#even if it feels intimidating- just taking one small action will help and matters

[rathockey]

hey a great thing you can do about the pit in your stomach when you look at the state of the world is do something small to improve your community - find an activist group to volunteer with, donate time or money to soup kitchens/food banks/shelters, write your local politicians and congresspeople, etc.

small actions snowball into big ones and every little thing you can do to help matters.

[readwritealldayallnight]

Promises

Captain John Price x Reader

wc: 1.2k words

warnings/tags: fluff fluff fluff

“You’ll check the doors? Windows as well, aye?”

“Yes, John. I’ll make sure they’re locked before bed.” You reassure the man, holding the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you do exactly that, tugging on the window latches to ensure they’re shut properly, walking past each door to spy the locks are in fact in place. “No one will be coming in and touching your cigars, I can assure you of that.”

“Hm. Got precious cargo I’m more concerned about these days, than cigars.” He quips back, playing into your attempt to lighten the situation. John hasn’t been gone on deployment for a full 24 hours yet and already he’s finding himself missing you more than he thought possible. He knew being apart from you was going to be difficult, especially considering that this mission was likely to take a few months rather than a few weeks, but he hadn’t anticipated struggling so early on.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone touch your scotch either.” You say and he can just picture you adding a mischievous wink at the end. He finds himself suddenly wondering if he has any photos of you where you’re winking at him, and he feels regret creeping into his stomach at the realization that no, he probably doesn’t. Now he’s got nothing but his memory to rely on when he wants to imagine your playful expression.

It’s not as if John hadn’t made a point of taking more candid shots of you once he’d learned about how long this upcoming mission was to take. He wanted to have something tangible, something real he could wrap his fingers around, lay his weary gaze upon and be gifted with the sight of his beloved smiling back at him. And if a thick stack of Polaroids each adorned with varying expressions of your visage find themselves stuffed into the pocket of his tactical vest right above where his heart beats only for you, well then his men had best mind their business about it.

His last ditch effort to capture your beauty, to bring along with him a small fragment of the joy you bring to his life every day he spends by your side, had melted your heart thoroughly. It was sometimes hard to imagine your soft, loving teddy bear of a man, having to turn on his Captain persona and intimidate enemies on a battlefield. But then you’d hear him shouting at the television, going on about how some wanker was making a mockery of ‘The Price is Right’ (a show the two of you watched too often, if only so that John had more of an excuse to slip ‘well ya know, they do say Price is right, after all’ into arguments), or you’d catch him glaring at anyone he felt was looking at you the wrong way in public, and you couldn’t deny he was to be in a position of command.

“Don’t go answerin’ the door for anyone either, love. And make sure that the-”

“John, I’ll be okay. I promise, I’ll be careful.” You attempt to convince him before he spirals further. A man of action, John had been keeping busy in the time leading up to his departure. Trips to the hardware store to buy additional locks for the front door, jammers for the window panes, researching various brands of security systems, even going as far as speaking a little louder in the hallways outside your flat door, letting anyone who lived near enough know that a man lived here as well, not wanting anyone to know you’d be alone and vulnerable.

“I know, m’sorry to keep pestering you love.” The Captain sighs into the phone, running a hand down his phone before glancing back over his shoulder at the room. He knows he doesn’t have much more time to keep talking with you. Really, he shouldn’t have called at all, but John just couldn’t help himself. This is how he gets when it comes to you. Nothing else matters as much when it comes to you. And so yes, he admits he is being selfish by holding everyone else up in the briefing room as they wait for his return, but he doesn’t know when he’ll get to hear your voice again, and what’s the point of being Captain if you can’t pull strings when they matter? “Just wanna know you’ll be safe.”

“Now why do I feel as though I should be the one asking you that question, hm?” Your question brings a soft smile to his face. God, he misses you so much already. “You made it to- wherever you are- alright?”

“I did.” He confirms, casting another glance across the room. He can see them loading up trucks with supplies as you speak. He hates that he can’t ever tell you where he is. Can’t tell you that this base is just one of countless destinations where he’ll sleep in a bed that feels too empty without you by his side. Can’t tell you that each meal portion he eats tastes blander without you sitting across from him. “Though we’re not stayin’ here long. Flyin’ out early again in the mornin’.”

“Hm.” You hum along in response, knowing he can’t give you details, satisfied with any bit of information he can offer you in its place. “You promise me, you’ll be safe John Price. I don’t like those stories of Gaz falling out of helicopters.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing that’s the only story I’m ever lettin’ him tell you.” John can’t help but to laugh along with you, before falling more serious again, knowing he’ll have to hang up soon and leave you. “Trust me love. You don’t need to be worrying your pretty little head over me. There isn’t anythin’ that could keep me from comin’ home to you. Nothin’.”

His declaration has tears threatening to sting the corners of your eyes, treasuring this moment with him, even an unknown distance apart, knowing it’ll be some time until you can speak again. You can hear the background noise of wherever he is increasing in volume. You overhear someone shout his name, no doubt looking for him. You know your time is up for now, and that you’ll have to be the one to bite the bullet. He’s never the first one to hang up the phone with you, and this time is no different.

“I love you John. So much. I’ll see you soon.” You whisper into the receiver, hoping he can feel the love you speak into each word meant only for him.

“I love you, angel. So much. Be back before you know it.” He says, waiting to hear the ‘click’ on the other side of the line before stuffing his phone back into his slacks.

It’s true, what he said to you. There truly isn’t anything, so long as he can help it, that will keep him from coming back home to you. Not when he’s made a promise to do exactly that. Not when he’s got a small box stuffed into three pairs of socks hiding in his underwear drawer in your flat, hiding a shiny little ring he’s been holding on to since your second date. Not when he intends to make his biggest promise to you yet as soon as he’s home and holding you in his arms again, where you belong.

[wheneclipsefalls]

Tawtute Sickness (A Precious Drabble)

Pairing: Adult Ao'nung x Hyperfeminine Human Reader

This one shot is from the Precious series. It can be read alone but reading the Precious origin story gives a better experience and context.

Summary: There is still so much that Ao'nung does not understand about Sky People so with your cycle running off track, he is in for quite a surprise.

Warnings: MDNI, explicit talk of menstruation, talk of blood, hormones, hurt/comfort, misunderstanding, dominant Ao'nung, interspecies relationship, aged up Ao'nung, crying, self doubt, insecurity, protective Ao'nung, swearing, PMS, sexual themes, etc.

A/N: This is just a random little fun something I thought of when I was on my period. Nothing like a silly fantasy to help one cope:)

Adult Ao'nung pic by @cinetrix

Another cramp rolls through you mercilessly. With a groan you stuff a handful of stolen popcorn into your mouth. Surrounded by a small parade of stuffed animals atop your bed and drowning in the charm that is Mr. Darcy, there is no better place to take refuge. Your period has sprung into action earlier than expected but you’re proud of how things have been handled. 

It had taken copious amounts of bribery to convince Norm to deliver an excuse to Ao’nung as to why you can’t see him for a bit. Although double his age and even in possession of an Avatar body, Norm has always crumpled slightly under Ao’nung’s presence. Even as his visits have become more frequent at the outpost. The sight makes you giggle, no matter how hypocritical that is considering you too were anxious in his company for the first few weeks here. 

Despite the time that has passed since feelings were shared between the two of you, there is still a level of intimidation and intensity that comes with Ao’nung’s visits. He is never shy when it comes to sharing his opinions. Half the time it is hard to tell what will come out of the Metkayina male’s mouth next. Although, there are ways to identify the mischief that dances in his ocean blue eyes before. 

And neither is he bashful when it comes to sharing his particularly ravenous intentions with you. You would not be able to count on both hands the amount of times you’ve tried to swat his hands away while the two of you are in public. Not that it deters him. With a potential mating on the way it’s clear that the Metkayina prince views you as his own. Even in the extreme heights of embarrassment you can’t resist the wonders that he bestows upon your body. Always leaving your heart pounding at your rib cage and red face tucking under his chin afterwards. 

So in a way, you can’t blame Norm for never growing accustomed to Ao’nung’s company.

Regardless, the alibi has been sent and you’ve foraged for the proper snacks and feminine supplies to get your through. Now all that’s left to do is tuck into your room like a locked away princess in a tower and survive the next five days. Everything is going according to plan despite the sudden arrival of ‘Aunt Flow’. And in a few days you will be back snuggled in the impressively bulky arms of a certain Metkayina male. 

With a sigh you snuggle deeper into the plush surface. Despite the risk of stains you’ve allowed yourself the luxury of wearing one of your favorite pajama sets. It’s a dusted pink shade of silk that reminds you of the vintage film Sleeping Beauty. With the soft trim of purple lace along the sleeve and shorts hem, you feel like a delicate princess waiting to be rescued. Perhaps a foolish and even childish way to cope but it’s easier to get through the pain when you blur the harsh lines of reality into that of day dreams. 

However, it seems reality will not be kept out for long.

Or at least, Ao’nung won’t be.

You hear his pounding footsteps before he even reaches your hallway, the faint echo of Norm’s protests doing nothing to stop that determined rhythm. Norm scatters away once Ao’nung has pushed your door open, with a little too much force that makes you cringe. It’s an under evaluation of his strength luckily and not rooted in any real malice. Not when his eyes now narrow at you with a playful reprimand as his tail swings. 

“What have I said about avoiding me, precious?” He clicks his tongue, hands atop his hips as you scramble further under the pillows and stuffies. 

You feel foolish for thinking this plan would work but now that Ao’nung is here you are ready to do whatever it takes to conceal your embarrassing condition. 

“Not to.” You cake the tone over with sweet innocence and an even more tooth rotting smile. As always it’s done with a certain level of hesitancy, your nerves getting the better of you when his bulking frame is taking over your doorway. Still, you’ve learned there are special ways to soften Ao’nung’s composure. 

He takes a few strides into your room, effectively prompting you to scoot back further towards the headboard. 

“Hm, so then why is my precious sevin tucking away from me? I’m starting to think you crave some discipline, paskalin.” That sharp curve of a devilish smirk looks stunning along his turquoise lips. And like the true traitor she is, your pussy flutters at the sight. 

It’s not fair for him to waltz in here with bedroom eyes and chest still adorned with a hunting harness and weapons. Not fair when your body is literally punishing you for not being pregnant and Ao’nung offers himself up on a silver platter for your nature’s carnal desires. And especially not fair when pieces of those curling strands have fallen from his bun and lay across his collarbones to leave drops of salt water. 

You are in no state to be making plans. And definitely not finding ways to coerce the stubborn prince away from something he wants. 

“I’m just not feeling well, Ao’nung. Didn’t want to make you sick.” 

Ao’nung scoffs at the idea, borderline offended that you would even consider that a possibility. With your delicate state it seems laughable to him that you would be capable of passing on any sort of sickness to him. 

“Such a fragile thing.” He steps forward with the roll of his eyes. “Do not worry, I will-”

His sentence cuts off as sharp as the jagged rocks on the westside. Now at the foot of your bed, his nostrils flare visibly. Your stomach tangles in despair, already anticipating where this is going. 

“You’re bleeding.” He states, dark tone barely giving you a chance to register his words before he is rushing to your side. Ao’nung crawls onto the bed without  a passing concern for the screeching of the bed frame under his weight. Within seconds his large frame is towering over your own smaller body until you are wedged into the corner.

“No it’s nothing really. Well I mean I am bleeding but not in the way you think…or well it’s…” The rambling doesn’t reach his ears, ocean eyes searching over every inch of you to find the injury. Trepidation settles at the looming embarrassment that threatens to follow as you desperately squeeze your thighs together. 

Fighting against Ao’nung massive hands that clutch your shoulder and hips to turn you is useless but you can’t resist trying. And then his eyes snap downwards and with it your last shred of hope signed away. A look of utter horror contorts over his face as he stares down at the thin shorts just barely covering your panties. 

A beat of silence ensues. 

Face now the shade and temperature of a raging bonfire you struggle to think of a response through the fog of humiliation. 

“How…” The sound is barely choked out from his lungs. It’s a rare sight to see Ao’nung speechless, every ounce of playful banter wiped clean. And if the circumstances were any different, as in not having that dread painted across his face at the reveal of your bleeding vagina, then you would be tempted to enjoy seeing the mighty male so caught off guard. 

His fingers dig into the flesh of your plush hips. It’s clear that his head is struggling to come back online and process what devastating news he has uncovered. 

“Well you see-” Your voice unfortunately seems to snap him out of whatever daze he has been in, his body moving into action before you can even finish your sentence. 

“I will take you to my mother.” Perhaps the most terrifying sentence Ao’nung could say as he starts trying to pull you into his arms. Embarrassment bleeds into panic. A sense of anxiety bounces between the two of you as he rushes to scoop you up and bring you to the healer’s tent and you grasp at anything to keep from being met with the most intimidating woman on the planet in this condition. 

“No wait! Ao’nung it’s fine. I’m fine.” It’s not much use when he already has your wiggling figure dragged to the end of the bed with just one hand around your ankle. It traps you underneath his body in one swoop. 

“You are bleeding.” Ao’nung reiterates, sharp canines coming to show with a slight hiss. “Mawey tawtute, she will know what to do.” He nods firmly, but there's a crack of hesitance in his voice. As if the reassurance is really there for himself than anyone else. You’ve never seen Ao’nung so serious before, nor this panicked. 

Your pleas for release mean nothing as he quickly gathers you into his arms. Panic and humiliation work in tandem to wrestle you into a state of utter panic. And working more on instinct than real thinking you do the one thing that will grant you freedom.

You grab a fistful of curly hair and yank. Hard. 

Dropped back onto your plushy bed as Ao’nung lets out a pained hiss you scramble for the one place you might be able to hide. It’s painfully obvious and stereotypical but your closet is the first and only place you can think to escape the handsome male. The door bangs shut, encasing you in the darkness surrounded by frilly dresses and tickling lace. 

You grasp the handle with all the determination your exhausted body can muster. Ronal is a wonderful healer and exquisite leader but quite literally the last person on the planet you would want to witness your embarrassing, very stupidly human, condition. It’s likely that similar to her son she too would not know about human menstruation. 

It’s gross. You feel gross. Your entire body aches and as Ao’nung starts to yank on the other handle tears are already welling up in your eyes. From what emotion exactly you haven’t the faintest clue but the weak reaction brings a pit of annoyance into the mix too. Because of course all it takes is your concerned boyfriend who is just trying to help, to put you into another crying fest. This would be the third one this morning. 

It seems that whatever god created humans was far less kind than Eywa who at least had the decency to keep women from suffering monthly in the name of procreation. And with that thought in mind, anger comes to intertwine as well. 

“Ao’nung stop! I’m not injured!” A rough shout that is anger more directed at your current situation than hands that now swing the door open. 

The Metkayina male however is more than peeved now too. He isn’t about to take no for an answer as he hooks a thick arm around your midsection to pull you out. 

“Stop struggling.” He growls. 

You're halfway to the doorway of the bedroom and Ao’nung is anything but deterred by your babbling about how it is normal, just a tawtute thing. So your mouth makes a decision before your brain can approve it. 

“It’s because I’m not pregnant!” A shout loud enough to echo down the outside hallway and freeze the Metkayina prince in place. 

What a stupid thing to say. A terrible terrible mistake, you decide as you wiggle out of his grasp to glance up at his face. Now having rendered the male speechless twice in five minutes you feel slightly guilty. And humiliated. Along with disgusting, angry, tired. In fact you may as well feel every emotion under the sun with the way your chest squeezes painfully. 

“I’m not hurt. I’m not in need of healing. It’s called menstruation. Yet another wonderful thing about being a human woman. Where my stupid vagina decides to bleed every month because there is no fucking baby in me!” Your screeches make Ao’nung’s ears pin back, your chest heaving with the effort as tears rocket down your cheeks. You can’t find it within yourself to care that this is the harshest language Ao’nung has ever heard from you. Not when sobs are already crawling up your throat and tears blurr the view of the towering male before you.

The same male that is beautiful beyond belief. The same that has somehow found some interest in you. And now the same that has yet another gross reason to rethink being with a human. 

“So no I’m not hurt but I am…am…” Trembling lips crumble into a pout. Ao’nung’s tail curves. “I am miserable. Cramping. Tired. So fucking sad because this is the seventh time I’ve watched Pride and Prejudice because I can’t find the other earlier remake of it. And angry because I’ve already ruined a pair of pink panties. The ones with the clouds…that…that took me hours to make and…and I’m so disgusting!” Ao’nung’s eyes are blown wide enough to push his hairless brows into his hairline. “There’s blood everywhere! And I fucking hate it! And…and..my sleeve got caught on the doorknob earlier-”

Strong arms gently pull you until your cheek meets the warm skin of his abs. That simple action is enough to break the dam barricading your emotions. Now in a full meltdown, you paint his swirled skin with your tears and the racketing sobs fill the room sporadically. It feels nice to have something to hold onto, small fingers squeezing his hips as you break down. 

Minutes. Hours. Years. There is no recalling how long the two of you spend in that position as you unleash every torturing feeling from your chest. What you do know is that those large hands drawing up and down your back eventually soothe those sobs into small hiccups and then finally into short sniffles. 

“You’re not hurt.” Ao’nung checks again, calmly breaking the silence. 

“M’not hurt.” You mumble against his skin, soon thereafter mourning the loss of contact when Ao’nung carefully shifts you backwards. Disappointment does not linger for long, however, when a set of turquoise thumbs brush away the tears falling over your cheeks. 

Although his expression appears to be nothing related to anger, it’s difficult to decipher what exactly the Metkayina prince is thinking. A part of you wishes to not even venture to guess but that train of thought has already left the station. Another wave of embarrassment floods as you imagine just how ridiculous you must look at this moment. Eyes blotching and red as you cry over a simple natural process that is nothing in comparison to that of which the Na’vi go through to maintain everyday village life. Hiding away from your boyfriend in a sea of stuffed animals and stuffing yourself with popcorn as your way of throwing a pity party all while Ao’nung is still dressed in his hunting gear.

No doubt he has been up since dawn. Fulfilling both physically and socially draining duties to keep the clan running smoothly, in preparation for his time of reign. Ao’nung is everything you are not. You knew it within the first few minutes of meeting him. Perhaps he is not always the most patient or humble, but he is brave. And tough. Oh so mighty and resilient in taking on whatever Eywa throws his way. 

How much worse do you appear when coming from that perspective? Still dripping in salt water and spear leaning against the doorframe, what compels him to want to spend time with a whiny thing like you?

“Stop crying.” Large hands bracket the sides of your head as he works to keep up with the dropping tears. 

And you wish you could. 

You wish you could be more like the mighty warrior in front of you. Years have proven you to be nothing more than a small child that can not let go of her toys. Drowning in day dreams as your silly way to cope. 

That truth spins despair back into full swing. You feel even more guilty when Ao’nung pulls you back into his embrace, because who are you to warrant such affection? It’s clear that he deserves someone so much more and yet you selfishly accept the feel of his strong arms encircling you because it makes you feel safe. Because it allows air to properly enter your lungs again at a normal speed. 

When Ao’nung takes a knee to match your eye level, you twist to veer away from those crystal-like eyes. The Na’vi doesn’t give you much of a chance as he manhandles you back into place,his tongue clicking in disapproval, so he can look you over properly. 

“My poor tawtute.” He coos at you, as if addressing a lost juvenile creature without its mother. “Mawey, oeyӓ paskalin.” [Calm, my dear]  And before your brain can register the sweet nectar of his words, larger lips are pressing against your own. The light flutter of your heart is recurrent as he patiently works to deepen the kiss. It’s different from those that fill your passionate nights of lovemaking. Ao’nung patiently pulls you into that bliss until you are melting against him. 

Heavy eyes stall in opening once Ao’nung has pulled away. 

“Bring your mask.” Ao’nung intstructs abruptly. 

“What?” 

He has already risen to full height, a large hand resting along your spine to urge you towards the door. Unbothered by your confusion, he takes a well needed sip of air from his own dangling mask. When he does catch a glimpse of your expression he pauses before a smirk tugs at his lips and his tail bats playfully. 

“And your bunny of course.” He eyes the discarded toy with lips pulling back just enough to reveal sharp canines. “You will feel better once you are home.” 

And suddenly you are no longer confused. It should have been obvious, this most recent topic of argument between the two of you. No matter how fascinated Ao’nung is by your well decorated room he stops at nothing to coerce you to abide in his marui. He has been caught more than a few times even openly smuggling things from your room in the scheme of planting it in his home like bait for his prey. 

“Ao’nung no. I can’t come over tonight. Not like this.” 

Those hairless brows knit together as he sweeps over your frame once more. It’s clear he finds no flaw in your condition that would prevent you from letting him steal you away to his home. 

“And besides I have everything I need right here.” You scramble back over to your bed and begin explaining the little nest you have created for yourself. “Pillows for the perfect position, stuffed animals, snacks, and in another twenty minutes Mr. Darcy is going to confess his undying love for Elizabeth.” It’s clear that the last indication is lost on him as he follows your point towards the small tv. 

It’s not his first time observing the thin rectangle that plays moving pictures but it still manages to catch his confused attention each time. His lips curl back and faces squints with an utter look of disgust. The fact that the characters speak in Sky People language never helps to spark an interest for him. 

“I’m fine right here, Nung. I promise.” Your soft smile when you perch to sit atop the covers is only met with a scowl. The difficulty in explaining this to Ao’nung is yet another reason you had originally planned to hide away alone until this nightmare had blown over. “Go back to your duties. I’ll be happy here.” 

And that is the tipping point for Ao’nung. What is meant to come off as reassurance instead has his hairless brows pinching together and large hands settling over his curved hips. 

“You’re staying here for mester darsee.” It’s difficult to take his misplaced anger seriously when he struggles to pronounce the few English words. 

“No, Ao’nung that is not-”

“Fine. I will stay.” His massive body is already climbing onto your poor bed before you have another chance to protest. He continues to mutter under his breath. It’s a messy sprawl of annoyed curses and something about you not needing a Mr. Darcy. The giant Na’vi pouts even as he pulls you close to curl his body around yours. 

It’s wrong to keep the future Olo’eyktan to yourself like this but watching him sulk like a giant cat is too amusing to pass up. And then there is the comfort that comes with having Ao’nung wrapped around you like a dragon protecting his hoard, so you decide to be selfish. 

His curls tickle the back of your neck and a large hand spans over your abdomen. As he rubs soothing circles into your lower stomach you swear the heat and motion alone is better than the battery powered heating pack. The cramps don’t evaporate away but they settle into something more bearable, especially when your favorite scene finally comes onto the screen and you snuggle closer to your ridiculous lover. 

Slowly throughout the movie Ao’nung’s hand come to explore south into territory that would have Mrs. Bennett passing into an early grave. That confident exploration is a stark contrast to the simple touches exchanged between your favorite characters, but it holds the same passion. The same tension that has your thighs clamping together in defense against his devious fingers. 

You can feel the way his lips curve into a smirk against your ear. Period hormones are your sworn enemy as you are caught between fighting him off in sheer embarrassment and finally letting his hand slip underneath the band of your pretty shorts. 

“Don’t worry, oeyӓ tawtute. Next month I will do better.”

The sudden comments has you taken aback. .

“Do better at what?”

“Giving you my baby.” He casually states, unbothered by the way you freeze and struggle to take in oxygen. “This Sky Demon sickness won’t come for you when you are filled with my seed.” 

And like a silent promise, his thumb swipes over your lower stomach just as his fingers breach the band of your panties. 

I hope you enjoyed this little musing. I can't wait to carry out some of the other plans I have for these two. If you enjoyed it too please please let me know. I can't tell you enough how much hearing your feedback and comments means to me (anonymous or not).

[pedgito]

summary | a story of how things began, where they ended up, and where they might go. a collection of patrols over the course of several months is forcing you closer to joel than you ever imagined, tense circumstances leading to hasty decisions and one bad choice after the next. [17k+]

pairing | joel miller x fem!reader

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no explicit use of y/n, set post s1 (but not specifically stated), lots of characters from the game (but not significant if you're unaware) grumpy!joel, friends (?) with benefits, sex under stress as a means for distraction (consensual), graphic depicition of an attack of raiders (it's brief, easy to skim over), a litany of sexual escapades (oral, unprotected, ect) semi-public sex (no one's around), orgasm denial, repressed emotions

author’s note | um, yeah. i had this idea back in february and had an outline that finally came to fruition over the past month. this was a serious labor of love and purely self-indulgence. if you make it through the entire thing, thank you! if this has typos please ignore. i proofread this like 4 times and i will cry

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3

Patrolling with Joel was always something. Miserable when Joel was having a bad day, mildly enjoyable on the days where he managed to have enough coffee that morning when you weren't on the rotation for the shitty patrols that took hours to trek through in this weather, the snow halfway up your shins nearly everywhere.

It’s been a few months now and Joel is still who you favor going with over anyone else—he’s thoughtful, methodical, always watching over his shoulder for danger. And Joel does warm up to you eventually, but the reluctance in his eyes is always there. He’s seasoned in the art of surviving, avoiding connection when at all possible. He doesn’t talk to you for the first month out of simple answers or orders, helping you get accustomed to a route you haven’t run before, but small talk? It’s nonexistent.

Maybe that was for the best. 

Because the first time you find yourself pinned under his gaze, fingers clenched around your wrists in warning, the unseemly thoughts invade your brain.

He doesn’t sleep often during patrols, either. So, it’s a little intimidating when you find him curled up on top of his sleeping bag when he swore he was taking a quick break, resting the ache in his back that quickly melted into a deep slumber. You can’t dare to wake him up so soon after, seeing how peaceful he looked when he slept, almost at ease but still carrying that deep scowl, permanently on his features. It was a part of him.

Tommy and Jesse had arrived to rotate and relieve you guys back to Jackson, something that wasn’t out of the norm, but you find yourself battling with leaning over him, shaking him awake and disturbing his slumber. And on a dime, the moment your hand connects with his shoulder, Joel is awake—very awake and subduing you with little resistance, your leg forced hastily between his own, eyes dark and pensive from where he held himself above you.

“Joel, Joel—it’s just me,” You spit out in a panic, “Tommy and Jesse, they’re outside.”

You’re not sure what breaks his stupor, be it the panic in your voice or the terrified look on your face, he relents quickly, apologizing half-heartedly under his breath.

You release a tight breath when he finally lets go, rising up slowly as he does, grabbing your pack without a word, as does he, watching as he rolled up his sleeping bag, something you’ve seen him do a million times before, but he feels you watching him, almost hesitant to speak now.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks lowly, the thickness of sleep in his voice.

“No, um—“ You shake your head, rubbing the skin of your wrist absently, “I guess I should’ve been more careful, but you fell asleep and I figured you needed it.”

He looks even more apologetic, more so for his actions but for also leaving you up alone, not that it really mattered to you. It was an easy patrol spot in the watchtower— it never caused trouble, so falling asleep was the least of your worries. 

You shrug when his eyes glance over your slightly hunched frame, shivering from the cold but an arm clutching around your middle. It’s defensive, a subconscious movement that Joel doesn’t even think you realize you’re doing.

He shouldn’t feel shitty about it, but he does. Still, he won’t admit that out loud.

“Next time I’ll keep six feet and poke you with a stick,” You joke, “kinda like waking a bear.”

You smile when Joel huffs reluctantly, a subtle motion of his chest as he chuckles. It’s faint, but you see the involuntary quirk at the corner of his mouth as he shoved his sleeping bag into his pack and rose to his feet.

“Hey, you’ve still got decent reflexes,” You shrug, passing him by with the soft scuffle of your feet, shoulders rubbing against each other awkwardly as you turn toward him over your left shoulder, his body too close for his own comfort, “for an old guy.”

He scoffs at the implication, though any maliciousness in his expression is void, “Old?”

He knows it’s the truth, he just hates the implication. He’s weaker, but not any less that man he was than that he is now. He watches your face scrunch up in amusement, a soft laugh slipping past your lips. 

“Joel, I’m fucking with you,” You tell him, the tense in his brow relaxing slightly, “it’s gonna be a long ride back, isn’t it?”

“Ah, don’t know—think you can handle travelin’ with the old guy for a few hours?”

Joel doesn’t divert to humor often, but when he does, it’s a sweet sight, that rough exterior cracking under your gaze more often. 

“Please,” You puff your lips out in a quick huff, yanking your back over your shoulder, “I can handle you just fine.”

Once you got to know him, it was actually quite easy.

Joel nods his chin forward silently, ignoring your teasing for the time being, a long ride ahead of you and not nearly enough patience on his end to deal with your antics.

And you try to ignore how intensely his touch lingered on your skin, rubbing the tender spot on your wrist during the long ride back to Jackson. 

Joel keeps his distance behind you, but he sees it—the subtle look over your shoulder every now and then, your eyes lingering with him when he forces eye contact.

It’s only the start of what was to come, something neither of you were prepared for.

*

The rotation is adequately simple over the first few months, keeping the pairings fair by filtering them out evenly—Ellie is fun to be around, a lot more relaxed and less jaded by everything. She keeps things light, always bringing along her comics for extra entertainment or spending her time drawing you or whatever she could find, something to keep her busy when things get boring. And she talks, freely, to you—something Joel never did. Besides, Ellie kept up to date on the town drama, so in turn, so did you. 

And Tommy is, well, Tommy. He’s efficient, likes to do his rounds, sign the patrol sheet, scope the area, then spend the rest of the night or day relaxing away when things aren't going awry. He talks about before—his job, how people lived in Austin, the summer cookouts in the neighborhoods that you were never privy to. Tommy’s nice, you’ve always liked him. It was Joel who proved to be the difficult one, something Tommy would wholeheartedly agree with.

Eventually you find yourself paired up with Joel more often than you’re used to, now Ellie would stick to patrols with Dina when she could, occasionally Jesse. She always complains when she has to ride with Joel, something about:

“We live together, but we’re not attached at the fuckin’ hip.”

Joel doesn’t complain, his hesitancy toward letting Ellie take more responsibility waning by the day when he realizes how well she holds her own.

You take the patrol further west, a lodge that he and Tommy cleared out some months prior when you were still new—you’ve only ran into infected there once, end of the summer, but Joel cleared them out no problem. 

It seemed like an easy patrol. It was. Joel even seems a little more cheerful than usual, making comments to some of the information you were relaying to him that Ellie told you, some pointless gossip to fill the lull.

“It’s why I mind my business,” Joel speaks over the soft trollop as you ride alongside him, “nothin’ good comes from stickin’ your nose where you shouldn’t,” his head turns, eyes glancing over your frame briefly, shrugging his shoulders in an effort to loosen them, “it only breeds more problems.”

“I’m just the messenger,” You shrug, “I keep to myself—you know that.”

He does. He finds the shyness endearing in a way, a contrast from how exuberant Ellie could be when he spent patrols with her. It’s why things worked so well with you—you respected his space, he respected yours. 

“Remind me to check that guitar place for those strings Ellie’s been buggin’ about,” Joel tells you, “I’ll hit it before we leave.”

“She’s improved a lot,” You compliment, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “props to her teacher, I suppose.”

Joel shakes his head, emitting a bit of fondness every time he talks about Ellie, “That kid is determined. I don’t think she would’ve needed my help either way.”

“You know,” Your tone bleeds something teasing, putting Joel on edge as he tilts his head your way, looking expectantly, “she said you’re a pretty good singer.”

Joel opens his mouth for a beat before snapping it shut, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to sing,” You promise, “but—I don’t know, just didn’t pin you as the type.”

“I’ve got a type about me?” Joel seems dully interested, a soft smirk on his face as he yields the reins to a stop, leading you to follow suit as you both guide the horses to the makeshift stable tucked away on the side of the building, gathering your things before you make your way inside.

You leave Joel in a curious silence until you’re able to relax, closing the doors behind you with a heavy shove once Joel has done his quick walk-through, the fireplace setting unlit in the middle of the room looking all too appealing right now. 

“Look, I’ll just keep askin’,” Joel says, clapping his hands together deftly to grab your attention, throwing the lighter stuffed into your coat pocket at his waiting hands, cupped as he catches it with ease, setting up a fire that crackles to life instantly, “first I’m an old man, now you’re judgin’ me, doesn’t really seem fair now does it?”

It’s the most he’s talked to you before, suddenly invested in getting an answer out of you. It’s playful, his intention, and you can’t help but find it a little enjoyable to watch him squirm. You take a seat around the circular fire pit, feet propped up against the brick surrounding it, hands laying flat over you stomach, jacket unzipped but still snug on your body.

“You’re a big grump all the time,” You tell him honestly, his face morphing into something indecipherable, “—Ellie’s words, not mine.”

You hold a finger up, pointing in his direction.

“But, she’s not wrong.” It earns a subtle shrug, Joel’s arms stalling over the back of the couch that wrapped around the fire pit, a few feet away from you still. “I’m just saying, most of the people in town who enjoy that stuff—you know, music and all that. They’re loud about it, a little showboaty if you ask me.”

“What? I’m not loud enough for you?” 

He was loud when he needed to be. Directive and strong, aggressive to anyone who may cause him harm or anyone he cares about—you’ve seen it a few times, but never on the side of it being just you and him. Part of you is thankful for that, but you can’t help the wanted to feel that type of fierce protection aimed toward you.

You snort softly, “Forget it, Joel. It’s a nice surprise, I bet you have a great voice.” It’s free of any teasing or ill-intent of riling him up. A true compliment, one that cracks Joel’s surface, just barely.

Joel hits you softly in the chest with a bag of jerky a while later, chewing on a piece quietly as he rests, neck hung against the back of the couch, eyes closed. The heat creeps in slowly, forcing you to strip down a few layers—jacket first, then your sweater, down to just your jeans and shirt, wiggling your feet out of your snow boots in hopes that they’ll dry by the fire quicker. 

And truthfully, your bored out of your mind. It was hard to stay dormant like this, holed up in a place for an extended period of time with nothing to do but entertain yourself—and because Joel was about as entertaining as watching wet paint dry, you took the initiative into your own hands.

“Have you ever played pool?” Your voice slices through the thick silence, one of Joel’s eyes peeking open curiously, head still reclined back. “I’ve been dying to try this out since Tommy found those balls a few months ago.”

“It’s been years,” He mumbles lowly, tapping his fingers against the back of his right palm, “—what about you?”

“Not a chance, Joel,” You reply, voice oozing with a flippant vagrancy, “I was fifteen when the outbreak happened, I’ve never even stepped foot into a bar, let alone some place like this.”

Even now, twenty years into a world that had crumbled to the ground, the lodge still held up nice.

Normally you would expect Joel to make up some excuse, roll over on his side or lay down and pretend he was asleep or keep watch by the door, his demeanor never faltering for more than a second, clipped answers to your question. But, that was Joel wasn’t here now.

He’s warmed up to you, partially—but you could tell there was still a long way to go. He still keeps his distance, less of a chance to bump into your or accidentally brush shoulders. It makes you feel forlorn, like maybe you had scared him by how you reacted, eyes wide and terrified underneath him. 

Truthfully, Joel doesn’t want to scare you again. He couldn’t handle it. Not with how reluctantly fond he’s grown of you, something he kept close to his chest and didn’t dare tell a soul. He’s got his own justifications for it. 

“We can play a game,” Joel suggests, “it’ll kill some time, I guess.”

Joel didn’t need to know how easy it would be for you to play him under the table, having spent most of your time around the guys at the bar who like to hustle bets for pool. They never stood a chance. And Joel never frequented The Tipsy Bison outside of parties thrown for the community as a group (and that was still rare), always dragged along by Ellie or Tommy. They were insufferable to attend. 

You could share the sentiment. 

“Any bets?” You tease, stripping the pool cues off the wall and handing it to him as he approaches, strip down to a similar state as well, tanned skinned under a navy blue shirt, wearing the jeans he seemed to never take off and boots that were barely holding on. 

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Joel decides, “I’ve got nothin’ in mind anyways.”

“God, you’re no fun,” You pout, pulling an eye roll from Joel, his eyes flicking toward the ground briefly as he reconsidered, “come on—anything.”

“Jesus—uh, I don’t know,” He chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully, “huh, how about the loser just owes the other a favor?”

You blow a raspberry with your tongue, “Lame,” You tease further, but his quick switch to defeat has his arm slumping at his side forcing you to reassess, “—fine, fine. A favor is fair, I’m running low on those anyways.”

It’s a small hint at your competitive nature, something Joel is clueless to pick up on, guiding you through the basics of the game with ease—you listen intently despite how badly you were going to destroy him, the stakes surprisingly high.

A favor. For anything. 

The small crack of a smile on Joel’s face is enough of a reward as he watches you attempt to break the set, barely tapping the center as it rolls back slowly, your face scrunching up in annoyance. 

“Oh, fuck you,” You scoff playfully, “you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Joel shakes his head in a blatant attempt at lying, heaving his cue up to show you his stance, “Keep your dominant hand on the end and your other near the type, you’ve just gotta guide it through with some force.”

You feign innocence, switching the cue to your dominant side, though still looking visibly uncomfortable and rigid. 

Joel thinks it over in his hand, rehashing his decision making a million times over until he’s resting the pool cue aside and joining your side, hesitant as he brings his hands to your elbows from behind, keeping a careful distance.

“Keep your arm a little further back,” He pulls at your dominant arm, thick fingers wrapping around your bicep, his body leaned forward slightly to adjust the other when he can’t reach, spreading your fingers to wrap around the other end, tucking your thumb under the cue gently at wrapping your index over the top, “it’s almost like you’re holding a pencil, if that helps. Sort of.”

You nod slightly, his touch lingering lightly as he leaned over you, pointing toward the center of the table, “Just use that hand as a guide, don’t grip it too tight and let the cue follow through. Here, try it.”

He crowds you in slowly, aiding you in the force of your cue as he guides it back and through with a sharpness, hitting the ball dead center and the rest of them scattering as a result.

“Just like that.” He praises, a softness to him that wasn’t there before when speaks over your shoulder. You roll your shoulders insignificantly, nodding at his response.

He notes how unbothered you are this way, in this situation compared to the latter, his touch guiding and soft compared to rough, suffocating, the force he only used in situations where his opponent wasn’t going to make it out alive.

Joel parts without so much as a word, shifting into his typical stance, favoring his right leg as it bends slightly, using the cue for support as he leaned into it. “Got it?”

You nod silently, feeling warm all over, too warm. It’s your own fault, really—not a soul to blame but yourself. To be fair, you didn’t think Joel would bother to take the bait. But he did, almost too eagerly. It was enough to mentally knock you on your ass, leaving you to play the rest of the game with a cloudy mind filled with how warm his touch felt against your bare skin, craving a touch you haven’t felt in months. It’s pathetic, but you can’t help it. 

Joel sinks the last ball with finality, slapping his hand against the felt table in triumph, a surprising show of emotion for someone so sullen as him. He was full of surprises you were quickly finding out.

“M’sorry, darlin’.” He tells you, sounding authentically apologetic, “I don’t expect you to owe me any favors.”

“Screw that,” You shake your head stubbornly, annoyed at how easily you let him get the better of you, “one more.”

“I’m not sure if that’s—“

“One. More.” You tell him adamantly, reracking the balls without an answer, nodding pointedly toward the table, “Pick a pocket.”

Joel’s eyebrow furrowed in confusion, “You want to play one-pocket? How the hell do you even know about—I thought you said you’ve never played.”

“Joel, pick a damn pocket.” 

You don’t choke this time, letting him take the first hit, watch the ball sink, and the next one he misses. 

You don’t miss, one turn after the other passing him up as you sink them in succession.

He stares at you with wide eyes, nose flared like he’s going to laugh, mouth spread into a subtle smile, his teeth peeking through.

“You’re a fuckin’ pool shark, aren’t you?” Joel questions, tossing the pool cue aside. “That was goddamn impressive, I’ll give you that.”

“How do you think I score the steak sandwiches for our routes over the tuna and cheese?” You ask redundantly, “I’ve played Tommy under the table enough times that he won’t even play for fun anymore.”

“Well,” Joel shrugs, “guess we both owe each other favors, don’t we?”

You could care less about the favors now, battling with the conflicting feelings as you stared at the man ahead of you, seeming like a completely different person to you now. He's acting nothing like the sulky man you walk by every day in Jackson.

“Shit—one more,” Joel insists, “no holdin’ back on each other. No bets, just braggin’ rights.”

Joel never hears the end of it that night, falling asleep to the faint giggle of victory.

Another few weeks later and things are even more different. 

You spot Joel from a mile away, tucked against the corner of the bar with wistful eyes downturned toward his drink, the ice in the glass swashing alongside the dark whiskey. The squeal of a couple kids and their scattering feet as they ram into you and pull your attention away, guiding them away to safety and out of the crowd with a gentle hand, a pair of apologetic parents waiting off to the side.

He must’ve seen the interaction halfway through, smirking with amusement as you approach, though still eerily silent. 

Your friendship since the pool game has blossomed slowly, he jokes with you more often, shares his food when he hears your stomach growl, no matter how much you refuse. He even talks about his hobbies, things he enjoys, and it feels like he’s less of an enigma now. Real, tangible, someone you can make a connection with.

He still keeps his distance, mostly—the pool game was a fluke, a split second decision he hadn’t thought through and fully regretted after the fact. He’s gone from tackling you to the ground in fear to feeling you up for a good shot and that just doesn’t sit right with him, but he never apologizes. He can’t find it in him to embarrass himself further, figuring that by getting his ass kicked at pool was already punishment enough.

But, it doesn’t help that he always finds himself in situations that end up with him closer than he intended—he can’t tell if you’re being intentional about it anymore, but tonight, it’s all you.

“Damn, who dragged you out of the house?” You ask, a huff of a laugh muffled by the glass that tips to his lips, your fingers drumming silently against the bar as you asked for a beer, smiling at a familiar face. “Wait, let me guess—Ellie?”

Joel shakes his head honestly.

“Shit—Tommy?”

“No.”

“Maria forced Tommy to force you to show up?” Joel actually has a laugh at that, the idea not that far-fetched, but it’s another wrong answer.

“Joel Miller—“ Your finger wags in his face, landing on the center of his chest as you sip from your own drink with your opposite hand, “did you actually wander out of your house on your own free will?”

Guilty as charged. Joel would never make decisions like this, but he knew you would be there—and goddamnit, he couldn’t help it. He’s dressed incredibly suave too, a clean, slick dress shirt that works well on him, a nice change from his usual thick coats and plaid button ups. 

“Hey, brother,” Tommy claps a hand down on Joel’s shoulder warmly, flashing you his trademark grin, teeth and all, “ma’am.”

You grimace at the word, “God, Tommy—you gotta stop calling me that.”

“Sorry, habit.” He chuckles before glancing over at Joel briefly, eyes connecting with yours in question, “So, what are we thinkin’—hell finally freeze over?”

“Seems that way.” 

You play along, teasing Joel with no reluctance, enjoying the pinched look on his face as he downs the whiskey.

“Well, sorry Joel, but I came to steal her away for a dance,” He informs Joel, jabbing his thumb in your direction, “it is tradition, after all.”

Joel didn’t know that, of course. How could he?

Tommy always takes a minute or two to dance with you, one of his favorite songs being played by the band of townspeople—Maria doesn’t enjoy dancing as much either, spending most of her time mingling and helping out where it was needed, it’s an easy compromise. 

It’s an upbeat song, something country that you can’t be bothered to memorize the words of, but it’s all big twists and twirls, dancing with little precision and more for pure enjoyment than anything else.

Joel tries not to stare, he does. But, it’s nearly impossible. It starts at your face, lingering as he savored that huge smile plastered across it, arm flying above your head as Tommy spun you, squealing in joy. Eventually it travels elsewhere, lower and lower, until Joel can’t help but keep his gaze stuck on the curve of your jeans, the way the denim cups your ass perfectly. 

And it feels wrong, almost demeaning, but you don’t seem to have a care in the world, turning on your heels and to Joel suddenly, who’s already straightened up by then and shoving his glass away, poised to make his excuse to leave until you’re bounding toward him, hand outstretched as Tommy watches from the side, hands settled on his hips. He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

“Come on, Joel.” You try to persuade, using a grabby motion with your hands as you approach him closer, bordering on shoving yourself between the bar top and his legs, “Just one dance.”

“Darlin’ I don’t—“ His refusal is imminent, obvious in your eyes. But, you’ve got a trick up your sleeve that he’d never hear the end of if he denied you. 

“My favor,” You play your cards, “I’m cashing’ in.”

You cock your head to the side, awaiting his answer with a pointed look, satisfied smile creeping onto your face as he sighs, letting you take his hand in reluctance as you pull him to your feet.

Joel’s at least thankful the tempo of the song is slower, but that leads to a minacious closeness he wasn’t prepared for, your delicate set of fingers resting over his shoulder, the other slack in his hand. He settles one against your waist, touching cautiously light and his other hand enveloping your own.

“This is a waste of a favor, you know.” Joel comments off-handedly, his eyes dragging toward the floor as he swayed to the gentleness of the music, dancing with an ease that still stuck with him, even after all these years.

“I don’t think so,” You shrug, “I get a dance, you’re no longer in debt to me, seems like a win win.”

Joel shakes his head with a fondness, eyes flicking up toward you briefly as he bows his head, his grip tightening ever so slightly as he seems to relax, realizing that the only eyes on him were you now, Tommy having gone off to search for Maria.

“All these other guys and you want to dance with the old man,” Joel starts, “how’d you come to that decision?”

“You’re never letting that go,” You roll your eyes half-heartedly, pulling him in closer on a whim, trading your current position for one where your arms rest of his shoulders, fingers interlocking behind his neck loosely, his own hands adjusting against your hip more casually, fingers dancing over the sliver of bare skin from where your shirt had started to rise, “can I tell you a secret, Joel?”

“It’s not a secret if you tell me,” He counters slyly, “besides, I’m terrible at keeping ‘em.”

And blame it on the lingering remnants of his second whiskey, but you can feel his fingers drag against your skin, finding home under the fabric of your shirt, his expression never changing—but it feels like a test, like he’s waiting for you to have a reaction. There’s not a word traded during the subtle interaction, ignoring his actions as you spoke.

“I’d choose you over any of those guys,” You say, a rawness that bleeds truth, Joel doesn’t have to second guess you, he sees it, “and Seth is way older than you and a prick, give yourself some fuckin’ credit, Joel.”

Joel settles quietly, shaking his head at your soft outburst. It shouldn’t surprise him, your shared devotion having grown over the past few weeks, small moments that made Joel second guess everything he’s taught himself to be.

Distant, hard, cold. But with you, it just wasn’t possible anymore. At least, not lately. 

“And,” You sing, wiggling excitedly under his grip, “I may have saved your ass for patrol tomorrow.”

Joel looks at you expectantly, pulling you in closer when a quick pass of two rowdy kids has you stumbling forward. 

You laugh at the sudden change in motion, hands slapping against his chest to keep you steady. He doesn’t try and move you away, which is surprising. But, you don’t try to move either, enjoying the slow guide of your chest against his as you sway to the music.

“Tommy’s takin’ coverage with Eugene,” You tell him, “I know how much you hate patrolling with him.”

Joel huffs out a laugh, “I don’t hate him, he’s just—“

“Talkative? A little too cheery for you?” You ask, leaning your head back an inch to examine his face fully, “Damn, I guess I’m not much of an improvement, either.”

“Now, I didn’t say that.” Joel responds defensively, though his face is still relaxed.

“Then?” You tease.

“Let me ask you,” Joel switches things around, “You’d rather patrol with Tommy over me?”

You shrug before thinking about it for a moment, actually thinking—and no, you wouldn’t. “No, guess not.”

“Why?” He questions, putting you on the spot.

“You’re prettier to look at,” You say with a nonchalance, “and Tommy really likes to reminisce, like…a lot.”

Joel snorts a quiet laugh at that.

“So, you see my issue with Eugene then.” Joel brings the conversation to a head, watching as a smirk appears on your face, realizing his mistake in real time.

“Hold on— that’s why you enjoy our patrols so much?” You turn your head into your shoulder to hide your laugh, quickly gathering yourself to tease him further, “Because, I’m prettier to look at and I keep my mouth shut?”

Joel shakes his head in amusement, ignoring your question. “You do realize where we’re going tomorrow, don’t you?”

“Of course, we’re stationed out at the dam.” You respond casually, “It’s not that bad, Joel.”

It’s the one place you and Joel haven’t had the opportunity to patrol together, always paired up with someone else—it’s a cramped spot, loud, and uncomfortably cold at this time of year no matter how many fires you set. Plus, it’s a lot of leg work to check the dam, making sure it’s still in good working condition. It’s what powered Jackson, without it, you wouldn’t be dancing with Joel right now, let alone even allowed the luxury of having a weekend to unwind and enjoy the party. 

Joel looks hesitant.

“What?” You pry, “Don’t like the idea of being stuck in a tiny room with me for that long, one bed, nowhere to sulk off into a corner?”

If anyone else had approached him like this, it would’ve ended in a broken jaw—his own internalized anger getting the best of him. But, it’s you. And he knows you’re right. 

You squeeze in closer, leaving barely any room between you now that the center of the hall was filled with other dancing bodies, shifting Joel’s hands down over your ass, the tips of his fingers adjusting over the curve and leaving little to imagination as he can feel every ridge and curve of your body, his solid chest against your own. 

Your heart clenches at the idea that he might pull away, something akin to a bad sting and finally give up on his attempt at being sociable—he doesn’t move an inch.

Doesn’t say a word.

In fact, his gaze is even more intense now than it was before, edged with a look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before.

“I’ll sulk wherever I feel like it.” Joel retorts, falling into his usual scowl. “It’s probably about time we turn in for the night, don’t you think?”

You blink slowly, gaze never faltering. There’s a darkness behind his eyes, something still undiscovered. You nod blanky, but secretly acquiesce what he’s about to say.

“Long day tomorrow,” You agree, the shift in the air evident to the both of you, an innocent attempt at pulling some enjoyment out of Joel devolving into something dangerous and uncharted, “I’ll see you bright and early, yeah?”

“I’ll walk you back,” Joel insists, “maybe my sulkin’ will scare those boys who’ve been eyeing you all night.”

“I can handle myself, Joel.” He knows it—doesn’t make his offer any less tempting, though. He was a protector, you liked being protected. It was a devious offer that would find you in trouble soon, but you relent, accepting his help. He doesn’t make the first move, leaving you to take that step.

Joel doesn’t realize how badly he’s craved to touch you until he was, the second he laid his hands on you it was over for him—and he hates himself for letting you in, letting you wear him down. Joel’s close behind as you turn, navigating your way through the crowd quietly.

“Never said you couldn’t, sweetheart.” 

Your breath catches in your throat.

There’s a hammering in your chest that doesn’t calm the entire way back toward your house, a small street near the edge of the town, a few houses away from the one he shared with Ellie.

You clear your throat awkwardly, a thickness there that crept up on you, watching as Joel shoved his hands into his front pockets, leaning on his better leg, always favoring the left.

“I can ask Tommy to switch things back if you’re really bothered,” You remind him gently, wondering if that was why he seemed so bothered now, his face brooding and flat, “I won’t get my feelings hurt, I promise.”

But inside Joel’s head, his mind is filtering through a thousand bad decisions to make, every one of them involving you. 

“No,” He tells you surely, “You’re doing me a favor—shit, so I guess that means you don’t owe me anymore, actually.”

You shrug slightly, “Keep it, this one’s free.”

Joel has an inclination that you wouldn’t do that for just anyone, watching your face morph into a tired smile.

“Careful,” He teases, “you’re goin’ soft on me.”

You snort softly, ignoring the still burning tingle that lingered on your skin long after Joel’s touch disappeared. It was the same ache you felt the first time he touched you, tackled you to the ground and kept you pinned under his grip. He hasn’t gotten much better, still jerking awake in most situations, but you’ve learned to keep your distance. 

“Sorry,” You slip your hands into your back pockets, your thick jumper pulling tight over your chest, “didn’t realize that was a bad thing.”

Joel shakes his head slightly, still lingering on your doorstep despite himself. Old Joel would hightail it home, old Joel wouldn’t have even offered to walk you back to begin with—but, here he was. 

“I should turn in.” You tell him, his subtle nod in response.

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea.” Joel agrees, “long day ahead of us.”

The clipped responses are feeding a tension you don’t realize until you’re both still standing there, unmoving, swaying with the gentle breeze and somehow feeling warm all over while still surrounded by the bitter cold.

And there’s a quick flash that invades your mind, even while stone cold sober, that has you twitching under his gaze. He sees it, clocks it with his eyes. 

There’s no indication that he’s attempting to get a reaction out of you, just lingering in wait, waiting for you.

You never make a move to open your door or walk inside and that’s what he’s waiting for, to see you home safe. It’s the whole reason he walked you back, wasn’t it?

Joel says your name quietly, a beckon to bring your attention back to the surface, drowning in your own thoughts but your gaze never faltering, stuck on him. 

“Somethin’ on your mind?” He asks.

It’s a question that has too many answers. And it’s a test too, wondering if you’ll slip up and speak on what you’re trying so hard to hold back.

Too much—is what you should say.

You—is what you want to say.

But instead, you act. That itching feeling overflowing and forcing you to make haste decisions, tired of hearing his voice in the back of your mind, how easily it drove you crazy. The endearing twang that echoed in your head all day long, even when he was miles away. 

And you find that Joel is almost expecting it, his hand cupping your face gently, warming the skin as you press in to kiss him cautiously, top lip slotting over his bottom and relaxing, your opposite hand mirroring his own. 

It feels too tender, like suddenly Joel is just as breakable as you—it’s terrifying. You pull away suddenly, coming to your senses, wide eyes staring him down. He looks calm.

You hate it.

It feels embarrassing.

He expected it, or at least anticipated it. You can see it on his face.

“Goodnight.” He tells you tenderly, sounding upset with himself but avoiding the choice to make things weird and you’re forever grateful.

You release a soft breath, nodding absently.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

You turn on your heels and enter your house, finally. Maybe it wasn’t too late to change Tommy’s mind.

It was.

Joel was already waiting by the gates by the time you arrived, food and supplies secured in your bag for the road, two rifles slung securely over his shoulders as he held the reins to the horses, both of them neighing impatiently. 

“All good?” Joel asks, avoiding the obvious air of unspoken instances surrounding you two. 

You nod confidently, taking the reins away silently.

“All set,” You assure him, guiding your foot through the saddle and mounting the horse, settling yourself as he followed suit, “you?”

Joel echoes your response.

You sigh internally, a deep annoyance settling into your bones. Annoyed with yourself, annoyed with Joel. Just annoyed, wholly and plainly. 

Joel didn’t need to admit that he hadn’t gotten any sleep the night prior—he already had enough trouble sleeping on a normal night, but you in his head? That didn’t help.

And it flooded into the morning, still, Joel watching your body sway and rock slowly from the motion of the horse, head tucked away slightly to counter the breeze that prickled your cheeks. 

When you finally make it to the dam he breaks the silence, slipping the reins from your hand and nodding toward the front entrance, “I’ll tie ‘em up if you want to settle and sign us in, you can get a fire going?”

He’s asking, not telling. You nod, hopping down carefully and unhooking your bag from the saddle.

“I’ll scream if I need help.” It’s a joke in poor taste.

Joel doesn’t take it too lightly, scowling in response.

“Sorry,” You apologize lamely, “bad joke.”

“Be careful,” Joel stresses, face softening, “keep your gun out until you’ve done a once over of the place.”

*

It feels like fate is fucking with you, most days. Dangling your life in front of its prey and savoring the outcome, because even with your gun poised carefully at your hip, knife tucked into the strap at your thigh, it doesn’t prepare you for what’s waiting on the other side of that door.

There’s a split second where you think you can talk things down, buy you some time so Joel could get here and settle their nerves, but they’re already on high alert, as are you, and there’s no time to think.

Plus, they don’t seem to be keen on listening.

��Grab her,” The burly man says, blunt weapon held tight in his grip as he goes for your arm, the other man forcing you to the ground with a harsh gasp escaping your chest as your back hits the concrete floor, “just gut her—fuckin’ do it.”

Your brain shuts off, realizing that your strength isn’t nearly matched with theirs, your shrill scream cutting through the commotion.

“Joel!” You tell, hoping he’ll hear, dodging the hand that comes your way to muffle your yells, barking out an even more broken, “Jooooel!”

Your gun is long gone, tossed away in a corner with your hand pinned under someone’s knees, eyes squeezed shut as you struggle for the knife around your thigh blindly. They didn’t have the wits or common sense to strip you properly before they were attacking you, the younger one hesitating at the other’s words.

“I thought you said we were just tyin’ her up.” He responds, sounding panicked. 

You grab the knife successfully and pierce it through the young one’s gut with a sickening squish, a garbled groan ripping from his throat—and a rush of a shadow overhead as Joel wrested the other down, coming in from the door on the opposite side of the room, fists connecting with the attackers face with a sickening crunch.

The rage overtakes quickly, adrenaline flooding your body as you shove the man away, pulling the knife out to sink back in once, twice, until the blood fills his mouth and spills over, lifeless eyes staring back.

Your chest heaves with a breath, adjusted your clothes from where they had been pushed aside in the tackle, tossing your knife aside and putting enough distance between your body and the one who’s your killed, watching as Joel sunk the tip of his own knife through the throat of the larger man, draining the life from him in an instant. 

Joel has a ferocity in his eyes when they land on you, tossing his knife to the side momentarily as he rises, towering over the body beneath him. He can't be angry with you—he can't.

“Grab your gun,” He tells you, ignoring how easily the rage would have overtaken his body in most situations, buring it away for the moment when he sees how badly you’re shaken up (it wasn't fear, not even close—more like rage), moving around rigidly to grab your gun off the floor, “knife too—then sit down.”

“But the—the bodies, Joel,” Joel can hear the uncertainty in your voice, shaking his head insistently, “we’ve gotta go back—tell Tommy, let them know.”

Joel shakes out his muscles, adjusting his thick leather jacket around his frame and steps over the dead body, moving to stand in front of you, touching you for the first time since last night. It’s not soft or gentle, more leading in an effort to get your attention and pull you out of your gaze, his fingers cupping your jaw, chin falling in the curve where his thumb and pointer finger connect. 

You wonder how many times he's done this before—how he'd come to learn to calm people down through his intense eye contact and grounding voice. He could mask his emotions for the sake of others, even when they were threatening to boil over.

“I’ve got it, I’ll take care of this—” His eyes never left yours, eyebrows raising in question as he awaited your acknowledgment, a small nod coming from you, “go wash the blood off and come straight back, okay?”

You nod again, deftly, eyes empty and void of emotion.

“Hey,” Joel calls out, pulling your attention back, “I need you with me—you with me?”

“Yeah—yes,” You mumble weakly, ignoring how tenderly his thumb rubbed the junction of your jaw at the admittance, something you’re sure he wasn’t even aware he was doing, “I’m with you.” 

“Go.” He instructs, releasing his hold on you.

His face morphs into resentment as you leave.

He should've stuck by your side. But, then he thinks back to the joke you made in passing and it fuels the anger more.

*

Joel’s taken care of the bodies by the time you returned, shrugging off his own jacket as he yanked the door closed, barricading it closed with the vacant table stuff in the corner of the room, letting his own paranoia get the better of him. It wasn’t a crime to be too safe, not anymore.

“If they’ve got a group they’ll come here looking for ‘em,” Joel tells you, “but somethin’ tells me we won’t have to worry about that.”

“So, no fire then?” 

Joel shakes his head, nodding toward the few camping lateens left haphazardly on a desk, “We’ll use those tonight, better to be safe.”

He would have to explain this to Tommy when he saw him, put the town back on high alert for a while and go to sleep every night worrying that someone was going to snatch his family away again—snatch Ellie away, snatch you away. It was another problem, another stressor, but none of that was new to him. 

“I’m gonna do a walkthrough,” He tells you, cocking his gun loudly, a little unnecessarily in your opinion, but his anger is still there, radiating off of him, “keep your gun out and shoot at anything you see that isn’t me.”

He doesn’t want you letting your guard down, which is why his apprehension to relax is valid. You nod quietly, sinking in on yourself as you take a seat on the old, torn up couch.

He’s gone for an hour or two, the sun nearly nonexistent outside now, lamps scattered around the room and bathing you in a low light, gun still clutched in your hand on your lap, safety off.

Joel knocks on the door shortly after, startling you to near death. You hated being jumpy like this, nothing to calm your nerves. You’d always prided yourself for being able to handle yourself in situations like that and you couldn’t explain why you froze—but deep down, you knew.

It was Joel. Worry for him when he wasn’t there, what threat might be awaiting him if they could get the jump so easily on you. You stumble to your feet and pull the door open, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the mattress in Joel’s grip.

“Tommy must’ve moved it last time—he doesn’t like sleepin’ when he’s on watch down here.”

You open the door wider, letting him inside and taking the opposite end to help with the weight, settling the mattress up against the edge of the couch and shifting the folded blankets down onto the surface, crouching down onto your knees with a soft sigh as you spread out the blankets.

You don’t realize Joel is watching you until you chance a glance up his way, wondering if this was the moment he’d let you have and berate you until he was blue in the face. 

You’ve witnessed it once, with Jesse. He’d nearly risked Ellie’s life on a patrol that should’ve been easy—he still seems a little jumpy in Joel’s presence, rightfully so.

“Look at me,” Joel beckons, adding your name in a demand to grab your attention, “you with me?”

And it breaks you, what little patience you have left in your body.

“Yes, Joel. I am right fucking here.” You snip back at him, throwing the blankets down and standing to full height. You’re tired of his act, hidden behind his pathetic excuse of a kind guise, wanting him to say what he really felt. When he looked at you earlier, hovering over that man’s body, all you could see was contempt. He was upset with you—upset that you allowed yourself to be in danger, ignoring his lectures time and time again, that you weren’t mindful of your surroundings, upset with himself that he wasn’t there from the beginning. 

Joel looks offended, like maybe you wounded his ego or something similar, his hand held up defensively.

“You’re the one over there shakin’ like a leaf,” Joel accuses, “I told you to keep your damn gun out, told you to be careful—don’t you try and take that anger out on me.”

“Jesus, Joel,” You cry out in desperation, “careful? Two against one and you’re telling me I wasn’t careful? Fuck you.”

You toss your gun and knife sheath aside for good measure, stripping out of your coat and extra winter layers, his hardened gaze stuck on you. 

“I’ll take first watch.” You tell him flatly, reaching for the lantern on the table beside the door that led to the rest of the plant, a maze of halls and room. “I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

Joel knows that if he lets you leave, there is no repairing what little relationship you had—it would return to a tolerance rather than anything else. His hand wraps around your closed fist, forcing the latent back down as he moves to stand in front of you, head tilted your way.

“I’m sorry,” He apologizes, though it feels unsympathetic coming from him, and he’s blaming it on his tone, “okay?”

“It doesn’t matter, Joel.” You tell him adamantly. “You said it, it’s done. I’ll let Tommy know you don’t think I can handle myself anymore and you can keep running patrols without me. That’s what you want, right?”

Joel scoffs.

Say no, please say no. 

“What are you getting at?” Joel challenges.

“The first time I make a mistake—one that almost kills me and all you can think to do is shift the blame on me? That somehow I’m responsible for not handling it myself?”

He shifts slightly, jaw clenching as he moves his outstretched hand to rest against the doorframe, blocking you from the exit. 

“You never let me go alone,” You remind him, “why all the sudden today?”

Joel doesn’t answer. He knows why. He trusted you, trusted that you could handle it. Joel knows you’re not the one to blame, but he can’t battle with his internal guilt of putting you in that position, letting it come out in bursts of wrath.

You lean in slightly, his eyes mindful of your body language, shoving a finger into his chest roughly.

“Why isn’t it your fault, huh?” You ask, baiting a reaction out of him before you can’t stand the look on his face, mouth shut tight as he his eyes trace your movements, the soft brown irises now an encroaching darkness.

You scoff, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” It’s a snide comment that has you feeling a surge of confidence that you’ve finally rendered him speechless.  “Don’t act like you haven’t been bothered being around me all day—if the kiss bothered you that much you should’ve just told Tommy to switch out. Now, move.”

Joel doesn’t budge.

Now your patience is wearing then, reaching to shove his forearm out of the way, but he’s as solid as steel and doesn’t take too lightly to your touch, gripping your wrist and pulling it back in a harsh grip, one that has your face grimacing in pain.

“Say that again.” Joel demands, his voice shaking you to your core, the sickeningly dark turn it’s taken. 

You double down, “Move, Joel.” You say through clenched teeth, yanking your arm back to no avail.

You hadn’t realized how wound up you both were until now, the shared frustration and pique boiling over the edge.

You yank away again, forcing a quick change of position as Joel retaliates, shoving you against the table by the door, your legs buckling from the force of it as he towers over you.

“I apologized,” He glared at you through hooded eyes, chin tilting down slightly, “it’s your turn.”

You scoff softly, never making a move to push him away, his legs crowding between yours as they spread involuntarily, the only thing keeping you upright being the grip he had on your arm, leaving you hanging by a thread. If he let go, you’d surely collapse.

“Why don’t you tell me why you really switched patrols?” Joel suggests, tilting his head in interest. “Don’t lie to me—I’ll know.”

There was a side of you that couldn’t stand being around him, his proximity driving you crazy. But, there’s a bigger part that yearned to be around him, by his side—it was never like this at first, but you found yourself unable to escape him lately. 

You want to blame him for letting you in, letting his guard down—but you can’t. It wasn’t just his fault. It wasn’t just yours. 

You craved each other. Plain and simple.

“You tell me,” You counter, “I’m not the one keeping you from leaving.”

It snaps Joel—that feeling he’s been burying away all day. He’s nearly insatiable over it. 

He trades his grip on your wrist for your face, too quick to counter before he’s gripping your chin again like earlier, but under completely different pretenses, your mouth lolling open at the force and pulling a soft grunt from your lips, eyes narrow in defiance. 

“You are so goddamn stubborn,” He complains, eyes scanning over your face slowly, “—and you know exactly what you’re doing.”

You laugh bitterly, a choked gasp. 

He's never touched you like this, but intensity is all too familiar.

His grip was tight, your mind flashing back to the first time he held you, though involuntarily. There was intention now, meaning—and you needed him to give in to it. 

You blink once, slow, eyes staying shut for a moment longer than needed. There’s a soft sigh that leaves your nose, ghosts over Joel’s outstretched palm. When you open your eyes, there’s little left of the Joel you’ve become accustomed to.

“We’ve got all night, Joel.” His nostrils flare in warning, “Go on—do it.”

He won’t. Joel wouldn’t let himself. You’re waiting for the moment he lets you go, shuffles away and tucks himself into a corner for the rest of the night. But, it never comes.

Instead he’s surging forward, tilting your chin up roughly and forcing his lips against your own, nothing like the delicate kiss shared the night prior. There’s no gradual increase, no soft sighs and hesitant touches. He doesn’t want that and neither do you. 

You open your mouth in an airy gasp of breath and Joel jumps on the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips, into your mouth, pressing against your own until you finally, finally return his touch. He feels the heat, the weight of your hand where it rests against the seam of his jeans, fingers resting over his belt and your knuckles pressing into the firmness of his stomach, his breathing steady despite his eagerness to ravish you. He greedily pulls your bottom lip between his own, sucking lewdly until his teeth drag against the skin, pulling back with untamed eyes.

You narrow your eyes with intrigue, mouth quipping up into a smirk at his final break of self control, allowing himself what he wanted. There was no turning back now. 

He grips your hands, yanking you upright and forcing you to turn until your hip bones are hitting the blunt edge of the table, his movements haste but pointed, his palms rubbing over the soft curve of your hips, pressing underneath the material of your shirt and squeezing the skin. 

“Joel—“ You sing softly, your tone mocking.

“Keep quiet,” He warns, pulling you back suddenly and against his front, the heaviness of his cock pressing into your backside, strained through his jeans and craving a selfish need for release—it’s been too long for him and he’s bursting at the seams, “don’t wanna hear your smartass remarks.”

And you can hear the restraint in his voice, drowning in his thoughts—he wanted to ravish and pull you apart, not thinking about how he would put you back together and make you whole again. You shift back against him, a greedy rut of your ass against the stiff denim and he’s grunting under the weight of it.

“Get ‘em down,” He instructs, yanking at your jeans briefly before his touch is gone, hands working swiftly at his own.

The rustle of his belt is deafening, metal clanging against something solid, the quick shuffle of his zipper and the shifting off fabric. You rise without hesitation, unbuttoning your jeans and wiggling them far enough down your hips until they hit your knees, underwear following roughly as Joel shoved them down impatiently, bunching your shirt higher up your back as he rubs his fingers over your cunt sleazily. 

He’s waiting a beat, eyes examining you from behind and looking for any sign that you didn’t want this—it never comes. In fact, the subtle push back into his fingers is enough, two thick digits sinking inside slowly.

You gasp ruggedly, feeling the immediate difference in fullness to your own, the touch of someone else that you haven’t felt in so long. Joel is desperate, but so are you. 

You turn your face to the side, cheek pressed against the hard surface, fingers gripping either side of the table and you let yourself melt into his touch, his fingers working you over steadily, his other hand squeezing at the soft globes of your ass, following the insistent and impatient wiggle of your hips as you seek more friction, more fullness until Joel can’t stand it anymore, palm coming down in a rough slap to your backside to still you, a warning.

“You treat all the ladies like this?” 

He should’ve known you wouldn’t give yourself over this easy, his stifled chuckle coming from behind, low and dark, until he’s quickly switching back to menacing, his fingers increasing with speed and intensity, dragging a third finger along your center and pressing it in smoothly, forcing a lewd moan from your lips as you grip the edges of the table harder, willing to strain your neck for a look his way, a glimpse at his face to see how this was affecting him. You could only imagine, his groans stifled behind heavy puffs of air forced through his nose when you forced yourself back against his cock, inadvertently rubbing yourself against the length of his shaft.

“Fine, keep acting like you hate me.”

The loss of fingers is sudden, fingers fisting into your hair with a sudden fierceness as he pulls you upright, your hands grasping for purchase. He tilts your head back, allowing you the smallest glimpse of his face as he looks forward, talking to you but never allowing you the eye contact you desperately craved. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game here, sweetheart.”

You shake your head in disbelief, lifting your hand up to wind into his own overgrown hair, curling wildly. You pull taut, reveling in the grunt that slips past his lips.

“You don’t scare me, Joel.” 

He never could. You’ve seen all sides of him, the good and the bad—there was nowhere left for him to hide.

But, he should, he thinks. You should be terrified. 

“I don’t remember sayin’ I wanted to hear your voice,” Joel reprimands, “can’t fuckin’ listen today, can you?”

He turns his head toward you slightly, catching the playful glint in your eyes, the type that was asking to be pushed. Begging for it.

“Depends,” You smile, releasing the rough grip on his hair to slide between your bodies, cupping his cock from where he’s tucked it over his briefs, also pushed haphazardly down his hips, “are you going to fuck me, Joel?”

His name shouldn’t sound like that, falling from your lips in such a circumstance, but it drags a rabidness out of him he’s never felt before. 

“Say it again.” Joel demands—and you already know.

“Joel,” Your voice is sultry, dangerous, adding a squeeze of your hand to his length, thumb rubbing over the head of his cock, smoothing the slick of precum over the slit, “you started this, too afraid to finish it?”

Joel smirks at that, a smug expression crossing his face as releases the grip on your hair, shoving your hand away and gripping himself at the base, removing his fingers from inside you and replacing them with a slow press of his cock, watching your expression fall lax, mouth hung open in a silent release of pleasure. 

“You underestimate me,” He shakes his head in amusement, his own brow furrowing at your snug hold on him, walls clenching around him involuntarily, “Now, why don’t we teach you a lesson?”

You nod numbly, gasping loudly at the sudden change in pace, body shifting to lean forward and Joel’s hands slotting against your body, one secured firmly on your hip, the other guiding you back with a steady pressure against your shoulder, immediately blanking your mind, whatever rude quip you had poised was failing you.

“So — goddamn — stubborn,” He echoes from earlier, punctuating each word with a snap of his hips, no restraint, divulging in the pleasure both of you have been seeking for a while, “don’t fuckin’ listen, always testin’ me.”

You release a soft cry, reaching an arm behind you to squeeze at his side, tightening with every sharp thrust, the head of his cock nudging something deep inside of you, the feeling coiling in your gut despite yourself. It’s a dull ache, mewling desperately when he forgoes his hold on your hip to keep your arm stuck, thick fingers wrapping around your wrist to hold you steady, eyes shifting to watch you sink onto him with an unrestrained eagerness.

“Nothin’ to say now?” Joel pesters you, thumb rubbing the tender spot at the base of your neck, the start of your spine between your shoulder blades—your silence lingers, at least in words, your pathetic noises keeping you busy.

He feels like he’s finally got the upper hand with you, he just never realized this was what it would take. 

“Fuck—fuck, Joel.” You say through a stuttered sigh.

Joel grimaces from behind you, that longing feeling of release creeping on him, too long without it and he feels pathetic for it, but you—the sounds, the view.

Oh, the view. It’s your neediness for it that sucks him in, how eager your cunt is to take hold, the wet squelch growing louder, your slick soaking the base of his cock.

“Why’d you kiss me, huh?” Joel questions firmly, trying to draw the truth out in the heat of the moment, your movements growing desperate as you orgasm creeped in, blunt nails digging into his skin. He hissed, pulling you in tight, trading the hand on your shoulder for a squeeze to your chest, palm the mound of your breast through your shirt—still enough contact to drive you insane. 

“Wanted to—wanted to see how you would react.” You admit, but there was also that selfish need. You kissed him because you wanted to—and you knew he did too.

Joel huffs in response, not fully believing you. 

“Try again,” Joel assesses the way your body tenses when his hand shifts down, pressing over his fingers over your clit and driving you over the edge in an instant, your body arching into his touch as you come, a broken moan falling from your lips, “why?”

“Doesn’t matter—you kissed me back,” You argue tiredly, “You wanted it just as much as I did. Clearly.”

And in a way, it’s all the confession he needs. 

Joel growls lowly, pulling out abruptly to grip himself, squeezing himself at the head to delay his orgasm until it fades, face scrunching up tightly in anguish. 

“What—what are you doing?” 

Joel is already tucking himself back into his pants by the time you turn around, his expression stiff and avoiding your gaze. 

There it was again, the avoidance. 

You don’t know why it bothers you so much, but it does.

“I’ll take the first watch,” He says, shuffling backwards slightly, “get dressed.”

You stare back blanky, at a loss for words.

“Did you hear me?” He asks bluntly, brow now permanently furrowed in frustration.

“But—you didn’t—“ 

The silence lingers, your head tilting in question. Your expression softens suddenly, pulling weakly at your jeans to secure them back over your hips.

“Get some sleep, we’ll head out early tomorrow.”

You still had to send a bigger team to scout the place thoroughly, a distant memory now.

You’re so fucking confused. A few minutes prior he was lost in the moment, though still wound up and tense—but it was the biggest break in demeanor he’s ever given you, the most he’s allowed himself to touch you, be close to you. 

Joel didn’t want to admit it, but he didn’t deserve it. He was trying to convince himself it was a mistake, that this was a fluke. 

He clears his throat awkwardly, hesitating for a brief moment as his hand hovers over the doorknob before he’s leaving you alone. Again. 

Joel handles himself later that night, long after you’ve gone asleep, a permanent frown on your face when he peeks his head in before he’s traveling down the hall to a separate room, cupping himself in his palm eagerly, groaning out your name as he comes.

Somehow, it makes him feel even worse.

The week that follows is tumultuous. 

Tommy swears you and Joel off of patrol for a while, tells you that as soon as he has you two alone, gathering the full story of the attack, but somehow—Joel always weasels his way out. 

He’s gone most of the daylight, leaving you to fill your days around Jackson, helping wherever it was needed. And when it wasn’t, you were stuck inside your home, watching the snow melt from the ground, only to be covered with a new blanket of it the next day.

Joel always comes home late, heavy feet scuffling down the sidewalk after dark and entering his house, Ellie having already turned in for the night. His bedroom light comes on a few minutes later and it never shuts off, his shadow crossing the window every now and then. 

He can’t sleep, but neither can you.

At first you blamed it on the bodies—but none of that was new to you. You’ve killed before, animals, infected, raiders, even a few bystanders in a situation long ago, nothing they’ve done to end up the way they did. 

You followed a bad group for too long, but eventually you found Jackson—things were different here. Joel’s told you about the horrible things he’s done to survive, assures you it wasn’t anything you could blame yourself for.

This world made people rabid. It made people afraid.

There were people, much like Joel, that used to terrify you. But this Joel, he was lost and worn down, weathered by the world and by age. He’s afraid to let himself indulge, enjoy—you saw it that night, his hesitancy to look at you afterwards. 

And that ache that lingered for a few days, it made you realize that you were missing something you couldn’t have. It was clear on Joel’s face that he’d made a mistake. With you. 

Joel looks bitter the week that follows, you having convinced Tommy to let you back out, assuring him that nothing was wrong. He’s hesitant, rightfully so, but you’re too convincing. 

You even offer to run patrol with him, or Jesse—literally anyone but Joel, who seemed obviously disgruntled by your presence that morning.

Tommy clocks it immediately, swiping a finger between you both, “You know what—I’m sending you two out together.” It’s dreadful. “Take the lodge again,” and Tommy waits for everyone to part ways, except for Joel and you, before he’s eyeing you both down, “work out whatever argument you both have going—or you’re both coming off patrols until I feel like putting you back on.”

Joel grumbles at that, adjusting the thick gloves over his hand and shaking his head with a look down. Tommy seems slightly apologetic when you lock eyes, but it’s necessary. You were too scared to admit it to yourself, but it’s exactly what you needed.

*

You can’t be bothered to stay still, wandering around the lodge aimlessly, picking up some scattered trash, sifting through the small library that had accumulated over time, worn and slightly rained over books, the pages stiff and discolored. 

Joel’s cheeks are still tinged pink from his last watch, arms crossed over his stomach as he glares at the small fire burning in the fire pit, crackling softly in the silence.

He’s being insistently stubborn, somehow managing to avoid any exchange of words in the past eight hours, not giving you his usual orders, whether delivered in a clipped tone or a kind one—it’s just nothing.

And considering how talkative he was last time you ran patrol with him, you found it to be bullshit.

You grab a random book, large and bulky and make your way toward him—he sees you coming but he ignores it, the book hitting solid against his chest as you force it there, making a snide comment to rattle him.

“To entertain yourself, since you’re so miserable,” Your eyes drag over his face, his eyes lilting up your way, the fire melting them into a warm, honey brown, “and you won’t even have to worry about finishing.”

He grabs your wrist suddenly, thinking that he might pull you toward him, but he tosses it away, throwing the book to the side too. You sigh through your nose, frustrated.

“What’s it gonna take, Joel?” 

There’s an ire of defeat in your voice, a willingness to do just about anything to put this to rest. 

“Do I need to leave Jackson, is that it?”

That gets his attention, his gaze narrowing fiercely.

“Don’t say that shit,” He bites, “you got a death wish or something?”

“Well, you clearly don’t want me around, so who cares?”

Joel bites at the inside of his cheek—he didn’t agree with that. 

“Give me something, Joel. Anything.” You plead, hand accidentally brushing his thigh as you fall into the spot beside him, imitating the closeness he craved but couldn’t bring himself to ask for, not again. 

He tenses under your touch, fist curling at his side, noticing how you pointedly keep your grip there. 

“Sweetheart.” It’s a warning.

But, it’s the biggest sign he’s given you. There was still a fondness there, lingering behind wall after wall that he’s built up.

He doesn’t move your hand either, your fingers dragging up the inside of his thigh, along the seam and stopping where his jeans creased at his groin, palm settling over the curve of his thigh.

“So, do we work things out or not?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper, talking like you might scare him away. 

And, yeah—Joel wasn’t big on hashing things out, confessing his thoughts or emotions and conveying them into words, that was never a surprise to you. But, you needed equal ground. 

You weren’t looking for a confession or some dramatic change in pace with your relationship—whatever you could classify it as. A partnership, maybe?

You need something mutually beneficial, something that was give and take on both ends. 

You squeeze at the junction of his thigh, taut muscle giving way as Joel shows little signs of being affected. His eyes follow though, acutely aware of your intention.

This was you returning the favor. 

This was you cornering him, like he had you—if he didn’t want it he would’ve pushed you away ages ago, but he does want it. He needs it. 

His jaw flexes under the weight of your grip, watching you move slowly to sink to the ground, thankful that this floor wasn’t nearly as dirty as most places. Joel shifts slightly to accommodate you, thighs spreading open to box you in, hands coming to rest down at his side, flat against the cushion.

You push at his coat lightly, forcing it away from his chest until he gets the idea, stripping himself the rest of the way, his unbuttoned flannel falling open.

You work quietly, eyes flicking up toward him occasionally to check in, make sure he was still with you. He’s mesmerized now, despite himself. Locked in.

He doesn’t stop your hands when they reach for the zipper of his jeans, unbuttoning and loosening them in one fluid motion, tugging at his jeans until, again, he catches on, forcing them down just enough.

It’s surprising how in tune he is with you despite how hard he tried to keep his distance, hoping that one big mistake would fade away—but frankly, it hadn’t left either of your minds since then. 

“Touch yourself.” You command softly, an amused aspect to your voice.

Joel balks slightly, his bewilderment something to enjoy.

“What?” You ask innocently, “Is that too personal? Sorry–I should’ve considered that when I let you fuck me over a table.”

His nostrils flare in annoyance, but he listens. Thank god. He slips his fingers under the band of his underwear, palming himself lightly under the fabric, leaving you to lean back onto your heels, enjoying the lazy show he put on for you.

He had nothing to be ashamed of.

His fingers roll against the taut skin of his sack, drifting upwards over his shaft until he finally has the courage to shift his underwear to sit snug under his balls, watching your eyes drift from his cock to his face. Joel’s mouth parted briefly, rubbing his thumb over the head, glistening with a sheen of precum, your hands itching to touch him. 

He knows it will lead to nothing but bad outcomes, but he’s indulging in it. Allowing it.

“Come here,” He’s using his free hand to beckon you forward, leaving his palm extending for you to lean into, resting your chin there gently, “open your mouth.”

You obliges, sweetening the deal by sticking your tongue out, earning a gruff laugh in response, softening your gaze on him. There were plenty of other ways to resolve things, but this was so much easier.

He slides the head over your tongue in a deft slap, slipping it past your lips slowly before he’s pulling back and repeating the process again, watching as you eagerly follow his movements until you’re bordering on impatience.

“Don’t think you have the upper hand here, sweetheart.” Joel says, eyebrow quirking up in amusement at your annoyed expression. “You want it?”

You tilt your head at him, eyes narrowing. “You want me to beg for it?”

Joel chuckles at the thought, shaking his head. “I didn’t pin you as the type.”

Cheeky Joel was something to admire, rolling your eyes and shoving his hands away, allowing yourself to take over fully and leaving him with nothing to do but watch, rolling your tongue around the head and through the slit, mouth enveloping the heady taste of him. 

Joel was always good at keeping his composure, even now–but you were looking to break him down, nothing but a mumbling, begging mess of himself, even for a brief moment.

You take him in slowly, soft and parted lips pressing down the length of him, the heavy weight of his cock pressing against your tongue, cheeks, until he’s nudging the back of your throat and you swallow out of reflex.

His knuckles flex, turning white as he curls them inwards and digs into the cheap cushion, the stitching protesting under his grip.

There he is. 

You make a small noise, a soft bubble of laughter out of pure enjoyment, pulling back with a showy drag of your tongue up his shaft until you’re sinking down again, burying your nose in the short, trimmed thatch of hair at the base of his cock, ignoring that telltale feeling to let up, breathing deep through your nose. 

“Goddamnit,” He curses, the hand not gripping the cushion rising slightly before slamming back down in a fist, the material taking most of the blow, “you gotta ease up on me.”

He doesn’t add the please, but you can see it’s implied.

You smile sweetly when you pull away, a thin line of spit connecting your lips to the wet head of his cock, stroking him languidly to keep busy, running your thumb along the thick vein that traced along the underside. 

“Don’t think so,” It’s sickening, tone laced in sugar and daring him—for what, you weren’t sure, “—more?”

Joel nods quickly, widening his stance as he sunk further into the couch, your hands bracing against his stomach as he filtered his fingers through your hair, framing it away from your face as you continued, driving him to near insanity with how easily you would take him down over and over again, stopping to tease your tongue over the head of his cock, realizing just how sensitive that part of him was.

He grunts on a particular rough pass, yanking your hair back and allowing a centimeter of reprice as your lips barely brush the aching tip, “You can stop, sweetheart. It’s alright.”

It feels like a punishment, not allowing himself to seek that relief—he sees it as a barrier, that by not allowing it, things won’t ever reach a point of no return. Not that this wasn’t already dangerous enough—it’s a ridiculous rule, but Joel follows it. He’d give you as much pleasure as you asked and then some, if that’s what you wanted.

And it clicks in your head slowly, his cock pulsing dully in your hands, begging for it. 

No. He wasn’t doing that again.

“No,” You echo your thoughts, “Give me your hand.”

“Darlin’—“

“Joel, shut up.” You demand, gripping his open palm and replacing it with your own, “I want you to come in my mouth.”

Joel looks conflicted, eyebrow pinching in a mix of pleasure and regret, his mind blanking the moment you press a gentle kiss to the head, pressing your tongue flat again and moving his hand in tandem until he starts to give in, his breaths becoming shorter, more strangled.

“That’s it,” You mumble a praise through his haziness—he doesn’t know how to take it, the feeling so foreign to him, “take control, Joel.”

His eyes fall shut briefly, forcing focused breaths through his nose as his free hand grips your face, keeping you still as he strokes himself roughly, that last string of self control breaking under your gaze when he tilts his head down to look at you, soft gaze staring back at him and he’s coming over your tongue and into your mouth with a warm rush, the taste of him overwhelming your senses as he squeezes up to the tip, milking every last bit of himself into your mouth before he’s pulling away and gently guiding your mouth closed.

“Shit—“ He groans quietly, cupping himself tenderly as he pulls away, watching you swallow and tracing a trace of him at the corner of your lip back into your mouth with your thumb, staring him down intently, “you’re fuckin’ greedy, you know that?”

You shrug proudly, rising to your feet slowly, the ache from sitting crouched so long singing a protest from your joints.

“Add it to the list,” You snark at him, taking a casual seat beside him as he tucks himself away, your hands working carefully to roll up your jacket and tuck it under your head as you recline, laying down on your side, “right?”

Joel scoots away to accommodate you, looking perplexed at how quickly you’ve changed your demeanor, yawning until your eyes squeeze shut. 

“Stop staring and get some sleep, Joel.” You gripe, reaching blindly to ball his coat up and toss it at his chest, “Problem solved, we’re even now.”

Joel puffs through his lips, ignoring that lingering feeling as you very quickly forced the distance between him and you—a payback to his own previous actions. It hurts, stings, and now he realizes what that meant and why that frown never left your face before, not even on the ride home or long thereafter.

He’s fucked. 

To say things escalate is an understatement.

The two of you never actually talk, avoiding all aspects of emotional vulnerability in turn for your usual interactions—small conversations, jokes, driving each other up the wall with the constant close proximity due to your assigned jobs. But, now there’s more.

There's the Joel that wants and takes, stops holding back his desires and gives you just about every possible orgasm from then on. This Joel is insatiable if he allows himself to be. He’s downright filthy and terrifying when it mattered and he found that the more you seemed to give yourself over, the easier it was for him to stop worrying so much. 

And he seems lighter nowadays, happier—though, it was still Joel. There was only so much to enjoy, his smiles few and far between. However, that smirk, laced in a smugness he carried with himself when he was alone with you—it had become a regular sight to see and something you craved when you’d finally get him alone.

It never starts off slow. Joel’s always itching by the time rotation leads you his way. You two keep it close to your chest like a secret–saving times like this strictly for patrols.

Joel doesn’t even wait sometimes, cornering you the moment the horses are tied up, bags set aside, crowding up behind you as he wrangles your jeans down, along with his, and presses himself inside you with a deep grunt, pressing you up against whatever hard surface was near–it didn’t matter, the ferocity of his thrusts clouding your mind.

It’s punishment for how well you tease him on the rides there, thighs spread wide over the saddle and always riding just a few inches ahead, leaning forward enough that you can stick out your ass, Joel’s eyes drawing toward you immediately. 

It was easy.

“You like messin’ with me, don’t you?” He chastises, palming at the inside of your thigh in desperation, pulling you wider and wider for him until it aches and you have nothing to do but take it. “Fuckin’ with my head?”

You laugh breathily, head thrown back against his shoulder as you moan wantonly, thick fingers bearing down on your throat, keeping you tight against him. “It’s not my fault–fault you can’t control it.” You reply innocently, stumbling over your words when his fingers press against your core.

And it’s often like this. Fast, hurried, no care or soft, caressing touches involved. It’s simpler that way.

But, eventually, Joel breaks down–little by little.

*

A week or two passes by and Joel seems desperate. 

“What did I just say?” He seethed, voice laced with annoyance, “Keep your eyes open.”

He’s right there, his hand, his fingers, buried deep inside your cunt. Joel’s on edge again, having ordered you to strip down naked while he remained completely clothed, the cold air prickling your skin like this, the lingering days of Winter coming to a close. It’s dark here, wet and mucky, the only barrier between you and the floor is an old blanket that Joel had stowed away in his saddle. He spent the last two weeks dealing with a copious amount of shit–killing more infected than they’re used to, dealing with mundane problems around Jackson that shouldn’t be his problems, but in being Tommy’s brother, he took a piece of the burden off of him.

You gasp sharply, feeling the force of Joel’s grip as he orders your eyes open, an impossible feat in the moment with how easily he’s able to bring you near the edge with just his fingers–something he found out fairly quickly. 

“Joel–Joel, please,” You beg–it’s new for you, something you don’t do often, “let me–fuck–”

“Hmm, sweetheart?” Joel questions, igniting a fire in your belly that won’t go out. He likes you this way, clawing at him, nearly on the brink of tears over how bad you need him. “Spit it out.”

You’re hastily shoving him away, brow pinched in determination as you shove him down, working desperately at his buckle, his pants, working them down with little care or finesse, gripping the length of him and sinking down in one quick movement. 

It punches a moan out of Joel’s chest that you’re not used to, his head slamming pack against his bag, the makeshift pillow he’s got stuffed behind his head as he grips your hips tight, eyes locked on the center where you’re both connected, grunting with the hurried bounce of your hips, losing what little patience you had left as you chase your orgasm, shoving his shirt up his chest to feel him–all soft, tanned skin under your fingertips as you brace yourself against him, using the surface for leverage.

He can’t stand to watch you this way, tits jostling with every hurried thrust, blunt nails clawing at his abdomen, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, again. He likes you facing away because he can hide his own inflections, how well you drive him wild–you’ve never cared, especially not now. 

Joel grunts raggedly, forcing out a hoarse whisper, “You’re fuckin’ killing me here.”

A soft laugh bubbles in your chest, head lolling forward and eyes opening to look at him.

“Mmm, eyes on me, Joel.” You beckon, his slow gaze trailing upwards, nodding in response to his wrecked state, hair sticking up wildly, teeth grazing his bottom lip gently. “God–it feels so good, doesn’t it?

Joel nods absently, his hands slipping from your hips to cup your ass, squeezing the flesh in his hands, aware of how your touch burns a trail up toward his face, coaxing his bottom lip to freedom, grazing your thumb over the soft tissue, soothing the ache.

You ignore how easily he takes the pad of it over his tongue and lets you press the digit beyond his lips, how willing he’s being to let you take what you want.

He pulls out before he comes, spilling into his hand to contain the mess, leaving you enraptured with his expression as his face pulls up in anguish, the same expression he has when he’s bothered or annoyed but edged with something more, his breath catching.

He rolls you back over soon after, replacing his hand with his mouth, hot tongue lapping into your folds and tasting, savoring, the mix of you two tangled together and he devours until you come, hand yanking hard at his hair.

*

April comes quickly—it means longer patrols, more problems out in the field with the infected less dormant, and Jackson coming alive more often at night, everyone enjoying the weather after a bitter winter.

You find yourself at Tommy’s doorstep one night.

Maria had been planning this dinner for a few weeks, something special for Tommy’s birthday, and somehow you got roped into going.

It was Ellie.

Joel was the least bit surprised when you showed up at the front door that night, dressed up nicer than he’s had the privilege to witness. You’re smiling, a flowy dress cutting off mid-thigh, forgoing the usual sweater with the air warming up, leaving your shoulders bare. 

Joel nods in greeting when Ellie peeks around his shoulder, beaming at the sight out of you.

“Thank god,” She groans, “Those two are insufferable together,” Tommy and Joel, “—they’ve been arm wrestling each other in the backyard for the last hour.”

Your eyebrows raise, looking over at Joel. He’s got the hint of a smile on his face, looking down at Ellie before he’s shoving her away with a palm to the crown of her head, his arm flexing under the fitted cotton shirt he wore, muscle on full display. 

It’s easy to forget how strong Joel is under all those layers, but it’s even more apparent now with how often you find him stripped down underneath you, behind you, watching him become more and more comfortable around you as the weeks pass, finally giving in to whatever it was that you two were indulging in.

It was mostly sex—a means for release and often a cure for boredom and neither of you minded it much, but there was something lingering in the shadows. 

You were good at ignoring it, apparently so was Joel.

He leads you to the backyard with a silence you’ve become accustomed to, and spends most of the dinner laughing at Ellie’s terrible and poorly timed jokes. It’s such a sight, seeing how effortlessly Ellie can break that man down, and you realize just how deeply he cared for her, even if she wasn’t his daughter. 

He glances at you frequently, a silent check-in.

You were fine—a little tired, maybe? 

You excuse yourself to the bathroom with a flick of your hair behind your ear and a whine in protest from your chair as it scrapes the floor, leaving the rest of the party in the backyard while you traverse inside. 

It isn’t long before there’s a knock behind the closed door and that unsettling creak, only to be met face to face with Joel. He looks relaxed, placated, his face falling into a natural smirk.

And based on the drink in his hand, slightly inebriated. 

“Lost?” You tease, fixing yourself idly in the mirror, watching as Joel crossed the threshold and nudged the door close behind him. “Joel–”

“Don’t worry, darlin’.” Joel soothes, “Tommy thinks I’m using the one upstairs, everyone’s outside.”

You don’t need him to explain to know what he’s implying. But, for him to want you here–now? That was different. You hate how it made your heart skip, realizing how willing he was to risk this bond of secrecy because he just couldn’t get you out of his head.

His glass slides against the countertop, the soft scuff of his boots grazing the floor as he moves in behind you, causing you to pull away slightly as he raises a hand, brushing your strap down your shoulder and mouthing the skin there, “You’re drunk.” You muse, earning a subtle shake of his head.

“Not at all,” Joel denies, “can’t be in a good mood?”

You sigh at his touch, opposite hand grazing under your dress and over the skin of your stomach, pinky finger grazing the hem of your underwear.

“When are you ever?”

Joel ignores your snark, “Don’t act like you don’t want it, sweetheart.”

He can feel the heat radiating off your body, the wetness that coats his finger as he dips it under the fabric and down the center of your cunt, “Joel,” You stress, “there’s people outside, we can’t.”

“Don’t worry about that,” He says softly, “Ellie’s gone home, Tommy and Maria are busy with a neighbor–if you want me to stop, tell me. You don’t need to make excuses.”

Your silence is all the answer he needs.

“Been needin’ this all day,” He admits, cupping your mound roughly, shifting to press the hard line of his chest against your back, pulling you taut, his idle fingers playing with the soft material of your dress, “This is cute–it’s a nice dress.”

You roll your eyes, though fondly. He can’t see it, face buried into your neck as he mouths along the skin, slipping the straps of your dress down until your tits spring free, nipples pebbling under the cool air.

“Are we talking or fucking?” You ask impatiently, pointedly rubbing your ass back against his body, earning a dark chuckle in response.

“I never said anything about fucking,” Joel points out smugly, “but since you’re askin.”

It’s the impatiences that brings you to take matters into your own hands, sliding your dress up high enough that Joel can yank your underwear down, undoing his pants with one hand and freeing himself hastily, sliding into you roughly, forcing a strained gasp from your throat. 

Joel shushes you, covering your mouth with his hand.

“Careful, these walls ain’t soundproof.” He warns, his forceful thrusts plunging you forward, eyes dragging toward the mirror image of you and him, a sight to see as he smirks from behind, admiring you openly. “Look at you.”

He grin’s devilishly, your senses overwhelmed, showing through your eyes as you squeezed them shut, only to be forced back open by Joel’s coaxing voice.

He clicks his tongue in warning, breath hot against your ear. “Open those eyes, sweetheart. Need you to see how good you’re takin’ my cock,” You whine into his hand, his brutal thrust driving you further into the countertop, ignoring the pain that spreads, overtaken by the insatiable need to come, “and how pretty you look when you come.”

Pretty. He’s never used that word before. It sends a flutter through your chest, down to your core.

It’s more intense this way, the subtle pull in Joel’s face when he drives deeper, his own orgasm on the horizon. His teeth grit hard, small peaks of it as he bares his lips back in a growl, squeezing at the soft planes of your body that he could reach, driving you over the edge with little warning, not that you needed the help. 

Seeing him this way was enough. God, was it enough.

“Fuck, fuck—“ He curses a symphony, holding himself back as he gripped at the base of his shaft and you jump at the opportunity, turning to him in a haze and sinking to your knees despite the cold floor beneath you, urging him with a silent plea as you open your mouth to him, nodding subtly.

That’s all it takes for him, a few quick strokes of his cock and he’s spilling into your mouth, head hung back at how intensely it hits him, the skin of his neck straining over the muscle, his mouth open in a soundless grunt. 

*

Luckily, Joel is the one that takes care of the goodbyes. You wouldn’t be able to face Tommy or Maria after such an instance, adjusting yourself back to a semi-presentable state in the bathroom, with some of Joel’s help as he sets your dress back over your shoulders.

It shouldn’t feel endearing, not in this context. But, it does.

“Wait for me out front,” He tells you, buckling his pants, eyes connecting with yours briefly, squinting curiously, he reaches a hand forward and wiping a mix of spit and what you can only assume is his come, away from your mouth and onto his jeans, “—you had a little…”

You both laugh at the unspoken, rubbing a tired hand over your face as you nod, shoving him away playfully.

Things are vastly different when you’re facing him on your doorstep now, his lingering presence a hint at what he didn’t have the courage to ask.

“Stay for a while?” You suggest softly, nodding toward your front door.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” Joel agrees.

You never realize how much Joel likes to talk about music until he’s finally found himself relaxed, your body reclined into his open, outstretched legs as he adjusts himself sideways. It doesn’t feel intimate, no—but it feels different. Joel rests a hand over your shoulder, massaging the tight muscle with a steady grip. His voice is nice, soothing.

You fall asleep like this, but Joel is already gone by morning.

By June, things are confusing. Good, but…confusing.

Joel and you have a routine by now—off days were usually spent at your house, occasionally Joel’s (but rarely) and only when Ellie wasn’t around, the days that were spent patrolling were fairly normal, aside from the insistent touching you both allowed yourself now, always leading to something neither of you could be bothered to stop. 

Joel’s vocal about things now—what he likes, what he wants, but he’s also holding back. You can see it when things get a little too intense, hands grabbing at clothes, pulling each other in with a rabidness that neither of you could calm.

He doesn’t kiss you, not really. He likes to nip and bite and leave bruises where only he can see them, but he won’t allow his eyes to linger on your face for too long, your lips, too afraid things might be misconstrued.

Not that it mattered, Joel was already fucked beyond repair. He’s only ever felt this intensely once, before—his relationship with Sarah’s mom was a fling that turned into something more, but ultimately fizzled, crashed and burned. It gave him Sarah, but he never understood what heartbreak was until then, young and naive and wanting to make things work.

Clearly, they never did.

He feels that with you, though he’s smarter now. He can be cold and distant when he feels that pull in his chest, push away just enough that you won’t pry. But, you’re smart—you’re stubborn, so goddamn stubborn. 

And he knows eventually, things are going to implode.

He just didn’t expect it to happen like this. 

You were starting to hate the lodge, finding yourself lingering to the connecting shops down the road—a guitar store that Joel and Tommy picked through often, a small coffee shop further down the way that didn’t have much left for picking, but it helped when you felt cooped up, a nice change of scenery.

But even then, the lodge wasn't a luxury to patrol anymore. Summer is practically unbearable most days there, the building always too warm, too stuffy.

Joel had other ideas this time around, stripping you down slowly by the couch nestled against the large window that overlooked the rest of the small town surrounding it.

It was quiet here.

Joel presses you into the soft velvet cushion, his own body stripped bare, a combat to the heat, he says.

You didn’t mind. In fact, it was everything you wanted. 

He’s never allowed such contact, all of you against him, the slow push of his hips inside of you has you gasping softly, fingers gripping his biceps. His place is slow, dreadful, and you both are already sweating, skin sticky and damp.

Joel doesn’t seem to mind.

He seems needier today, more willing to let the sounds slip from his mouth, his hands more curious, pulling your knee tight around his hip and gripping at the knee, head tilting up as he huffed through his nose, tense jaw, teeth clenched. He’s looking off distantly, not at you or your body, or anywhere in your vicinity really, but the torture on his face is all the same. He couldn’t hide it.

You moan softly, mumbling soft praises under your breath when he fucks into you hard enough it has you clawing at his chest, gripping tight at his shoulder, seeking whatever skin you could touch. 

Eventually, your touch lingers near his face, palm spreading over his warm cheek, thumb running along the strong hook of his nose, forcing his attention down toward you. Your fingertips graze his lips gently, other hand mirror the action as you caress his face, his eyes closing under your touch. 

The arm holding him upright nearly gives you, barely catching himself as his chest is pressed in tight against yours, changing the angle immensely.

That couldn't have been you’re doing—not a chance. But, you’re curious. You guide his face to your chest, his mouth sliding lazily against the skin as he pumps into you steadily. You meet his rough grunts with whispered praises, his breath becoming more frantic as time goes on until he’s finally chancing a look your way, eyes soft and pleading. He looks lost. You frown slightly, guiding his face toward yours and ghosting your own lips against his, never quite indulging, keeping the praises going with a soft whisper.

“God, you always fuck me so good,” You say in a breathy whisper against his lips, “so good, Joel.”

Joel squeezes you tighter, a sign of his impending orgasm. “Right there,” You sigh, “fuck—you feel that? Need this all the time, everyday.”

This. Him.

“Sweetheart—“ He warns, grunting into your open mouth, knees buckling as you slide your tongue against his teeth, grazing his top lip.

“Don’t—don't,” You panic, eyes connecting with him suddenly, “wanna feel you, all of you.”

It was something Joel could reflect on later, consider the consequences, because now was not that time—not with you looking at him so earnestly, pleading with him.

He slips a calculated hand between your joined bodies and has you both hanging over the edge in seconds, gasping into each other’s mouth in desperation as Joel does something completely selfish and unlike him.

He kisses you, no qualms or hesitation. It’s messy and wet but it’s him—his mouth soothes the ache as your orgasm overwhelms your body, his own chest rattling at the force, moaning pathetically against your mouth as he comes in hot, warm pulses inside of you, cunt clenching around him tight, like a glove. 

Joel soon slumps against your body, all energy drained from him, your hands weaving through his hair gently, caressing the soft spot behind his ear.

He doesn’t complain, letting you hold him until his cock softens, pulling out of you with a disgruntled noise before he’s resting on the cushion beside you, back pressed tight against one side to make room for the both of you, tilting himself sideways and letting his fingers drift over your naked frame, indulging in every part of you. 

“Should we talk about this?” You ask curiously, voice softened under his gaze, his fist pressed to his cheek.

There it was.

Joel looks down briefly, his touch stalling over the spot between your breasts, right over your heart.

“I’m not even sure what this is,” Joel admits, the most honest he’s ever been with anyone, “just that—I enjoy it.”

He's being honest, he's letting you in. Your heart soars.

Joel was tired of fighting it. He'd be ignorant to think you didn't see it just then or even before.

“I would classify it as fucking,” You joke lightly, “but that—that didn’t feel like fucking to me.”

Joel shakes his head, “No—it didn’t.” He agrees, grabbing for the blanket draped over the back of the couch, spreading it gently over your frame despite the heat, finger fingers grazing along the underside of your breasts, a teasing touch that has you giggling in response, his own laugh following.

It’s a beautiful sound.

“Or we don’t have to figure it out at all,” You suggest, realizing that trying to force something out of Joel was not the way to go, it never had been—he’d come to whatever conclusion he felt on his own, “that’s okay, too.”

“We can save it for another day,” Joel promises, his fingers tracing up toward your jaw, his palm resting to cup your cheek, a tender gesture that’s all new, “right now, I just wanna quiet that pretty little mouth of yours.”

He sees your eyes light up with intrigue, already tilting toward him eagerly.

“You want that?” He teases, earning an eager nod in response before he’s closing his mouth over yours again, kissing with a leisureliness he didn’t have before, “Answer me, sweetheart?”

“I’ll take whatever you give me, Joel.”

And it terrified Joel, because he’d give you anything.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[kkvqwrites]

You Flinched | 141 Headcannons

Don't mind me, just some 141 boys reacting to finding out reader has a history of abuse or DV. We all know that our boys would never harm a loved one, but I began thinking about them responding to their loved one being triggered. Because trauma isn't rational.

CW: DV mentioned/alluded to (not on-screen), trauma

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,833

A/N: Yes this is self-indulgent because I have my own history and use my comfort characters to help. So I hope it can help someone else in the same way it helps me. Also forgive me, I threw it together on a whim and didn't really edit it.

Simon "GHOST" Riley

Simon is usually very careful with how he presents. He knows he's big, he knows he's intimidating, and most of all he knows what it's like to be vulnerable and scared of someone bigger than you. He knows when to use his voice/stature to his advantage (like on the battlefield) vs when to tone it down (like in private). He never wants to be scary to those he loves, ever. In fact, he wants his loved ones to have the opposite experience from what he had growing up.

That said, we all have our moments. It was, you both could admit, a silly argument over what ended up amounting to a non-issue. He was fresh back from the field and sleep-deprived and you had had a long shitty day and so a small disagreement became an argument. Somewhere in the bickering Simon decided he was over it. He stood, crumpling the paper he was holding into a fist and raising his voice, which he almost never did.

The combination of the fist and the yelling was what did it. He stood up so tall, so fast, and suddenly you were eight again, hiding in the cupboards and terrified to make a sound. Not knowing what would happen if you were found, but knowing for certain it wouldn't be good. When your parents went into their rages, there was nothing to do but hide and wait it out. As if reciting a dance you knew by heart, you shrank back, hands coming up defensively.

Simon noticed instantly, despite your best attempts to play it off. He knew all too well the look of a terrorized inner child and recognized it immediately in your pale face and shrinking posture. It broke his heart; he immediately regretted lashing out as it was, but this was even worse.

He'd step back, giving you space. He'd ask permission before approaching you and before hugging you, and once you gave it you'd be wrapped in an embrace that was both tender and hard as steel. He'd hold you for a long time, not saying anything. If you cracked and it all came spilling out, he'd listen intently. If you didn't want to talk about it, he'd respect it and not breathe a word about it until you were ready. You could feel in his heartbeat his need to make you feel safe warring with his desire to find whoever made you afraid and teach them a lesson about fear.

Simon is a man of actions, not words, and he's never been a fan of "sorry" and instead prefers follow-through. Now, though, the word poured from his lips. Wrapping your arms around him in return, you forgave him wordlessly.

The next free time you both had, he'd surprise you by taking you to a shooting range. Another weekend, he'd teach you basic knife skills and how to throw a decent punch. If questioned, he'd say it was something he'd been meaning to do for a while with a dismissive shrug. But you had a hunch, even if he couldn't or wouldn't verbalize it, that he was sharing with you the ways he'd learned to overcome feeling powerless when he was younger. By learning to defend and fight back, you could take your agency back and walk into the world unafraid. It didn't matter that he'd grind anyone who bothered you into dust, because it was about you and making you feel empowered. Simon wasn't one to give you bouquets of flowers and poems, but he could give you this. And, slowly but surely, it started to work.

John "SOAP" Mactavish

You and Johnny were out with some mutual friends at the pub one night, drinking and having fun. Your boisterous Scotsman was ever the social butterfly, and he never failed to bring the party wherever he went.

You and a friend were laughing at something on your phone, and when you handed it Johnny to show him, you froze as your eyes saw an unmistakable silhouette over his shoulder. You recovered quickly, sure that it was a mistake, but not quickly enough. Johnny's face went serious as he studied your expression, which was suddenly tense.

You'd play it off, not wanting to ruin the good vibe. You'd even double check to reassure yourself that it wasn't him, but your stomach would sink once you looked back. In a corner of the bar, nursing a glass of dark liquor, was your ex. He noticed you at the same time, and the eye contact made you feel sick.

At this, Johnny would take a look for himself, and would pick out the man eyeing you from across the bar right away. After giving the man a once-over, he'd turn back to you.

"Is that who I think it is?" You'd nod. You had told him bits and pieces of how your ex treated you, but left out the worst of it lest Johnny go on a rampage to defend your honor. He's loyal to a fault and would not take kindly to anyone mistreating people he cared about.

The unfortunate thing was, being special forces came with an ability to read people and situations, and your reaction to seeing your ex filled in the gaps well enough for Johnny to understand what wasn't being said. You were scared, and the man seemed to know it by the smug expression he wore as he stared at you.

Rather than cause a scene, as you had feared, Johnny scooted so he completely blocked your view of the other man (and the man's view of you via his broad shoulders). Seamlessly, he'd continue the conversation with the folks around you as if nothing was amiss, despite his hand never leaving your thigh in a move that was at once possessive and reassuring. You leaned into the touch, comforted by Johnny's presence and relieved that the situation had seemingly blown over.

A bit later, Johnny announced he was going to the bar to get another round for the table. On instinct, your gaze shot to where your ex had been sitting, but his seat was now empty. Breathing a sigh of relief, your eyes turned to follow Johnny through the room. You could never get tired of looking at him. It wasn't until he reached the bar and clapped a fellow patron on the shoulder that you realized the individual he was talking to wasn't the bartender, but your ex who had moved seats. Keeping his hand on the man's shoulder, Johnny struck up a conversation like a true natural.

Oh no.

You braced for a commotion, but Johnny's expression and body language stayed friendly and open. You couldn't hear what he was saying to the man, and if asked he'd tell you he was just introducing himself. But when he let go of your ex's shoulder and flagged down the bartender to order a drink, the other man threw some money onto the bar and all but ran out the door.

The place would become a frequent haunt for your friend group, but you'd never see your ex darken the doorstep again after Johnny's talk with him. Good riddance.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You and Kyle had been going steady for a bit now, and you were excited to introduce him to your family. Well, most of your family. You didn't have a good relationship with your stepdad, and Kyle respected that it was a sore spot for you. He would never pry, but he could pick up on how your tone would change when your stepdad would come up in conversation, how your posture would change when your mom dragged him into the frame to say hello during your video chats.

A big family dinner was the perfect opportunity to introduce everyone to Kyle, and you were looking forward to it. Truly. You had a nice outfit picked out and Kyle bought some fancy wine to bring, hoping for a good first impression. He needn't have worried; your aunts and cousins all fawned over him, and your uncles were endlessly impressed by his stories from his job. Long story short, he was a hit.

He stayed by you all night, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb as he made conversation. At first, you chalked it up to being the new guy in the room, but the ease of his posture suggested he wasn't nervous. Rather, his frequent check-ins started to make it feel like his closeness was for your benefit. You were the one who was nervous, looking over your shoulder every few minutes praying you didn't see a certain face in the crowd. You loved your family, but get-togethers always came with a certain amount of anxiety. Every time your eyes strayed around the room, Kyle's followed, taking in the crowd. Even more frequently, you caught him sneaking glances at you, as if assessing if you were alright.

You were alright, until the front door opened and you heard a specific voice boom in greeting. Your mom and stepdad strode in, late as always, your mom carrying the casserole dish and your stepdad slapping a case of beer on the counter. Your demeanor changed immediately, shrinking yourself as if you could become invisible if you just hunched enough. It didn't work, of course, and they spotted you within seconds. Before you could react, Kyle was in front of you, placing himself between you and your parents with a smile and his hand out to shake.

"I'm Kyle, heard lots about you," he said neutrally, shaking hands with both of them. They turned to you, but Kyle spoke again. "How was the drive? Heard you had to come across that new expressway, have they finished that yet?"

It was like that the rest of the evening. Kyle remained an immovable barrier between you and your stepdad, keeping him engaged in conversation and unable to address you. You and your mom were able to slip away shortly to help set the table and catch up, and every time you snuck a glance at the men out of the corner of your eye, the view was the same: Kyle orienting himself as a physical wall, keeping you out of eyeshot. His body language was at-ease, his smile friendly enough, but his eyes were tight, not like they had been when talking with everyone else.

When everyone grabbed a seat, Kyle pulled a chair out for you before quickly stealing the spot next to you from your stepdad. You looked at him with gratitude and he squeezed your knee reassuringly under the table, all the while maintaining conversations with those around him as if nothing was amiss. If you hadn't already loved him, you certainly would have after that night.

Captain John Price

Ah, spring cleaning.

Well, it was November, but still. It's refreshing to get rid of old stuff and start anew, but it's also essential when you're combining two households. John had finally convinced you to move in with him, so the two of you were creating piles labeled "Keep" "Trash" and "Donate". Upon reaching the bottom of an old box labelled "Miscellaneous," you came upon something that had your stomach churning. Old records: Johnny Cash, the Sex Pistols, the Doors. You hadn't realized you had them, and you weren't particularly fond of who they belonged to.

You didn't realize you had frozen in place until John snapped you out of it, coming up behind you with a hand snaking around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder.

"Whatcha got, love?" He whistled when you showed him.

"The condition those are in, you could get a pretty penny. I didn't know you collected vinyl, I'd have bought a player."

"They're not... mine." You explained, as briefly as possible, that they were your ex's and must have gotten mixed up in your stuff when you split several years ago. He hummed in understanding.

"Right, then. To the garbage with it?"

It was the logical solution. He hadn't asked after them, so he must not miss them that badly. You would rather lie down in traffic than have any contact with him. But John's comment about their value stopped you from throwing them onto the "Trash" pile. Damn your too-kind heart, always causing problems.

It was easy enough to find your ex's contact info; you had changed your number after the split, he hadn't. Soon enough, you had agreed on a time for him to swing by and grab the stuff when he was free. The rest of moving made the days go by in a blur of organizing and unpacking and bickering over where the toaster should go and which wall to mount the TV on. That is, until you looked at your calendar and realized that it was today. This afternoon was the interaction you'd spent the week trying not to think about. You'd stepped around the box of his things all week, mentally blocking out why it was sitting in the front hall. You'd managed to stay busy, and bury your anxiety in the endless tasks that come with setting up a new home.

But time had run out, and in mere hours you were going to be face to face with someone you had once sworn never to see again. The realization made the room feel too small, made the air feel too warm, made you feel like you were suffocating. Suddenly you just had to get out.

"We need... yogurt." You blurted, walking too quickly and too loudly into the foyer to grab your keys.

"Yogurt? Right now?" John called from the kitchen.

"Yes, right now! For... for a recipe," you mustered, hoping you sounded convincing. This had been a mistake, a huge mistake, and your brain was screaming RUN! RUN! RUN! as loudly as it could. Hand on the doorknob, however, you froze. If you left, John would be here when your ex arrived. He'd answer the door, introduce himself, and hand off the items. Shouldn't that be ideal? No contact between you and him, simple and easy. But rather than provide relief, the thought made you sick to your stomach. It felt like a defiling almost, to think of him entering your new sanctuary and meeting the love you thought you'd never have. It felt wrong on every level, and your feet rooted to the spot in agreement.

"Still here, love?" John came into view, the book he'd been reading in hand, finger acting as a bookmark. "I was thinking, I could go if you wanted. Just text me what we need. Don't you have someone coming by?"

Yes - that's it, you thought. Have John go, get him away from here before he could arrive. You'd handle it on your own; you'd done it before.

Nodding, you stepped aside, slipping your shoes off next to the door. John put his book down and approached, taking your place and grabbing his keys off the hook. He turned to kiss your forehead, but stopped short and stared at you. He noticed for the first time that you were fidgety, as if anxious for him to leave when usually it was the exact opposite. His ever-observant eyes spent several seconds taking you in, and you knew as he asked the question that he already knew the answer.

"Everything alright?"

Of course it was! How silly to think otherwise! You began playing it off, the same way you had gotten so good at doing back when you and he were still together and your friends would ask you the same thing. Just hyper, just busy, just this, just that, always an excuse to avoid saying "I'm afraid." Afraid of what mood he'd be in, afraid of what awaited you when you two would be alone later. Fear you hadn't felt in a long time, but could feel now just as bone-deep as it had been back then. As if your body had stored it as muscle memory just in case this day came.

"Are you nervous about something?" It was another question you could tell he already knew the answer to, and you wanted to feel irked about it, but looking into those eyes you suddenly just felt tired. Tired of carrying the fear and the uncertainty alone. So you exhaled for a long time, and slowly told him exactly what you were nervous about.

It felt good to get it off your chest. Until now, no one had ever known the extent of what had gone on. You expected John to explode into some fit of hyper-masculine protectiveness like guys on TV, but he didn't. He listened to you talk, and then he nodded and sat on the couch, reopening his book on his lap.

"What are you doing?" You eyed him suspiciously, unable to believe that that was the end of the conversation.

"Well, I'm waiting right here. And when this lad knocks, I'm going to answer the door and have a little chat with him."

[gangplanksorenji]

Incandescence

Pairing: Kep1er Youngeun x Male Reader

Word Count: 2674

A/N: Hi Orenjideul! Just a quick fic just to get myself into writing once again and this girl made me down bad in a quick amount of time idk why but here it is! Hope you like this quick one... <3

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Multiple screams resonate around the area and the flickering of lights amongst the so-called pandemonium of people is irritating to lay your eyes upon, even so, blinding to see. 

But it doesn't matter. It's even better right now. 

Sure, you want to scream your lungs out with a full-on support of the crowd of people as they perform but you wouldn't miss this chance. Not when a short, black-haired girl invited you as a repercussion from you being a nuisance hours ago before they even started performing (being annoying, in a teasing way, of course).

There's nothing more blinding than her beauty. Nothing more.

“Oh god, Oppa.”, she silently whimpers, a nigh-inaudible cry from your princess is a way to start everything she wants. Of course, she wants this—no, need this.

“Sh-shit, more please!”

Swearing isn't in her vocabulary, yet it's hypocritical in times like this as she can't help but feel good—it's just another unfinished, near-infinite melody of sounds and moans that's just music to your ears. 

Another wants that she'll die to beg for, and you won't let those wants go unattended, so you immediately take action. Latch your lips onto her sharp collarbone, she squirms in delight—she missed this, and so did you. You tend not to mark her, even though at times, you can't help but unleash the devil inside you as you want everybody to know who she belongs to.

“This needy, huh? I understand Youngeun—I really need you too.”

Well, that was quick. 

You don't care about the tough demeanor anymore. You want her—no, need her. As much as you want the sternness inside you to intimidate and maybe even possibly scare her, your softness explodes around her as she herself is a ball of sunshine. 

Yet what she wants is what she'll get. After averting your lips towards her neck and collarbones, you caught her lips again and locked in a tangled kiss. The way she kisses you is so sensational and slow that it's almost perfect—and it's like you can't find another great kisser like her.

“I k-know you kiss me so good, Oppa, but I want t-the real thing now…”

She could have never been more straightforward than this. You yourself, you can't help but get onto the climax immediately.

You lean onto the plain, white-colored wall as you let yourself be relaxed and prepare for what's about to happen.

A mischievous smile emanates on your face as she gets down on her knees slowly, her knees probably shuddering because of the cold marble floor but she doesn't care—she wants you, now.

“Gonna do the thing you're best at?”

“With pleasure, Oppa.”

Her ravenous mouth waters as she hurriedly undresses the clothing blocking her treasured prize. With only just your last bit of defense left, she smirked in victory as carefully yanked down your boxers, your painfully erect length now free from its frustrating restraints and even, almost hitting her in the face.

“So hard for me, Oppa. Did your little kitten turn you on this much?”

“Fuck!”

Just before she finishes her sentence, you squirm in pleasure. It's just from her little pressure exerted by her small, dainty hands, what more she can do when she's balls deep inside your mouth—

Your imagination flew over its limits once Youngeun had her hands on work. She strokes half of your length with a pace that's leisurely slow as she teases your slit playfully, the colorless liquid leaking out of it being the cherry on top. 

“I missed this, Oppa—I really do. I can't wait to see what you have in store for me, again…”

She giggles in excitement as you're deemed powerless from her advances, taking control of your needy, throbbing shaft. You can't think of anything more, or even articulate such words that can further turn her on but it doesn't matter—Youngeun doing everything to please you that you've been deprived off for months is nothing more you can ask for.

“May I, daddy?”

There she is. That's the word you're been wanting to hear to escape from her dirty mouth—it'll be soon like it, literally. 

This isn't something new. Dayeon could deliver peak-subbiness better than Youngeun—but it doesn't matter; don't think about Dayeon, avert your attention to this adorable princess.

Giving her the green light, she wasted no time giving you the experience that falters you. You became weak and powerless once Youngeun's mouth came introduced, accommodating the foreign object with all of her might.

The first few inches were immaculate, too pleasurable to withstand but you will as you wanted to give her what she needs. She lazily bobs her head, up and down, the same motion that's been repeated for at least a dozen of times. She's still struggling, even with only half of your length inside her tight throat, she can't help but gag—the sound so sinful that it arouses you further—and drool all over it.

It might seem like she's not doing a good job in her mind, but for you, she's doing great. You reassure her, stroking her black-colored locks, starting for the scalp and all the way down your arms reach. She didn't increase the pace as you know she can't take more than half of your length in a sudden, yet she wants to prove something—make you proud, that's what she wants.

“Don't need to rush anything—god…”

Your words deaf to her ears as she moved her mouth deeper—deeper into the valley of lust and need—as takes you all in. You were surprised at first but you didn't mind as the seconds passed. Her tight cavern constricts around your throbbing length which adds further stimulation that you absolutely love.

“Fu–ughh—ahh!”

The further gagging and coughing ejects the foreign object inside her mouth, coughing right after. She can't take it all, you know this, yet, who are you to control what she wants? You're willing to give everything to her at this very moment yet she ran over her limits—you reassure her that it's alright, she then smiles in satisfaction but doesn't distract herself onto other things and averted her focus towards where she's best at.

She takes you in, again, the wholeness of your throbbing length. Albeit her sudden inexperience on this field, choking on your cock is definitely what she wants. The accumulated drool, the tears of unbridled lust running down her cheeks and probably, the inevitable wetness of her crotch are the cherries on top, in which you dearly adore.

She's choking but she doesn't care. The marks of her lipstick smudge around the base of your shaft and still, she doesn't care. She doesn't mind how dirty she can be. All she cares about is the delicious meal that she's having fun of and, to serve you pleasure.

“Hey baby—fuck—aren't you gonna perform again? You're making a m-mess on yourself—s-shit…”

“No—that's why I'm giving you everything you want, daddy.”

She kisses your tip after withdrawing to let herself regain oxygen—even with her nostrils open, all she can even smell is the musky scent of your shaft and her strawberry lipstick.

She's bold and brave. You're proud of her because of it yet you can't help but feel anxious. You're afraid that the sinful sounds and moans inside this puny room may not be able to contain it all as everything is getting louder and louder, a tone that is music to your very ears. You didn't care anymore—and it's like someone is going to check you up to the very end of the dressing room and you're glad that it's just the two of you here.

“Fuck, such a good girl for me, huh?”

More slurps and bobs is all it takes for you to feel that familiar tingle in your loins, signaling your very near release. As much as you wanted to explode down her tight cavern of her mouth, you won't wanna waste such a load on her—you need to feel something so bad that you can't help yourself to think about it.

“Stop, baby.”

“Daddy, is a-anything wrong?”

Her eyes are glistening with lust and curiosity. She's confused about your command as she knows you wanted her to suck you off until you explode but she anticipates. What a nice girl for her daddy. She really is.

“Nothing, honestly. I just want to fuck you so bad right now.”

And yes, with her outfit? Oh, you could only do one thing and you'll waste no time doing that. 

She always looked spectacular and breathtaking. The way her flawless features compliments her outfit feels like she came straight from a movie—she looks surreal. Her hair, her body, her face—just her.

“Daddy, please—”

“Please what, baby?”

“Hngg—ahh! Too much, daddy!”

Stimulating her too much is her kryptonite, but you didn't care, because you know that's what she wanted at the first place—it also explains how she's insanely wet as her cunt drips like a leaking faucet, staining the marble floor down below.

“Baby, you gotta let daddy know what do you want baby—”

“Please j-just put it in me, daddy…”

The indulgence of the dance of your fingers down her soppily wet cunt takes her into further submission—even though she was already like that from the start—and you loved every second of it. Her constant, desperate pleas of getting filled, her inevitable cries and her love towards you—yes, it was truly everything you'll ask for.

And maybe even no more. The subsequent pleas of submission were further answered: your cock filling her up to the hilt, just like what she wanted.

This wasn't new, maybe, at least. You'll feel and fill her up whenever she wanted to yet it feels so awkward—

You don't care.

“All I want is you, baby.”

And there your hips goes, stabilizing a rhythm that the both of you were satisfied with—a profound pleasure everlasting between the clashing of both your bodies. You even pulled her hair (not enough to hurt her) to even get a better grip on fucking her as it helped by a lot. The pace was moderate, as you wanted to just let her know how much you love her and it's evident: her soothing, lust-filled moans that reverberated around your ear is enough evidence.

Further getting a better grip of her, you held her waist with both hands as with all of her might, she lets herself just be inches away from you. She takes hold of both of your shoulders to support herself, you then, aiding her as your thrusts become slower, but still filling her up to the hilt.

“Daddy, I l-love you—s-so much—ahh! So m-much, daddy…”

“I love you too baby, more than anything in this world.”

You mark your words, truly. You meant those with all your heart and soul, and you'll always let her know that—

“Then prove it, d-daddy.”

“Prove what, baby?”

You pull out of her tight cavern as you can see Youngeun's eyes roll, knowing how dumb you're playing the game. She knows you're playing with her, but she still anticipates the climax.

“Prove it by pounding me hard against this mirror, daddy.”

She's unanticipatedly daring and you couldn't believe your ears picked up. It almost feels like it didn't come out of her mouth—well, it definitely did and her own animalistic urges were to blame.

You won't waste any time. You set more gasoline to the flames of lust as both your bodies clashed together again, also, the sudden penetration making her yelp, her mouth agape on how big you are inside her.

“More please, daddy!”

She begs, you fulfill. A simple formula you won't forget and you'll never will. Resuming your frantic thrusting, you feel heavenly as too much serotonin coursed down your veins. Every gyration of your hips hits a successive moan from her, following yours—both of your cries sound rhythmically arranged, drowned within the symphony of moans you always (and her) love hearing. 

With more deeper thrusts earns an inevitably seductive moan, which turns you even more—and it's also a hot scene: her hands holding its dearest life onto the metal railings and the hot scene of her being railed against the mirror is just too fucling much. Yet, you don't care. As much as you want to strip her clothing one by one, she looks almost perfect with it. It's way too hot if you'll fulfill your desire with her in that outfit. 

Maybe it's just the fact that you have a kink of a cute girl in a skirt…

“Daddy, daddy, d-daddy! Ahh—fuck! Too good—too good!”

Her chants power your hips to bring an onslaught of thrusts that's unmatched than the first one. You're fucking her so hard without a care that you're afraid that this tiny room may conceal the chamber of lustful moans trapped inside within the small area on the corner and the railings giving up on dear life on how much Youngeun's been gripping them ever since you've fucked her cunt mercilessly.

You never stop and probably you never will. You won't stop until you've filled her needy cunt full of your thick seed yet some needs must come first.

“Daddy, I'm going to fucking cum! All over you!”

With the given signal, you resume with more hammering thrusts as her cunt leaks too much of her nectar, as you feel her closing her high. You help her as she screams her lungs out, her reservoir breaking loose as she creams all over your throbbing length. Her orgasm became so powerful that she almost fell unconscious so you became worried and thankfully, she wanted you to ram her again without giving a care, wanting you to cum inside her yet with a reflection, you have other things in mind.

“Get down on your knees for me.”

“W-what? I need you to cum inside me, da—”

“This will be the last time I'm repeating myself, baby. Get on your knees.”

Youngeun is frustrated once your cock left her incredibly tight cunt as she does what she's been told. She instantly knew what you'd do, so, as the good girl as she is, she stuck out her tongue, her legs still quivering from her recently strong orgasm as she anticipated your load. Anticipating a load for a lifetime that she'll forever cherish.

“Cum all over my pretty face, daddy. I know you wanted to from the start. Paint every inch of me white with your seed! Please dadd—”

You erupt.

The tremors broke the dam inside you, resulting in a magnitude of thick spurts of you semen spraying all over her beautiful, ruined visage. She wanted no cum getting wasted so she held your length and stroked it furiously, and of course, she aimed it right to her face for better accuracy. She tried to catch anything she could get with her tongue but was deemed not successful because of the volume of your load.

“God, daddy—you came so much. It's so warm on my face—mwah”

A few kisses and slurps to clean you up is the finale of the show as it sends shivers down your spine, the post-sensitivity finally getting in after an earth-shaking orgasm.

“So fucking delicious too, daddy. Thank y-you for this—you're the best daddy.”

You smiled as she got up slowly, her legs wobbly and weak from all of the pounding she took earlier. Everything felt amazing yet once you've regained awareness, you curse on how dirty the both of you were so you panicked, but Youngeun calmed you down and handed some tissues as she invited you to the bathroom to “clean up”.

“My legs feel like shit, Oppa—oh no…”

“I'm sure they'll understand.”

Youngeun giggles as you reassure her, she then feels calm and collected from your actions which she finds sweet and thoughtful.

“Yujin-unnie and Xiaoting-unnie will, because, y'know…”

“Hey! We don't talk about that here, okay?”

“Okay, Oppa… Help me get cleaned? To the bathroom?”

“Sure, I don't see why not, baby.”

We'll you'll definitely see what's not and what's something once the lights emanates around you—

[redrose10]

Here is just a little sneak peak at something I’m working on. It’s a longer version of one of the stories I posted from the request game. It’ll probably only be one chapter (maybe two) and should be out hopefully by this weekend. I hope everyone likes it!

Also I don’t know why it’s formatting weird. Hopefully I can fix that later.

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CEO Yoongi x Female Barista/College Student Reader

Title: Cold Brewed Love

Summary: When you begged the owner of Jin’s Java House to hire more employees you didn’t mean for him to stick you with the cold, rude, arrogant CEO Min Yoongi. Over time something begins to brew between you both and you end up forced to make decisions way above the pay grade of a cafe barista.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, hints of smut(nothing too explicit), Yoongi is mean but we all know he’ll turn fluffy later, I’ll update once I write more of it

Word Count: TBD

Teaser Below

You and Yoongi have a difficult history. You are about the same age,but he runs a successful billion dollar company while you make coffee for barely above minimum wage during the day and go to school at night which makes you feel intimidated by him.

His order was the first one you had ever made and you were so nervous you dropped his cup of coffee making it spill all over the counter and right onto his designer leather shoes. He was quick to reprimand you to the point his assistant Hoseok stepped in and pulled him away from the counter while giving you a sad smile. He returned later that day to apologize for his bosses actions and offered to buy you lunch from the neighboring Thai restaurant.

Then just a few months later you’d been asked to take up several cases of pastries to Yoongi’s office for some big meeting they were having. After you placed everything in the break room you quickly turned around trying to hurry back down to the cafe to help out your co-worker who was alone when in your haste you ran right into Yoongi causing the papers he was holding to fly everywhere through the office. He had a scowl and some choice words for you once again while you crawled around on your hands and knees trying to reorganize the mess. Hoseok was quick to save you then too and that’s how your friendship with ‘Hobi’ started.

Ever since that day though, Yoongi was always rude to you while ordering his coffee. He purposely got your name wrong even though it was right on your name tag. He hardly ever looked up from his phone and if he did it was only to look down on you and try to make you feel small. You hated him. But you hated it even more that no matter how much you hated him you couldn’t abolish the little crush you had on him.

[marvelmusing]

Our Souls

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

Summary: His Dark Materials inspired AU. As a well-known scholar, you’re invited to a gala at Lord Morozova’s estate. What you don’t expect is for the man himself to show a particular interest in you and your dæmon.

Warnings [18+]: mentions of sexual content, Aleksander is very suggestive and alluring, dæmon touching is a metaphor for intimacy and I’m really running with that metaphor, I’m also just twisting up the lore here.

“Well now they’re just showing off,” Fabian, your dæmon, remarks quietly while you observe the host of this gala.

Glancing down at the fox that is your lifelong companion and physical embodiment of your soul, you almost laugh at how primly he’s sitting beside your feet. Then you follow his gaze and find the dæmon of your host.

Lord Aleksander Morozova. His dæmon, a dark wolf with marbled grey fur, sits on the small dais at the side of the room whilst her human counterpart mingles with the crowd.

Standing such a distance from his dæmon is an impressive feat and you’re certain it is some sort of subtle intimidation technique to remind tonight’s guests of his power.

The majority of the people at this gala are scholars and other academics. Their research is all funded by Lord Morozova - as is your own.

There aren’t many of your fellow academics that you would consider your friends. Throughout the night you manage to make some minimal small talk, though you mostly keep to yourself with Fabian as your only company. That was how the two of you liked it.

It’s as you’ve finished a plate full of desserts that the host of this evening approaches you. Once you notice him, you brush down your black dress as subtly as you can, ensuring that you look presentable.

When he inclines his head politely in greeting you mirror the action with a small smile.

“Lord Morozova.”

“Aleksander, please,” he corrects you with a rather kind smile. “You study dæmonology, yes?”

“I do, sir.”

“A fascinating field,” he remarks appraisingly. “I must admit I’ve read most of your papers, you have a rare talent of perception.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The study of dæmons, particularly their behaviour and the relationship between them and their human counterpart has always been an interest of yours. Knowing the meaning behind certain dæmons has always helped you figure out what kind of person you’re talking to.

“Might I ask for your personal analysis?” He gestures down to where his dæmon has appeared.

“A wolf,” you state, the hint of a question at the edge of your tone. He nods encouragingly.

“Yes.”

After pausing for a moment, you recount the general characteristics of someone with a wolf dæmon.

“Strong, intelligent, loyal.”

He surveys you for a long moment, and you begin to fear that you’ve disappointed him, then he remarks,

“If I wanted flattery I would have remained with Miss Nazyalensky.” The amusement in his words fades as he holds your gaze. “Tell me the truth.”

Unable to look away from his dark eyes, a shiver runs down your spine and a strange warmth prickles over your skin - like a flustered sense of embarrassment mixed with an unfamiliar pleasure. Almost breathlessly, you say,

“There’s a violence in your soul. A vicious need to protect and possess. To take down whoever stands in your way, no matter what.”

He hums, approval shining in his eyes as he steps closer.

“And what about your little fox?”

At that, you glance down at Fabian and a bolt of surprise hits your chest as you see Aleksander’s dæmon nuzzling herself against your dæmon. Dark fur brushing firmly against Fabian’s glimmering red.

Hardly able to breathe with the flood of sensations running through your body, you barely notice that Aleksander has taken your chin between his fingers.

To see your dæmons entwined, playing with one another, feels too intimate. Especially in public like this.

“Look at me,” he demands gently. When you do as he says, you almost melt at the casual dominance resting on his features. “Answer the question.”

Words spill from you without any prior thought.

“Foxes are clever. Adaptable and cunning. They enjoy the hunt.”

He smiles darkly.

“It appears your soul is just as vicious as mine, wouldn’t you say?”

He steps closer as Fabian rolls happily onto his back and Aleksander’s dæmon rubs her face enthusiastically over his fluffy underbelly.

Sensing where your gaze has fallen once again, Aleksander breathes out a small huff of laughter at the sight of your dæmons together.

Then he asks in a low voice,

“Have you ever touched a dæmon before?”

Amusement glimmers in his eyes as you inhale sharply in response to his question. Touching someone else’s dæmon is regarded as taboo. Even in an academic context, you’ve never even considered such a thing.

“Surely you of all people should know that it is only common courtesy that prevents us from doing so,” he muses quietly.

Then he lifts a dark brow.

“I’m assuming no one has ever touched your dæmon?”

You shake your head.

“Poor thing,” he coos, stroking your cheek softly. “With consent, it can be quite a pleasurable experience.”

“You want to touch my dæmon?”

The words are stammered and fumbled as they leave your lips but Aleksander smiles indulgently all the same.

“Yes. And I’d very much like you to touch mine.”

Just the thought of sinking your fingers into the thick dark fur, imagining how Aleksander’s eyes might flutter closed, his head tilting back slightly, has you thoroughly enticed.

“Perhaps we could go somewhere more private to continue this discussion,” he suggests.

Holding his gaze for a long moment, you find yourself slipping away from reality, utterly mesmerised by the man in front of you and the feeling of his soul curling around yours. Once again, your eyes drift over to your dæmons.

“What’s her name?” you whisper softly. When the hint of a frown touches at his brows you add, “Your dæmon.”

Something in his expression softens.

“Andromeda.”

The corner of your mouth lifts with a soft smile.

“Pretty name.”

“Thank you.” He tilts his head so that his eyes can bounce between you and your dæmon, then he adds in a low voice, “Fabian, isn’t it?”

A visible shudder rolls through your dæmon as you nod with a dazed look in your eyes.

Aleksander looks almost sympathetic as he observes the state of you, curling each of his hands around your forearms to steady you.

“If you want me to stop this-”

Shaking your head, you interrupt him with a quiet plea.

“No, please, don’t stop.”

“Come with me,” he insists, though he makes no move before you nod in consent. When you do, he breathes out a soft smile and begins to lead you through the throngs of people.

It all passes by in a blur. Aleksander’s arm curled protectively around your waist. Andromeda pressed closely against Fabian as they follow you.

As soon as you reach a deserted hallway, Aleksander is pushing you back against a smooth stone wall. For a moment he watches the heavy rise and fall of your chest, your lips parted and eyes wide as you stare up at him.

His fingers ghost over your lips in a silent question, to which you nod and allow your eyes to flutter closed in anticipation.

Then his mouth descends, meeting yours in a fierce kiss that steals everything from you. Mind filled nothing but thoughts of him, you grasp tightly onto the front of his kefta to support yourself and bring him closer. The way he takes the air from your lungs makes you dizzy.

He withdraws slowly, after several more lengthy kisses that pick apart your sanity piece by piece with every movement of his lips. When he does half his assault, he doesn’t go far, your noses brushing together delicately.

“My apologies,” he murmurs, his own breathing ragged as he rests his forehead against yours. “I had intended on making it to my quarters before doing that.”

The smile that spreads over your face is rather giddy as you laugh softly. His own smile is boyish, with a twinkle of amusement sparkling in his dark eyes.

He noses affectionately at your cheek, tilting his head so that he can press kisses along your jawline.

“They appear to be enjoying themselves,” he observes lightly.

Following his gaze, you see Fabian and Andromeda curled around one another on the floor. Fabian nips playfully at her ear and a low sound rumbles from Andromeda. Little pink tongues flicker over fur as they continue to pet each other.

It’s rare for dæmons to get along so well. Even the dæmons of married couples aren’t as forthright as yours are right now.

“We must be quite compatible,” you suggest.

His body presses firmly against yours and you can feel his hardness digging into your stomach. It makes sense that the sensations you’re experiencing are also being felt by him. After all, your dæmon is just as eager as his is to touch and play with one another.

Still, you’re surprised to see the usually reserved Lord Morozova look so unravelled - by you.

His hands are firm on your body as he all but drags you down the corridor, stopping occasionally to kiss you against a wall or a closed door. The idea that someone might see you both has a warmth prickling under your skin.

Then you reach his rooms.

He closes the door behind you, pressing you against the dark stained wood. Caging you between his arms, he stares at you for a long moment. Leaning in slowly, he brushes his lips lightly against yours.

His delicate touch, after the almost violent hunger displayed in the hallways, makes you moan quietly, filled to the brim with yearning and desire.

“Aleksander,” you whisper against his lips. “Please.”

He steps away and you whimper.

Shrugging his kefta from his shoulders, you watch as he hangs it over a chair and begins to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. He toes off his expensive dress shoes and unbuttons the top few shirt buttons to reveal a generous amount of his bare chest.

Then he reclined himself casually over his bed, propping himself up with an elbow resting against the mattress.

“Fabian, come here.”

There is a moment of hesitation from your dæmon. People don’t usually address them directly and your poor soul seems conflicted. But curiosity and the need for Aleksander seems to win him over.

Inhaling shakily, you watch as he trots across the room towards the bed, leaping up in a nimble motion, before he approaches Aleksander.

Aleksander’s eyes flicker up to where you’re frozen by the closed door.

“This distance doesn’t hurt you, does it?” he asks.

You shake your head. Some people are better than others at maintaining distance from their dæmon. Some can barely move a few feet without feeling a sting of pain, whilst other dæmons can wander into other rooms without any discomfort.

Aleksander nods in acknowledgement.

Then he brushes his hand delicately over Fabian’s fur. Nearly choking on your breath, you gasp and lean heavily against the door. Both Fabian and Aleksander watch you intently.

“You can join us,” Aleksander suggests with a soft smile.

In all honesty you’re not sure if you can walk steady. Then Andromeda licks your hand in affectionate encouragement. Staring wide-eyed down at Aleksander’s dæmon, you give her a tentative pat on the head.

Aleksander hums softly in pleasure and you smooth your fingers over the soft fur at the top of her head before you scratch gently behind her ear. He groans lowly, his eyes fluttering closed as he inhales deeply.

Stumbling a little, you move hurriedly over to Aleksander’s bed, tugging at your heels and discarding them carelessly. He smiles widely as you lie down beside him on your back.

Fabian presses himself against you immediately and you curl your arms around his body as he drapes himself over your chest. The familiar weight soothes you and instantly both of you relax.

“You have quite the bond,” Aleksander observes quietly.

Self-consciously, you bury your face down into the fur of your dæmon.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he assures you, threading his hand through Fabian’s fur. “Too many teenagers shun their dæmon in an attempt to seem more of an adult. Evidently, you didn’t do such a thing.”

You shake your head.

After your dæmon settles, it’s generally thought that you should limit talking to and touching them in public. Some people even think in private your dæmon should remain reserved. That’s something you’ve never believed in. Fabian is your soul - the two of you are the only ones you can rely on. Pushing him away would hurt too much.

There are lonely nights where nothing except his weight on your chest and the softness of his fur against your fingers can help quieten your mind. He gives you some of the best advice and you can’t imagine life with a dæmon you couldn’t talk to.

The distance Aleksander is able to put between himself and his dæmon is impressive, but his admiration of your bond with Fabian makes you wonder.

“You and Andromeda…” you begin slowly. “Are you separated?”

He seems impressed by your observation, though there is a touch of sadness in his eyes. Some people purposefully separate themselves from their dæmons, whilst sometimes it happens during a trauma.

“Not quite,” he says in a quiet voice. “Even before she settled, my mother insisted that I should be able to move a great distance without my dæmon.”

Andromeda noses against your side and you can’t stop yourself from giving the poor dæmon some affection. The idea of Aleksander’s mother encouraging them to be parted at such a young age makes your heart ache.

“It’s taken us several years to rebuild our bond,” he admits as he rests his hand against the dark fur of his dæmon.

The two of them seem so in tune with one another, it’s startling to think that their bond had to be recreated as an adult.

“Fabian thought it was a power display,” you remark. “Publicly putting that much distance between you both.”

“I did not,” your dæmon grumbles in a small murmur. At that, you give him a pointed look of disagreement.

Aleksander chuckles.

“He was right. If people see how much distance I can put between myself and Andromeda, they will wonder what else I am capable of.”

Fabian turns his head to look at Aleksander and in response he curls his fingers under your dæmon’s chin. He scrapes his blunt nails through the short hairs there before he moves his attention back to you.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

Sighing in pleasure, you smile softly.

“Good.”

He hums in approval.

“You’re doing very good. A lot of people lose consciousness the first time their dæmon is touched.”

You frown.

“Really?”

He nods.

The silence is comfortable between you both as you continue to gently pet one another’s dæmon. Occasionally, your dæmons will give each other some attention, murmuring quietly to one another as they nuzzle and lick at their faces and fur.

Soon they’ve settled in the space between you and Aleksander. Fabian pressed against Aleksander’s ribs whilst Andromeda rests her side against your stomach. Both you and Aleksander have turned on your sides to face one another and watch your dæmons.

“Shouldn’t you be at your gala?” you ask him quietly. He shakes his head.

“I can’t think of a single person there that would deserve more of my attention than you do.”

His words set a fire within you and your gaze drifts down to his lips.

“Aleksander…”

“No.”

“You don’t know what I was going to say,” you protest weakly.

He chuckles.

“I do. And the answer is no.” Both you and Fabian huff lightly. “As much as I want to…” He traces his thumb over your lower lip. “You’re not thinking clearly and I won’t take advantage of that.”

“But-”

“No buts. If you need a moment to yourself I can draw you a bath.”

Blinking in confusion, you frown at him.

“A bath?”

He hums with a small smirk.

“Or I can wait in my study, for however long you need, if you would prefer my bed.”

The frown on your face deepens.

“Are you…?”

His smile widens into something that makes your stomach flip. He takes his hand away from where he’s been petting Fabian and traces his fingers gently over your cheek.

“I’m telling you to touch yourself, darling. You’ll feel better once you do.”

A burning blush floods through your body. The thought of touching yourself in Aleksander’s rooms makes you a little embarrassed, especially when you imagine accidentally making a mess of his sheets.

“Can I have a bath?” you ask shyly.

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Of course.”

-

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[shadow4-1]

Sweet n' Silly Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Headcanons (SFW & NSFW)

Ghost is a character who has so many different facets of his personality that he represses for one reason or another. Sometimes, though, he can't hide things well enough. Here are a few headcanons (NSFW Under The Cut):

Ghost is very picky about the masks he wears. If he buys them pre-made (which is rare - he likes to make his own, he can sew), they have to be a very specific type of fabric. Of course, it has to have all the tactical advantages, but it has to be SOFT most of all. All of his clothing is soft for that matter. This man will NEVER, I repeat NEVER, be caught dead in anything starchy or itchy or scratchy. Even his bed sheets are that crazy 1000 thread count cotton. He likes soft things.

Speaking of soft things, Simon carries around a very small square of quilted fabric in whatever extra pocket he might have. It's actually a piece of a handkerchief his mother sewed for him as a child to keep him from taking his baby blanket with him to school. It's old and tattered and stained, but he carries it with him anyway. It's been with him through thick and thin (and the grave). He doesn't need to sleep with it, but if he's severely stressed, he'll hold onto it and examine it for a little bit. Sometimes, that fabric feels like it's the only thing tethering him to earth.

Would absolutely love to get his nails professionally done, but because of his appearance, he doesn't want to intimidate some poor nail lady. Instead, he opts to give himself mani-pedis. Sometimes, if he's feeling rebellious, he'll bust out his trusty bottle of black nail polish and go for it. It's not like anyone'll see it under his gloves. And God forbid if you walk in on him painting his toenails. He WILL kill you.

Ghost has some interesting food habits. He'll honestly eat whatever if he has to, but he would much prefer to eat simple, almost childish foods. He likes things like pasta, sandwiches, juice, and pudding. God, he loves pudding. A giant bowl of hot mac n' cheese and an entire 6-pack of prepackaged pudding is his favorite meal. He KNOWS its bad for him and it totally fucks up his very specific diet he uses to upkeep his frame, but he can't help it.

Has an intense skin care and oral care regimen despite the fact that almost no one will ever see it. His smile would make you go blind because he practically bleaches his fucking teeth - and also because he chose to smile with teeth.

He's quiet for a multitude of reasons. Yes, it's because he's observant and wants to be in control of his surroundings. But it's also because deep down he's still a shy boy. He can stand up for himself and others if he has to, he's grown into that part of himself. But as for meeting new people, he's shy. He doesn't know you, and he doesn't know if he WANTS to know you. He'd rather just eye you up and let your actions speak for themselves. And that's why Johnny is one of his favorites. Something about a person who can outwardly show their genuineness is his kryptonite (although of course they don't have to be as much of a puppy as Johnny - take for instance Price or Gaz)

Absolutely detests physical touch unless he initiates it or it's fleeting. Handsy people piss him off. But a light punch to the shoulder, a tap or two? It makes him feel normal. Normal people aren't afraid to touch each other in that casual sort of way. Ghost is kind of normal. At least he tries to be.

Fucking sucks at flirting. He comes across as dry and uninterested even if it's the opposite. He just hopes the person he's interested in can pick that up so they don't run off thinking he's a prick. If they do then fuck 'em. Ghost is happy being by himself. He's been alone for so long, what's another few years.

Has a very silent praise kink. If his lover tells him anything good about him, goes straight to his ego. He won't show it, but that "I like being with you" went straight to his cock and made him puff out his chest. Of course you do. He's great. He's always been great. Now he's really going to show you how great he is.

Ghost is a huge scent guy. He's very picky about what scents he enjoys, and if he has a lover, he can and will throw out all of their expensive fragrances (and soaps and lotions, etc). His lover HAS to smell a certain way to him, and he'll supply them with whatever he deems appropriate. By the time he's done, his lover will have to adopt a whole new skincare routine. Smelling like sex is obviously one of his top picks, although once again, he'd never say that aloud.

He's a very, VERY visual creature. He knows it makes him come across as a creep, but he loves just watching his lover. He loves picking up on their mannerisms and their quirks. He loves watching their body move when walking or showering. He loves seeing wet stains in his lover's underwear and indentations of his teeth in their skin. He truly devours EVERYTHING with his eyes.

Gets aroused by the weirdest of things. Bare hands on metal, that section of skin in between the collar of a shirt and a throat mic, blowing bubbles in gum. Sometimes, he's hard for nearly an entire mission because someone's voice is too raspy in the comms. (And yes, he's an avid ASMR lover. Those tingles he gets goes straight to his dick and he's ashamed about it. He would absolutely die if his lover sees his search history. They can't know he wants their tongue in his eardrums - no one can.)

Rarely jerks off. He represses all of his sexual energy until he physically can't anymore. He knows it's because deep down he's traumatized. Pleasure is something he doesn't feel like he's allowed to have. His lover should be allowed to have it. But him? No. Jerking off feels like such hedonistic behavior. He feels like a degenerate after. No jerking off. Besides, the more pent-up he is, the sexier his dreams get.

He's always been afflicted by crazy dreams - mainly nightmares. Sometimes, though, especially if he's pent up his dreams get sexual. For the most part they're pretty tame, par for the course sex dreams but when he really gets pent up? When he feels like he's going to burst? His dreams get so realistic they might as be reality. He gets rough and possesive and fucks his lover into his mattress only wo wake up and have to come to grips with the things he's WILLING to do to them. He's so used to being disciplined that the moment that mask drops he can't look at himself in the mirror.

[indras-wife]

hii!! LITERALLY loved all your other writings and thank you so much for writing my requests, lovely! I was wondering if you could write a yandere indra with a fem, medic! Reader who is super stubborn? like she never gives any attention to his advances or him whatsoever? Since she's a medic, she's constantly busy healing people to pay attention to him?

once again, thank you sooo much for answering my other requests, take your time, hun<3.

Once again another nice and awesome request! I am happy you and many others enjoy my writings. Your kind feedback encourages me to write moreeee! I got carried out a little so I hope it's okay!

Enjoy reading and I hope you enjoy it. Feel welcome to request more<3

It was UNHEARD for the great Indra Otsutsuki, the genius of ninshu, to get wounded. He knew he was perfect and no man could hurt him. Except his brother who has gained their father’s powers.

Indra got wounded during one of the many battles with his younger brother, Ashura. He was careless and suffered a huge blow to his chest, leaving a nasty scar. Of course, Indra did not care about having any scars, because in his mind, a great warrior should have scars to show the battles he came out winning. Unfortunately, he was bleeding a lot, so he had to retrieve.

In the small village, which he founded himself, he had one specific medic who was able to heal any wound, and even heal the scars. Y/n, under Indra’s HARSH training only was able to gain perfect skills, and she realizes it too, that's why she is always ready to help him, hoping to repay back the kindness he showed her. 

Y/n knows that Indra has feelings for her. Even her friends and elders keep telling her that, but Y/n does not care. She finds chasing such matters futile and childish, and if Indra himself isn't talking about it, then she won't as well. Also…Y/n already has someone else whom she likes. Her childhood friend who is fighting alongside Indra in his wars. Of course, she did not confess, but hopes to have that opportunity one day.

“That’s a terrible scar, My Lord” Y/n spoke calmly as she entered the small tent, where Indra was already in, his upper part of kimono down, showing his broad shoulders and the terrible wound he had. It pained Y/n seeing Indra wounded, but she knew he HAD to fight. He had a very logical reason too so she didn't mind. As long as she was able to help him, she was happy.

She was carefully cleaning the blood and then healing Indra, not looking at his face. However, she felt his eyes on her, how they were studying her every move. For Y/n, Indra was a VERY intimidating man. He was cold, while the man she liked was radiating kind and warm energy. Y/n was trying not to pay any attention to her curious mind, to know why he was always so cold, but she 

“There. The wound is healed, my Lord” Y/n said, standing up and looking at his face, which was derived from any emotions. She could never know what's going in that man’s mind, but part of her did not want to know as well. She was just doing what she had to, and whatever he was thinking did not matter. “Thank you, Y/n” he mumbled, getting up and wearing his kimono back. She bowed to him, ready to leave when Indra grabbed her hand, turning her to look at him.

“Thanks for healing me. Take a day off. You are working too much.” he spoke. Y/n was taken back, considering Indra not only never told ehr to rest, but he never thanked her for doing what she vowed to do. She looked at him, and for a moment she saw his eyes soften, a sight she had never seen. 

“Thank you, my lord. I am not tired frankly, but I will finish my work earlier today” she said. Indra nodded, slowly letting go of her hand and walking out of the tent.

From that interaction, Indra was ALWAYS watching her, checking her out, following her actions with everyone. He would even try to strike more conversations with her, but Y/n was always cutting them short. To be a little more romantic, as one of his soldiers advised, Indra was giving her a few gifts such as flowers and beautiful jewelry, but Y/n was not accepting any of them. 

 It’s true that Indra already knew what type of a woman Y/n was, what were her likes and dislikes, what she even desired to have in her lifespan, but for some reason she was not accepting him and his efforts. He found out that Y/n liked one of the soldiers in his army, someone who’s energy reminded him of his own younger brother. The fact that Y/n likes him, makes Indra rage. Why him? Why not Indra? After all he is strong, handsome, full of drive and just has the means to take care of her and give the world to her. Indra found himself having ideas about killing that man with his own hands, just so he can have Y/n all by himself. That fantasy of him is another reason he was always taking that man with him to the battlefield. Every time he got wounded, the idea of him dying was getting more embedded in Indra’s mind. Maybe, he really did want that man dead, to get closer to Y/n. 

Indra’s mind got clouded with dark thoughts more when he saw Y/n and him talking together, her laughing and having slight blush. She was never this carefree around him, she never smiled or even laughed, but with him she was like a fully different person. It made Indra angrier and more jealous. He became even more determined to get her to himself. She belonged to him.

That same night, Indra walked to her house, his mind already playing the plan he had. He did hold his urges, his words and ideas for a very long time, but from now on, he will act upon them. It's about the damn time. When he reached in front of her house, he did not even care to knock. He made his way in her house, catching Y/n by surprise.

“M-My Lord..?! What are you d-doing here..?! I-I was not expecting you…!” Y/n spoke, visibly shocked from seeing Indra in her own house, uninvited. 

Indra looked at her, not caring about her shock. “I have something IMPORTANT to discuss with you, Y/n. And you better NOT disturb me, because the moment you open your mouth, I will shut you up.” he said. Y/n was taken back more by his usage of words. What has gotten into him…?

“You have been ignoring my feelings for quite some time now. You KNOW I do like you, ever since you set foot in this damn village Y/n. I tried to be nice, to respect you and not pursue you as hard as I would usually do. Everyone knows that I like you, even that loser of a guy for whom you have feelings for. Every person, every elder in this village KNOWS you are MINE. Everyone…but YOU apparently.” he spoke, walking closer to her. His sharingan was activated now, making Y/n feel more intimidated. “Why is that so hm? What does that guy have that I don’t huh? He is not as strong as me, not as handsome as me and not as respected as me! so why do you like him BUT NOT ME…!?” 

Y/n has never heard him talk like this ever. He was always reserved, not talkative and just minding his business. She wished she did not have to talk about her feelings and explain them, but if it meant getting him off her back she would do it. “My l…Indra, I have a very specific reason to like him. He is a kind man, easy to talk with and overall a good man. I have liked him for a long time and I am not ashamed of it. You lack the kindness he has, you lack his ability to communicate! Don’t you think I know how you look at me, stalk me?! You want to be honest, so I will be. I don't like you and your feelings for me do not matter in my eyes. I am healing you and others every time they need it ONLY because I feel a need to repay you back for the kindness you have shown me! I don’t owe you anything, I am allowed to like who I want and YOU are not who I like. So please, leave me alone. I want to be with someone else and NOT you” she spoke, her eyes full of determination and hope that he would leave her alone.

Indra felt angry from her words. How could she be so shameless, rejecting him after all he did for her. Coming out of his comfort zone for her, but not being appreciated. Y/n’s behavior hurt him more than all the things he had witnessed in his life. “Y/n…If this is what you want and feel, then you are leaving me NO choice….” He spoke, grabbing her face and making her look in his eyes. “I get what and who I want. And now…I need YOU. I tried to be nice with you, to be romantic, to strike up more conversations with you just so you would want me. But you really picked the WRONG way. If I cannot have you…then I will force you to be with me. Say BYE to your memories about that man because from this point on, you will have eyes only for me, your mind will have images only of me and you will belong ONLY to me” he spoke as his eyes glowed dangerously. Y/n felt danger, but it was already too late to do anything about it. She felt her consciousness slowly leaving her and her body going limp. “Now…you are MINE. Only MINE Y/n”

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Baki Headcanons

Now this one has Gaia, Sikorsky, and Katou Kiyosumi

Gaia was requested! I just wanted to add the other two for funsies. My requests are open for headcanons

Gaia

You more than likely caught his eye by being good with children. Gaia loves children and he sometimes plays games with them if he’s in the park. He would probably observe you for awhile before making his move

He would charm you first with his quick wit and his easy going attitude. You would never know he had two personalities living within him unless you caught him fighting.

He would come off as the perfect man. Easy to talk to, kind, good with children, he’s very neat, and he can cook. What isn’t there to like about him?

Manipulative. This man is a battle tactic genius, of course he’d be able to manipulate you as well until you’re wrapped around his finger. He would make sure you’re completely dependent on him before you even realized what was going on

Would isolate you from all of your friends. You don’t need them anymore if you’re with him. Don’t be sad that your friends never want to spend time with you, you can spend plenty of time with Gaia. He made the two of you sandwiches to eat in the park. Food tastes even better eaten outside, after all. Wouldn’t a peaceful picnic take your mind off of them? You could even play tag with him and the children.

He would make you want him and appear very vague on whether he was attracted to you. He’d manipulate you into believing you liked him first even though he was the one who had his eyes set on your first. Your blushing face when you confess to him is probably the cutest thing he’s ever seen, how could he say no to such a heartfelt confession?

Sikorsky

You were probably unknowingly kind to him to catch his attention. Maybe he was sitting on the side of the streets hungry and you offered him some food? Don’t you know you should never feed a stray or they’ll keep coming back?

Extremely charismatic and great with sweet talking. He’d offer to walk you home and help you with simple tasks. And he would slowly worm his way into your life with his sweet words and actions. You’d have no idea he was a criminal

Manipulative as well. But he would act like he was innocent and gentle. He was a poor foreigner who didn’t know much about Japan, and you were the only person kind enough to pay him any mind. He is so grateful for how kind and naive you are, it makes it that much easier for him to sink his fangs into you

Nauseatingly possessive. Has you wear his clothes if you go out. Hell tell you in a tone so sweet, it would turn sugar into caramel, “So you’re not cold.” He just doesn’t want anyone else to flirt with you or even talk to you. Sikorsky is a big man, he’s super intimidating to everyone around them so it isn’t hard for him to chase others off who may want to pursue you

Extremely touchy. He loves touching you and holding you. You’re just so small and helpless compared to him. It’s like you were made specially for him to devour

Bonus: Now if you were Gaia’s partner, oh lord. This man is pulling every dirty trick in the book to try to pull you away from the mercenary and he’d make you blush so much, he believed you’d explode any minute. I think he’d back down if Gaia got upset. I don’t see Gaia being the jealous type. I feel he knows you’re too caught up in his web to ever leave him but he wouldn’t mind sharing you with Sikorsky. It keeps the convict in his place after all. Sikorsky is only allowed near you because Gaia allows it. He can use you as leverage to manipulate Sikorsky

Katou Kiyosumi

He would start off as a tsundere and then progress into a Yandere once he ‘realized’ you liked him (he’s delusional)

You’d also attract him by being kind to him. Maybe you gave him some water and a snack when he was passed out drunk on the street after a long self destructive night? Maybe you complimented his outfit? Little things like that matter to Kiyosumi because he’s not usually noticed by people. Kiyosumi knows deep down he’s a loser and constantly pushes people away. You’re more than likely a convenience store worker who is nice to everyone or just a genuinely very kind person that lives in the area Kiyosumi frequents

He presents himself as a very prideful person even though he’s one of the most insecure people around. He hangs on every compliment you give him like a lifeline. He tries to act ‘cool’ and brush you off, but his blush gives it away on how he feels

He’s delusional as hell. You’re complimenting him because you’re attracted to him. That would be the only reasonable answer because he was a scum bag. He lived like a slob and he hardly ate a proper meal, he had no idea why else you would be so nice to him unless you have a crush on him

Probably stalks you. At first it was just out of curiosity on if you lived nearby since you two always ran into each other but then it becomes a daily occurrence. He’s just making sure his partner gets home safe

Truly believes the two of you are dating in his head. You probably don’t even know his name, you’re just being nice to the local drunk man who used to fall asleep on the street because you hope he turns his life around

Kiyosumi probably stops drinking as much because he can’t see or spend as much time with you being under the influence. He wants to know what you’re doing every second of the day

You’d never know he was watching you until it was too late when he wants to make the relationship physical. You don’t stand a chance against his strength when he crawls in through your window to cuddle you while you sleep. You can probably taste the sake on his lips when he kisses you

[jaehyunsprincesspeach2]

Aaaa(♥ω♥*) In a question you answered, you said you like tsukumo

Tsukumo definitely deserves more attention(〃^ω^〃) No one has written anything for Tsukumo on this platform and I was wondering if you can write a boyfriend headcanon for tsukumo 💞

Aghh Tsukumo deserves so much! What a man!

Thank you for the request!

Much love ~ ember

Tsukumo as a Boyfriend

Omg where do I even start with him!!

He’s literally a dream guy with how he treats you!

His loyalty is off the charts

No matter what happens he is by your side

Even if he doesn’t fully agree with your decision, he’s there supporting you and doing what he can to help

Not only is he loyal, he’s protective over you

He’s lost people close to him and he doesn’t want to lose anyone else, especially you

His protectiveness isn’t toxic though, it’s not like he needs to be glued to your side 24/7

But if someone tries to mess with you? They better sleep with one eye open…

Make it known that you are his in very subtle ways

I personally don’t see him being big on PDA, but he will hold your hand or have an arm around your shoulders while walking around

Maybe if he’s feeling needy, he’ll have his hand in your back pocket

The kind of guy who would immediately give you his jacket, even if you deny being cold

He’ll just slip it on your shoulders and act like nothing happened

Most people see him as tough and intimidating, but with you? He’s an absolute teddy bear

Let’s you into his deepest thoughts

Feels like he can truly be himself around you, and tells you things nobody else knows

Relating back to loyalty, his love language is acts of service, for sure

Need some food? He’s on it. Need a blanket? He would make it by hand if he knew how to. Need a hug after a long day? He’s RUNNING to you

For some reason I feel like he would be good at cooking???

Don’t ask why lol I just get that vibe

And if he isn’t, he’s still trying his hardest to cook something for you

Will go out of his way to learn your favorite dish, and will practice cooking it for hours hoping it turns out good

Honestly, he is your biggest fan and #1 supporter!

Anything you achieve, no matter how small it may seem to you, he is finding a new way to celebrate with you

The kind of guy to show up and take you for a destinationless rise on his bike

Or spontaneously show up with flowers, just because they made him think of you

He’s not the best with his words, but he tries his hardest

Regardless, he shows you he loves you through his actions, and never gives you a reason to question or doubt your relationship

Honestly he would just be such a great boyfriend

Very caring and attentive to his partner

Probably knows you better than you know yourself

Always thinking ahead and anticipating your needs, and hes usually right

Overall, hes a keeper for sure!!

[quiveringdeer]

Cameraroll Challenge: Dating Annie Leonhardt

Our short Queen is here!

Ok so we know Annie is a generally reserved and withdrawn person with no qualms about giving anyone attitude. And like many people, when she's around someone she unreservedly loves and trusts, she's comfortable being, well comfortable!

While tiny, (5' 5"/ 153cm), she's mighty. She has a fairly slight build in the series but I can't help but headcanon her as someone packin lots of muscle on her small frame. It's not always apparent because I see her tending to wear layers and baggier clothes, but when she's flexing or in motion it's unmistakable.

Annie is hard to get to know. Her dad wasn't the most emotionally available person and so being open with feelings or even knowing how to process them internally is not something she grew up learning or practicing. Because of that she's very much an action oriented person. If she's sticking around in your prescence when she doesn't absolutely need to be there, it's a safe bet she likes you. She also tends to do certain actions when you're not looking--like if she gets you a gift she leaves it somewhere you'll find it, instead of handing it to you outright. You mention a candle you like the smell of while out at the mall (do ppl go to malls anymore??) and there are two waiting on the kitchen table for you by end of the week! One you can light and one to just sniff and have for decoration.

I don't see her really carring about social media much or taking pictures of herself. However, she'll send you selfies when you ask for them. And lemme tell you, ask for them! You won't regret it!

Although Annie is hella fit and strong, I feel like she's just as happy being held or sitting in someone's lap as she would be vice versa. No matter your size compared to hers! She's not easily intimidated.

This is pretty interesting considering how nonconfrontational she often is. Like if someone gets her order wrong, or makes an off handed insult at her expense she'll usually just brush it off and go with the flow. However, someone insults you? They've barely finished fixin their mouth that way before they're hittin the ground.

I think she'd also get fairly embarrassed and flustered having compliments heaped on her. Gassin her up while she's working out, or when she looks extra cute and hot. 😌 Also, when you pick up on her interest in something--since she probably won't speak it out openly--and end up asking her more about it or gifting her something related to it. Like say, noticing her preferred foods/snacks and packing up meals for her when she's real busy. Noticing the colors she gravitates toward and buying her new sneakers in that color. Showing up to all her competitions and many of her practices. Of which, there's quite a few.

Annie is a skilled fighter. Just can't separate that from her character. Even in modern settings I think of her dad putting lots of pressure on her to become a champion fighter. Whether kick/boxing, mma or what have you. While she is great at it, and enjoys it, I think she sometimes prefers the non pressure of things like dance and free running. Both help her stay in pique condition and let her mind decompress.

I have more but guess I'll just have to do another part. 😏

[an-unsolicited-soliloquy]

The consequence of the inconsequential

You look all around you and everyone is racing ahead at breakneck speed. Kevin just got a much-coveted promotion. Sarah's fashion blog is taking off. Mike's new fitness regime really played well on his abs. There is something everyone has that you don't and you can't help but believe you're falling behind, that everybody is doing better than you, and that in the game of life, you've been cheated on by the universe; somehow, you got dealt the suckiest hand to play with. Sound familiar? I'm sure it does. Been there. Am there.

No matter how strongly I decide that I need to start working on myself, I end up falling head-first on this quest for self-improvement; as a pronounced pattern, I would give up even before I began. So many times had this happened, that I was convinced at one point that humans are by nature self-sabotaging. This was before one fine day when the Divine Revelation came to me during a hot shower that there's a chance that this inability to take action and turn my life around stems from my feeling overwhelmed at the sheer number of things I wanted to change about myself. In retrospect, that made sense. Whenever I would discover something new I needed to work on, my first reaction would be something akin to: “Yep, that's about right, sigh. Another brick on the wall, I guess,” — and those bricks stacked up to form towering wall, one that had become too formidable to look at. To go further with that metaphor, crossing that wall and expanding my horizons had become an insurmountable challenge (pun certainly intended).

What came with that knowledge was the painful recognition that I did not like who I was, and that I needed something of the scale of a house-remodel to fix myself. And what did I choose to do with that knowledge? — I drank a glass of water.

I know what you’re thinking, how does that help anything? As silly and as inconsequential as that sounds, it worked! It set the ball rolling, and contrary to the proverbial rolling stone that gathers no moss, small actions aligned in the correct direction snowballs into something massive and positively unstoppable! Let me explain how that works. The first day all that you need to do is drink enough water. This is a simple challenge; sitting next to a bottle of water would do the trick. Every once in a while your attention will be drawn towards it, you’ll be reminded of your agenda, you’ll take a sip. By the end of the day, the odds are hundred is to one that you’ll have drunk more water than you usually do and you’ll feel good about yourself. In comes the beauty of the feedback loop of accomplishment. This minor victory fuels a drive to keep going. Tomorrow, you’ll drink more water and take a ten-minute walk. Day after, you’ll drink more water, take a ten-minute walk and dust off the old gym equipment that hadn’t seen the light of day in many months. Each little step you take would invariably contribute towards the ultimate goal of attaining satisfaction in our being.

Trying to tackle this challenge head-on is setting oneself up for failure. Change doesn’t happen overnight; it takes sweat, labour and it takes its sweet time in coming to you. Instead, breaking it up into smaller sub-goals makes it actionable and each sprint up to the finish line less intimidating, drastically increasing your chances at succeeding. The glass of water is just a placeholder, you could substitute it with any other easily-achievable aims that you have in mind. All that matters is you start small and slowly build momentum to plough through the bigger, more demanding issues on the list. If you stick sincerely to this strategy, there is no force on Earth that could trip you up.

As I conclude this unsolicited soliloquy, there are two things I would want to remind the readers. First, this isn’t a magic formula that solves everything. It would demand a sizeable amount of dedication, effort and energy from you. It is also not fool-proof; there will be hitches along the road, sure as the sun. There will be set-backs, days when you go back to square one, that’s life. Before you start making faces, let me clarify, that’s not such a bad thing. When we operate under that prevision, we’re eliminating the necessity to succeed every single day; we would feel less pressured to perform and less afraid to fail. We would take it for granted that failing was a part of the process and that doesn’t imply we need to start over allowing us the liberty to resume normally next day onwards. Second, it is no lie that starting takes a lot of initiation energy, which is one of the principal reasons why we procrastinate. The metaphorical glass of water masterfully eliminates this problem. It takes little to no effort to do, nor a symbolic dawn, a new beginning. Why wait for the next day, when the next hour, next minute, next second are equally good? Thus, the readers are advised to keep this attribute in mind while picking their substitute for drinking more water (if you can think of nothing else, this itself would do just fine!).

Everyone is capable of change, believe in yourself. Start today, start now! Because the grass is greener where you water it.

[stanurines1mp]

Wanting You

A decision to be made… A path to her life… Erika Smith found her answer. From Attack On Titan / Shingeki No Kyojin, An Armin Arlert x OC Story.

𝙤𝙣𝙚

𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ← 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔳 𝔫𝔢𝔵𝔱 → 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

Erika Smith had her eyes focused on the writings in the book she held. Just a random book she found on one of her cousin's shelves but she took an interest in it. Her body slouched against the chair she was sitting on by the window, feeling the warmth of the sun hitting her skin. 

Her lips were confined between her teeth, her eyebrows furrowed as her pupils followed the words intensely, her focus solely on the content of the book. She was much too invested that she couldn't even hear the voice of her cousin who had just entered the room, calling her name multiple times already. It was only when she caught a glimpse of his shadow over the pages of the book that she noticed his presence. 

She looked up, seeing the tall man standing in front of her, intimidating eyes and thick brows staring down at her, his hands crossed over his chest in a serious demeanor. She could sense the tension in his shoulders, which only proved the situation to be a serious one. She took a sharp inhale, closing the book shut quickly that she forgot to mark the page she had stopped at. She cursed herself silently for having forgotten that. 

"Is everything okay?" The girl questioned, her tone careful and polite but curious all the same. 

"We need to talk," he commanded, turning around to lead her to the living room or somewhere less private than her room. 

She followed after him, watching as he took a seat in an armchair. She followed his action, taking a seat on the sofa across from him. He leaned back against the chair, his eyes still holding the same sentiment as before. "What's this about?" She asked again. 

"I know you signed up to be a Cadet," he plainly said, though his eyes contradicted the calmness in his voice. 

Upon hearing his words, her green-colored orbs widened, and another curse to herself sent in silence. "I can expl-"

"Why didn't you tell me?" 

"Because I know you'd react this way!" She defended lightly. 

"Then why apply?" 

"Because I want to help. Like you helped!" She let out, though she knew that wasn't really the reason. "Why are you so against it, Erwin?" 

"You know why," he firmly said, leaning forward, eyes more stern than before. If that was even possible. "I've watched many of my comrades die and I don't want you to meet the same end." 

"That's because you're a Scout. I don't have to be a Scout," she reasoned. "I can be in a Military Police-"

"And if you don't qualify for it?"

"I'd have the Garrison Regiment," she said plainly. 

"So you'd choose those over the Scout Regiment?" He asked, tone steady as his brows quirked. 

It took the young girl a second to reply. Her head was tilted down, her tone lowered as she let out a small "No."

"That's what I thought," he replied in a matter-of-factly tone. "I don't want to have to worry about you-"

"Then what about me?" She suddenly asked, her voice louder than before, almost angry. When she saw the puzzled look on his complexion, she continued, "I have to stay home every day and worry for you! I have to wait days and days for you to come back home!"

"Erika-"

"Then, even when you all have returned, I still have to search for you in the crowd! Because there is no guarantee that you're safe! That you're alive! I've already lost most of my family, I can't lose you too!" She vented, her eyes full of emotion as her words slipped out of her tongue. "But I can't stop you from achieving your goals," she added, her voice now lowered. "So you can't stop me either. Whether you approve or not, I will join to become a Cadet." 

The older man had no words left on the tip of his tongue. As his younger cousin was typically a lively girl, he was shocked to have witnessed her outburst. Maybe her emotions were kept bottled up all this while. Remaining silent, his lips agape as his eyes stared blankly at her figure, she left the living room and went to her room instead. 

She carefully closed the door, not wanting to slam it in case of a sign of disrespect. Because after all, that was the man who had taken care of her since she was young. Erika laid herself on her bed, taking a pillow to cover her face that was tainted red in the embarrassment of her own rant. 

She could then hear footsteps approaching her bedroom door, belonging to none other than Erwin. The young brunette knew her cousin was right outside her door through the shadow he cast over the gap under the door, probably to 'discuss' with her about things. 

But she felt like she needed to be alone at that moment. And she was praying under her breath for him not to continue his intention by rapping his knuckles against the wooden door. By some miracle, her wish was answered. 

On the other side of the door, the blond man let out a defeated sigh as he lowered his fist from the door and down to his side. He began to walk away, his mind already thinking of his next moves. 

The girl refused to leave her room but she had no choice when darkness loomed over her room, the lack of sunlight indicating that dinnertime shouldn't be much longer. She slowly removed the pillow that rested on her face and pushed herself upwards. Her legs moved to the side, dangling over the edge of the bed. 

She got up and walked towards the door, turning the doorknob. She made her way towards the kitchen and rustled through the pantry for any appropriate ingredients. Then, her routine began. Not much longer, the kitchen smelled aromatic and her cousin soon appeared in the room. Neither of them said a word, only doing their actions as usual even once the two were seated by the table and ready to eat. 

"I have decided," Erwin suddenly broke the silence of the night. His words caught the young girl's attention. Her eyes looked up to meet his, patiently waiting for his next words. "I will allow you to join the military," he lowly let out. He watched as his cousin's plain eyes lighted up brightly. 

"Are you serious?!" She squeaked in happiness upon seeing his nod. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She giggled excitedly, getting off her chair to rush towards him, her arms tightly wrapped around his shoulders. "You won't regret it!" She gushed happily, not noticing the small smile the man wore on his complexion. 

"I know you'll make me proud one day, Erika," he hummed, raising his hands to wrap around the girl in a warm embrace. 

His words replayed in her mind, even as she placed a goodbye kiss on his cheek, her arms refusing to let him go on his mission. God knows when would be the next time they would see each other again. He's leaving for a new mission just as she was leaving for the training camp.  

Upon her arrival at the compound, she was told to present herself before being assigned her bunk. Once registrations ended, everyone was told to line up in their uniforms. It was mostly an introduction from the instructor. 

Afterward, Erika headed back to her bunk to change into something a little more comfortable for the night. As she was about to head to the dining hall, she overheard some people talking on the veranda of a dorm. 

"We're from Shiganshina," a boy said, his hair a light brown, paired with jewel green eyes. 

As she walked past them, her head glanced over her shoulders to look at the boy. He also had another boy beside him who Erika assumed was the 'we' in question. The other boy had bright blond hair that vaguely reminded her of her cousin. The boy, too, had piercing blue ocean eyes. 

One that had accidentally met Erika's. His orbs widened just as hers did but she immediately looked away and made her way to the dining hall as planned. Erika took a tray of food and sat at an empty table, not sure just yet if she should approach others. But she remained in solitude as she ate. 

She just watched the night unfold in front of her, listening in silence as the brown-haired boy from before told the others of his traumatic experience in Shiganshina when the wall was broken. When Erika wanted to leave, she pushed herself off the bench and brought her tray to the designated bin. 

She walked towards the door, opening it before she left the room, the night air was cold as it hit her skin. She took off her hair tie and let it rest on her wrist, the breeze causing her hair to softly dance in nature's rhythm. 

She felt a tingling sensation on her neck, taking her eyes off the road and onto the silver necklace that dangled out of her shirt. She quickly went to tuck it back into her shirt though not stopping her movements. Just when she had finally looked up, she collided with someone. She took a step back, pushing strands of hair behind. 

"I'm so sorry-"

"It's fine, it was my fault. I wasn't looking where I was going," she cut the boy off only to realize that it was one of the boys from Shiganshina. She caught the brown-haired boy's name from the way others were talking to him loudly earlier. But she didn't know his name. "I'm Erika Smith," she said, a soft smile gracing her lips. 

"I'm Armin."

[amazythelsblogs]

La Casa De Bernarda Alba, poverty rant, and E.D. Realisation

Watch La Casa, by Federico Garcia Lorca. 

I absolutely hate buying anything, any material thing created to be norm and so on. Hearing people who think they are the smartest, who use power, intimidation and force to get their point and to silence others, and to be little those who have newer, fresher and more of the times knowledge than then gives me the ick. People who try to make themselves feel better, or who engage in rich people habits to make themselves look better. The master shadow weavers of the village. Forcing their illusion of wealth upon the others, those who they deem to be lower than themselves. Who buy more, as their numbers go down, but its in the thousands, that means you are rich, right? Small amounts of fortune, are big to them, and they create a pompous and beter than you reality. 

I have a head ache from screaming, and from forcefeeding the perfect image. Hoarding material possessions to create the illusion of wealth, decorarting the walls of a house built on sand, and trying to mimick the visuals of the rich, without first putting in the work because the ego is too proud to admit its true position. Creating a wall soo thick that anyone trying to prove you wrong and help you shatter the illusion so that you can have real wealth, real happiness and real good fortune is cast out, and doesn’t even try to help, to encourage, or to give an alternate opinion. Having a pride so high and mighty, that you could be scavenging to make ends meet after drowning in debt to afford your luvurious sandcastle, and oyu still wouldn’t accept help, or an alternate opinion. If you find yourself to be happy that your kids are gone, or happy to be away from your constant cyclical life, you are doing something wrong and I suggest you change so now. If you are buying excessively for a home you rent you need to rethink your actions. If you are loading your pockets with good fortune and then letting it crumble away bit by bit buy buying cheap little things that is bozo behaviour and I call you to rethink your actions immediately. You are trying to overcompensate. No matter if you are 12 years old when you read this, living in your family haouse, or 22 and living in a rented apartment, you need to stop buying, start learning, start consciously and mindfully investing, and start buidlign up a savings resource. Stop letting your good fortune crumble into cheap fashion and thrills, Into going out, eating out, trying to be luxurious. Act like the current situation. if you have no money, look the part, and insead of trying to make yourself look presentable and beautiful to the lower class, work hard in rags and put all of your focus into getting into the upper class as soon as possible, then allow your transformation to glow. And stop beinf lazy in your actions. Just do what you have to do, do the work, and have a clear goal, clear steps to take, so that you are not running around with a full nappy panicking about the next step to take. 

For Dictator parents

1. Never try to humiliate your children in front of their friends to prove a point. That is abusive. Don’t scream at them in private or in the presence of their friends. If your child reacts strangely to your approaches of affection, or stay ssilent when you joke about your relationship with your friends, they are in victim mode, and they are tired of your b*llsh*t. Stop playing down their feelings, stop trying to be little them to make yourself feel bigger, and stop trying to get validation from your friends who have always told you what a good person you are. You are not. If your negative actions from the past three days outweigh the positive ones, that means that currently you are a bad person and you need to change your ways asap before your kid starts getting some kind of a ptsd or psychological disorder. It is as simple and easy as them experiencing something once, twice, then three times to form a compulsive reaction or defense mechanism. You are ruining your children by being too prideful. 

2. If you have a child who trusts you unconditionally, you are the leader, and they are the follower. they look up to you, like a little puppy would. They see you only perfectly, especially if they are the eldest, and you have been trough much together. That is why it is crucial to be kind and loving towards them. To be patient, and understanding. Sometimes, parents are just big psycho babies that need a reality check. Especially the proud ones. When they are constantly the ones setting the rules, and being in control. 

3. Story time

I came back after dropping out of university, to my family being very  distant from me. I felt like a reject an dthat hurt me, because after my experiences, and realising that in this world it really is just me, it shook me to my core. i had been with these people for my entire life, and the parent turning hostile towards me hurt me. I had been forcefeeding myself large quantities of carb foods, and mass consuming bulk, kilograms of food at once. I was self harming and didn’t even realise it. I had made many mistakes, and I was very deeply in a dark hole. I had been very beautiful over the summer, but this quickly changed after my attempts to harm myself through the food I was eating. I had gained quite a lot of weight, and went from getting into the semi-finals of a modelling contest to ripping at mt body and cutting off my hair. All of my beautiful clothes were ruined, and when I had returned to my room it was messy and i felt like an intruder. The toxins and unusual chemicals in the food got to my brain, and I was so delusional and disoriented that I allowed many different people into my energy, and even into my house at the time. it felt like I was on crack. That winter was probably the worst winter of my life. i remeber choking myself with food once, after someone had given me some leftovers from the cafe they worked at, white sanwiches and white pasta, nothing like anything I used to eat. I forced it down my throat. Then I went back to bed. I was stuck to that bed, it felt like it was pulling me into a deep dark hole, and I was delusional, delirious, and quite vulnerable. I drifted around this place, and for so long that I had spent £2,000 in rent money. I remeber trying to fin dfar away places to go to, and drifting on public transport trying to get to the airport, I got there once, and was ready to get a flight, but it didn’t work out how I had imagined. 

The worst thing was, that the parent didn’t really seem to be phased by anything, but I don’t quite remember what happened. I was just yelld at for getting home late, and it must have been 12 am or 1am that I got home once, I was walking from the trainstation to te house but ended up getting an uber and angering the parent. 

Ever since then I have been paranoid about the police taking me away for being a psycho or displaying antisocila behaviour. I have been trying to forget that time, those times, but it’s quite difficult to, when I am sitting at home and trying to figure out what’s next. 

My entire life has always revolved around school, shopping, and work, art, beauty. I ‘ve been dreaming of beig surrounded by nature, but here is my paradoxical thinking.

I am in England. Ok, a First World country. But I am unhappy here. I am shortening my lifespan by living this stressful and unhealthy lifestyle, and I am beyond numb to misery. Ok solution: go travelling. Yes, but when i run out of money? i’ll be happy! No, I will be stuck wherever I had find myself, so I  find myself in aplace that I would be happy to be stuck in, sorted. Ok, now what happens in twenty + yeasr when th econsumersim and machienes come to the home I would have built an ddestroy it like in Avatar? I will have been like: I could’ve stopped this, but I wanted to be happy.

Hypothesis: What’s the point of being alive if you hate every moment that you’re alive and unhappy? Isn’t the point of us having awareness and consiousness to b ehappy and live free, to fully be awake in the dream of life? it all goes into darkness, someday, so I choose to be happy about the fact that I am so super aware that I am alive, that I can analyse my own existence on a blog post on a website called tumblr. 

Good day and good riddance. 

Em hotep.