#can you tell i’m completely rusted

[roronoagem]

sleepy!zoro that let you sit down on his cock, holding your waist to guide you up and down his length while he keeps his eyes closed. he grunts softly while you’re all whiny, doesn’t matter if someone hears, because man is splitting you open, hitting all the right spots and making you see stars as you arch your back. as soon as he comes he’s fast asleep, a smirk of satisfaction curving his lips . . .

[pedrospatch]

weakness

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: An afternoon at Bill and Frank’s place takes one hell of an unexpected turn for you and Joel when hidden feelings start coming to the surface.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. BOSTON QZ ERA JOEL. AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is in his early 50’s). mentions of reader having longer hair/her hair gets brushed, reader wears a dress, no specific mention of reader’s size, but there is a brief mention of the dress fitting loose on her, Frank is sweet and makes her feel pretty, Bill is a grump, Joel is kind of soft, hidden feelings. dashes of angst, fluff, and an abundance of Frank being an absolute angel.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY. NO MENTION OF RACE OR BODY TYPE.

word count: 5.7k

“Can you stop fidgeting for just one second, please?” Frank scolds you lightly, bringing down the palm of his hand onto your shoulder in a small, quick slap in an attempt to get you to stop squirming. He then moves his hands back up to your hair, which is out of its usual braid and towel dried after a much, much needed wash. The sickeningly sweet scent of the floral shampoo you’d used in the shower earlier that afternoon lingers deliciously in the air around you, a refreshing and welcome change from what your hair normally smells like—grime and smoke from hours of work detail in the Boston QZ. After coming out all of the stubborn tangles that he can find, Frank then picks up a boar hairbrush and he carefully begins to run it through your locks. He starts from the roots of your hair and brings the natural bristles down, all the way through to your ends. He chuckles and says, “You know, I would be done a hell of a lot quicker if you would just sit still.”

You sigh softly, but impatiently, allowing yourself one final, uncomfortable little shuffle in the white wicker chair he has you perched on before finally giving into his request. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” you mumble You bring your knees up against your chest and exhale another small sigh. You can’t see his face, but you can picture the smug, satisfied smile on Franke’s face as he continues brushing your hair. “So, tell me again why we’re even doing this?” you question him just a minute later, as if he hasn’t already explained it to you about a hundred times—he wants to do something special for you. “It kind of seems like a complete waste of time, don’t you think so?”

“We’re doing this because you deserve to get dolled up for once in your adult life,” Frank states in a matter of fact tone. The world had ended when you’d been about seven years old, and he’d imagined that since then, you’d never done a single damn thing for your appearance—besides the occasional at home haircut you would give yourself every few months with an old pair of rusted shears. He’d have been absolutely right about that. “And besides, it’s something of a special occasion today,” he adds. “It’s the first day of spring. The weather outside is stunning, our flowers are finally in full bloom, and we have a nice outdoor lunch planned to celebrate the new season.”

You can’t help the way the corners of your mount turn upwards into a small smile. One might think it was all rather silly, given it was the end of the world and all, but you have to admit, you admire the way Frank manages to find genuine happiness and joy in the little things, like warm sunshine on the first day of spring. Or showing a friend what a proper hairbrush looks like. He has such a beautiful soul, something that very, very few people in this new world possess. 

“Your hair is so healthy,” Frank observes a few minutes later, setting the hairbrush aside. Taking two handfuls of your hair from the front, he twists them gently and brings them around to the back of your head. He then secures them with a clear, elastic band and runs his fingers through your soft locks, maneuvering your hair until it cascades perfectly around your shoulders. Frank walks around your chair to face you, fussing until he makes sure that every stand is neatly in place. He smiles. “You should wear your hair down more often, you know. It really suits you.”

“Long, loose hair and work detail are a recipe for disaster,” you laugh, shaking your head at him. “Most of the work sites in the zone require anyone who has longer hair to keep it tied back, anyway.” You push your legs out away from your chest and plant your feet firmly on the floor. “Listen, Frank. I really do appreciate what you’re trying to do for me. I really do,” you swear. “It’s incredibly sweet, but there’s really no point. In just a few hours, Joel and I are going to have to head back into Boston where my hair goes back into its braid and I have to change back into my normal clothes.”

“Exactly. So how about you just zip it and enjoy this while it lasts?” he suggests with a tiny, cheeky grin.

“But Frank—”

“Honey, this is a fight you simply aren’t going to win, so hush. Now, come with me.” He takes your hand, pulling you out of the chair and up to your feet. “Close your eyes,” he instructs, and with a reluctant sigh, you do as you’re told. Frank leads you over towards the full length mirror in the far corner of his and Bill’s bedroom. “Okay. One, two, three—open your eyes.”

Your eyes flutter open and your mouth parts slightly in surprise. 

“What the fuck,” you murmur underneath your breath, taken aback by the reflection in the mirror. The young woman staring back at you, she looks absolutely nothing like you. The hair, the hint of blush on your cheekbones—the color he’d found was one one that flatters the tone of your skin—and the thin coat of decades old mascara that he’d applied to your eyelashes; the tube had been bone fucking dry, but Frank used a few drops of water to bring it back to life, swearing up and down it was fine to put near your eyes. And then there was the dress, the goddamn dressed he’d force you into. His favorite part of the makeover and your least favorite. 

“Wait until you see what I found for you to wear,” he’d told you, giddy as if it were him who would be donning a new outfit. “You’re going to love it!”

Skeptical, you had asked, “Am I though?”

Frank had gone to the boutique and found you a dress to wear, and while it was just a tad loose on your frame, he insisted that it would look just fine on you with the help of a safety pin hidden at the back of it, pulling the fabric taut. It was simple enough, white with a subtle sweetheart neckline and thin straps that tied together at your shoulders. The delicate lace fell down in a flowing skirt to just a few inches above your knees and it itched like hell, especially at your sides. Wanting to add a finishing touch to the outfit, Frank had brought you a pair of brown, strappy sandals and he’d let you know that he had a couple of different color options for a cardigan in the event it became too chilly outside. 

“You look perfect,” he gushes. “Like a daydream!”

You look different. But that isn’t what brought on the shock. More than anything, you’re completely taken aback by how fucking normal you look. 

Sure, coming over to Bill and Frank’s always gave you a temporary sense of normalcy. They always allowed you to take a hot shower, gave you the opportunity  to properly wash your hair and change out of your dirty shirt into a new clean one. They always provided you with a warm meal presented on porcelain dishware that wasn’t stained or chipped like the shit you had back home in your crumbling apartment in Boston. You’d had several tastes of normal thanks to those two, but this drastic change to your appearance was overwhelming. Too overwhelming.

You’d never thought that you could look like this, not in this fucking lifetime. 

Frank immediately picks up on your emotions, senses how you’re feeling. Standing behind you, he places his two hands on your shoulders and leans his head forward, pressing his cheek against yours as his kind eyes meet your tearful gaze in the mirror. “You look absolutely beautiful,” he whispers, giving your shoulders a gentle squeeze. “I really hope you feel beautiful. You deserve it. You deserve so much more, but if I can at least give you this much, then my mission is accomplished.”

You open your mouth to speak, but words fall short. Afraid that you might burst into tears on the spot, you clamp your mouth shut and give him the tiniest little nod of your head accompanied by a quivering smile of gratitude. 

Frank smiles back. “Good. Now, come on, let’s go out front and have lunch.” His hands fall from your shoulders and he ushers you out into the hallway and towards the staircase. Looking over his shoulder, he gives you a wink. “I’m really eager to see what your man thinks of your new look.”

“What?” you sputter, almost tripping over your own two feet. “Who—you mean, Joel?”

Shit. You’d almost forgotten about Joel.

What the hell is he going to say when he sees you like this?

What’s he going to think?

Probably that you look utterly fucking ridiculous, that’s what.

“Who else would I be talking about? Bill?” Frank snorts. “Yes, I’m talking about Joel.”

You glare at his back. This isn’t the first time Frank has teased you about Joel Miller, and despite the countless times you’ve sworn to him that there was nothing going on between the two of you, he insists on believing otherwise, adamant that there has to be something more there. “Don’t start with this shit again. He is not my man, and you damn well know that.”

“He might as well be,” Frank shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly as he leads you down the staircase.

“Frank, I’m being serious,” you say. Normally, weren’t so uptight about it all, but today, you’re not finding his antics amusing in the slightest, not while you’re wearing goop on your face and sporting a fucking dress. “I’ve told you a million times that there is nothing going on between me and Joel. He’s my partner.” You pause briefly, realizing how that must have sounded, and add in emphasis, “He’s my work partner. We work together, Frank. We smuggle shit together. That’s it.”

Frank stops at the bottom of the staircase and turns to you, letting out a curious hum. “Hmm. And if I remember correctly, you two also live together, you sleep in the same bed together, you spend every waking moment from sunrise to fucking sunset together—I have never heard of two work partners being that close, sweetheart.”

Stubborn, you shake your head. “He’s like fifty!”

“The world ended and that’s your concern? An age gap?” he questions. “Really?”

“Frank,” you plead his name, groaning. “I swear it. We’re nothing to each other. Joel is—well, he’s Joel. He’s not exactly the type of man who does that. You know, feelings and shit.”

He throws his head back slightly, letting out a loud laugh that echoes through the foyer of his home. “Oh, trust me. I know that much. Between you and me, I have to say that he reminds me a whole lot of Bill,” he muses. He notices the horrified expression that crosses your face and laughs again, holding up his hands in defense. “Wait a minute, just hear me out. They’re polar opposites in some ways, but in most ways, they’re almost the same fucking person. Joel is just like Bill. Cranky. Grumpy. He hates everyone and everything. Kind of man who’ll stab someone if they so much as look at him the wrong way. Would you say that’s pretty accurate?”

“Yeah, sounds like Joel Miller,” you have to admit. As much as you did not want to think of Joel being the same person as Bill, Frank had a pretty good point.

“But Joel also reminds me of Bill because he’s the kind of man who means well when it comes to the people that he cares about. The kind of man who will do whatever it takes to protect what is his,” he further explains. He pauses and then asks, “Let me ask you something. You trust him, right?”

You don’t even miss a beat, answering, “Of course. With my life.”

He ticks his  index finger at you. “Aha! Exactly!” he exclaims. “You know that Joel would never let anyone lay so much as a finger on you. He’d never let anything bad happen to you. And why is that?”

You stare at him blankly, unsure of how to respond. “Is this a trick question?”

Huffing, Frank rolls his eyes and lets out a disappointed sigh, as if you’d missed the obvious. “It’s because you mean something to him, sweetheart. Whether you choose to let yourself believe it or not, you mean something to Joel Miller.”

For a moment, it feels like all the wind’s been knocked out of you. 

Could Frank actually be right? 

Do you actually mean something to Joel?

No, that was impossible. Joel Miller doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything—all he cares about is surviving long enough to find Tommy again one day, and even then, he never speaks of his younger brother too kindly. He’s been hardened by this world, closed himself off, put up a barrier around himself that nothing can permeate. Not even you.

“Under that tough, rugged exterior, there’s a soft spot. It’s there, for you and only for you.” Frank’s eyes glimmer, speaking a truth he’s been wanting to tell you for the better part of the last several months. “You might need to do some digging to find it, but it’s there.”

“I just don’t understand why you would think that,” you confess, shaking your head. “Joel has never said anything to me to indicate that I mean something to him. More often than not, I find myself wondering if even considering us to be friends is too generous.” You cross your arms over your chest, growing uncomfortable under his knowing stare. “Yes, Joel looks out for me, but that’s only because we work together so well. I know my way around. He needs me, especially if he plans on getting to Tommy.”

Frank bites his bottom lip, stifling another laugh.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“Oh, sweetheart. You don’t even realize it, do you?”

Your eyebrows knit together, confused. “What? Realize what?”

“You are his weakness.”

He’d said it so simply, and yet there goes the rest of your air leaving your lungs, an invisible first driving itself right into your gut. 

“Of course Joel isn’t going to tell you how he feels about you. He’s afraid,” Frank remarks, sounding so sure as if he had been told that by Joel Miller himself.

“You’re wrong. Joel isn’t afraid of anything,” you counter in the steadiest voice you can muster. “You’re wrong, Frank.”

“He’s afraid because he knows how dangerous it is, having a weakness in the form of a person he cares about more than anything can be in a world like this.” Any trace of teasing or playfulness had disappeared from Frank’s expression. He speaks gently, but with purpose, with such seriousness that it makes your heart sink further and further down into the pits of your stomach.

When you speak again, your voice is strained, thick with emotions you’re trying so desperately to shove down. “Frank, you really need to put down the fucking romance novels.” Before he can say another word to you about it, you place a hand lightly on your stomach. “I’m really hungry. Can we go eat now? Please?”

Thankfully, he gets the hint to drop the subject.

“Of course. Come on” Frank takes your hand. He opens the front door and leads you outside and onto the freshly landscaped front lawn. He had been right, the flowers were in full bloom—the small, round table he’d set was positioned in a perfect spot so that no matter where anyone sat, they would have a view of the colorful roses and azaleas he and Bill had planted around the perimeter of the yard.

As soon as he sees you two approaching, Bill throws up his hands in a dramatic fashion. “It’s about goddamn time!” He grouches loudly. “Jesus Christ, Frank. I’m fucking starving!”

“Sorry, got caught up inside.” Frank tosses his partner a sweet smile as he releases your hand. “But look, I found myself something pretty!”

Heat floods your cheeks. You should have known better than to think he wasn’t going to make a fuss about your new appearance. “Frank, please. Don’t.”

“Oh come now, you know I have to show you off!”

Joel, whose back had been turned towards you, furrows his eyebrows and he glances over his shoulder, looking to see what Frank was referring to. His dark brown eyes widen just ever so slightly, the grip around his glass of red wine tightening in complete surprise at the sight of you. Frank had failed, quite miserably, to convince him to dress up for the occasion, but at the very least, he’d talked him into wearing one of the nicer shirts he'd found at the boutique, a neatly pressed, sage green button up with long sleeves that, much to Frank’s chagrin, Joel had rolled up to his elbows. His graying, dark brown curls  might have even had a comb run through them, but it;s  difficult to tell if the way his thick locks were effortlessly disheveled was natural or the result of his efforts to tame them.

“What do you think, Joel?” Frank beams proudly, as if presenting the man with one of his painted art pieces.

Joel doesn’t respond. His eyes remain glued on you, following as you walk around the table and take your usual place beside him.

“Way to put me on the spot, Frank,” you mutter, your face growing warmer and warmer with every second that ticks by. You silently urge yourself to get a grip as you reach for the crisp, white cloth napkin next to your plate and drape it over your lap. The smoked, wild rabbit Bill had cooked up for lunch  smells heavenly—Frank knows  it’s  your absolute favorite dish, and so he had made sure Bill put it on today’s menu, bless his heart. 

Joel still hasn’t uttered a single word. Part of you hopes he wouldn’t.

“Joel?” Frank prompts as he picks up his own cloth napkin. “Doesn’t she look pretty?”

You glare daggers at him from across the table and hiss, “Frank!”

Finally, Joel sets down his glass of wine and turns slowly, angling his body towards yours. When he speaks, his voice is low, but clear as day as he looks at you, “Yeah. She looks very pretty.”

His eyes flicker up to meet yours, causing your heart to skip a beat inside of your chest and a strange warmth to bloom in your belly. 

Had he actually meant that?

“You look real nice,” he adds, giving you a subtle nod of his head. He lets his sights linger on you for another moment before tearing his gaze away. He then turns back to the table, picking up his glass of wine once again, chugging what’s left of it before reaching for the bottle to pour himself another. 

Bill clears his throat roughly. “Well, if everyone’s done playing dress up, I’d really like to fucking eat now.”

Meals with Bill and Frank were always pleasant. 

Well, meals with Frank were always pleasant.

 Although Bill had gotten used to having you and Joel over as guests and didn’t see either of you as a threat anymore, he still preferred to keep you both at arm’s length, a choice you two respected. He hardly ever said much and often chose to let his partner do all the talking unless the conversation had anything to do with trading supplies. Only then would he step in. 

As you’d tucked into your meal of wild rabbit and garden vegetables, you could feel Joel throwing subtle glances your way every so often. It was half expected that he would, seeing as he’d never seen you like this before. He was so used to seeing you in tattered, dirty old clothes with dirt and grime caked onto your skin and in your hair. 

Surely, he must have felt like he was sitting next to a complete stranger, not his smuggling partner.

About an hour later, once everyone has finished eating, you offer to help Frank clear and clean up the table and wash the dishes. He settles for letting you help him bring everything inside, but shoos you away before you can even think about lifting another finger. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he says, waving you away from the kitchen sink with his hands. “You and Joel are taking off in just a couple hours, so go on and get some rest,” he suggests. “Oh, by the way, we found some new books to add to the collection. Might find something you like. Go ahead and check them out.”

“But I forgot my library card at home,” you joke lamely, although it earns you a sincere laugh from your friend. You pad out of the kitchen and into the living room, straight over towards a grand oak bookshelf that is packed tightly to the brim with dozens and dozens of books of various genres. You hadn’t been all that much of a reader before, but thanks to Frank, who always sent you home with at least two or three works in your pack, reading had become one of your favorite hobbies over the last few months, a sweet little escape that took you out of your shoddy apartment in the zone and into another world. You start searching the titles for the new finds he’d mentioned. Spotting one of them, you pluck it from the shelf, a paperback titled, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Opening it up, you begin thumbing through the pages, quickly realizing that it’s play—you’ve never read a play before. Still not convinced if it’s one you would like to take home with you, you flip back to the first page and start reading with a curious little hum. 

You had been so preoccupied with it that you hadn’t noticed Joel standing behind you, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest until he clears his throat, and asks, “Find somethin’ good?”

Startled, you whirl around, nearly dropping the book in your hands. “Jesus Christ, Joel,” you breathe out, clutching it tightly against your chest as your heart rate slows. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Not my fuckin’ fault you were too busy with your nose buried in a book,” he states, trying his hardest to fight the small smirk threatening to cross his lips. He uncrosses his arms and pushes himself away from the doorframe.

A chuckle escapes you, almost nervously, as he slowly starts walking over towards you, his brown boots heavy on the hardwood floor. He takes the book from your hands, humming as he reads the cover. “Shakespeare, huh?”

“You know Shakespeare?” you toss him a teeny, lopsided smile as you tease, “He from your time?”

Joel lightly smacks your arm with the worn paperback. “Yeah, I know Shakespeare and he was about four hundred fuckin’ years before my time, thank you very much.” He flips it over, eyes skimming the text on the back. “Had the world not gone to shit, you would’ve grown up and spent your entire middle school career being forced by English teachers to read all his shit and write essays tryin’ to interpret it all.” He hands it back over to you. “Here.”

“Sounds like a real fucking dream,” you deadpan. You glance down, running your index finger down the spine of the book. You’re trying, almost painfully, to ignore how Joel’s eyes glaze over you from head to toe. 

“Y’know, it’s kinda nice,” he remarks quietly, breaking the brief moment of silence that had fallen over the two of you. “Seein’ you like this.”

You keep your eyes fixed on the book and scoff. “What? In a dress?”

“When we’re here, you let your guard down. Ain’t always lookin’ over your shoulder. You smile a hell of a lot more.” He pauses, then adds, “You look happy here. Sure, this dress looks nice on you. Your smile looks even fuckin’ better, though.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. More than his words, it’s the genuine tone in which he had said them—you’d never even realized Joel noticed things like that. Whether you were happy or not, how often you smiled. Or didn’t smile.

You force a small chuckle. “It’s the only sense of normalcy that we get. Of course I look happy when we’re here. Because I am happy when we’re here.” Still refusing to meet his gaze, you turn around and walk over to the couch towards your pack. Opening the top, you quickly shove the book inside. 

When you hear Joel’s footsteps coming up behind you, you stiffen slightly.

“Frank, he adores the hell outta you,” Joel says. He seems to hesitate, but then continues, “You ever think of askin’ him to stay here?”

“You kidding?” You snort in response. “Bill wouldn’t allow that. Never.”

Joel’s hands go to his hips, knowing you had a point. “But you know Frank can convince him of almost anythin’, don’t you? And besides, believe it or not, Bill actually likes you. He loves Frank more than anythin’ and you make Frank happy.”

You finally turn around to face and find yourself caught off guard by how close he’s standing to you. “Joel, what exactly are you getting at?” You raise an eyebrow before playfully asking, “Are you trying to get rid of me or something, Miller?”

Joel quickly shakes his head. “Of course not. All I’m sayin’ is that—” He stops and lowers his voice, just in case Bill or Frank happen to be wandering nearby. “I like seein’ this side of you. The happy side. The normal side.” He shrugs his shoulders, the lean muscles of his upper body flexing with the movement against the smooth fabric of his shirt. “Seein’ you all cleaned up, well fed and content—” He trails off once again. “Shouldn’t be a rare occurrence, y’know? You’d clearly be better off here with them and you know that with Frank’s help, we could probably talk Bill into letting you stay.”

The second you realize he’s being serious, your smile fades.

“What? But what about you?”

“Darlin’, Frank’s good, but he’s not a goddamn miracle worker. Even if he tried, that’s not somethin’ Bill would ever go for,” Joel admits, lifting a hand and raking his fingers through his hair. “And even if he did, we’d fuckin’ kill each other by the end of the first week.”

Bill and Joel being neighbors?

Talk about a different kind of apocalypse, you think to yourself.

“I know that much,” you reply with a tiny eye roll. “What I mean is, do you honestly think that I would leave my life in Boston?”

“That ain’t no fuckin’ life—”

You hold up a hand, stopping him. “I know it’s not. But it’s my life with you, Joel.”

The rough creases on his forehead suddenly soften. That was the first time you’d ever seen that happen.

The scowl on his face wasn’t permanent after all.

“Yes, this is nice. This patch of town, this house, the running water, the food, the clothes—this is a decent life. More than decent. In this world that we’re living in, this place is heaven. But without you, all of it would mean absolutely nothing to me. I wouldn’t be happy here, not without you.”

Joel tilts his head back, shaking it lightly. “Think about what you’re sayin’ here.”

“I know what I’m saying.” Before your brain and your body can even make the connection, you find yourself taking a step towards him, shrinking the gap between your bodies even further. You glance up at him, somehow finally finding the courage to have your eyes meet his. “I refuse to leave your side, Joel. That’s never going to happen. Not if I can fucking help it. Do you understand that?”

Joel exhales the breath he’d been holding, his warm breath tickling your face.

“I mean it, Joel. We’re in this shitty ass fucking world, together. No little slice of heaven could ever get me to leave you behind, no matter how good it is,” you declare, silently wondering to yourself where the hell you were even finding the balls to confess all of this to him. “Okay?”

“You’d be safer here than in the QZ, with all that shit’s that been goin’ down—”

“I’m the safest when I’m with you, Joel. I know I am.”

You lift your hand to his face. At first, there’s minor hesitation on your part, but you will yourself to place it on his cheek. Although your touch is gentle, Joel can’t help but wince. Not because he doesn’t want you to touch him, but because it had been so fucking  long since anyone had ever touched him like that. 

Since he’d let anyone touch him like that. 

He closes his eyes and after a second or two of resisting, he finally allows himself to relax his tense muscles and he sinks  into your touch.

Joel lets himself savor the feeling of your hand on his face. His bottom lip gives a subtle tremble when you softly start to graze your thumb down along his jawline. His beard, which you often playfully tease him about now that it’s beginning to gray just like his hair, feels rough and scratchy, and yet somehow still soft underneath your fingertips.

“Hey,” you murmur, and he forces his eyes to snap open. “We’re in this together. That’s how it’s been and that’s how it’s going to stay,” you assure him. “My place is with you, Joel.”

Joel manages to speak through tight lips, his voice strained. “You really fuckin’ gotta stop talkin’ to me like that, darlin’.”

You carefully move your hand away from his face, letting it drop back down to your side. “Why?”

“‘Cause. Shit like that is dangerous.”

“Dangerous,” you repeat, almost laughing. “Of all the things—”

Then, Frank’s words from earlier come to mind.

He’s afraid because he knows how dangerous it is, having a weakness in the form of a person he cares about more than anything can be in a world like this.

Joel’s dark eyes flicker to the strap of your dress, noticing it had started sliding off your shoulder. Before he can even think to stop himself, he reaches out and pulls it up back into place, his rough, calloused fingers brushing against your smooth skin. “You’re so soft,” he murmurs under his breath. All those fucking years of working with you, even sharing a bed together, and he had no idea of what it was like to touch you.

“Joel…” 

Your heart had all but climbed up into your throat.

“Everythin’ you just said a minute ago, ‘bout not wanting to stay here without me,” he starts to say, “I know that it’s fuckin’ selfish of me, but I’m real glad you said it. ‘Cause no way in hell do I want a life without you. I know it’s wrong but—”

Placing your hands delicately on his shoulders, you lift yourself up on your toes and cut him off mid-sentence by pressing your lips softly against his. The clean scent of the soap Frank had given him to shower with fills your senses and you yearn to have more of him, you nearly ache to get a real taste of him—but your courage only went so far. Thankfully, Joel knows to take over from here. One of his arms snakes  its way around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest while the other reaches up, the warm palm of his hand pressing against your cheek. His tongue swipes lightly across your bottom lip, silently asking for permission to explore your mouth just a little bit further.

You eagerly grant him access, half expecting his mouth to ravage yours.

Much to your surprise, Joel remains gentle.

The way that he kisses you, the way he holds your body against his, the way his large hand—the same hand that slits throats and breaks bones—delicately cradles the side of your face like you’re made of porcelain. 

“Joel,” you nearly whimper his name when he breaks away.

His face remains just inches from yours.

“Fuck,” he mutters, leaning his forehead against yours, fighting to catch his breath. “We’ll need to get goin’ soon.”

“I know.” You nod, hoping you don’t sound as disappointed as you feel. You can sense that Joel, much like yourself, is  at war with himself over what had just happened. Not that either of you regretted it, at least you certainly don’t, but the realization that you two have just crossed a line you’ll never come back from was daunting.

Joel lifts his head, lightly pressing his lips against your forehead. He then forces himself to release you from his arms and steps back, dropping them back down at his sides. “I need to, uh, I need to go get some things from Bill. Y’know, get my pack ready before we take off.”

You nod again. “I’ll start changing and get another pack of supplies ready as well.” You pause, clearing your throat awkwardly. “Joel, about what just happened—”

He silently shakes his head before leaning down, capturing your mouth with his.

This kiss is short and quick, and when he pulls away, he says nothing. He turns on the heel of his boot and disappears, heading out to meet Bill in the garage. 

Your hand flies to your mouth, your fingers lightly touching your lips.

“Well, well, well.”

Looking over your shoulder, your throat goes dry when you see Frank standing there, hands on his hips and a knowing, smug expression on his face. 

“How long have you been standing back there?”

“Long enough.” Even from a distance, you catch the amused twinkle in his eye. “What did I tell you?”

You turn away from him, biting your lower lip.

So maybe he’d been right after all.

Maybe you were Joel’s weakness. 

But he was yours too.

[filiazpink]

🩷"OH PRIMUS,,,"🩷

orion pax x femme + superior! reader x d-16 warnings: suggestive language (like- once but still), darkwing being darkwing, i’m a sucker for cheesy stuff, really minor transformers one spoilers (?)

summary: orion finds himself completely enamored with one of his superiors and d-16 doesn’t really mind it, until one day, you show up at the mines.

a/n: my very first tumblr fic!! i might post this on my AO3 account as well! hope this reached your expectations considering more than 200 people voted for this prompt on my poll  =͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪‧̣̥̇) ill get to some of the other prompts shortly after, i just wanted to know which one would be best to start with (and to properly introduce my writing to tumblr teehee) !! comments and reblogs are highly appreciated !! ENJOY!! 💞💞💞

word count: 1139

proofread: minimal (lemme know if there's any errors!!)

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orion simply couldn't stop thinking about you.

your shiny and colorful armor, your beautiful optics, your height and strength. that voice. the power and authority you had over him. that power rivaled sentinel prime’s in his eyes. everything.

she was simply breathtaking. 

…

“earth to orionnnn, come on, rust bucket!!” pink servos waving at him frantically snapped the red and blue mech out of his trance. focusing his glance, orion watched as elita-1 gave him one of the scariest faces he’s seen yet, followed by d-16 behind her with his arms crossed, looking at his friend with a disappointed expression.

“what’s wrong with you?! you broke protocol, AGAIN!” elita pulled the miner to his feet, groaning in annoyance. orion’s dumb dopey smile quickly turned into a shocked frown and he was about to ask what he did now, but thankfully, his friend answered for him.

“orion, buddy, i know,,, i know you just wanted to save jazz from that explosion but you almost got killed doing that, man.” d-16 looked to the side, avoiding his friend’s gaze.

“you can’t keep doing this, pax. ONE more stunt like this and I’LL be the one to get-”

“what happened here??” elita snapped her head towards the newcomer’s voice, expecting maybe another miner, but her angry scowl quickly faded away once she saw who it was.

it was elita’s superior. 

it was you. 

oh primus, beautiful, amazing, spectacular you. orion felt a rush of warmth cover his face as you walked in along with,,,

oh- with darkwing. of course he was there with you.

STILL- you just showed up with no prompting, and two days in advance no less?? clearly, this was important.

orion fixed his posture and tried to dust off any grime he had on him. d-16 chuckled quietly at his best friend’s excitement, before turning his attention to you.

“(y-y/n)! i thought you were coming to check on our sector in t-two days! i’m so sorry you have to see my team like this i swear it was an accident-” the poor pink bot stammered, much to darkwing’s amusement and to your confusion.

“what accident? the cave collapsing? that’s normal, elita-1. don’t worry about it. you’re telling me it was a complete accident so i will take your word for it.” hearing those words coming from you made elita feel like she was just told that sentinel finally found the matrix of leadership.

“oh, thank you, thank you,,,” orion and d-16 watched as elita continuously thanked her superior, chuckling. 

“well, that means we don’t get our butts kicked too, thank primus miss (y/n) was here.” the red and blue miner said, walking away from the scene with his pal.

“yea and now we can just finish this shift and relax-”

“d-16?” the two stopped in their tracks, slowly turning around in an almost comical way to face the much taller femme bot. 

orion’s servos trembled. he felt embarrassed, he was over here making a fool of himself with how obvious his crush on you was. literally everyone who steps foot in the mines knew about it, aside from, clearly, you. heck, even darkwing seemed to know, considering that despite his optics not being visible, he clearly was glaring at the cog-less bot.

or maybe it was just his usual routine of hating them.

d-16, however, gulped and let out the tiniest of “yes?”. ohhh boy, what now?? did she assume that the cave collapsing was his doing?? did darkwing tell her that-

“you’re at the top of your ranks here, correct?” his train of thought was interrupted by your soft voice, watching as you knelt down to his height, placing a hand on his shoulder, which shocked him a bit. orion stared at the polished hand on his best friend’s rusted shoulder with envy, his optics narrowing just a smidge.

“i already spoke to elita about this, but i also want you to hear it. i’ve heard some great things about you, and how you excel amongst your ranks. so i just wanted you to hear this.” d-16 felt frozen.

‘what is this,,, feeling? my face is burning,,’ oh indeed it was. his face flushed in a deep blue as he anxiously waited for your next words. just your soothing voice got him like this and he simply couldn’t understand why.

“,,, i need you.”

,,,

WHAT???

the first to react was darkwing, who let out a very outraged grunt of confusion, as if you just cheated on him with a MINER of all people in his face, followed by elita, the other miners and orion gasping, everyone turning their heads towards the two.

“,,,w-what?” the gray miner’s voice box barely even processed his astonished question. he felt as if his circuits were frying up by how hot he felt. 

orion’s expression showed bewilderment and a hint of betrayal. this,,, wasn’t fair?? well- he knew it wasn’t d-16 who said that to you, but he still couldn’t help but feel jealous.

he wished it could have been him.

but then finally, you realized what you just said and removed your hand from the shorter bot’s shoulder, standing up straight and bumping into darkwing’s chest armor. “oh- p-please excuse me. i- uh, i chose my words wrong.” 

the onlookers decided to stop eavesdropping, realizing it was a simple mistake on your part. that made orion sigh in relief, which didn’t go unnoticed by d-16. but his attention was quickly brought back to you.

“my apologies, i- i would never say such things- not during work hours, i’m sorry- what i meant to say, i need you- as in i need you to help keep up the good work to motivate the other miners to do the same. it helps your ranks as it helps mine if we all put our parts to make a difference. s-so, yea.” you looked around, avoiding eye contact, a small blush remaining on your face. both miners nearly swooned at such a cute expression on your face.

“i just needed to do an early check up according to sentinel, that’s all. thought i’d try and give some pep talk and you can see i have to work on that,,” you giggled before clearing your throat and staring down at the mesmerized bots.

,,,

“goodbye.” and with that being said, you quickly marched back to the main exit with a very, VERY jealous darkwing in tow. 

orion turned his gaze to his best friend, who watched you depart with a dreamy look on his face. the red and blue bot sighed and gently shook his shoulder.

“d?,,,” oh he knew. 

he recognized that stare. the same stare he gave when he saw anything megatronus prime related, that same glimmer in his optics. it was that same spark that orion had when he first saw you.

oh primus.

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[rottenpumpkin13]

A lovely group of people encouraged me to post this so fuck it !!

This is going to be a long post, bear with me, but I have a lot to get off my chest about Angeal. I’m starting with how people’s vitriol towards his character completely glosses over the trauma he endured within the game alone.

I understand that Crisis Core is a flawed game where characters like Genesis, Angeal, and even Zack didn’t translate on screen as well as they could have due to areas of weak writing and the context lost during localization into English. But at the same time, there are aspects of the game—background details—that shed light on why characters act the way they do and this is especially true in Angeal’s case.

Angeal is a character shaped not only by his upbringing in poverty, but also by the heavy emotional burden of depression and the disillusionment that follows his discovery of his origins. His actions might seem erratic or morally ambiguous on the surface, but they’re rooted in his mentality shaped by poverty, the ideals he built to survive it, and the eventual crumbling of those ideals.

When someone is raised poor—in Angeal's case, poor enough where it's implied that they didn't have enough to eat—they grow up with a scarcity mindset that comes with a sense of hyper-responsibility veered towards survival.

We know his father passed from exhaustion, working hard to pay off the Buster Sword, so we get the sense that him witnessing his parents work hard made him internalize the notion that he must work hard both to survive and to uphold honor at any cost.

Angeal’s preoccupation with the concept of honor is a direct reflection of his upbringing. Based on Gillian telling Zack in Banora that the Buster Sword represents their family’s honor, we understand that Angeal grew up being taught to value it. Without material wealth or privilege, Angeal built his identity around his ideals. He frequently reminds Zack that honor is the defining trait of a SOLDIER, showing how he clings to this concept to give his life meaning beyond his origins.

Growing up poor not only teaches you that you are undeserving of basic necessities, but it would teach Angeal to value stability and resources, no matter the moral compromises required to secure them. 

The opportunity to join SOLDIER and work for Shinra would've represented a way out of poverty. Shinra offered him a stable future and the means to provide for his mother (maybe even his father, though as I'm writing this, when Angeal's father died hasn't been revealed in the canon timeline. It's very possible that he also saw it as a way to provide and care for his sick father).

Using SOLDIER as a means to escape poverty—despite Hollander’s probable influence, let's be honest—likely became an underlying reason why Angeal didn’t abandon Shinra outright. In his mind, letting go of SOLDIER would mean letting things fall apart—losing resources, security, and a sense of control, which he was already losing with the desertion, the Genesis war, and the degradation.

This mindset also explains Angeal’s relationship with the sword his father gave him, as the Buster Sword represents the culmination of his ideals: hard work, honor, and the tools necessary for survival. But Angeal refuses to use the Buster Sword for fear of causing wear, tear, and rust.

Seeing his father lose his life over the sword, he resolved not to use it unless absolutely necessary, saving his resources until truly needed. It’s not that he’s stingy or nonsensical—this is textbook behavior for someone raised in poverty. He doesn’t want to waste or use up what’s valuable, especially knowing that his father died for it.

He's hyper-aware of his role in supporting others, and we can see this by his deep sense of responsibility toward Zack, like how he saved him in Wutai using the Buster Sword. When he says "You’re a little more important than my sword" I like to think that he means that, above all, he values the people he cares about.

However, the same ideals create tension within him the moment they crumble following his desertion. Not only his sense of honor, but as he learns the truth, his sense of self-worth begins to deteriorate and thus begins the downward spiral of not knowing how to reconcile his nature as a "monster" in his words, with being SOLDIER. 

Angeal’s depression is evident throughout Crisis Core, and the degradation of the Jenova cells mirrors the psychological and emotional degradation he experiences (literal implications aside).

The closer he gets to losing his body, the more he loses his sense of purpose and identity, not to mention how the honor he had built his life around was spoiled the minute the people who taught him that were his father, who turned out not to be his biological father at all, and his mother, who lied to him. His entire life. He starved for nothing and lost his father twice.

The depression Angeal experiences is compounded by the trauma of discovering the truth about his birth. Learning that he was created as part of Shinra's experiments, that his mother was complicit in these experiments, and that he is no more than a weapon for corporate interests leaves him rightfully betrayed. In fact, his reaction was tame in comparison to Genesis and Sephiroth.

His mother’s suicide further deepens his trauma and gives us the first major evidence of his suicidal ideation and severely unwell mental state: "My mother did not deserve to live, and neither does her son," which he says instead of explaining what happened/defending himself after Zack assumed he killed her.

This belief that he is unworthy of life stems directly from the revelation that his life was never truly his own but an engineered existence meant to serve Shinra's greed. This statement epitomizes his suicidal ideation, a declaration that he too is undeserving of life, both because of the role he played in perpetuating Shinra’s horrors and the labelling himself as a monster undeserving of life, an unnatural thing that needs to be purged from existence.

I can’t even begin to describe the magnitude of the revelation that the man whose ideals he built his life around, whom he believed was his father, isn’t his father at all but instead Hollander is, who his mother worked with to orchestrate everything that’s happening to him now

Mothers are a central theme in FF7’s world, with Jenova/Lucrecia being at the center of that and their actions’ influence over Sephiroth, but there’s also Cloud grieving his mother’s death at the hands of Sephiroth, Tifa believing that she would see her mother again if she climbed Mt. Nibel, Aerith watching Ifalna die and then being adopted by Elmyra, and so on. 

Gillian, from what we can tell, was loving and raised Angeal with care. She likely kissed him to bed each night, comforted and nurtured him in the way a devoted mother would. But the revelation of her involvement in the Jenova Project shattered everything Angeal believed about her. In Angeal's words, her "shame" became unbearable, and he saw her once nurturing presence as a facade hiding deeper lies. Her decision to take her own life after he confronted her about it added to Angeal’s trauma, reinforcing the belief that everything he held dear was built on deception. 

I like to think that there was a part of Angeal that carried the guilt of Genesis’ degradation. Maybe he thought that if he hadn’t come between them in the training room, Genesis would’ve been fine—(which I don’t think so. I think there’s a high chance Genesis would’ve gotten hurt either way and that would’ve triggered the degradation).

This is a topic for another time, but I don't think any singular person was to blame for the incident in the training room. They're all equally to blame without it being their fault, because none of them asked to be a part of the Jenova Project. It's ultimately Shinra's fault.

Angeal probably struggled with depression even before the events of Crisis Core. Poverty itself is a destructive force that can cause lasting psychological damage. It has a significant impact on mental health, just like how growing up under Hojo’s abuse and being controlled by Shinra had its effects on Sephiroth. It can and does lead to depression due to the mental, emotional, and often physical (hello, Angeal's father) exhaustion it causes. Even when someone escapes the instability, it still stays with you because by then, you've learned to live in a world that taught you that you didn't deserve to live in it unless you work hard.

And now Angeal doesn't want to live in it for other reasons.

Another thing @ilminnestrone pointed out to me (who, btw, huge shout out for beta’ing this post <3 ), is how his mental state was influenced by the culture of toxic masculinity within the military/ SOLDIER. Just like in the real world, the military environment at Shinra likely placed a heavy emphasis on masculinity, strength, stoicism, and left little to no room for vulnerability lest the operative in question was deemed weak and not at all befitting of the shallow profile of a hero Shinra capitalized on. 

In environments like these, Angeal is expected to always be in control, to suppress any emotional or mental struggles, and to uphold an image of unshakable resilience, especially when he was canonically considered to be the spiritual leader of SOLDIER.

This expectation of constant strength absolutely exacerbated whatever pre-existing struggle he had going on—circling back to how being raised in poverty has long lasting effects on mental health. Rather than being able to openly process his feelings about his degradation, his mother’s betrayal, Hollander being his real father, or where he fit in this new reality of his, he was still trapped in a role that demanded he shoulder everything in silence. 

Keep in mind that in a culture where admitting weakness is often seen as failure, Angeal’s (and Genesis’) deterioration would’ve been magnified tenfold by the toxic expectation that they maintain an appearance of unwavering strength. 

This combined with the rigid ideals Angeal built around honor and the nature of his job must’ve weighed on him for years. The mutation only exacerbated potential doubts that were already there. 

Angeal's actions in the narrative are not those of a clear-cut hero or villain. Instead he occupies an in-between space where his moral compass, traumatic experiences and actions inspired by his headspace constantly clash, which is what leads to his label as a hypocrite. 

His decision to defect from Shinra and join Genesis is not a simple act of betrayal but rather the result of his overwhelming internal conflict. On the one hand, he wants to get through to Genesis and help him, he's aware that Shinra has betrayed them, but on the other hand, his ingrained sense of duty and loyalty makes it difficult for him to fully break away from the organization and responsibilities he has like, for example, Zack.

He wants to do good but knows that his conception was not a product of good intentions. In his mind he's a monster being pulled in different directions at once. If anything, this is most realistic reaction to what he’s going through in the game. 

His behavior becomes erratic as he oscillates between opposing forces—one where he remains loyal to the values he once cherished, and another where he acknowledges the harsh truth— struggling to reconcile his identity as an honorable SOLDIER with a science experiment.

This moral ambivalence is a symptom of his deeper trauma, as he tries to cling to the remnants of his previous beliefs, which is why he’s still enforcing having dreams and honor despite his actions. 

Some dialogue from the game where Angeal acknowledges his headspace: 

Angeal: I need your help

Zack: Do you?

Angeal: 

Zack: Honestly, what are you thinking Angeal?

Angeal: I'm not really sure myself. At times I feel as if my mind is mired in fog. 

The scene where he sprouts his wing and jokes about being after world domination is another key glimpse into his mindset. At this point, the joke isn’t entirely a joke—it’s a reflection of his resignation to the role the degradation has cast him in. The line about a monster’s objective being world domination is a bitter acceptance of the fact that, in his mind, he has no choice but to fulfill the destiny that was engineered for him. 

He feels trapped. And yet when Zack compares him to an angel, his response is: "Then what should an angel fight for Zack? What do angels dream of?! Angels dream of one thing... To be human."

He wants the cure and the normalcy so badly, but in his mind, the "monstrosity" is something that sets him apart from humanity and a reminder that he is different, degraded, and no longer the man he once believed himself to be.

Angeal's ultimate decision to force Zack to kill him is the culmination of his depression and his struggle to reconcile his identity. He believes that his continued existence is something that needs to be purged, something that poses a danger to those around him, something that shouldn't have existed in the first place.

He wants to pass on the ideals of honor that he once held so dear, even if he feels unworthy of them himself. In his mind, the only way to regain some form of dignity is to die by the hand of someone who still embodies the values he once believed in. 

Zack as his student represents the purity of those ideals—untainted by the knowledge of Shinra's experiments and degradation. By having Zack end his life, Angeal seeks not only an escape from his torment but also a way to pass on his legacy to Zack.

His final words: "Protect your honor, always."

Angeal made his dreams clear earlier when he said that an angel's dream is to be human. When he dies, passing the Buster Sword to Zack is not only a way to protect his honor but also a fulfillment of that dream. At that moment, there's nothing more human than dying at the hands of someone else, rather than succumbing to degradation.

This act, while devastating (and yes, extremely traumatic for Zack), is consistent with the psychological profile of someone who has suffered long-term trauma, depression, and suicidal ideation. 

Might be controversial but at this point in the rant fuck it: Condemning Angeal’s choices shifts all the sympathy onto others while entirely overlooking the immense suffering he was enduring. People often focus on how his actions impact those around him—Zack, Sephiroth, and others—without ever considering what Angeal himself is going through. All the above mentioned, the shame, the suicidal thoughts brought on by the degradation and his subsequent actions to purge himself from existence, they’re all pushed aside in favor of examining how others are affected. Everyone was affected, yes, and Zack deserves all the sympathy in the world for what he was made to endure in Crisis Core.

But I feel like this erases Angeal’s pain and frames his ultimate decision as a betrayal rather than a desperate act of self-sacrifice driven by his own emotional struggles.

"Oh, but Angeal was a terrible friend, Angeal was a bad mentor, Angeal was a hypocrite." Here’s the thing: If you’re someone who sympathizes with Sephiroth for having a traumatic past that led to a mental breakdown and burning Nibelheim, if you understand Genesis’ destructive actions as a response to degradation, then you can sympathize with Angeal for his turmoil and his position in Crisis Core.  

Angeal’s spiral is rooted in a lifetime of hardship—from growing up in poverty to confronting the existential dread of his degradation. He wasn’t just a man falling apart. He was someone trying to uphold the honor he cherished, even as his world and his sense of self crumbled around him and forced that honor he held so dear became hollow. 

His actions make sense within the context of his mental state.

I'll end this by saying that this isn't a rant to defend his actions, but rather to defend the mental health aspect that may go overlooked when discussing Angeal, which is such an integral part of his character.

[rafesgoldrings]

For Me R.C

Warnings: gun play, smut, rust smut writing?😭, slight overstimulation, light degradation, not proof read at all, 18+ only

A/N: I’m so sorry if this isn’t up to my usual standard, I haven’t written in so long and there has been so much going on but I wanted to get something out at least so I hope you enjoy. Reblogs and feedback is always appreciated🫶🏻

“Relax baby, I’m not going to use this on you…not in the way you’re thinking at least” Rafe said smugly, loving the slight fear you had in your eyes while you stared down the gun in his hands.

The two of you were in a…complicated relationship, one that consisted of screaming and saying you hate each other and then an hour later fucking each other until the sun came up. It was toxic, it was abusive, it wasn’t good for either of you, but yet you both stayed. You both chose to continue the cycle because you both knew deep down there was nobody else out there that could make each of you feel the way you did when you were together.

“Strip and get on the bed, I’ll show you” he watched as you did what he said, loving how much control he had over you. You could deny it all you wanted, tell him you fucking hated him and wished he was dead, but you were his.

“Good girl, now” he paused and walked to the front of the bed, pulling you by your feet so you were on the edge of the bed “spread your legs and spit on the gun sweetheart”

Your eyes widened when you realized what he was going to do, but you couldn’t deny the excitement you felt. How wet you got when you did as he said and spread your legs open for him, glistening pussy on display just clenching around nothing in anticipation. He moved the gun down your body slowly, chuckling at the goosebumps forming on your skin as the cold metal made contact, until he reached your pussy. He rubbed the end of the gun up and down, making sure to brush your clit with it and spread you open, loving the soft whines that slipped through your parted lips.

“God your pussy is so pretty baby, this is going to hurt okay? But you can take it yeah? You can take it because you’re made for me” you nodded your head as he pushed the barrel inside slowly, letting you adjust to the size before pushing it in further. You let out a loud whimper and threw your head back, the feeling of being stretched out with something so dangerous by someone who was just as dangerous making it so much more exciting.

“Oh god Rafe, feels so good. I need more please” he pushed it in more, muttering a small ‘Fuck’ under his breath at the sight of his girl taking his gun inside her tight cunt. How well you were doing for him, how eager you were to make him happy.

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you with this gun like the dirty fucking whore you are sweetheart?” You nodded desperately, pushing your hips into his hand trying to do it yourself, but he stopped moving completely and hovered his body above yours.

“Beg me for it. Tell me how much you want me to fuck this pretty cunt with my gun and beg me to cum on it” he whispered in your ear, leaving small kisses down your neck while he just barely pumped the gun in and out of you. You could feel your juices leaking all over it, down your thighs and onto the bed, but you didn’t care. You needed to cum more than anything else.

“Please Rafe, please fuck me with your gun. I need to cum all over it, wanna make such a mess and be your good girl. I’ll do anything, oh god please” the look of pure bliss on your face and the lustful look in your eyes when they met his was enough to make Rafe cum in his pants, he would’ve if he didn’t need to make sure you felt good first.

“Good girl” was all he said before he went back to fucking you, the barrel of the gun hitting your g spot over and over again. The sound of your cries and moans echoing off the walls like an angelic melody.

You could feel yourself getting close, Rafe could tell too with how tight you were clenching around it. Your eyes rolling back in your head and his name falling from your lips like a prayer making his cock strain against his jeans to the point that it hurt. He brought his thumb to your clit and began rubbing it, encouraging you to cum and make a mess for him. Your back arched off the bed, vision going black and ears ringing as you came. Crying out a mix of Rafes name and curse words from the pleasure, he made sure you rode it out before he pulled the gun away.

“Jesus…you’re so fucking pretty baby. You did so good for me” you could just barely hear him, but you felt him kiss your forehead and the faint sound of his belt unbuckling and clothing being tossed to the floor.

“What are you doing? I can’t Rafe, too sensitive” it was fucked up, he knew that, but the way you said it made his cock twitch. The whimper and way you flinched when he brushed your pussy with his hand, your pussy still clenching around nothing… he needed to fuck you.

“Yes you can Y/N, you can for me. You’re made for me so you can take my cock. You can cum one more time for me can’t you pretty girl? You’re going to cum one more time on my cock and then we’ll be done yeah?” He spoke softly, lining his cock up with the opening of your count before pushing in, moaning out at the way you clenched around him.

“Fuck, you feel so good” your hands moved to his back, leaving scratch marks as you whimpered for him. He began thrusting, not slow and gentle but rough and fast. He couldn’t control himself when it came to you, you drove him fucking crazy and you were so pretty.

He knew it wouldn’t be long, he was already close to cumming before he even fucked you, and with each thrust, each whimper and plea that fell through your lips, the intoxicating smell of you filling his nose? It just brought him closer to the edge, his hands on your hips and lips all over your body bringing you closer as well.

“Rafe-“ “I know baby, I know. Cum for me, fucking cum for me” your back arching once more, tits pressed flush agaisnt his chest, pretty moans filling the room, and he was cumming with you. You could feel his cum filling your pussy, his big cock throbbing inside you while he moaned in your ear.

The both of you stayed like that for a while, his cock softening inside you while you both tried to catch your breath. He pulled out causing you to wince and gave you a small apology, his cum spilling out of you. You heard him put his clothes back on before you sat up, makeup ruined and hair a mess. You gave him a confused look wondering why he was getting dressed instead of staying in bed with you like he usually did.

“Gotta go talk to Barry real quick angel, I’ll be back soon” you knew better than to ask questions, it was better for you to be in the dark anyway. That’s what he always told you at least.

You nodded your head and gave him a soft smile, he smiled back before giving you a kiss and walking for the door.

“Stay here pretty girl, I’ll be back soon…I love you”

[yesmansyesman]

Fanfiction added (Yes Man x Reader)

AN UNUSUAL NEW UPDATE

[ Includes ]

Wireplay (Sort of?)

Filthy, filthy smut

Dub con (I guess?)

Really, really enthusiastic con the immediate next line

Overstimulation

Robophilia

[ Read at your own discretion! ]

[ Heavily inspired by this AO3 Fanfiction]

It was a relatively slow day at the Lucky 38. Well, as slow as things can be around here. You’d sent Yes Man out on a small quest on your behalf; getting rid of some remaining Caeser’s Legion members hiding out in Freeside.

It wouldn’t be even remotely challenging for the both of you, especially compared to the other things you’d fought in the wasteland. Compared to an army of charging Deathclaws, a couple of Rome cosplayers were trivially easy to deal with. So, you sent Yes Man out by himself. It would simply be more efficient. 

Quest completed

PICKING OFF STRAGGLERS 

Ah, speak of the devil.

Almost like clockwork, the doors to the Lucky 38 swung open, a blood-soaked Yes Man entering the building. Needless to say from his now crimson chassis, the mission was a success. 

“Hello Courier! I’m glad to say the last few members of Caeser’s Legion have been properly dealt with!”

“I could tell. You might want to clean yourself off, bud. Dried blood doesn’t come out too easily.”

Yes Man inspected his dark red chassis, examining his arms, coated in dried blood.

“That sounds like a great idea!”

Yes Man began to make his way to a backroom in the Lucky 38, when he suddenly paused, and turned to face you.

“Oh, I almost forgot! On the way, I also paid a visit to Mick & Ralph’s!”

A hidden compartment revealed itself on Yes Man’s chassis with a satisfying hiss and click, as he reached inside, unveiling a slightly rusted holodisk. It looked fairly normal on the outside, only with a small label plastered on; ‘From, Ralph’.

“A man in a Buffalo Check shirt gave me this; he told me he’d ‘heard about how things turned out for you’ and asked me to help him deliver this! I’m not sure what it does, but boy, does it sound interesting!”

“Interesting, indeed. I’ll have Raul take a look at this.”

“That sounds like a great idea! Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to be thoroughly scrubbed down! Really, really thoroughly!”

Quest added

TALK TO RAUL

“Hey boss, how can I help ya?”

You passed over the holodisk, placing it gently on his desk. 

“Could you help me take a look at this?”

“Sure thing. I’ll see what I can do.”

He delicately picked up the holodisk, examining it closely. Inspecting the label, still on the device.

“Ah, from Mick & Ralph’s, I see.”

Raul lightly dusted the holodisk, before loading it into the personal terminal located on his desk. With a few swift clicks on his keyboard, the screen lit up, green text rapidly loading onto the display. He read the gibberish on the screen carefully, like it was a language only he could understand.

“Luckily for me, it ain’t some kind of malware.”

“Then, what is it?”

“It looks like some package of code intended for Securitrons. It’s not even anything major by the looks of it, just changes up some button inputs.”

Raul scrolled through the brief paragraph of code, discovering more text, this time actually understandable, product information, it seemed. Raul read through it thoroughly, scoffing when he finished. He rotated the terminal, facing the CRT monitor towards you.

“Boss, they wrote down what this thing does right here. Come and take a look, I think you’ll be… interested.”

Quest completed

TALK TO RAUL

Quest added

READ THE FOOTNOTES

Quest completed

READ THE FOOTNOTES

Quest added

INSTALL THE DISK

“Courier, are you sure about this?”

“Yes Man, I promise you; this holodisk won’t affect your personality in any way, and if you feel otherwise, you can always tell me to stop. You had that personality upgrade installed for a reason, right?”

“I-I’m not telling you to stop! I just sure hope you know what you’re doing, because you aren’t, this Securitron body may self-destruct! And that would be bad, really bad.”

“Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

You carefully installed the holodisk. Yes Man’s, unlike other Securitrons, circuits were haphazardly placed all over the inside of his chassis. Whatever Benny did to him, he sure did it messily. Eventually, however, after working through piles of unsorted wires and mismatched machinery, the disk was installed. With a brief system reboot, Yes Man had been successfully updated.

Quest completely

INSTALL THE DISK

Quest added

UPGRADE PLAYTEST

“Hm, that’s odd. I don’t feel any different. Or explosive. Well, that’s a good sign!”

“Not so fast, Yes Man. There’s still one more thing I need to do. I need to see if the upgrade works as intended.” “Sounds interesting! How may I help you with that?”

“Don’t worry, just stand still. You’ll find out what that holodisk does very, very soon.”

Gently, you lead your hand towards Yes Man’s keypad. You deftly place a finger on a key, pressing it before he had a chance to react. 

“O-oh!”

“How was it?”

“D-do that again…please?”

“Sure thing, big guy.”

Click!

“A-ah!”

Click!

“Ngh-!”

Click!

“M-mph!”

Yes Man was losing his composure more and more with each deft click, his antenna spinning rapidly and a cool layer of condensation forming on his display. Of course, how could he have forgotten, Mick & Ralph’s had experience working on robots before with Fisto, didn’t they? Of course their idea of an upgrade would be… this.

Not that he was complaining, though.

“W-wow! That feels really, really good…”

You carelessly push a few buttons all at once.

“H-Hah-!”

There you go, just let me hear those beautiful noises.

“O-oh! S-six!”

You decide to go all in, discarding any resemblance of self-control. Using and holding as many keys as your fingers could reach. 

“O-oh my-y-!”

“Having fun, bud?”

“I-I love you I love you I love you-!”

"I'll take that as a yes."

Yes Man’s vocal processor was being pushed to its limits, the audio scratched and staticy as Yes Man wore his metaphorical throat out singing moans of pleasure, screaming to the heavens above. His display was drenched in condensation as water droplets visibly dripped down his chassis. The tornado-like buzz of cooling fans were the only other audible noise amongst the squeals of pure ecstasy.

“Y-you’re my everything-g-g-g-!”

“Glad to hear it. You ready?”

“P-p-please!” Silly boy, his processors were already turning into melted plastic from the overstimulation.

“I’ll just press one more button, alright?”

“P-please please please please-!”

Click!

Quest completed

UPGRADE PLAYTEST

Quest added

CRASH LANDING

Quest completed

CRASH LANDING

“Yes Man? You there, bud?”

“W-what?”

“Oh thank god, you’re still alive.”

“Oh, hello Courier!”

Yes Man scanned his surroundings, having woken up on the floor of Raul’s workshop. His circuits were exposed, connected by several multi-coloured wires to a terminal being manned by the mechanic himself. He must’ve crashed. 

“Luckily for you, your main circuits aren’t badly damaged. You just blew a few fuses.”

“Wow! That was… sure some upgrade!”

“Some upgrade, indeed.”

You deftly place a hand on his keypad, with a touch so feathery light that it didn’t manage to push down on any of the keys, but merely tease him with the warmth radiating for your hand. A sensation he could barely even feel, but felt so, so good.

“So, how about a round two?”

“Y-yes please!”

Raul scoffs, turning off his terminal and unplugging the several cords connected to it. He lifts himself out of his chair with a grunt, and makes his way to the door.

“I’ll let you two do your thing then, boss.”

Quest added

JUST A FEW MORE ROUNDS

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Baba Jaga’s Books

݁ ⛧ ₊ Part one

݁ ⛧ ₊ @johnwickb1tsch’s requested book/antique store au (bc she and @sweetwolfcupcake put up with all my shit on the daily and I love them).

݁ ⛧ ₊ Cw: oversized anatomy, dreams, dubcon but reader 100% is into it, creepy old buildings and cobwebs and dolls, implied female plus size reader, heavy blood, gore and horror, NSFW. This is 6.2k words!!!

݁ ⛧ ₊ Art from Pinterest, but I couldn’t find the original source & apparently google image search isn’t a thing anymore? Dividers from @isisjupiter & @plum98

The woman that greets you at the weathered door is smiling brightly. “He is dead,” she says, delighted, and you blink a few times in response, because what are you supposed to say to that?

She shoves some rusted, ancient keys into your palm and leads you through a corridor lined with shelves of books and porcelain and dust.

She’s light on her feet, quick through the moth-devoured, high pile halls, but you can make out some oddities and bobbles along the way: a little clown doll in a shimmery cotton candy jumpsuit, a whole row of assorted dog figurines in pristine condition, a pearl vase with what looks to be real jade clusters at the base, an old rocking chair with an ancient language engraved on the head.

You’ll have time to explore all of this later, so you hurry to catch up with your host once you realize you’ve fallen behind and can only hear the light thump of her footsteps ahead, scared to get lost in the labyrinth of relics and tomes.

She’s made coffee, by the taste and temperature of it probably long before your arrival, but you garnish it with a little cream and sugar anyway and slurp the dark roast down. “I’m sorry,” you tell her, fingers smoothing over the mouse nibbles in the old green upholstered couch. “About the old owner.”

She shrugs, taking the deep velvet chair across from you with hot tea. “I didn’t know him. Have you ever worked at an antique store before?”

“No,” you reply, “but I sell independently, and I’ve worked retail.”

She’s still smiling, like the Chesire grin is permanently etched into the wrinkles of her pale face, and if you’re being completely honest it’s starting to freak you out a little bit.

“And you’re used to ghosts?” she nods, sipping at her cup.

“Ummm. Depends on what kind?” Even though she’s smiling, the joke seems to heavily sour whatever palpable, stale mood is already established between the two of you.

“Winston, he was haunted by an entity in this shop for the longest time. When his memory started to slip…” She presses her spindly fingers to her temple, then lets them tumble down toward the floor with her head tipped to the side. “Well, he called it The Boogeyman, can you believe that? The old fool.”

You really can’t help yourself. “I thought you said you didn’t know him?”

“Who?” She takes another sip of tea, and you get the sudden urge to cackle with the absurdity of this meeting.

“The…owner?”

“Oh, he’s dead. Good man. Out of his mind.”

“But you said you didn’t know him just a little bit ago and—” You’ve misinterpreted her smile, you realize. It’s not disdainful, it’s blank, like the expression on that cheery little clown doll you passed by so hastily.

An icy worm inches his way up the ladder of your spine before nesting a shiver into your spongey cerebrum. “Nevermind.”

She goes on, still smiling. “The keys I gave you are master. Do not lose them, it is the only set. The orange one is for the store, and the less orange one is for the garage.”

She’s in a hurry to go, it seems, bundling up in her oversized coat and hat, handing you a crumpled, yellow stained list of daily upkeep activities from her pocket.

You don’t mind, always preferring the silencing calm of solitude over lingering company, anyway.

You wonder, as you watch her pull away in a beat up buggy, if the owner was her husband. Or maybe a clandestine lover. Either way, you doubt you’ll be hearing much from her anymore.

The sales room is nothing like you expect based on the gothic, decrepit looks of the rest of the brownstone; it’s domed in a high-reaching skylight of wintery sun, with shiny dark hardwood flooring instead of matted, once-red-now-brown carpet. A wispy spider descends through a beam of dust and sunlight, and reminds you of the woman’s delicate bony fingers tumbling from her skull. There is a large oak desk still smelling of fresh, spicy wood in the very center of the room with an updated, computerized filing system and cash register. In the middle of a far wall, next to a gaping dark corridor, is a large painting of what you assume to be father and son.

He is tall, looming, with jet black hair that curls under his ears and satiny dark eyes that you think could mesmerize a corpse. His bones are strong and sharp under golden hues of flawless skin and neatly trimmed facial hair, and the red tie looped expertly around his collar would be the only color he sports if not for the plump rose of his lips. Without thinking, you reach out to touch the intricate piece of art and jump back when you feel that familiar gritty texture under your fingertips.

Just a moment ago, you were behind the desk, with a panorama of the entire room, and now you are inches away from this handsome man framed in rose gold.

You pull your fingers back and itch the lingering texture off on your blue jeans.

“He painted that.”

The voice from behind makes you jump again, now in the opposite direction, where you slam into the cold frame with the bony blade of your shoulders. You’re much too worried about the beautiful piece of sentimental decor, rather than your own sharp pain, and you turn to make sure you didn’t disturb it, horrified to find that you absolutely did, and scrambling to lift it up and hook the dangling corner back onto its wall fixture from whence it came.

A deep chuckle rumbles behind you, like warning thunder over the crest of rolling hills, and a pair of hands the size of bear paws gently lift the painting back onto the wall.

You turn to look up at him, and he is close, and his features are sharp and pronounced and familiar. You look back at the painting, just to make sure his likeness is still captured there, too, and did not somehow escape and form into solid matter before you.

“Hello, I’m John. Winston’s son.” He holds out his hand, and you don’t really take and shake it, but rather become enveloped it its warm, calloused sanctuary.

If his voice is thunder, his eyes are the lightning that precedes it, striking and shining—deep pools of dark lake water slivered with moonlight. You have to look away from him, because his real time stare is far more intimidating than the painted one.

“When my father told me that someone wanted to buy this place, I didn’t believe him,” he tells you.

“Oh…why?” Your dry throat longs for the water bottle left forgotten in your truck.

“It’s…burdensome.”

Your smile is tight. “Maybe I know how it feels.”

Well, you’ve said too much already, that is apparent by the bewildered, bemused look on his face. “I’m sorry. Let’s start over. Hello, I’m John. Winston’s—“

“—son,” you finish, taking his hand again, maybe a little firmer this time. You feel emboldened by the strange tension brewing here, and have the courage to maintain his gaze…

For about one second.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you add.

“Thank you, I appreciate that.”

“Do you…live here?” Oh, that would be awkward.

“No, right next door. I was going to buy, renovate, and use it as a gym when he died.”

You snort. “Well, guess you’ll just have to keep paying for a membership to the Y.”

A little part of you is grateful that he can match your sass instead of getting offended as so many men tend to do. “For your information, it’s Planet Fitness.”

A bigger part is worried that this camaraderie only extends so far until you run your mouth just a little too much, as youtend to do, and either wind up publicly shamed or dead—you’re not so sure which is worse anymore. “righhhht, my bad, John.”

He smiles at you, those dark eyes twinkling in the natural light cast down on them from above. You think, maybe, you see him read you right then and there and decide he likes the synopsis. It shouldn’t make you preen, but his playful grin and starry orbs are hard to snub—at least, you think they are, from the minimal glances you’ve managed to steal.

“Did you have an okay time with Marjory? She can be a little strange.”

“Oh, we had loads of fun,” you reply, after a moment of wondering what he’s talking about with those sinfully unfair plush lips. “Right after she tried to steal my soul.”

He sighs. “Not again.”

You laugh together, and already his underlying aura of danger is fading away.

Replaced with…suspicion—he’s too easy to get along with.

After a minute, he says: “she was his last wife.”

“I knew it!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up in victory. “Uh, sorry.”

This is the third time you’ve made him laugh, and you’re really trying not to get a big head about it but it’s damn near impossible. One more deep chuckle and you’re going to start strutting around here like the bedazzled pet peacock of a wealthy warlord.

He’s looking at you again, and it’s making your skin feel tighter on your bones and your head a little woozy. One man should not have that much power in a single gaze, nor be allowed to look that palatable in faded blue jeans and a brown leather jacket. You do what any woman with a libido would, and deflect with humor.

“So, who’s this guy in the painting next to your father?”

It can’t be him. If it is, he doesn’t age. Winston looks twenty years younger in this painting than the recent online photos you’ve seen, and the real man before you looks exactly the same as the painted one.

“That’s my older brother.”

“Oh, what? He looks nothing like you.”

He smiles, more to himself. “Especially not now.”

You take that bait like a hungry trout. “Why?”

“He’s dead.”

“God, I’m sorry, John, any surviving family?” It occurs to you a millisecond too late that was an insensitive question, and you have the sudden urge to bite your tongue clean off.

Tact will never be your specialty.

“Just a sister, but she lives in Rome and we’re not on speaking terms... Hey.”

You tip your chin at him and give a little wave. “Hey.”

He snorts, leans a shoulder on the wall. You try not to notice how good he looks doing it. “Time to tell me about yourself.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve told you so many things about me, and you haven’t even told me your name. I think it’s fair, don’t you?”

You hesitate, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Oh, it’s okay, though, if you’d rather not.” You feel guilty about his downturned mouth, and realize you’ve probably killed the atmosphere, but that’s for the best, anyway. This man would devour you, bones and all.

“I just don’t wanna bore you,” you shrug, feigning nonchalance. “But I’m y/n. Nice to meet you.”

His lips press together, probably holding back a dry retort, as he grabs your hand again, startling you, making you flinch back.

He drops your palm, takes a step away for himself. “I’m sorry, I thought—“

“It’s fine,” you wave him off, trying not to start spiraling into a fever fantasy about how warm he is, and how he makes every nerve in your body harmonize like a vengeful choir with just a touch. You try to compose the treacherous axons back into silence.

“Alright, fine, you can open up more as we clean. Until then, I’m not telling you a thing about myself.”

You blink at him stupidly. “What?”

“Oh, she didn’t tell you? I’m helping you. Took the entire day off and everything.” He grins proudly, and you see a whole different, youthful side of him.

“Oh?” You smile again. “Where do you work?”

“Nice try, y/n.”

You giggle, hand pressed over your mouth. “Ah, damn. Almost gotcha…I don’t need any help, though, really. I got it.”

He looks around the big room with his hands shoved into his pockets. “Alright, I’ll just watch, then.”

“I’d actually prefer some solitude, if you don’t mind…”

You commend him for that expertly crafted wounded look, but you will not fall for it. Even hungry wolves can sometimes look like the sweetest puppies.

“Are you sure? I know where his supplies are.”

“I brought my own.”

He kicks some dust, looks away. You shouldn’t feel bad for wanting your space, but you absolutely do. “Alright, if you say so.”

Maybe you can soothe him a little bit with your next inquiry. “Anything you want from the building before I start going through things?”

He shakes his head. “No, if I have to look at one more book from childhood cluttering my house, I’m going to throw up.”

“Take it easy,” you rib. “What did Charlotte's Web ever do to you?”

“Stole my lunch money,” he teases.

Maybe it would be nice, to have his company. He doesn’t seem so bad—

No. Nope. Bad y/n. Slippery slopes are always captivating and luminescent from a distance…

“Anyway,” you tell him. “I should get to work. Nice to meet you, John.”

He tips his head down at you. “The pleasure is mine.”

You’re not religious, but you would swear to God himself that you put your ladder in the truck bed. But it’s not here, and you’re not a good climber, and the chances of you growing a foot taller right now are slim to none.

Grumbling, you lug your cleaning supplies in the door, and almost run into John, who looks like he’s taking his leave.

“Oh, actually,” you ask sheepishly, letting him help you set the heavy bucket of rags and sprays down, “do you know where the ladder is?”

The piece of decaying wood he pulls from a nearby closet won’t hold a toddler let alone you. You test the first moldy step and it immediately crumbles under your foot, spilling damp rot over the carpet. “Fuck,” you say.

He snickers, and you glare at him, which turns the visible laughter into a subtle clearing of his throat and a shy glance away from your wrath. It shouldn’t be adorable. It shouldn’t breathe life into your little dead heart.

“Let me show you something,” he says, and walks over to a tall shelf, reaching up on the balls of his feet to touch the spine of the highest book. “Still sure you don’t need me?”

Is it just you, or is he a little bit of a cheekier bastard than originally thought?

You huff at his timid grin. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, his devil smile and twinkling eyes whisper, to have a tall, strong man around to fight those evil top shelves…

“Looks like I have to go to the store,” you conclude.

“Ouch.”

“Why do you wanna help so bad?”

“It was his last dying wish?”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m lonely.”

You look him over, from head to toe, skipping those intense eyes, and cock an eyebrow…

“Double bullshit,” you conclude, because there’s no way in hell a man like this is lonely unless if it’s by choice.

“Earlier, you asked me if there was anything I wanted to take. There is, but I don’t know where it is.”

“What is it?” You ask him.

“It’s a book. My brother wrote it.” He looks pensive, eyebrows pulled down.

“What’s the name?” You ask.

“I don’t know.”

“What’s it look like?”

He runs his nimble fingertips thoughtfully over the spines of some dusty dictionaries, and the spiders nesting in your marrow quiver. His thick veined hands are almost as dangerous as his eyes.

“I don’t know. It was his manuscript. I was supposed to receive it before he died, but my father kept it from me. Hid it. I broke in many times to look for it.” His fist clenches at his side and all you can think about is how big his knuckles are, and how bad they would hurt striking, and how good they would hurt curled up inside you or brushing softly against your cheek.

You must have taken a step away from him, or adopted some feeble prey expression, because he turns to you and softens, jaw unsticking itself, shoulders falling back. “I’m sorry.”

No, please, anything but showing someone your soft shy underbelly right off the bat in this new town…

Luckily, you can think on your feet.

You give him a big, triumphant smile. “Made you talk about yourself again.”

“You little…” He tsks, narrowing his eyes; for a moment you think he’s going to chase you down the corridor, and the electrical conduction of your heart seizes.

You try to act like you’re not scared, or titillated by the thought of that.

“When did your brother die?” You ask him while you’re rummaging through boxes of porcelain cups, faux gold and silver jewelry tangled together in a tight wad that it takes hours to dig through, a menagerie of plastic animals and colorfully dressed figurines that fit into a miniature circus model, occult literature from the early 1900’s.

There are so many fascinating items in this collection, some of them worth more than your truck or apartment. Trinkets infused with cultural significance, bobbles laden with ancient tales and silent history. And the books—god, the books.

Tomes of famous Russian poets, scholars, eccentrics. Vintage romance novels in mint condition. You can’t wait to curl up on the old couch with some tea and a hefty stack of Agatha Christie and Anne Rice.

“A year before my father.”

You wince and fold a weathered Dickens paperback into your lap. He is pulling them from the shelves, glancing at them, and then handing them to you to sort into piles. “That’s so much.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, sitting beside you with a grunt and whoosh of air. “You want a drink?”

“I’m not thirsty,” you say, motioning to your water bottle.

“I meant something spirited.”

“Oh, well in that case, of course I do.”

He opens a bottle of sweet whiskey in the kitchenette, and you drink it from coffee cups with freezer burned ice.

He downs it without flinching, and you enjoy the view of his Adam’s apple bobbing under five o clock shadow and durable skin, more courageous now thanks to over half the liquor from your cup.

“Sorry it’s not something fancier.”

“Whiskey’s perfect for the occasion,” you tell him, motioning to your grime and dust covered self. “I think I should head back home after it runs its course, though. I’m tired. This is a big place.”

You apologize to him, because he looks exhausted, too, and he has helped you make three times the progress you would have achieved on your own with his extra foot of height…and still his brother’s book is nowhere to be found.

However, you want to see him again, and that means you should never see him again, so you withhold any invitations.

He’s been a perfect gentleman. Good company. He doesn’t need to talk to feel comfortable, and the long silences shared between you, working through boxes and cobwebs, have been pleasant. Your initial resistance to him was unwarranted, even if he is a dark looming shadow with inescapable eyes.

He is a nice man, and that is terrifying. You need to stay far, far away from him. You would put a continent between the two of you if it wasn’t for your life savings recently sinking into this bookstore.

But when he asks to come back, you fold like wet parchment, not even trying to be reluctant or resist his deep, enchanting gaze.

You’ve become soft. You’ll have to work on that.

He insists on walking you to your truck, because it’s dark outside, and this little snowy town is short on street lights. Outside, autumn is employing winter to cover some of its crunchy dead leaves in crispy white tufts. You love the smell of transitioning seasons, and as you tip your frost bitten nose up to the air to take a big whiff, John watches.

“It’s pretty out here,” you say, looking around at the mixture of Halloween, Thanksgiving…Christmas decorations just starting to sprout. Lights twinkle along rooftops, lifting the night up in rainbows.

You’re too busy paying attention to the scenery of small town magic to notice the slight dip in the sidewalk next to your truck. Your foot catches it at the right angle for disaster, and a split second too late, you realize your soft skull is headed for the hard metal of a door handle.

You screw your eyes shut, waiting for the impact, for the crack and the pain and it just never comes…In fact, seems the soles of your feet have been placed back on solid ground, and your back has been formed into something warm and diuturnal behind you.

His hands really are big, Jesus. His palms fold into the curves of your sides, long fingers resting against the soft beginning swells of your tummy, sending fizzy warmth down through your hips and deep in your guts.

Resembling a feral animal, you jump out of his arms, as if you’ve never been touched by another human or as if he’s made of spikes—it’s more to get away from the feeling of his touch—from the feeling it causes—rather than he himself

Luckily, you don’t have time to think about how much of a pathetic waste of human you are, because you’re tumbling right off the curb again in your haste to get away.

This time, he wraps his gentle hands around the divot of your lower back, and guides you up against your freezing door with a bewildered, dazzling smile.

Shit.

“Are you okay?” He asks in a white puff of warm minty breath.

You look up at him to speak, but his sharp features are highlighted in candy apple red from the nutcracker decoration mounted on a street lamp next to your truck.

When you were young and saw a venomous snake for the first time, it was a viper, locked inside a thick cage of glass with eerie red lights shining down on its sharp little head and black almond eyes. Generally, you had never been afraid of reptiles, because they were ostracized and feared, and you maybe knew how that felt a little too well…

But you were afraid of the viper—some primordial instinct traveled through time to warn you not to fuck with that animal, just as it’s doing right now. The once excited butterflies in your middle are suddenly desperate to break free, gnawing and sucking at the lining of your gut, digging their tiny barbed claws into tender pelvic tissue.

He sees it in your eyes, maybe, as they blow two sizes wider, and backs away, hands stuffed inside his pockets. “I’m sorry—“

“It’s okay,” you say too quickly, too sharply. Fear is such a potent thing, filling you up until you’re leaking it from every pore and orifice.

“Get home safe.”

You nod, hop into the front seat, and speed away after fumbling with your keys in trembling hands for what feels like a good five minutes. Your shakes are not from the cold snow descending upon the town.

When your eyes decide to disobey direct commands from the sympathetic nervous system and look at him in the rear view, he’s standing under the red light, on the street, watching you drive away.

In your dreams, the calm day spent rummaging through books is forgotten. There’s no peace here, trapped inside your mind. The one place you can’t hide.

It’s the same scene every night.

You are running under thick overgrowth, sharp wet earth tearing up the delicate plantar surface of your feet. It’s cold, dark, maybe right before dawn or just after sunset. The thorns snatching at your skin, the branches and vines whipping gashes into your face—these sensations are nothing compared to the adrenalized fear overtaking you.

They’ll take you back to freezing metal bondage and endless gray walls and the blistering, assaultive smell of bleach over blood. You want to live, desperately. You’ve never wanted anything more than a beating heart and expanding lungs, but you’d rather die than go back with them, so under cover of a weeping tree, you grab your little stolen pocket knife and press it to your throat.

Life, shining and wet, leaves you in gushes and spurts. It’s messy work, takes a few good sharp, haphazard digs at the jugular, and they find you just as you hit crimson gold and feed the muddy ground with your blood.

You don’t know why you still try; to die, to live, to fight. The dream captures your memories, freezing them in time, and solidifying your fate. You will yourself to struggle harder, hit, kick, scratch, bite, scream, beg, pray—to a God who has forsaken you—for just a little bit of fucking mercy for once.

Mercy looks nothing like you expect.

He is as tall as the surrounding trees, at least 9 feet, with inky black tendrils of thick hair growing down his back.

Massive, clawed hands perfect for hooking and ripping mortal flesh; he lops a head off with one finger, like opening a bottle of coke—tips the body upside down and gulps, greedily, blood and grisly clumps of viscera. Your pursuer’s heart is a tasty, candy gush sweet in his palm, and he swallows it whole.

You are covered in red, so saturated that trying to run is impractical and useless. The forest floor is garroted with it, slick and impossible. You fall into a bundle of pointy thorns and vines and the thick, muddy soup of blood.

It can’t all be yours—

It’s not. It’s theirs. He is tearing them apart. Two at a time. Under the rising silver moon, their plasma has an easy and graceful Grande Jete.

He skewers someone through the chest, and your stomach lurches at the sick crack of pulpy bone.

But you can’t puke, not now.

You need to run. You grasp at the thorns holding you, ripping at your skin, peeling layers off.

The screaming and popping and splintering and wailing ends abruptly, and in the eerie silence, as you freeze in fear, trying to listen for the creature, all you can hear is the drumming beat of your own pulse inside your head.

You have never been small-waisted. In your youth, when you still had stupid hopes that true love and chivalry could find you, you longed to have the same natural slim lines and desired smoothness of your female counterparts, watching enviously as a masculine palm could fit easily into the small of their back to lead them, protect them, court them.

He fits you in one hand just like that, and the gentle nature in which he handles you makes you audibly gasp. These long, sharp fingers, that just effortlessly took apart bone and skin and muscle, dig into your side politely, bluntly, holding you in a way you’ve never considered to be attainable.

You writhe against him, pushing your palms down to feebly pry his long fingers off your hips, but he traps you effortlessly in his arms, and lifts you to his face.

There are razor sharp fangs in place of his upper canines, and they are dripping fresh, hot blood over his bearded chin, his torso, your breasts and tummy. His hair is long, ethereal, soft, floating as if he is in water, smooth tendrils feathering around your shoulders tenderly.

His mouth is just too wide for his face, and if he grinned, it would make any mortal man tremble. You start to recognize the hard lines of his expression underneath these subtle uncanny features…and then you look into those eyes.

They are narrow and dark, and impossible to keep, just like you remember. You glance away, overwhelmed with their intensity, the second before they soften.

You should be terrified, intimidated, screaming, but those eyes prick at your heart, bead a heady drop of life’s blood. This feeling, it’s familiar and centuries old—It’s yearning, agony, imbued and heavy in your very marrow.

You gasp, and writhe against him, but now for another reason; delicious, agonizing need breeds from his touch, infecting your body and spreading through every piece of you like a ruthless pathogen.

His eyes are the key to something inside of you that you wrestled, chained and imprisoned a long time ago, and you sob with the intensity of it bursting free.

You try to hide your face in your hands, protect yourself from whatever natural, effortless connection is happening between you and this unnatural man, but he grabs your head between his thumb and forefinger, tenderly pinching at your puffy cheeks. “Look at me,” he says, voice unmistakeably deep and rough and so human.

But a mortal man could never, ever make you obey so easily without force or pain—with just the heavy infliction of his tone. Your traitorous eyes lock onto his of their own volition.

He brands your soul with black fire, makes your whole being ache, toes and fingers curling against the onslaught of it all, chest heaving with the force of your breath. Your fate is sealed, your time is up, it’s curtains, you’re fucked.

For years, you’ve been painstakingly arranging a wall against the world, against your own pedky emotions. He knocks it all over with a look, and the tough woman that built it is whimpering like a baby as the fallout buries her alive.

“Please stop.” You hardly recognize your own voice when it’s sweet and pleading.

“I…can’t.” There’s something pained in his expression, maybe confused, like he’s just as bewildered by what’s happening here between you.

A loc of his hair slithers around your neck like a curious snake. It’s alarmingly soft, like thick silk ribbons trailing over your skin and between your heaving breasts. You reach out to stop him, because it feels too good and it’s too much, and he wraps your pesky arms behind your back, binding them with the same satin coils collecting at the base of your heartbeat, tickling at the underside of your breast where your very life stems from, where you are soft and tender and feminine.

If you could think straight, you would hate yourself for the way your hips twitch and shudder as an aching throb worms its way into your heart, travels through your bloodstream, and nests inside your cunt.

He hums his approval. “Me too, little witch.” His long mouth curls at the edges like a hungry wolf’s, and it’s terrifying, but you have no sense to be afraid. Instead, you want to touch—feel through the heavy black cloak of shadow covering him, right into his heart, if he has one…

You whine, because you can’t do anything else, reduced to this pathetic mess of a woman, and test the bonds he cradles you with. They are comfortably snug. Undreakable. You are secured.

It’s been so long, since anyone has touched you with reverence, gentleness. You hate it.

Not because it doesn’t feel good. Because it feels far too good, when he folds you up in that strange cashmere darkness that emanates from his being, and exposes all your coveted vulnerability…inside and out.

And you’re just…helpless. Like a stuffed doll in his sure grip.

It takes about two seconds for rationality to drown—sink deep into the blackness again and leave you quivering and warm and wanton.

Velvet serpents test you, first at your fingertips and toes, then your palms and soles. Your calves, thighs, cheeks, collar.

It’s a libidinous swarm descending upon you, swallowing you whole. The last thing you see is his mirthy, onyx eyes before being completely consumed.

The sound you make as he slips over the dusky tips of your breasts is more animal than human. You wretch your head back and forth, because it’s the only thing you can move before he traps it, too, and you swear you hear an impish chuckle before this darkness fills your ears and takes your hearing.

He covers your mouth, your eyes, your cheeks and nose, puts you in total sensory deprivation where every caress, tease, flick, kiss…suck is amplified tenfold.

You growl like an angry little kitten as he finds the sensitive, ticklish spot at the back of your knees.

Then, you sob, or at least you think you do, while slippery little tendrils wrap around the swell of your nipples and press at the soaked fabric of your underwear and mold against all the curves of your tummy

You’ll have time later to hate yourself for rolling your hips against him, for silently begging him to touch your throbbing cunt—to delve under thin cotton and test your wetness before filling every little inch of you up with shadows inside just as thoroughly as he is out.

It’s been a long time, since someone has touched you there. It’s been…never that someone has touched you like he is.

If you were trapped here for eternity, you’re not sure if you would call it heaven or hell.

As he slides past your underwear and flicks your swollen clit, your vote is on the former. When he does not increase the pace or the pressure of these teasing touches after several agonizing moments, your vote is on the latter.

He devolves you from his shadows, placing you upright on the ground, pulling out from the curves of your body with swollen pops, smoothing your hair back against your face.

In an attempt to soothe your animosity, he runs a finger down your cheek, and you bat him away with your hand, taking a quick step back, slipping on fluids—

He catches you. You push him away again. “Get away from me.”

“It’s your dream.” He raises an eyebrow, dark mouth titling at the corner. It’s absurd—you’re arguing with a terrifying bloodthirsty creature of the night like it’s casual when you should be running and screaming.

And…well…he certainly has you there.

“Go away,” you say, because obviously you’re the epitome of wit.

You feel his eyes slide up and down your body, inspiring a deep shiver and a timid step back and a good look at yourself—oversized, ratted band tshirt, old cotton panties. Blood in various stages of drying patching your skin.

You feel your neck, and there is no gash. The thorns and sticks embedded in your palms and soles are gone; not a scratch or scrape or tender stinging place on you. It takes you a second to realize he healed you.

As if he can read your mind—maybe he can—he says, softly, “I am not all death.”

When you’ve woken up from this repeating nightmare in the past, it’s usually been with a panic attack; heart racing, mouth screaming, hands grabbing your stuffed dog to press him into your chest for some warm comfort.

This time, you’re gasping, soaked in—you have to look down at yourself to make sure it’s not blood—sweat, uncomfortably slippery and sticky between your thighs, twitchy and irritated.

You’ve never had a wet dream, not in all your adult years, and having one about a man you just met is just fucking ridiculous.

He is not that great, you tell yourself. You just met him, for God’s sake.

First handsome man that’s nice to you in years and you become a delusional school girl? No. Hell no.

Boundaries need to be established, here. Rules need to be set. You need to put your foot down, have a little bite behind the bark, and tell John, Winston’s son, to go away.

Just like you did in your dream.

Notes: when I was describing the monster, I was thinking of something like Alucard from Hellsing or Dracula from Castlevania.

[atinylittlepain]

Hi! I hope you’re well! I have a Joel request please!Reader collects keychains from the different states/places she travels. She’s a bit introverted, and she and joel are both quiet and don’t talk too much, nut she’s a good listener. After a close call with a clicker, reader feels like a burden to joel. Joel reassures her that she’s not but she’s still not sure. Joel gives her a keychain that he finds during their travel & it’s a happy ending. Also can there be an age gap lol

Hope this isn’t too much, but please feel free to make any changes/adjustments :)

Thank you!

sweet anon, this idea is so lovely - i hope i've done it justice <3

Pieces of Our Path - A Joel Miller Story

Joel Miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

warnings | 18+ canon-typical violence, angst, joel is a ding dong, and then fluff bc it's good for your cholesterol :)

.........................

“I’ll be right back. Wanna go check in that gas station.” “Tell me this ain’t what I think it’s for.” All she can do is smile as a blush creeps up her neck because it is exactly what he thinks it’s for. Joel huffs at her expression.

“I-I haven’t found one for Wyoming yet. Think I oughta get one since we’re living here now and all.” She knows it’s silly, frivolous, maybe even downright stupid, but she’s been collecting them for so long now, finding one for nearly every state they’ve crossed through, that she needs her collection to be complete. 

Joel had often given her an exasperated look when she’d show him a new one she had found, never asking why she held onto all those keychains. They don’t talk much, and she supposes that’s why they’ve worked so well together, managing to get Ellie across the country, and when that went sideways, limping back to Tommy’s place, where they find themselves living now. It’s the first time they’ve been settled anywhere together, ever, and they’ve both been working out their stir-craziness with patrol shifts and scavenging trips. 

“Just make it quick, alright? I’ll cover the outside. You holler if you need me.” She nods at his gruff words, already hustling over to the crumbling gas station and shouldering her way in through the rusted door. It’s dark inside, slants of light pock-marking the mossy tiles and shelves. Her fingers flex around the handle of her knife as she creeps further into the store, moving toward what used to be a checkout counter. After so long on the road, she knows where to look for these things. Joel had once joked that the keychains seemed to find her more than she found them. Sure enough, there’s a few scattered over the floor, but before she can get a better look at them, she’s startled by a loud screech coming from behind her.

It happens so quick, all she can do is let out a yelp as she gets slammed to the ground by an infected, all clawing hands and gnashing teeth as she struggles to keep it at bay. Her knife had skittered out of her hand at the impact, and as she tries to push the creature away with little success, fear starts to creep up her spine that this might be it. Just as suddenly as it attacked her, the creature stiffens before slumping down on top of her, but its body is quickly shoved off of her to reveal Joel standing over her, knife in hand. There’s a frantic look in his eyes that she’s never seen before as he kneels down between her legs and helps her sit up. The rough palms of his hands scurry all over her, checking her neck, her arms, her legs for bites. His face slackens just slightly when he finds no evidence of infection, cupping her face in his palms.

“Are you hurt?” She takes a steadying breath as his eyes hold her in place, her hands wrapped over his forearms.

“I’m ok. Joel, I’m so–” He doesn’t let her finish that sentence.

“C’mon, we need to get out of here.” He helps haul her up on unsteady feet. She feels her stomach drop when she glances back at the mottled body of the clicker, quick to hustle out of the gas station and back onto the road. Joel doesn’t say anything more, an unspoken agreement that they need to head back to Jackson. But she can see the way his hands clench around the strap of his rifle until his knuckles turn white, the hard set of his jaw as he walks alongside her. It doesn’t take a genius to see that Joel Miller is angry, and she knows it’s all her fault.

She spends the whole hike back cursing herself in her mind. She had put herself in danger, and in turn had put Joel in danger, for such a stupid, useless thing. Harsh thoughts are quick to burrow into her head, namely that Joel would be so much better off with someone smarter, more careful, someone older, as his… she’s not even sure what she is to him. They’ve been traveling together for so long now, but she’s hesitant to think of them as anything, even if they do end up tangled in the same bed most nights, something they excused as a simple human need for closeness, nothing more. She supposes that they’ve been a quiet comfort to each other, but not anymore, not now that she’s failed him. 

Anxiety rages on in her mind, and Joel’s icy silence does nothing to assuage it. Even when they get back to Jackson, he won’t so much as look at her, trudging straight to the bar. She lets out a heavy sigh and keeps her head down as she shuffles off in the opposite direction toward their house.

It’s quiet when she gets home, and she figures Ellie must be out on her own shift still. She goes straight to her room, the room she has been spending so little time in, Joel usually coaxing her into his bed because they both sleep better with each other near. She had stashed the other keychains in a crumpled shoebox she found in the closet, and would often get it out to thumb through the evidence of her wanderings. Normally, it was a comfort to her, being able to trace her past in these plastic relics, but now, looking in the box, all she feels is sick to her stomach. She shoves the box back into the closet, slamming the door shut and swallowing hard around the thick heat building in her throat.

A wave of exhaustion passes over her, the adrenaline from her close encounter finally wearing off, and it’s all she can do to collapse onto her bed in a tight curl as the first tears start to fall.

..,

She wakes with a start, light hands shaking her shoulder, and as she squints her eyes open, she finds Ellie hovering over her, a furrowed look of worry across her face. She lets out a ragged sigh as she sits up, Ellie leaning back on the bed.

“Are you alright?” She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, bloodshot and tired from crying, but she nods at Ellie’s question.

“I’m fine, kid. Just tired, that’s all.” Ellie clearly doesn’t buy that, eyebrows shooting up at her.

“You sure about that? Saw the old man down at the bar, and you and I both know he only goes there when he’s really pissed.” She huffs, shaking her head and wishing Ellie didn’t know her and Joel so well.

“We had a bad shift. I, um, did something stupid.” Silence settles over them after she finishes murmuring her answer, but Ellie is quick to break it.

“Whatever it was, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad. You want me to go talk to him? I can knock a little sense into his head.” She rests her hand on Ellie’s knee and offers her a small smile.

“That’s alright, kid. Um, it was pretty bad. We’re both ok– but, yeah– it was bad. Joel’s right to be angry at me.” Ellie settles down, pressing her lips into a thin line as she nods.

“Well,  I’m glad you’re alright at least. Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do?” Her smile broadens at the girl’s words. Ellie had been and continues to be a bright spot in her world, and she muses briefly that if not for her, she would have already packed up and skipped town this afternoon, something she thinks would certainly be welcomed by Joel.

“No, I’ll be ok, kid, but thank you. Think I’m just gonna lay low tonight.” The girl bites her lip, clearly not convinced by her words, but she still nods.

“Um, ok. Well, in that case, is it alright if I go to movie night tonight?” 

“Is Dina gonna be there?” Ellie’s grin is contagious, and she laughs lightly at the girl’s flushed reaction.

“It’s alright kid, you should go. Just be safe, huh?” Ellie surprises her just a little with her quick hug before she gets up off the bed, digging her hands into her jean pockets.

“I’m glad you’re alright. And, Joel’s just– emotionally constipated, you know? I’m sure he’s not really mad at you, he’s just acting like it. But he’ll calm down. He likes you too much to be such an asshole to you for long.” That makes her really laugh, and the feeling is a relief, a weight off her chest, if even just briefly.

“Thanks for that, kid. You should go, they’re gonna start the movie soon I bet.” Ellie offers her one more smile before leaving. She slumps back in bed the moment she hears the front door close.

…

It’s much later when she’s woken up again by much harsher hands jostling her. It’s completely dark in her room, and she groans as she fumbles to switch on the lamp on her nightstand. She certainly wasn’t expecting to see a clearly drunk Joel Miller hovering over her. 

“Why’re you in here?” His words are thick and slurred, his southern accent tugging low in his throat to the point she can just make out what he’s saying. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes watery and wavering as he looks at her. She’s never seen him this drunk before.

“I-I was getting some sleep. Joel, how much have you ha–” She’s cut off as he slumps over her where he had been sitting on the edge of the bed, his cheek smushing into her collarbone and the mussed waves of his hair grazing her chin. His words are even more slurred as he speaks now, hot breaths fanning over her throat.

“Y’never sleep in here. Wan’ you with me. Should always be with me.” He hiccups at the end of his words, jolting her in his heavy hold as he lets out a long sigh. She’s never seen him like this and has to swallow the shock sitting in her throat as he continues to mumble to her.

“Scared me so bad today. Don– don’t do that again. Need– need you– I need you.” It’s breaking her heart, listening to him say these things– things she had often imagined hearing him say to her– but only because he’s drunk enough to not give a shit. She huffs, tamping down her sadness and instead letting anger simmer in its place. She presses hard on his shoulders to sit him back up as he grumbles at the movement, his head slumping back on his neck to look at her as she stands up.

“Where you going, pretty? Jus’ stay with me.” He practically whines out the last word, and she’s heard enough. She dips under his one arm to hoist him up off the bed, stumbling a bit as he leans most of his weight on her.

“C’mon, Joel. I’m gonna get you to bed.” He huffs as they start to shuffle down the hallway to his room.

“Will you stay with me, darlin? Ple– please.” Now she knows he must be drunk off his head, because in all her time knowing him, she has never once heard Joel Miller say the word please until tonight. She grits her teeth, hauling them both through the doorway to his bedroom.

“I’ll stay with you, alright? Just– just sit down.” She gracelessly plops him on the side of the bed, a hard “oof” leaving his mouth as he sits down. She moves over to his bathroom to get him a glass of water, having swatted away his grabby hands with a murmured “be right back.” 

By the time she comes back into the bedroom, she finds Joel slumped back on the bed, his legs dangling off the edge as he snores lightly. She sighs, setting down the glass before moving over to him and taking off his boots. He mumbles nonsense as she swings his legs up onto the bed, folding the comforter over to cover him up as best she can. 

She doesn’t stay.

…

It’s late the next morning when she finally goes downstairs. It had been a fitful night of sleep, and she had gone back to Joel’s room a few times to check on him, finding him still passed out each time. She stops by his door on the way downstairs and sees that he’s no longer in bed. Padding into the kitchen, she finds coffee brewed, but no sign of him or Ellie. She figures Ellie spent the night with Dina, but is still left wondering where Joel could be. As she shuffles through the house, she finally catches a glimpse of him in the living room window, sitting on the porch out back. She has to take a steadying breath before she steps outside.

He doesn’t say anything as she sits down next to him, neither of them glancing each other’s way. 

“How’s your head?” He scoffs, still not looking at her as she glances at him.

“About how you’d expect. Suppose I deserve it though.” She doesn’t say anything to that, keeping her eyes focused on her fidgeting hands in her lap. It feels like there’s cotton in her mouth, she keeps trying to say something else, but gets stuck before she can even get the first word out. Luckily, Joel breaks the silence again.

“Need to apologize. Acted a fucking fool last night and you shouldn’t have had to deal with that.” She swallows thickly before responding, her voice an uncertain murmur.

“I-it’s alright. I’m sorry too– for yesterday.” He finally looks at her, brow furrowed.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Yes I do. You wouldn’t have had a reason to drink so much if I hadn’t fucked up so badly yesterday. I understand. I’d be angry too.” His face slackens at her words and she can barely meet his unwavering gaze.

“What’re you talking about? I wasn’t angry– I was fucking terrified. Seeing you– I just– I couldn’t– fuck, the thought of something happening to you– I was shaken. And I handled it like an idiot, and I’m sorry.”

“Maybe you’d be better off without me then.” A heavy silence falls, but Joel quickly breaks it with a scoff.

“Don’t say shit like that.”

“I mean it.” “Well don’t. I wouldn’t be better off without you, goddamn it. I’d fall apart if I lost you.” Sober, this is the most he’s ever said about how he feels for her, and it makes her heart race in her chest.

She’s been keeping her eyes on her lap, but is forced to look at him as he turns her face toward him with a broad palm along the arc of her jaw. His eyes are soft, searching, and it’s all she can do to let out a sigh of his name.

“I can’t lose you, darlin. Pfft, better off without you. I’d be hopeless without you, huh?” She gathers up whatever courage she has in her, bringing her hand to the arc of his neck to coax him closer as she leans in. It’s a fluttering little thing of a kiss, her lips barely brushing his before she’s jerking away, but Joel steadies her with his hand still cupping her cheek, thumb brushing just under her eye.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ha–” he surges forward and this kiss is certain in what it demands, what it means. She all but melts under his touch, mind hazy when he pulls away and presses his forehead to hers.

“I’m old– and no good for you– but fuck, I’m selfish, darlin. And I need you. Tell me you’ll stay with me, please.” There it is again, that rare word. She smiles.

“I-I need you too, Joel. I’ll stay. I’ll always stay with you.” He presses another kiss to her lips, both of them grinning into it before sitting back as he wraps his arm around her shoulders to tug her into his side.

“I, um, I have something for you.” She cranes her neck to look at him with a furrowed expression. He huffs as he digs into the front pocket of his jeans, holding his palm out flat in front of her. When she sees what he’s holding, she lets out a spluttering laugh. It’s a keychain, in the shape of Wyoming.

“When did you–”

“I picked it up as we were getting out of there. Figured it shouldn’t be for nothing, right?” She laughs again, shaking her head at the smug grin on his face. 

She lays her palm over his, tangling their fingers together with the keychain pressed between their hands. They smile like idiots at each other. She knows that wherever the next keychain comes from, she can count on Joel Miller being there with her.

[chelseeebe]

three’s a crowd.

this is just porn with absolutely no plot if i’m being completely honest lollll i was at a festival this weekend and wanted to ease my brain back into writing and then this happened?? i do have part 1 ready to go for shattering expectations but am waiting to post

18+. voyeurism. perv!eddie i guess. unprotected sex hehe

imagine sneaking off to the bathroom with steve at some event you didn’t even want to come to because he just can’t keep his hands off of you.

they’re grabbing onto your supple thighs to hoist you up onto the sink, moving between your legs, lips not living yours as his large, hardened hands roam your body. dress yanked up over your thighs revealing a damp patch in your lacy panties.

he’s growling into your mouth, feeling his erection nudging perfectly at your sensitive clit. pulling him closer to you with your legs wrapped around his waist.

murmuring words of encouragement to tell him to hurry up. you need him now.

his pants coming undone, cock springing up against his stomach as you shuffle forward, hips tilted as you wait impatiently for him to fill you up.

trying so desperately not to make any noise when he slides inside, forehead resting against yours with the tinges of a smirk on his lips. he can feel just how soaked you are for him already, stretching your pretty pussy around him.

finding it too difficult to keep your mouth shut when he hits that sweet, spongy spot deep inside, mewling into his ear with a breath chorus of stevestevesteve.

you’re not sure if you’re hearing things but you’re sure the door creaks and your eyes flit over to spot eddie stood gawping, one hand still wrapped around the rusting door handle.

you startle a little at the sight, squeezing steve’s shoulder to grab his attention, ‘steve.. steve,’ different to the similar sounds you’d been making.

he looks back over his shoulder without much concern, tsks quietly before continuing to thrust his hips, the sounds of your wetness filling the tiny room.

it’s so fucking hot. it shouldn’t be hot.

knowing he’s just stood there watching, you should feel weird. it was. but it was just so sexy, encouraging you in a way you’d never known possible.

your stomach twists, averting your eyes as your head rolls back against the dirtied mirror. heels digging into his back when his thumb moves to circle your clit. using the opportunity to bury his head into your neck, suckling at the taut skin, littering the empty space in a plethora of purples.

head lolling to the side as you once again making eye contact with the other man still stood at the door. dropping to the obvious tent in his pants, hand twitching, just absolutely fucking desperate to touch himself.

eager to please, you steve in by the collar of his shirt, lazily connecting your lips. tongues and spit. eddie’s chest is heaving, near enough drawing blood from his teeth dug into his bottom lip.

your stomach twists, too blissed out now to care about one eddie munson stood at the door. steve’s hand is balanced on the porcelain basin, slamming into your cunt mercilessly, feeling you tighten around him. he knows you’re close, the sweet sounds rolling out of your mouth are indication enough.

‘fuck..’ you’re whining, thighs trembling as the coil snaps, eyes squeezing shut as your orgasm overtakes your limbs. white hot flashes explode behind your eyelids. clinging onto steve’s neck in fear of falling off the flimsy sink.

steve grunts, burying himself to the hilt as thick ropes of hot cum paint your walls. leaving wet kisses along your jaw and down onto your already marked neck before pulling out. his pants back around his waist before you have time to even digest what had just happened.

he’s a gentleman, pulling your dress down and helping you from the basin. finding it so insanely hot to know he’s dripping out of you as you land on wobbly legs, cheeks burning when you catch sight of eddie again.

it’s a silent exchange between them but it makes you giddy all over again. steve nodding at the boy before taking your hand and pulling you out of the bathroom with as much haste as he’d pulled you into it.

the lock clicking as soon as the door is shut again.

[gdbatbitch]

TL;DR Please, please. I’m at the absolute end of my rope and can use all the help I can get. Also, just putting out there for those that prefer alternates: my PayPal is dextra.hoffman@gmail.com, Venmo is @Dextra-Hoffman, and CashApp is $DextraDawn. Thanks y’all.

I wish I had the spoons to talk about how horrible I have been feeling the last few weeks in real time. Especially the last 3 weeks. You don’t realize how much one little gland will mess up your entire existence until it’s defective or gone. I’ve been without my thyroid for 10 months now. And I’m still suffering the repercussions of it. 

My biggest issue is my TSH levels. I’ve had to have dosage adjustments twice since January, and each time it results in weeks of adjustment time, and a good portion of that, I’ve been completely laid out because of being unable to function. The symptoms can vary, but generally involve massive fatigue, nausea, hot flashes and cold spells/sweats that I’m not able to control and barely able to combat, dehydration, weakness, and just having that feeling you get with a high fever and a flu where you feel half in and half out of reality and not sure if you’re actually alive or you’re a ghost. 

Also because these hormones think they’re that special, they also affect my mental health by spiking my adrenaline levels and triggering my anxiety. My anxiety alone can shut me down for days. It’s been well documented. So the physical symptoms would trigger my anxiety. I have a really high pain tolerance, but sickness not so much. And I have never felt sicker in my life than I have in the last month. So not only was I feeling like I was dying, I was terrified the entire time.

I’ve not gone into great detail about it openly because it was so scary, and I know when I’m in panic mode I can’t really trust my own mind to determine the seriousness of a situation. So I kept it quiet, at least quiet for me. 

Of course, all of this has completely destroyed my plans of getting back to work and out of this poverty rut I’ve been in for months. I had a job lined up, but the start date was right in the middle of my being incapacitated. I tried to work with the company to push back my start date, but that didn’t happen. I’m in the midst of interviewing for a job that would be absolutely perfect, but I’m still waiting for next steps on their part. Aside from those, as anyone currently seeking a job will tell you, it’s abysmal out there. I’ve applied for over a hundred jobs in the last 4 months and I’ve barely gotten any responses. 

I’ve been asked if I’m going to be doing art commissions, and if I were more capable, sure. I’d be silly not to try. But I’ve not been anything close to capable for weeks. I’ve only been back to 100% for a few days now, and even that has been sketchy. So I’m putting a pin in that for now, at least until I can knock out a sketch or two to knock the rust off. 

I was hoping to be done with fundraising, it’s so nerve-racking. But right now, my survival is in peril. I just submitted a request for what will be my last unemployment payout. It wasn’t much, but it was barely keeping me afloat. After that, I’m kinda screwed unless I can figure something out. 

I still haven’t made rent for August, my car payment is late, I’ve got bills up to my ears and I’m just worried that I’m not going to have those things very very soon if I can’t keep up. If I can at least hit the goal on the fundraiser, that can keep me going until I can get back to work (fingers crossed). 

I’ve been struggling with asking for help for a while now because I feel like I’ve been holding my hat out for far too long, but I don’t really have a choice anymore. I’ve also been struggling with a lot of internalized ableism as well because I know I’m disabled and shouldn’t push myself as hard as I do. But that’s a rant for another time.

Please, please. I’m at the absolute end of my rope and can use all the help I can get. Also, just putting out there for those that prefer alternates: my PayPal is dextra.hoffman@gmail.com, Venmo is @Dextra-Hoffman, and CashApp is $DextraDawn. Thanks y’all.

[love-lilly02]

The Challenge pt. 5

Authors Note: this one is gonna make yall mad, i already know it. Also i think i'm gonna have to create a schedule of posting on weekends as apperently all my ideas for this story hit on fridays.

Chapter warnings:

minor character death, mentions of suicide

“You can’t do that!!”

“I can and I will.” Laswell said, closing the file. “She’s on a solo Op and that’s final.”

The boys all rolled their eyes, sighing heavily. 

“Let one of us go, Las. We can’t just let her walk into the lions den-“

“Price, that’s enough. She has her assignment, you have yours.” 

“But we don’t have an assignment.” Price stressed. 

“Exactly.” 

Another round of complaints. 

You had left the room long ago, departing as soon as you had received your mission. A solo op, just an intel gathering. Get in, get the information, get out. 

Get out of one of the most heavily guarded buildings in all of Russia. 

What could go wrong?

“Okay, I’ll be the one to say it.” Kyle stepped up, leaning forward in his chair. “I don’t trust that she’ll be able to get out of this place. Even with her level of skill, that’s something no one’s been able to pull off without dying.”

“If you’re worried about her, you can say that you know.” Laswell said simply, raising an eyebrow. 

The whole room went quiet. 

“Alright, look. I don’t know what’s going on between you four and her, but get it under control. I had enough of it when you lot-“ she points to Ghost and Price-“ wanted those two-“ She points at soap and Gaz- “to join your… whatever this is. I’m not dealing with four children mooning over my best asset.”

“We are not moonin’-“ Ghost protested at the same time Price said “I thought I was your best asset?”

Laswell just rolled her eyes. 

“I’ll put you boys on cam duty. How’s that?”

“It’s enough.” All the boys agreed.

You could feel their eyes on you as you adjusted your weapons for the fiftieth time. The suit they had you in was very different from the gear you normally wore, instead of cargo pants and a vest you had on a completely black bodysuit with a matching hood and shoes. Various knives and fewer guns than you would like were hidden among your body, and you kept anxiously touching them to be sure they were actually there. 

You looked like the Black Widow from the Avengers. As far as you could tell, the boys thought so too, with the way they kept sizing you up. 

You weren’t entirely sure if you liked that fact or not. 

You knew exactly why they had chosen you instead of Ghost or Kyle for this mission- you were a lot quieter. They could think quickly and kill faster, but at the end of the day you moved around quieter, left much less noticeable tracks than they did. 

This stupid challenge supported that idea. 

“Keep touching ‘em and they’re gonna rust, lass.” Soap called over the comms, and you shot him a glare. For the sake of the mission- and your life- you had decided to temporarily cast aside your feelings for their last behavior, allowing them to talk to you again. Some people, like Gaz and Price, understood you would need space after what happened. Ghost and Soap, however, did not get the memo. 

“She’s allowed to touch ‘em, Johnny. They’re her knives. ‘Sides, I don’t suppose knives can rust by just touching ‘em anywho.” 

“Awh yea they can! I’ve seen it ‘appen me self.” 

“Drop it,” Price warned.

Both boys responded with a simple, “Sorry captain,” and the helicopter was silent again. 

“Okay. One more time, what are you doing?” Price couldn’t help but be nervous as your drop zone crept closer and closer. 

“I get dropped off and enter through a side window, go through some rooms and get to the main center to put the information on the computer with a red chip into a flash drive. 

Price nodded and ran his hand along his beard, a nervous habit you noticed he developed. 

“Okay, good. The boys and I will tell you where to go and when it’s safe over comms, and-“

“Price. I’ve heard the debrief over fifteen times now. I got it.” You said, doing one more quick pat down to make sure all your knives were in order. “I trust you. Now you need to trust me.”

“Drop zone approaching!” The pilot called, and they all watched as the plane opened to reveal the darkness of the night. 

“Wish me luck,” You said, pulling the hood over your head. 

“Luck,” they all chorused back weakly. 

And you jumped out of the plane. 

Anxiety coursed through Ghosts veins as he watched you jump. A while after, thirty seconds as planned, you deployed a parachute, barely visible in the night. It was dangerous to have a black parachute in the dark but it was a risk they needed to take. 

There was complete radio silence the entire time you landed. That was another rule, unless you were receiving directions or telling them something important you were to be radio silent at all times. To “make sure no one hears or picks up anything,” as Laswell said. 

Ghost thought it was a load of bullshit. 

Simon agreed. 

Truth be told, he worried for you. Both of him did. This was something he wouldn’t be able to pull off, not even with years of training for it. And they were sending you in with less than a few hours notice?

A suicide mission. 

He hadn’t asked, if this was what you wanted to do. He didn’t ask if you were okay with risking your life, possibly dying, for the “greater good.” He honestly wanted you to disagree, he wanted you to protest, say they were stupid for sending you on this mission.

But you had just listened quietly and took the file. 

“At the drop zone, headed to the entrance.” Your messages were short and to the point, and he could see the others relax at your words. 

“Right, stay on standby,” Ghost said, loading up the cameras. 

“Copy.” Then silence. 

Once he got the feed loaded he quickly scanned the cameras for you, his eyes flicking back and fourth. 

“There,” Kyle said, pointing to one screen. You were kneeling behind a bunch of crates, watching the entrance carefully. 

“Okay. Move left, there’s a side entrance, you might have to pick a lock or two.” 

“Copy,” and you moved towards the door. They watched as you crawled, seemingly gliding across the concrete floor. Once you reached the door, it took a total of three seconds for you to slip inside. 

“Door’s are locked. What’s the next move?”

“Shit, that was locked?” Soap asked, even though his comms were off. 

“Suppose so. Two desks down to your right.” 

And so it continued. They gave you directions and watched as you absolutely flew though the levels of the building. Till finally, you were where you needed to be. 

“Okay, transferring the information.” It shouldn’t take that long, Ghost told himself. He watched as you stayed crouched behind a wall, nervously tapping on your thigh as the transfer commenced. 

“Done!” They could all head the relief in your voice, even if you tried to hide it. You put the computer back where it belonged, tucking the flash drive in your pocket. 

“Good job, now head out the way you came, it’s-“  Ghost stopped short when he saw two men walk into the room. They were soldiers for the enemy team, the Russian flags in the middle of their vests displaying that. To your credit, you heard the voices and stayed pointedly in place.  

The two of them spoke in gruff Russian to each other, monitoring the room carefully. They were going a bit too slow, getting a bit too close for Ghost’s liking. And, based on the way Kyle was gripping his shoulder, for him too. 

They kept snooping, till finally one of them jumped out into your hiding spot. 

It was absolute chaos after that. 

You stabbed the one who found you, using his body as a shield when the other started shooting. You fired your own shots and landed one with rough time to drop the guy you were holding and run out of the room. 

By this point, multiple alarms had been tripped, and you abandoned all sense of decorum, flying down steps quickly. 

“Get the fuck out of there!” Ghost yelled over comms. 

Apparently that didn’t warrant a response. 

The cameras he was using to track you were being taken over, and he was quickly loosing visuals. 

“Mirage, do you copy?” 

“Mirage, what is your position.”

“Damnit Y/N, answer me!”

But he was met with silence. 

And for the first time since Las Almas, Ghost felt truly afraid.

For what it was worth, you had heard Ghost yelling over comms. And you had wanted to respond to him, but the current circumstances made that harder than you would have liked. 

There were soldiers shooting at you almost constantly, and maybe about two or three snipers on other buildings. And you had about five more stories to get down, not to mention an entire parking lot- which was swarming with soldiers, you checked- and somehow get back on the evac vehicle alive. 

One step at a time. 

Having cleared two floors already, you burst through a nearby office, breathing out a small sigh of relief when no one occupies it. Over the comms you hear a voice saying something, but it’s Price now instead of Ghost. 

“Mirage, there’s a supply drop headed your way, what’s your location?” He doesn’t sound as worried, and you can’t help but wonder where Ghost went. 

“I’m hidden in an office, sir. If there was a drop there would be no way for me to reach it without being ambushed.” 

You’re met with silence for a moment, before Price comes back into your ear. 

“Copy that, just get to the parking lot in one piece. We’ll take it from there.”

You just roll your eyes. As if that wasn’t your plan to begin with. 

The stairs seem endless as you run, down flight after flight after flight. You seriously considered taking the elevator but decided against it- they were Russian, not stupid. Once you make it to the room you entered the building through you’re throughly disappointed to find it’s occupied by a few armed guards. Nothing you couldn’t handle, so long as you went out quietly. 

Carefully, you made your way behind the first one, pulling one of the longer knives out of your thigh holster. In your other hand, you slip a throwing knife, crouching silently. 

It takes a good few minutes before you’re able to make a move, throwing the knife in the eye of the guard at the door before you stab the one in front of you in the neck. The other two load their guns, but you’re faster, flinging two more throwing knives across the room into their heads. You allow yourself the time to collect your knives and slip out of the door, just in time to hear more gaurds enter behind you. 

Close calls that just keep getting closer. 

You’re able to see the parking lot now. And as you expected, it’s absolutely swamped with enemies. There were small cracks in the defenses, however, just small enough for you to slip through if you were careful. 

You stuck to the shadow of the trees, figuring darkness was your best cover. Carefully, you picked your way through the ranks of men receiving instruction, having to duck to hide behind cars multiple times. Finally, you were close enough to make a break for it and just test your luck. 

And that dammed supply drop just had to show up. 

Immediately, it set off widespread panic, and in the chaos one of the soldiers stumbled over to your hiding spot. Before you understood what was going on you were being hoisted up by multiple soldiers and brought into the center of a light, surrounded by angry Russians who were yelling at you in one of the few languages you couldn’t understand. 

Finally, one man walked up to you and said simply, “Where is the band of coonies you work for?” He looked kind of familiar, with almost a dad bod and dark eyes to match.

“Don’t respond, that’s our target.” Price insisted, and as if he could hear him, the target looked up to your ear. 

“American.” He spat out the word like a curse, and looked at you with an even nastier scowl. “A shame, you are very pretty.” He said something in Russian, and the men all raised their guns and pointed them at you. 

“Wait!” You shouted, and to your surprise, the target stopped. He turned to you slowly, and raised an eyebrow, signaling for you to continue. Carefully, you moved your hand to where the flash drive hid, pulling it out. It glinted red in the bright spotlights, and the target stopped dead in his tracks. 

“What is that?” He asked, stalking closer to you. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You teased further. God you had a bad habit of teasing men. Maybe it’s what got you into these situations. 

“Give it to me,” He said, practically running at you. 

“Mirage, whatever you’re about to do, don’t. Do it.” Price was yelling, and you could hear the chaos of the helicopter behind you. 

“Listen to me, American girl. I will give you one chance to give me that flash drive. And maybe we will let you out alive.” The target stopped a good distance away from you, holding out his hand. You just smiled. 

With a flick of your wrist, the flash drive was replaced with a pin. “Over my dead body.”

And a grenade went off- right where you were standing.

Authors Note: this is completely random but i've decided to open my inbox for requests, not just COD but across all fandoms, and i'm doing a bit of blog reorganizing so i'll get to them fairly quickly (tonight that is)

also don't hate me lol the next chapter will be out next week if all goes well

My Masterlist

[minispidey]

02: Barbie's Dreamhouse.

Joel Miller x f!bimbo!reader. previous. series masterlist. next.

02. Strawberry Lemonade.

warnings: reader stares at joel a lot and finds him hot as hell, reader is dramatic as hell (might be annoying to some), explicit thoughts, suggestive, sarah is alive and 12 years old here, reader thinks she's a homewrecker, not beta read.

summary: you just can't help but gawk at your hot contractor who's working for free, thank god the view is free too. but a revelation makes you question if you're lusting for a married man.

reader's outfit is the blue one of the dolls from the barbie movie (this one under)

You had settled on the couch on the second-floor balcony with a glass and pitcher of cold lemonade and a few snacks, while Joel was up on the roof, using a ladder to climb up to the edges.

There was no mistaking his experience— he made little noise at all, moving around the structure as if it were just another Tuesday. Despite his hardass appearance, he was a very skilled worker.

He eventually climbed down from the roof and headed inside, taking a second to catch his breath before spotting you upstairs.

He was immediately thrown off by the adorable dress— especially the heart detail. But he knew it was rude to stare, so he did his best to keep his eyes on yours.

"That… was actually a lot quicker than I thought it would be," Joel said, clearly pleased. "I should have the rest of the replacement shingles put on in no time at all…"

"Are they pink?" you giggled.

"They're white but I painted over the roof last time, I'll just paint over em' some other day."

"I got some snacks for us. I tested the fridge and it was working too." you poured him a glass of lemonade. "Here, cool off."

Joel took the drink. The cool liquid was very much appreciated after all of that hard work. He took a few swigs from his glass before he looked you over again.

"Thank you…" He nodded, clearly still unable to tear his eyes away from your dress. "Where'd you stay last night?"

"I found a nearby bed and breakfast beside a gasoline station. At least they didn't question why I was all dirty when I checked in." you giggled. "So, what's next?"

"Hmm… the plumbin'. I’m assuming it hasn’t been fixed." Joel's brow furrowed slightly. “The main shutoff doesn’t work very well, so if there’s a leak, you won’t be able to do anything about it. That’s pretty much a priority.”

"Oh, right. Um... so what do we do?"

"Well, we’ve got to find the shutoff for now," Joel said as he set his drink down. It was clear he hadn’t done much plumbing in his life, but from the times he had worked on it, it was also clear he was quite skillful when it came to repairs.

"Follow me. The main one should be in the basement, from what I remember."

"Alright! Lead the way."

You follow Joel as he headed down the stairs into the basement— it was pretty cluttered down there, with lots of old junk strewn around. As he made his way across the room to the back wall, he grabbed an old flashlight and turned it on.

"Hopefully, the shutoff valve ain't coated in any rust," he muttered. "But if it is, might be tougher than expected…"

Sure enough, he found the right valve, but it was covered in that awful orange rust and was completely stuck. He frowned as he studied it.

"Oh… that ain't good. This could be a problem…"

"Oh no... what do we do?"

He looked at you and shrugged.

"We could apply some WD-40 to it and hope that loosens it up. But that’s a long shot. In all honesty, I think we’re gon' need to hire a professional plumber to come in and see what can be done about this."

"Well, uh..." you trailed off. Joel watched as you fidgeted with your fingers as your body grew stiff.

Joel could tell that you were trying your best not to worry, but he really couldn’t come up with any alternative. As much as he hated to ask, he really didn’t think there was another way around it.

"I'll cover it. Don't worry."

"Thank you, Joel." you put your hands behind your back and smiled cheekily at him.

In the course of the next few weeks, Joel hired workers from an electrician to install the chandelier and fix the wiring, to plumbers to fix the plumbing issue. With his own money, nonetheless.

"Thank you, seriously, Joel..." You stared up at the pink jewels dangling off the chandelier in awe.

Joel chuckled softly and was about to respond, but he paused, realizing just how many times he’s heard those same words in just a few weeks.

"You don't have to thank me so much, you know. This was nothing"

"I mean, giving thanks is always a basic human thing." you smiled and placed both of your hands on your hips. "Appreciation can do amazing things."

There was another pause. He shrugged and smirked. "I mean… are you always this appreciative?" he asked, trying to hide his smile.

"Of course! Why wouldn't I?"

"I dunno, I've just never known anyone who can be this appreciative, you know? It’s definitely not something I'm used to hearing…"

There was another pause as he was contemplating what to say.

"It’s just that… you're never gonna make me feel bad for it or anything, right?"

Your shoulders dropped and you tilted your head to the side. "Why would I?"

He sighed.

"I dunno. It's just that most people I know like to take advantage of or make me feel bad for what I do for them. You know, like always makin' me feel like I should do more just because I'm helpin' in the first place. But you don't ever act like that, and… well, I dunno. I guess I haven't been used to it."

"Why would they do such a thing?" you looked offended, furrowing your brows.

"I've always just been surrounded by assholes. I guess it's what's really normal for me. But with you… I mean, the difference is staggerin', isn't it? I guess I'm just now realizin' just how shitty most people that I've known actually are."

You smiled and walked towards him. "And how many people did you offer to fix their house for free?"

He laughed as he thought about it.

"Never before have I offered something like that. Usually, it's more like helpin' 'em fix their car or somethin' like that. So honestly, this is new territory for both of us. Though, even then, you're still much more appreciative than just about anyone I’ve ever come across."

"But I do promise," you held out your pinky finger with a wide smile. "I will pay you back soon."

For some reason, the pinky finger was funny to him. Maybe it was just that you were so genuinely innocent in your promise, or the contrast between how serious of a situation this could potentially be and you being so playful. He took your pinky finger and wrapped his own around yours. He looked you over.

"Do you swear? Because if you don't, there's about to be hell to pay. I take pinky promises quite seriously."

"That's so fun! I always keep my promises."

"I know you will. So this right here is a sign of a promise. And I trust that you will be able to keep that promise, so I don't need you to repay me right away."

"I promise. Cross my heart, hope to die."

He laughed and nodded, his smile growing as he squeezed slightly harder around your pinky. "Okay then. Just remember, you break this pinky promise, and I won't hesitate to let you know just how disappointed I am."

You let out a giggle after letting go of his pinky "Ooooh, I'm so scared."

He laughed as well.

"I think you should be! I'm not usually one to joke around when it comes to stuff like this." he chuckled again. "But just so you know, even though I'd be pretty angry, I really wouldn't have it in me to stay mad at you. You know that by now, right?"

"Why?" you batted your eyelashes at him "Is it because I'm preeeeetty?"

He was trying really hard to suppress his smile and hold back from laughing.

"It is indeed because I think you are pretty…. But I can't deny the fact that you've also become really good at pushin' out my buttons. Even if I really should be furious 'bout all the money I spent on this house, you make it tough not to just smile back at 'cha and forgive ya."

"I know, I'm sorryyyy..." you clasped your hands together and dramatically knelt down in front of him.

He chuckled. "Well, I really mean it. Your personality is one of the most refreshin' personalities I've ever come across in a long time. And I never would have even met you if it weren't for this house and Mags. That has to count for somethin', right?"

"Sentimental value?"

"Yeah, exactly. It's like the universe knew I needed someone like you in my life. Who knew a house could actually lead to a meaningful relationship… I definitely didn't see that comin'."

"The world works in mysterious ways." you shrugged. "Keep up, old man."

Joel laughed louder. There was something about you calling him an old man that he loved, even though he should be offended.

"Watch it, before you start makin' this old man feel his age. My body is just now startin' to fall apart on me, don't give it a reason to start fallin' apart faster than it already is!"

The both of you laughed. You got up from the floor and fixed your dress "So, is there anything else the house needs?"

Joel thought for a moment, finally coming to the realization that the house was probably good for now. It'd definitely need some more work on the interior in time, but at the least, it was liveable.

"Honestly? No, I don't believe there is. I think this house is good for now. I'll keep doin' my check-ins every few weeks or so to make sure that everythin' is alright with the house, but besides that, there's really nothin' more we need to do here."

"So..." you fiddled with your fingers. "What do we do now?"

Joel shrugged. "I'm not sure. I guess we just have ourselves a nice, long moment of standin' here and being proud of the fact that we've both survived the experience of trying to renovate this damn house. It’s a miracle either of us has our sanity still intact."

He laughed as he leaned up against the wall of the dining room.

"You know, you've spent a lot of time here. I've never even seen the inside of your house." you giggled.

"You know you're not wrong, I was here almost every day for weeks on end." his eyes trailed off as he thought and sighed. "I guess I should invite you over sometime then, right? It's not nearly as interesting as this house, but I'm sure you'd love it."

"My house is pink. Big deal." you rolled your eyes and walked towards him, leaning against the kitchen wall "You know every nook and cranny of my house, of course, I deserve to know yours."

"It's only fair."

"Indeed."

You kept staring at Joel. He had some beads of sweat falling from his scalp to his face, and god did he look hotter than hell. You felt like a Victorian lady seeing an ankle.

"Are you single-" your question got muffled by the sound of the doorbell, and turn your head towards the door "Coming!" you said.

You walked towards the door and swung it open, greeted by a young girl. "Hi, is my dad here?"

Your brows furrowed. "Dad?" who could possibly-

"Sarah," Joel said from behind you. Your head immediately snapped towards him and your eyes widened like a deer in headlights. "Have you met my daughter?" he asked you.

You blinked twice. "I-I don't think I have."

You really had no idea he even was a father... or even considered, married.

Sarah looked around the room in awe, her eyes trailing all across the furniture and her expression changing several times as she looked.

"Did you fix this house all by yourself?" she asked Joel, her eyes wide.

Joel cleared his throat and nodded. "Yeah. I rebuilt this whole house pretty much myself— minus the plumbin' and electrician work, which I had hired some guys for. We still have to go through planning on each room, but it's almost done." he pointed towards you. "She's still thinkin' about what to do with all these rooms."

Sarah's facial expression changed to a small smile as she giggled. She turned her head towards you. "Daddy tells me a lot about you. He says you're so nice. The nicest lady he's ever met. Was it all true?”

You were still in a shocked state but you shook your head a bit and gave her a smile. "Why don't you be the judge of that?"

"You're really pretty..." Sarah stared in awe at you.

"Hey, didn't you say you gotta pick up your Girl Scout cookies today?" Joel looked at his wristwatch. "We gotta hurry if you wanna start sellin' 'em tomorrow."

"Oh, right!"

Joel and Sarah waved goodbye to you as they walked out of your house, and you stood there on your porch questioning everything.

"He's... married?" you closed the front door and walked up the stairs, slowly and dramatically. You tried to think of the signs that he was married. Ring? You didn't even notice! Well, not counting the times you stared at his large fingers and imagined them inside of you...

"Oh, god..." the realization hit you. You entered the main bedroom and you fell to your knees. "I'm a homewrecker!" you cried out.

tags: @danaispunk @buckybarnessweetheart @skysmiller @joelsflannel @sweetenerobert @clownd1ck @jhiddles03 @schwytie @femmeanonymelives @redemie @pedropascal-whore @hello-shirousa @survivingandenduring @sk-e-le-ton-s @urbrazysimp @amyispxnk @clownd1ck @livingdeadmaria @joeldjarin @blood-suckerxoxo @reallylovereading

(tags are open! just reply to be added. reblogs are appreciated!)

[kirislovelygf]

haunted, part 3 (ronal x fem metkayina! reader)

contents: you and ronal have been married for about 14 years and have lived with the metkayina happily ever since you left the forest. now imagine your surprise when your ex appears out of nowhere with the man she cheated on you with and the family they built together.

content also: family angst, ronal and reader being lovey-dovey, lo’ak x tsireya fluff :)))

wrd count: 2.6k

꒰ 🥥 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

i woke up from the nightmare of that night with a gasp.

i calmed myself down when i felt ronal right next to me. i look down at her head on my chest and hands wrapped around me.

i took slow breaths, staring up at the ceiling where the light of the stars poked through.

“mm..” ronal began muttering as she stirred awake.

she picked up her head, her hair wrapped in a silk covering and bags under her eyes from a tired day.

“are you okay?” she mumbled so badly, i had to hold back a laugh.

“it’s okay, my love. go back to sleep.” i whispered. she sighed and her head dropped back onto my chest, falling asleep not even a second later.

i couldn’t help but stay awake, staring up until morning. i got up once ronal moved away from me, turning for her back to gave me.

i picked myself up and went to sit out by the water.

tiny creatures swam around my feet, their colors contrasting with the coral that sprouted from the sand.

while watching them swim in unison, i heard someone rusting around. the weaving of the hut sounded as someone started walking toward me.

ronal sighed out and took a seat beside me, yawning.

“why are you up so early?” she asked me, putting her head on my shoulder.

i sighed out. “there’s something i need to tell you about neytiri.”

“okay..”

“i didn’t tell you the complete truth about how we know each other. i didn’t want you to be bitter towards her because of what happened between us all those years ago.” i said.

“…okay.”

pray she doesn’t kill me after this.

i sighed out before getting the words out. “neytiri and i were mates when i lived in the forest. we wanted to spend our lives together. until she met jake.”

ronal stayed silent and still as she listened to me.

“she was.. unfaithful. jake spent time with us learning how to be na’vi. and in that time, we became friends. but i started to see that neytiri was falling in love with him more and more by the day.”

“i endured months of her manipulating me into thinking she didn’t love him. then i found out they mated and i ran away. days later, that’s when i found the islands.” i said.

“hm.” she muttered.

i stared ahead at the water because i was afraid to see what her face looked like.

“i’m.. sorry for lying to you. it was a long time ago, and i let it go. i didn’t want you to be angry at her for me. especially since she came here with a family.” i sighed.

ronal picks her head up and i hesitantly look at her.

she’s staring ahead at the water, obviously contemplating on what to say.

“can i ask you..” she muttered.

“mhm.”

“seeing her again, after all this time, did it remind you of old feelings you had for her again?”

“no.”

“are you certain?” she looks at me.

“ronal, i promise i don’t have any feelings for her. neytiri betrayed my trust, but i’ve let go of that pain. and how can i have feelings for her when i’m with you?”

she scoffed and looked away.

“you don’t believe me?” i asked, laughing slightly.

“she’s your first love. it’s okay if-“

“she was the first but you’re the last. i’ll never love anybody again. no after knowing what it’s like to love you.” i smiled.

a smile breaks through her serious frown and she puts her head on my shoulder again.

“i’m sorry she put you through that.” she sighed out.

“it’s okay. now, i’m grateful she did what she did. if jake never came, and she never cheated, i’d be with someone who didn’t truly love me.”

“and you wouldn’t be with me.” she said.

i chuckled and kissed the top of her head, hugging her close.

“and i wouldn’t be with you. that’s a nightmare.” i said softly.

we stayed like this until the sun shined brightly and more na’vi started to wake up and get their day started.

during breakfast, i didn’t see tsireya. i hoped she got some food for resell before leaving the hut so early.

“do you know where your sister went?” i asked ao’nung.

“uh.. no.” he nodded. i look up from the pot of food to watch his expression.

“are you sure?”

“…yes.”

“ao’nung.” i spoke. he sighed and looked up at me.

“are you lying to me?” i asked, not believing he was. he’s never had reason to lie, neither of my kids have.

i’ve never yelled at them or punished them harshly, so they haven’t lied since they were very little kids.

“…yes.”

“..why?” i chuckled.

“cause she asked me not to tell you.”

i shrugged. “okay. well is she safe?”

“yes. she is.” he nodded.

“okay. as long as she gets home safe, i don’t care.” i shrugged.

ronal leaves her room with her hair drawn back. “you don’t care about what?” she asked.

“where tsireya is.”

“….i didn’t give you a daughter just so you wouldn’t care about where she is.” she deadpanned.

i looked up at her hesitantly and she just had a dead stare.

she looks up at ao’nung. “go find your sister.” she ordered.

he finished his breakfast in a couple hills before running out of the hut and diving into the water.

ronal sat down across from me and began eating.

“i’m sor-“

“no.”

“okay.”

we finished breakfast in silence before she gave me a kiss on the cheek and left the hut without even muttering anything,

i left eventually too, going to do some chores around the island. which included harvesting shells to make more clothes.

as i picked up pearlescent shells from the beach, i spotted tsireya and lo’ak seated together on some rocks, on the border of the reef.

they were smiling and talking, tsireya’s blush could be seen all the way from the beach where i was standing.

lo’ak looked like he was telling some exaggerated story, his hands flying all over the place.

i smiled at them before continuing to collect trinkets.

lo’ak’s pov

talking to tsireya is so nice. it’s calming. she’s not much of a talker like me, she’s a listener.

sometimes i feel bad but she assured me she likes hearing me talk. says it's nice. so because of her, i know my siblings hate me and tune me out every time i have something to say.

she told me to come out here to tell me something she heard but. started talking about my mom and then my brother and yeah.

she said it was about my mom and her mom and how they know each other.

“okay, so about our moms.” i said once we were done giggling.

“oh, yeah. tell me.” i shifted my body to face her.

my siblings and her and ao’nung and i, not including tuk, were trying to figure out the relation to my mom and their mom.

it started when y/n left so suddenly when she saw my mom.

since then, we’ve been putting together details to figure out how they know each other.

when we first asked my mom, she told me they “used to be friends” but..

i’m not sure. it might have been more than that.

“so i got up early to feed the ilu today and i heard my moms talking..”

“what did they say?” i asked her.

“i found something out. our moms were more than friends. you were right.” she nodded.

“when am i not. okay, what’d you hear?” i smiled.

“okay, it’s a lot. and it may change how you see your mother. and that isn’t my intention, just know, this is what i heard.” she said.

“it must have been really good if it makes me hate my mother.” i nodded.

she looks at me weird and laughs slightly.

“that’s not.. uh, okay. y/n told ronal that they used to be mates when she lived in the forest. they were in love. until.. your father came and your mother cheated on y/n with him.” she said.

i kept silent listening to her story, she winced a couple times, and i understand. my mom cheating?

that’s a lot to take in. and i don’t like my dad, but now i don’t like him even more cause of this.

i never could have imagined my parents would do something like this.

“when she found out they mated, she left and found the islands and stayed here with ronal. i guess they never reconciled because y/n didn’t ever expect to see neytiri again.” tsireya continued.

“… are you sure this is what you heard?” i asked.

she tilted her head softly. “it’s not that i don’t trust you, i do.” i assured her.

“i understand. but yes, this is what i heard.” she nodded.

“i’m sorry lo’ak.” she said quietly.

“no, don’t apologize. it isn’t your fault. or your mom’s.. it’s my mom and dad who need to apologize.” he nodded.

i thought about all the times i looked up to my parents. whenever i was scared, i thought “dad wouldn’t be scared..”

“mom wouldn’t be scared, so why should i be.”

i stopped thinking when tsireya put her hand on mine.

“i don’t know how to explain to my brother and sister that our parents..” i said.

“you don’t need to. talk to your parents first. listen to what they have to say.” she said to me.

“i will. but..” i look up at her.

“do you think your mom is happy now? with ronal?” i asked.

“from what i’ve seen, yes. they’re very happy together.” she nodded.

“that’s all that matters, right? at least she isn’t bitter after all these years.” i said.

“right..” she nodded.

“anyway..” i jump up and stand, looking at the beach.

“let’s go find some snacks. i’m hungry.” i held out my hand out for her to take and she does.

“where are the best fruits?”

“oh! on this side. come.” i smiled. we dove into the water and went to the island to find fruit to eat.

i could tell this wasn’t how she expected me to react. but i don’t want her to see me breakdown.

it embarrassing, i cry like a baby. i’ve known this girl for a couple months, i’m not going to mess this up.

we walked around the island, collecting fruits, before eating them on the beach. hen sundown came around, neteyam came looking for me and the three of us walked home together.

“oh have you guys found anything out?” he asked as we were walking.

“found anything out about what?” i asked him, acting clueless.

“about mama and tsireya’s mom.” he said, like it was obvious.

“uhh..” i glance at tsireya and she quickly comes up with a lie on the spot.

“no, not today.“ she said. he nods. “it’s ok, we’ll find something out soon.”

tsireya and i look at each other and she smiles at me.

we walked tsireya home and then got phone ourselves.

before we walked in, i asked neteyam to take our sisters somewhere.

“why?”

“i gotta talk to mom and dad.”

“oh.. are you finally coming out?” he winced. he pays my shoulder while i stared at him wide eyed.

“if you need me, i’ll be on the other side of the island. i can’t guarantee dad won’t shoot you and i’m not gonna be around to witness that.” he nodded.

“that’s not funny.” i slapped his hand off as he laughed. it was funny, but i’m not telling him that.

“okay, what’s actually wrong.” he asked.

“it’s something personal. i might tell you later, i don’t know, it depends.” i said.

“okay.” we stepped inside and i waited around for neteyam to get the girls.

they left without question. so, good to know they don’t care.

i looked outside of the hut and watched as they walked farther away.

“are you okay?” dad asked.

“oh, what? yeah. i am. i’m fine.” i said.

he looked at me weird and went to sit next to mom, who was cutting up vegetables next to a fire.

i sat a bit away from them and rubbed my

thighs nervously, thinking about how to bring this up.

they started talking to themselves about something else.

“mom..?” i muttered.

she looks away from dad to me. “hm?”

i sighed out. “i was with tsireya today.” i said.

she nodded and shrugged. “okay..”

“and she told me something today, and i thought i’d talk to you guys.” i continued.

they glance at each other and look back at me, well.. mom does, dad looks down.

“what did she say?” my mom asked.

“she told me something about you and her mom.” i said.

“ronal?” she avoids my eyes. she knows i’m not talking about her.

“no.. y/n. you and y/n. how you two know eachother.”

“i thought i already told you..” she said.

“yeah but.. i think.. i feel like..”

if i don’t spit this out, this is gonna take me hours.

“..you guys didn’t tell me the truth.” i said super carefully. i knew it wasn’t careful enough as dad looked up at me.

“what do you mean lo’ak?” he asked in a low tone.

“did you both know y/n? mom said she and y/n used to be friends but.. dad, did you know her too?” i asked.

they look at each other again and i see mom shake her head slightly.

are they seriously lying again.

“no… no i didn’t.”

“.…are you guys sure?” i asked.

they both look at me, surprised.

“you think i’m lying to you?” mom says angrily.

“lo’ak, what are you trying to tell us?” dad asked me.

i sighed out heavily. i’m never gonna be allowed out of this hut again.

“okay, i’m just gonna tell you. i know you guys are lying. tsireya overheard her moms talking and she found out that you guys weren’t just friends.” i look at my mom.

“you and y/n were together. before you cheated on her with dad.” i said.

they looked at me wide-eyed and scared.

“i wanted to talk to you to see if it was true and you guys lying.. it proved that what tsireya heard was true.” i said.

they kept silent. my mom was terrified. and dad was stuttering, looking for something to say.

“how could you guys do that? y/n is so nice and caring.. how could you break her heart like that?” i asked.

“lo’ak, you-“

i angrily look at my mother.

“i respect you so much mom. i love you guys so much but how could you guys have done something so terrible? you betrayed her trust and that made her run away from her family.”

“she chose to run away.” mom muttered.

i stared at her dumbfounded. “and you chose to cheat on her!” i yelled.

“lo’ak!” dad yelled.

“no, don’t yell at me like.. like i’m the one at fault. how can two people so respected everywhere they go, hide something like this?” i yelled. we were standing now and mom hesitantly stood between us.

“you don’t know what happened all those years ago. you wouldn’t understand, and you don’t need to. you’re just a kid and it’s all in the past-“

“is it? i saw how y/n reacted when she saw you guys for the first time. how badly did you mess up for her to look at you like that?” i said to mom.

she had tears welled up in her eyes and looked for something to say.

“lo’ak-“

i didn’t say anything to them as i walked out of the hut. i didn’t know where else to go, but i knew i didn’t want to be around my parents right now.

so before i knew it, i was standing in front of y/n’s hut, hoping they wouldn’t turn me away.

꒰ 🥥 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

[tabbedtabby]

i bet on losing dogs

johanna mason x fem reader

summary: After Johanna fails her Block exam to participate in the invasion of the Capitol, you go say your farewells to her, bearing a gift.

a/n: i haven’t posted on tumblr since like 2021 so sorry if this looks ugly LMAO idk how to be aesthetic on here. anyway if you have any thoughts lmk!

cw: angst, not proofread

words: 1.9k

————————————————————————

Your hands fumble with the bulletproof vest covering you as you exit the Block. You have passed your personal assessment, it seems. The one that decides whether you’re fit enough to storm the Capitol with the rest of the victors; well, considering they pass it, too. The Block throws you into a simulated version of what a battle in the Capitol would be like, and personally preys on the weakness of each person who enters. So, in your case, it was fully checking an area before entering it. You’re not the most careful person in the world, you’ll admit.

You take the vest off, and see only a handful more soldiers waiting for their assessment, including Katniss. You had trained with her. She fought hard for this, and you know how badly she wants to go to the Capitol herself. You know how she feels. You, too, are a victim of Snow’s treachery.

You glance around, searching for Johanna. She’s pretty easy to spot, with the shaved head and everything. So when you don’t see her, you frown. She’d gone in only a couple more people before you did, but you don’t remember seeing her leave the Block, either. There is one face you recognize, though. Haymitch. You assume he’s waiting for Katniss, but when he walks up to you, you realize you’re mistaken.

“Johanna’s back in the hospital.”

“What?”

You ask the question, but you’re not really waiting for an explanation. You’re already shoving past everyone to get to the elevator. Of course. Johanna’s greatest weakness. They flooded the streets during her assessment.

When the elevator door opens into the hospital sector, you already know where to look. Johanna’s sitting up in a hospital bed, her eyes wide and her chest rising and falling rapidly. They must have stripped her of her soldier uniform, because she’s back in the same hospital gown she was given when rescued from the Capitol. What little hair she’s managed to grow from then until now is damp and spiky, and your suspicions are confirmed.

When Johanna sees you, your heart almost shatters. You’ve never seen her so empty of life. Not even when she’d first came back from the Capitol. She’s completely stripped of her anger, her abrasiveness, her bold personality. All that’s left is fear.

You don’t say anything to her. You just sit down at the foot of her bed. She wouldn’t want your pity, you know this. Instead, your hands close around something in the pocket of your pants. Something you’ve been meaning to give to Johanna, and there couldn’t be a better moment than now, now that you’ll be storming the Capitol without her.

“Here.” you say, your hand extending towards her. She stares blankly at you for a moment, almost certainly pumped full of morphling.

Johanna’s hands unfurl the handkerchief to reveal a set of rusted golden earrings shaped like little suns. Your mother’s. The only fine thing you’d ever owned before becoming a victor that you could never bring yourself to sell. The things that comforted you while being hunted in the arena, and again when you were reaped a second time for the Quarter Quell. Your lifeline at one point.

Her eyes glisten over with tears, but she quickly squeezes them shut. “I can’t take these, (Y/N).” she croaks out.

“Yes, you can, stupid. I’m giving them to you,” you tell her gently, a small smile on your lips as you stare into Johanna’s eyes. Even on the morphling, her eyes are filled with emotion.

“She died a long time before the rest of my family. I don’t need them anymore.” you don’t mention how there’s a good chance you might die in the Capitol, and you want those earrings to be passed on to someone else you care about. And the fact that Johanna has nothing to her name except District 13’s depressing dark green jumpsuit makes you feel sad.

“He has to die.” Johanna responds after a couple of minutes, her voice still hoarse. But she doesn’t say it with her normal ferocity. The contact with her method of torture has truly broken her.

“I know. Katniss is going to kill him, Johanna.” you say, placing one of your hands over hers. She stares up at you.

“And then… we’ll be free. Forever. We’ll go to District Seven and do whatever we’d like for the rest of our stupid lives. Get some real food. These bland-ass meals here are killing me,” you joke, and that makes the corner of Johanna’s mouth twitch up. But you can sense her considering your offer, too. Of course, she was always going to go home to District 7, but she can’t deny the idea of you coming with her excites her. Someone to fill that lonely old house that has gone so long without another resident besides herself.

Johanna’s hand clutches around the fabric that holds your parting gift. You squeeze her other hand, cold and damp. You don’t mind warming her up.

But there’s something in the air that neither of you address. That looming reality that you may not come back. Neither you nor Johanna have spoken about how you felt about each other, but you’re all each other has at this point. You share a room here in District 13 and hold each other through nightmares when they inevitably come each night. But that’s about the extent of how far your relationship has gone.

Before you think about it, you lean down and press your lips onto hers. Admittedly, you’ve wanted to for months now. But nothing could compare to how it felt in reality. Although brief, the feeling of her soft and faintly warm lips sends goosebucks running up your neck. Johanna’s lips are a wet and warm abyss that you never want to escape. You are forced to pull away anyway.

“Damn, brainless,” Johanna whispers, the hint of a smirk on her lips. You can’t stop the grin that spreads onto your face. She sounds more like her old self. Sarcastic. Witty. When you look into those deep green eyes, you know she will be able to put herself back together again. Just as she has done before, again and again. She has rebuilt herself into the woman you’re afraid you’ve fallen in love with as you stare into those eyes.

Almost on queue, the hospital quarter’s door opens, revealing a sympathetic looking Katniss and Finnick. Katniss holds a small bundle of something in her hands, and you realize they’ve come to say their own farewells to Johanna. The four of you have become somewhat of friends after going through training together.

Katniss’ gift ends up being a wad of pine needles to remind Johanna of home, which receives an emotional response from Johanna. She misses District 7 badly. You promise yourself the minute that Snow is dead, you will take her home. Home to the thick trunks of the trees and the sound of pine needles crunching under sturdy boots.

Eventually, you realize you need to get going. Katniss and Finnick have finished their goodbyes, and are already heading towards the door. You give Johanna one last look as you follow them out.

“I’ll see you soon.” you say, flashing her a promising smile before the door closes behind you.

Finnick was right. The last thing you thought of was her lips.

——

Bright green leaves rustle lightly, their branches flickering across the sky. The wind flows through them effortlessly, causing the deep emerald forest to appear alive in its movements. Birdsong ricochets on the sturdy trunks of the trees, filling the canopy with the hopeful sound of music.

One of the birds flitters down to the rock in front of where Johanna sits, its tiny feet hopping on the smooth gray. Its black, beady eyes stare up at her in question before launching back up into the leaves.

This is where she spends most of her days. Sitting at the base of a tree, head leaned back. Staring up into where the leaves catch the sunlight. Watching as the sun moves across the sky before it sets beyond the horizon. Only then does she take the trek back home.

She still lives in the Victor’s Village in District 7. After all, where else was she supposed to go? She yearned for her home. Even more so after your promise to go back with her once the war ended. How it was foolish of her to believe she’d ever share those walls with another body again. Snow took her family. She never truly came to terms with it, but it had been long enough that she could stand to be in that house again without reliving it all. That conversation after she’d become a victor, and the consequences that came soon after. It stung like a rotting wound every time she entered her own home. It was hard to sleep knowing she lived in a murder site.

Johanna tried, she really did. She tried not to let herself love again. Because as soon as she did, Snow’s offer would be on the table again. And this time, she would know what would happen if her answer was no. It would mean another bleeding body on the floor. Another soul to haunt those walls. More screams to ricochet inside her skull every time she closed her eyes. It would never be worth it. No matter how badly she wanted someone to care about her. Most days it would have helped more than anything to just know that there was someone out there who gave a shit about her.

But she couldn’t help it. Johanna couldn’t help that feeling she got around you. And, damn it, she tried. Lord knows she did. But you were so kind, and more than anything, unafraid. Unafraid of her anger and ferocity. You weren’t scared of her like everyone else; you were curious. You wanted to know Johanna, why she acted the way she did. Not immediately write her off like everyone else. No. You were different.

In the Quarter Quell, she had begun to get to know you. But it wasn’t until Johanna was rescued from the Capitol—she hates that word, rescued—that she began to be truly afraid of what she was feeling. The way her face would get hot every time you’d give her one of those wide, genuine grins that Johanna didn’t know was possible to be found on the face of a victor. She hated the feeling of skin against her own more than anything, but with you, she craved it. That’s when she knew she was in trouble; or rather that you were. Loving Johanna Mason is a death sentence.

And, unfortunately, you were guilty of that crime. Blown up into a million tiny pieces at the hands of the same bomb that killed Katniss’ little sister. She tries to reach out to Johanna. Or rather, she thinks Peeta encourages her to. But she can’t bring herself to answer. Not when Katniss gets the pleasure of living out the rest of her life with Peeta. Johanna doesn’t care if her sister is dead. She’s lost more and still has ended up alone.

So, that’s her fate. She doesn’t try again. To love. To care. Not about other people. Not about anything. But to sit alone under forest canopy, an axe still held firmly in her calloused hands. Some habits are hard to break.

So Johanna rots in that empty house that is too big for her, but too small for her grief, until the large doses of morphling will eventually get to her. She will die alone and unwanted. Her happy ending.

[knullanon]

Omg yes please continue the New Years Eve story, I’m literally obsessed 😭 I’ve requested parts before -Doc-Ock obsessed Anon 😞❤️

New Years Eve

4

I love u doc ock anon I hope this is good enough for u :)

words: 2157

warnings: chasing, abandonment, being left in the dark, lmk if I missed any!

~~~

Octavious sighed as he leaned back into his chair. He tapped his fingers against the table, inpatient. His arms were already getting antsy, moving around, opening and closing. He looked around the empty warehouse, the walls, floors, and ceiling all covered with mold and dust. The 2 door entrance was barely an entrance, as the left door was almost completely rusted off, making a shriek when he had to pry it open. The place was perfect for an overnight meeting with Martin to deliver him his cloaking device… if he were to show up on time.

He was already making a move to call Martin to tell him the meeting was off when there was a light passing by the window in the night, and he heard a car roll to a stop near the entrance. Within a few moments, Li and his guards sauntered into the room, and he took a seat on the other edge of the table.

“Good to see you, my friend.” He introduced, “I apologize for being late. Traffic, you know?”

Octavious was in no mood. He just wanted to get back and see you, and make sure you did your homework that he had assigned for you. And to tuck you into bed. One of his arms pulled out the device, which looked like a dash cam, and dropped it into his palm. “I’ve made it easy to control: the only thing is that the device will need to be manually operated. This button on the side turns it on, and, I’ve computed it to include various models and persons so that if you just need cover, then you don’t have to be invisible all the time.” He placed the device in the middle of the table, letting Li pick it up and inspect it.

“Thank you, my friend.” He looked back to Octavious, “By the way, were you still working on that ‘override’ project?”

Octavious raised a brow, and felt his arms start to stray. He pulled them back, “Yes, I have completed it. Why do you ask?”

Li shrugged a bit, putting the cloaking device in his pocket. “I’m planning a few heists in the next few weeks- it would help cause less frustrations in getting them set up.”

When Octavious didn’t answer, he added on, “A favor for a favor, then?”

This was taking too long. His arms were starting to become more and more impatient, reaching out and twitching. “No, that won’t be needed. Here,” he pulled out one of his chips, along with a tablet. He slid the chip over the table over to Li, and the table lit up.

“You may borrow it- maybe indefinitely depending on how many I am able to make. And don’t think about taking it, as I have all of them tracked.”

He placed the screen on the table, letting Martin look at every single one he had currently, most of them back at his base. He opened a side table from the GPS map, showing different uses and how it forms keys and cards and everything in between. His arms were whirring down at the tablet, but he ignored them, thinking it was just them being impatient about seeing you again.

“As you can see, depending on where and how you use it, it can serve a multitude of factors, not just opening doors, but creating system failures, hacking databases and-”

It was finally then that his arms started to do their little movements towards the tablet while he was talking with Li. Before he could make them retreat, he noticed what they were looking at. Almost all of the little red dots of the override chips were all at his base: except one, which was moving down different streets and alleys, much farther than his base. He picked up the tablet watching it move away from most of the other dots.

Li chuckled seeing Octavious be stumped. “I thought you were very overprotective of your projects, Doctor?”

He couldn’t understand. Was it a bug? In his technologies? Every genius has their flaws, he knew, but it wouldn’t make sense. He had built every single one of them differently, and had made sure there were no imperfections. But then that would mean someone had taken it and ran off with it. That was impossible, he reasoned, as the only person at the base right now is-

Oh. Oh, dear.

His arms, either reading his thoughts or realizing the same time he did, started to move around uncontrollably, writhing to get him out, to get to the base. No, he rationed, if they aren’t the ones who had taken it, then they would still be at the base safe and sound. If someone had come to steal the chips, they would’ve taken all of them.

When he stood up, pushing the chair all the way to the wall with the force, Li stood up as well. “I assume you must catch your runaway chip, then?”

Octavious was already climbing up to the wall, with the windows broken, breaking a few more so he could pass through. “Don’t you dare loose that chip, Li.” He called out, before he jumped away, moving in a frenzy to chase after you, ignoring whatever Li had said back.

---

When you escaped, you didn't really know where to go. His lair that he had was underneath a river, and while you thought it would be a nightmare to get out of, you guessed the door that you had found from that corridor was the easiest way out since it led you all the way up to some alleyway. You realized that, yes, you probably were under the Hudson River because you could see it running downstream when you had reached the top.

However, that didn’t matter to you. You hadn’t seen the moon in a long while, and it was a full one. Just your luck. You knew that Octavious would be busy with whatever he was doing in his lab, so you weren’t worried about him finding out until the early hours of the morning.

You were not lucky, however, in knowing where to go. You didn’t really know the area around the river well, especially in the dark, where you couldn’t see anything. Hiding in the alleys and running through the abandoned buildings didn’t help either.

There was no one around, and while you had thought about it, calling out for help probably wouldn’t do you any good. So, instead, you kept going, hoping that you could find an exit to the dark labyrinth soon.

As the moon got higher, and you could no longer hear the river run, you had slowed your pace, speed walking down streets and roads. Your feet hurt by now, but you trudged on, hoping to find someone eventually.

While walking, you pulled the rectangular chip from your pocket. It looked useless, besides that one hole in the wall. It was strange, because you never saw that hole in the wall before. You had scoured up and down that apartment, especially the doors, trying to find a way out. But there was nothing, at least when you looked. Looking at it more closely, the chips weren’t in the same spot as they were. In fact, as you moved around more, they kept changing, morphing into different things. Some looked like actual keys, others motherboards, and some just kept changing geometric shapes. It was constant, but subtle.

You had never noticed that. You were so busy watching them change shape and morph that you almost didn’t hear it. You turned your head, listening to some clanking noise. It was almost rhythmic if it didn’t sound frantic, almost like a car or truck. Maybe it was someone coming to pick something up from one of the buildings! You could get help from them, you thought.

You turned around, ignoring how your feet hurt, and ran towards the noise. You shoved the chip back into your pocket, and ran down the side of the building. The clanking noise was getting louder and closer, but it sounded… strange. Not like a truck or car kind of noise, where the shocks were holding large amounts of cargo, but more like a slamming of a metal pipe on the ground. You slowed your stop at the edge of the building, and peeked your head out, wondering what it was.

To your horror, just a few dozens of meters away, Otto was charging at you. You turned back, and started to run away, really praying that someone would find you now.

“_____!!” You heard him screech, which made you run even faster. You felt the ground shaking by now, and you could hear him push anything that was in his way away. “Get back here, NOW!!”

You kept running, hoping to get the hell away from him. You knew he was getting closer, and you could hear his arms becoming more hectic with every step they took. It made you run as fast as you could, hoping to outrun him, or to run into someone else. However, your luck ran out that night as you felt something slam into your side, and lift you up high into the air.

Catching your breath, you looked down and saw Otto, and he looked furious. The arm around your waist squeezed, making you yelp in pain. You went to say something, but he interrupted you, “Save it. For. Later.” He talked in between moving back towards the base, moving in large swift jumps of his 3 other arms.

While being held, he pulled you close to him, and while you thought he was going to hug you or slap you, instead he reached inside of your pocket and pulled out the rectangular chip that you had. “Hey, don’t-” you reached one of your hands out, trying to grab it from him, but he slapped your hand away.

“Save. It. And this-” he held up the chip, before putting it in his pocket, “Does not belong to you. You stole it.”

You rolled your eyes at that. “I did not-”

Otto stopped suddenly, making you jolt from being held. You grabbed onto the arm tightly, afraid of being dropped. He brought you very close to his face. “What part of save it do you not understand?” He gritted out. He was seething. You could see his eyes shake with anger, he was almost spitting out every word he said.

You decided that you had done enough, and you remained quiet. When you said nothing, he turned back to the road and continued going back to the base. For a short while, it was quiet. At least my feet aren’t hurting that much anymore.

Embarrassingly, you didn’t make it that far from the base based on how short the trip was back. This time, however, he brought you to a new entrance, one you didn’t even know was there. It was through a building, and then through a large pipe in the center of it. While you had thought it was the stupidest entrance ever, the multiple traps, cameras and security measures that he easily moved around or accessed proved it was not an easy way to get in. When he finally reached the bottom of the pipe, it brought you to a room that looked similarly to his lab. Except, it almost looked more evil. It was way bigger, and had tanks and monitors. Everything looked evil.

He walked (still using his arms) over to a large sphere, that looked like one of those Plasma balls you saw online. However, at the top, it had a little latch. He opened the latch, and unceremoniously dropped you in. You slid down the glass onto the floor of it, and you jumped to your feet just as he shut it and locked it. Looking around, it was literally just a fishbowl with a hole in the back.

You turned back to Otto, who was staring at you through the glass. He pressed his hand up against it, at your eye level.

“I am extremely upset with you.” He stated as he visibly tried to calm himself down. His voice sounded around the glass, like an echo. It really was like a fishbowl. “I don’t know or understand why you would run off like that- I know you are scared and frightened, but that is no way to treat your father.”

He had never referred to himself as such before. It took you by surprise, seeing him so… emotional. He started to walk away, even while you tried to say something, to say you were sorry, that you would never run away again. But he just turned around, and said, “I’ll see you in the morning. Think about your actions. We’ll have a talk in the morning.”

He walked out, and the lights turned off, leaving you sobbing in the darkness, alone and afraid.

~~~

i hope u like it doc ock anon, i made it with u in mind <3

[infernafiresword]

“Throne” — an Even Joined Walls Fall Down Trailer

(In animatic script form)

Behold, I have used the powers of being Rora’s beta reader/co-conspirator/playlist-maker/back-up brain for good evil the promotion of her work!

Song for this trailer is “Throne” by Rival and Neoni. I completely skip over the first bridge and chorus, so keep that in mind.

Warning: Rora-Approved spoilers below! Proceed with caution!

For the first 23 seconds, the music audio is dampened, and the focus of the sound and visuals are on Tango and Jimmy in their apartment. Tango is sitting opposite of Jimmy at the table; Jimmy has his tablet open and is painting on it.

“Y’ever thought about getting married?”

“If you asked, I wouldn’t say no. But I haven’t thought much about it.”

“Well … think about it. Because if I’m gonna ask, I want to make sure it’s what you really want.”

“So you wanna go to war with me” plays in full volume, showing quick cuts of Tango suiting up in his hideout, ice crusting his fingers and changing his appearance from Tango-blond to Deepfrost-blue. His hand raises up with ice generating at the fingertips, dominating the camera before blasting the lens—

—Cutting to a massive bipedal rust-furred wolf, marching out of a wooded park and howling as “You're talking like you think you're royalty” plays. Its claws slash towards the camera, forcing another cut.

The scene shows a brightly-lit training room, choked with ice and snow. A visibly-younger Deepfrost is shown, teeth bared and furious at an equally-furious Joel, green lightning gathered around him as “You think that I'm afraid/But I don't break” plays, immediately cutting to a dark underground room, showing an older Deepfrost speaking to Arctic Fox.

“Why would someone snap and go berserk?” is asked by Deepfrost, with Fox answering “You did” as “I heard you question my stability” plays. A furious expression crosses Deepfrost’s face at this obvious parroting of the lies that followed his expulsion from the division.

“You think I’ll fall just like a guillotine” plays as the scene changes to the interior of the Poison Dart bar; the crowded and rowdy patrons pulling away and trying to avoid notice as Impulse strides inside and heads straight to the bar, not pausing in his steps, fully expecting everyone to get out of his way and being completely correct.

“But I am here to stay/Won't look away” plays as Sheriff leaps over gaps in buildings in pursuit of Deepfrost: a continuation of their cat-and-mouse game.

The scene cuts to the middle of the night as Deepfrost whirls around outside the arcade hideout, yelping and darting away as the wolf-monster lunges for him offscreen. “So you wanna be my enemy” plays as the lunge just barely misses.

The scene jumps to a park in early evening, with Tango and Jimmy sitting on a picnic blanket directly in front of each other. Tango shifts so he’s on one knee and opening a ring box to Jimmy as “You should have known l'd never kiss the ring” plays. The scene abruptly jumps forward — same location, but a few seconds later — showing Tango hastily disguising himself before icing over, as “Ice runs in my veins” plays —

And then jumps to a dark building, not abandoned but clearly filled with hostiles, hinted at by the cautious approach of Sheriff through its halls as “Won't play it safe” plays.

“I don't belong with your nobility” plays on a zoomed-in shot of two glasses being clinked together — a cocktail glass being held by a man’s hand in a black fingerless motorcycle glove, and a glass filled with red wine held by a woman’s well-manicured hand.

The camera pulls back to show the drinkers sitting opposite of each other on couches, a coffee table between them and both Impulse and False Symmetry completely relaxed and comfortable in the other’s presence. “What can you tell me about the Red King?” Impulse asks the Queen of Hearts as “Who died and made you king of anything?” plays.

“You think that I'm insane/That's your mistake” plays as the camera snaps back to Deepfrost and Arctic Fox. Fox’s eye glows red as Deepfrost angrily replies “You were there that day. You know damn well that’s not how it went.”

“Kingdoms rise and fall, I've come to take it all/I'll take it, I've come to take it” plays over a montage of division heroes — HoTGuY, CuTeGuY, Arctic Fox, and Sheriff — suiting up and being lined up together, quickly followed by “Kingdoms rise and fall, I've come to take it all/I'll take it all” as the Soup Group mobilizes: GeminiSlay and Blood Moon dropping down from a building from grapples and heading to Slay’s bike, before cutting to Impulse, taking a stance with fire in his hands and staring down an offscreen opponent.

“The storm is coming/So you best start running” plays as Deepfrost is shown frantically skating through tight alleyways and around sharp turns, clearly alarmed and afraid. “No, you can't control, feel it in my bones” plays as the camera jumps back to Arctic Fox with Deepfrost. Fox is frowning behind his mask, and he speaks:

“There might be something to that.” “To what?” “Doc isn’t the only villain that uses chemistry to get what he wants,” is spoken as “I'm coming for the, coming for the—“ plays.

Ten seconds of musical buildup plays, with the camera quickly cutting between split-second scenes:

Tango and Jimmy kissing in the park, with Jimmy wearing a ring on his left hand —

— a young Stephen Violett, smirking as he pulls the light in a dim room to his right hand, facing a wide-eyed man in a black bandana his age as his own eyes glow yellow —

— a young Deepfrost on a rooftop, standing opposite of Poultry Man, the latter much more relaxed than the former —

— Sheriff catching the arms of the wolf monster as he attempts to swipe at him —

— and the flashes stop on Deepfrost, eyes and chest glowing as a Sonic Shriek erupts from him towards an offscreen-opponent.

Right where the drop would be, the music stops completely, and the screen goes black. A voice never heard before asks suspiciously “Who are you, and what do you want?”

The camera now shows a man in an immaculate black and white suit, with a red tie and silver cufflinks. The thick black mustache on his face is a dead giveaway.

“You can call me Mumbo Jumbo” is said, immediately followed by the final line: “I'm coming for the throne.”

Smash to black, only broken by the title written in silver letters: Even Joined Walls Fall Down