself to stay standing.

“What—” Your voice cracked. “Where is he?”

Tommy inhaled sharply, ran a bloody hand down his face. He was struggling to find the words.

Ellie’s lips parted, like she wanted to say something, as if she wanted apologize for what she was about to say but nothing came. Her whole body trembled, and her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths.

She was waiting for you to say it. For you to ask the one question you weren’t sure you were strong enough to hear the answer to.

But you already knew. Still, the words clawed out of your throat, raw and broken.

“Is he—?”

Tommy swallowed thickly and Ellie squeezed her eyes shut.

And your whole world shattered with those actions.

The bed was cold when you woke. For a moment, disoriented and lost in the haze of sleep, you reached out, searching for warmth, for him. Your fingers skimmed over empty sheets, and confusion settled in your chest like a fog.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. Then you turned your head. And you knew.

News coming back like an ice bucket falling over you.

The hours before came crashing back—the blood on Tommy’s hands, the hollow look in Ellie’s eyes, the weight of his absence innating fire on your heart, threatening to crush you.

He was gone. Joel was gone.

The sob tore out of you before you could stop it, raw and broken, shaking through your entire body. You curled in on yourself, pressing your hands to your face as if that could muffle the sound, as if that could stop the pain from swallowing you whole.

But it was too late. Footsteps. A door opening.

Maria's voice, soft but urgent. "Hey, hey—"

Then Ellie.

You felt her before you saw her, hesitating in the doorway, breath uneven. You knew she was hurting, too, but all you could see was the space where he should be. The bed that was too big without him. The emptiness.

Your grief turned sharp, boiling into something else, angry and fury.

Ellie had been with him. Ellie had come back, but he hadn’t.

And suddenly, you were screaming.

"Where is he?!"

Maria tried to reach for you, but you shoved her away.

"Where is he?! I need to see him!"

Ellie flinched. Her silence was an answer in itself.

"No," you choked out, shaking your head, refusing it, rejecting it. "No, he—he's out there, he—he wouldn't just—"

But your voice broke before you could finish.

Ellie's face crumpled. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Sorry wasn't enough. Sorry wouldn't bring him back.

The room blurred, the walls closing in, your breath coming in gasps, but the one thing you knew, the one thing you couldn't ignore, was this—

“You hurt him” you told Ellie, you knew those words would kill her but you still told them because you wanted to make the pain go away because you didn’t know how to live in a world without him.

Ellie flinched like you’d struck her. Her breath hitched, her already red-rimmed eyes widening, and for a split second, she looked like she might shatter right there in front of you.

But you didn’t care.

You wanted her to feel it. The same gut-wrenching, all-consuming pain that was eating you alive. You wanted to rip it from your chest and shove it into hers, make her carry it, make her understand what it had been taken from you.

Because the truth was, she had hurt him.

You’d seen it in the way he carried himself, in the haunted look in his eyes every time she walked past him like he was nothing. He had given everything for her, died for her in every way but the physical—until now.

And she hadn’t forgiven him. And now, she never would.

Ellie’s mouth opened, then closed. She shook her head, taking an unsteady step back. “I—” She swallowed thickly, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t—”

But you didn’t let her finish.

“You did,” you seethed, your chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. "He loved you more than anything, Ellie. And you both broke each other’s hearts.”

Ellie sucked in a sharp breath like she’d been stabbed.

Maria reached for you again, her grip firm on your shoulder, trying to ground you. “Enough,” she murmured. “That’s enough.”

But it wasn’t. It would never be enough.

Ellie stood there, her body trembling, her face twisted with sorrow and guilt. She was broken in a way you didn’t know how to fix, but right now, you didn’t care. The anger that had built up inside you seemed to melt into something else—something softer, more fragile. The fury drained away, leaving only a hollow emptiness that ached.

You stepped toward her, your breath ragged, hands shaking as you reached for her.

For a long moment, Ellie didn’t move. She just stared at you, eyes filled with pain, but then, slowly, she let herself collapse into your arms.

The two of you stood there, clinging to each other, silent but for the quiet sobs that wracked your bodies. The pain was raw, unbearable, but somehow, holding Ellie in that moment made the crushing weight of your grief feel a little more bearable.

You kissed her hair, your lips trembling as you whispered, “I need to see him, Ellie. Please… take me to him.”

Ellie’s arms tightened around you, and for a moment, you thought she might pull away, refuse. But she didn’t. She just buried her face in your chest, her breath uneven, the tears soaking through your shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and you felt the sincerity in her voice, the regret. But it was too late for apologies.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, and then, with a shaky breath, Ellie finally pulled back, looking up at you. Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes swollen and red, but there was something softer there now, something vulnerable.

“I’ll take you to him,” she said quietly. “But... it won’t bring him back.” Her voice cracked as she spoke the words.

You nodded, wiping your own tears, your heart pounding in your chest. She was right—it wouldn’t bring him back. But you needed to see him. You needed to feel him, even if it was just for one last moment.

Ellie took a deep breath, then nodded, turning toward the door. “Come on,” she said softly, her voice raw but determined.

You followed her out, feeling the weight of every step, each one pulling you further away from the life you had known, but also one step closer to what you had lost.

As you and Ellie made your way toward the small area behind the main house, the world seemed to grow quieter with every step. Your mind was a blur, a chaotic mess of fragmented thoughts, but the one thing that remained clear was the need to get to Joel, to see him. To make sure he was real, that you hadn't imagined all of this—that the man you loved wasn’t really gone.

Ellie stayed by your side, her hand occasionally brushing against yours, but you were too consumed to notice. The air felt thick with tension as you reached the clearing, and there, standing beside Joel's body, was Tommy.

He was kneeling on the ground, his hands trembling as he gently wiped away the dried blood from Joel’s face. The sight of him—Joel, unmoving, cold—tore at something deep inside you. Your chest tightened, your legs almost giving out beneath you as the weight of it settled in.

Tommy's back was to you, but when he heard your footsteps, he froze. His shoulders shook with a quiet sob, and for a moment, you thought he might not turn around at all. But then he did, and the look on his face... It was like a mirror of the agony you felt, raw and unfiltered.

"He's gone," Tommy's voice cracked, but he didn't need to say the words. You already knew. You had known the moment you had seen Ellie’s face, the moment you had heard the silence in the house. It seemed like you both needed to face the truth.

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you forced them back, holding yourself together. "Tommy," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. "Can I… can I do it? Can I... clean him?"

Tommy looked at you, his eyes swollen, bloodshot, and broken. He hesitated for a long moment, as if he couldn’t bear to hand that responsibility over to you. But then he nodded slowly, his gaze falling to the blood-stained cloth in his hands.

"Yeah," he said, his voice hoarse. "He loved you. He’d want you to do it."

With a shaking hand, Tommy placed the rag in your palm. It felt foreign, unnatural—like you didn’t deserve to touch him this way, to be the one cleaning him up when you had never even gotten to say goodbye. But you did. You knelt beside him, the dirt under your knees digging into your skin, but you didn’t care. Not now.

The first stroke of the cloth against his skin felt wrong, felt like a sin. The blood had dried, dark and thick, clinging to his skin like it didn’t want to let him go. You carefully wiped it away, your hands trembling with every movement, each one another painful reminder that this was real. He was gone. The man you had loved, the man who had held you, kissed you, lived with you, was gone.

You couldn’t stop the tears. They fell, hot and fast, mixing with the blood on his face, and all you could do was whisper his name over and over.

"Joel... Joel, please..." But there was no answer.

You cleaned him, as carefully as you could, your fingers gentle against his skin, wishing you could bring him back. Wishing you could do anything—anything at all—to make this all go away.

But nothing worked.

When you were done, your hands were covered in blood. You felt numb, empty. There was no relief, no closure in what you had done. It hadn’t brought him back. He was still gone.

Tommy was still beside you, watching, his face contorted with grief. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. His presence was enough.

You leaned over Joel, pressing your forehead against his, as if by doing so, you could feel the last remnants of him. The weight of your loss felt unbearable, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You had to say something. Anything.

“I want you to know, that it doesn’t matter you broke your promise.” You paused, taking a shaky breath, your chest tight with the weight of the truth, with the weight of saying goodbye. “I... I’m angry, Joel. I’m angry because we didn’t get enough time.” Your hand shook as it rested on his chest, your fingers brushing over the faint rise and fall of his breathless body. “You gave me the best five years of my life with you”

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to steady your breath, trying to find the strength to say the words that had been haunting you ever since you found out he was gone. Every part of you screamed to turn back, to beg for him to wake up, but you knew. Deep down, you knew this was the final goodbye.

You placed your hand gently over his heart, as though you could still feel him there, still feel the rhythm of the man you loved.

“Have a good journey, my love,” you whispered, voice barely audible, but filled with every ounce of love, sorrow, and regret you could muster.

You kissed him once more, softly, as if the kiss could carry the words, you couldn’t speak aloud, the message that even in death, he had a piece of you, just as you had a piece of him.

"Thank you... for everything," you added, your voice trembling. "I’ll never forget you. I will never stop loving you, even if you're not here."

Your tears fell freely now, streaming down your face as you slowly pulled back. It felt like a physical ache, this separation, but you knew it was something you had to do, for both of you.

Tommy was still there, his face an unreadable mask of grief, but his eyes held something else—something softer. He nodded at you, a silent acknowledgment of what you had said, of the love you had for Joel. Without a word, he stepped forward, putting a hand on your shoulder as you looked down at the man you had loved so deeply.

“Have a good rest, my beautiful old man.”

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writingwisterias · 2 months ago

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Pretty boy

RE6! Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Fem!Reader Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Dad-bod Leon, Sub leon, Hand Jobs, Overstimulation, Soft-dom Reader, Praise Kink, Body issues, insercurites, Leon needs a hug, Just a thought I can't get out of my head sorry it's shit! It's just a quick drabble lol - we will not discuss how long this has been in my head though. Forgive me but the next one will be breeding kink I promise!

These moments were always your favorite, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest. Your fingers tracing along the scars that littered his torso. Each one holding a memory of what he went through. The house was calm finally, the children were asleep long ago. Tucked away safely behind the doors. He loved this, the simplicity of it. Never fully thinking he deserved it, there were better people than him in the world. People that should still be here today, to experience their own moments of softness.

His days of service were far and few between nowadays, the children needed him more. You needed him more. He finally had something that gave him a reason to fight extra hard for time off. However now he faced a range of new challenges, some he would have never thought would effect him so badly. His lack of service had began affect his physical appearance, a light layer of fat surrounding his muscles making his once hardened physic softer. You didn't care, not at all. Why would you?

He was still the same man you fell in love with. The same person that buried himself deep inside of you. Giving you parts of him to nurture and grow into the children you can never imagine living without. Infact you loved the extra softness, the way you only saw the muscle that lay beneath when he lifted your children in the air or fixed his bike up in the garage. It was all worth it, giving him the slice of happiness he needed.

It didn't stop the longing looks in the mirror or the way he stared a little longer at old photos. The conversation tonight, the same one you would have every night, drifted into the topic of each other's insecurities. It wasn't a shock to you when he admitted he felt this way, why would it be?

Instead after his admittance, you both now sat in front of the floor length mirror. His back laid against your chest. Your hands spread on each of this thighs as you looked over his shoulder at his poor needy cock standing tall.

Pre cum decorated it, giving it a slight shine as it eagerly leaked out for you. The mushroomed tip glow red with it's need. Leon whimpered as you nipped at his neck, watching each mark that bloomed as you moved along his shoulder. It was intense watching himself falter like this but you told him to. Instructed him to watch how pretty he looked when he came undone so of course - he didn't dare look away.

"So pretty" you whispered in his ear, your teeth gently tugging at the lobe before you moved to suck just behind it. His sweet spot.

You chuckled as his hips thrusted in the air. His poor cock twitching and thumping against that small belly of his. His head leant back against your shoulder, his chest heaved with unspoken whines. "Can't you see how much I love this?" You whispered as your fingers finally ran over the slit in his cock; collecting the few droplets to spread along his length. His whimpers were cute when he was like this, reminding you of his younger years when you would spend time treating him after a hard mission. Always ready to give him the praise and relief he needed. "Please-" he begged quietly, the words barely audible if it weren't for him sat against you like this.

Your hand worked slowly, too slowly for what he needed right now. His body heated, his fingers gripping at the ground as you continued to squeeze his cock gently. He watched his tip disappear behind your hands before reappearing with new beads of pre cum. It was memorizing your actions, each pump you gave him faster than the last as you milked him.

Leon's cheeks flushed a pretty colour of pink, his whines now turning into breathless moans and small gasps. He watched every movement you made in the mirror, every subtle thrust of his own hips in desperation to finish. The heels of his feet digging firmly in the rug beneath you. "I love you Leon. I love you for everything you do and have done for this family" you spoke to him. Your eye met his as spoke, staring at him through the reflection making sure every word was taken in.

"So proud of you for being here today, being strong enough to carry the family. To fight for your chance to relax"

Each praise went straight to his cock. It twitched eagerly in your hands. Not soft in the slightest expect for the vein that ran along the length; now puffy and prominent waiting for his permission to cum. It didn't take long until the constant praise and kisses along his scarred skin that he felt his balls tighten. His thighs clench until finally he let go.

You felt him go limp against you with one finale groan. The vein now throbbing angrily beneath your fingers tips as his cum shot out in streams. You both watched as it decorated his small stomach. The translucent substance getting caught in the whips of hair that decorated the area. The final spurts spilling over the grip you still hand on him.

Your clean hand ran your fingers through the blonde strands, kissing his temple as he calmed down. " I love you" he whispered, his head finally resting backwards. The tension finally leaving his brows as his eyes fluttered shut.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leonkennedy #resident evil leon #leon resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x you

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arachine · 2 years ago

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something about non-traditional family dynamics with gojo just speaks to me…

includes :: co-parent!gojo, rich boy!gojo, mentions of pregnancy + leaky nips hehe

note :: this is just pure brainrot, started thinking about him in class today and i needed to get this out of my brain!

link to part two + link to part three

i’d like to think that after he knocks you up in college, the two of you take it upon yourselves to get married because, “‘it’s the right thing to do.’” and so, for a few years, you do the whole marriage thing—the family thing.

no longer were you the twenty-something-year-old who partied hard every weekend, and studied until the break of dawn every school night.

no, now you were the twenty-something-year-old who fixed bottles at odd hours in the night, whose nipples leaked through all her favorite tops, who had a husband that paid a mortgage and kissed her goodbye before he went off to work for the company passed down to him.

and after some time, things finally start to fall into place—your little family.

the baby gets bigger. you go through the terrible twos, of course, and the teenage-threes, but once she hits five, it’s suddenly pie in the sky—and god, it feels like you can finally start to see a light at the end of the tunnel.

so, you and gojo have one more. one more girl that’s precious, and smart, and quick-tongued, and every bit of her dad as she is you.

things are touch and go for awhile, but for the most part it’s...easy, smooth. that is, until married life starts to feel like a task, and your husband starts to feel like your roommate instead of your companion.

conversations becomes brief, the bed becomes colder, morning kisses are exchanged for nods of acknowledgement, and you can’t even remember the last time either of you desired each other…

one day though, the two of you come to a mutual decision to separate. you spend the night talking, and talking, and talking. you talk about things. memories—before and after. you even talk about your mis-comings, and if things could’ve gone differently had either of you did ‘this, this, and that’.

when you tell the girls, you’re half expecting them to be upset, but all they can think about is how, “‘they’ll get twice the amount of gifts during holidays’” — at least, according to your oldest who heard that from a kid in her class with separated parents.

a few years pass after your separation and now the both of you have come to a place where you can just be...friends. it was weird, at first—dropping your kids off to their 'other home'. walking them up to the grandiose sky-rise apartment building that's always bustling with people who've got places to be, and working class people to probably torture—but that's neither here, nor there.

gojo's waiting in the lobby. he's leaned up against the side of the elevator, dressed down in all black athleisure, and he's sporting that damn cheesy grin that you find yourself missing lately.

"hey girls," he greets, lowering down to his haunches and opening his arms for hugs, "oof—big hugs, almost knocked me over! missed me that much, huh?"

while the three of them get their hugs out of the way, you stand there idly watching, rocking back and forth on the balls of your heels.

"hey," he finally acknowledges you, "how was the drive? they got everything they need?"

"it was fine, and yep! they insisted on packing their own bags like big girls but i checked them," you say, before whispering, "and then repacked them."

he laughs at that, and then grabs their suitcases.

"but yeah, i should get going before traffic hits. if you need anything, let me know, and if you need anything," you drop down to your knees, "mommy's only a call away, okay?"

the two of them nod, "okay, mommy!"

"good...now come on, hugs and kisses!" you pull them in, getting enough kisses for two-weeks time. eventually, you pull away—albit, reluctantly, and wave your goodbyes.

the three of them watch you walk away, and when you're finally out of ear-shot, gojo utters a 'miss that'.

"miss what, daddy?"

"uh-huh," he clears his throat, "daddy didn't say anything..."

"liar, you miss mommy. don't you?" the youngest grins, all cheeky and knowing. gojo rolls his eyes—not out of annoyance, but because of how much they reminded him of himself. much like he, nothing ever got past those two...and he doesn't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. right now, though? it's gonna be a good thing because he needs to know if-

"does mommy have a new boyfriend?"

"why?" the oldest answers, squinting her eyes in suspicion.

"jeez kid, just answer the question."

she ponders for a second, then extends her hand out, opening and closing it in a fast manner. gojo pouts, then takes out his wallet to put a five dollar bill on it.

she doesn't budge.

"oh, c'mon! i'm your father!" he pouts, but acquiesces and pulls out another five, "fine, you little brat."

with a smile on her face, she stuffs the bills in her front pocket and nods her head.

"wha-really?" he gasps, "is he better looking than me? how old is he? is he younger than daddy? is he richer than daddy? what's he do for work?"

ignoring his questions, she only extends her hand out again.

"i'm not giving you any more money, so we can settle this with some ice cream or nothing."

she ponders for a second time before nodding. "ice cream works for me."

"you little...c'mon get on the elevator."

20 floors in and the questions never stop coming.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk imagines

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satanslittlefucker · 3 months ago

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Bestfriend!Simon who always listens to anything you've got to say. Be it nonsensical, useless ramblings or the events of the day or the same complaint a thousandth time in the span of the last two hours, he will listen to it regardless. And with all the attention in the world as well, not just dismissively or for the sake of it.

Bestfriend!Simon who never disregards your thoughts, even the dumbest ones. You'd randomly tell him something utterly stupid like Did you know Si, reindeer like to eat bananas. Or like Do pesky insects also have wives and children wondering where they fucked off to? Or like We're practically giants to the little animals. Like we might just be their version of giraffes and elephants. And he'd be staring at you with the utmost focus, nodding with a Tha's fascinating, love. Just ignore the hearts and sparkles in his big brown puppy eyes, yeah? Easy task, given that you're fucking oblivious to them, assuming that the tidbit was just that interesting to him.

Bestfriend! Simon who'll randomly spout out something you'd said as a throwaway way back when and now you're confused why that sounds so familiar, forgetting that he's literally quoting you, what with your fish brain memory. You only remember it late in the night lying in bed while having late night life reevaluating 3 am thoughts. Feeling all warm and cosy inside when you finally realize.

Bestfriend!Simon who'll always try to resolve whatever's troubling you in record time without you even knowing half the time. The tap in your bathroom's leaking? Ten minutes and it's fixed. Your back's aching? Lie down, love, he's got magic hands. The landlord's being a dick? Not anymore, she isn't. That one coworker who just won't take the hint? Such a relief he's getting transferred, Si. Don't ask him how he knows which backwater branch. He just gave a lucky guess. That one fucker who tried to grope a feel in the nightclub? Vanished off the face of the earth. And no, Simon dunno know nothin bout it, love. He'd simply tossed the guy out into the back alley before returning to you. He's learnt some dirty tricks during his time in the military, as one does.

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kitkat13001 · 1 month ago

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starting over ᖴOᖇ ᗪᑌᗰᗰIEᔕ

✎ᝰ a scrapbook of memories from yours and tomura’s new life, from ex-villains to totally normal citizens

“i don’t think i’ve ever had this much stuff in my life,” tomura remarks, staring at the pile of boxes sitting in the living room. a living room. the last time he had a proper living room was probably in his childhood home.

you huff, blowing a strand of hair out of your face as you drop a box onto the couch. joints pop in your back when you straighten, stretching your arms above your head with a wince.

“your gaming crap probably takes up half of it,” you reply, cracking a grin when he fixes you with a glare.

“it’s not crap.”

“whatever,” you snicker.

you think the league has stayed in hideouts nicer than this apartment. the roof leaks, the back door doesn’t lock, and your neighbors are a nightmare. the wallpaper is stained and peeling in places, you constantly have to guess whether you’ll have water or not, and when you had gone to unlock the front door, you nearly dislocated your shoulder trying to dislodge the key.

still, it’s yours. a place just for you and tomura, where you don’t have to be constantly looking over your shoulders wracked with paranoia. you were lucky to get a place at all, given your hasty departure from japan after the war. giran's american contacts had been rather useful there. it may not be a big city penthouse, but it’s yours.

and besides, just the view of the waterfront just a little ways outside makes it all seem worth it. you lean against the spindly balcony railing, pressed up against tomura in the cramped space as the two of you gaze out at the ocean. the world seems so much bigger like this, the waves stretching out endlessly into the horizon. so much room for possibility…

“say cheese!”

tomura gets no warning other than your evil giggle before he’s awoken by the bright flash of the camera you’d shoved in his face first thing in the morning.

he yells out, burying his face back in the covers to hide from the excessive light. you hear his grouchy whine, muffled beneath the fabric. “fuck was that for?”

“first morning in the house,” you reply, climbing back atop the bed to sit beside the tomura-shaped lump of blankets. you prod his shoulder, shaking out the polaroid while you hand him the camera with a smile. “now take mine.”

his face appears from the blanket, scowling in disbelief at you. he takes the camera, though, and snaps a quick picture of you before tossing it back and flopping back over to sleep some more.

those two matching polaroids are the first decorations you put up on your dingy little fridge.

“bill, mortgage, ‘nother bill…jury duty? what the fuck?”

tomura stares in bewilderment at the various papers strewn about the chipped kitchen table. “how did we get jury duty? we haven’t been here even a month!”

“are we even legal citizens…?” you wonder, taking a seat beside him. the chair creaks the second you put any weight on it.

“i think villainy was easier than this. sure as hell was less expensive too,” he grumbles.

“yeah,” you agree, with a nervous laugh. “uh, tomu?”

“yeah?”

“would now be a bad time to mention the puppy i brought home?”

“the WHAT?!”

“all normal people have dogs! i was trying to help our cover!!”

the puppy wanders out of you room as if on cue, trotting on chubby legs all the way up to tomura. it nudges his leg with its big head and whining.

“i passed the shelter on my way home from work and i just wanted to see but then she was looking at me with those giant eyes and i couldn’t just leave her and the lady at the counter said she was abandoned in a park and how sad is that! so i brought her home. please please please can we keep her?”

you wait breathlessly for his answer, leg jittering, and watch the way his eyes go big and then soften when he leans down to scratch the puppy behind the ears.

“yeah,” he whispers, more to the dog than to you. “we can keep her.”

you know something is wrong when you enter the apartment and hachi is barking. she’s normally rather quiet, aside from the goofy yips she makes when you play with her or the occasional woof during a seagull chase.

she comes running out of the kitchen when you dislodge the key from the lock, and that’s when you see the smoke.

“what the hell—”

you’re about to dash in when tomura comes bustling out, looking like a mess. strands of wispy white hair that managed to escape his ponytail hang in his flushed face, his hoodie is rolled up to his forearms (which are both covered in various sauce stains), and there’s a soot smudge on his cheek.

“don’t go in there!” he instructs, breathless and blocking the doorway with his body.

you stare at him, dumbstruck. “tomura, is something on fire?!”

“not anymore,” he replies. you both jump when a loud metal clanging echoes, what sounds like a bunch of pots and pans toppling over.

there’s banging on the far side of the wall (probably your godawful neighbors) and you and tomura both yell “fuck off!” in unison.

when your gazes meet again you both burst out laughing (well, you’re laughing. tomura snorts and then watches you giggle with a fond little smile).

“i know i said i’d make dinner tonight, but i fucked up your favorite,” tomura admits, scowling at the nightmare you see peeking out of the kitchen. “sorry for the mess.”

you hum, coming forward to brush the soot smudge off his cheek. “that’s okay. i was gonna say i was craving pizza anyway.”

“god, i love you,” he whispers, trailing after you as you roll up your sleeves and head into the kitchen to face the unholy mess.

it’s some time in the middle of the night when tomura shakes you awake. you squint into the dark, feeling around until you find his hand.

“tomu…?”

“wake up,” he whispers softly, giving your hand a gentle tap. “c’mon, let’s go.”

your heart sinks for a brief second, memories of fleeing with the league rising to your muddled mind. “what happened? are we in trouble?”

his soft chuckle eases the fit of panic that had been rising in your chest. “no, not in trouble. just wanna get out of here for a little while. let’s go somewhere, yeah?”

you yawn, sitting up to lean against him. “mm, m’kay. where to?”

he leaves his hoodie in your lap, nudging his head against yours affectionately. “no idea. c’mon, get dressed. i’ll grab our stuff and meet you out front.”

tomura lets you sleep in the car, the hum of the engine and the quiet, staticky radio lulling you to sleep until the sun is rising in the sky. when you wake, the ocean is no longer is sight. you’re surrounded instead by miles of empty desert, the occasional cactus and — is that a tumbleweed?

“where are we?” you ask, sitting up in the passenger seat. you’ve never seen the sky in such vibrant reds and oranges, lit up by the rising sun.

“the middle of butt-fucking-nowhere,” he replies, squinting from the brightness of the sun. “we can pick up a map once we come across civilization again. figure out where we’re going before this car gives out.”

“good idea.”

‘civilization’ ends up being a tiny gas station where you pick up snacks, breakfast burritos the size of your heads, an unholy amount of energy drinks (mostly for tomura), and of course, the map.

you sit on the hood of the car while tomura leans against it, shading his face and grumbling about the sun.

“you were the one who drove us all the way out here,” you tell him, snorting to yourself as you study the map. you’re somewhere near nevada, apparently. your eyes find the little star at the bottom and your grin widens.

“oh, i know where we’re going.”

of all the things tomura thought he’d do in his life, getting married to you in vegas and having elvis officiate was not one of them. but here he is, at two in the morning in the city of lights downing a shot with you in the parking lot of a drive-thru chapel, officially a married man.

and he’s looking at you, laughing, with your hair half in your face and bright eyes and cheeks flushed just a little from the alcohol. there’s a lot tomura might have changed in his life if he had the chance. but not this. not you. and if he had the chance to do it all again? for you, he’d do anything.

★ -> smau + bonus lore !

you and tomura send the league a postcard from vegas that says “just married!” and receive a variety of bizarre “wedding gifts” back

your puppy’s name is a NANA reference and you end up naming the cat “nana” to match

tomura works from home (bc he’s antisocial and also more recognizable than you in the event anyone were to find out your identities) so he makes you lunch frequently

^ generally househusband material

having free time is weird for you guys now so you decide to take up a bunch of new hobbies together including but not limited to:

jigsaw puzzling, birdwatching, assembling lego sets, crochet, baking, and the list goes on

your mention this to your coworkers and they call you an old married couple….

you’re not technically allowed to have pets in the apartment so you’ve had to come up with some insanely elaborate shenanigans to hide hachi and nana around your landlord

dividers by @/aquazero and @/strangergraphics — this got away from me :) i hope this isn’t like,,,, ooc but wtvvv let me liveee 🫶🫶i really like the patchwork layout of it, tho i hope its not likeee off-putting or choppy </3 i missed writing for him. anyways much love from kitty !

#kitty.writes!#mha x reader #mha #bnha #mha fluff #shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki fluff #tomura x reader #mha tomura #bnha tomura #tomura fluff #shigaraki x reader fluff #tomura shigaraki fluff #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader

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radioactiverats · 4 months ago

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Mentor Starscream x seeker!reader (4/?)

Purposely getting yourself kidnapped by the Autobots so you can persuade Ratchet to teach you some first aid, as you're worried that Megatron's escalating violence against Starscream will one day leave him with injuries you don't know how to fix.

There's more Ratchet in the middle (because I love him as well. I want to hold both of them in my hands with gentol totche.)

Mashup of timelines as usual, but I def realized that when I imagine Starscream he's visually the G1 or IDW design, and when I imagine Ratchet it's TFP. I love MTMTE Ratchet but I'm not quite caught up yet haha.

Since you and Starscream were now sharing a berth, it was inevitable that he would find out about the nightmares. Every time you jerked awake, you would take great pains to quietly settle back into berth even if recharge eluded you. The reason was simple - you didn't want to bother Starscream with it. He gets very little recharge as is, and probably sees things every solar cycle that are ten times worse that what you're faced with.

Starscream doesn't comment, if he knows - another bot might have rushed to console you, but his brand of comfort was to apparently grant you the dignity of being vulnerable in private, especially since you were more or less chassis to chassis with each other in berth.

However, he finally can't hold back when you begin zoning out during training. "Earth to cadet, as the fleshlings say," Starscream snapped, waving a servo in front of your faceplate. You jerk awake, optics cycling before they zero in woozily on Starscream's faceplate. Pinched with irritation, but was that... concern?

You lightly smack your helm in hopes it'll get your processor back to optimum function. No such luck, but it was worth a try. "Sorry, sir."

He narrows his optics at you, taking in the exhausted slump of your frame. For a long moment, no one says anything.

Then, Starscream abruptly turns heel, his back to you. "Dismissed."

But - but you've been here for barely a joor, and - "Sir, please, it won't happen again-"

"And waste my time and yours?" Starscream says bluntly. You flinch, but he just presses on.

"You're in no condition to absorb the information I am giving you, which, if I may add, is exceedingly valuable to your success as a seeker. Recharge properly, and perhaps your processor will be able to comprehend simple instructions such as 'stay awake'." He sniffs, but glances over his shoulder at you - and his optics are gentler.

"We will try our luck again then."

Your first response is to sag with relief even as you watch him stride away, because he wasn't giving up on you. Your second response, however, is that of pure consternation.

The nightmares have gotten worse.

Ever since you had to personally patch Starscream up as he bled out on the floor of his habsuite, the nightmares have gotten so much worse. There are momentary flashes of hate in your processor for Megatron, but they are quickly tamped down by fear. Even your mind is not a safe place, after all, with Soundwave here.

The memory of Starscream, broken and battered at your feet, replays over and over. In some of your nightmares, he is exactly as you found him - gouges in his frame, ripped wires, leaking energon. But just as you thought you'd gotten used to the memory (he's not like that anymore. He's alive and well. He's not like that anymore.), your processor decided to play tricks of the worst kind on you. Offering all kinds of ways Starscream could be hurt, in full technicolour detail, optics shuttered and frame unnaturally still. Worst of all, you could only watch as your processor conjured injuries beyond your rudimentary expertise, that Starscream could very well succumb to because you didn't know how to save him.

That night, the image in your processor is so bad that you bolt upright with coolant already leaking from your optics. You swipe roughly at your faceplates as the memory continues to remain fresh in your mind, fighting to get your trembling frame under control.

You turn to look at the bot next to you, if only to reassure yourself that he's okay, assuming he would be in recharge - but to your surprise, a pair of glowing red optics meet your frantic gaze.

"Sir," You manage to garble out, through the layers of static distorting your vocalizer. "I'm sorry for waking you."

Starscream says nothing. His optics flick to the coolant that drips from your faceplate even as you try to assure him that you're fine, and suddenly, he opens his arms to you in wordless invitation.

"I- sir?"

It's not the first time you would have recharged in his arms. But... this? You hesitate, unsure whether this is too much to ask. Evidently, you've hesitated for too long, because Starscream wraps a servo around your wrist and pulls you gently but insistently to him.

"I'm here," He murmurs gruffly, in low, musical Vosian. And it makes coolant spring to your optics all over again, because ever since Megatron had taken charge, he'd quickly ensured that all his soldiers spoke only standard Cybertronian - a quick and brutal 'show' had made sure of that. You slip into recharge with the gentle lilt of Vosian in your audials, and for once, no more nightmares plague you. You're even more surprised to awaken not to an empty berth, but still pressed up against Starscream's warm chassis.

"Oh, good," Starscream had rasped, vocalizer not quite activated after recharge. "You're awake. There are some things I must see to, so I trust you will stay out of trouble in my absence."

You barely had time to even nod before he was gone. Checking your internal chronometer, you whistle quietly. Was it that late already? Had... had Starscream stayed on purpose, so you wouldn't panic upon seeing an empty berth?

You feel more recharged than you have in many solar cycles. However, your newfound energy and the warmth thrumming through your spark for your commander has only strengthened your determination to do something. Starscream might have kept the nightmares at bay last night, but you knew it wasn't sustainable. The only way you can bring some semblance of peace to yourself and him is if you can become confident in your abilities to repair him without external help.

Which is, admittedly, a lot easier said than done.

You knew you were about to do something really, really stupid.

The Decepticons had traded tales about an Autobot medic named Ratchet, before. The way they spoke of him with begrudging respect was enough for you to believe that Ratchet could work literal miracles, and that was precisely what you needed right now. But how could you possibly approach him?

You've heard enough about the Autobots, observed enough about them to know where they differed from the Decepticons. One major difference was that even when they took prisoners, they were not cruel. What if...?

You're too deep into this to give up. There's too much at stake here - despite the risk, if Ratchet was willing to hear you out, you might one day have a fighting chance to save Starscream's spark from flickering out. Which is how you found yourself trekking along the side of a dusty, abandoned road along some dry, sandy plain, not making any effort to hide yourself as you hoped for an Autobot to come across you.

But at the same time, what if they didn't let you go after taking you prisoner?

Before you can continue to second guess yourself, the roar of a well-oiled motor engine sounds behind you, and you almost laugh at how obvious you're being. A seeker, walking? The Autobot scout, Bumblebee, skids to a stop behind you, and you hear the smooth clicking and whirring of his transformation.

"Looking for trouble?"

Not particularly, You think, turning round to face him, but as Bumblebee falters, you realize you've spoken out loud.

This is the first time you've come face to face with the scout. You're about the same age, and for a moment, you both regard the other with open curiosity, like bots being introduced for the first time by a mutual acquaintance. In another timeline, you wonder if you could have been friends.

Bumblebee squints, looking unsure whether or not to drop his fighting stance. You make no move to engage, and simply stand there, servos dangling limply by your sides. This idea is really, really stupid.

"Defecting?"

You reset your vocalizer. "Not exactly."

"Still enemies, then," Bumblebee says, and he doesn't bother to hide the note of disappointment in his voice. Enemies. He doesn't even know you. You wonder if the divide between you runs too deep, even if only in name for you. Is there nothing more to you beyond faction name?

The bubbling hope of confessing to Bumblebee your real intentions abruptly withers. Why, indeed, would he help you if he knew you wanted to help the SIC of the Decepticons? Still, you hated to say it, but it seemed that Bumblebee had the privilege of naivety for a few more stellar cycles at least, under Optimus' kind guidance. Within the Decepticon ranks, you'd quickly learned that some bots simply didn't deal in kindness. You supposed it was back to the original plan, then.

"I've been out here for a while," You say, pretending to stagger a few steps. You are in the middle of a scorching hot desert plain, after all. Casting your hook, you hope to Primus that Bumblebee buys the act, because even to you, it looks phony as hell.

"I think I'm lost." Bumblebee, who was originally looking suspiciously at you, widens his optics as his little antennae twitch upwards in shock. Line.

You stagger even closer, pressing a servo to your helm. "Bumblebee-" You close your eyes and pray to Primus that the Autobots are actually nice. You really haven't thought any further beyond getting yourself captured. Maybe you wouldn't even get the chance to talk to Ratchet. But you're too far into your little one-man show to back out now. You crash to the ground, and with your optics offlined, hear Bumblebee's yelp of shock, the scuff of dry earth beneath his pedes as he races over to you. And sinker.

"Oh, Primus," Bumblebee mutters. "Why couldn't it just have been a fight? I can do that."

You're honestly hating this war more and more. Bumblebee felt so much like a little brother - you're torn between fighting to keep the laughter from bubbling up, and the need to scold him for letting his guard down so easily. What if it was a genuine trap you'd set for him? He'd rushed to your side with no regard for his own safety. Then again, this was exactly what you'd been banking on - you count your lucky stars that it was indeed Bumblebee you'd run into and not anyone else.

"Ratchet," You hear Bumblebee say into his comm. "There's a 'con here, but not in good shape." Just to really drive it home, you groan weakly from where you're collapsed in a heap on the ground. It must have worked, because Bumblebee's voice pitches upwards in slightly panicked urgency. "Yeah, yeah, I'll bring them through. Thanks, Ratchet."

Huh. You really hadn't expected it to be that easy. The tales you'd heard of the Autobot medic were from when you used to sleep in the barracks with the lower-ranking Decepticons. This varied from his rough bedside manner, his surprising ability to fight ("He had green, glowing optics," One Decepticon said with a shudder), his past as the 'Party Ambulance' (what.) to his relative fame amongst older bots as a highly respected neurosurgeon before the war broke out. Most strikingly, he'd apparently patched up Autobots and Decepticons alike on the battlefield.

"It's some medic code he has," Snorted the Decepticon next to you. "Stupid, if you ask me. Why fix up the bots who are out to get you?"

"Lay off the medic," Another bot admonished sharply. "You might not like it, but quite a few of us owe our sparks to him."

A couple of low, murmured agreements resounded around the room. There was undeniably a begrudging respect for him all around, and a fair number of the bots clearly didn't want to be the ones to take him out, if it ever came to that.

You were thinking about Ratchet even when the lights went out. Even though you'd never met him personally, admiration swirled in your spark for the bot with such a strong moral code that he would never falter in his actions. You'd always dreaded having to choose a side. Being with Starscream meant that you'd 'chosen' the Decepticons, sure - but it was Starscream you were loyal to, not Megatron. You'd resigned yourself to eventually signing your spark away to the cause, because you couldn't think of any other way to survive there. But perhaps, you think, you could be like Ratchet.

And now - as Bumblebee carried you through the swirling groundbridge, your spark thrummed at the possibility of imminently meeting him for real.

As soon as the roar of the portal closed behind you, your audials prick up as a low, gruff voice speaks.

"Are you hurt?"

"Not a dent," Bumblebee says. "Not sure about this one, though."

"Just the one?"

"Yup."

"Huh," The other voice says. "I'll tell Optimus to keep an eye on that area. Never know if the Decepticons are planning something."

You feel Bumblebee shrug, even with you gathered in his arms. One of these days, you really have to tell him off for being too trusting. Enemy or not, he seemed like a decent bot and you didn't want trust to be the thing that destroyed him.

A deep sigh. "Put them in the med bay and go refuel first."

"Sure thing," Bumblebee chirped, and you felt the cold metal of a medical berth against your wings. A few nanokliks passed, and you continue to remain still, pretending to be unconscious. Should you...? Ratchet, however, beat you to it. "Alright," He groused, as soon as you heard the door to his med bay slide shut. "Get up. I know you're not actually unconscious."

Your eyes shoot open. "How-?"

The bot in front of you looks unimpressed. "I'm a medic."

"Right," You mutter sheepishly. Sitting up on the medical berth, you take in the sight of Ratchet for the first time. Red and white, built and stocky. Rounded helm, pointed chevrons. You finally work your way to his faceplate. Glowing blue optics stare exasperatedly back at you.

"Sorry," You mumble, and Ratchet sighs again. He seems to do that a lot. Then again, he seems very tired. You don't blame him.

"If you're done," He grumbles, "I'd like to know why you got yourself kidnapped on purpose." There's an air of mistrust in his optics now, a tenseness to his frame that you don't like. In a way though, you're grateful that he's cutting right to the chase.

"I wanted an audience with you," You begin, haltingly. Ratchet's optics narrow slightly, but he doesn't say anything and just waits for you to continue. "I heard that you fixed up both Autobots and Decepticons before, because you have a code. And I know you're an Autobot - " You glance at the polished insignia on his chassis, "- but I'm kind of... like that, too."

Speech was never your strong suit, and you were glad Starscream often did the talking for you. His silver tongue had surely gotten the both of you out of a few tight spaces before, but you never dared to ask about the details. Fortunately, a sharp in-vent tells you that Ratchet has understood what you were clumsily trying to get across. He crosses his arms over his bulky chassis, optics roving carefully over your faceplate as he assesses the situation.

"So," He asks carefully, "What's your code based on?"

Ah. He'd seemed receptive so far, potentially persuaded to your own one-man cause, but here was the detail that might make him eject you bodily from his med bay.

"Starscream."

You watch as a range of emotions flit across Ratchet's faceplate. Eventually, it settles on confused and mildly horrified. "Starscream? Are you sure?"

"Yes," You say, feeling oddly defensive. Ratchet seems to pick up on this, and he unfolds his arms with an even deeper sigh. "A seeker," He mutters, optics flicking over your form as if really just seeing you for the first time. "How old are you?"

You tell him.

Ratchet pinches the bridge of his helm, between his optics, a bone-deep weariness emanating from his frame. "I'm assuming you're one of Starscream's students, then," He says.

"The last one," You add quietly. The Quintessons launched an attack on the Vosian Air Academy, and I was the only one who survived."

"...Ah."

Another hum, and this time, his optics are appraising, as if something had clicked into place. You, a youngling like Bumblebee, would not be sitting before him with your paint in near pristine condition, had someone not taken you under their wing. Literally and metaphorically.

"So what is it you want from me?"

"Can you teach me some first aid?" You blurt. Ratchet's brows furrow.

"I could," He says, confusion evident in his voice. "But what for? Don't the the Decepticons have a medic?"

"Well, yes," You hedge, "But, you know. Starscream."

That part he understands - it was no secret that the Decepticons had a brutal system of hierarchy that relied on shows of power. It made sense that Starscream wouldn't want to be seen in a vulnerable state. But there's still something he's missing.

"As far as I know," Ratchet presses carefully, "Starscream has not sustained any major injuries at the hands of the Autobots in recent stellar cycles."

You probably shouldn't be revealing so much information about the inner workings of the Decepticons, but as your hate for Megatron simmers into exhaustion, you slump on Ratchet's medical berth and decide to tell him anyway.

"Megatron... punishes him. A lot."

Ratchet seems slightly taken aback by that. Anyone with functioning optics could tell that the Decepticons were kept in line by fear, and it was no secret that violence ran rampant within the ranks - but to hear it so plainly that even their SIC was no exception? And to have you, trembling before him, desperate to help him, clearly knowing that rudimentary first aid was not enough for whatever injuries Megatron had inflicted - it must be worse than Ratchet had ever thought.

He checks his internal chronometer - you've been here for about a joor. Soon, someone is going to come looking for you, and neither faction is looking particularly appealing right now.

"We don't have much time. Hurry up and get over here."

Your helm shoots up as Ratchet pivots crisply away from you, suddenly all business. You leap off the medical berth, following him to a large table where he thunks down a heavy med kit. This Ratchet, intense, precise, laying a series of tools in front of you with deft servos, is undoubtedly the war medic that had earned every inch of respect he got. Now you understand why the Deceptions were so begrudgingly impressed by him.

Ratchet hesitates for a nanoklik before pulling out some even more complicated looking tools. Is this really happening? At your wide, awestruck optics, Ratchet huffs, a light flush of energon on his faceplate at your bursting admiration. "Alright already. Stop staring at me and pay attention."

Two joors pass before you hear the sounds of a commotion outside. Ratchet's audials flick agitatedly before he glances at you. "You'd better go," He murmurs, low and urgent.

Go? Just like that? Ratchet must have seen you freeze up in disbelief, because he snarls and springs into action for both of you, ushering you out of medbay and towards the groundbridge.

"I'm sure you know how to get back," He says, quick and curt, typing in a set of coordinates. The groundbridge shimmers to life. "Go," He orders, in a voice that brooks no argument. I'll handle this."

You give him one last, lingering glance before you step through the glowing green portal. Ratchet's staring at you too, something hovering unspoken in his optics. "Kid," He finally calls, as the sound of the commotion approaches. "No matter where this war takes you, be true to yourself."

You give him a jerky nod, overwhelmed but endlessly grateful.

With that, the groundbridge warps out of existence behind you, leaving behind a cacophony of Autobot shouts and abruptly plunging you back into the silent, sandy plain where you first met Bumblebee.

For a nanoklik, you feel so very alone.

But leaving Starscream was out of the question. Amidst all the uncertainty in the war, this is the one thing you're sure of. You leap into the air, transforming into your alt mode. If you were lucky, Starscream would still be on duty and you could sneak back before anyone had realized you were gone. You spiral through the air, picking up speed as night begins to fall. The flames of your thrusters illuminate the purple dusk as you add another burst of speed, your form now a screaming blur in the sky.

But before you can reach your destination, your destination reaches you first. Your only warning is a streak that blitzes into your field of vision before something huge and heavy tackles you out of the sky.

The impact completely knocks your systems offline for a nanoklik. Unable to even scream, you struggle to force your systems to reboot, gain back control of your frame as you hurtle towards the ground - but strangely enough, you quickly realize that you're not freefalling wildly through the air. Battling against the screaming winds at your back, you force your optics open to see none other than a furious Starscream, his servos gripping your arms with deathly force as he drives you downwards.

"Where the Pit were you?" He hisses, over the shrill whistling of air in your audials. "I've just spent the last few joors hunting every corner of this slagging dirtball for your sorry aft!"

As you plummet downwards, you struggle to make sense of his words. He was looking for you?

"What if Megatron got to you first?" He snarls, denta bared. "I told you to stay put! Do you treat my words like slag?"

You didn't think he'd catch you sneaking out, but you never imagined he'd be this angry. Both of you rocket through the clouds, the green environment of Earth swirling into your field of vision. Was this it? Had Starscream finally decided you were more trouble than you were worth? You wouldn't blame him. Shuttering your optics, you brace yourself for impact. His servos, where he's touching your frame, are warm. That's how you'd remember him, before you go out. Stolen moments of warmth with him. After all he'd done for you.

But over the screaming wind in your audials, your don't hear so much as feel his engines screech as he pulls up at the last minute. The warmth of his servos abruptly leave you, and your optics fly open as you are dropped a few meters above a patch of open grass and promptly eat ground. As you push yourself up with a groan, not so much sore but still ablaze with adrenaline, the realization suddenly hits. What Starscream did... Was not unlike how carriers and sires dealt with unruly seeker sparklings when they refused to leave the air. You shake your helm in disbelief, spitting out another mouthful of earth soil. Starscream... had quite literally grounded you. Huh.

You roll over to the sight of him seething above you, his ruby optics alight with rage, intake twisted in a snarl.

"Imagine," He hisses, looming over you, "When I learned you were being held captive by the Autobots - have you no sense of self-preservation in that scrap-filled processor of yours? Have I taught you absolutely nothing?"

His wings shudder with barely concealed anger as he begins to pace. "And of all the bots, it had to be that pit-slagged femme who blocked my way!"

Arcee? You're not too familiar with the Autobots, but you remember Starscream had literally shrieked himself into stasis after a particular battle with the Autobots over an energon mine, where a certain pink femme had foiled his plans at the very last nanoklik.

Wait. Arcee had blocked his way? You stare blankly at him as it sinks in that the commotion you heard earlier... was in fact Starscream singlehandedly blasting his way through the Autobot base to save you.

"Oh," You say.

"Oh?" Starscream screeches, wings twitching furiously. "Oh? That's all you have to say for yourself?"

You still can't bring yourself to speak as you gaze up at him. And slowly, a smile splits your faceplate. You can't help it. You smile big and bright up at your commander. "What?" He demands shrilly. "What is it?" He does falter, rage dropping momentarily from his faceplate and muting into confusion when you start to laugh. Relief, adrenaline, admiration, all at once.

"It was worth it." You gasp, through your fit on the ground. All this was worth it for Starscream, who'd against all better judgement risked his own helm to come looking for you, because he was worried. You'd carefully filed away every detail of Ratchet's instruction this afternoon. With the knowledge he'd bestowed upon you and extra bandages in your subspace, the gamble had paid off, because the chances of you preserving Starscream's spark had skyrocketed if the worst came to pass.

Starscream just stares at you, a hysterically giggling heap on the ground. "It was worth it!" You shriek, because Starscream is the one who found you and for now, you are safe.

You finally come back to yourself after a few cycles of wheezing almost soundlessly in your relief. You're sure there's coolant smeared over your faceplates and you look like a mess, but you don't give a frag - not when your stupid plan actually came to something. "Sir," You sigh to Starscream, who's still frozen above you, optics tracking your faceplate as you finally simmer down. "I'm going to have the best recharge of anybody today."

Unexpectedly, this douses Starscream's anger. He studies you carefully for a nanoklik. You take this rare moment to shamelessly drink in his handsome features - the sharp, defined ridges of his cheeks, the brightness of his optics, and the disapprovingly flattened line of his intake (okay, but still). Did he think that the nightmares, the war had finally broken your processor? It had happened to a few of the Decepticons. That would explain the flicker of worry in his optics - but he seems to find what he's looking for in your faceplate, so he simply sighs, all of a sudden looking more tired than you've seen him. He extends a servo to you.

"Get up."

You gingerly put your servo in his much larger one, feel his fingers close around yours as he pulls you up with much more gentleness than you're sure you deserve.

"I won't ask," Starscream begins. His optics flash. "But I will find out sooner or later."

You nod, trying for serious, but you must still have vestiges of a smile on your faceplate. Starscream stares at you and plants his hands on his hips.

"And don't think this will go unpunished. You think sneaking out is funny? Not when I'm through with you. You'll have done so many circuits of the 16-point roll that your wings will have dropped off by then. Sneaking off? Primus help you if it happens again. You think I'm coming to drag your sorry aft back home? Hah!"

I mean. He would come for you, but you wisely keep this to yourself as he gesticulates wildly to prove his point, even if both of you know it's more for show than anything.

Finally, he finishes his tirade with a huff. "It's dark," He says shortly, and glances at you. In the dark, his optics cast a soft glow on your faceplate.

"Eugh. Primus, wipe that stuff off your faceplate or it'll stain." Two large servos come down either side of your helm, and you can't help but flinch as Starscream swipes his thumbs over your cheeks to clean the coolant off. Still admonishing you, but his voice is forgiving and wraps around you like a warm blanket. "Stop squirming."

Finally, your faceplate relatively un-smudged, Starscream breaks apart from you. You try to soak in this moment as long as possible, wishing it could always be like this. Just the two of you, under a sky full of stars. This planet's view of the solar system could really be beautiful. You glance back to find Starscream looking at you, also looking reluctant to leave. However, he has to play the bad guy. He always does.

"Come on," He says, but it's gentle. "Let's go."

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#transformers #maccadam #starscream x reader #transformers x reader #starscream #tf starscream #tf ratchet #Cadet AU

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