#but either way it doesn’t matter and it will never matter and i need to get over myself.

[slimybeth69]

Girl Dinner: Part 4 of 4- Goodbye

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Summary: After the civilized world you once knew came to an end-- the men that survived... well they just take, take, take. Growing tired of having things taken from you-- you have a hankerin' to take somethin' for yourself... and make him perfect.

W/C-10.3K

Chapter Warnings: kidnapped/mean/dark!Joelx hunginged/crazy/mentally ill/dark!reader. dub-con, period sex, crying, altered mental state, graphic depictions of violence and death, animal death (not graphic but mentioned), alternating POV's, creampies, cock warming, unprotected P in V. No happy ending? This is DDDNE-- don't forget!!

Reader warning/ potential trigger warnings: mentions of readers past-- with gory and sad details. Mentions of sex as payment, impregnation, child loss.

PLEASE MIND THE WARNINGS.

There was never a question about why you forgot your name, or how that could happen to a person. Mister-man never asks you again. He never peppers it into conversations, or late night talks when you’re wrapped in his arms. 

It doesn’t matter– you’re his crazy girl. His sweetheart. His baby. 

Mister has his hands on your knees, holding them open. His fingers dig into the soft skin as he plants soft kisses on the soft nest of curls on either side of your sopping pussy. He’s moving slow and deliberate as he licks and sucks your lips into his mouth one at a time, then nipping at the junction where your legs meet your hips.

“Love makin’ you feel good sweetheart,” he murmurs against your skin, sucking dark marks into the supple skin of your thighs. “You like when Mister makes you feel good, dontcha?”

You do. 

The answer is caught in the back of your throat, so you nod, whimpering feebly at his endless teasing. He’s been kissing, and biting, and pinching you for what feels like an entire lifetime. He teases you, gets so close to your aching, throbbing clit, and then suckles and licks everything BUT that.

You haven’t taken your eyes off of him, how could you? He propped up pillows and leaned you back so gently and said ‘enjoy the show’ before kissing down your chest, sucking your nipples into his mouth greedily. His hands explored every single inch of your body as he licked and sucked those dark marks into your skin.

Claimin’ you, Sugar.

He could, he can. He can do whatever he wants to you. Every time he touches you it’s like an entirely different experience.

Perfect every time.

It’s like he knows when you need him to be gentle— and he knows when you need him to take control. It’s like he’s tuning into your wavelengths through your cunt.

The tears come sometimes regardless of how he handles you. His touch doesn’t always stop the bad feelings, the bad memories, but tonight they aren’t sad tears, they aren’t fearful or filled with shame.

Tonight they’re just confusing tears, too many emotions inside of you to process all while he’s been torturing you relentlessly.

“I know, babygirl,” he rumbles against the top of your slit, his hand moving from your knee, up your quivering thigh. “Relax for Mister.” Hot, thick fingers push into your folds, tracing the outside of your cunt before the thickest, and longest one pushes inside. “I’m here… I gotchya,” he whispers before he seals his lips around your clit, sucking slowly, lapping with his tongue as he thrusts a second finger alongside the first.

You let out a choked sob as his digits plunge into your wet heat. “Oh fuck,” you whine, the stretch is sublime, bordering on painful in the most amazing way.

He chuckles darkly, the vibrations traveling across your skin. "That's it, crazy girl. Let Mister-J take care of you." His voice drips like molasses– thick, sweet and slow. It’s tantalizing how just his words, his tone can make you feel crazy. 

Your fingers thread through his graying curls, tears streaming down your face as he works you expertly. “I- Ohh fuck, I-” He’s stoking the fire building low in your belly already- you’ve been wound so tight and are ready to snap.

Mister’s grip tightens on your thigh, holding you open as he drinks you down like a man starved. “You what, baby girl?” He sucks your clit into his mouth, teeth scraping the delicate bundle of nerves, tongue lapping at it.

Say it, Sugar.

Don’t.

Your hips move on their own accord, grinding against his mouth. Your cunt clenching his fingers because you can feel it building, the pressure, the need, the want. Your nails dig into his scalp, pulling him closer. “I- I love you,” you whimper as he adds a third finger, stretching you to capacity.

Your whole body tenses, the last of your resistance shattering as you come violently around his fingers and on his lips. He groans against your pulsing clit, swallowing your cries as he milks every last drop of pleasure from you.

“I know,” he hums, resting his head on your hip. His large hand rubs the outside of your thigh. 

There is a moment of silence, and you’re expecting him to either do it again, or lay down and ask you to get on top, but he doesn't. 

His fingers trace the scar on your lower stomach.

“What’s this?” Joel asks as his fingertips trail across the slightly raised, white line of skin just above the swell of your cunt. 

“They wouldn’t let me keep it,” you sigh down to him casually as the aftershocks of your pleasure run their course, carding your fingers through your hair to push it out of your face. “I tried to hide it,” you push yourself up onto your elbows to look down at him. “They found out though.”

Joel blinks up at you as you get ready to speak again, he wants to tell you to stop, to shut up– to be quiet and he’ll make you come again, but he can’t form the words. 

“They said it was too dangerous– too stupid.” You roll your eyes and pick at the sink on the side of your thumb. “Said I couldn’t take care of it– Which is bullshit because I’ve taken care of Puddin’ for so long and nothin’ bad happened to him.” You grumble. 

Joel’s mouth is so dry it’s painful. It’s like swallowing shards of metal, or fiberglass insulation. 

“And there was Lou and Bud! I took such good care of them–”

“Who are Bud and Lou?” Joel croaks softly at what the heart breaking answer could be.

“Bud was a squirrel with a broken leg, and Lou was a baby raccoon that I nursed back to health after a real bad wind storm– they both got knocked out of their nests.” You explain with a smile on your face. “They didn’t stick around like Pud, though.” 

“How’d you find Puddin’?” Joel asks, four flat fingers covering the scar so he doesn’t have to look at it. 

“Puddin’ found me,” you grin, combing your fingers through Joel’s hair now. “Sweet lil thing came up to me while I was comin’ home one night– basically beggin’ me to bring him back here. All cold ‘n ‘bout to die. His momma must’a lost him– or couldn’t take care of him… and now I’m–”

“You're his momma,” Joel chuckles, finishing your sentence with the thought running through his head. 

“Yeah, exactly!” You exclaim happily. 

Joel doesn’t want to ask, but he can’t keep the words in, he can’t hold it back anymore. “Who did this to you?” He runs his fingers along the scar one more time. 

It’s quiet for a long time, and Joel wonders if he shouldn’t have asked. You don’t answer right away, but he can hear your breathing change, quicken– go shallow. 

“The guys at the QZ in Wichita,” you whisper. 

Joel has to strain to hear the words. He knows that you know he can’t hear all that well, but he isn’t going to tell you to speak up. “Doctors?” 

Wishful thinking. 

You shrug your shoulders, “I dunno– some of ‘em could’a been doctors– but that’s not what they were in the QZ’s.” 

He just looks up at you, still laying between your legs. “No one was takin’ care of ya’?”

“My mom and dad were bowling the night of the outbreak—” you explain, eyes darting everywhere but Joel. “It was jus’ me ’n my brother that night– and then for a long time after that.”

“He didn’t know what was goin’ on?” 

You chuckle, but Joel can tell you don’t think it’s actually funny in the way you pick at the side of your thumb like there’s the cure to the infection inside of you. 

“He knew,” you huff. “He got hooked on those pills in the QZ, the big white ones– I don’t know what they were called–”

“Hydro.” 

“Hydro,” Joel explains, looking into the eyes of the Lee, the FEDRA guard he’s been supplying to for as long as he can remember at this point.  “How old?” Lee questions curiously.   “Three months,” Joel nods his head. He doesn’t have time for this, he’d rather be back at the apartment.  Lee inspects the pills, like he doesn’t trust Joel. “From Atlanta?”  “I dunno know where he gets ‘em from. I just know they’re real,” Joel huffs, narrowing his eyes on the FEDRA badge on his chest. 

“Yeah! He really liked those,” you roll your eyes. “Didn’t wanna work though, so he didn’t always have a way t’pay them… so when I couldn’t get ration cards to help him, he’d offer me up–”

“Well, the more you shoot people, the harder it is to sleep, I guess.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Joel groans quietly. He closes his eyes, crawling until he’s lying beside you. He doesn’t want to look at that scar again, or honestly hear anything else you have to say. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, sinking as far into the mattress as your body will allow. “M’sorry, I didn’t mean to–” you whine quietly, but he presses his lips to yours, silencing you in the process of trying to comfort you. 

Joel wraps you up in his arms and pulls you close to him, something inside his chest vibrates and like the deepest note of the guitar he has back in Jackson.

“They all dead?” Joel growls in your ear. 

“I dunno,” you shrug, wiggling your hips as you attempt to scooch closer to him. 

Joel’s mind is racing, but his body betrays him. He’s raging hard behind his jeans, restricted behind the tight denim. It doesn’t matter to you; that he still has his pants on or the topic of conversation that had just been had– you’re reaching into his jeans, wrapping your warm, perfect hand around his length and pulling him free. 

“Wanna fall asleep with it inside me,” you murmur, shifting your body all around, jutting your hips out. The tip of Joel’s head stretches around your tight cunt, and he groans into the back of your hair. 

He wants to fuck you, wants to thrust deep inside of you, but he can’t– he’s too focused on Puddin' who is laying on your side of the bed– his tail hugged close to his body as you rub your index finger between his ears, and down between his eyes. He's asleep, and snoring softly.

Joel holds you, his fingers trace your belly button once, move up to the space between your breasts and back down again. His voice is shaky when he speaks again. “Why don’t you take me back to Jackson… you can stay there with me– you and Puddin’.” He offers, brushing the hair away from your face carefully with his free hand.

“Why?” you murmur sleepily. 

“I got family–”

“Tommy?” Every single piece that makes up the parts of your body freeze, and it’s almost like you’re playing dead like Puddin’ would in a stressful situation. 

“Tommy and his wife Maria– ” Joel tries to paint the picture for you, tries to show you what could be waiting for you if you would just let him go. “I got a nice house and a porch we could sit on, a bed we could sleep in every night– a big giant wall t’keep the infected out…”

Everything feels thick, and it’s hard to breathe like during a humid summer day– but it’s getting cold now and the air is crisp and Joel can see his breath most of the time, especially at night. “S’a lot of people behind that wall?” You whisper after a painfully long silence.

Joel lies. “A few, yeah. But Maria and Tommy run things– they’re good people–”

“Maria is good?”

“Yeah, she’s real good– real fair.” He nuzzles the back of your neck with his nose softly.

It ain’t her fuckin’ fault– and you know it. 

“Maria’s good– Tommy is good– they’re kind.” Joel whispers, holding you, squeezing your middle to keep the two of you connected for as long as possible. 

“Ellie?” 

He hates you for saying her name, but he hates himself more for letting it slip one drunken night. Joel knows that if Ellie ever found out about what you did to him out here, she’d kill you. Painfully. Slowly. 

Tommy would never let Joel live this down– getting snared in the mall because he wanted to sit in a recliner? Then he might help Ellie kill you.

“I could take you on dates– bring you down to the bar, we could drink whiskey with a real roof over our head,” Joel hums lowly, giving your stomach a pinch but you don’t laugh, or giggle or shy away. 

“How many people?”

“I dunno, a couple…we wouldn’t have t’see them often. Keep to ourselves, mind our business– just like we do here, just safer,” Joel feels like he could be getting somewhere. He’s never offered this before, he’s never even asked for you to let him go. He’s always just gone along in hopes of one day getting home.

Oh is that what you’re tellin’ yourself? Alright, alright. Gotta cope with this all somehow…

“Safer this way, less things t’worry about. Been doin’ it long enough to know that this way is better.”

Joel shakes his head, the tip of his thumb brushing across your eyebrow. “Long enou– how long have ya' even been out here? A year or two?” He watches as you subtly turn your head to give him more access to touch your face, caress you. 

With your eyes closed, you shake your head no at him, pinch your brows together like your thinking or– counting. Joel can see your lips moving as you silently recall whatever it is you're trying to remember. 

“Twelve,” you say confidently.

He hugs you closer to him. “Twelve what?” 

“Twelve winters–”

“No fuckin’ way,” Joel snorts in disbelief, but his eyes never leave your face. They’re searching for the joke, the punchline, something that will tell him that you’re joking. “What happened to the other people ya’ came here with?” 

You blink at him. “There was no one else…” 

"How many other guys have you done this to?" Joel asks quietly.

"Three," you murmur, as he gently drags the backs of his fingers down your face.

"What happened to 'em?" He probes, feeling like he already knows the answer. The fear coils in his gut like a snake ready to strike.

"I killed 'em…” you whisper into the dimly lit room. 

"Why?"

"They wouldn't stop tryin' to 'kill me…" you murmur.

“You built this?” 

Joel is in awe. He’s seen a lot, a whole lot in the thirty years since the outbreak, but you continue to surprise him. Impress him too, more than he thought was possible for a lady who had captured him and was holding him hostage in the woods. 

It’s a greenhouse– but that’s not what he’s impressed about. You built your own heating system for it out of a distillation set up– he doesn't do much to hide the look of bewilderment on his face.

Smart girl.

The smile that spreads across your lips as you take in his dumbfounded expression warms Joel’s heart even though the weather outside has cooled off drastically. 

“A couple years ago, yeah.” You explain, opening the door for him to step inside. 

The vinyl wrapped cord gets caught on the doorway, and the prongs on the choke chain dig into Joel’s neck painfully. He sucks air in through clenched teeth, his calloused fingers desperately try to put space between the metal and his tender and angry red skin. 

“Careful,” you murmur, untangling the rope for him so he can walk further inside. You hold the slack of his tie-out rope in your hand and carry it in for him.

Sweet girl.

Joel takes in everything. How well constructed this place is, how neat you have your rows of vegetables and fruits. Rows of raspberry bushes line the perimeter of the greenhouse. “How’d you get all this shit up here?” He turns to look at you, shoving his leather-glove clad hands into the winter jacket you brought him a couple weeks ago. 

Loves you.

Joel tries not to think about it.

You blink at him for several moments and then a flicker of uncertainty washes over your face. “Ya’ really wanna know?” You ask like you don’t believe that he could be interested in what you’ve been doing out here for the twelve long years you’ve been out here.

“Yeah I wanna know,” he nods his head to the entire structure built up around him. He knows that distillation set up outside is at least a couple hundred pounds, if not more.

He can see it on your face, the worry. The fear- as if telling him the truth, or telling him anything at all would send you spiraling.

Spiraling somewhere Joel isn’t sure he wants you to go.

He hums, turning his gaze to the rows of onions and potatoes. “Did your other fellas help ya’?” Joel teases.

You shake your head from side to side. “I had help–sometimes,” you finally admit, drawing the word out, eyeing his face and body as you whisper it to him. “I had some help, but mostly did it on my own,” you look like you're waiting for him to hit you, yell at you— pounce on you.

He doesn’t do any of those things. It just feels like someone knocked the wind out of him— stole all his air.

“Brought me up here to help you?” He offers, kneeling next to the garden bed to start digging up carrots, or celery or anything that he can throw into a stew for tonight’s dinner.

He loves to cook. It gives him something to do. Something to think about and look forward to. Joel likes that you eat what he makes for you. You eat a lot of it, and have actually put on a couple pounds since he got here.

You place one gentle hand on his shoulder and tug him away from the garden. “No, no— stop it,” you kneel down beside him, wrapping your hands around his and removing them from the dirt. “I didn’t bring you up here t’help me,” you smile at him happily. “You jus’ kept asking where I was gettin’ it all from… I’m showin’ you.”

Your eyes glimmer with something he hasn’t seen in a long time—trust. The look that makes him feel like maybe you’re not crazy- not a murderer- just scared. Fearful, but not anymore.

You trust him.

“Where you been hidin’?” Mister’s voice echoes off the tiled bathroom walls and floors.

You flinch under the stream of warm water and pinch your brows together at the sound of him coming closer. “I haven’t been hidin’. Been here all day,” you roll your eyes even though he can’t see you from behind the door. The water suddenly shuts off.

He’s kinked the hose, preventing the warm water from flowing freely.

“What’re you doing!?” You open the stall door, and poke your head out.

Joel has both of his eyebrows raised, looking at you incredulously. “Ya’ been here in the bathroom takin’ a shower all day?” He huffs at you. “Liar. Where ya’ been?”

“Let go,” you nod your head at the hose he has bent between one hand.

“Tell me where you were,” Mister narrows his eyes at you, unwilling to back down.

It’s cold in the mall, and you worked so hard to make sure that your shower would be warm in your irritable state. Everything has been miserable the last couple of days, you’ve been cramping. Teary and sad for no reason. Now you’re shivering, and a sense of rage floods you.

“Leave me alone,” you grumble.

Joel snorts, letting the hose fall to the floor and the warm water sputters out of the shower head attached to the side of the stall.

“Thank—” you start but hear his belt jingle and hit the tile.

Is he coming in here? He can’t! You’re unclean, undesirable!

“What’re you—” you put your hands on the stall door as he tries to push his way into where you’re naked, and bleeding.

“Need t’shower— I stink, been a couple days-” He starts, eyes narrowed on yours but you don’t let him finish and shove the door closed. “Hey! Let me in,” Mister wraps four thick fingers around the edge of the door to stop you from shutting it completely and locking him out.

“Get…out!” you huff as you push your shoulder into the door, using all of your body as a counterweight.

Mister pushes the door open easily, as if you weren’t even trying. “Th’fuck is wrong with you? Don’t like me anymore?” He frowns dramatically, the crease between his eyes deep.

“I- wha- no- yes, of course I still like you!” You exclaim, crossing your arms over your chest and pressing your legs together tightly. “Just- I don’t… I— please just go. I don’t want you to see me—”

“I see you. I been fuckin’ seein’ you, so th’fuck is your problem now?”

The frustrated tears burn at your eyes. “Get. Out.” You growl.

“You ‘bout t’cry?” He raises an eyebrow at you again, but with less anger etched into his face, and more worry. “What’s the matter, crazy girl?” He purrs, stepping into the small, crowded stall with you, letting the water wash over his broad shoulders and down his chest.

“M’just gross right now,” you groan, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. “Don’t want you thinkin’ I’m dirty or nothin’…”

“Dirty? What you been gettin’ up to?”

“I’m bleedin’…” you whisper up to him shamefully.

Why would this handsome, perfect man want to touch you during your monthlies? No one else ever did, and none of them were nearly as incredible as Mister… none of them seemed to have any standards— but this was one thing none of them wanted to go near. Like you were cursed because of what was happening between your legs.

It’s all right Sugar, he’s a real man.

“Where- what happened?” Mister looks more worried than he was a moment ago, eyes scanning the length of your body looking for something. “Ya’ hurt?”

He’s real. Real simple.

“Please just go away,” you whine as he inches himself closer to you, caging you into the corner of the stall with his strong body. The heat creeps up your neck and chest, your eyes fill with more tears uncontrollably.

“Y’really want me to leave?” He whispers, his warm, soft lips ghost across your forehead, his stubble scratching gently in their wake.

“S’just… gross,” you offer weakly, your resolve shattering with every careful touch he gives you.

“What the hell are you talkin-” Joel starts, but cuts himself off quickly. He tilts his head down to look at you. “Bleedin’, huh?”

All you can do is nod silently, avoiding his gaze.

“Thinkin’ Mister ain’t gon’ wanna touch you, that right?” He coos as he wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Why would… you?” You wince, clenching your teeth together as cramps overtake your lower stomach and back.

Joel nuzzles the side of your face, pulling you back under the steady stream of warm water, letting it wash over the front and back of you as his free hand slips between your bodies. “Let me help you,” he nips at your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth.

Pulling your head back to look up at him, the water washing through your hair and down your back. “Wh-what? How…” you trail off as he slips his hands between your legs, fingers pushing through your swollen, aching lips. It’s uncomfortable and makes you whine and hide your face in the crook of his neck as he pushes two fingers deep into your cunt, curling them against that spot that has you seeing stars.

“Mister knows things too, crazy girl,” his deep voice vibrates in your ear and makes your knees weak. "Know this'll make ya’ feel better." He nudges your legs further apart with his knees and you don't fight him.

The heel of his palm rubs against your clit as he strokes that spot inside you over and over, again and again. "Oh god— don't…please, you'll get dirty-" you groan, your walls clenching around his fingers anyway despite your weak and meaningless protest because you love when he touches you. It’s impossible to fight.

You hate having to hide from him when this happens— it's easier when there isn't snow on the ground and you can leave the mall for a couple days. Hide in the woods and keep watch from a distance… in the shadows. Like before he was yours.

"I don't give a fuck about blood," he growls into the crook of your neck, moving the hand on your waist to the back of your head. His fingers leave you suddenly, and he pulls back, holding your head down so you can watch his already throbbing cock fuck into his partially open fist. 

Mister always takes your breath away, no matter how many times you see it, or put your mouth on it, or take it deep inside of you. It curves slightly up towards his stomach from a thatch of thick dark curls. Swollen tip already drooling with precum.

He gives himself a few slow strokes, coating himself in your slick and blood. "I'ma grown man. Don't matter to me," he groans. His fingers grip your hair and tilt your head up to look at him now. "Turn around, sweetheart," He purrs, licking at your bottom lip teasingly.

"Okay," you sigh, head bobbing up and down as you try to regain some sort of composure. Your eyes drop back down to his hand, still stroking his length slowly as you turn around and rest your palms on what used to be a toilet-paper dispenser, knocking over your small collection of soaps that smell nice and make your skin feel soft.

Joel pulls your hips out, and grinds every inch of him through the folds of your pussy slowly. One of his giant hands moves to the globe of your ass and pulls you open, the other guides the tip of him into your aching core.

The two of you groan together as he sinks himself into you, not letting you adjust or open up to him at all. He splits you open each and every time like it's the first, and it's heavenly.

You rest your forehead against the wall while Joel wraps one hand around your throat and leans over you, his chest pressed against your back. His thumb caresses your jaw as his fingers press into the artery on the side of your neck.

When you're with Mister like this, it all goes away. All the sad, and the bad, and the angry and fear— he replaces it with something else. It's good, and warm and it makes you feel small and weightless.

"S'my crazy girl," he grunts as he starts to thrust slowly but deeply, the tip of his cock kissing the deepest part of you as his hips grind into yours. You clench around him, and he moans, resting his forehead on your shoulder. "God damn, you feel so fuckin' good," he rumbles.

"Don't stop," you mew, the lightheadedness taking you exactly where you want it to. Weightless and free of all thoughts, fears and inhibitions. The blood isn’t real, the pain is numbed and Joel and you are the only ones to exist right now. 

Everything else doesn’t matter.

Mister chuckles against your ear, his breath warm and inviting and pluming down the side of your face. Joel’s like the pyroclastic flow from a volcano; hot and all-consuming, taking over every one of your senses. “Don’t stop fuckin’ you?”He purrs deeply as his free hand slides down your stomach to your slick cunt. “Or don’t stop callin’ you mine?” He teases, rubbing your clit in tight circles as he fucks up into you from behind. 

You don’t even remember what he’s asked you, it’s all too good, the way every inch of cock seems to know the inside of your cunt so intimately, it’s like he’s fixing something inside of you. It’s only temporary, but it feels good while it lasts. "Yes," you gasp, pussy pulsing around him with every beat of your heart, tilting your hips to take him even deeper. 

He just laughs, low and from deep in his chest, pressing his lips to the top of your head as his fingers work your clit faster, urging you higher and so quickly. Then his hand from around your throat is squeezing tighter– your vision tunnels just as he brings you to the precipice. 

Mister lets go of your throat just as you orgasm, it tears through you and he never lets up, fucking you hard and fast through the whole thing. “Oh I know, babygirl.” He growls. “Feels fuckin’ good, don’t it?” The tips of his fingers trail down the column of your throat and through the valley of your breasts until he palms one, groping gently at the tender flesh, pinching your nipple and tugging. 

It does feel good– it’s relief from the aching and jackhammering going on inside of you somewhere– and you’re thankful for Mister. You could get down on your knees and worship him. You might. It’s incredible. White hot bliss in every inch of you.

Joel snaps his hips into yours over and over again as you ride out the aftershocks, keening and crying through the pleasure. You’re on the brink of another orgasm, both of his hands now palming and pulling at the soft, over-sensitive flesh of your tits as he spills himself inside of you. 

“S’right, fuckin’ milk me dry. So fuckin’ tight, baby girl.” His teeth sink into the sink on your shoulder–hard. 

It’s pain that brings you back to the women’s restroom in an abandoned mall, a couple of hours trek outside of whatever is left of Jackson, Wyoming. 

It’s the breaking of skin, and the feeling of molten lava pooling in your core, and then flooding down your legs as he pulls out of you. 

His tongue laves at the torn flesh on your shoulder as he coos soft apologies and promises, but you don’t even listen because that was the first time Joel ever came inside of you. There had been plenty of ‘times’, but they all ended with him finishing on some part of you that wasn’t the walls of your cunt. 

When you turn back to look at him, he’s leaning up against the opposite side of the stall, eyes closed, chest heaving with water droplets dripping down his stomach to his still half-hard cock covered in the mixture of your red-slick and his milky white release. 

It makes your stomach flutter, and more liquid heat pools in your core. 

“Lookin’ like you wanna get fucked again,” his eyes are barely open, but he’s staring at you with a goofy half-smile on his face. 

When you try to speak your voice wavers and cracks– and you make Mister-man laugh. A real laugh. He shakes his head from side to side, pushing himself off the wall to crowd your space once again.

He smacks your ass twice, and pulls you under the water with him, “Ain’t gotta say nothin’ sweetheart.” 

Tonight he has his head in your lap, and he rumbles happily when you run your fingers through his loose curls, and scratch at his scalp with your nails.

He's reading one of your comic books to you and Puddin' who is curled up in the big bed almost under your lap.

He's almost got the voices down— just needs a little more time. He'll get it.

It doesn't matter, just having him here is more than you could ever ask for. He doesn't fight, or argue with you anymore. Not like he used to. There are days when he doesn't want to talk, or sometimes even look at you— but he's never mean. Sometimes he's just quiet.

Today was a good day though because you brought back fresh meat again, and you cried about it in the woods before you brought it back so he wouldn't see how badly it bothered you. The first time you brought it back, you cried the whole day and refused to eat it. It bothered you so much that you'd do something like that just to make him happy.

You didn't talk to him for a couple days after, thinking about letting him go or killing him because why does he have that much control over what you do?

You like makin' him happy, Sug.

He's reading from the comic, but you're not really listening.

You've killed people for a lot less than sustainability.

There isn't much you wouldn't do to keep Mister happy, and safe here with you. He doesn't seem miserable, or unhappy. Sometimes he talks about how he wishes he could see his family.

You're his family now. You 'n Puddin'.

He has a real family though out there waiting for him… Missing him. 

The comic ends, and the silence creeps in. The strands of his hair feel like home between your fingers, so you start to rake the fingers of your other hand through it now too. 

"She must really love him," you whisper down to him. "S'why she does all those terrible things for 'Mistah-Jay'," you lighty mock Harley's high pitched crooning and smirk down at him as he closes his eyes.

Your Mister-J shakes his head from side to side, snorting from his nose softly like what you said is funny to him. "Don't know if I'd consider that love, sweetheart." He keeps his eyes closed and speaks slowly with his southern drawl.

Condescending– he doesn’t know love– not real true love. Don’t listen to him.

Hear him out, sweet girl. 

Something like vines coil around your heart when he says it, but you're not sure why, but it doesn't feel good, or nice. The vines have thorns that poke at the soft parts inside you. "Whadd'ya mean?"

"Well y'know Harley was normal once, right? She was a doctor or whatever—"

"A psychologist…" You correct him. She had been a psychologist, fallen in love with Joker, gave up everything for him… Well, maybe—You only had five comic books!! You're not really sure what happened or, why or how… just a couple parts to a much longer story, apparently.

"Oh yeah, well whatever she was— Joker goes to Arkham Asylum, meets Dr. Harleen Francis Quinzel… PhD," he nods his head, opening his eyes to look up at you. "Pretty girl, smart and witty..."

"Yeah?" It feels like every word he says could either make you laugh or start crying.

"And Joker brainwashes her— makes her crazy," he starts but there is only screaming inside your head that drowns out whatever else he says. "She loses everything 'cause of him."

Joker wouldn't do that! Not to his Harley, at least. Everyone else, maybe? But not his girl…right?

Don't listen to him, Sugar. He don't know what he's talking about.

There's a squeeze, and the sharp points of the thorns pierce your lungs and it feels like you deflate, like the world could be slipping away from you, or you could be floating somewhere else.

Your fingers have stopped moving, but still grip his hair in the space between them. "He loves her, he wouldn't do that…"

"He doesn't love her- he uses her." He whispers.

He’s wrong. He’s wrong. He’s wrong. He’s wrong. 

Now it feels like you can't breathe because that can't be true. Harley and Joker might not have always been nice to each other in your comic books, or cartoons— but he loved her. He had to love her, she loved him so much.

There was no way that he doesn’t love Harley, right?

That’s not love. That’s not love.

Mister-man doesn’t stop talking even though you wish he would. "She loves him— but she figures out that Jokers is a bad guy… a real bad guy," his hands are around your wrists now, sliding his fingers between yours to loosen the hold you have on his hair.

"What does she do then?"

Joel's eyes are so dark, chocolatey brown– wide with…fear?

You're hurtin' him, sweet girl.

Who fuckin’ cares— remeber when he hit you?

Listen to Mister, listen to him…

"She kills him," Miser-man laces his fingers with yours and pulls your hands out of his hair. 

Being shot would feel better than this. It's like your chest is caving in on itself. You can't breathe, you can barely think. 

"She wouldn't do that," you hiss at him, struggling to pull your hand free from his grasp, his fingers pinching around yours, refusing to let him go. 

"She loves Joker, and she wouldn't hurt him- wouldn't kill him…" your eyes flash between your fingers laced in his, and his big brown, perfect eyes.

Perfect baby cow eyes. 

"She smartens up— she realizes he's been abusin' her." Joel's on his knees now, cupping your face with his free hand "She's smarter than him, crazier too." He leans in and kisses away the tears that had sprung from your eyes, and are now rolling down your cheeks.

Joel lies.

"You're bullshittin' me," you put both hands on his chest and push him weakly. "He loves her, she loves him— she doesn't kill him. Why would you say that?"

"It's just how their story goes, crazy girl. It ain't real," he wraps one hand around the back of your neck and tries to pull you in for comfort but you don't let him.

You spend the night in the greenhouse that night. 

People were capable of a lot of things, you had seen it first hand. Watching it happen to yourself, and people just like you thrown into situations they didn’t ask to be in, or maybe got themselves into on accident– but nobody wants to be abused. Nobody asks to be taken advantage of. 

Look at what you’ve done. 

Look at what you were able to take for yourself. 

Ruined a man's life.

He loves you. 

This isn’t love. 

It’s hard to look at Joel after that. 

You just keep to yourself until your next supply run. 

–He’s going to die if you don’t do it.

Don’t fucking do it!! What are you thinking!? He’ll leave!

“That’s fine!!” You sob as you climb up the service ladder that takes you to the roof where you can enter the mall on the rafters. 

Joel can’t die. Not like this. Not because of you.  

All the other entrances have been boarded up so tight that it’s nearly impossible for one or two people to get in on their own, but it doesn’t matter now with how many of them are coming. 

They’ll tear this whole place apart looking for you. They saw you– got the dogs on your scent and it’s incredible that you lost them for as long as you did running in the river but they’re still coming. 

They’re going to kill you this time and there really isn’t anything you can do about it. There are too many this time, and they never stopped following you. The dogs kept barking, kept howling, and kept alerting when they’d pick up your trail again. 

Puddin’s only chance to get out of here alive is to leave with Joel right now. You’ll give him all his stuff, his guns, his gas-mask and you’ll just keep the raiders preoccupied while Joel and Puddin’ get away. 

Joel is in the bookstore when you come running in, already fumbling with the keys that will unlock his choke chain and his shock collar. 

He’s so handsome, and big. If by some miracle you get out of this alive– you can go to Jackson and find Joel. 

“Whoa, what’s goin’--” he looks concerned, and he has a good reason. He doesn’t have a lot of time to get out of here. 

“I don’t have time– you just need to get Puddin’ o-out of here, go out through the r-roof, like we do to get to the greenhouse. There are two ladders, the one in the back will take you into the woods and you can go back to Tommy and Maria, Ellie– but you have to take Puddin’!”

The words don’t feel like they’re coming out fast enough, but Mister-man is looking at you like you have seven heads and are possibly growing another one as you try to explain that bad guys are coming. 

Joel clamps his hands around yours while you fumble with the keys. “Slow down– jus’ take a deep breath–” Joel turns his hands to the side, and opens them with yours cupped in either one, the keys pinched between your index finger and thumb on your right hand. “Keys?”

Don’t tell him, don’t tell him. Don’t let them go, don’t let them go. You’ll lose him forever. He’ll kill you. He’s going to kill you. Let him die here with you.

“The gold one is for the chain, silver is for the collar–” doing the right thing. 

“You got guns? I need a couple–” Joel nods his head at you as he takes the keys from your trembling hands very carefully, like you might spontaneously combust if he makes any sudden movements.

Take them keys back, it’s not too late. Take them back. Take them back. Take them back.

There are guns hidden in the ceiling of the mattress store. Lots of guns that you’ve collected over the years. 

“I’ll give ya’ whatever you need. Ya’ just gotta–” You’re already backing out of the bookstore, stumbling over fallen shelves and debris from the ceiling caving in a couple weeks ago. 

“I’ll take Puddin’, don’t worry. M’right behind ya’,” Mister’s already got one key in one of the locks as you turn to sprint to the mattress store. 

You climb onto the counter and push one of the ceiling tiles aside, and start pulling guns and boxes of ammo out, handing them to Mister-man to get ready. 

Faintly, the sounds of dogs barking are growing closer and closer. Every warm thing about you goes cold because it might be too late for Mister-man if they get this place surrounded. 

Shouldn’t have come back here. You keep making mistakes. 

It’s okay, sweet girl. Doing the right thing by letting him go– sacrificing yourself to save him and Pud. 

The tears come and are hot, and fat and sting your eyes. 

“Please take care of Puddin’, please don’t jus’ let him go- go the second you get out in the –the woods, okay?” You try and speak over the lump in your throat but it’s hard, and it hurts, and you want to just lay down and die right here. “He’s not real good at takin’ care of himself– he needs someone.”

Joel isn’t listening, he’s loading up rifles and handguns faster than you’re getting your pleas out. He looks determined, he’s not paying attention to the things that you’re saying. 

“Hey! M’talkin–” you start, taking a step towards him. 

“Here,” he shoves a rifle in your hand and a pistol in the other. Then he slings another rifle over your shoulder. He starts loading more guns. In your backpack, you have your preferred weapon of a metal slingshot and free, unlimited ammo. Hard things

It’s deadly when used properly, silent and easy to practice with because you can never run out of rocks. Metal nuts and bolts work well too, and those are all over, fallen out of the iron skeleton that keeps the mall together over the years. 

“Puddin’?” You question, backing out of the storefront slowly. Joel waves you away as he continues to load up the rest of the weapons. 

There isn’t much you can think about besides how Joel is going to get out of here with Puddin’ safely. You don’t even know where the little guy is, and he’s probably hiding now hearing the dogs closing the distance outside. 

Make it easier for them to get in hopes they don’t go looking for another way in– Before you climb into the rafters, you push the tables, chairs and racks out of the way and make the entrance accessible from outside. 

You’re so stupid for letting him go, he could have died here with you– lived as ghosts here together for eternity. 

You take your place above the entrance, where you would come and wait for Mister-man before he was yours– where you would hide from him when you were bleeding before you knew he was a ‘real man’, or what a real man even was. You did the right thing. 

It happens fast– the doors explode open with an ear-splitting, head ringing bang, and debris flies everywhere. You can hear it showering down on the tiles of the food court, into the small puddles of still water that have accumulated with the quick-melting snow. 

The smoke and dust make it impossible to see, but you stay hidden regardless and get your slingshot loaded and ready for when it all finally settles. 

The dog's nails click on the ceramic flooring as they run inside and start looking for you. Start sniffing you out– which is easy. Your scent is all over this mall and they take off running in the direction of the mattress store. 

In the direction Joel and possibly Puddin’ if they didn’t get out in time. 

Muffled voices echo through the quickly dissipating cover of dusty smog. 

Three dark figures move quickly, following in the direction of the dogs. You pull your loaded slingshot back, aim for the pulse point on their throat, or at the base of their neck– in the spine. 

It’s usually quick and they’re down before they know what hit them, or even realize that they’re on the ground. 

The other two raiders see their friend go down, holding his neck, choking on his own blood and begin looking around the food court through the scopes of their machine guns. You load up the pouch quickly with a heavy metal nut and aim. 

Let go. 

There is a millisecond when you think you weren’t quick enough. He saw you, his finger pulled the trigger, but before the gun goes off his hand falls to his side, his rifle tumbles to the ground and he stands there like he’s been stunned. 

You aimed for his forehead, but it entered through the eye socket of his closed eye with a soft pop you could hear over the dogs barking in the distance. Then he goes down. 

There are gunshots, but not from the food court– they’re coming from a different part of the mall. Two different types of gunshots. Then it’s quiet. 

Both of ‘em dead and it’s all your fault. All your fault. All your fault. 

The hair on the back of your neck stands up, at the thought of Joel and Puddin’ being shot at, torn apart by the dogs. 

The one remaining raider looks around the food court, and then down the long, wide corridor where the dogs are still barking, and now more guns are going off. 

They’re both dead. Dead ‘cause of you. 

You toss your slingshot to the side and grab the hunting rifle, aiming at the back of the last raider's head as he turns to walk away. You take one shot and watch as he goes down, and hope that the dogs and whoever else is in the mall come your way instead of following after Joel.

You count as more people come into the mall through the entrance, stepping over the bodies of their dead friends. One, two, three, four, five, six…

Ain’t even worth it anymore. Should just shoot yourself now– end it all quickly–

Just keep moving, sweet girl. It’ll be okay. Give him time to get out of here. Keep him safe, he doesn’t deserve this, never did. 

No more people come inside– and that’s when you open fire from the rafters, moving as gracefully as you can while trying to aim. 

This rifle only holds five rounds, and you drop three of the intruders before you run out of ammo. You drop that gun, and grab the one around hanging off your shoulder. 

Their guns start going off, bullets flying past your face. One grazes your shoulder, just the skin– it burns and stings, but your feet stay deft in their movements. Remembering where to step and what spots to avoid because of the structural faults. 

More gunfire from the other wing of the mall. Near the department store with two floors. Near the bookstore. Near where you and Joel sleep together most nights– except for the past couple. 

Now you regret it, now you regret not feeling his cock inside of you these last three nights. Not falling asleep sticky with his release between your thighs, or taking advantage of the nights when he let you fall asleep inside of you.  

Three nights you can never get back. If you make it out of this you’ll crawl across hot coals for him– beg him to stay here with you forever– you can go back to Jackson to visit– to see everyone– but then you can come back. 

He won’t let you come back, you fucking cow. 

He won’t come back here, baby. He won’t– but that’s okay. This place isn’t good for you. 

This place is your home– it has been and it will be, it’s kept you safe. It’s made you smart and independent. 

Look at what it did to you, who it made you.  

You were crazy before you got here. 

“I’m not crazy…” you whisper. 

Then it happens, your foot falters, and the rafter creaks loudly as the bullets continue to whizz past you. Missing you by centimeters– but you never stop moving. Not even as the beam underneath your foot starts to sway from side to side. 

A low, echoing groan fills the mall as you move faster to get to the other side where things are still a bit more secure– you think about jumping, but falling–

It doesn’t matter, you’re weightless, everything about you feels like it stays up in the air while you tumble down to the ground. The world flips and spins– a kaleidoscope of fresh new greenery growing, and the old dingy colors of the mall's ceramic tiles, the dimming evening sky. 

Everything about you feels detached, like your body no longer exists, nothing is real; like you're suspended in a dream.

This is how it ends. Not with a bang, but with a broken body. 

The impact is jarring, a violent explosion of pain that sends white-hot tendrils searing through your shoulder and down your left arm. The air is punched out of your lungs and you’re clinging to consciousness with everything that you can- but the darkness is so inviting, the warm ground is so cool against the broiling pain that has you sweating. 

Puddin’ could need you, Sug. Joel might need you. 

The handgun is still somehow tucked into your waistband, and you push yourself to your knees despite all the tendons and muscles in your shoulder and back telling you to lay down– to give up. 

Shoot yourself before anyone else can– they might not be so generous. 

You can’t give up. Not now, not yet. 

It’s nearly impossible to aim, your vision is blurring in and out of focus. It’s hard to keep steady when you feel like you could be sick, and take a nap all at the same time. 

Point and shoot, point and shoot point and shoot at whatever is moving, whatever looks like a target. Your left hand hangs at your side limp, unwilling to cooperate when you think of things to do– like grab a new magazine when the clip gets low. 

Everything on your lower-half is fine, seems fine– you think. It’s not completely clear if anything hurts because everything above the waist feels like it’s on fire. Gunshots echo throughout the mall in what sounds like all directions. Everything is echoing. Everything feels so fuzzy and thick– so warm.

When you come to, Joel is kneeling over you, blood dripping down the side of his face, chin and neck. His shirt is stained dark red down the front of his chest. 

Did he eat them?

He might’a. 

“What happened–” 

A soft but deafening metallic click echoes in your ears. You’ve heard it before– it’s distinct and only one thing makes that sound. A padlock locking into place. 

The part of your brain that tells your body to move still works, your right hand starts to move to your neck– but your left arm stays limp by your side and fireworks go off in the space behind your eyes. 

You are a ragdoll being held together at the seams. Then thin, red strings that connect your shoulder to the rest of your body are hanging there limply, all the tension and tightness that allows you to move is gone. 

It’s excruciating. It’s like the grooves of your brain are being peeled apart– you can’t think, you can’t do anything but shriek. 

Joel tuts softly over the sounds of your pain, “Yeah, a dislocated shoulder’ll do that to ya’.” There is a twinge of twisted pleasure in his empathetic tone. “Planned on fixin’ it up while ya’ were still out,” he explains through your wailing. 

“Pl-Please don’t tou-t–touch it,” you’re stammering through the red-hot pain.

Mister-man shakes his head at you, his lips together in a tight lipped smile– like what he’s about to tell you is unfortunate news. “I gotta, and I can do it now… or I can go get that brick–”

The choke-chain suddenly feels like it’s ten thousand pounds, too tight and also hot; white hot like it just came out of the fire. 

Kill him. 

The brick might actually not be too bad in this situation–

“I gotta couple things t’go take care of, so…why don’t you jus’ sit tight ‘n I’ll be right back.” Joel doesn’t touch you, or fix your fucking shoulder before he stands up to leave. “Don’t go anywhe– oh wait,” he chuckles, shaking his head from side to side. 

There are parts of your brain telling you to sit still, to relax and the pain will eventually subside, to just let things happen. Bigger, louder parts of your brain are telling you that this is worse than dying. This is the least desirable outcome. You’re not sure what parts they are, or who is even speaking because all the words and sounds are blending together. 

Joel walks over the bodies of the dead dogs, the nameless raiders– he uses cautious feet as he steps over new collapsed parts of the roof. Twisted and mangled metal– sharp and dangerous as he climbs and crawls through the narrow openings. 

Joel has to look for the shock collar remote. He doesn’t know what you’ve done with it since he hasn’t made you use it since shortly after you put it on him. He hasn’t seen it in— 

Months. It’s been months. 

He’s not thinking of the countless nights of sharing his warmth with you– or how you made sure he always had something to eat– how you tore yourself apart to make sure that he was taken care of. 

He’s trying not to think about it. 

His backpack is almost full by the time he leaves the second floor of the department store. He’s careful and makes sure to not let this get jostled around in there. He was gentle with how he packed things and wanted to make sure nothing got ruined.

Puddin’ is right where Joel expected him to be. On the highest shelf of the bookstore, which is where he was before you came running in with tears in your eyes almost an hour ago. When Joel was still your prisoner. Still your captive. 

Joel grabs Pud by the scruff– unfazed by the hissing and clicking sounds of protest coming from the completely domesticated animal. Joel hasn’t seen Puddin’ hunt or scavenge for his own food once since he’s been here, and knows for a fact that he wouldn’t be able to make it on his own. 

He doesn’t want to bring him–

Yes ya’ do. 

No…he doesn’t.

He doesn’t even really know why he’s back inside the mattress store tearing the place apart looking for the remote to the shock collar. He doesn’t know why he’s inside the pet store looking for a new shock collar when he can’t find the old one.

When Joel returns to the spot where he left you– you’re gone. 

She couldn’t have gotten far. 

He picks the cord up off the floor, gives it a soft tug and feels the resistance– you’re still on the other end. He sets his backpack down gently and holds the cord in his hand as he lets the sounds of your pained whimper lead him right to you. 

Joel follows you into the service hallways he’s explored a million times. He wonders why you came back here, what you’re looking for that he doesn’t know about. A secret way out? Bolt cutters? 

Joel looked constantly for something that he could have used to cut through his restraints, but never found anything.

Never really looked that hard– don’t kid yourself.

He did look– he always wanted to go home. 

Could have killed her a long time ago. 

“Come on, lil puppy– Puddin’s missin’ ya’,” Joel croons, the sounds of your shuffled footsteps on the concrete floor growing louder and louder. “Hear ‘em cryin’ for his momma?” He holds Puddin’ up, and he hisses loudly in annoyance or discomfort– he’s not completely sure. 

Joel’s about to round the corner, expecting you to be there with a horrified look on your face at what he might do to the over-sized rodent in his hand. 

He’s not expecting you to be waiting for him with a knee hurdling towards his unprotected dick and balls. It knocks the air out of his lungs, and bile rises in his throat. 

“You’re hurtin’ him!” Your worried voice rings in his ears.

She’s going to kill you. 

The rest of his stomach drops down into his ass. 

Joel grabs the cord attached to the choke chain, gasping for air, and pulls on it as hard as he can and is still met with tension. You shriek and choke as he drags you to the ground—still holding Puddin' safely in your arms. 

He realizes you hadn’t even been going for the keys or his gun, or his knife. You were just trying to protect–

Her baby. 

Joel gives your restraint another good tug– he knows how it feels to have the prongs dig into the soft, sensitive skin above the collarbone. It’s horrible, but not as bad as the shock-collar. 

Joel moves as fast as he can, pouncing on you and pressing his knee into your chest.  

You look up at him with eyes so wide they're more white then iris, pupils blown wide with terror. Then you scream, it vibrates his eardrums, and splits his skull open. 

He didn’t think any human was capable of making a sound so absolutely bone-chilling.

He presses his palm over your mouth, squeezing your cheeks together as tight as he can to avoid getting bitten. With the hunting knife he points it at Puddin’-- who is currently playing dead beside your flailing body.

Joel turns your head to the side while your fingernails claw into his wrists. You go limp when you see the threat.

“Ain’t gotta say it— but you know,” Joel warns. quietly. “Keep your fuckin’ mouth shut– got it?” He growls in your ear. 

You whimper and nod silently in defeat.

“Good. Now you’re gon’ get up real slow– Mister’ll help ya’, okay?” He whispers in your ear. 

You nod again, body shaking underneath his with each silent sob. 

Be careful-- her shoulder.

Joel helps you to your feet. He picks Puddin’ up more appropriately– holding him like a newborn– still pointing the sharp edge of the knife towards his belly as the three of you make your way back out of the service hallway. 

Once Joel has you back where had intended on you staying– he gives you Puddin’ to hold and then gives you a stern look with narrow eyes and a strongly pinched brow. 

“You try anythin’– make one single move…and I’ll kill him; make you watch,” Joel nods down to the still stiff opossum in your arms.

"I'm real sorry--"

"Sorry don't mean nothin' out here, remember that?" He barks at you as he pulls the new collar out of the packaging.

He has no sympathy for your tears, or the way that you're almost silently apologizing over and over again-- almost like you're not even talking to him anymore.

She ain't... you know it.

He places the new shock collar around your neck and locks into place with the padlock from the choke chain. He then puts the batteries in the remote and holds his thumb over the button.

“Say goodbye t’all of this,” he motions around with the blade of his knife. The crumbling ceiling, the broken and warped rafters littering the ground now. “We’re goin’ to Jackson.” 

To be continued…?

authors note-- this was honestly one of the most fun stories to write-- and I really hope you all want me to continue this fucked up story back in Jackson.

Thank you to everyone for the love and support!! I didn't expect a little tiny drabble to turn into this big whole thing.

I hope I didn't disappoint everyone-- I didn't want either one of them to die and I genuinely don't think Joel would have just let her walk away from all of this with a nod of his head and a wave.

thank you for @pedrospookie for your amazing mood boards and knowledge of DC and Harley Quinn, and @almostempty for your help with this last chapter. I really needed your words of encouragement and support because I felt like I was fucking it up all the time.

@probablyreadinsmut your love for Puddin' kept me going and I love you for that.

tag list:@pedrospookie @gothcsz @joelmillerisapunk @paleidiot @goodvampykitten @rosebuds-and-moonlight @diabaroxa @zhazy-blog2 @almostempty @xdaddysprincessxx @tobethlehem @lilac-boo @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @rav3n-pascal22 @baronessvonglitter @joelmillerisapunk @syd-djarin @probablyreadinsmut @itwasntimethatdidit40 @letsgobarbs @lovehappyloki @joelalorian @pedrostories @evolnoomym @valkyreally @youdontknowe @corazondebeskar-reads @pastelpinkflowerlife @tobethlehem @lumpatto @shivispunk

again, i'm sorry if I forgot anyone. I have a little hamster brain and I forget things.

[specific-dreamer]

this verse is so special to me. because no he didn’t have to, he’s not stuck. darry could walk out at anytime he wants, the only thing stopping him is his own morals and values. if we’re being totally honest, he wouldn’t even receive that many looks if he did turn around left. they call him darrel, not darry, he’s wearing a muted/cheaper version of the soc’s outifts, his hairstyle looks to be the most styled (that is to say, on stage the socs all have their hair slicked and smooth and out of the greasers, darry’s hair is the most smoothed). and for all intent and purposes, he’s already gone.

hes only stuck because he’s wedging himself between the two roles. soda and pony never asked for a second father; darry’s just assuming that they do. he’s sticking himself in that role.

he didn’t have to drop out of school. if he stayed in school, he could’ve gotten a work study; continue his studies and earn a dollar. it wouldn’t be enough ofc he’d still need a part time job and he’d certainly still be running himself ragged, but he’d still be in school.

“i had different plans, i had places to go”

he only dropped out because of his morals and values. he’s from the south, specifically, the bible belt. the main value down here is “blood is thicker than water” all his life he’s heard that so ofc he drops everything to take care of his brothers. ofc he feels like he has to earn that dollar, ofc he sticks himself into a hole he’s not quite big enough for.

“either way i’m losing, no matter which way i go”

if he stayed in school and let the state takes the boys he still would’ve been losing. bc at the end of the day he does love his brothers. he wouldn’t be happy, he wouldn’t feel good about his life knowing his brothers are somewhere separated with some random strangers. he would’ve lost the only family he had left

on the other hand, the real hand. he chose his brothers, he chose to keep his family together and it still feels like he’s losing. because he’s miserable here. he loves his brothers ofc he does but they don’t understand him, and vice versa. their perfectly happy being greasers and darry just isn’t. he’s tried to be, bc once a greaser always a greaser, but it’s really hard to be content and happy when the only person who understood you just died. hes dropped out of school so he doesn’t lose his family only to lose his one way out. id go so far as to say he’s traded his freedom for his family and that may be a win for some people but it really feels like a lost for him

[doodlenoodleboi]

Senku l. (before & after the stone)

Headcanons, sfw,nsfw, suggestive…

Author’s note: Senku is a fictional character he is canonically 15-16 in the beginning of the series and 17-18 by season 3 not taking account for the manga which he is older. If in the future I make works on characters you deem unfitting for the roll of nsfw fiction or suggestive works of while aged up feel free to block me! Also a reminder that this is a fictional character, made up of lines/pixels. Do not waste your time writing petty hate comments which I will remove and are a waste of your life which you will not get back. I choose to be delusional about fictional characters for my own satisfaction, good day!

Word count: a lot

Before the stone

Sfw

Senku is a bit more less responsible before the stone as he is allowed to act like a kid. He often spends his time in the school lab or at home and can be seen with is small group of friends. (Taiju Oki and Yuzuriha Ogawa.)

Love and romantic relationships are something Senku has found himself uninterested in his teenage years. Dedicating himself to his craft and love for science.

You can take science away from the man but not the science from the man. (You really can’t do either)

Senku has found people conventionally attractive to a specific statistical standard but not to him personally and probably won’t ever given he doesn’t have a common attraction to physical attributes.

Though through statistics he can still find someone who he would be generally attracted to physically. Someone with glasses, makes their interests obvious ex: paint on body all the time, a lab coat or constantly wearing something of their special interest would be people he gravitates towards.

(As someone who is neurodivergent in the worst ways I think half the cast is autistic or a Shokunin if you will a person deeply dedicated to their craft.) So someone as such will attract Senku not romantically of course but they will be bound to cross paths.

There are a multitude of ways you could meet you might never meet but to keep it simple I’m going to give you a multitude of possibilities to have rot in your head.

Being apart of the school’s science club is one way always spending time with him constantly in the science room after school.

Being a dumbass needed tutoring friends with one of his friends but not with Senku directly, or competing for higher grades, a good enemies to lovers. Maybe you’re even apart of the school’s science club making you and Senku acquaintances if anything.

Senku doesn’t back down from competition when it comes to brains but quickly when it comes to fights. Being rivals to Senku is a good asset in the stone world getting you to be one of the first few people to be revived truly testing if you’re book smart (can do it in theory on paper in school) and street smart (do it for real and faster than the time given in school).

Senku was hesitant more than he ever has been getting in a relationship with you. Being shy was simply not an option for him, he thought it was a waste of time often making him coming off as stiff and blunt.

A relationship of romantic interest with Senku will never be said nor be official. He will never say he loves you or that he likes you even give he believes actions speak louder than words. If you give him time you will see through subtle ways that he is attracted to you. 

He will ask you about things that don’t matter much: like should I choose this or that color the small things…

He’ll allow you to touch his hair if your one for pda, he won’t reciprocated often at most leaning into the touch out of pure comfort. He won’t push you off understanding that this is a love language (that did take him a while to understand.)

Senku’s love language is quality time and gift giving. This is more often seen in the stone world but it expressed as well before hand even more so if you’re a science nerd along with him.

He’ll be willing to conduct experiments with you along with share materials with you which is a rare thing for him being an only child never having to share much of anything.

I believe that Senku is aroace or at the very least ace. He can still have platonic love and relationships but isn’t fond of romantic ones being in a romantic relationship from his perspective is his treating you like a best friend practically treating you like a mixture between yuzuriha and Kohaku.

Suggestive

Anything remotely romantic would have to be initiated by you and 9/10 you’re going to either get pushed off. Or he just sits there waiting for you to get over with it. Something like the (kohaku kissing Senku scene in season 3)

For your sake he has experimented once or twice before with make out sessions or kissing to get you to do something (like get you to do an experiment with him.) any kind of physical touch from him romantic wise once again if not initiated by you. 

He’s a responsible enough person to know better than to have sexual intercourse at his age nor is he interested enough to risk it not that questions about it don’t cross his mind but we’ll explore those much later down the line.

Though he’s more likely to tease you occasionally and lean his arm atop your head if you’re short. Expect this more often if you have curly hair

If you have 4c or curly hair in general he will be near you more often especially if you’re a foreigner. Have issues finding hair products for your hair type in Japan? He got you give him a couple strands of your hair next thing you know he has a whole list of products for your hair and product sample packets surrounding him.

Nsfw

Sorry there is none Senku was not interested in sexual acts before the stone nor very much after.

Though he will ask you a lot of “inappropriate questions” but i promise you he’s just genuinely curious. And he’s not trying to infer anything he promises.

After the stone

As I said Senku’s love languages are gift giving and quality time. This becomes more apparent in the stone world. If you had something you held close best believe he will try his best to make it for you. If you’re an artist he’s make brushes and paint etc…

He’s a bit kinder and softer after the stone. People he has known longer therefore care for more he unconsciously takes them on more missions with him around or in a safe space.

If he knew you before the stone you’re likely to be one of the first people out of stone. Though if not you are an important asset and he sees you for your skills and talents so be grateful for that.

If you’re a creative type expect to be paired with Yuzuriha often. A martial artist or athlete expect Kohaku and Taiju.

What Senku appreciate most is people interested in his work, he loves experimenting and explaining his process even to those a who don’t understand so please entertain him for a while if you expect at friendship let alone a romantic relationship.

People who are aroace can have relationships but they can often be on sided in the romance department. It’s not that they don’t love platonically you they just don’t know how to react to that romantically or don’t want romance.(yall can choose if Senku is aroace or not) As long as you’re ok with that your relationship with Senku will be fine. (I’ll just write him as dense to love for yall though.)

Senku if he does love you will occasionally indulge in your romantic behavior and take this a complent if it was a last resort he wouldn't be against procreating with you. (it took him a lot to admit that so you better take it.)

Romantic relationships are often seen as an inconvenience given he doesn't see the need for them and doesn't think he could would be the best fit for something like that.

He true for the most part but he is able to be in a romantic relationship. It may not be as romantic as a you like but if he has an interest in you he will unconsciously do these things. Don't expect any hand-holding and kissing though.

The only way you could get him to hold your hand is for technical reasons like you not getting lost.

Suggestive

I do agree with the fact that Senku would experiment on his significant other and I think this would be more common before the stone but in small ways.

An unexpected romantic act to see how you respond.

He will use this advantage if gen tells him you like him or something for free labor but we won’t abuse it he’s not that mean.

The only way I could see a “relationship forming” Is Senku using you for labor and “paying you” with physical touch. Kisses, hugs and stuff, he likes you platonically but as time goes on he starts experimenting with you first it’s his far will you go for each type of affection. Then it’s soon how will you react to this or that. He says it’s not you that he loves but the reaction you make like a chemical reaction in your mind. Knowing his autistic ass it might be true but the way he acts makes you unsure.

Or maybe finding a girl smarter than him would rial him up he might see you as arrival at first. You guys could be partners, he swears he doesn’t love you, but the science you create the knowledge you know, that wrinkly brain of yours.

He tends to have a love for things rather than people in a way he loves science and the things people are good at their talents but maybe not themselves, he swears but he does establish relationships with characters like Gen and Chrome as friends so I’m sure he can establish a romantic relationship if we take this route.

Then I could actually get into how Senku would “experiment” with his “friend” this would create an friends with benefits kinda situation but it’s not like Senku sees it like that he just doesn’t have time for labels and probably wouldn’t care about it. Just don’t call him pet names because he doesn’t like it. The relationship would be private so the villagers don’t make a fuss, for as far was that would last with Gen around.

NSFW - ish

Let’s talk about Senku’s experiments

Of course you consented to this but you might know what your getting into 100%

It’s basically just a very handsy check up while he asks you questions you may or may not be able to answer.

Ex: “Are your breast sensitive? There is a high concentration of nerve endings present in that area, making them one of the most sensitive parts of the body. While he’s over here playing with them in every way imaginable. He’s going to continue to do this for every inch of your body and take an analysis writing how painful each part is and or sensitive.

So I’ll let you guys imagine that

Thank you for reading!!

[tonysbed]

Secrets I keep | Part 13

Lando Norris x sister!reader

Max Fewtrell x norris!reader

Daniel Ricardo x Norris!reader

summary: You and Max have been dancing around your feelings for years but jealousy gets the best of us all..

not proofread

warnings: mention of loosing virginity, no they’re not gonna fuck on the boat, ITS LANDOS. Smut will be marked. Reader is definitely a woman 😔☝️ For the first time, I wrote protected sex 😧

warnings in the smut part: choking, rough sex, virginity loss, use of good girl, fingering, it could be cringe for some idk

series masterlist | previous | next

-

“Max..” Your voice was quiet and your eyes met his “We don’t have to, we’ll go up there and take a nap or anything” You nod, he smiles gently and presses a kiss to your nose “Tell me when I’m crossing lines okay? I’m not gonna loose you because i’m selfish or anything” His tone was quiet and gentle, matching yours.

“I will. I just..” You look down. Max senses that you’re struggling, grabs the forgotten ice cream, puts it back in the freezer and takes you back upstairs.

He pulls you on your previous spot, making you lay your head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry” “For what?” “We didn’t..” And we don’t have to. I literally could not care less. If you don’t want it, I don’t want it either.”

You smile at him as his thumb caressed your cheek. You sigh and press your lips together, making Max tilt his head at you “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s fine” He shakes his head “No. Talk to me” You shake your head “It’s okay” “No it’s not. I can only help you when you tell me what’s wrong” “Nothings really wrong..” “But?”

You sigh and fidget with a bracelet Lando had gifted you years ago “It hasn’t changed..” Max looked confused “Changed? What?” “Me, uhm..” “Well, It doesn’t really matter if you do or not. I’m still right here” You chuckle and blush at his words.

“It’s no that” His hand rests over yours “Then what?” “I asked something of you, something you didn’t want.. well..” Max face twists from confusion to realisation “You’re..you never..?” You shake your head “I didn’t know we’d end up here but I never really found anyone I trusted enough”

He stares at you “And where is the problem?” “Maybe you didn’t want-“ “You listen to me now.” He sits up “I wanted you. I want you and I will want you until I take my last breath. That’s how much you consume me. I need you in every way that you allow me to have you. And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn’t be open about this, but I promise you, It’s okay. And we don’t have to. Okay? That’s not why we’re here”

He holds your face in his hands “Okay?” You nod and gently meet his lips.

“We’ve been through enough to not hide something from the other. And we’ll probably go through hell a few times. Especially when the internet catches on, but that all won’t matter cause we’ve got each other.”

You smile and nod “Okay” Max smiles too “Okay. And now we should slowly go back to land. I’m starving” You chuckle “Ay ay, captain” You smirk “Dork” He ruffles through you hair “Hey!”

He quickly kissed the top of your head and heads to turn the boat around. You watch him leading you both back to the land. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as you thought.

-

yn added to their story

caption: I wish I knew what he tried there, but I have no clue @/ maxfewtrell

reply’s:

lando did he get stuck?

yn no he actually didn’t

lando ohhh, miracle

yn almost tho

alexandrasaintmleux when is your busy schedule free for me 😔

yn always, you just gotta say when you’re free 😔 I think we also need to talk about something that happened yesterday 👀

alexandrasaintmleux ohh 👀

user you and max are hanging out a lot

user you’re with max again??

-

yn and alexandrasaintmleux added to their story

(yn cap: 🦋🤍 | alex cap: 💕🌸)

“But you guys didn’t sleep with each other?” “No I couldn’t.. I mean we talked about it afterwards. And he told me that it’s okay but it doesn’t feel okay”

She smiles at you “You’re finally where you wanted to be all along. It is okay. No matter what the media, what lando, and definitely daniel says. They don’t matter. Did he give you any reason not to trust him?”

“No?” “Then talk to him again. And if you aren’t ready, then that’s okay too.” “Everyone-“ “Shut up.” You blink at her “Stop comparing yourself, please. If I had the chance again, I would’ve rather thought about who I had my first time with. But I wanted to fit in, to loose my virginity. That’s stupid tho. Do it with someone you love, and not do it when everyone tells you to lose it.”

You nod “Alright, alright. Before you start writing poems here.” You chuckle and Alex laughs “I’m sure i’ll write some about the insufferable love you two have for each other” “Me and Max? Talk about yourself with the wannabe fashionista”

“That’s mean” She says but laughs “His pants are the worst! How would you let him go out like that?” You cringe “He likes it I guess. I’ll help him here and there but..he’s expressing himself..?”

“Don’t make me feel bad “ You chuckle but pick up your phone that lit up.

“Who is it?” “Max” She smirks at you “Shut up” “I didn’t say anything” You roll your eyes “What does he want?” “Asking if I was up for dinner tonight. But keegan and morgan would be joining if I was okay with it”

“But you wanted to talk to him” “I’m not gonna talk to him about him talking my virginity in public, Alex!” You whisper yell. She shrugs and you roll your eyes again.

“Maybe you won’t even have to talk” She smirks again “Alex” You whine “Do you trust him?” “Yes” “Do you want it to be him?” “Yes” She smiles as she sips her coffee.

“We’ll see what happens” “Just don’t panic. You’ll be okay.” you nod “Thank you alex” “You know I won’t judge” She winks.

-

maxfewtrell

liked by landonorris, charlesleclerc, angryginge13 and 625.836 others

maxfewtrell recently 🌺👀

user WHO IS THAT

lando I still beat you.

maxfewtrell 🙄🙄

angryginge13 not surprised. He was ogling his girlfriend the entire time

maxfewtrell I was not

lando you were.

user let us innnn

user he looks so happy omg

user this is so cute

user handplacement 🥹

-

You kicked off your heels in the hallway and made your way to the living room. You flopped down onto the couch and you hear a chuckle from behind you “Told you to wear other shoes.” “But others wouldn’t have fit to my outfit” You pout.

“Then you should’ve changed” “So you don’t like my outfit?” “Oh trust me, I love it” You blush a bit as he sits next to you, hand on your knee.

“How was the meet up with Alexandra? More gossip?” “Maybe” Max smiled and closed his eyes. His head rested on the back of the couch as you watched him.

“Everything okay?” He mumbled a few moments later and opened one eye to look at you “yeah, i’m okay” You smile warmly. He smiles, closes his eye and gently strokes your leg.

Either he hasn’t noticed, or he’s doing it on purpose but with each stoke, his hand itched higher and higher. When he got to your thigh, your breath hitched.

You saw max’s lips twitch upwards slightly. His thumb makes a soothing motion over your inner thigh, which isn’t soothing at all (Ykyk that feeling).

“Fewtrell.” He hums “What are you doing?” “I’m not doing anything” He turns his head and looks at you with an innocent smile “I know exactly what you’re doing.” “Then why are you asking?”

* Smut until the next mark *

“Don’t play with me, Fewtrell” “No? But I thought that’s exactly what you wanted” You glare at him “Maybe I don’t want it anymore” He chuckled “No? Then why is my hand trapped between your thighs?” He smirks. Fuck, you hadn’t even noticed that your thighs were pressed together.

You look up at him with a faint blush on your cheeks. His free hand cups your cheek “Tell me to stop and I will” You shake your head “Don’t” “No? You sure” You nod and he raised an eyebrow at you.

“Yes”

That’s all it took for max to let his restraint go. His lips crash into yours “Tell me if I make you uncomfortable or-“ “Just shut up” You breath out. He chuckled, pulled his hand from between your thighs and climbed over you.

His hands were next to your head, yours finding their place on his sides “Max” You say quietly as his lips gently glide over your jaw “Hm?” You raise your hands to his cheeks and pull him in for another kiss.

One hand slowly wanders down to the first button on his shirt, which he catches in his hand. You look at him puzzled “I’m not fucking you on your couch” “Why not?” “Not happening”

He gets up and throws you over his shoulder as if you weighted nothing “Max! What the fuck!” “You’ll live.” You chuckle as he makes his way to your bedroom.

He gently sets you down on the bed and doesn’t restrain your hands from opening his shirt this time. He watched every move of your hands and looks right into your eyes as you push the dress shirt off him.

He lets it fall to the floor as he leans over you again, his lips almost touching yours “Still okay?” “yes” You lean up the last bit to kiss him, making him smile into the kiss.

One of his hands trace your back “Wanna keep it on or can I..” Max eyes you for a moment, keeping alert for any possible discomfort. You breath for a moment “It’s okay” You say quietly.

He smiles and gently opens your dress. It falls of your shoulders as he pulls you up by your hands and strips you off the dress completely.

His eyes roam your body, but instead of being embarrassed, it’s sends a warm sensation through your body.

“Got your wish after all, huh?” He chuckled “Shut up and hurry up” “Patience baby. Everything at its time” You roll your eyes but yelp as Max pushes you back on the bed.

“Up” He says and you move more upwards on the bed as he towers over you. His lips find your jaw once again while one of his hands roams your form.

He trails down your body, keeping eye contact. “Max, please. Don’t tease” “I’m not teasing, i’m enjoying” His hands slide up your sides and stop at your bra “Can I take it off?” You nod and Max opens your bra and throws it off the bed.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He murmured against your skin. His hands gently knead your tits and smirks as you let out a gasp.

He comes up to your ear, gently biting under it, earning a muffled moan “Has anyone ever touched you, baby?” You shake your head, breathless “No? Oh fuck” He chuckled and let his head fall forward for a moment.

Max composed himself again as his hands travel down to the last piece of clothing that’s covering you. He looks at you and you nod. He raised an eyebrow “Yes, max for fucks sake. Stop asking and do something, please”

He smirked and pulled down your underwear, leaving you bare in front of him. You tug at his pants “No, not yet” He gently guides your hand above your head “This is about you, not me” You whine “You can have me later, let me make my stupid decision up, hmm?”

He gently glides two fingers through your folds. You bite your lip to keep your moans quiet, but Max wasn’t having any of it.

“Let me hear you, otherwise I’ll stop” He pulls his hand away and you buckle your hips upwards, which was quickly shut down by max shoving and holding your hips down.

His fingers find your clit and circle it slowly. One of your hands grabs max’s arm. He smiles and speeds up slowly. Your breathing was already unsteady but it wasn’t enough “Max, please” “Use your words. What do you want?”

You blush and clench your jaw “I’m not a mind reader, you gotta tell me” “Your fingers” “oh yeah?” You nod eagerly “Well, who am I to deny you that” He slowly inserts one of his fingers and watches your face for any discomfort.

When he doesn’t find any, he curves his finger upwards. You moan and thighten your grip on his arm “More, please Max” He inserts another finger into you and picks up the pace.

He keeps his thumb on your clit, kissing your thighs in the process. You moan out his name, nothing else than him filling your mind.

“What a good girl” Max raised an eyebrow as you clenched around his fingers “Oh? You like when I call you that?” You blush and hide your face in your hands.

“Don’t hide yourself, come on Baby” He peels your hands away “Eyes on me. You wanna cum on my fingers?” You nod “Yeah? You think you can handle my cock too?” You nod eagerly “Yes, I can”

Max smirks, picking up the speed again and you whine “Aw, are you sensitive?” You push your head backwards into the pillow.

The squelch of the movement inside of you is the only noise filling the room for a moment, making you fist the blanket and max’s arm.

“So good- Max! ‘m close” “Yeah? I’ve got you, cum all over my fingers. Need it” He says and bites the inside your thigh.

The pain pushes you over the edge, your nails digging into Max’s arm.

He slowed down his pace, letting you ride out your high. He pulls out and wipes his fingers on his pants, his free hand gently stroking your abdomen.

You look at him, catching your breath, hair sticking to your forehead. Max chuckled “If you look this fucked out on my fingers, I wonder what my cock does to to you”

You bite your lip and reach out to him, fingers hooking into his belt. Max raised his eyebrows at you but smirks “Go ahead” He nods and you unbuckle his belt. He moves backwards on the bed to stand back up and take his pants off.

“You’re still clothed” You say, sitting on your knees now, tilting your head and pointing at his boxers. Max chuckled “Impatient, are we?” He smirks but you cross your arms “Alright, alright” He chuckled, taking off his underwear too and crawling back above you, pushing you back on your back.

You hold the eye contact but flicker to his lips. His hands reached for the nightstand and takes something off it. “You wanna do it?” You look at the condom. Where the hell did that thing come from and when did he even place it there?

But your thoughts were interrupted when max kissed your jaw “Hm?” “I wanna do it” You whisper “Alright then” He holds the pack up to your mouth and you gently grab it with your teeth, to not damage anything.

You both sit back up, and you rip open the package. You place it on his cock and out of the corner of your eye you can see his hands clenching, holding back from touching you. You smirks and roll the condom down.

Max squeezed his eyes shut and mumbled a quiet ‘fuck’ You keep moving your hand up and down his cock “Sweetheart, no- oh fuck” You thighten your grip slightly, making Max gasp.

“That’s not what- oh” His breath quickens “I’m just making sure it’s on properly” You smile innocently, and before you can say anything else, his hand grips your throat “You’re a minx. I’d be careful if I was you” “Oh yeah? What’re you gonna do?”

He smirks slowly and clenched his jaw “Nothing today. This is about you, but don’t think I’ll forget you being a little brat.”

You raise your eyebrows “Me? I would never” “You’ve never and you still..” Max cuts himself off “I forgot, you read” You smile “Not so innocent, are you baby?” He smiles and pulls you in by your throat.

His lips press against yours and he pulls away again, making you try and chase him, which doesn’t work with his hand around your throat.

He gently pushes you back down and presses gentle kisses around your neck, keeping your hips still with his hands.

“Max, please” He raised an eyebrow “Stop teasing. You don’t need to be a mind reader to know what I want. Please, I thought you wanted to make it up to me? “ You whine, making him press his lips together, nodding “I know, I know sweetheart. You’ll get what you want”

He lines himself up with you but looks up first “Tell me to go slower or stop, okay? You got the control on the pace” You nod, hand wrapping around his bicep.

He slowly pushes in, making you gasp. Your nails dig into his arm, making him hiss. Your scrunch your eyebrows together “Wait-fuck. A moment, please” Max stops immediately and looks up “You okay?” You nod “Just need a moment”

He nods and waits for your cue to move again. Your mouth opens in a soundless moan, which makes Max wrap his hand around your throat once again “Come on, don’t go shy on me now, Pretty girl. Let me hear you” You try to stop the restrain on your moans and Max stills inside you, once he’s in by the hilt.

“You tell me when to move, okay?” You nod, pulling him down for a kiss, your fingers tangling into his hair.

“Okay, you can move” He slowly pulls out and trusts back in. Your eyes widen as he continues the movement “Holy- Max” He chuckles and leans his head next to your ear, making you listen to his breathing.

“How are you feeling?” He says, quickly pecking your cheek “Good” “Yeah? Feels good?” You nod, eyes occasionally rolling into the back of your head.

“Told you we should’ve done this earlier- fuck” You grad the arm that is wrapped around your throat “Yeah? Bet you would’ve loved to be fucked everywhere, hm? Having to keep quiet if I actually fucked you in my drivers room, your own room or mine? Or on the italy vacation?”

“I don’t- I don’t know what you’re talking about” You get out between moans “No? Running around in those dresses, my god. And bending over every time I was around you? Total accident i’m sure” He growls, thightening his hold on your throat.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head once again at his action “you’re fucking filthy, aren’t you? If you like me chocking you, what else is it I will find when I fuck you, hm?” He smirks as you blush “Always the ones you thought were innocent” He chuckled as you silenced him with a kiss.

“Please, faster” Max gladly listens, picking up his pace and reaching down to play with your clit “Max- Oh god”

“You have no idea how long I wanted to do this to you. I don’t know how I kept away from you, but I won’t ever be able to ever again” Max’s breath gets heavier and his head hangs down.

“Harder” “Baby im already-“ “You’re not gonna break me” He lets out a breathless laugh “Jesus, you’re gonna be the death of me” He obliged either way and soon you could feel the pleasure creeping up on you.

Max felt your repeatedly clenching around him as his thrusts don’t falter “Are you close? Can feel you squeezing me so- oh my- fucking tight” You nod “Yeah? Wanna come on my cock? Be a good girl?” “Yeah, wanna be good- fuck”

He smirks at the effect he has on you, but his expression quickly turns into concern as tears roll down your cheeks and he starts to slow down “Hey-hey are you okay?” “Don’t stop, please max. Fuck, keep going”

It was then he realised you were crying because it just felt good “Not hurting, please I’m so close” He nods and picks up his pace again.

This time he picks up your hips a bit which earns him a loud moan “Oh- right there, max” He chuckled but continued pounding into you, as his own orgasm crept up on him.

“Yeah? Finally found it” He says more to himself than you but tries to continually hitting the spot, over and over again.

“Gonna cum, max. Don’t stop, don’t-“ “I won’t, let go baby. I got you, be a good girl” You pulled him down into a heated kiss as white hot please consumed every fibre of your body, your other hand gripping his shoulder, marking another part of him.

Your orgasm triggered his own and his hands grip your hips, probably bruising them slightly in the process.

His forehead rests on yours as you slowly come down from your high. Max slowly pulls out, which earns him a quiet hiss of you.

“Sorry” he mumbled and pulled the condom off to throw it in the trash.

* smut end * holy cow that was long 😭 Anyway.

“You want a bath or just lay here” Max whispered as he cuddled up to you “Just a moment. But a bath sounds nice too” “I’ll quickly turn on the water and be right back” You nod with closed eyes.

A few moments later you hear the water running and Max is back in the room, now in sweatpants “Why are you wearing those?” “Do you know how weird it feels to walk around naked?” He laughs and crawls back to you, pulling you onto his chest “Don’t fall asleep on me now. We still gotta clean you up”

“How can I not when you brush through my hair like that and cuddle me” You mumble “To bad, sweetheart. Still gonna have the bath” You don’t move and max laughs “Do I have to carry you?” “Mhm”

He chuckled again but picks you up “Let’s go then” You keep your eyes closed, leaning on his shoulder. “Can you open the door? My hands are quite occupied”

You smile and open the door. The warmth of the room immediately makes you feel even sleepier. He sets you down for a moment and closes the door.

“Come on, hop hop in there” “Don’t rush me” You say and hold a hand out “Yeah yeah” He picks you back up and you squeal “Max!” He slowly sets you down in the bathtub. He sits beside the tub and holds your hand, head resting on the side and looking at you.

“You’re staring.” “I know. But do you really care?” “No” You smile and look at him. His smile widens “Good.” He sits up properly to kiss you. Your hand draws shapes on his shoulder “Oh” “Hm?”

You chuckle “Did I do that?” You point to the countless scratches on his arms and shoulders “I think you did, yeah” He laughs “Even down here!” He looks at the lower part of his arm “How am I supposed to hide that?”

“Hoodie?” He looks at you deadpan “Hoodie? It’s like.. super hot outside?” “Then you’ll be smoking hot” He chuckled “You’re crazy” “Yet you’re still sitting here” Max nods “Yeah, somehow” You roll your eyes and lay back down.

comfortable silence fills the room. Max’s hand gently caressed your face as you calm down. You were right were you wanted to be, without any disturbance..right?

-

Holy shit. It’s been a while since I wrote smut, so go easy on me. Part 14 is still coming out tomorrow, no worries about that 🤭

[princess-of-the-corner]

ML AU - Public Divorce

So, before Origins, sometime over … whatever break/vacation Paris kids have between school years, André finds out about Audrey’s “Other Family” (Zoé & Mr. Lee) in just about the worst way possible. What follows is a very loud, ugly, chaotic mess of a VERY PUBLIC divorce, as Audrey and André use their various platforms to slander the other. It is brutal, and not particularly dignified. They attack each other’s character, their appearances, their hobbies, even diets. Anything they appear in suddenly turns into being stuck at your friends house while their parents argue. At some point, in a “stick it to my ex” kind of move, André starts “dating(??)” other woman, trying to prove … something? That he doesn’t need Audrey? That she’s replaceable?? Anyway, Audrey decides fair’s fair, and starts publicly toting around her array of “side pieces” that she’s had for years.

Of course, none of this is actually GOOD for either of their popularities - Audrey opinions as the “Style Queen” starts to tarnish, André starts losing in the polls. But then. Then, after several MONTHS of this nonsense, André finally gets reminded, “oh yeah! We have a kid!” and starts using Chloé to slander Audrey. How she SUCKED as a mother, was never there, how he basically was raising Chloé as a single parent. And Audrey starts going on about how she never WANTED kids, how André was so DEMANDING, how trapped she felt in their marriage, How it isn’t HER fault she barely knows anything about Claudine, André never wanted her around!

Anyway, Chloé starts the school year, not as the returning Queen Bitch, but an exhausted girl who would appreciate it if everyone just knocked it off and let her sleep, please and thank you. She’s spent most of the break camping out at either Sabrina’s or Adrien’s, whenever Daddy wasn’t dragging her out to show how much he was still a “family man” or whatever bullshit he’s trying to do now. This Chloé has officially reached her limit. She’s watched her parents devolve into literal toddlers, gone through an emotional death coaster, and landed on a very bitter, resigned acceptance. As far as she’s concerned, nothing she can do will make any difference, so fuck it! Let’s wear hoodies all day! Let’s swim in the Seine! How about I burn all my clothes! Who gives a shit!? She’ll spend almost a week doing nothing but sleeping, then go on a shopping spree for knives. She’s giving into whatever random impulses strike her, and otherwise just not giving a single fuck. Sabrina and Adrien have been taking turns as her impulse control, preventing her from doing anything TRULY nuts, but they fear it’s only a matter of time.

Other assorted notes:

- there’s no prank on the first day, Chloé is too tired for this shit. She’s camping outside to make SURE Adrien doesn’t get derailed, and then she is taking a nap.

- Alya, being an aspiring reporter, has been following the Bourgeois Breakdown on the news. She gets a little too excited on realizing that Chloé is in her class, and asks several blunt, too personal Questions about how Chloé feels about the divorce. Chloé, who has been dealing with this shit for months from “real” reporters she isn’t allowed to “snap” at lest it affect her mom or dad negatively, punches Alya in the face. Alya at least admits later she probably deserved it.

- honestly, Chloé’s just more ready to throw hands in general. She’s swinging between total exhaustion and “Tired of Being, Time to go Apeshit”.

- she is, at all times, two (2) seconds from either kicking the shit out of someone, or taking a nap.

- Everyone, bar Sabrina and Adrien, is a little awkward around Chloé now, cause how do they handle “girl who was kind of a bitch to all of us since kindergarten, but now all her family’s shit has been airing on live TV for three months?”

- Marinette and Chloé kind of have a shaky truce, since Chloé ran into the Dupain-Cheng Bakery to escape a hoard of reporters, and Marinette hid her behind the counter and got said reporters to leave. They’re not really friends, but they aren’t enemies, nor are they “I leave you alone, you leave me alone”. It’s weirdly tense, but both girls are refusing to break the awkward stalemate.

- Bustier keeps trying to recommend Chloé to see the school guidance Counsellor, Chloé keeps saying no cause, “He didn’t do shit about me picking on Dupain-Cheng for literal years, this is DEFINITELY above his paygrade”.

- Chloé is refusing to take any blame for the divorce. Oh, she’s definitely had the thoughts of “are they splitting because of me?”, but how the pair of them are HANDLING the divorce? All the public mudslinging and arguments, and screaming at each other on the nightly news? That, Chloé is refusing to acknowledge as in any way relating to herself. It’s mostly spite, but also the healthiest part of her mindset regarding the whole thing

- André gets Akumatized about 6 different times as “Homewrecker”, before Chloé grabs a butterfly on purpose to go “Hawk Moth, if you turn my dad into a divorce Akuma one more fucking time, I am going to track you down with the express purpose of ripping out your spine, beating you with it, and then putting it back by feeding you each individual vertebrae”. When Homewrecker 7 turns up, someone posts a video of Chloé just screaming obscenities at the sky.

- André does lose the next mayoral election, at least partially as a result of this nonsense. D'argencourt also loses, so instead we have the dark horse of the mayoral race, Onyx Beauty, who was honestly not expecting to win. She’s kind of in shock the first week.

- Zoé and Mr. Lee find out about all this by accident, on the nightly news. How exactly do you handle finding out you are part of an affair destabilizing Parisian politics?

- the Miracuclass starts getting dragged in, cause André and Audrey start an extremely petty “funding race”, trying to boost their popularities by supporting “up and coming youth talent”. Chloé starts giving out cards that say “Sorry you got stuck in the middle with me”.

- both André and Audrey are rich enough they can drag other celebrities into their nonsense. Jagged Stone is, so far, the only one who managed to escape. Clara Nightengale called him for a week straight with horror stories.

- We find out that, after the Akuma shit started, lots of people took their business out of Paris, so yes, Bob Roth IS, in fact, one of the only people in Paris funding stuff. He keeps egging Audrey and André on, cause all their shit is making him lots of money. A tabloid calls the three of them “Paris’ Most Toxic Throuple!”. Chloé posts a video that is nothing but an adorable parakeet screaming bloody murder for two minutes.

- Lila comes in all prepared with extravagant lies that will make her new class swoon over her, but everyone is so burnt out on any kind of celebrity related drama that it isn’t nearly as effective as she wants it to be. She has more success supplying cool random facts, Italian cultural knowledge, acting trivia, and cute fox videos. Her entire plot gets derailed because she isn’t lying much, if at all, and everyone loves her as herself. 

- Gabriel is actually getting kind of uncomfortable Akumatizing André and Audrey over the divorce, so he starts giving them really lame powers. Or at least, powers he THINKS are lame. After the third glitter related disaster, he starts running ideas by Nathalie, and keeps a specific list of “useless” powers he can give to Audrey and André.

Thoughts? Feelings? Opinions? How you’d write something like this?

-

I am loving this tbh!

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for S behind the cut; “from Andromeda to your eye”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“I’m so sorry,” she sobs, and Superboy squeezes her tighter. It feels–strange. Weird. She never would’ve–she never–she’d thought he might be able to help her get away. Thought he’d at least probably be willing to try. But she hadn’t thought he’d touch her face or try to make her laugh or let her cry on him or hug her. 

Hadn’t thought she’d be saying “sorry” so many times either, though that one she probably should’ve expected. 

“I know. Like–I get it,” Superboy says, rubbing her back a little. She almost starts crying harder. “Just . . . c’mon, babe. Come with me.” 

She goes, obviously. 

Obviously she goes.

.

.

.

Superboy takes the clone deeper into Cadmus, leading her by the hand. She manages to stop crying, though not really on purpose, and no one stops or questions them. No one seems to have noticed the clone isn’t Wonder Girl, and Superboy hasn’t seemed to see any point in telling anyone. She wants to tell him not to be so trusting, but she really, really needs him to trust her. 

She thinks she might just degrade into nothing and collapse into genetic scrap, if he didn’t. 

She doesn’t know what she’d do, if he didn’t, and she doesn’t want to have to figure it out. She doesn’t want to. The Agenda made her in the image of a superhero–made her from a superhero–but all she wants is for someone to save her. 

And she wants that someone to be someone like Superboy, if she . . . if she gets the choice. She’d take anyone, if it came to it, but she doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want saved by someone who’ll hurt her for it; who’ll use her for it. Who’ll make her pay for it. 

She wants saved for nothing except the fact that she needs saving, like someone might do for a real person. 

Like someone might do if they thought she mattered like a real person. 

Superboy doesn’t let go of her hand the whole way to wherever he’s taking her, and she–obviously–doesn’t let go of his either. Just–the holding cells so she’ll be contained, she assumes, or an interrogation room so Guardian can have her questioned, or . . . 

It’s someone’s personal lab, she finds out when they get there, and finds out whose when Superboy barges right into it without feeling any apparent need to knock and yells, “Hey, Doc, need you to take a look at somebody here!” 

He doesn’t say “something”, and of course he wouldn't, but the clone still nearly starts crying all over again. If she did, though, she definitely wouldn’t be able to stop doing it this time. 

“Oh, you got date night already, youngblood?” a voice says, and Serling Roquette rolls out from behind a row of computers in a desk chair, smirking up at Superboy and clearly having just kicked off the wall. She’s wearing cat-eye glasses, a knee-length leopard-print vest instead of a lab coat, and very loud jewelry. Her shoes are neon pink platform heels that lace all the way up to her knees and are definitely not OSHA-approved. The clone has no idea how she even walks in them, though rolling a chair around a lab environment doesn’t actually imply very much “walking” anyway, she guesses.

[takusan-no-ai]

What Doesn’t Kill You

PAIRING: Jean/Eula/Diluc/Peruere x Reader (Familia) (Male & Female Reader)

SUMMARY: Their child, (Y/N), wants to be stronger despite the circumstances.

Jean already had a hard time balancing her work schedule, what with Mondstadt citizens always needing her help, plus her being the acting grand master. Safe to say her life was swamped. Even more so after she had you, her child. The others pitched in more after Jean had you, wanting her to enjoy time with her baby more.

And you were a lot of work. Your weakened body led to Jean fussing over every minute detail. Slightly warmer? Checking for a fever. Feeling peckish? You’re clearly starving. So on and so forth, she was basically more than a mom. She was your doctor, teacher, and…your only real friend.

Being inside all day due to your sickness meant that you couldn’t play outside with the other kids. And your mother eventually went back to work, so now you were even more alone. But more than that, what hurt the most was feeling like such a burden. Jean was working thrice as hard just so she could come home to give you company. And that didn’t seem fair to you.

So everyday, when Jean would leave for work, you’d secretly train. Wanting to be more like your mother, you’d practice getting stronger, working harder, getting smarter. Everything. Ironically, you were already so much like her. Being a workaholic must have run in the genes.

A gasp stopped (Y/N) from finishing a pushup. Turning around, there stood Jean. Shocked to see her baby out of bed. Working out. She rushed over to (Y/N), looking all over. Obvious signs of fatigue, and marks all over the arms and legs. Yet there (Y/N) stood like it was nothing at all.

“Why…why are you forcing your body to endure this? You don’t have to—”

“Yes I do. I even want to. I want to be stronger. And I won’t let my body limit me.” (Y/N) stood up despite the obvious pain, looking straight into Jean’s eyes.

She gulped, shaking slightly. “But why?”

“It’s not fair for either of us if I remain so dependent. Eventually you’ll die. Or me. And neither of us will be happy with the regrets we’d both have.”

Jean fought back her tears.

“Mommy. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this. And I want to be stronger for the both of us. So, will you train me? Please?” (Y/N) looked at her with glossy eyes.

Jean nodded. “Okay, sweetheart. Mommy will make sure you’re as strong as can be.”

Being Eula’s child wasn’t easy. In the plainest of words it was outright unfair. She was a good woman and a good mother. Her husband left her because, even after she’d warned him, the backlash of being married to a Lawrence was apparently too much. And now she’d look at you with that same pitiful smile.

She loves you, and takes care of you like you were all that mattered. But sometimes at night you would sneak around the house, and you would hear her crying to her friend, Amber. About how it wasn’t fair for you to be judged just because of her bloodline. She can take it, her family made sure of that. But could you? Could you handle the pure hatred in others eyes.

Those nights were always so shocking for you, no matter how much you’d seen them. Eula, the woman who could boldly declare vengeance against anyone, was afraid of her child not being able to handle it all. It angered you. Not because of what she thought, but because of the possibility of it being true. Could you? Your health was already in shambles physically. Could you really handle it all mentally? Emotionally?

But deep down you were always like your mother. And giving up simply wasn’t an option. Yeah, life is hard. More so for some than others. But if you don’t have the thick skin to take it then you’ll never make it. So right then that next day you told your mother that you demand she train you to be more like her, no matter what it may cost. Because you’re proud to be a Lawrence. And you’re proud to be her child.

Eula looked at (Y/N), a small smile finding its way onto her face. “Ha. What have I’ve been worrying about? A Lawrence never gives up!” She picked up (Y/N) and held her child tight.

“But know that on the day you do best me in a spar, I’ll seek vengeance.” She jested. (Y/N) giggled, a big smile on said face.

Eula walked towards her armory, grabbing out a small sword. She handed it to (Y/N), who struggled to hold up the weapon. “It’s my first sword from when I was little.”

Now crouching down in front of (Y/N), she patted her child on the head. “We start training first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll expect great things from you.”

“Of course, mother.” (Y/N) said with a newfound sense of pride.

Diluc never regretted being in the alcohol business, and he certainly didn’t regret it when he met the love of his life. But he was so quick to quitting when he had learnt of what she did; she drank, a lot, while pregnant with you. Your health was badly compromised as a result. And Diluc vowed to take care of you, safe from all that could hurt you.

Perhaps it was because of the betrayal in trust, or perhaps you had simply stolen his heart, but Diluc couldn’t help being overprotective of you. You were allowed to be with him at Angles Share; so long as you were right next to him and no one made so much as a mean look your way.

It was frustrating. You knew of your weaker body, and who had caused it. You also knew of your father’s sincere love for you. That he’d want nothing more than for you to be safe and happy. But it was overbearing, overwhelming, and just outright wrong. You needed to grow up. You need to face some hardships, anything!

But you couldn’t do much on your own. And Diluc would rather you not overexert yourself. So you turned to the one person who wouldn’t mind going behind your father’s back; your uncle. Kaeya, while hesitant, eventually agreed to help train you, if only so that you knew basic self defense. You finally had to opportunity to not just be stronger, but to be more like him. Your father. The man you look up to.

“Good job today, (Y/N). Tomorrow we’ll practice your endurance more; I noticed you can’t seem to fight for a long enough time.” Kaeya said while flipping his coin.

The young child was heaving heavily on the floor, looking up at Kaeya with a scowl. “You’re making sure of that. I said I wanted you to train me—not torture me!” Kaeya chuckled.

“Listen kid. I may be your uncle but I’m also Diluc’s brother. And as much as it entertains me that even his own child is as rebellious as we were way back when, If I’m going to go behind his back I might as well do a good job. Simply put: you’re not trying hard enough.”

(Y/N) coughed, finally having calmed down. (Y/N) stood and looked at Kaeya, sighing in discontent. “I’m trying my best—”

“And what if I told you your best wasn’t enough? The fact is that so long as you keep that guilt of hiding this from your father…well…you’ll just keep holding yourself back.”

(Y/N) remained silent.

Kaeya looked at (Y/N) one last time before sighing himself. He gave the kid a pat on the back. “Of course, a reason as strong as yours could potentially be all you need to improve. We’ll train some more tomorrow. For now, I’ll take you back home.”

(Y/N) finally smiled through an exhausted state.

Being Peruere’s biological child came with understanding the world from an entirely different perspective. Where others saw pure happiness or terror, you were given the simple truth: the world is nothing, but the people and creatures that plague it with insidious intentions are what you should circumspect.

She protected you from the dangers of the world through knowledge. Peruere kept you privy to the existence of the House of the Hearth, as well as her being a Harbinger. But she never allowed you to divulge in the same activities as them; nor was she ever going to make you a part of the “family”.

But you wanted nothing more than to be just like your mother. She was strong, smart, and her very presence demanded respect. Nobody could defeat your mother in a fight. And that was exactly what you wanted to be. Capable of defending those who can’t defend themselves. The old, the young, and the innocent. Even the guilty to an extent.

Sadly your body wasn’t made for battle. You were born weak, fragile, and could hardly move for long without becoming winded. It was because of your condition that Peruere was especially truthful about the world you’d grow up in. And why she refused to train you physically. That didn’t stop you though. Everyday you’d get up, against your mother’s wishes, and train little by little.

“(Y/N). It’s time for dinner.” Peruere called out for her child who stumbled towards the table. (Y/N) sat down with a whence, trying to hide the pain. All that secret training had its benefits and disadvantages; the biggest one being the pain afterwards.

Peruere eyed (Y/N) with a blank face. Her emotions, if she were feeling any in that moment, didn’t show themselves. She leaned forward with her arms crossed.

“If you’re going to train the least you could do is learn when to take a break. I believe I taught you that overexertion has the opposite effect of being productive.”

(Y/N) almost dropped the spoon, looking at her in shock. “So, you caught me red handed. I suppose I won’t be able to train anymore.” Downcast eyes turned away from her. The very sight caused her brows to twitch.

“Don’t look away from me…please. I’m your mother. It pains me when you’re upset. And I never said you couldn’t still train.”

(Y/N)’s eyes glowed as bright as the sun at those words.

“You’re still too fragile for any proper training. And I refuse to have you trained like me; Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet will train you. But only with what is necessary. If you…ever choose to get stronger than that…then you’ll have to train yourself.”

(Y/N) fought back the tears welling up and hugged Peruere.

“Thank you mommy.”

- Fin

[marginofthought]

Sam and dean newly in a relationship and didn’t have sex yet cause every time they reach to that point they fight about who will top . Sam insist that he should being taller and all and the fact that he never bottomed before but Dean knows his baby brother is a perfect bottom so he wouldn’t budge and he slowly but surely with actions , domineering position slide it in sam subconscious (he jerks him while he pins him facing the wall , tease sam to the point of break the order him to hump his thigh if he wants to cum cause that’ the only way he’s gonna let him cum ….. ) and sam crack gradually until dean take him and it feels so good he never wants to do it other way again

I hope I understood you correctly anon, please correct me if you meant it differently. 

I feel like especially if we’re thinking early seasons Sam would argue just because he knows it eggs Dean on, just to annoy his brother and be bratty. And if we’re talking early seasons I feel like Dean would play along, let Sam think he might budge just this time, tease him and get him to the edge before telling Sam he can choose: either he let’s Dean fuck him or he can hump Dean/get himself off - no matter what, he has to choose one of Dean’s options. Sam chooses the latter a few times but then one time he just gives in, sick of having to get himself off when Dean is right there and it’s not like he hasn’t thought about it before. So he lets Dean manhandle him and acts like he doesn’t feel Dean’s fingers in his crack until he is face down and barely has room to wiggle.

And yeah, okay, whatever Sam thought it might feel like it wasn’t this, because this is amazing even if he’s reluctant to tell Dean because he can picture the smug grin and Dean doesn’t need the ego boost.

(Dean still makes Sam ride him until he comes - why should Dean do more work if Sammy has just learned how to submit to him?)

[bubble-tea-blossom]

The Smuggler and the Soldier

8. The Note

Pairing: f!reader x Joel Miller, wc: 4.2k

Warnings: first aid descriptions, sutures and blood, 18+ ONLY

Previous chapter

You wish your brain would leave you alone. One night without dreams would be nice. Or at least if they're going to be wildly vivid and strange, make them them pleasant. Like an acid trip with a talking bear or something.

Nope.

His face. Gunner. Its inescapable. No matter where you run, his head just grows bigger. His eyes shine like searchlights, exposing you in any corner of shadow you hide in.

Then his hand grabs your face. Nails digging into your cheeks as he turns your head left then right, inspecting. Only this time, your head never stops spinning, round and round like your neck is made of rubber.

You must be dying. All you can smell and taste and feel is the metallic iron of blood. It's rising from the floor and submerging you as your head is spun faster and faster.

You try to scream but opening your mouth only gains you a mouthful of warm sticky blood.

You have to fight to wake up. Clawing at consciousness like scaling a cliff.

Your eyes blink open slowly, eyelids made of stone. Even awake, your head is spinning, but at least your neck isn’t twisting infinitely.

A few seconds pass and you realize the scent of blood hasn’t passed with your dream either. Neither has the touch of it. You raise your hand that was laying on the cot, the palm is wet and red.

You sit up, moving much faster. You look down, at the blood soaking the mesh. Your rattled brain confuses it for yours and you worry for a second if you started your period.

Except for when you follow the trail, its clearly is coming from the smuggler.

His back is to you. The shirt he was wearing before was transformed into one long bandage that's wrapped around his torso. You must have really been out of it when you returned last night because you definitely did not notice that.

The makeshift bandage is more red than plaid at this point. It looks like a fucking murder scene. Only his muttering in his sleep keeps you from worrying that he's dead.

“Hey,” your croak is barely audible. You clear your dry throat and try again.

“Hey!” You get louder, but your voice is still quiet and croaky. You try to poke him to wake his ass up. You don’t want to prod a wound which looks like his whole torso so you end up jabbing your finger at his temple.

He stirs but doesn’t wake up. So you pinch his ear. Hard.

He snaps upright like a cobra, smacking his head against yours when you don't get out of the way fast enough, snatching your arm and violently twisting your wrist all in one move.

At your yelp, he lets you go, blinking the sleep away. He retracts, looking a little guilty while you rub your wrist.

“The hell you doing?” His voice is thick.

“What are you doing? Was your plan to just lie there and bleed out?”

Even with both of you leaning back, when the moment calms again, you find it too intimate, sitting on the same uncomfortable cot, nose to nose, glaring at each other.

You get up, and begin pacing around the room, trying to shake off the cobwebs of sleep and the way that moment made you feel.

Joel slowly straightens out, rubbing his eyes. With both feet on the ground he finally speaks, “I need your help.”

“No shit.” You snap, arms crossed.

Joel wisely keeps his mouth shut.

You sigh, “Look, if I do this, you owe me. Got that? I didn’t ask for you to come back. I don’t owe you anything.”

Joel nods, “I know.”

“And if-“ you barrel on before you realize he agreed. You hadn’t been expecting that. “Oh, ok then.”

"Well, first things first. I'm going to have to stitch you up." You grab his leather backpack from the ground and plop it on the desk.

“There’s a med kit near the bottom,” he tells you.

You rummage through his pack, sifting through spare clothes, and food rations, but mostly boxes of amo. You find a black fabric case, and pull it free. Its surprisingly heavy.

You’re already unzipping it when Joel speaks up, “that ain't it.”

The muffled clinking of glass while you handle it strikes your curiosity. The case is obviously important.

You open it like a book. On the sides are rows of small vials of glass tucked into slots, inter spaced so when the case closes they don't rub against each other. There's at least fifteen vials.

The burn of Joel's gaze ignites against you while you carefully pull one free. You hold it up to the rays of light filtering in through the boards on the window. The liquid is clear, the faded label reads 'doxycycline'.

You do some rough math as realization hits you. Slowly, you lower the vial, turning it in your fingers, the glass cool but thin, especially at the rounded top where it was meant to be broken. One drop on the floor and the precious liquid gold inside is gone. Wasted. Doomed to evaporate on the dusty floor, never providing life saving care that it could. Just gone.

You swallow your dry throat in order to speak, eyes still taking in every detail of the little bottle in your hand, "This was the payment?"

Joel speaks behind you, "Yes."

This was worth your life? You can only ponder it through a detached lens. You have experience with black market medication dealings. You know how desperate people are. How much they are willing to sacrifice for a little bottle just like this one in your hands.

"I'll take it as a compliment," you speak dryly, it does not feel like a compliment, seeing an objective amount your life costs. It makes you feel smaller than ever. The ant the mean kid burned with a magnifying glass and laughed as it writhed in agony. You return the vial to its empty slot. The whole case is worth enough that your tired brain can only come up with 'a fuck ton'.

You zip the case back up, "Well at least it might come in handy." You leave it on the table and resume your dig in the smuggler's backpack. You finally find the med kit, at the very bottom, which is not where you would keep yours. Its hard, white plastic, the iconic red cross on the front.

Inside is packed with very basic essentials. Nothing fancy. Mostly bandage rolls, a tourniquet, antiseptic wash. The suture kit is actually a sewing kit, meant for clothing repairs. It make do.

After gathering your supplies, you set the chair by the cot. But one look at Joel, his blood soaked torso. You're missing one last thing. Water. And lots of it.

Luckily the ocean isn't that far, but sewing him up on the beach in the open is too risky. You look around the little safe house for a pail or container. You dip your head into the bathroom as you pass and there's a bucket in the corner.

Wary of bathroom buckets, you inspect it, "please be a shower bucket," you pray as you pick it up. It's clean.

Oh so you'll answer prayers about buckets but nothing else? You chide the god who you know is dead.

Bucket in hand, you go to exit the bathroom when the movement in the mirror stops you in your tracks. You have to steel yourself to gain the courage to look at your reflection. Slowly you face the sink, and inch by inch raise your eyes until you're staring through your own pupils. They're uneven. Big surprise there. You definitely have a concussion.

Despite the pain you feel, seeing how shit you look is jarring. Short lacerations dominate one side of your face, caused by your skin tearing between your skull and the knuckles the soldier used on you. Your ear didn't escape any of the hits either. A cut on the ridge of your ear is too wide to stitch itself back together, you suspect you'll look like an alley cat even after it's healed.

Your nose is broken, the bridge swollen, bloody and crooked. Trying to set it straight yields a huge rush of added pain and no visible difference. Then there's your eye, the skin around your entire orbital bone has turned deep purple, the swelling preventing you from opening your eye all the way.

Your bottom lip was lacerated as well, dried blood resting in the cracks of your dry lips.

Confronting the visual proof of what happened stuns you. You knew it was bad. Yet you remember almost nothing. Only the rest of the soldiers leaving the room, and facing off with Bruce, and then you woke up to a needle in the thigh and Joel's scared, handsome facing hovering over you.

Some much hate and you were forced to wear it when you weren't even a part of any of it. You want to ask, what did I do to deserve this? But you already know. Nothing.

"Wrong place, wrong time," Joel's cold tone fills your head from what feels like a lifetime ago.

You have to force yourself to look away from your reflection with more strength than making yourself look in the first place. If you keep staring at yourself, you're going to do something very stupid.

You march out of the center without a word, slamming the door behind you.

All the walk down the beach, down the metal staircase, the images of the glass vials flash through your head. You kick sand over any blood splotches left on the ground.

You return to the boat, scanning the horizon but you see nothing. You crouch slowly, cupping water in your hands. First you scrub your hands with your nails, then slowly you wash your face, hissing at the salt in the water digging into the numerous cuts and scrapes. Despite the bite, you feel better afterwards.

You wash out the bucket, then fill it, keeping as much sand out of it as possible. But the eye sore of the boat on the beach holds you back from returning to the visitor center.

Two paths play out in your mind. One where you return to the boat, paddling it slowly down the coast. Maybe faster than on foot, but far easier to track. All FEDRA would have to do is follow the direction they saw you heading.

The other path, is returning to the city on the foot. Getting lost in the maze of the wasteland. Much harder to track. They'd have to follow on foot too, the broken concrete streets are too decayed to drive on them anymore. And most importantly, you wouldn't be in the open.

Your mind's made up. First you search the boat for anything you could use, which is not much. A coil of rope. Then you drop your pants and shirt on the sand besides the bucket. You hate swimming in heavy clothes. Then you make the executive decision to paddle out until it gets taken by a current. Once it's past the waves and floating on its own, you jump out.

"Fuck," you gasp as the cold water shocks you awake more efficiently than coffee ever could. You begin your swim back to shore.

Standing on land, dry clothes over your wet body, you watch the the waves carry the boat. You hope it gets far enough away before it crashes back on land to confuse anyone following, hopefully get them off your scent.

You pick up the bucket, and return to the visitor center.

Walking into the office, Joel looks at you, surprised, "You came back."

It's a statement, but also a question.

You stare at each other while you decide what to say. Finally you settle on, "Against my better judgment."

You want to demand him the same question. But the look on his face already tells you it's the same answer.

Joel looks you up and down, "You go for a swim?" He's standing, well more leaning over the desk, looking over maps.

"You'll get blood on those," you scold, stepping into the room. He takes a step back from the maps.

You set the bucket of water down on the ground, "I drove the boat away, I figured it was more of a liability than anything else."

Joel grunts. You can't decipher if it was a grunt of approval or the opposite. You're too tired to care. But then he says, "Good thinking."

Well at least he's not criticizing every choice you make like some men you've worked with.

You eye the cot with a little disdain, "I'll sit on the blood soaked cot, you sit on the chair," you tell him.

You do your best not to sit on the giant patch of blood, but your pants are already stained with variety of people's blood anyways so what's the fucking difference at this point.

The smuggler makes quite a site as he walks over to you. Bare chest covered in blood that you know is not all his. Blood he spilt and blood he bore for you. Looming over you, you make the mistake of making eye contact before it's broken when he sits down.

"You need to wash yourself after this" you deflect any unwanted emotions of fear or anything else with a cold remark.

He settles in the chair, leaning against the the back, facing away from you, "Agreed."

You heave a deep sigh as you wash your hands in the bucket. You hate doing sutures. No matter how many times you've done them, you still get queasy. You would much rather be getting the stitches than giving them.

You start by unraveling the makeshift bandage. Unsuccessfully, you try to keep all parts of your hands, save for the very tips of your fingers, from touching the warm body in front of you. You know it's a little silly since you're about to get very hands on. Peeling the fabric from around his ribs forces you to pass your hands around the front of his torso. With each pass your face dips close enough to his skin your breath rebounds off and warms your lips.

Finally, the bandage is free. You toss it in the far corner of the room where it hits the floor with a wet plop. The full extent of the damage is revealed.

The slash is long, extending from just above his hip all the way to edge of his shoulder blade. It's deepest at the base, becoming more shallow as is rises, however the deepest parts are concernedly deep. Days of bed rest would be ordered by any actual medical professional. Something tells you that is as unattainable in your current position as a vacation to Italy.

"Ok, let's get this over with," you announce.

You start by mopping all the dried, congealed, and fresh blood away. At the first splash of water, Joel stiffens ever so slightly before he relaxes again and makes no further hint of discomfort at the salt water soaking his wound.

"Thank you," Joel's voice is quiet, almost sheepish as you pat dry the edges of the wound.

"Thank me after you're sewn up. I'm no medic," you pluck the needle from the spool and begin threading, "This from the axe?"

"Yes ma'am."

Images of the soldier swiping the axe at Joel flash in front of you.

"Half a second later and this wouldn't be fixable." The axe would have stuck in his ribs, and tore out his insides when pulled free.

"I heard you scream and knew to duck," he tells you.

"A man that listens," you swoon while rolling your eyes, another deflection for the little spark of happiness his words lit deep inside your belly. Do people in your normal life ignore you so much that that would rise a reaction from you? Apparently.

The needle threaded and hovering, you steel yourself. One hand keeping the skin still, the other pushes the sharp tip of the needle through the flesh, the initial moment of resistance that you have to gently force past has you anticipating a flinch, a groan, a curse, anything. The needle is guided out the other side of the wound and you pull it free. Still, there is no reaction from your patient.

Looping the thread twice and slipping the needle through to create the knot, you tighten it til the skin closes taught. You cut the thread and move on to the next.

Stitch after stitch, you work your way up the wound. Gaining more confidence combined with the time pressure that right now you two are sitting ducks has you stitching and tying off the sutures faster and faster. Yet when you take a moment to view your work you're not even halfway done.

Diving back in, you lose yourself in the bloody task, trying to do a good job with the lack of expertise. As you tie off what must be your thirtieth stitch, Joel yawns.

"Did you just yawn?" you ask, pulling the the thread taught through his skin.

"Mm, did I?" He sounds sleepy.

You can't help the laugh that comes out more as a scoff, "Not your first rodeo?"

"Not my first rodeo."

"I can tell," you glance at the numerous scars adorning his back. Some are easily identifiable as gunshot wounds, others are more mysterious in origin.

You loop the thread twice and pull the needle through, closing the suture. You snip the thread and start on the next one.

"I'm glad you know what you're doing," he admits.

"Mm, May, would be looking over my shoulder, telling me all the things I'm doing wrong, then probably just shoo me away and take over. Guarantee you'd barely scar if she was doing this"

"She a medic?"

"No, not really. She was a seamstress at a theater production before the Outbreak, a transferable skill I guess. Turned into the neighborhood seamstress in the QZ, clothes or bullet holes, she can patch you up."

Talking about May, you're slapped with the reminder of the situation. You would do anything for her, and now when she's in the greatest danger, you are too far away to do anything. If FEDRA finds her, she's dead. Very real memories blur with fears, and for a moment, as if from a crystal ball, you watch a soldier shove May to the ground and put a gun to her head.

In an effort to distract yourself, you keep talking. You aren't sure why.

"Even from the start, when people would come over to get patched up, she'd have me watch. Teach me what she could. Her eyesight has started to go these days, so I've had to take over a lot of it."

There's a very long pause. You get to your fortieth stitch when Joel speaks, "Is she the one that you traded insulin for?"

Your hands falter in their movements, but you have to get over it quickly, finishing the knot. This is the first time Joel's brought up your first meeting. The last time he spoke of it, he threw it back in your face. Told you it means nothing.

"Yes," your next stitch starts with a jab rather than a poke, but you get a hold of yourself, honed with detached professionalism.

The final stretch approaches, your fingers stiff from prolonged focus. The smell of blood has overwhelmed all else for so long that you no longer notice it.

Swimming through your head are memories. Just as each one crests to the top, another comes rolling in, flooding you in a never ending cycle. Memories of May. Memories of your mother. Memories of the Outbreak, and the first time you killed someone in self defense. All the things you’ve done to keep yourself safe.

The man sitting in front of you is what pulls you back to the present. What has he done? In the short and yet simultaneously long time you’ve known him, he’s done a lot.

This doesn’t scare you like it should. Sewing the flesh of a man that’s shed his humanity, even if it was in exchange for survival. The veterinarian performing dental surgery on a tranquilized bear sheds their instincts to perform their duty.

You loop the thread and slip the needle pulling the last knot taught to his skin. Thread snipped, and needle put down, you pull a compression bandage from the kit.

“Stand up for this, it’ll be easier,” you order.

Joel complies silently, pushing the chair out of the way.

You get him to hold one end of the bandage against his side while you wrap it around his torso. It's the same dance as before, forcing you closer with each pass of the bandage around him, your heart beating faster with the uncomfortableness. It only covers the worst part of the wound, the rest of it you tape gauze over the stitches.

"There," you announce, taking a step away, "how's it feel?"

"Sore," Joel answers.

"I bet, you lost a fuck ton of blood," you're honestly a little surprised he's standing.

The smuggler does his best to scrub his hands and arms free of blood in the bucket. You give him some privacy, rummaging through the desk and collecting all the maps and papers you can find.

You carry them out into the main room, laying them flat on a table by the boarded windows. You pause at the single sheet of paper already lying on it. You pick it up gently, it looks faded and its coated in a thick layer of dust. You deposit the maps to read it, the strain hurting your eyes, the words jumping around on the paper.

Vivienne,

It's Andy, I've been waiting here for you and Elise for the last week. Where are you? Goddamn Viv, we agreed where to meet if we got split up. You can't be gone. I can feel it.

I'm heading to the tallest building downtown, I can see it from here. I have a feeling you'd head there, hoping to meet up. I'll stay there as long as I can but be careful, there are hunters in this area.

We got ambushed by some. Jordan got shot. I tried my best but I think he became septic. I buried him behind the building, facing the ocean. I'm so sorry, baby.

I'll see you soon, I know it. Tell Elise I love her to the moon and back.

And Viv, be careful.

Love, Andy

Reading the note, you hold the paper more preciously, like a newborn duckling. Its full of love and loss and desperate hope. You could use some of that right now.

Opening the front door, you don't have to step out far to see the building he was speaking of. It sticks out even more these days with the adjacent buildings in partial collapse. It's fucking huge. Sticking straight up into the sky like an ugly rod of rebar. The view you'd have from the top would extend in miles on either side of the coast.

The door opens behind you. The smuggler steps outside, looking much cleaner and fully dressed in a coffee brown t-shirt.

"I think I have an idea," you tell him. You point to the skyscraper, "perfect place to watch for any followers coming from the water while we heal." Your concussion is going to slow you down and Joel is vulnerable to infection until the wound closes, not to mention the severe blood loss.

Joel takes his time to answer, but you know he isn't ignoring you. You watch from the profile his eyes scan the building, take in the surrounding city, weighing the pros and cons.

"Could work," he says finally, "you think they'll follow?" He turns to you.

"I don't know," you sigh, "it's what I would do, if I was a fucking sociopath. Send a small team, skilled trackers, take out the loose ends."

"How much of a threat are you now?" Joel asks, which is a very polite way of asking how much you matter.

"To FEDRA as a whole? Nothing. To an offhand mission, we're both proof that whatever sham they're playing at is a lie."

"So a lot." Joel sighs.

"Yep," it helps to express your thought process out loud with someone. KNowing that Joel is now just as tangled in this mess makes it but it a lighter load to bare, "if they are following, we're sitting ducks. We need to get going."

"There'll be infected out in the city." Joel warns.

"Where are there not?"

"A lot more," he presses.

Looking at his serious face, the grey at his temple, you trust he isn't exaggerating. Since coming to the QZ, you've spent your years behind its walls, rarely patrolling the perimeter much less venturing into zones far beyond. Joel has, being a smuggler comes with an experience you don't possess.

Just one more thing you'll have to trust the man on.

You let your bravado slip, "Is there another option?"

You catch his eyes skip around the injuries on your face, his heavy brows pulling in before he shakes his head.

"Then let's get going."

You take lead, heading towards the downtown core, the smuggler following a few paces behind. Your eyes set on the skyscrapper. The sight of it, standing tall like a bolt of steel defiance against the rest of the crumbling city fills you with a naive wonder if Andy and Vivienne ever reunited. Or if he's still waiting up there, hoping.

A/N: PSA don't wash wounds with salt water.

[mscherub]

Just Friends…

Ace Trappola x Reader (Valentine’s Day Special)

Reader is gender neutral; referred to as Prefect, Y/N

Warnings: Angst, BUT HELLA COMFORT AND MUCH LOVE YES YES, HAPPY ENDING, sorry y’all, oh and spelling mistakes, as usual <3

Due to Ace getting his UM and because of his dream, I just felt like I had to write a little something for Valentine’s Day so my mind can rest and stop thinking abt it, like it’s consuming me so much

You had eyes on you all the time at NRC, gaining the love and trust of many a man, multiple suitors that were rich and could provide, men who were prominent figure heads and widely known across the world with the title of “world class famous,” or, “Next in line for throne,” “Prince,” men who mattered more than just another somebody like him. What can he offer? Friendship, sure, but it doesn’t go beyond that, does it? Ace wishes it did, wishes it will, but wishing can only give you false hope, and that false hope can only get you so far in a lifetime and feed your delusions until it can’t anymore, leaving you to accept the nasty truth.

Granted he shouldn’t feel this way, you and him are friends, nothing more, nothing less, and friends aren’t supposed to feel that way towards one another, it’s wrong, because you’re just friends. Yet, whenever he sees another trying to flirt with you, trying to take you, he can’t help but feel that bad taste of jealousy which he’s grown to know so well when being around you. He hates it, hates you, hates the others who want you, because he loves you.

So, all he can do is sit by your side and watch— watch as others try and sway you into their favor with these stupid little chocolates on this stupid little day. Why did everyone have to like you? He gets it, no, he does, you’re favored and sickeningly sweet, but he still hates it, but he wants you to be happy more importantly, so he’ll sit by, cheer you on, try and act like his usual self, and maybe forget he’s even felt any of this for you, push it all away and hide it, for yours and his sake.

Because again, you’re just friends, and he needs to accept soon that you two could never be more…after all, you’d end up leaving one day and never think of him again, huh?

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

“Prefect! You have a lot of cards and boxes of chocolate it seems…” Deuce chuckles as he watches you walk in, scanning your desk to view all of the items about them.

Your seat has a reasonable amount of letters and chocolates piled up, all addressed to you of all people. Grim will have a field day.

Ace is in the seat next to yours like usual, but he rests his chin on the palm of his hand, a sour expression gracing his face.

“Mad you didn’t get any chocolates?” You smirk as you walk over to him, picking up one off he boxes from the place you sit and inspecting it with a critical eye, noticing it was a brand sold in town. You weren’t expecting chocolates, especially not this many.

“No…not yet, at least.” He huffs, side eyeing you in the process. “Didn’t know that many people liked you.” He sighs, his tone of voice more somber and sullen sounding, a contrast to how he usually is. It wasn’t what he was aiming for.

“Not yet?“ you hum. You take your seat and you open one of the letters. “I didn’t think this many liked me either. I thought I was hard to get along with…”

“Far from it…” he murmurs, you hardly catching what he said.

“What was that?”

“F-far from being hard to get along with because you are impossible to get along with.” He argues back quickly, the stutter not going unnoticed by you.

“Aw, thanks. But, I thought Valentine’s Day was where you were supposed to be nice to people, dickhead.” You make a small click with your tongue and you read over the letter.

It’s short and sweet, just a small thank you from a random student, them thanking you for being such a big help around NRC and helping their housewarden. At least someone thanked you finally…

Grim hums happily as he opens up a box and begins to eat the chocolate residing inside. There’s no use in reprimanding him because he’ll continue to do it, anyways.

“Be careful, Grimmy, eat too many and you could get sick.” You gently remind him as you open another letter, the contents basically saying the same thing as the last, short and sweet.

Ace continues to watch, his shoulders tensing even more and his brows furrowing in disdain, but when you glance over at him, he changes his look to a curious one, smirking and then poking fun at you for all the admirers you’ve gained, a ploy to hide his true pining after you.

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

The day continued to go on, Ace becoming more and more out of his element with each passing moment. He could usually push it off, play it off just fine all the time, he had to, but today was the true test to see just how long he could keep pretending.

Riddle gave you a bouquet of roses, not romantically, he said, but Ace could tell Riddle meant it that way, a glimmer of adoration in his eyes as he watched you take them.

Leona just gave you money randomly, telling you to buy yourself something nice with it, a gift from him to you. Azul gave you a free meal pass to use at the lounge, and of course you already have the unlimited access to join him in the VIP lounge whenever you need a break.

Kalim gave you many luxury chocolates and jewelry, which Jamil said he strongly had him double down on everything he considered buying. Vil had your uniform altered and gave you skin care items, a gentle smile on his stupid face as he watched you take them from his hands, Ace noticing his gaze lingering longer than usual.

Idia gave you a gaming console for Ramshackle so you could have entertainment if you’d ever find the time to wind down. And Malleus, he gave you even more than Kalim, gold and jewels that fit your complexion, he didn’t really understand the holiday and got advice from Lilia, but Ace knew Malleus understood the implications behind it at least.

They’re just a bunch of show offs is all, he doesn’t even like you…yea, no he doesn’t. Just friends. They could give you so much better than he ever could, and that’s clear based on how he didn’t even get you anything for this special day.

But…here you are, lugging it all back, talking to him, and only him as he helps you, him being the person you asked to help you in the first place. Deuce and Grim were back at Heartslabyul, so it really was just you and him right now, and it didn’t help with his overthinking. It refueled his selfish desires that maybe, just maybe—

“Ace…open the door, please.” You pant as you make small grunts from the weight of the items in your arms, dragging the bags off stuff up the stairs.

“Of course, anything for you, huh…man, you’re just so spoiled anymore.” He shakes his head and opens the door.

“Thanks…and it’s not like I wanted all of this…it just came my way. Anyways, thanks for helping. You didn’t have to.” You sigh as you set the stuff down in the entry way.

“You asked me to, why should I deny that?” He mutters as he sets the other bags down next to yours.

“Dunno…you seemed out of it today…you miss your ex or something?” You smirk and you elbow him. Usually he took well to jokes…

“As if, I ghosted her for a reason, and why are you bringing that up? That was middle school, dumbass…” he sighs.

“I was just trying to be funny, sorry…” you back away and you flex your hands to stretch them out from gripping the bags so tight.

“Yea, yea…whatever. Is that it? I gotta study so—“

“Actually…can you stay a bit longer? I actually needed some help with baking…”

“Why not just ask Trey…he’s better at it—“

“Ace…that’s not the point here. Come help me.” You smile your usual gentle and sweet smile that could cause anyone to fold, or maybe it was just him thinking that. It was sad for him to be acting like this, at least to him.

He reluctantly follows you into the kitchen and you pull out the materials to bake a cherry pie.

“It’s your favorite, right?” You hum thoughtfully as you go to wash off the cherries.

“I’m surprised you remembered.” He murmurs.

“Of course I would. What type of person would I be if I forgot one of my closest friend’s favorite food? I’d be an asshole, that’s what.” You chuckle.

Right, just friends. Any hope he had was dwindling away ever so slowly…

“Can you make the pie crust? I’ll work on the filling, or vice versa, pick your poison.” You chuckle.

“I’ll do the pie crust.” And he does with little complaint. You two work together to make a…well, sort of presentable pie.

It’s quite while you two work away at each needed ingredient, putting it into the oven sooner than later. Hey, at least it tastes good! The appearance of it didn’t really matter.

“I think we outdid ourselves.” You chortle as you cover your mouth while chewing.

“Eh, it’s ugly.” He shrugs.

“Don’t say that. It tastes pretty good, so, I’m not complaining here.” You shake your head.

“You’re so weird.” He sticks his tongue out at you.

“Heyyyy, be nice— oh, actually, wait here a moment, I have to get something real quick.” You scoot back in your chair and you get up, leaving the kitchen and heading upstairs to your room to grab something.

A few minutes pass by and Ace waits alone impatiently at the table. He drags his fork around the plate, moving the extra bits of crust from the pie and toying with his food as he waists for you to return.

“Ace! Can you actually come here for a second! I need help!” You yell from upstairs. He quirks an eyebrow and he stands up himself, following the sound of your voice.

He enters your room and sees nothing, tilting his head out of confusing, but you tap him on the shoulder from behind, earning a small flinch from him. You keep your other hand holding something behind your back.

“Hey…”

“What’re you doing…” he suspiciously narrows his eyes at you and he turns to face you.

“Shhh, just give me a moment will you? I’m actually nervous now…” you clear your throat. “Look. I don’t wanna sound like a huge sap or anything, and I also wish I had more to show for my appreciation I feel towards you, but alas, I’m broke, so, there’s that factor, too.” You pull out a small box from behind you.

“For you. From me to you. Happy Valentine’s Day, Ace…”

He stares at the box in shock, disbelief, just utterly and completely confused.

“I…why?” Is all he can manage to murmur out.

“I thought it was obvious, but it’s cause I like you, you big dummy, big big dummy.” You sigh, urging him to take the box with a small shimmy of your hand.

“They’re homemade, Trey helped me so—“

“Why…”

“Huh…why what?” You tilt your head incredulously.

“Why like me…” he sighs out, sounding pathetically weak.

“Why should I like you? Does that really matter…” you murmur back.

“No offense, Prefect, you got all those other gifts from the other guys and…I don’t…I’m not following here, I thought you liked one of them. You know, Malleus is a pretty cool guy, rich—”

“But I don’t.” You take his hand and you put the box of chocolates in them. “I like you…”

“Why…” he sighs again, his hand trembling under yours. This moment didn’t feel real to him, far from it. He couldn’t come to terms that you liked him.

“If you want me to sound like Rook, I can…I like you because you’ve been here for me since day one of being plopped into this unfamiliar and unforgiving world, you’ve stuck by my side and never questioned really why I was here or my origins, instead defending me from others and always looking out for me. All you did was that and I…fear I fell harder than I thought…I mean, I get it if you don’t like me back—“

Without a second thought he moves to hug you, clinging to your form desperately as he uses you as a way to ground himself to the moment, to really gauge if it’s real. You hug him back and you let him lean against you.

“You ok?”

“I like you, too, no…I’d go as far as saying I love you. Can I say that yet?” He murmurs out with a shaky voice.

“Of course you can…I love you, too.”

“I love you, more…” he sighs, pulling away to look you in the eyes. “You’re so stupid.”

“No way…not me.” You smile. He smiles right back with a lovesick look and he inches his face closer to yours, practically crashing his lips against yours.

You smile against his lips and as you pull away, you both chuckle and hug each other tight again.

“Mmm, better not ghost me like you did your Ex…” you tighten your grip around him.

“Seriously? Don’t bring her up, she’s the past…plus, I couldn’t do that easily to you, anyways…so…we’re not just friends anymore, right?” He sighs out.

“Far from it now, Acey…we’re more.”

You two stay like that for a moment, staying glued to each other as you both finally come to the realization that this moment is, in fact, real, and that you two won’t have to hide your feelings anymore.

Done, done, and done. Sorry this one was shorter, but I did like writing it, not my favorite tho…rereading it I’m like “ehhhhh wtf was I on,” Also don’t rlly ask what I was going for towards the end cause idek myself, dont ask questions to what I have no answers to <3

Requests are open for Valentine’s Day!

Master List

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, reblog if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

[pbaz7]

was going through an insane crash out yesterday and the tenn game was just the cherry on top. really needing this rn lmao.

“Go back to sleep, pretty.”

tearing up alr

“You’re lucky you look like your mama, you know that?”

if their kid does end up looking like azzi that little girl is about to be spoiled beyond anyone's wildest dreams

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re more important,” she sighed, giving her tiny hand a gentle squeeze.

🥹

“She thinks I don’t know it, but she’s been running my life since I was fifteen.”

azzi had her on a leash for nearly a decade atp

“I swear, she could tell me to do anything, and I’d do it. No hesitation,” Paige admitted, a small smile tugging at her lips. “And now you? I just know you’re gonna be the same way. I’m gonna be in trouble with you two. Probably broke.”

at least she's aware!

“And you? You’re the best thing we ever did…”

ever better than getting that 2025 natty?! (let me stay delusional)

Azzi’s heart melted.

how could it not

Azzi watched in disbelief before shaking her head. “Oh, this is ridiculous. She’s already got a favorite.”

p tends to have that effect on people unfortunately (fortunately)

Aliana was sound asleep, bundled up in her little UConn onesie, oblivious to the fact that she was about to make her first official appearance in Gampel Pavilion.

uconn fan since BIRTH quite literally

Azzi sighed, shaking her head as a small smile pulled at her lips. “I still can’t believe we call him Grandpa now.”

oh em gee this is adorable. geno pls get ur act together and stop making game losing calls and maybe this can happen irl!

“Oh. My. God,” she gasped, eyes wide with shock and excitement.

still extra and dramatic all these years later

her fingers already moving to undo the straps.

can't even call you out for the double entendre bc this is genuinely so adorable

Ice shook her head, laughing. “Oh, you already on that parent logic, huh?”

girl math parent logic

just Paige and Azzi, tucked into each other like they were back in college, stealing moments in between practices.

just thinking about them being so cute and annoying during practice and lit tearing up. I can't have it be over guys😭

Paige tightened her hold, letting out a small hum of satisfaction. “I missed this,” she admitted. “Just… holding you.”

longing for simpler times right with p and az... oh how I miss Hopkins p

“You’re my wife. Meaning you’re irreplaceable, Bueckers.”

literally can't imagine either of them with anyone else

When they pulled away, she whispered, “God, you’re beautiful.”

azzi almost looks like ai she's so perfect. like sometimes I wonder if she's real

Paige smirked. “I do know. But please tell me more.”

she's just the same

“Yeah, but when she doesn’t want to sleep unless she’s on your chest?

this trait seems to be hereditary then...

Paige pulled out the tiny noise-canceling headphones and carefully adjusted them over Aliana’s little head.

just thinking of kate martin holding her nephew with those stupid little headphones over his head

The moment people noticed the baby in Paige’s arms, the volume somehow got even louder.

cuz they know that little girl bout to be playing for them in like 17 years

After a moment, Paige sighed and carefully, almost reluctantly, shifted Aliana into Azzi’s arms.

this is so dad watching the Super Bowl core

Paige smirked. “Guess she likes messing with you already. Knew she’d be just like me.”

azzi got TWO of these hoes to deal with. someone give her an award for patience

“I get it, baby. Auntie Nika is a lot sometimes.”

would NEVER in a million years trust nika with my kid... but love that for p and az!

but they’re practically vibrating waiting to meet you.”

me core I fear

“She was always putting me first. It didn’t matter how much pressure she was under, how exhausted she was from practice—she always made sure I felt loved.”

azzi stop talking before I start sobbing

You and me? We’re the luckiest girls in the world.”

and a tear rolled down my cheek🥹

Paige leans in and presses a quick but lingering kiss to her lips, not caring in the slightest about the people around them.

just one of these is all I want! it doesn't even have to be on the lips guys just a cute little kiss on the forehead at the draft or smth

“I mean, can you blame me? I bagged the most beautiful woman in the world and we have the cutest baby ever. I think I’ve earned the right to be a little cocky.”

I mean she does have a point...

Paige and Azzi both chuckle at the comment. Paige leans in slightly toward Azzi, murmuring, “They’re already trying to recruit her.”

knowing who her parents are you can't blame em

“Move over, CD. Let me see my granddaughter.”

gramps is so sassy lmao

a familiar but unexpected face appeared beside them.

wait im scared

“You and Azzi still going strong, huh?”

who is this ugly hoe..

As soon as the woman was out of earshot, Azzi turned to Paige. “I thought we were done with your groupies at this stage.”

nah that's just what comes with marrying Paige bueckers

Now, Azzi was straddling Paige’s lap, her arms draped lazily over Paige’s shoulders as they kissed.

OH?!

“Doesn’t change anything,” she said, her voice low but firm. “You know I can’t do it.”

yeah im on team Paige here I would efintley not have sex in front of my kid lmao... no matter how young they are

Azzi let out a laugh just before Paige kissed her again, pulling her under the warmth of the water, their laughter fading into something softer.

can't even be mad I was robbed cuz this is adorable

ugh I love pazzi as parents so much

truly still in shambles about yesterday

dare I say I knew we were gonna lose from before the game even started...

anyway author, as usual, I love you

-🍉

tearing up alr

everybody said this 😭

ever better than getting that 2025 natty?! (let me stay delusional)

exactly you see the vision..yup..yup

oh em gee this is adorable. geno pls get ur act together and stop making game losing calls and maybe this can happen irl!

please luigi i need you to get it together

azzi almost looks like ai she's so perfect. like sometimes I wonder if she's real

this is so real

would NEVER in a million years trust nika with my kid... but love that for p and az!

i wouldn’t trust any of them with a child

and a tear rolled down my cheek

sorry 😬

just one of these is all I want! it doesn't even have to be on the lips guys just a cute little kiss on the forehead at the draft or smth

man gimme something please

also i’m letting that game drift from my memory permanently ✨

[sspiderj]

karen wheeler defender till the day i die

[supergraphicultramoderngirl]

i need to stop pavloving myself this is getting fucking ridiculous

[scrimple]

The deeper cut on my thigh is still open and idk if that’s cause for concern or if the healing process is just like that. There’s like light red bumps kinda and looking inside makes me feel conflicted. Because on one hand I’m proud of myself for getting that deep but also I feel guilty about it. Idk

[cats-in-the-clouds]

my sister got engaged and we’re all really happy for her but my bitter rain cloud of a dad (who naturally she told last) is giving her a bit of passive aggressive grief about it despite her boyfriend being like the best man of our generation (presumably either because he’s not catholic or because my dad sees them as young dumb unemployed people who aren’t ready for marriage or because he’s mad he barely has any real love with his own wife or something). so like pray for us? i wish i knew what to do