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verstappenverse · 2 months ago

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Lessons in Jealousy

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: You’ve been in love with Lando as long as you can remember, but to him, you’re just his best friend. Enter Max your longtime frenemy who offers to help make Lando jealous. But as Lando finally starts to notice you, you wonder if you were chasing the wrong heart all along.

11.3k words / Poll Winner / Masterlist

Celebrations were in full swing tonight, laughter and clinking glasses filled the paddock lounge, and there was Lando in the middle of it all. He’d just finished another impressive race and with each victory the swarm of admirers seemed to grow. You’d spent years watching him like this, taking it all in from the sidelines. From kids at the karting track you’d been through nearly everything together. Yet somehow he never seemed to see you in the same way you saw him.

The thought stung. He saw you as his constant, his dependable best friend, and though your heart had tried, time and time again, to beat in time with his, it seemed that it may never be.

As you sat on the edge of the lounge sipping a drink, feeling like you’d blended into the wall, a familiar, annoyingly smug voice brought you back to reality. Max Verstappen leaned against the wall beside you, arms crossed, a small smirk playing on his lips as he nodded towards Lando.

“Never gets old huh?”

You’ve known Max almost as long as you’d known Lando, which is to say, too long. Your friendship with Lando was easy, uncomplicated, and comfortable from the start. Max though? That was different. With Max, it was like fire and ice.

You weren’t sure exactly when it started, but from the moment he entered your orbit, it was as if the universe had decided you two were destined to push each other’s buttons. If Lando was easy warmth, Max was the kind of heat that could burn. He had a knack for getting under your skin, for knowing exactly what to say to rile you up, to make you bite back with sharp words and narrowed eyes. And you weren’t innocent in it either, you knew what set him off, what made his jaw go tight, what made his hands flex against his thighs like he was physically restraining himself from responding.

You rolled your eyes, trying not to let him get under your skin. “You’re always so observant Max. Maybe try worrying about your own life?”

“Come on, it’s practically a free show,” he laughed, eyes not moving from Lando who was currently entertaining a particularly beautiful fan with one of his charming stories. You’d tried to accept his constant stream of dates, pretending that each one didn’t hurt a little more than the last, but the look in his eyes when he gazed at her… it stung.

“Surprised you have time to comment on my life Verstappen,” you shot back, not bothering to turn.

“It’s hard to miss. Every time I turn around there you are. Just trying to understand it.”

You glanced up at him. “Understand what?”

“Do you have a life outside of following him around?” he asked, raising an eyebrow

“Do you have a life outside of annoying me?” You fire back, hiding the warmth rising to your cheeks.

Every time you saw Max his quick wit and sometimes annoyingly perceptive comments rubbed you the wrong way. Lando would just laugh whenever you and Max got into your usual back-and-forth.

“You guys are worse than siblings,” he would tease.

Max seemed to enjoy poking at your devotion to Lando, teasing you about your years spent watching him with starry eyes, never once making a move. And yet, somehow, every taunt felt calculated, like he was trying to unravel something only he could see.

Max’s moved closer to you, his expression shifting into something almost thoughtful. “You know,” he said, his voice lowering, “I almost feel bad for you sometimes.”

“Excuse me?” Your eyebrows shot up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know exactly what I mean. I’ve watched you for years, following him around like he’s the last guy on earth.”

“Because he’s my best friend,” you retorted, feeling defensive. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Max tilted his head, considering you. “Right. And that’s why you look at him like he hung the damn moon?”

“That’s not—” You opened your mouth to argue but snapped it shut. Arguing with Max was like arguing with a brick wall. He always had a way of pushing buttons you didn’t even know you had.

He shrugged. “Look, I just don’t get it. You’ve been waiting around for him forever. And for what?”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that already. What exactly are you getting at?”

His gaze flickered. “You need a new approach.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A new approach?”

Max nodded. “Simple psychology. Stop hanging around like his shadow. Make him notice you’re not always there.”

“So, your grand plan is to just play hard to get?”

“Not just play,” he corrected, a sly smile on his face. “Be hard to get. Lando’s used to always having you around, if you change that up it’ll get under his skin.”

The thought took you by surprise. You’d spent years at Lando’s side, always dependable, always there. The idea of pulling back felt...risky. But Max was right. It was a small risk compared to the years of waiting you’d already put in.

“I could help you, you know.” His voice was so casual that it took you a moment to process what he’d just offered. When you turned to him, he wore an expression of mild amusement. “Give him a little push. Maybe make him notice you for once.” His eyes glinted.

You stared at him, caught between skepticism and intrigue. “And what would you get out of it?”

Max crossed his arms, that signature confidence settling over him. “Maybe it’ll be fun,” he said with a wink, then shrugged. “Or maybe I just want to stop seeing you look miserable every race weekend.”

His expression was unreadable, but something about the way he was looking at you made your stomach twist.

What did you really have to lose?

You decided to give Max’s plan a try. Over the next few weeks you started making yourself less available. At first it felt unnatural, like you were playing a role in someone else’s life. Instead of rushing to Lando’s side after each race, instead of being the first person to celebrate his podiums or commiserate his losses you found other ways to spend your time. What you didn’t expect was how quickly your free time started being filled by Max.

He had a habit of appearing at the exact moment you might have otherwise gone to Lando, redirecting your focus with an effortless pull. If Lando was occupied, Max would materialise leaning against a wall, arms crossed, an eyebrow raised as if he’d been waiting for you to notice.

What was worse? You didn’t hate it.

You started seeking him out. Not consciously at first, but enough that he noticed.

“Still following orders?” he’d ask whenever you showed up in his garage, as though challenging you.

“Believe it or not I’m here by choice,” you’d reply, trying not to smile at his cocky grin.

That was the thing about Max he pushed, he prodded, he provoked. But for all his sharp edges, he had a way of making you think, of making you see things differently. You found yourself spending more time with Max in a way that bordered on ridiculous. You started joining him for lunch, sitting in on debriefs you had no real reason to be in, talking strategy like you actually belonged there.

And more and more, you started to notice things you hadn’t before.

The way Max listened, really listened, when you spoke. The way his brow furrowed when he disagreed, the way he challenged you, not to be difficult, but because he wanted to hear your reasoning, wanted to understand your perspective. Beneath the arrogance, beneath the ever-present smirk and the witty remarks, there was an intelligence and insightfulness you hadn’t fully appreciated before.

The longer you took to text Lando back, the more he started to notice. At first he joked about it, throwing an arm around your shoulders like he always did.

“You’re getting popular, huh? Who’s keeping you so busy?” he asked, a little laugh in his voice. But there was something else in his gaze confusion, maybe even curiosity.

You only smiled, shrugging it off, but you could feel the shift.

“Let me guess,” Max said as you both sat outside the team’s motorhome later that week, watching Lando down the pit-lane goof around with a few fans, occasionally glancing in your direction, “he asked you to meet up tonight, didn’t he?”

You sighed, folding your arms. “Yeah, he did.”

Max scoffed, shaking his head. “See? It’s already working. He’s starting to realise you’re not always there when he wants you.”

You let out a short laugh, though there was uncertainty beneath it. “I don’t think that’s true. He probably just—”

Max turned toward you then, his teasing fading into something more serious.

“You really don’t see it do you?” he said, almost as if he were realising something in real-time.

You frowned. “See what?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely at you, at the space between you, at whatever invisible shift had taken place in the past few weeks. “You’re different when you’re not waiting around for him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Different how?”

Max leaned in slightly, voice lowering just enough to make you feel like he was letting you in on some kind of secret. “You’re not trying so hard to be the girl you think Lando wants. And, for what it’s worth I think this version of you…the real you, is a hell of a lot more interesting.”

The words settled in your chest, warm and unexpected, leaving you momentarily without a response.

Late one afternoon Max showed up at your hotel door twirling his car keys around his finger. “Come on,” he said, eyes gleaming with something that looked dangerously close to mischief.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Come where?”

He leaned against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. “I figured it was time to see if you’re actually capable of driving or just a glorified spectator.”

Your brows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, grinning now. “Let’s go.”

Naturally, you took that as a challenge.

The two of you spent hours racing each other, bumping karts, stealing inside lines, and throwing accusations of dirty tactics back and forth. Sure, it was fast, intense, competitive but there was so much laughter, a kind of easy camaraderie that felt strangely liberating.

You had just pulled off your helmet, hair a mess and adrenaline still buzzing through your veins, when you spotted Max watching you with a small, unguarded smile

“You’re actually pretty good out there,” Max admitted, his voice amused.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking as you took a sip of water. “High praise from the world champion. Should I be flattered?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve got guts.”

You scoffed, leaning against the railing beside him. “Only because it’s you. It’s survival instincts Verstappen.”

Max turned slightly, his arm brushing yours as he studied you. “Oh, so now you’re saying I make you better? That’s interesting.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not what I said.”

“Mm.” He tilted his head, mock thoughtful. “Sounds a lot like what you said.”

You huffed, nudging him with your elbow. “Fine. If it makes you feel better you make me drive more aggressively.”

His grin widened. “See? You do get better when I’m around.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “No I just want to beat you.”

Max bumped his shoulder against yours, casual, easy. “Same thing.”

You shook your head, unable to fight the grin pulling at your lips.

“Seriously,” he said, his voice softer now, “I think you’re tougher than you give yourself credit for. Definitely tougher than most people realise.”

Something about the way he said it made you pause, the words striking somewhere deeper than you expected.

Things slowly started to shift between you and Max. Little moments that should have been insignificant but somehow weren’t.

Like the way Max always seemed to find you in a crowded room, even when you weren’t looking for him. How he started waiting not in an obvious, deliberate way, but just enough for you to notice. Just enough that you felt it.

Or the way he’d pass you a drink at an event before you could even ask for one, like he already knew what you needed. The way he’d brush his knee against yours under the table at dinners, wordlessly checking in. The way he always had a sarcastic remark at the ready, but if anyone else gave you a hard time, he was the first to shut it down.

And then there were the more obvious moments.

Like how somewhere along the way, you had just become part of his post-race routine, not just because you were waiting for him, but because he was waiting for you too. Whether it was dinner, drinks, or decompressing in a hotel room after a long day. You just ended up there like you belonged, the same way he always ended up beside you.

Or the time he offered you a seat on his plane without a second thought, the invitation so casual it almost felt meaningless. You don’t need to fly commercial just come with me. As if it was the easiest thing in the world, like it was obvious you’d say yes. And when you did, the entire flight passed in quiet conversation and comfortable silence, his jacket draped over you when you fell asleep somewhere over the Atlantic, something you only noticed when you woke up, groggy and warm, finding Max pretending as if he hadn’t been watching you.

It wasn’t the same as following Lando around, lingering in the spaces he occupied, hoping he’d finally see you. With Max, you weren’t just there, you were wanted.

At some point, the teasing had shifted, too. It was still there, sharp as ever, but there was something gentler beneath it. A knowing look. A lingering glance. The more time you spent together, the harder it was becoming to deny.

As the paddock wound down one evening and the last traces of daylight faded into the horizon, you stepped out to find Max waiting for you. He was leaning against his car, arms crossed over his chest, that ever-present smirk playing at his lips.

You slowed your steps, eyeing him warily. “What?”

Max smirked, tilting his head slightly. “I just wanted to see you. Is that so bad?”

Your heart stuttered for a fraction and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “Depends on the reason.”

He just grinned, rolling his eyes. “Get in the car. I have a spot I want to show you.”

You didn’t question it. That was the strange thing about Max, you never quite knew what he was up to, but somehow, it always felt like it made sense in the moment. So, you got in.

The city lights faded behind you as Max drove further out, leaving the familiar chaos of the paddock behind. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable if anything, it felt easy, like neither of you needed to fill it just for the sake of it, he just drove. One hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely on the gearshift, his posture relaxed but focused.

You leaned your head against the window, watching the world blur past. “So, am I going to get an explanation at some point, or are we just driving until we run out of gas?”

Max huffed a laugh, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. “Patience, princess.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, but the blush rising to your cheeks threatened to betray you.

Eventually, he pulled off onto a secluded hilltop, a place that overlooked the distant glow of the city below. The sky stretched wide above you, stars blinking against the dark canvas of night.

“Didn’t peg you as the type to stargaze,” you murmured as you stepped out of the car, glancing at Max as his gaze lifted to the sky.

He smirked, his eyes reflecting the faint glow of the stars above. “I’m full of surprises.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “That’s one way to put it.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “And what’s the other way?”

You pretended to think, tapping your chin. “A walking contradiction. Impossible. Infuriating.”

Max chuckled as he looked back up at the sky. “You forgot irresistible.”

You let out a scoff. “Oh, right. How could I forget that?”

You sat beside him, close enough to feel his warmth in the crisp night air, but not close enough to touch. As your conversation continued late into the night, you started to realise there was a lot more to Max than you had ever really understood.

He was talking about his early days on the track, the relentless pressure, the suffocating expectations, the way the sport had consumed him before he was even old enough to fully understand what it meant. And with that came the isolation of a life that revolved around racing before he had the chance to figure out who he was outside of it.

“You don’t exactly seem like someone who needs…anyone,” you said, your curiosity genuine.

Max gave a small shrug, his gaze flickering toward the horizon. “You get used to being alone in this world. Everyone wants something from you, so you learn to keep people at a distance.”

His honesty caught you off guard, the vulnerability in his words settling in a way you hadn’t expected. “Then why are you helping me?”

He let out a short laugh, but his gaze held yours. “Maybe because I understand what you’re going through. More than you know.”

The words hung between you, heavy with meaning.

You weren’t sure what to say. This was new territory, uncharted, and unfamiliar.

Several weeks later you were all out at a club, the night was loud, the place packed with bodies. The bass thrummed through your chest, neon lights casting shadows over familiar faces as you navigated through the crowd. Lando was here, you’d spotted him earlier laughing with a group of people you barely recognised caught up in his own world.

You had found him, weaving through the crowd, your hand grazing his arm as you leaned in close, your voice barely cutting through the music. But the moment lasted no more than a few seconds before he brushed you off, distracted, his attention elsewhere. A joke thrown over his shoulder, an easy grin at someone else, and suddenly you weren’t even there.

Maybe it was the drinks, or the music, or the fact that he had no idea how much this all meant to you, but for the first time, it felt different. Like a crack forming in something you’d always assumed was solid.

So you had stepped away, retreating to the edges of the club, frustration twisting in your chest as you rested against the cool wall. Your shoulders slumped, exhaustion creeping in not just from the night, but from all of it. The waiting, the hoping, the years of being right there only to be left standing in the background.

That was how Max found you.

“Still hoping for a miracle?” His voice cut through the music, and when you turned your head, he was beside you, leaning casually against the wall like he hadn’t just read your mind.

You sighed, tilting your head back. “I don’t know anymore.”

For once, Max didn’t smirk, didn’t tease. When you glanced at him, his expression was softer, the usual sharpness in his eyes replaced with something closer to concern.

“You don’t have to wait for him you know,” he said simply.

You exhaled, turning to face him fully. “And what else am I supposed to do?”

He shrugged, but his gaze didn’t waver. “Maybe you’re too close to see it, but you’re worth a lot more than being someone’s second choice.”

Max’s words his unwavering certainty planted a thought in your mind that you weren’t ready to face. “I know you’re trying to help,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, “but it’s complicated. I’ve been friends with Lando for so long it’s hard to just—”

“Walk away?” Max interrupted gently. “Sometimes that’s the best thing you can do for yourself.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Max shook his head, as if letting you off the hook.

“Forget it,” he said, his tone lighter. “I know you’re not ready to give up on him.” And then he pushed off the wall and walked away, disappearing into the crowd before you could stop him.

But as you stood there, alone in the darkened corner of the club, Lando’s laughter echoing from somewhere across the room, you found yourself wondering if Max was right. And if he was…what the hell were you still waiting for?

One late night, you found yourself sitting with Max in the quiet hum of the Red Bull garage. His hands moved animatedly as he explained his thoughts on the upcoming strategy, eyes sharp with focus, completely absorbed in his own thoughts. He spoke fast, precise, running through every possibility, every variable, like his mind was operating on a level most people couldn’t even grasp.

It was mesmerising to watch.

“You’re staring,” he noted, barely looking up from the data, but the smirk in his voice was unmistakable.

You blinked, caught off guard, heat creeping up your neck. “Am I?” you deflected, tilting your head. “Maybe I’m just realising you might actually know what you’re talking about.”

Max let out a short chuckle, leaning back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest as he studied you with an infuriating level of amusement. “Careful,” he mused, his eyes glinting. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were impressed.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Let’s not get carried away.”

His smirk widened, his voice dropping slightly as he leaned in. “Too late. I’m taking it as a compliment.”

You rolled your eyes, but the small smile you couldn’t quite hide gave you away. “Fine. I guess you’re a lot better at this than I may have originally gave you credit for.”

Max raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “That almost sounded genuine. Say it again, I just wanna make sure I heard you right.”

You nudged his arm, laughing despite yourself. “Don’t push your luck Verstappen.”

Max just grinned, and he looked at you then like he knew something you didn’t, but before you could respond your phone buzzed on the table between you. You didn’t even have to check the screen to know who it was.

Lando.

You picked it up, your stomach tightening as you read the message. A simple, casual miss you.

Two words that once would have sent your heart racing now felt hollow. Forced. Like an afterthought rather than something real. Your fingers hovered over the screen before you exhaled quietly and set your phone back down without replying.

“What did he say?” Max asked, his tone unreadable.

“Nothing important,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over the edge of the table.

Max didn’t press, but the atmosphere felt heavier, like there was something you’d both acknowledged without needing to say it aloud.

Then, with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes, Max stood, stretching his arms over his head. “Come on, it’s late let’s get out of here.”

You nodded, standing as well, but before you could say anything, he glanced at you, something unreadable across his face. “Goodnight princess,” he added as you headed your own way, his tone light, teasing like nothing about this night had affected him at all.

But when you looked at him, really looked at him, you saw it. The shift in his expression. The way his smirk faltered for just a second, like there was something else he wanted to say but wouldn’t.

Days later you were standing beside Max the night air was warm, thick with the lingering heat of the day. It could’ve been anywhere, a quiet corner of the paddock, or a rooftop overlooking the city, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the way Max wouldn’t look at you.

He had been quiet all day. His jaw was tight, his fingers tracing the edge of the bottle in his hand, his eyes fixed on the ground like he was thinking about something he didn’t want to say out loud.

You exhaled, shifting beside him. “You’re acting weird.”

Max scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “I’m not.”

You arched an eyebrow. “You are. You’re never quiet this long unless you’re planning something dangerous.”

At that, he let out a breath of laughter, but it faded quickly.

“I don’t get it,” he said suddenly, watching you over his drink.

You frowned. “Get what?”

His jaw clenched slightly before he spoke, his voice quieter now, more measured. “How can he not see it?”

A strange sort of unease curled in your chest. “See what?”

“You.” His voice was steady, intent. “You’re always there, supporting him, understanding him…I don’t understand how he doesn’t see how incredible you are.”

Your breath caught, heat rushing to your face at the sheer honesty in his tone. Max didn’t say things he didn’t mean. He didn’t hand out compliments just for the sake of it.

“Max…”

He shook his head, setting his drink down on the ledge beside him. “He’s blind, or maybe just afraid. But you deserve more than this.” His lips pressed together for a second, like he was trying to keep his emotions in check. “You deserve someone who doesn’t take you for granted.”

You swallowed, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. “It’s not as bad as you make it sound,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “I know he cares about me, maybe not in the way I’ve always wanted him to but…” You hesitated, trying to find the right words. “When things got hard, when I needed someone, he’s never turned his back on me.” A small, almost sad smile crossed your lips. “We’ve been through so much together. He knows me better than most people do.”

Max’s expression was lost, but he didn’t interrupt.

“It’s just sometimes, it’s hard,” you admitted finally, your voice carrying the weight of years of unspoken doubts. “Because I know he cares really, in his own way, but I don’t know if it’ll ever be enough.” You shook your head, exhaling slowly. “Not in the way I want it to be.”

Max’s gaze softened slightly, the edge of his earlier frustration fading just a little. “You can’t keep waiting for him to notice,” he murmured finally, breaking the quiet. His voice was steady, but there was something else there too.

You shifted beside him, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I’m not waiting—”

Max cut you a look.

You sighed, looking down at your hands. “Okay. Maybe I am.”

Max exhaled, running a hand through his hair, glancing out into the night. For a moment, you thought that was the end of it that he would just drop it like he always did when you didn’t want to listen. But then, just as you were about to change the subject, he spoke again.

“I just don’t get why it has to be him.”

Your head snapped up, eyes locking onto his. “What?”

Max’s jaw tightened, like he regretted saying it out loud. But he didn’t backtrack. He never did. Instead, he exhaled sharply. “You act like he’s the only person in the world who could ever make you happy.”

Your stomach twisted. “That’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” His voice was level, but there was an edge to it, something restrained. He ran a hand over his jaw, looking away for a second before turning back to you. “I’ve seen you wait for him. Years. And I keep wondering…”

A lump formed in your throat. “Wondering what?”

Max swallowed, his hands flexing at his sides like he wanted to shove them in his pockets or maybe run them through his hair again, anything to distract himself. But he didn’t. He just looked at you.

“Wondering when you’re gonna realise you don’t have to.”

The words hit you like a punch to the stomach.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Because what the hell were you supposed to say to that?

He leaned back against the ledge, tilting his head slightly. “For what it’s worth,” he said, his voice softer now, no teasing, just quiet sincerity. “I just want you to be happy. That’s all.”

You exhaled, looking down at your hands, the weight of everything settling deep in your chest. “Me too.”

Max nudged your knee with his, a small attempt to lighten the moment. “You’ll figure it out.”

You glanced at him, searching his expression, and found nothing but warmth in his gaze. “Yeah?”

He nodded, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. You always figure things out when it matters.”

You huffed a small laugh and just like that, the tension lifted, fading into the night. Maybe nothing had changed. Maybe everything had. And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were waiting for Lando at all. Or if you were just afraid of what would happen if you finally stopped.

Lando’s behaviour changed even more in the following weeks as he felt your absence grow.

The late replies that once went unnoticed were now met with double texts. The easy, casual invites had turned into persistent attempts to recreate days together “just like old times.” He was calling more, messaging at odd hours, throwing your name into conversations like a tether, as if trying to remind you of your place in his world.

It should have felt like everything you had ever wanted. The attention, the shift, the proof that maybe this had been the answer all along. And yet, somehow, the thrill of getting Lando’s attention wasn’t as satisfying as you’d imagined.

And then, one night, everything changed.

It wasn’t a grand gesture, no dramatic moment of realisation. It was just Lando, the two of you standing together slightly separated from the crowd. You had noticed it the way his eyes lingered, the way his laughter softened when it was just the two of you, like he was seeing something new.

And then, just like that, he finally said it.

“You’re one of the most important people in my life,” he admitted. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Let me take you out,” he said suddenly, almost like he was realising it in real time. “Just us. Properly.”

Your heart pounded as you stared at him.

This was it.

Lando, finally seeing you. Finally wanting you.

For months, years really, you had waited for this. Dreamed of it even.

And when the moment finally arrived, you said yes.

A real dinner, just the two of you. No last-minute paddock meet-ups, no half-hearted invitations tacked onto group outings. A proper date. The kind you had imagined more times than you could count. And yet, as you sat across from Lando at a sleek, candlelit table, dressed in the outfit you’d spent way too long picking out, the excitement you had expected wasn’t there.

Instead, a strange mix of anticipation and dread settled in your chest.

You tried to ignore it.

Lando was smiling at you, talking animatedly about something, golf, or maybe a new sim rig setup, but you found your mind drifting. The restaurant was perfect, the kind of place you used to imagine him taking you to.

But something about the moment still felt…off.

You forced yourself to focus.

Lando leaned back in his chair, exhaling as he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers raking through the curls like he was trying to ease some unseen tension. “Everything is just so busy at the moment,” he admitted, shaking his head slightly. “Sponsor stuff, sim training, and, you know, the actual racing.” He let out a small laugh. “Barely any time to breathe.”

He smiled then, but there was something searching in his gaze. His fingers tapped lightly against the stem of his glass before he lifted it, taking a slow sip. “But I guess you’ve been busy too.”

You blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

Lando tilted his head slightly, the candlelight flickering in his eyes as he studied you. “I don’t know,” he said, voice lighter than his expression. “It just feels like I don’t see you as much anymore. Not like we used to.”

The words settled between you, and suddenly, the air felt heavier.

You hesitated, fingers curling around the stem of your wine glass, rolling it between your fingertips as if that would steady you. “Yeah…I guess things have just been different lately.”

Lando nodded slowly, but his gaze didn’t leave yours. “Different how?”

“I don’t know,” you said carefully. “I guess I’ve just been… busy.”

Lando hummed, unconvinced. “Busy with Max?”

You inhaled sharply, the directness of his words catching you off guard. He wasn’t teasing, wasn’t smirking. He was asking.

You placed your glass down, exhaling. “We’ve been spending more time together, yeah.”

“I figured,” he said finally, his voice even. “You two have been… close lately.”

You swallowed, feeling a strange mix of guilt and something else, something you weren’t ready to name. “It’s not like that,” you said quickly, but even as the words left your mouth, you weren’t sure they were true.

Lando studied you for another second, then sighed, shaking his head with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m not mad, you know,” he said, softer now. “I just… I guess I didn’t realise how much things had changed.”

Your chest tightened, but you didn’t know what to say. Because neither had you.

Lando nodded, then he leaned forward resting his elbows on the table, his voice dropping slightly. “Did I do something wrong?”

You swallowed, caught off guard. “No. Of course not.”

And it was true, wasn’t it? Lando hadn’t done anything wrong. Not really.

But even as the words left your mouth, doubt crept in.

Lando smiled then, that boyish grin that had always made your heart stutter in the past, the one that made it so easy to believe that maybe this could be something real. Something right.

“I’m glad,” he said, his voice lighter now, more assured. “Because I’ve missed you. And I’m really glad we’re finally doing this.”

You smiled, sipping your wine. “Yeah, it’s nice. Kind of reminds me of when things were simpler.”

The conversation flowed easier after that, the awkwardness from earlier slipping away, replaced by something familiar. Comfortable. For the first time that night, it felt like just you and Lando again. No second-guessing, no pressure, but deep down you knew there was still that lingering uncertainty in the back of your mind.

The next evening you found Max leaning against the hotel’s outdoor railing, looking out over the city lights. He glanced up as you approached, and you saw it the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers curled slightly against the metal railing.

“You okay?” you asked, coming to stand beside him.

Max let out a slow breath. “Long day.”

You hesitated before speaking. “I went out with Lando last night.”

His jaw tensed. “I know.”

You studied him for a moment, the way his expression gave nothing away, the way his shoulders seemed just a little more rigid than usual. “Going out with him again tonight?” His voice was calm.

You frowned, something about the way he asked making your stomach twist. “Yes. I thought that’s what you wanted. Isn’t this your plan?”

Max finally turned to you then, he exhaled through his nose, a humourless chuckle escaping before he shook his head. “Yeah,” he said, voice quieter now. “It was.”

“Max…”

He looked away, his fingers gripping the railing a little tighter. “Maybe it wasn’t the best idea after all.”

You blinked, taken aback by the shift in his voice, the weight behind the words. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Max let out a slow breath, shaking his head slightly, like he was frustrated, like he was frustrated with himself more than anything else. “Forget it,” he muttered, pushing off the railing.

“No,” you countered quickly, “tell me.”

He hesitated, his gaze searching yours, but whatever he was looking for he must not have found it, because instead of answering he took a step back. “Trust me, it doesn’t matter,” he sighed, turning towards the door.

You watched him go, frustration rising in your chest. “It does matter Max,” you called after him, but he didn’t stop, didn’t turn back.

His words hung in the air between you as he walked back inside. It wasn’t like Max to admit something like that to let something slip in a way that made him sound uncertain. He was always so sure, so stubborn, so relentless in his convictions. But tonight? He had let you see it. For the first time, you weren’t sure who this plan had really been for.

His words lingered in your mind long after he’d said them.

Dinners with Lando should have felt like everything you’d been waiting for. The perfect setting, the glow of candlelight, the easy rhythm of conversation. And yet, despite it all, the way he smiled at you from across the table, the familiarity that once felt effortless, something was missing.

It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t awkward. But it felt… off. Like a song played just slightly out of tune. Like you were reaching for something that wasn’t there anymore, grasping at the edges of a feeling that had already slipped through your fingers.

And worse, you couldn’t stop thinking about Max.

His easy smile, the way he always saw through you, the way he challenged you and pushed you in a way that never felt like a game. Just enough to make you feel. Just enough to make you realise that somehow he had carved out space in your life when you hadn’t even been looking. You weren’t sure when it had started, this creeping awareness, this feeling that had settled in the back of your mind, refusing to be ignored. But it was there now. Constant. Unshakable.

Sitting across from Lando you realised something that terrified you. You had outgrown the idea of him, outgrown the dream of what you thought this would be.

And yet, things didn’t get any better from there. If anything, they got worse.

Lando’s sudden attention and Max’s constant presence pulled you in opposite directions, leaving you stranded somewhere between what you had always wanted and what you had never expected to find. And then, one evening, everything came to a head.

It was after another race, the energy in the paddock still buzzing as people came and went, but you had stepped away from the noise, needing a moment to breathe when the familiar hum of certain voices caught your attention.

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

But the second you recognised Max’s voice, low, tight, edged with frustration, you froze.

“You know, you’ve got a real gift for not seeing what’s right in front of you,” he said, his tone sharper than usual.

You frowned, your heart already racing as you stood up, moving closer to the edge of the doorway.

Lando’s reply was instant, defensive. “What’s your problem Max?”

Max let out a hollow laugh, sharp and humourless. “My problem?” he repeated, his voice dripping with frustration. “My problem is that you’ve had her in front of you for years, and you still can’t see her.”

Your breath caught, your body going rigid where you stood, hidden just out of sight.

There was a beat of silence, then Lando’s voice again, louder now. “What are you even talking about?”

Max scoffed, the sound filled with disbelief. “You know exactly what.” His voice was rising, the usual restraint gone. “She’s there, every race, every time you win, every time you screw up. Every time you need someone, she’s there.” His voice wavered for just a second before he pressed on, his words cutting through the air like a blade. “She’s the one who backs you up. Who understands you. Who makes excuses for you when you don’t even deserve them.”

Lando exhaled sharply, the sound more irritated than guilty. “Jesus Max you’re acting like I don’t care about her.”

Max let out a bitter laugh. “You don’t care about her. Not in the way you should.”

Lando’s voice sharpened. “And I suppose you do?”

Silence.

The kind of silence that wasn’t empty, but charged, pulsing between them like the prelude to a storm.

Your stomach twisted violently, your pulse hammering in your ears.

When Max spoke again, his voice was quieter, but no less intense. “She’s incredible Lando,” he said, his frustration bleeding into something raw, something real. “She’s smart, she’s funny, she’s… beautiful.” His voice cracked slightly, like saying the words out loud was taking something from him. “And you’re too blind to see it.”

Lando was quiet for a second. "You’re being dramatic.”

Max’s voice was flat. “Am I?”

“What’s your deal man? Since when do you care so much?” Lando prodded.

There it was.

The question you had never dared to ask yourself.

“Because I…” He stopped, inhaling sharply like the words had gotten stuck somewhere in his throat. But when he spoke again, they came out hoarse, unguarded in a way you had never heard from him before. “Because maybe she deserves someone who actually sees her.” His voice was thick with something fragile. “Someone who doesn’t just notice her when she’s not there.”

Max wasn’t just arguing anymore. He wasn’t just frustrated with Lando. He was hurt.

Lando shook his head, disbelieving. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Max shot back, stepping forward now, his voice taut. “How is it fair to her? How is it fair that she’s spent years—years Lando waiting for you to notice something you never have? And now you suddenly care? Now that she’s not standing around waiting for you to decide?”

Lando opened his mouth, but Max cut him off.

“No, you don’t get to act like you’re some innocent guy in all this,” he snapped, his voice sharper than you’d ever heard it. “You don’t get to pretend you’re confused when you’ve spent this whole time taking her for granted.”

Lando’s face twisted, frustration flashing in his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re talking about—”

Max took another step closer. “Then tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged, voice low, dangerous. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you’re not just doing this because she finally pulled away. Tell me that if she had never distanced herself, if she had never stopped running after you, if she never came to me, you still would’ve done something about it.”

Lando’s mouth opened slightly, like he wanted to argue, like he needed to argue.

But he didn’t.

Because he couldn’t.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Max exhaled sharply, shaking his head. His voice, when he spoke again, was quieter now, resigned. “If you really care about her…if you actually see her like you should have a long time ago then prove it. Otherwise…” He swallowed, his jaw tightening. “Otherwise, let her go.”

Your entire body had gone numb, frozen in place as the weight of his words crashed over you.

Lando didn’t answer and you couldn’t listen anymore.

You found Max outside the paddock, walking with quick, purposeful strides, his shoulders tense like he was trying to outrun what had just happened. His head was down, his fists clenched at his sides, his usual easy confidence stripped away.

You followed him before you could think better of it, your own heart hammering in your chest, your mind racing with everything you had just overheard.

“Max,” you called, your voice unsteady.

He didn’t stop.

“Max!” you yelled.

He stumbled back a step, his eyes widening when they met yours, realisation crashing over him in real time.

Shock. Guilt. Panic.

You saw it all flash across his face before he masked it, his expression shuttering, his jaw tightening as he instinctively tried to school himself into neutrality. But his fingers curled at his sides, his shoulders rising and falling with deep, unsteady breaths.

He knew.

He knew you had heard everything.

His mouth opened, like he was about to say something, an excuse, maybe, a brush-off, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“What was that?” you demanded, breathless, your pulse still racing.

Max hesitated, and for the first time since you’d known him he looked unsure. His entire frame stiffened, his lips parting before he pressed them into a thin line, calculating his next move weighing whether to tell the truth or run from it.

Finally, he let out a breath, voice rough when he spoke. “I would never take you for granted,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “I would never make you wonder where you stand. I would never make you feel like you weren’t enough.”

His eyes never left yours, as he continued. “If he can’t see what’s right in front of him, if he doesn’t wake up every damn day knowing how lucky he is just to exist in your orbit. If he can’t see you, if he can’t want you the way you deserve to be wanted, fully, completely, without hesitation..."

“Then maybe I can.” his next words coming out softer, but no less certain. “Because I already do.”

The world stilled.

Your breath caught, your body betraying you as warmth spread through your chest, through your limbs, through every single place Max Verstappen had ever touched in some way.

For weeks, months, you had been fighting it. Pretending it wasn’t there. Telling yourself that this was about Lando.

But standing here now, with Max looking at you like this, like you were something to be fought for you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore.

The days following Max’s confession were a blur of introspection and uncertainty. Lando reached out, texting, calling, sending you memes like nothing had changed, like he was trying to pull you back into the rhythm of what you’d always been.

But everything had changed.

Because every time your phone lit up with his name, your thoughts drifted to Max. The quiet strength of his presence, the way he had seen you, really seen you, long before you had even admitted it to yourself. Because for all the sniping and bickering, for all the fire and ice between you, Max had always been there. Not in the soft, obvious way Lando was, but in the way that mattered. He’d challenge you, push you, piss you off, but when it counted, when you really needed someone, Max showed up. No grand gestures, no sentimental speeches. Just him. Standing beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And eventually, you knew what you had to do.

You needed to talk to Lando. Really talk.

You found him at the track, sitting in the back of McLaren’s garage, staring at his phone like it held answers he didn’t know how to ask for. He looked up when you approached, his expression flickering with something between relief and apprehension.

“Hey,” he said, shoving his phone into his pocket. “You finally decided to stop avoiding me?”

You sighed, sliding into the seat across from him. “I wasn’t avoiding you.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “Oh so you just happened to stop texting back? And just happened to be everywhere except where I was?” His voice was teasing, but his expression betrayed him.

You exhaled, gripping the edge of the table as you tried to steady your emotions. “I needed space to figure things out.”

Lando’s smirk, the one he always used to defuse tension, flickered, then disappeared entirely.

“Lando,” you said cautiously, searching for the right words, unsure of how to say what needed to be said. “I care about you…I always will…but I also care about Max.”

His brows pulled together instantly. “What do you mean?” His voice wasn’t defensive, but it was careful, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

You took a steadying breath, your pulse quickening. “I’ve spent a lot of time with him this year, and somewhere along the way something changed,” you admitted, the words feeling heavier as they left your lips. “I see us all so differently now. And it’s… complicated.”

Lando’s expression shifted, his jaw tensing slightly. He blinked a few times, like he was still trying to process what you were saying. “So… you’re saying you like him?”

You hesitated, but there was no point in denying it anymore. “Yeah,” you said softly, your heart pounding. “I think I do.”

Lando leaned back in his seat, dragging a hand down his face before exhaling slowly. His lips pressed together, his mind working through something you couldn’t quite place.

You could see it, the initial reaction he was fighting, the part of him that didn’t like it, the part that was still struggling with the idea of losing whatever the two of you had once been. For years, you had been his, his closest friend, his safe space, the person who had always been there, no matter what.

And now, you weren’t.

For a long moment he didn’t say anything. He just stared at the table, brows furrowed, jaw still clenched like he was trying to work out how he really felt about this.

“Lando?” you prompted hesitantly.

He let out a breath, shaking his head. “I mean… I guess I should’ve seen this coming, right?”

You frowned. “Lando—”

“No, I mean it,” he interrupted, sitting up straighter. “You and Max…I don’t know. It makes sense, I guess.”

You searched his face, trying to gauge how much of that was genuine. “You don’t have to pretend to be okay with it.”

Lando sighed, shaking his head. “I’m not pretending.” He paused, rubbing his palms over his thighs before looking back at you. “It’s just weird you know? I got so used to you being my person, even if I was too stupid to ever do anything about it.” His lips twitched into a small, almost bitter smile. “And now you’re…his?”

You swallowed, shifting slightly in your seat. “I don’t know what I am yet.”

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. “You two have spent years arguing about everything. I always thought you hated each other half the time.”

You let out a short, almost incredulous laugh. “We do sometimes.” You shook your head, a small smile playing at your lips as memories flickered through your mind. “We push each other’s buttons, we argue, we drive each other insane. But somehow…it just makes sense now.”

Lando drummed his fingers on the table, nodding slowly as he processed your words. “So what you’re saying is you like the way he pushes your buttons?”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not just that.”

He smirked slightly. “But it is a little bit that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Maybe. But it’s also the fact that he sees me. He pushes me to be better. He doesn’t let me fade into the background or sit around waiting for someone to notice me.”

Lando let out a slow breath, nodding. “Yeah. That sounds like Max.”

You hesitated. “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear.”

“It’s not. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get it.” He glanced away for a second before looking back at you, his gaze softer. “Does he make you happy?”

The question caught you off guard.

Did Max make you happy?

The thought of him alone sent warmth spreading through your chest, and you realised you were smiling before you even had the chance to answer.

“Yeah,” you admitted softly. “He does.”

Lando watched you for a long moment, then let out a short chuckle. “Then that’s it isn’t it?”

You frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if he makes you happy, then you should go for it.”

You blinked. “Just like that?”

He gave you a small, almost exasperated smile. “No, not just like that. I don’t love it, okay? I don’t love the idea…” He ran a hand through his hair. “But I’ve known Max a long time. And yeah, he can piss me off…” A smirk ghosted over his lips before fading just as quickly. “But he’s a good guy. And if he’s the one who finally made you feel seen then I can’t be mad about that. And I know that if he cares about you the way I think he does, then he’s going to treat you right.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your chest tightening.

“This might not mean much, but…” he started, voice softer now. “I’m sorry.”

Your brows furrowed slightly. “For what?”

“For not being what you needed. For noticing you too late.” He swallowed, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if things would have been different if I had figured it out sooner, but you deserved better than waiting around for me to get my shit together.”

Your chest ached at his words, but there was no anger, no resentment just an understanding that you had both needed to reach.

“I do love you, you know,” Lando added. “Maybe not in the way you wanted. But you’ve always meant a lot to me.”

You reached across the table, squeezing his hand briefly before pulling away. “And you’ll always mean a lot to me too.”

Lando smiled then. “Just don’t let him gloat too much about this, alright?”

A laugh bubbled out of you, and for the first time in months, it didn’t feel weighed down by uncertainty.

Things between you and Lando weren’t perfect. Maybe they never would be again.

But as you sat there, sharing a smile that still felt familiar, you realised something important.

You hadn’t lost him.

And maybe you were finally allowing yourself to find something new.

You went to Max the next night, your heart pounding with every step, anticipation buzzing beneath your skin like electricity. No more waiting, no more pretending. Every nerve in your body was alight with the urgency of it, the sheer need to see him, to tell him.

The moment he opened the door you could tell something was wrong. He stood there, gripping the handle tightly, his posture tense, like he had been expecting bad news. His hair was slightly disheveled, he looked restless, unsettled, like he was carrying a weight he didn’t know how to put down.

You hesitated, swallowing hard. “Can I come in?”

Max stared at you for a second longer, as if debating whether letting you in would make this better or worse. But then, with a sigh, he stepped back, holding the door open.

You slipped inside, the air in the room heavy, thick with unspoken words. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the space, and you noticed the half-empty water bottle on the bedside table, the hotel key tossed haphazardly on the desk. It looked like he had been pacing, maybe sitting at the edge of the bed, getting up, sitting back down, as if he hadn’t been able to sit still since the last time you saw him.

Max ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly before turning back to you. “I get it,” he muttered before you could speak, voice gruff, like he had already convinced himself of the worst. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Your brows furrowed. “Max—”

“No, really.” He let out a breathless, almost bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “I already know how this goes. I saw you with him yesterday at the McLaren garage.” He forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re here to tell me that this was a mistake. That I got the wrong idea. That you’re choosing him.”

His words stung, not because they were true, but because he actually believed them.

Your throat tightened. “Max, that’s not—”

“If you’re happy, then I’m happy.” His voice was quieter now, you knew he was telling the truth, but still he was guarded, like he was preparing himself for impact. “That’s what matters.”

Something inside you cracked.

You stepped forward before you could second-guess yourself, reaching for his hand. He flinched slightly at the contact, his fingers twitching against yours, but he didn’t pull away.

“Did you mean what you said?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Max’s brows knitted together, his body going still. “What?”

You swallowed hard, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. “About seeing me, wanting me?”

For a second you saw it that flicker of hesitation, the instinct to lie, to brush it off, to save himself from whatever heartbreak he thought was coming. His lips parted, as if he was about to say something dismissive, something easy.

But he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t lie to you. Not about this. Not when it had been clawing at him for months, maybe years.

His mask slipped, the exhaustion, the frustration, the sheer weight of everything finally crashing down as he exhaled. His voice when he spoke was raw, unfiltered, like he had no choice but to lay himself bare.

“Every word,” he admitted, his gaze burning into yours. His fingers twitched against your hand, his grip tightening just slightly, as if he needed something to hold onto. “I meant every fucking word.”

You had spent so long waiting, waiting to be noticed, waiting to be chosen, waiting for something that was never going to happen. And all this time, Max had been there. Right in front of you. Seeing you in a way you had never even thought to ask for.

Relief flooded through you, mingling with something that had been building for so long, something inevitable.

Your breath came shakily, your fingers trembling slightly as the truth tumbled out before you could stop it. “I think…” You swallowed hard, meeting his gaze, the weight of the moment pressing down on you like gravity itself. “I think I’ve been waiting for the wrong person.”

His entire body reacted, like the words had physically hit him, like he had been bracing himself for heartbreak and suddenly, inexplicably, found himself with something else entirely.

Hope.

His eyes searched yours, desperate and overwhelmed. “I didn’t plan this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his hand hovering near your cheek fighting against every instinct telling him to touch you. “But…I can’t pretend it isn’t real.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine.

It was real. It had been real for so much longer than you had even realised.

You let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh. “Neither can I.”

“You mean that?” he asked.

“I mean it,” you whispered, leaning into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm against your skin. “I see you now,” you breathed, voice steadier than you expected. “And I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Max’s lips parted slightly. “Fuck,” he breathed, his forehead pressing lightly against yours as his other hand settled on your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

Your fingers curled against his chest, gripping the fabric of his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

Max let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head against yours. “Because I’m a fucking idiot.”

You laughed, though it was shaky, uneven, because your heart was pounding so loudly in your chest that you were sure he could hear it.

Max’s hands flexed against you, like he was still struggling to believe this was happening. “I tried not to want this,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Tried to push it down, to ignore it, to pretend like it wasn’t tearing me apart every time I saw you waiting for him.” His grip on you tightened, his forehead pressing harder against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “But once there was even the slightest chance? Once I realised I wasn’t crazy, that maybe—maybe you could feel this too?” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “There was no turning back. I knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That I’d never want anyone else,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “That it’s always been you.”

The words sent a shockwave through you, your entire body reacting before your mind could catch up. A soft breath escaped your lips as you surged forward, your hands gripping his hoodie, your mouth finding his in a kiss that was everything, all the months, years of unspoken feelings, of stolen glances, of tension neither of you had been willing to name.

Max groaned softly against your lips, his hands tightening on your waist as he pulled you against him like he needed you closer, like there was no air without you. He kissed you like he had been starving for this, like he had spent so long convincing himself he couldn’t have it that now, finally, he was never letting go.

You gasped against his mouth, and he smiled into the kiss, tilting his head slightly to deepen it, to savour it, to own it. His hands slid around your back, holding you flush against him, his heartbeat racing just as fast as yours.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to press his forehead to yours again, his breathing was uneven, his lips swollen from the force of it. His fingers trailed down your arms, finding your hands, lacing your fingers together, he let out a quiet laugh.

“What?” you asked, grinning as you fought to steady your breathing, still feeling the ghost of his lips against yours.

Max shook his head, brushing his nose against yours. “I just…I never thought I’d get this,” he admitted, his voice lighter now.

Your heart clenched at the honesty in his voice, the way he looked at you like you were something impossible that had somehow, miraculously, become real.

His voice was quieter when he spoke again. “I’ve felt like this for longer than you probably realise.”

“Oh Max…”

He shook his head. “No, I need to say this.” His hands squeezed at your waist, his touch grounding, reassuring. “I used to tell myself I was just looking out for you. That I was just annoyed whenever you talked about him because I didn’t care…but the truth is I was jealous. So fucking jealous.”

His confession sent warmth flooding through your chest, making your fingers tighten in his hands.

“I’d see you standing by him, always waiting, always looking at him like he was the only one for you, and I’d tell myself that it didn’t matter. That you deserved each other.” He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “But I could never really believe it.”

Your throat felt tight, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Max…”

“I spent so much time telling myself you’d never see me that way,” Max continued, his voice dropping even lower, more intimate. “That even if I wanted you, even if I needed you, it didn’t matter. Because he was always the one you wanted.”

Your breath caught, the truth of it settling deep inside you.

“But then…” He smiled, just barely, like he still couldn’t believe it. “You started choosing me. It wasn’t all at once. It was little things, sticking around in my garage longer than you needed to, texting me first, showing up even when you had no reason to.” His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his gaze dipping down for a fraction of a second before meeting yours again. “And I realised I couldn’t just be your backup plan. I couldn’t just be the person keeping you distracted while you waited for him.”

You exhaled shakily, tilting your head just slightly into his touch. “Max…” You exhaled shakily, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “You were never just a distraction. You were never a backup plan. You—”

“I know,” he interrupted, smiling more now. “I know that now.”

His fingers brushed over your jaw, achingly gentle, his thumb traced along your cheek, making it impossible to look anywhere but at him.

“For so long, I told myself it wasn’t real. That it was just something in my head. Something I could turn off if I wanted to.”

You felt your chest tighten at the confession, at how much weight he had been carrying alone.

“But then you started pulling away from him,” Max continued, exhaling sharply, his voice almost breaking. “And I—” He shook his head, like the memory itself made him unravel. “I realised I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t pretend I didn’t want you.”

“When we first made that stupid plan I thought, this is my chance to help her. I thought, if I can just get her to stop waiting around for him, maybe she’ll be happy.” He swallowed hard, his eyes flickering between yours. “But I never planned for you. I didn’t think I’d be the one falling harder every second we were together.”

“You’re the one who sees me,” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Not just when it’s convenient, not just when I’m standing right in front of you, waiting. You see me, even when I don’t know what I want. You make me feel like I matter,” you continued, your fingers smoothing over the lines in his jaw. “Not just because I’m there, not because it’s easy, but because you choose to. Every time.”

A shaky exhale left his lips.

And you weren’t finished.

“You’ve never made me feel like I had to earn my place with you,” you whispered, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “I don’t have to be louder, or funnier, or wait for my turn. I don’t have to prove I belong with you. I just do. You are the person who makes me feel safe, who pushes me without ever making me doubt myself. You don’t just listen, you understand. You don’t just show up, you stay.”

“And it’s not just that,” you continued, voice steadier now. “It’s the way I see you too.”

“I don’t think you even realise it,” you murmured, shaking your head slightly. “How rare you are. How brilliant you are. How you notice things before anyone else does. How your mind works so fast it’s almost unfair.” You let out a small breath of laughter, your hand still cradling his jaw. “They don’t see how funny you are, how effortless it is for you to make people laugh, even when you’re not trying. How much you care even when you pretend not to.”

Before either of you could say anything else, he kissed you again, slow and deep and certain, like he was making up for all the time he had wasted. You sighed into it, your arms winding around his neck, your body pressing into his as his hands gripped your waist, anchoring you against him.

He kissed you like you were his like you had always been his.

“I hope you know,” he murmured against your temple, pressing a lingering kiss there, “that I’m never letting you go now.”

A wide grin broke across your face as you squeezed his hands in return. “Good,” you whispered. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Max let out a laugh, one full of relief, full of joy, full of you. He kissed you again, and again, and again, each one lighter, each one full of laughter, all full of something so impossibly right.

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kate-mccannon · 1 year ago

Text

False Dragons

Summary: The Peaceful King Viserys hears word of a Targaryen Princess that resides in the broken stronghold of Valyria; which has since become an immature kingdom after of the doom befell their land. Feeling the tension between his house and believing the long night may soon come, Viserys proposes a betrothal between the Valyrian Princess and his second son, Aemond Targaryen, believing his daughter’s prophetic dream that the child born of this union will become the prince that was promised.

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen/FemOC (Anikyra Targaryen)

Warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Revenge, Period Typical Sexism, Blood Magic, Sacrifices, Murder, Major Character Death, Minor Character Death, Non-Con/Dubcon, Period Typical Racism/Valyrian Elitism, more tags to be added later

Author’s Note: Hey guys! If this looks familiar, it’s because it’s my first fic! I’ve wanted to rewrite this fic for a long time and to really do the idea behind this fic justice…so I am doing that!

Although the work was already written, I am going in and changing some ideas and things in here to better do the work the justice it deserves! I hope you all will enjoy the new and improved, False Dragons!

Chapter 1 - Intro

Chapter 2

For updates when I post new chapters, please follow fics-by-the-common-cowgirl!

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woahjo · 1 year ago

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APHRODISIAC! (Bakugou x Reader)

masterlist

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Summary: Katsuki gets hit with an aphrodisiac quirk. You decide to check in on him. What could go wrong?

Chapter Content Warnings: fem!reader, dubcon, smut, porn with little to no plot, aphrodisiac quirks, quirkless reader, prohero!katsuki, rough sex, borderline free use, biting, creampie, multiple orgasms (fem!receiving), masturbation, edging (kinda), manhandling, katsuki is dominant but also not idk he's desperate, possessiveness, overstimulation, size kink, scent kink, some light aftercare! woo hoo!, friends to lovers sort of

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: yeah ik this isn't what i typically write but idk where this came from. i had a thought and it spiraled bad and now i have this. there is no deeper message. there is no meaning. i wrote this to make him FUCK and be kinda weird and desperate and pathetic about it. i needed to see him physically overpower us while also so desperate that it makes him look stupid. i feel violent. this bad boy is not going on ao3 lol. anyway, enjoy, heed the warnings.

Katsuki paces around the one bedroom apartment he rents in downtown Musutafu. His skin is tingling. Every nerve he has burns like it's been set on fire, needing some sort of touch to soothe it. His cock aches between his legs, hard and leaking against the side of his thigh. Katsuki grits his teeth, running his hands over his hair and then letting his palms slide down the sides of his exposed biceps.

Sweat collects on his skin, the kind that comes from desperation or maybe a fever, and he feels it on his palms when he lets them drop to his sides and clenches his fists. Fuck, he can't believe he got hit with a non-fatal quirk and had to be sent home. It's humiliating. What's worse is that it hasn't worn off yet, rendering him completely useless.

He sits on his couch, his legs spread wide, and leans back against the couch cushions, wincing as he reaches to unbutton his pants. He's never been this sensitive in his life and it almost hurts to grab his cock and pull it from his pants. Katsuki watches it twitch for a moment, rigid between his legs and leaking pre-cum from its angry tip. He doesn't even have to think about anything in particular, he's just turned on. Unbearably so.

Katsuki wraps his hand around the base of his cock and jerks upward once, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth at his own sensitivity. Then, the desperation sets in fully and he squeezes the head of his cock with a wince and a low groan before beginning to slide his hand up and down. He pauses to spit into his palm, desperate for some sort of relief from the tension weaving its way through his body, his hand moving faster and fast over this dick. Katsuki only pauses when he touches his overly sensitive head, swallowing down an audible moan as he moves his hips to desperately fuck his fist.

He tries not to think of the humiliation in this, instead focusing on chasing a high that seems to get farther and farther. He stays like this for a while, desperately fucking his fist with low groans and whines. His face is completely flushed, sweat beading on his brow and forehead, covering every inch of his skin with a pathetic, glowing sheen. God, he's almost fucking angry. The frustration, the sheer desperation for release, is making it difficult to control his temper and he knots his free hand into the soft pillow beside him, raising it to his face and using it to cover his head so he can be a little louder.

He's desperately humping his fist when his doorbell rings. At first, it's only once and Katsuki thinks he can ignore it, but then it comes again, five more times and consistently more aggressive.

"Katsuki?" your voice calls through the wood paneling of his door. "I heard you got hit with a quirk and sent home. Let me in."

He furrows his eyebrows at the irony of the last person in the world he wants to encounter at a time like this. Pretty, quirkless, you. His long time friend and recent dispatcher at his agency. Someone he secretly wants to fuck even without the aphrodisiac quirk floating through his bloodstream. You really get under his skin. You’re exactly his type, right down to that annoying little attitude of yours that drives Katsuki insane. Of course, he's always respected your friendship a little too much to do anything about it, but tonight, he doesn't think he'll be able to and he sits in silence with his lip caught between his teeth while he fucks his fists and hopes you'll go away.

"I know you're in there," you call again. "I can see the light on."

You bang three times on the door and then ring the doorbell again, pushy and insistent the way you always are. A match for his stubborn attitude.

Katsuki swears and stands up, his hands shaking as he tucks his sensitive cock back into his sweatpants and flips the head up into his waistband with a hiss.

The crazy thing is, he can literally smell you through the door. The scent of you, that sweet and rounded perfume you wear, wafts under the crack of his apartment door. He pauses outside of it, resisting the temptation to open it, to welcome that smell into his apartment and use you to relieve the aching in his cock and lower belly.

"Katsuki?" You ask, a little quieter now.

Jesus fucking christ, don't call his name like that.

He swings the door open, letting his hand rest on the side of it so that it is positioned above his head. You look taken aback at his appearance, covered in sweat and flushed from the neck up, his chest exposed and heaving.

"What?" he says, looking you up and down.

Katsuki bites back the urge to yank you in. Why is it he can literally smell the sweat on your body and every prick of your emotions? It's like he can tell exactly what you're thinking, or maybe it's what he wants you to be thinking.

"Don't get on my ass about me still technically needing to be at work," you start, stepping forward. "I heard something happened and I just came to check and you look like shi-"

Katsuki blocks you from coming in with his body. You stumble backwards lightly and raise your eyebrow at him. There's a pause as you register that you've just run into a solid wall of muscle, sweat covered and glistening, while Katsuki eyes you like you're meat on a platter. He knows he's doing it, but he can literally smell every turn of your scent, soft and sweet. And he may be fooling himself... but are you... turned on?

"Let me in?" you say with a small laugh, side stepping to go around him. He blocks you again, his fingers gripping the door frame so hard that his knuckles are white.

"Go home," he says quietly, his voice tense.

"What? No," you furrow your eyebrows at him. "What's the matter with you?"

You duck under his arm and place your hand momentarily on his chest. Your touch makes him tingle all over and he sucks in a sharp breath.

"I'm not fucking around," he says.

"Okay, me neither," you respond with a bit of an attitude. "I expected you to be worse for wear but you look like crap. Like you're... I don't know."

You trail off a little.

"Let me help," you say, shaking off whatever thought had come over you. "I'll make you some food."

"Look, no offense, but I don't think you want to help me with this," he says, a frustrated bite in his voice. Food isn't exactly what he's hungry for.

"That's too bad," you say slowly, seemingly put off by the desperate air about him and settling into his kitchen. You move to open the fridge.

Katsuki walks up to you quickly, taking your wrist from the door and holding it between the two of you. Cool air hits his exposed chest and arm as the door falls shut again.

"I'm dead serious. Get the fuck out of here or I'm gonna do something I regret," he hisses through a clenched jaw. Your skin is warm on the pads of his fingers, wrist held flush against his palm. He bites back a genuine shudder.

Your eyes are wide as you look back at him, glancing between where he's caught your wrist by your head and his eyes. Katsuki's gaze roams over your face, pausing as he hits the top of your blouse where a few buttons remain open. When he returns his eyes to yours, your mouth moves to open before a heady understanding settles over your features. You're so pretty. Everything about you is pretty, so delightful and delicate. Your eyes look glassy and wide. Katsuki has always found them tempting, but today he can't stop himself.

He leans forward and kisses you, holding your wrist to his chest as his mouth comes messily into contact with yours. You squeak and freeze and it takes all he has to pull away from you.

"Go home," he says again, his lips tingling. Katsuki feels the color creep onto his cheeks, his hand still holding your wrist.

You don't say anything, looking at him with those pretty eyes. He swallows thick and feels the saliva drag against his throat. Then, his mouth dries completely, his expression twisting into discomfort as his cock throbs between his legs as the scent of you takes on a sharper turn. He's never felt anything like this before, something animal.

Katsuki tightens his jaw, staring at you for a moment. Then, he takes a step towards you. You take one back, though he doesn't feel like you're afraid. Rather, you tilt your head down to look at him through your lashes. He lets out a breath through his teeth and walks you back until your ass hits the counter, his free hand coming to gingerly touch your waist. You inhale when he leans in to kiss you again, screwing your eyes shut and reaching to grab at his shoulder to pull him closer.

Every touch tingles. It burns and he drops your wrist to manhandle your hips. You suck on his bottom lip, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to you. He ruts his hips against yours, desperate for any sort of friction to relieve the ache, and you gasp a little and let your mouth fall open. Katsuki takes the opportunity to bite down hard on your lip with a low groan, slipping his tongue into your mouth as the pads of his fingers press harshly into you. You whine, eyebrows pulling up.

Katsuki’s eyes are slightly open, just so that he can look at you. Every aspect of his senses feel heightened and the relief of your mouth far surpasses that of his hand over his throbbing cock only minutes earlier.

He pants, taking your hips and lifting you onto the counter so that you’re seated, pulling away for just a moment to lift the hem of your shirt and expose your breasts. Katsuki puts his face on the pillowy tops of them, biting and sucking at the exposed skin as his hand teases its way up the skin of your back to unclasp it. He thinks you’re probably looking at him, but if you are, he doesn’t have the mind to care about what sort of behavior he’s exhibiting. He can practically smell how wet you are from just a little touching and if he weren’t so fucking desperate for a little relief, he’d tease you for a few hours just to watch your pussy drool over him.

The cool air of his apartment hits your exposed nipples. Katsuki takes it upon himself, without even a second thought, to roll the hard bud under his tongue. He feels the way goosebumps rise on your skin, his hands coming to rest over the tops of your thighs. Katsuki bites lightly on your breast and you fucking whine at it, tipping your head back and rooting your hand into the tufts of his blonde hair.

His cock jumps in his pants and he’s no doubt leaked enough to leave an evident wet spot against the gray of his sweatpants. He stands to his full height, pushing your skirt up and pressing the outline of his cock to your crotch. Heat bleeds through your panties, the kind that makes him feel like he’s going absolutely fucking insane. You gasp, putting your hands on his shoulders and pulling him close again.

Katsuki’s mouth hits yours messily, breathing hard as he ruts his hips up against your crotch, pulling you forward on the counter so he can feel as much of the pillowy folds of your pussy through the thick fabric as possible. You let him take your bottom lip between his teeth, sharp canines digging into the wet flesh of your mouth. He whines— high-pitched, desperate sound—as you position your hips to press your crotch against the head of his cock. His head falls onto your chest, forehead resting against the hollow of your throat. Katsuki humps at you, pulling you against him to match the rhythm of his hips, grinding your clothed cunt over the bulge of his cock. It’s a desperate motion, completely subconscious as he lets the quirk he’s been hit with take the lead.

His fingers dip into the crease of your thigh, fumbling as they reach for the waistband of the panties you’re wearing. Katsuki’s desperation is so palpable that he finds himself panting as he slips his fingers into the sides of your underwear, yanking them down. You gasp at the force of it and he swears he hears a small tear as he pulls them from your cunt, the crotch sticking to the lips of your pussy.

He leans his hips forward again, sliding his cock between your folds with a deep grunt. His mouth finds your neck and he bites along the side of it, lathing his tongue over your pulse point. It’s like he can taste you. Salt and that stupid perfume, collecting on his tongue as you dig your fingers into his back, his dick rutting restlessly against your clit. At one point, he almost slips in, his eagerness and your wetness making him careless. Katsuki sucks in a breath through his teeth, his whole body on fire.

The kitchen light shines down on his back and he can see the outline of part of his shadow on your thighs as he stares down at them, guiding the tip of himself to your entrance. He hears you wine when he presses against it and moves his hand down subconsciously to rub at your clit. An attempt to ease the stretch.

You tip your head back in a moan and Katsuki takes the opportunity to kiss your neck before settling his teeth against your shoulder and biting down harshly on the muscle connecting your neck and arm. You yelp at the sensation and Katsuki shutters at the sound, willing out a choked I’m sorry as he slides into your wetness. His hands push into the delightfully soft flesh of your upper thighs, the fat spilling up around each individual digit as he uses your legs for leverage, sliding you forward even further to better seat you on him.

Your legs are shaking and he can feel the way your nails dig into his exposed shoulder blades. Your bunch up skirt causes the fat of your tummy to fold over in a way that practically makes Katsuki drool. He urges himself to pause, attempting to come back to his senses as the quirk kicks into high gear. There’s relief in being inside of you, in feeling the flutter of your walls around his thick cock, but it also makes him desperate. Katsuki feels like he’s chasing something that he was desperately and it’s just out of his reach.

You’re breathing heavily above him, he can see the rise and fall of your chest from where his head hangs down, his hands trembling on the tops of your thighs. He looks up at you through his lashes, his vision foggy around the edges as if he were peering through a tube. You’re at the end of it, your eyes glassy and mouth open, returning the look. Your eyebrows are knitted up in pleasure, but you almost seem confused.

“What are you waiting for?” You breathe out, the first thing you’ve said since he started touching you.

The tone of your voice is needy, with a delightful whiny lilt that makes him groan out loud. He can barely manage the words that come out next, his brain half mush, and he feels the way his cock jumps inside of you.

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he says through gritted teeth, his breath coming heavy.

There’s a pause and he feels the distinct sensation of you squeezing down around his cock, like the idea turns you on.

“Use me,” you respond cautiously, your voice still containing that needy lilt.

Katsuki’s hips fuck up into you voluntarily and he feels the way his breath catches in his throat at the near desperate sound of your voice.

“Say that again.”

“Use me, Katsuki,” you respond, choking on your words as he fucks his hips up into you.

You reach for his face, taking it in your hands and drawing it close until it’s just in front of yours. Then, your palms slide down his shoulders and he screws his eyes shut and fucks into you again, harder this time, causing your body to jolt upwards on the counter.

He curses under his breath, pushing one leg further to the side and fucking his hips up into you roughly. You’re looking right at him, your expression drawn and pleasure-soaked, sweat collecting on your forehead as your mouth drops open into an o-shape. You punctuate his thrusts with high pitched yelps, squeaking out your pleasure and the deepness of where he’s hitting through choked moans.

Katsuki’s hands move up your stomach to roughly cup your breasts, his mouth so close to yours that he’s practically breathing in the sounds you make in exchange for his own hurried groans. He kneads at the fat of your chest, rolling your breast under his fingers before taking your nipples and pulling lightly on them.

He’s aware of just how rough he’s being, just how hard his hips are slapping yours, but he feels like he can’t stop. Katsuki chases a high so fucking desperate that his body is on autopilot, reaching and touching and moaning unabashedly as the room fills with the wet sound of his balls on the backs of your thick thighs.

You push your chest forward towards him, legs spread wide to make room for the width of his hips between yours as he bullies that perfect sensitive spot inside of you. Katsuki feels the way he makes you flutter. Every shift of your body, every involuntary squeeze of your cunt as he drags his cock along your walls, registers as if he were a part of you. His skin tingles everywhere you touch and the drag of your nails over his shoulder blades makes him want to crawl into the deepest part of you. Even the sound of your voice, drawn and desperate and mildly overwhelmed, feels like a drug to him. Every sense he has seems to be acutely attuned to just how badly he needs to fuck your lights out.

His hands slink down to your hips, resituating you and pulling you flush against him. Then, he drags his cock all the way out of you and quickly ruts back in, moaning as he does. His pace picks up, manhandling you forward on the counter until he is supporting most of your weight. You gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders as you let him use you like a toy.

Katsuki chases his high, his stomach seeming to wind tighter and tighter but never finding that perfect snap and release. His movements grow faster, using all of his strength to fuck his hips up into you, barreling his cock against your gummy walls and bullying your sweet spot. He feels the way you tighten down around him, your body tensing and fingers digging crescent moons into the tops of his shoulders.

“Ka-” you choke out desperately, your voice breaking. “Wait, Katsuki, wait! I’m gonna-”

You shudder, your thighs squeezing around him as he continues to fuck you.

“Do it,” he seethes, “just fuckin’ do it.”

The end of his sentence comes out as more of a whimper as you cry out and squeeze down around him, squirming in his grasp as you begin to twitch with every additional thrust. Your body shakes, legs locking around him and struggling to hold him inside as he fucks you clear through your orgasm and then to the other side.

Katsuki’s voice breaks, almost whimpering like an animal as he buries himself in your pussy over and over again. He wants to smother you, he wants to completely cover your body and get as close as he possibly can. He’s already so much bigger than you, so much broader, how hard could it be to swallow you completely?

Katsuki’s hands come up under your ass as he wordlessly lifts you from the counter and moves to the couch on desperate, shaky steps. He lays you down, slipping out of you for a moment, before pressing a hand to the inside of your thigh, spreading your legs, and sinking his cock back into you as he crowds his body over yours.

“You know what?” He says, not really sure what’s going to come next. His head is so clouded with the quirk that he can’t think straight. “I’ve wanted to do this forever. I’ve wanted to fuck you for so- long-”

He screws his eyes shut, almost angry with the way he can’t seem to hit that high, teetering on a desperate and near painful edge.

“Those fuckin’ pencil skirts,” he says, unable to control his words or sharp tone. “The way you wear your hair, that damn look in your eye that constantly makes you seem like you’re beggin’ for it.”

Katsuki whines, a sharp sound from the back of his throat, as you tighten up around him. He meets your gaze, clouded and watery eyes accented by the delightful furrow in the center of your brow.

“And then you show up here,” he groans, not even sure of what he’s really saying. “Blouse unbuttoned, looking for trouble. I’m gonna fuck your lights out. ‘Till you can’t even think about fuckin’ anyone else.”

He leans in close, his mouth right up against yours.

“This is g’nna make you mine, right?”

You nod, your movements clumsy, and pull him close to you.

Katsuki loses all of his sense, burying himself in the feel of your pussy and the way he sinks into you, giving into the desperation of the quirk. He can feel just how deep he’s hitting, the way you suck in sharp, whiny breaths with every inward thrust. Katsuki’s hands grip your waist, pulling your ass up off the couch so that his angle is better.

His cock seems to drag endlessly against your overstimulated, pillowy, insides and you practically drool around. He feels like a dog slobbering over meat, any semblance of politeness completely gone from both his expression and his movements. This is going to fucking ruin your friendship, but he doesn’t even have half of a mind to think about it, so drawn into the delightful feel of your body and the aching in his cock that only seems to subside slightly with every thrust.

You try to choke out the word “again” and he feels like he knows what’s coming. Your whole body tenses, legs locking around him as you cream over his cock for the second time.

This seems to get Katsuki somewhere, the sensation of your pussy clamping down finally giving him some leeway to relief. He hits the edge of an orgasm, leading himself to the finish line.

The tension in his belly grows, cock twitching inside of your fucked out cunt. His fingers dig into your hips and he collapses forward, rolling his body so that the head of his cock catches perfectly inside of you, massaging and churning you up. You’re moaning, though maybe it’s more adjacent to whining, and Katsuki can hear himself mimicking the sounds, his body leading the way.

Then finally, on a pathetic and broken whimper, Katsuki cums. His whole body tenses, weight pressing down on you as he buries his face into your neck and lets his voice out beside the hollow of your throat. The relief and pleasure is so intense that Katsuki feels the way every muscle in his body tenses and lets go, filling you up with as much of him as he has to give.

His hips continue to pathetically rut into you, little choked moans escaping his lips as he uses his own cum as lube for his weak little thrusts. Then, he completely relaxes.

Katsuki feels the way his skin stops burning, the way the desperation at the back of his throat subsides, how his body rids itself of the quirk as quickly as the arousal came on. He shudders, coming back to himself and raising his head to peer at your expression.

You look exhausted, hair a mess and face covered in a thick sheen of sweat. You still flutter around his cock, your hands gripping his shoulders as you try and ride through the overstimulation of just having him inside of you. Katsuki furrows his brows, exhaustion creeping into his muscles. He raises his hand and uses it to push stray strands of hair from your face with his palm on your forehead. Then, with a clear mind, he leans forward and kisses you.

You blink at him for a second, before giving a weak smile, raising your eyebrows and letting your head fall to the side. Katsuki winces when he pulls out of you, sucking in a sharp breath and standing to his full height. He places a hand on his forehead like he’s assessing the situation, staring at your body, still fully clothed with your skirt pushed all the way up your stomach and your blouse missing a button at the top.

He wordlessly walks to the bathroom and wets a washcloth with warm water, walking back over to you and wiping down the exposed parts of your body. You don’t really say anything to him, but you smile quietly while he gingerly wipes you down, your smeared makeup accenting just how much of a mess he’s made.

“Fuck,” he says. “I’m sorry, this isn’t how-”

“How you wanted this to go?” You say softly, the corners of your lips turning up.

Katsuki feels the way he flushes, all the way to the tops of his chest.

“No, it’s not,” he admits, running a hand over his face as he crouches beside you.

You laugh a little and he furrows his brows at you, frustrated and embarrassed.

“You’ve got a bit of a possessive streak, huh?” You tease lightly.

“I got hit with some asshole’s fuckin’ quirk and-” he begins explaining himself, something he probably should have done when you showed up at the door.

“It was good though,” you say, tilting your head at him from where you lay.

Katsuki blinks at you, his expression completely flat. You should really know just how fucking crazy you drive him. Then, he scowls a little, not because he’s upset, but because he’s currently feeling the opposite and that makes him awkward.

“You’re into that shit?” He says, a bit incredulously.

You shrug and give him a coy smile.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki smut #bnha smut #mha smut #tw.dubcon #tw.biting #tw.free use #tw.overstimulation #tw.size kink #tw.scent kink #idk what this is #it’s a little ficlet I suppose #AND SO DIFFERENT FROM WHAT I USUALLY WRITE I FEEL LIKE #ANY IM NERVOUS ENJOY #cal.writing

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slowdivinqs · 4 months ago

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Easy

Joel Miller x f! reader | 18+ MDNI

summary: waking joel up in the best way possible.

warnings: implied age gap. no use of y/n , no outbreak AU, p w/o plot, consensual somnophilia, unprotected P in V, creampies, dirty talk, established relationship, daddy kink, soft dom! Joel, a few spanks, soft cock worship, pussy pronouns, can imagine game Joel or Pedro. Reader is described as having hair and dimples in her back, as well as Joel being able to manhandle her.

W/C: 3k of non-proof read smut.

A/N: I’m so blown away by all the love on Golden, love you all. Thank you for 150 followers ♡ happy holidays!

masterlist

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The duvet needs to be chucked outside.

You throw the blanket off of you with a quiet huff, your arms flopping forward onto the mattress once the duvet has flown nothing short of five centimeters off of you.

Joel Miller is a furnace, one who is insistent on holding you hostage - or cuddling, as he likes to call it - the whole night.

You may act like it’s the bane of your existence, shooting him glares in the middle of the night when your face feels like it’s on fire and you want to jump into a bucket of ice, but you still love it.

You turn over and snuggle into your man’s chest, deciding to forgo the annoyance at being warm, feeling the coarse hair tickle your cheek before you hear his deep, rumbling groan of sleepy approval. His arm clumsily wrapping around you and pulling you forward against him as he keeps sleeping soundly above you.

You can’t help but think of a big bear, deep in hibernation. It makes you smile to yourself before you’re falling asleep in Joel’s arms.

The sun decides to target your eyes the next time, and you glance over to see it’s now 10 am. Joel is still fast asleep above you, the arm that’s not cheekily resting on your ass is behind his head, making those biceps of his look even more delicious. You want to bite them, but your man needs his sleep. It’s his only day off after all.

You blink lazily, not really one for laying in bed once you’re awake, so you admire Joel sleeping next to you. That scruffy beard of his, unfairly long lashes, his full bottom lip, the trail of hair on his stomach that leads bellow the band of his boxers.

Your attention has been captured.

You lean your cheek against his chest - still nuzzling - as you stare at his underwear, eyeing the covered bulge of him that drives you feral every time.

You think back to last week, the day you had a very important meeting. The way he woke you up with his head between your legs, his hot mouth wrapped around your clit.

It’s only logical to return the favor, right?

Joel mumbles a sleepy protest as you escape from his arms, subconsciously grabbing your pillow and bringing it to his face, wrapping those big arms of his around it. Inhaling the scent of your shampoo and body cream and letting out a hum of approval as he promptly falls back asleep.

It makes you smile, momentarily losing focus as you slowly pull off his boxers.

His soft cock is a sight to behold. Ironically more enticing to you than when he’s burning bright red and dripping for you.

He was never embarrassed about it like your previous partners were. Whenever Joel got out the shower, with a towel wrapped around his waist, you could see the outline of him underneath, sometimes the towel would even slip, giving you a view of his tip.

You drool just thinking about it.

You shimmy his boxers down further, slowly lifting his package so his heavy, hairy balls sit above the fabric. Running a finger along his soft skin, humming at the sight of his tip leaking a small trail of sticky precum, twitching softly in your grip. You spend a few minutes just admiring him.

Stretched out on the bed like one of those Roman statues, his muscles on display under his hairy arms, tummy and chest. His thighs bent slightly, soft cock resting perfectly. His face, oh he’s so handsome. You love him, more than anything.

His hair has gotten fluffier, you suspect he’s been using your shampoo.

You lick a line up his cock, gathering that delicious pre on your tongue as he shifts in his sleep with a soft sigh. You still, waiting until he settles back into the cushions, you slowly take him into your mouth then, sucking down down down until he’s fully resting in your mouth, slowly twitching to hardness as your mouth warms him.

You stay like that for a few minutes, gently sucking on the warm weight of him until he’s dripping his precum down your throat, grunting in his sleep as his legs twitch up slightly - stomach clenching and relaxing again as his head turns to the side, a moan bubbling up in his throat.

You pull off as slow as you can, savoring the feel and taste of him against your tongue. The smooth, warm skin of the underside of his cock sliding out your throat. Moving your tongue so as to not graze the underside of his sticky tip - he’ll definitely wake up if you do that.

You let his cock fall gently from your lips, nuzzling your head lower, until you’re sucking one of his heavy balls into your mouth.

You feel a hand in your hair a moment later.

“Atta girl, keep doin’ that.” He groans with that sleepy, deep morning voice you love so much, his hips shifting up to guide more of him into your mouth. He keeps you pressed closer against him, inhaling that musk that's uniquely Joel. He spreads his hair-covered legs wider, stretching his back with the groan he always does as he lets you suck on his sac until he’s pulling you off him with a grunt and instead flipping you down on the sheets, climbing on top of you until his wet cock is nudging at your clit.

“You drive me crazy, Y’know that, angel?” He murmurs, his teeth nipping at your earlobe as he spreads your legs, humming in approval when he sees your wet pussy.

“You weren’t supposed to wake up.” You huff, your hands automatically going to his broad shoulders as he kisses your neck like he can’t stand to not kiss you as soon as he wakes up, you know he can’t : every morning you’re littered with kisses until you eventually open your eyes. It’s the best way to wake up you can think of, makes you feel warm and fuzzy and full of giggles. After, he usually spends ten minutes kissing whatever part of you he can until you either brush him off and he follows you into the shower, or you don’t even make it that far.

“Can’t stay sleepin’ when a woman like you ‘s between my legs.” He murmurs, his big palm groping your breast as he licks the sensitive space above your collar.

“Mmm come here, I miss you.” You whisper to him in your own sleepy voice you know he loves just as much as you love his, kissing his lips softly as he slides his hands under your shoulder blades, holding you up.

“I’m right here.” He says with a gentle smile, but you can see behind that softness he’s desperate from your teasing, that he wants to be inside you even more than you want to feel his cock stretch you, which seems impossible.

“I still miss you, I need you.” You whisper, and he brushes your hair back off your forehead with that big palm of his, placing a soft kiss on the skin he’s revealed before he’s pressing his drooling tip against your weeping entrance.

“Come here, my baby.” He whispers, lifting your hips so his tip can push past your entrance, making room for itself inside your wet walls until the rest of him joins in a hot, slow roll, stretching you open so deliciously you have no choice but to let your eyes roll back as you arch against him, peaked nipples almost brushing against his own strong chest. The weight of him inside you is warm and heavy, leaving your clit throbbing as you clench around him.

Your mouth pours out whimpers of his name, holding onto him tightly as he pushes forward until the coarse hairs at the base of him meet your twitching clit, and he’s kissing you softly while his hand cups the bowl of your skull - the other your lower back, his thumb and pointer finger finding your dimples.

“I love you.” He whispers, gazing at your face and admiring you even when your eyes are closed and your mouth hangs a bit open. He’s fighting to keep his own eyes open, to not let them flutter shut as yours have - he needs to see that face of yours he loves so much. Needs to watch the effect of him inside you.

“I love you.” You whimper, and you smile to yourself before your thumb brushes over his nipple cheekily, wanting him to react in the way you know he will.

He lets out an irritated noise that’s the closest to a growl you’ve ever heard from him, and your mission has been accomplished . “Naughty girl, you’re playin’ with fire.” Watching your expression he seems to be looking for what you want. He gives a jerk of his hips, and hums as your eyes flutter.

“Why don’t you teach me a lesson ‘bout being naughty, then?” You say softly to him, biting your bottom lip in a way you know will drive him wild. Your hypothesis is proven when he flips you onto your stomach, raising your ass in the air for his viewing pleasure. You whine when his cock slips out of you, leaving you empty and dripping.

“Yeah? You want me t’be rough with you baby? Bruise those walls n’ this sweet ass if yours?” He emphasizes his words with a chomp to your ass cheek and a slap. Joel Miller loves ass and tits, but you know his neurons activate whenever he sees your backside jiggle. There’s a strict rule about what pants you can wear when he needs to focus, for his own sanity. He’s missed too many deadlines at work due to him being unable to resist you walking past his office. He knows the rule is futile as it became more of a prompt to do the exact opposite of what he asked for.

You both know he doesn’t mind.

“Yes, daddy.” You whimper, your legs kicking back and forth slightly as he spanks your ass again, spreading your cheeks to watch your puckered hole flex and pussy drip down on your clit. He presses a kiss over his bitemark before shimmying his hips up, his large hands finding place on your hips, thumbs digging into your dimples like grips. He spends a second admiring the sight of his cock between your cheeks, no matter how many times he’s seen it.

“That’s my pretty girl.” He coos, his heavy hand holding his cock as he moves it up and down teasingly through your slit, his tip catching on your entrance before he’s pushing into you again. The angle makes you gasp, his cock sliding so deliciously along your front wall, to that spot that makes you dumb, that you can’t help the way you cry for him.

It’s all ‘daddy, daddy, daddy.’ as he starts moving his hips, mixed in with the louder slaps of his hips meeting your ass - noticeably with his increased effort.

“Oh, baby, this pussy is so sweet.” He groans. You can’t see it, but his head falls back, his hands grip your hips harder. You can’t even register what he just said, your mind is nowhere. You can’t think about anything except the pounding of his cock into you - the hot drag of him as he slides through your wetness like you were made just for him, just for his fat cock. “Squeezin’ me so tight, gorgeous girl.”

He smacks your ass again, three times in a row, inhaling sharply through his teeth when you clench around him, feet kicking up from their position against the mattress and into the soft flesh of his own backside. He grunts out a small laugh before he’s spreading your previously closed legs with his thighs, driving back into you when he’s made space for himself.

“How m’I supposed to stay mad at you when this creamy cunt’s cryin’ for her daddy?” He whispers as he leans over you, his chest pressed to your back as his arms wrap around your front, holding the opposite breast in each hand. He’s right, your pussy is creamy, proven by the white ring around his cock you can’t see, and it’s certainly crying for him - it sobs, mourns, yearns, weeps for him. His fist curls around your hair before he’s tugging as gently as he can to make your head tilt back, holding you like that.

“Oh, daddy-“ you hiccup, your voice shaking with his thrusts, every crack of his hips makes your words and moans break. It’s too much, and it’s not enough. You need him like this always, buried inside and holding you in a way that fixes you and breaks you apart all over again.

“I love you- she loves you.” You cry just as your pussy clenches around him again, you don’t care that the sounds of his thrusts are becoming increasingly lewd with the wetness seeping from you. You know he loves it like this:

Warm, messy and wet wet wet.

“I know baby, I know- she’s makin’ such a mess of daddy’s cock, should see the way your slick’s stickin’ between us- fuck.” He growls the last part, no doubt watching the webs of your wetness stretch whenever his crotch pulls away from your ass, judging by the way he’s twitching inside of you - veins thrumming.

You’d probably appreciate the thought a lot more if you could actually think it.

Joel grunts again, and soon you’re being rolled ontop of his chest after he moved himself similarly, his back pressed to the sheets as yours feels the tickle of his chest hair and happy trail. He plants his feet on the mattress, and you bite your bottom lip with a smile before you know it’s going to fall away with a silent scream of a moan as he starts bucking up relentlessly into you.

Your cries are hardly heard over the sound of his heavy balls smacking wetly against you. His hands have grabbed onto the underside of your thighs, holding them against your body as he thrusts with an amount of energy that should be impossible for a man in his fifties that just woke up.

His hands slide from your thighs, over your stomach to your breasts - his gasps, moans and grunts right next to your ear, sending goosebumps down your neck that feel like electricity. Your whole body is tingling. Not even his delicious sounds are enough to distract you from the slick, sloppy thrusts of him inside you, his tip seeming to target just the right spot again and again until your eyes scrunch closed and your brows furrow.

You can feel his smile against you when you suddenly go quiet, the only sounds leaving your mouth being gasps for air.

Your fingers blindly reach back and thread through his hair, just as he parts with one of your breasts to rub your clit with the rough pads of his fingers in little circles - it makes you arch away from him in a manner that he wishes he caught on video, just to save the moment forever. He flips you around once more to pulll himself out to the top, pressing you into the mattress as he slams back down into you. You’re both jerking forward with every thrust, his hand releasing your bouncing tit to wrap around your neck, squeezing gently to make you float up to that space only he can take you. The sloppy ache of him ramming into you further takes your breath away

“That’s my girl -mmph,oh fuck, cum f’your old man, cum for daddy-“ his growl breaks off into a breathy moan that has your toes curling, your cunt clenching around the thick, warm length of him.

What choice do you have but to listen?

Your orgasm hits you like a train, fire lighting through your body and shooting down your spine. Your hips jerk, pussy fluttering around him so deliciously he rewards you with one of his lewdest moans yet. Just when you think you’ll fall into a blissful afterglow, he speeds up.

“God fuckin’ damn, baby.” The words are punched out of him, broken and rough - just like his thrusts. “Good girl, ‘m goin’ t’flood this perfect pussy, then I’ll fuckin’ eat me outta you jus’ to pump you full again.”

It’s the best thing you’ve ever heard in your life, your head rolls back in bliss at the mere thought, not even mentioning the feeling of his sticky balls slapping against you, so plump and full you know he’ll be able to make good on his promise to keep your cunt stuffed until the sun dips down once more.

You can’t even cry his name when you feel his cock twitch upwards, spurting his release deep inside you, filling you with his warmth in a way that makes you feel blissfully cozy, like you’re safe and snug - ready to settle under the blankets with your scented candles burning in the room while Joel occupies himself by cleaning your cream-pied pussy with his tongue.

He kisses down the back of your neck as he gently pulls himself out, turning you on your side so he can kiss your cheeks.

“You okay, baby?” He whispers, continuing to kiss over your face as you keep your eyes closed.

“Yes.” you sigh, finally in that little blissful afterglow. He hums in acknowledgment before he kisses your lips softly, his hands pressing between your shoulder blades from where they’re wrapped around you.

“‘M gonna make us coffee, then I’m eatin’ that pussy ‘till I can’t no more.” He ends his filthy statement with a sweet kiss on your forehead, and you smile at him from the bed as he gets up, stretching your back.

“I love you.” You hum with a sweet sigh as your back pops. He’s currently picking up some laundry on the floor, bare as the day he was born.

“I love you, honey bee.” He says softly.

You admire his muscled back, shoulders and ass as he leaves the room, snuggling into the warmth of the sheets - no longer overbearingly hot - until Joel comes back to keep you warm instead.

———————————————————————————————

thank you so much for reading, please reblog and comment if you enjoyed ♡

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us fic #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller x you #pedro pascal x reader #slowdivinqs #joel tlou

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iniquitousyearning · 7 months ago

Text

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 1st. theodore — size kink, big dick.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | 2024.

summary: there’s a rumour going around that theodore nott has a big dick…..why not see it for yourself?

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, hogwarts uni (obviously), big dick!theo, size difference, size kink ofc, fingering, PIV, dirty talk, slowish sex, put on your fantasy cap for this one bc it’s a little wild, also, anyone know any wheelchair providers?

How the hell did you end up here? How had a night meant for celebration, for laughter and drinks and the triumph of a Quidditch victory, lead to this—

Fevered kisses, teeth clashing—your breath catching in the dim, muted glow of Theodore Nott's dorm—spine pressed against his door as his lips attacked yours, moving to your neck with a hunger that had your knees weak. There was a party, still alive somewhere down the hall, warmth spilling into the corridors, the echo of cheers and laughter floating past—but it was all a distant memory now. All of it blurred, lost in the way Theo's hands roamed over your hips, tugging you closer like he was starved.

Oh, right—the rumours.

Rumours have always had a way of creeping into places they don't belong. A whisper here, a careless word there. Stupid little fires, barely a spark until someone fans the flames. You've seen it before—how a single rumour can grow, how it can warp a simple night into something bigger. Something chaotic.

And now, well, you're living it.

Curiosity was what pulled you into his orbit tonight, what sparked the embers that had been burning between you two for far too long. Because Pansy Parkinson—loud, exaggerative, and far-too-tipsy—couldn't resist spilling some gossip mid-party, something about Daphne, something about Theodore and nine goddamn inches.

You know, the usual Quidditch post-match talk.

And it should have been nothing. It should have got lost in all the other Slytherin boy ramblings but instead, it stuck. Gods, it fucking stuck. Pansy's little comment sparked the fire in you, a fire that led to a conversation over drinks, your hand grazing his, and before you knew it, you were leaning into Theodore Nott at the punch bowl, asking questions you had no blasted right asking, yet went ahead and did anyways.

Something about...well—

"You've heard, then," he'd replied, voice low as those blue eyes watched you over the rim of his glass.

It wasn't a question. It was a challenge. For all the audacity you had—Theodore had just as much.

"I have," you leaned closer, your voice almost teasing as you whispered against the curve of his ear. "Big rumours, Teddy...huge, even."

He tensed, just slightly, the kind of reaction you noticed only because you were watching him so closely. You're pretty sure he wasn't expecting something like that to come out of your mouth—and you couldn't blame him, because truthfully, you weren't expecting it either.

That was, what you'd like to call, the point of no return.

There was a response from him. Something cocky enough—something like; "and do you make a habit of believing everything you hear?"

"Not everything," you said with a shrug, though your heart was in your fucking throat. "But I'm open to proof."

There weren't very many words exchanged after that—maybe some slight teasing—maybe another brush of his hand—but Theo was never a man to waste time, and it was clear that whatever curiosity you held for him had bubbled up now—heady and bold—and created a mess between you that couldn’t be contained.

The party, the victory, the cheers—it all became static as his hand slipped around your waist, his lips at your ear in a whisper. "Then let's put these rumours to rest."

You barely had the chance to nod before Theodore moved—grabbing your wrist and moving you through the crowd like you were something to be expedited, the sea of students parting before him. Pansy spotted you leaving, her eyes gleaming as she threw you a wicked smile and a drunken thumbs-up. You rolled your eyes, smirking back, but everything else blurred into the background as Theodore led you out of the common room, and before you knew it, you were inside his dorm.

The door slammed shut behind you, the cold surface meeting your back before his lips found yours—urgent, consuming. His hands moved with purpose, sliding under your shirt, lifting it over your head before you even realized what was happening. His own shirt followed, discarded carelessly onto the floor as he pressed his body against yours.

The memory blurred as the urgency of the present took over. You gasped at the feel of him, his entirety—hard, aching, massive. The outline of him was impossible to ignore, the mere suggestion of what was to come already making your heart pound wildly in your chest.

The rumours had seemed absurd at first, but now...now, they felt terrifyingly real. He was huge.

"Tell me," he breathed, his voice a low rumble against your lips as his fingers worked deftly at removing your skirt. "About those rumours..."

Your head fell back against the door, exposing the line of your throat as his mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Whimpering, you caressed his shoulders, up his neck, finding his hair, fingers teasing the warm, hidden shell of his ears. At this, his back crested, and he moaned, pitching forward, hips working to fuse you with the door.

"I—I heard..." you tried to speak, but his mouth was on your neck, and the words tangled in your throat. "Gods—something about...nine inches..."

Theo hummed against your skin, the sound vibrating through you, sending blood pooling low. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his lips hovering over yours, his breath hot and heavy as he wrapped his hands around your thighs and lifted you up—carrying you toward his bed.

"What else." He muttered against your mouth.

"Daphne..." you panted, barely able to think straight with the way he was touching you, the way he was looking at you. "She...she said she couldn't take it all..."

"And if I say that's true?" He rasped, laying you down onto his comforter. "What then?"

A shiver shook you from the base of your spine, and you curled your legs around him, core clenching hard—he sprawled over you, his body massive—engulfing yours, roving his hands up and down your bare thighs as his lips left wet, warm kisses across your breasts, teeth digging into the sheer fabric of your bra—you were gasping, whimpering under him, your chest rising and falling so rapidly you'd think you'd ran a marathon.

"Gods—that's...an odd question, Teddy..." your hips bucked, seeking his touch, and he grazed your pussy over your underwear, thumb ghosting your clit through the fabric. You squeaked, and he silenced you with his mouth, tugging at the fabric until he'd fit his thick fingers under the hem. "Are you...mm..asking if I can handle it?"

"Fucking soaked already," Theo peeled away, gasping, watching you as he slid a digit through your hot slit, his breath hitching. "Yes—I'm asking if you can handle it."

"Fuck—I don't—I don't know..." he dragged a slickened finger over your clit—you quivered, biting your lip until you found your words. "Only one way to find out."

"You're right," he breathed, swirling his finger, your body pulsing underneath him—every nerve within you roaring to life. "I'll be easy on you...I'll go slow..." his thumb took over, his middle and fourth finger teasing your entrance, lips hovering over your ear. "Let's stretch you out first."

"I—" you began, and he plunged into you. "—fuck."

Theo crooked his fingers in your cunt, eyes focused on your flushing face, the flow of your moans, his breath shallow as you clenched and pulsed around him. His thumb traced rapid little lines around your swollen clit, two long fingers filling you full. He wet his lips, pressing his mouth to yours in a brief kiss as he snapped his wrist, curling and scissoring inside of you. His hips rocked with his rhythm, and you caught sight of his erection straining against his jeans—

"Tight little thing," he growled, head dipping low as he watched his fingers disappear inside your dripping cunt. "I might fucking break you."

He jutted his erection against your thigh and you moaned, clenching around him. "Mm—Theo—"

His eyes followed yours toward his crotch—you couldn't help yourself, your fingers burned to feel him—to stroke him—to feel the weight of him in your hand. He nodded, and amidst your gasps and moans you reached for him, grasping at his zipper and undoing the button, tugging his jeans and boxers down his thighs—

Theo groaned and your mouth watered. Those rumours—Gods, those fucking rumours—

"Fucking hell—" you breathed, wrapping your fingers around his thick, heavy cock—he choked, digits pumping you deep—your thighs shook, your pulse in your throat. You tightened your fist and stroked him, watching him from half-lidded eyes. "Theo—holy fuck.."

His lungs sputtered. "That enough proof for you, Bella?"

You nodded and he throbbed—twitched under your grip, blood biting his cheeks when you coated his head with the bead of his pre-cum, his breath uneven, tattered from the weight of lust—but so was yours.

You moaned. "Oh—Gods—I'm—"

Theo circled your stiff nub, pumping his fingers into your pussy, and pleasure wracked you, pouring into your pulse, your orgasm charging toward you at light speed—his lips found yours, softly, muffling your moans.

"You're close, I can feel it..." he muttered against your mouth, fingers dragging at your walls, groaning as you clenched—as your free hand gripped his hair harder. "Cum on my fingers, Bella, go on..."

You shuddered and snapped—pleasure pulsating from your core and through your limbs, your orgasm lighting up your spine. In its intensity, you bit at his bottom lip while your cunt clamped down around his fingers, a feral energy coursing—the need for more—the need for every goddamn thing he was willing to give you eating away at your sanity—all coherent thought gone, only dissipating further as Theo pulled his fingers from your soaked cunt and sucked them clean with a growl.

"As fucking delicious as I'd imagined," he cooed, drifting his other hand up your thigh, fingers kneading the trembling flesh. You swallowed, lungs still working to find their rhythm. "I don't think you have any idea how long l've wanted this...any idea what you do to me..."

Gods—you almost wanted to laugh—this felt like a fever dream. You'd been friends for years, the fact it took this to get you both here was astonishing. His blue eyes peered down at you—wide and waiting.

"Look at you," you muttered, eyes dipping down to his throbbing dick, still twitching insistently in your hand. "I think I know exactly what I do to you."

Theo snuffed a groan in his throat, but his cock twitched again, despite himself—there was no preventing that.

"Cocky as ever," he whispered, lips curling in a teasing grin. "But now's not the time, principessa..."

"I can handle you," you breathed out, though a tremor in your voice hinted at the uncertainty you felt.

"We'll see." He said. "Lay on your side."

With a flush creeping up your neck, you complied, turning to face the window. The moonlight filtered through the glass, casting a silver sheen over the rippling surface of the Black Lake. Theo moved behind you, his body flush against yours, the slickness of sweat making your skin cling together—one arm slipped beneath your head, cradling it, while the other slid under your thigh, lifting it with a deliberate, practiced motion.

His dick slid against you, the girth daunting enough if not for the sheer fucking length of it—his body was massive behind yours, dwarfing you, a solid wall of heat at your back. You'd never felt so small, so fragile in a way that screamed breakable.

Theo teased your slit, covering himself in your juices—

"Just the tip, yeah?" He whispered, and fuck—you almost moaned. His voice was ruined. "For now."

"Theo—I—I think I can handle it..." you were trying to convince yourself as much as him. You wanted him to enjoy himself, too. "Just…fuck me, please.."

"Merlin help you..." Theo groaned and it almost sounded pitying—dragging the swollen head of his cock against your clit before dipping lower, pressing against the folds of your greedy cunt— "you don't know what you're saying..."

His arm under your head curled inward, wrapping around your neck and holding you in place against him—his other hand guiding his length to your entrance and pressing in—shushing you softly as the first inch breached you and you cried out—as your mind blanked.

"Theo—" you gasped through the chokehold he had you in, his free hand holding your thigh up as it trembled. "That's—you're—fuck—"

He pulled out and rocked along you again, testing you, offering you centimeters of his length at time. Gooseflesh flooded you.

His lips pressed against your ear. "Shhh, you said you could handle me, yeah?"

His hand on your thigh shifted lower, resting on the crease. He rutted against you a few more times, dragging this out for everything it was worth until he brought the tip back to your entrance and pushed in—slowly, inexorably—spearing you open, splitting your cunt and prying you wide in a way that rid your breath.

You whimpered, hand scrambling for purchase on his hip behind you. "Ohhh—h-holy fuck.."

"Fucking hell...you're tight..." his arm around your neck tightened, holding you against him and he pressed in deeper. "That's barely half..."

You fought for air and found absolutely none, every muscle in your body tensing, your limbs trembling, your mind fizzing with staticky pleasure. You felt as though you could break in two.

"Fuck," he drew out again, and pressed back in. "You can barely take it."

He was right. You could barely fucking take it. A revelation that you weren’t surprised by—but that made all the blood in your body pool low, walls fluttering around him in protest.

"Gods, Theo—T-theo—" you grasped his wrist, nails digging into his skin, eyes squeezed shut. "Wait—"

"Little more...you're doing so good, Bella..." he was cooing now, pressing kisses to your cheek. "I'll make it fit...we'll make it fit, won't we?"

You couldn't find a fucking modicum of sense to articulate a response. All you could do was feel—take and feel—the way he slid out, only to drive into you again, slowly, with a hiss of air through his teeth—drawing out loud, shameless groans from your chest.

"Mmm—breathe, Bella..." it was soft, soothing, like he was trying to coax you open with words. "Relax for me, yeah? Let me in...let me in..."

You obeyed without even thinking, pulling in shaky breaths, forcing your body to comply, even as your muscles screamed to stay tense—to fight the overwhelming fullness of him. You felt as though he couldn't possibly get deeper, but then he did, and he continued to until he bottomed out—his cockhead kissing your cervix, forcing a sound out of your chest that was more a sob than a moan.

Your eyes were shut so tight. "That's—"

"All of me," he interrupted, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. He rolled his hips, grinding against you, barely pulling out before pushing back in, and your whole body clenched in response. "Does it hurt?"

Every movement proved indefinitely that he was as long as he was thick—your core stretching to accommodate him. You felt him in places you'd never felt before—moulding and carving you out just for him, digging out new space inside you that only he could occupy.

"A little—“ the words were a whimper, and your walls tightened around him instinctively, fighting to adjust, to accommodate the impossible size of him. “Gods—“

"Then why are you making it worse?" He hissed through his teeth, strain bleeding into his tone. You could hear the shift—wrecked, ruined, like he was barely holding onto himself. "Fuck, you're squeezing me...too tight...relax.."

He pulled out and thrust back in, harder this time, sucking in air through his teeth as he worked you wider with each plunge into your soaked cunt. Your body rebelled, clenching down around him again, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through you, his hips snapping against yours in response.

"That's not going to make it easier, you know." His voice was a tight growl, but there was a grin in it, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. "Keep that up and I'm going to leave you sore all day."

The thought made you clench again, your body betraying you as a broken apology fell from your lips—pain giving way to pleasure. "I'm—ohh—sorry-"

"Oh, you're going to be sorry." His pace quickened and you were seeing stars—bright and flashing and blurring your vision. "When you're spending all day in bed tomorrow...recovering..."

It only took seconds before he was grunting behind you—lost in your tight heat as he held you against him, hooking your thigh up toward your chest as his arm tightened around your neck, cock ramming your cunt—colliding with your cervix, pushing screams from your lungs. You couldn't think—couldn't catch your breath as he drove into you over and over.

"Fuck—so good…so fucking wet..." Theo moaned, the sound of his cock slippery and lewd, broadcasting evidence of your arousal. Face on fire, you tossed your head back against his shoulder and closed your eyes, chewing your lip, rocking with the force of his strokes. “You like that—being filled like this...greedy little thing..."

You whinged; he was boring into your stomach, delight gushing through your veins. You had never been with a man this endowed, and this fucking ruthless. It made you throb, set you aflame, whirled your brain with desire. Words eluded you.

"Ohh—yes,” you choked out between moans. "Gods—you're huge—"

"I am," he groaned in your ear, the hand on your thigh shifting to your belly, palm pressing against your pelvis—he eased his pace, offering you deep, slow strokes, letting you spasm around every goddamn inch. "That's how deep I'm in you."

At that, you moaned, shamelessly. Cocky bastard he was. You knew now that he was more than entitled to it.

"Can...fuck—can I cum in you?" His fingers slipped to your clit, slowly swirling over it—you didn't even have a second to process that question before the pleasure wracked you so hard you cried out, and he growled. "Fuck—let me cum in you...in this pretty little cunt.."

Somewhere in the blur, you registered his words—low, rough, pulling at the frayed edges of your sanity. Contraceptives. You were on them. It was the last rational thought you had left, buried deep under layers of heat and want. You knew you were fine, but the way he asked, in that voice—Gods—

His fingers increased their pace and you wailed. "Theo—holy f-fuck—yes—yes please!"

Lightning euphoria ripped up your spine with a shameless shriek, your climax shattering you. Your cunt throbbed and milked his dick, your thighs twitching, and your back reached for the wall but his arm around you kept you in place, pleasure possessing your nerves. It seemed an eternity—he was still fucking you through it, breaking you deep, and then he shattered too—breath washing over the back of your neck, chest heaving and lungs sputtering as he spilled his release into you, deep and sticky and hot.

You were still floating between realms of sensation and reality—your mind struggling to tether itself back to consciousness when Theo finally pulled out, releasing you. Both of you were heaving, chests rising and falling in tandem, your bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction.

A moment passed, your breaths slowly steadying, when you felt his arm snake around your waist, pulling you effortlessly against his chest. You shot him a weak, lopsided smile over your shoulder, still catching your breath.

"You okay?" He murmured, his voice a quiet hum in the afterglow.

"More than," you nodded, though your body still hummed with the remnants of pleasure. A hollow ache replaced where he'd been, leaving you startlingly aware of how empty you felt without him. "That was...you are...

"I know," he purred, lips grazing the sensitive spot behind your ear, the smirk practically carved into his breath. You could feel his smugness radiating off him, a tangible thing. "Hope your curiosity was sated."

You let out a breathy laugh, the warmth of his body seeping into your skin. "That, among other things."

"Good," he whispered, "I went easy on you."

You huffed, a slow smile creeping across your face. "Is that so?"

"Extremely so," he murmured, fingers tracing lazy circles over your hip. "Took all the willpower I had."

"Sure," you teased. "You're just saying that because I took you so well."

He chuckled, low and sinful, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your spine.

"Oh, she's cocky," he drawled, lips brushing your shoulder. "We'll see about that after I put you in ten different positions."

Your heart stuttered, your muscles tensing at the sheer boldness of the statement. Heat pooled in your belly once more, that insatiable curiosity sparking again. You knew this night was far from over.

Perhaps a little more proof wouldn’t hurt...

You turned your head just slightly, voice breathy but wanting. "Please do."

8K notes · View notes

pedgito · 2 months ago

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 | Joel Miller x reader

part one– summary | Two strangers and their internal loneliness attract like magnets. Joel is at a loss, stuck—and you are alone, terrified. In the forced, shared space you find that distraction was the easiest way to cope.

content warning | dddne — DUBCON (this is an ongoing theme for a while), coercion, selective mutism on readers behalf, graphic depictions of violence, injury tw, not quite kidnapping/stockholm but reader has nowhere to go, brief mentions of pregnancy (like literally one line), mentions of starvation due to food scarcity but appearances isn't deeply described, mentions of sa and other relating themes, mean!joel, girthy age gap (reader is 20, joel is 54), joel is riddled with guilt but what's new amirite, oral (m receiving), unprotected piv and creampies, if i missed anything please let me know!

author's note: guys this has been sitting in my drafts finished for almost a year and this new picture has sparked a fucking fire in my docs over this series (another one? yeah i know), this is probably the heaviest thing (for me) i have ever written? so just, be warned. i don't have a timeline for this, i'm literally just vibing it out as i am with most fics lately and if you see a tag you don't like. don't read. you're responsible for the work you consume. a full list of triggers/warning can be found on the masterlist.

word count —10k

part two | part three | strangers masterlist

“She’s a stray, look at her.”

Two pairs of eyes stare back, across the dimly lit room. You’re curled up in the chair, thick leather coat lined with wool draping your shoulders and your toes curled around the edge of the seat, hands balled up near your chest as you savor the warmth.

It was the first time in a month that you’ve seen a fire—sure, you’ve tried to build one. But, you never quite got it and usually ended up burning yourself in the process and added onto the litany of other scars left as memories and reminders on your skin.

Survival—while you weren’t good at it, you did what you had to. Pure, primal instinct. Find shelter, find food, get safe. Don’t die.

Your nose was bloody, lips chapped and cracking, running on a few hours of sleep over the last several days. Place to place, you had to keep running. If you didn’t, they would catch you, surely.

Your muscles ache as they had a moment to relax, legs sore from walking miles and miles, the lingering cuts and scabs that hadn’t healed from your own clumsiness and a mix of being at the end of a blade of a man with too much pride to allow you to damper the moment.

You licked your lips and your eyes flitted away, staring out the window and counting the string of illuminated, plastic orbs hanging on the house across from the one you were currently being interrogated in—the men were still looking at you. Your outer stoic expression hid away the trembling fear you kept inside. They were waiting for you to speak.

That never came.

“You got a name?”

You shake your head, eyes quickly averting in a different direction.

The two men were similar in build—tall and stocky, large and filled out bodies built of muscle and years of hard labor, older based on the grays littering their well-kempt hair and trimmed beards. One has hair that curls just beyond his ears, a warmer brown than the other mans.

They both pull the same expression—complete and utter confusion.

Nearly identical. Oh, they’re brothers.

If not, they sure did bicker like it.

“She’s pullin’ our fuckin’ leg, Tommy.”

Your ears perk up, assigning the name to a face. He seemed softer than the other man, less weathered and guilt-ridden. It wasn’t like you knew anything about these men, but you’ve learned to identify as much as you could within a couple looks.

Figure them out.

What do they want? What can you give them?

Tommy rounds the table separating you from him, a safe, protective distance as he presses his palm into the chair pushed under the table, fingers curling around the top.

“Listen, you’ve gotta give us something.” Tommy explains, “Given the shape of you, I’m tryin’ to avoid the whole vetting process we go through. We don’t take kindly to raiders or tricks or people looking to cause trouble.”

“We ain’t even got space for her—”

Tommy holds his hand up to the other man, eyes still locked on you.

“Look at me,” His voice is solid, demanding.

But, he’s not yelling. You turn meekly, gripping for the jacket when it slips from your shoulders. Your clothes were torn, jagged edges barely hanging on in some places. Garments soiled and unwashed for weeks and god—you fucking reek. You can smell it, you know they can smell it.

You were a stray feral cat that had scurried up to their doorstep and passed out from exhaustion and while one was attempting to take pity, the other was ready to crush your skull under the weight of his boot.

“Can you talk?” He asks, eyebrows raising slightly in question.

Your tongue rolls against the front of your teeth and you switch your gaze between the two men before shaking your head, a barely noticeable gesture if they hadn’t been staring you down.

You were being truthful—you couldn’t speak. It wasn’t like you’d had your tongue cut out and were ridden with the choice, but quiet has been the only thing that has ever brought you peace.

Familiar phrases echo loudly in your mind.

Don’t speak, be a good girl.

Seen, not heard.

Speak and I will rip your fucking tongue out.

So, no—you can’t talk.

“We’ve got families comin’ in—men and women that are willing to be a hell of a lot more cooperative than this—”

“Joel,” Tommy warns with a voice that shakes the room, causing you to jerk in response and this time he is holding his hand out to you, palm raised as if to ease you down, “we can give her a fair chance, just like we do the others. Grab a piece of paper and pencil,” He points toward a desk tucked against a far wall and Joel's heavy boot stomps follow Tommy’s orders before he’s returning, slapping the items back down on the table and taking a similar stance to Tommy.

You were sandwiched between the two men as they surrounded you, shaking as you took the pencil in your hand and gripped it, fumbling for the paper as you used your fingertips to drag it close.

“Where did you come from?” Tommy asks.

You remember the dark room, chains and screams—blood-curdling screams. One meal a day, if you are good. Constant pacing in the halls, a building in the city holding a much darker secret in the quarantine zone you had been kidnapped and forced to take home in.

Bad place, you write in sloppy handwriting.

Tommy leans to look and his brow furrows, subverting toward Joel who shakes his head at you.

“No—state, city. Anything. Bad place ain’t gonna cut it, kid.”

Kid.

They’ve never called you a kid before.

Men like him—he wasn’t them, but they all start to look the same after a while.

Salt Lake? Old QZ in the city.

Joel knows that place had crumbled years ago and quarantine zones were nearly non-existent now. Taken up by people trying to start anew, much like Jackson, but more often than not it was raiders—the filthy kind of people who took without asking and killed first, asked questions never.

He couldn’t blame them, but the handful of years in Jackson has taught him a new approach. It wasn’t his favorite, but it allowed him to sleep easier at night, usually.

“You left on your own?” Joel asks, speaking before Tommy could, likely ready to ask the same question. His insipid tone makes your skin crawl.

You chewed at your bottom lip and your eyelashes touched your cheeks in a flurry of blinks as you scribbled out the one word onto the paper.

Escaped.

The alarm is immediate, Joel’s head snapping up as you push the paper toward the middle of the table and allow the pencil to roll with it.

“Tommy, can I speak to you for a minute?” Joel’s voice is harsh, not nearly the question he posed it as.

Tommy rolls his shoulders and walks around the back of your chair, following Joel into the hallway, hushed voices shocking the tension back into your body as you curl into yourself, crossing your arms over your chest and allowing your eyes to scan the room.

Memorize, categorize—this was one of the men’s houses, of whom you weren’t sure for the moment.

But, it was stocked with personal items and supplies, a bassinet shoved away in the living room and as you turned that way you noticed a pair of eyes peek around the doorframe leading that way.

A girl, young—not much younger than yourself but she is noticeably more child-like, curious.

Her shoes squeak against the hardwood startling you both and suddenly Joel is reentering the room and directing his voice toward her.

“Go on home,” He speaks to her, his expression washed-out and tired, “don’t linger ‘round here, kiddo.”

“I’m the one who found her,” She seems to take an angle of defense, coming into view. Clothes that hung off her body, not well-fitting and clearly second hand but more intact than your own, “I was on watchtower duty with Dina—”

“Ellie, this doesn’t concern you.”

Ellie rolls her eyes, walking closer regardless of Joel’s words and tossing a knife on the table.

Your knife—the black-handled switchblade closed shut. It still had old, dried blood caked on the handle. It could have been your own, but that was just a lucky guess. That thing had been your lifeline for weeks, moments away from a terrible night of near starvation or a desperate attack on you, it helped keep you safe.

You instinctively reach for it but Joel is quick—unnaturally, as he curls it into his hand and gives you a look of warning.

“This,” He holds it up, the switchblade dwarfed between his large, calloused fingers, “ain’t yours.”

Your lips pull into a thin line, eyes falling to the floor.

Tommy’s tongue clicks against his cheek as he rounds the corner, fingers rubbing at his chin as he paces, his face deep in thought and contemplation as he back steps toward the edge of the table near you, leaning into it and crossing one foot over the other. His hands are tucked away in his pockets.

“That place you escaped—” He looks up toward Joel briefly before his gaze lands on you again, “they gonna come lookin?”

You could tell the truth—you weren’t sure.

You weren’t the only girl that was locked away in the central tower of that city, the only person who was being used so inhumanely for the needs of others in the most heinous of ways.

Selfish, sick and demented, men who got off on that desperate need for power and control.

So, instead and out of self-preservation, you lie.

Shaking your head, Tommy takes a small breath and nods.

“Alright—I’m trustin’ you. Still, we’ll beef up security for a bit, and add a few extra patrols. You need a place to stay and we’re gonna give you that. But, we got rules.”

“Rule number one–you earn this,” Joel holds up the knife again before it’s tucked away in his pocket for safekeeping. Your eyes drag toward his pocket, staring daggers into the material.

“You earn your keep—I’m going to give you some time to settle, but eventually we’re going to assign you to a station. You work or you leave, there’s no other way about it.” Tommy continues, “And while I’m more inclined to give you a space of your own, we’re all full up singles and giving you a townhome…well, I’m not so sure that is the best idea.”

You weren’t going to argue—not that you had the will to speak up for yourself now, not when both of their presence were so oppressive. You nod obediently and look over at Joel who is still lingering, like an ugly guard dog ready to bare his teeth at a moment’s notice.

“I’d keep you here, but with my situation I’m not putting anything at risk,” Tommy says and you suddenly realize that this was his home. You weren’t that slow-witted. He had a family, something you were never familiar with.

But, you understood.

“So, you’ll be staying with Joel.”

It clearly wasn’t his choice, based on the way his teeth clench, jaw flexing as he crossed his arms, fabric stretching over broad shoulders and thick, muscled biceps. His piercing gaze makes you shrink into your chair, if that were possible.

Your nose scrunches slightly, in a faint show of disgust but you quickly collect yourself.

“I’m also gonna suggest you see our doctor, get those bruises checked out. Make sure you don’t have any broken bones and they can stitch up any—”

It forces you into a panic, heart beating rapidly in your chest as the jacket drops from your shoulders, fingers reaching out to wrap around Tommy’s wrist—and, like you had suspected, Joel is quick to grab at your own wrist, ready to tackle you to the ground. It wouldn’t take much given your size difference—he was just...massive, threatening in a way you've never felt. Joel could snap you like a twig, but his restraint is there.

Tommy notices the panic in your eyes—you weren’t trying to attack. You were attempting to communicate in a moment of worry, he nodded and waved Joel off, prying your hand from his arm gently and placing it against your knee.

“Alright, no doctor.” Tommy settles, “For now.”

You slump back and blink away the burning sting of tears that filed your eyes.

“Get her settled in,” He tells Joel, “make sure she eats.”

Joel doesn’t nod, but he moves, backing out of your way and giving you space.

You move slowly, shaking the jacket off your shoulders before Tommy is shaking his head and grabbing hold of the lapel, pulling it back up. You jerky slightly, averting your body from his sudden touch.

“Sorry–just…keep it,” Tommy tells you—it was a look of pure pity, his eyes softening around the naturally hard edges, “I’ll have my wife go searching for some clothes tomorrow, get you out of those and into something clean and better fitting.”

You follow behind Joel to the door, a careful distance as you linger, bracing yourself for the cold crunch of snow under your bare feet.

“And brother,” Tommy calls out—there it was. Joel twists the knob and looks over his shoulder, “don’t go scaring her more than she already is.”

You weren’t sure if it was even possible to feel true fear anymore.

The walk is short, but painful. Small winces that get caught in your throat as you quicken your pace to keep up with Joel, a slight limp to your walk from the bruising on your ribs and the tinge of pain in your hips and pelvis—your body has relaxed for too long, it felt brittle.

You hurt all over, but lately, you could will it all to go numb if you tried hard enough. Disconnect, disassociate, and disappear from your own body.

Eventually, you do meet his front door and you’re enveloped with warmth in a matter of seconds, making your way inside hesitantly as Joel holds the door open. He hadn’t spoken a word since you left the other house, fingers gripping hard on the pair of gloves tucked into his left hand. You look around curiously, the house shrouded in darkness aside from the fireplace ignited and crackling in the far room to your left. Joel moves quietly behind you, placing his belongings on the kitchen counter, but the switchblade is still tucked away in his front pocket, you know that much.

He plucks at a note folded under a magnet on the fridge, reading it to himself silently.

“Come on, kiddo,” He mumbles to himself, realizing it must be from the girl—sounding exasperated as he balls up the paper and tosses it in the trash. He favored that word, but you can’t tell if it’s just a habit.

You weren’t a kid, not even close. It felt patronizing when it was aimed your way.

He eyes you carefully, sighing as he presses a hand against the kitchen counter.

“I’m settin’ you up in the basement—none of the other rooms are in good enough condition.” Joel explains, speaking to you in the most civil way he has all night, “nothin’ is off limits except my room. And Ellie’s. She’s out back but you don’t get to go snoopin’ around. Got it?”

You shrug the jacket off but hold it close to your chest, arms crossing over each other as you hug the thick material. You nod slowly.

“Really, nothing?” Joel asks.

All it takes is a look, eyes bleary and sorrowful.

“Go on,” He nods, “there’s a bed down there, a shower, a change of clothes—”

You quickly scurry off, overwhelmed by the intensity of his unwavering gaze and the sound of his voice as it becomes more and more muffled the deeper you trek down the stairs, careful steps on your torn up feet, he seems to finally give up when your feet hit the concrete floor.

It’s still warm here, but not nearly as much. A small rectangular window sits right above the old bed, a mattress on a rusted metal frame that looked like it barely had any life left in it. But, it was an actual bed. Not boxes and a bedsheet, a makeshift pillow made from your dirtied clothes to give the ache in your neck some much needed relief.

There was a small room in the corner, a bathroom that barely managed to fit the necessities you needed—but it was still something. A shower, a toilet, a sink. A mirror that you couldn’t even bother to look in, making your way around the room you find the stack of clean clothes and towels on the coffee table in front of a worn couch, threads pulling apart at the seams on the arms.

You crouch, despite the screaming protest from your body and sift through the pile. A clean shirt, a clean pair of sweats. Underwear—you haven’t had the luxury of clean undergarments in months, often finding that going without was easier. A lump burns in your throat.

You move slowly, tucking the jacket over the edges of the mirror to cover it and placing the clothes on the closed toilet seat as you struggle for a few minutes to figure out the shower, jolting at the touch of hot water when it shoots out from the spout above.

You strip carefully, shirt pulled over your head with a small wince before your fingers are dipping into the waistband of your bottoms, slipping them down your hips and allowing them to drop silently to the floor before you step out of them—the moment the water touches your skin you regret it, the dirtied water pooling at your feet.

You cry, sob under the spray of water and scrub away every inch of dirt and grime and blood from your body–it hurts, it fucking hurts but you can’t find it in you to stop. You could scrub the skin raw, open up old wounds and make the fresh ones worse, but you’ll settle for red and welted skin. A mix of re-opened gashes and cuts flushed out by the stream of water and your maniacal scrubbing, but at least you didn’t smell like the stench of your own bodily fluids and weeks of built up dirt on your skin, nights of sleeping on wet ground in the woods.

There is a moment of running your fingers through your hair that feels nice, hair still slightly matted from the lack of care but it feels cleaner, as much as you could manage before your arms gave out from exhaustion. You savor the warmth until the water runs cold, heavy footsteps above you shaking the dust from the ceilings.

Right. You’re not alone. Not anymore.

But, that didn’t bring you comfort either.

You turn off the water and reach for the towel, allowing yourself to get dressed at a careful pace—they must be Joel’s clothes, a plain white shirt that was soft to the touch but clearly worn and a pair of black sweats that had seen better days, the color warped and faded. You manage to slip the socks of your feet with one stumble, hand pressing against the sink to catch yourself.

The jacket remains hung and you flick off the light before taking space on the bed, palms pressed out against the clean, linen sheet, the comforter tucked away against the wall as you laid down, body protesting the entire way.

Eyes squeezed shut, you grit your teeth and pull the comforter over your shoulders.

You try to sleep that night, but it is futile. The light hanging above your bed flickers occasionally—every fifteen minutes to be exact, it had done it thirty two times that night.

–

It never fails—just as you feel yourself drifting off every early morning, Joel is awaking you with the sound of his heavy footsteps and a bag of food. Sometimes a tray or plate. It varied.

You’ve been here three full days now, not counting the night they had taken you in.

You hadn’t left the room, hadn’t asked for a single thing.

Joel was starting to believe that your tongue was cut out—that you were robbed of the ability to speak entirely, but he knows that isn’t the case when he watches your tongue peek out as you take a bite of the scrambled eggs he had grabbed from the town dining hall for you.

You haven’t seen an authentic plate of food in months, and with proper silverware—having half the mind to dig in with your hands before Joel passes you the fork. It was real, warm food. Your stomach growled with greed as you shoveled the food into your mouth quietly.

Joel watches you with a strange look, not with judgment but a genuine curiosity that he doesn’t act on with questions or crude statements. He waits until you're done, leaning against the door that leads to the rest of the house, only coming near when you press the plate to the floor with a soft clang.

And it continues like that for a couple days—occasional Joel will bring more than food; a book, a magazine, a set of cards. He never explicitly acknowledges the items, but he does leaves it behind. You can’t bring yourself to leave the room, in fear of what you faced outside of here. Even just a few steps into Joel’s kitchen and it made your stomach twist and the bile stir.

Sometimes the food comes in only paper bags, a few at a time and things that didn’t need to be kept cold because when Joel had to go away on patrol he couldn’t watch over you, even if he felt the need to.

He wasn’t sure if you were going to try and make a break for it, escape over the walls.

He wouldn’t stop you, wouldn’t blame you either. But, the state you're in, he can’t see you surviving more than a day. Bruises were healing, cuts were scabbed up and scarred over. He never tended to your wounds, always allowed you to do that on your own. At least, he assumed you were. You’ve learned to not scamper away as much, taking things from him with minimal contact and a small nod, sometimes allowing a small gesture of thanks with a hand on your chin that you bring downwards.

Joel only scowls his brow and looks at you confused.

“You stink.” Joel says one day, out of the blue over dinner as he watched by the doorway.

You stop chewing mid-bite and look at him.

“Have you showered at all since the first day?”

Impishly you look away toward the bathroom.

It felt selfish, to overuse the hot water and indulge in the pleasure of the heat—always used to cold showers and the bare minimum of scrubbing yourself down in thirty seconds. It was routine: in, wash, out. There was no enjoyment.

You shake your head after a while and push your plate aside, feeling your stomach turn.

“Go,” He nods as he steps toward you, swiping up the plate in his right hand and leading the way toward the bathroom, noting the way the coat was still hung over the mirror. He doesn’t comment on it, but he nods his head in the direction of the shower.

You look at him slightly unsure, “If I have to force you in there I will,” He says, but there isn’t any real bite behind, although the look in his eyes tells a different story, “there’s plenty of hot water, use it.”

But…

The word lingers in your head.

“I’ll have Ellie grab you some new clothes, somethin’ that fits better.” Joel tells you, “Just get in the goddamn shower.”

You brush past him quietly, beginning to undress yourself without warning which alarms Joel.

“Oh—well, shit. I mean after I left.” Joel turns away and his descending footsteps eventually fade and despite how hard it is to get your body to work, or even move, you shower.

You grab the unused towel hanging over the barely clinging metal rack nailed into the wall, wrapping it around your body securely, bare feet pressing against the ground and for the first time in a while, it doesn’t hurt. It’s sore, but it doesn’t sting as harshly as it did.

There’s a suspicious lack of clothing—your dirty ones nowhere in sight, no clean ones either. In fact, the room was practically bare of all trash and old clothing. You ignore the dull pain at your hip, a wound still on the mend and step around the corner of the doorway carefully and hear the sound of footsteps above you, the soft hum of voices until one fades, a door closing following in the wake of the newly discovered sounds.

The door is open. Joel left the door open.

You stop several feet away, staring out into the hallway, the house was dim aside from the bright glow of flames burning in the fireplace. You feel so strongly to run toward the door and slam it closed, clamber back into bed—fearful that if you left the room then this bubble of safety and protection would be broken. But, there was the small voice in the back of your mind screaming to take a step forward, and then another, until your fingers were lingering over the doorknob and pushing it open further.

You take a step out, only to be met with the chest of someone else running into your arm clutching at the towel wrapped around your body—it couldn’t be anyone but Joel, and of course, you’re right.

He’s staring at you emotionless, aside from the subtle acknowledgment that you had listened to him.

“Got you a couple sets—something to sleep in, something to wear during the day.”

He doesn’t elaborate, handing the clothes over into your empty hand. You’re halfway in the process of dropping your towel before Joel’s hand is wrapping around your wrist, forcing you to stop.

“Stop doin’ that,” Joel commands, nodding toward the bathroom behind you, peeking over your shoulder in that direction before looking back at him with wide, startled eyes, “privacy—do you understand that?” His voice is slow, almost patronizing.

Privacy wasn’t lost on you—but it had long been a foreign concept.

You nod.

“Then go, get dressed.” He reprimands, pointing down the hall, a different bathroom then you’ve seen before.

You scurry away with the clothes clutched to your chest, catching a quick glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you step inside the room—it was startling, having not seen your appearances in weeks, days and days of constant guessing, wondering how the time starved in the Wyoming forest had damaged you.

Physically, mentally, emotionally.

It had taken a toll and it was even more visible than you expected.

You looked rundown, eyes tired and sorrowful. It was pathetic. You tried not to linger for long, noting the appearance of your body and moving on—having to look back at yourself in the mirror was far worse than being attached to it.

The clothes Joel gave you were thin, fleece pajamas that felt soft to the touch and kind against your still sensitive skin. You exit the bathroom quietly and Joel is nowhere to be found in your immediate vicinity, half-expecting him to be waiting outside the bathroom door. You edge back toward the basement door before you spot him on the couch in the living room, the back of his head and broad, stocky shoulders the only glimpse of him you have.

He seems relaxed, staring off into space as he looks down.

You don’t know where the pull comes from, but it wraps around the ache in your chest and pulls you closer, toward him. The creak in the floorboard gives you away.

“Don’t sneak around,” Joel says, “makes people anxious ‘round here.”

Makes him anxious, clearly.

After a moment of silence, he extends the invitation to join him.

“If you’re cold, sit—got room if you want to sit somewhere closer to the fire.”

He did have quite the sizable living room, a couple couches and a few arm chairs surrounding the otherwise bare living space.

You can see the softness on his face under this light, his eyes drawing up to look at you while his head is still tilted down, his hands rubbing away at his stiff knuckle joints. He keeps flicking his eyes between the two—his hands, you, then back again.

If he has something he wants to ask, he doesn’t.

You’re silent as you avoid each piece of furniture all together and quietly make your way between his outstretched legs, a perfect place to tuck yourself between as you kneel.

Thank him, he deserves it.

He didn’t strike you as a shy man, but you’ve done this plenty of times before—it was really no different, but this was more of a silent offer than the usual demands you were faced with.

Joel doesn’t move right away, doesn’t even react.

Until you touch him, your hands gliding over his knees, his thighs, leaning forward to nuzzle your face against his thigh as you pull at his zipper—again, his fingers wrap around your wrist. But, no words follow. You make eye contact with him then, feeling at your most confident and bold when he looks so worried, frightened—the deep feeling of intrigue buried underneath it all.

You pull away from his grip and wrap your fingers around his waistband, pulling slowly until he moves, wordlessly he responds by using his thumbs to push his jeans far enough down that you can comfortably press your hands over the obvious bulge in his boxers—it wasn’t hard or straining, but the touch of your hand against his cock had it growing to that point quickly, his eyes downcast and half-lidded.

It was like he didn’t want to look, but couldn’t look away. You took it in stride and pulled at his boxers until you could tug his cock free of the confines, watching it spring up against his stomach—thick in every sense of the word and large, much more than any man who’s ever claimed you. Pretty, almost, if you could consider it that. He’s well-kempt and clean which was nice, unusual given the time you lived in now. More importantly, you feel your mouth watering at the prospect of taking him inside, pressing your tongue flat against the tip and swallowing him down.

That has never happened before.

You settled between his legs more comfortably, raising up on scabbed up knees and dragging your fingers delicately along the shaft and down to his balls, watching them tighten at the attention you showed before you’re leaning down to take his cock into your mouth without much of a warning. Joel shifts slightly and you ancitpate him to push you away.

But, really, you just wanted to thank him. It was the only way you’ve learned how.

He breathes out softly, the first sound you’ve heard since you touched him.

You drag your tongue from base to tip, hand pressed his cock flat against it as you circle around the tip before dipping back down, slipping back into the motions so easily it feels mind-numbing.

Your eyes flutter as you force yourself to take him as deep as possible, nearly gagging before you pull away, catching a slight glimpse of him behind bleary, wet eyes.

His own are wild, hands pressed flat against the cushion, mouth only slightly ajar. But, he won’t look at you. Only the action, your hand wrapped around his shaft, the other pressed against his thigh and he fights off that urge to touch you, tilting his head back against the couch as you continue with a sudden fervor you didn’t have before.

You bob effortlessly, taking him just near the point of impossible before you’re pulling away, repeating that until you can feel that faint throb, that familiar pulse as his balls tighten with his impending orgasm and just as he reaches for your hair, ready to pull you away, you fight against it. He comes in your mouth with a low groan, gripping onto the surface of the couch in desperation.

When the pulsing finally calms you pull away, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand and standing slowly, adjusting your clothes where they had shifted out of place slightly before taking a silent seat on the couch beside him, laying down and curling up into yourself.

You hear the dull sounds of him readjusting his pants, zipping them, shuffling slightly as he clears his throat and suddenly there is a throw being draped over you—a soft, sherpa lined blanket that immediately bathes you in warmth.

Joel catches your gaze as you blink up at him, pausing briefly to acknowledge how lost you seem—in need of guidance. It settles in him then, dawns on his mind that this was what you were used to, wherever you had escaped from was far worse than anything he’s ever suspected. He tucks the blanket in gently and double checks the locks on the door. You’re already asleep by the time he passes by, leaning over the back of the couch to check on you.

Joel feels the guilt creep in slowly.

He should have stopped, he knows he should have. But, he didn’t.

Why? He couldn’t explain it.

The walk to his bedroom seems miles away and when he finally reaches it he’s closing the door with a dignified sigh, immediately making his way toward the en-suite bathroom and undressing his clothes—it was his second shower that day but he didn’t give a shit.

He needed a moment to reconvene in his mind…or escape.

Really, he just needed a distraction. It was selfish need.

The clothes pile up on the tile floor as he turns on the water, the stream shooting out of the shower head in quick spurts before it levels out and Joel steps inside, head first as the water soaks his hair, face, traveling down his body.

It wasn’t the first time he’s allowed his hand to travel to his cock within the privacy of this bathroom—a man with no one to keep his bed warm at night, or morning–or ever, really. He’s learned to cope, release some of the built up anger and frustration even if for a brief moment.

But, this was different. Because the only thing he could think of was you. The meek looks you offered, dumb-founded and lost, like a young gazelle lost in the woods. He can only imagine, suspect what you’ve been through, but the look you had given him while you took him into your mouth was something Joel couldn’t describe.

There was no clear acknowledgement, no hard line of yes and no. The lines were blurred and he doesn’t know why, but he was okay with it for a moment. Truly, you’d had all the power in the moment anyways—Joel was helpless under the touch of your mouth, a goner the second your hand touched his skin.

He tugs at his cock lazily and with no real purpose, knowing if he tried to come again so soon it wouldn’t happen, but for the brief moment of peace, he imagines you there, kneeling before him with the spray of water over your face and his cock buried in your mouth, puffing out your cheeks and how you would be so willing to do whatever he’d ask.

Obedience—that was the one thing that stuck out. You always listened when he spoke.

He could help you, he thinks. Heal you.

Or, he would fuck up and make it far worse.

He wasn’t sure if it was even worth the trouble.

The next morning you wake to the startling clang of pans behind you, shooting upright on the couch and snapping your head toward the kitchen to catch a glimpse of Joel’s back, shoulder blades stretched and outlined under the thin material of his shirt, clinging to his back snuggly. There’s a savory smell that breaches your nose–meat, potatoes, something of a near feast as you spot the few plates on the table stacked with various other foods.

Joel seems to sense your eyes, turning his body slightly to look behind him and your gaze quickly averting down, playing with a loose thread on the blanket as he plates the remaining food.

“Beginning of the month,” Joel explains, “usually the only time we get to eat like this.”

Joel swiftly decided that taking the route of pretending nothing ever happened was the easiest, brushing off the events of the previous night with a point to the seat near the kitchen island.

“C’mon, dig in,” He invites, “Ellie should be up soon and lord knows that kid doesn’t care about savin’ enough for the rest of us. Fill up while you can.”

Your footsteps are quiet and slow as you approach the island, the long sleeves tucked under your fingers mid-palm, crossing your arms over your chest as you look at the cacophony of items. Not sure where to start or end. Joel reaches for a plate and points to the items in order from left to right, plating a couple items with every nod you give him.

He was an enigma of a man—so brute and intimidating at a glance and he was when he needed to be, but this was a soft crack in a hard exterior, years of built up trauma intertwined with a rough world dependent on the strongest to survive. It had to level out at some point–and here that big strong man was, making up your plate and plopping a piece of bacon down before you impishly nod your head toward the pile of bacon.

“More?”

You nod quickly and Joel feels a subtle grin tug at his face, nodding in agreement with your choice as he gives you another piece.

You eat in silence—chewing slowly and methodically as you listen to the quiet, roving chatter of people outside, neighbors readying for their day. It was a community, a town, well-oiled and rare in this world.

“Are you done hiding down in the basement?” Joel asks eventually, peeking up from his plate as he leaned against the counter adjacent the island, “Eventually you’re gonna have to talk to Tommy, get you set up with a job.”

Right. Work. Sustenance. You had to carry your own weight.

“You can talk here, you know?” Joel tells you, “You can talk, can’t you?”

Your eyes flick away briefly, avoiding the question.

“Let me try that again,” Joel clears his throat and tosses his empty plate behind him in the sink, fingers curling around the edge of the counter beside him, “Can’t?”

You shake your head.

“Won’t?”

A jerky nod as you push your own plate away.

“I’m not tryin’ to pry or force it—jus’ think it may cause problems eventually.”

You make a motion of writing with your hand shyly, hoping he’ll understand.

Joel nods jerkily and turns to rummage through a drawer in the kitchen, filled with a miscellaneous amount of junk, finding a pad of paper and a pencil and handing it over to you.

Not scared. Of you.

Joel watches as you scribble the words down and furrows his brow.

“No, I’m not sayin’ you are—”

You scratch out the words and start a new line.

If we talked, they hit.

They?

Joel doesn’t voice the word but you see the confusion on his face.

They do nice things and we thank them. The men. If we didn’t, they would hurt us. Or kill if they were angry enough.

You scrunch your nose up slightly, looking disgruntled. Joel watches your hand shake as you continue—it didn’t help to be vague, but that fear they had instilled in you lingered like a dark, suffocating cloud.

I grew up in that place.

Bad place, Joel reminds himself. That was what you had told him and Tommy.

“People—they ain’t like that here—” Joel says, but you’re already scribbling before he can finish.

You don’t know that.

Ellie disrupts the quiet conversation with her loud entrance through the back door, looking tired as she tugged her jacket over her shoulders, pack already slung over her back.

“You’re up early,” Joel notes, preemptively handing Ellie a slice of bacon.

“Jesse wants to get an early start for the patrol since that big storm is supposed to hit tomorrow.”

Joel nods, noting how you looked between the pair curiously.

Ellie seems to notice you’re staring too, offering a casual, “Hi,” around the bacon her teeth tore into.

“Right, shoulda remembered to tell you,” Joel looks over at you, “we’ll both be gone for a few days, longer patrols with all the extra ones Tommy’s pushing at.”

“Seems pointless,” Ellie shrugs, “but…whatever.”

“You get goin’,” He tells Ellie, “I’ll catch up.”

Ellie chews at her breakfast indifferently, nodding in response as she departs, the front door closing gently behind her.

Joel gathers the dishes quietly but you feel the urge to move, helping him gather the rest of the dirty dishes and pile them into the sink. You don’t ask and he doesn’t either, but as he washes, you dry, and it feels normal.

Maybe the only normal experience you’ve had since you ended up here.

You couldn’t place your finger on him, though—Joel. One moment he was kind, talkative and curious, willing to take his time to figure out what he could about you. But, other times you felt like you were a stray dog that popped up at his doorstep and refused to leave. So, now he was forced to house you, feed you, take care of you.

So, obviously, it only made sense to take care of him.

He’d enjoyed it the first time.

Joel’s drying his hands on a towel you hand him before you’re reaching for his belt, metal clinking against metal and you tug, but you’re stopped short, his hand wrapping tightly around your wrist.

“The fuck are you doing?” Joel asks, shoving your hand away forcefully.

But, it’s the clipped, peaking anger in his tone that forces you back further.

You blink away the quickly forming tears in your eyes and retreat quickly, mouth hung open slightly in shock, frightened at the almost instantaneous shift in Joel’s voice. His face. His entire demeanor—you’ve crossed into dangerous territory, like mindless prey.

You’re amiss to the way Joel’s jaw clenches at his sudden outburst, internally shaming himself for the strain in his jeans at even just the thought of you touching him again—the willingness and eagerness of your actions, how long you’ve been conditioned into this.

He doesn’t call after you, though—only stopping by the house later that afternoon before he left to set you up with enough meals and changes of clothes to last you those three days. A knock on the door startles your timid heart, forcing you to your feet and by the time you reach the door he’s nowhere in sight. You’re thankful for that, actually. You weren’t sure if you could even look at him, fearful of the disappointment.

There was a small note folded on top of the pile placed on the floor, unfolded with a careful touch, it read—House is all yours.

Three days, all alone.

You couldn’t bring yourself to leave that basement once.

–

When Joel returns home it’s late and he’s toeing his boots off at the door the moment he steps inside and notes the lack of warmth—a fireplace unused and the door to the basement closed shut. Ellie had already wandered off with Dina for the night, one less thing he had to worry about. He was more appreciative that she’d finally broken out of her shell and actually made a few good friends.

He ignites the fireplace, looking over his shoulder every few seconds waiting, wondering if you were waiting in anticipation—those curious eyes tracking every movement he made. He’d picked up some dessert from the mess hall on the way to his house, selfishly wanting to keep it for himself but he feels that tug, that push to extend the olive branch.

He needed to clear up this…confusion. Try—he could try, at least.

“Sorry, I actually didn’t want you to suck my dick.”

“I enjoyed it but we shouldn’t do that again.”

“I know it’s wrong, but I didn’t want to stop you.”

Joel knows he sounds ridiculous in his head, but he was at a loss.

He’d stopped you because it was wrong–but not because he didn’t want you to.

Joel doesn’t even consider the idea that you may already be asleep for the night, pulling out the small box of dessert and a fresh pair of clothes he’d picked up alongside the food when he checked his horse back in at the stable, picking up a few other spare supplies.

You hear him before you see him when he opens the door, those heavy boot steps thunk, thunk, thunk against the floor and you lie still, staring at him meekly as he approaches the couch adjacent to the bed in a near corner, resting the items on the table and taking a seat silently.

“You hungry?” He asks casually and your stomach growls on command despite your unwillingness to move, blanket tucked under your chin.

He can see you shake your head slightly, easy to miss if he wasn’t staring you down.

“We need to talk,” Joel says, your eyes jolting to him suddenly, “about the other night.”

He jerks his head over, silently asking you to join him on the couch—he’s leaned back but not comfortable, his hands resting in his lap, much like the position you caught him in that night.

When you don’t move, he sighs. A deep, soft sound that has you turning over in bed to face the wall.

“I’m not asking.”

Heavy footsteps follow, the sounder closer and closer, his boots scuffing against the ground before they stop and you can feel him at your back, the whole of the bed shifting as he rests a hand on a decorative knob of the arched bed frame, creaking under his weight.

“Sit up,” He says again, “come on.”

There’s an irritation in his tone that tells you he isn’t leaving until you do, pushing up slowly and crawling to the side with your hands. The last lingering wound stings as you move, a gash on your lower back, toward your hip that you had haphazardly sewn up a few weeks ago with some sewing thread and a needle. It still hadn’t healed like the rest of your wounds. The last remaining physical memory of that time, aside from the scars.

Joel tilts his head to the side and back, noticing as you squeeze your eyes shut in pain and irritation.

“You’re still hurtin’,” It's a statement, he knows it—he can see it on your face.

You shake your head unconvincingly.

“Let me see.”

You shake again, backing into a corner but Joel is quick, he follows and leans down, pulling at the edge of your shirt that was already riding up your back, noting the red and fussed up wound by your hip—it was infected, there was no doubt in his mind.

“Does it hurt?” He asks now, “Don’t lie to me.”

Your eyes lock for a long, lingering moment before you nod, shifting away from his touch as it presses featherlight against the skin.

“I got some supplies upstairs,” He tells you absently, eyes examining the festering wound, “you need that cleaned and stitched up properly before you end up septic.”

Not that it sounded like too bad of a prospect anymore, you square yourself away as he retreats without another word, his figured disappearing out of sight as he turned the corner outside of the basement, your eyes following the sound of his footsteps and noticing the soft rustle of dust above—it took a while for you to realize his room was above yours at first.

He’s back swiftly, a trove of supplies in one arm and a wooden chair in the other, hauling them like they weighed nothing, sleeves already rolled up at his elbows. The chair skirts the ground, squealing loudly as Joel brings it near the edge of the bed and motions for you to turn around and face the wall.

Again, not asking.

With shaky hands and fingers you move, slowly until you back meets Joel’s fingers at your shoulder, curled up into a fist and pressing gently into your skin.

“Lift your shirt,” You grab the edges, ready to strip it over your head before Joel grabs your bicep and stops you, “—that’s—that’s fine, alright? Just hold it there.”

Joel slowly cuts away the old thread and removes the old stitching with a careful hand. You bite at your bottom lip until it draws blood. It unsettles Joel with how quiet you are, even now. Not a word or a single sound or expression of pain, just white knuckles gripping the shirt bunched under your chest and your head tucked down as you shake with a silent cry.

“Stop movin’,” He says brutishly, cleaning up the wound with an antiseptic that makes you squirm away slightly, “I’m almost finished.”

He cleans, re-stitches and covers up the wound with minimal effort, like he’s done this a million times before. And you hear the shake of a pill bottle behind you, whipping your head around quickly.

“S’just antibiotics,” Joel explains, “we picked away at a pharmacy a few months back that had a decent supply,” He pours one into his hand before it rolls to his fingers and he’s handing it off to you—as he suspects, you eye it wearily, “look, your choice. I got enough here to clear that up within a week or you can continue to suffer, not my problem.”

Reluctantly, you take the pill from him and dry swallow it down with a small, nearly silent wince.

There was no reason to trust Joel, but you did.

At some point between the walk from your bed to the table, Joel realizes he’d bypassed the entire reason he had come down here–to talk. About it. That instance you were both dancing around, the one he’d fended off the second time with a barking, heavy voice.

His lingering presence is hard to ignore and you grip the edge of the bed, standing on your own two feet with his back turned to you.

He’d helped you again. Maybe you wanted to thank him.

Or you just wanted a distraction from the pain, the creeping loneliness.

He’s so distracted he doesn’t hear your footsteps approach him, a newly found vigor as you pull at his forearm and turn him with a sudden strength Joel wasn’t expecting, sending him tumbling on his heels to the couch. He sees it in your eyes then, the task you’re focused on, already undressed from the waist down, the length of the shirt reaching a few centimeters short of mid–thigh to cover your naked down as you climb onto his lap and Joel allows it.

He doesn’t yell or scream, there is no apprehensiveness there. Not now.

He could sit in your eyes—this was coping with whatever you couldn’t bring yourself to face, unspoken trust that you didn’t want to voice. This was a distraction for him too.

He could fight this off, but Joel never considered himself a great man. Or, really even a decent one. And, as you work at his belt, he finds his hands joining your own, struggling for a moment before he’s yanking the leather from the belt loops and unbuttoning his jeans as you pull at his zipper, lifting slightly off his lap as he pushes his jeans down to his calves—there was a beauty to how easily your bodies worked against each other, your push to his pull.

Wordless, he knew what you wanted. And you knew exactly what to give him.

He was like the bad men, but wholly different.

The wonder and admiration in his eyes told you so, even if they were quickly clouded by desire and lust, his face suddenly stoic as you grab at his cock, tugging it to full hardness within seconds before you’re dragging the tip of his cock down the center of your cunt before sinking down harshly—and the hands stilled at his sides finally act.

He’s careful of the wound on your hip, dragging his fingers over your ass and to your thighs, fingers curling around the back of your bent knees to pull and tug you in, groaning quietly into the thick, thready material of your top as you curl into him.

He couldn’t bear the idea of looking at you, watching you as you moved so eagerly against his cock, soft breaths at his ears that made him wanton for the sounds you couldn’t make, the terrible vocal paralysis like a vice anytime someone looked in your direction, especially him. Your palms press into the wall behind him, dull fingertips clawing at chipped paint as you bounced your hips fiercely, quick and efficient in the process. It was clear you’ve done this before—detached and just a means to an end, a device of pleasure.

And Joel uses it, selfishly. One hand falling to the back of your neck to curl you in further, the other at your ass as he squeezes, guiding your hips down to the sharp, pointed thrust of his own movements and Joel can already feel that familiar cole in his groin—days of staving of his own need for release from the sheer amount of guilt he felt over this, somehow ending up here again.

Using you—and maybe you could admit it yourself, it was just as much a distraction for you as for him, but the sudden warmth in your chest is startling. You could come like this, the drag of his cock hitting so deep inside of you with every thrust that your visions starts to white—a mix of delirium and pure euphoria, the gasp that leaves your mouth is broken and barely audible but Joel can hear it, feeling you tip over that cliff with a hand tangled in his hair, needing an anchor and finding that it was him in that moment.

But, you don’t stop either. Working through the crest of your orgasm with a reflexive squeeze of your cunt as you came apart and pulled him in, his balls tightening in warning as they slapped against your cunt with each drop of your hips and Joel tries to warn you, pushes gently at your hips but you don’t move—won’t. And he comes inside of you with a muffled, tired grunt as he pants into your shirt.

Whatever mutual agreement was made had become void.

“Get off,” He says after a beat, but doesn’t push.

You listen, moving off of him and turning away immediately, arms tucked around your middle as you eyed the fresh clothes and still uneaten slice of dessert, one that Joel had offered to share.

A peace offering, an act of forgiveness. But, that was all shattered and swept away now.

“You stupid, girl?” Joel asks suddenly, turning to him at the harsh words and finding him re-dressed, brow drawn in as he snatches his belt in his right hand, gripping it tight. “That your master plan, here?”

You’re confused and Joel’s eyes drag to your legs, unseen but you can feel his cum dripping down your thighs, pushing out of your cunt as it pulses from the comedown of your own orgasm.

“Gettin’ knocked up and hopin’ that a baby will keep you safe here?”

You were safe nowhere and you knew that.

Joel had no idea, but you couldn’t even begin to explain how wrong he was.

Babies, even the prospect of that idea made your skin crawl.

So, with frustration evident on his face and already anticipating your answer, you shake your head.

“You try that shit again and I’ll—”

You brow raises in anticipation and Joel opens his mouth slightly before he clenches his jaw.

“Knew it was a fuckin’ mistake taking you in.”

And it feels like a gut punch, but he was right.

Joel tosses the pill bottle on the table and you watch as it lands, rolls before hitting the floor and stopping just at your bare toes.

He departs with a deep scowl, door slamming behind him and you wait, count the steps until you hear his footsteps above the basement and you wander over toward the table.

The remnants of the items he’d brought with the intentions of a one-sided conversation, a lecture, really.

It was pointless now.

Opening the container to the uneaten dessert, you sniffed it testingly before swiping a single finger over the icing on top, pressing the sweet, sugar cream against your tongue and letting your eyes drift closed at the flavor, giving yourself a few seconds to enjoy and savor before you’re ripping into the thing with your bare hands, a fuck you the peace offering Joel was trying for.

There was no peace to be had. You would never find peace here, either.

A new emotion floods your body—not anger or rage, but jealousy, greed. You wanted him, and deep within, you knew he wanted you too. Even if just in a primal way, a means to distract.

And in your sudden, newfound boldness and curiosity you linger toward the kitchen in a fresh change of clothes for that night, snatching up the notepad Joel had left out from your previous conversation before scribbling the rest of that out and ripping off a jagged piece of paper.

It was a thank you.

Flipping it over, you continue the message.

There is no plan. I trust you.

You fold the paper up and wander down the hall, counting the steps until you land at a closed door, one that you can only assume and hope is Joel’s and slip the paper under the gap at the bottom of the door.

There was a chance, the anticipation that Joel could convince Tommy to strand you out into the forest again, forced back into harsh survival, but something tells you Joel doesn’t have it in him, not anymore.

Joel catches the sight of your departing shadow as he retreats toward his bed, the paper flying across the floor with the sudden draft and landing right at his feet, he picks it up and readies to trash it without a thought before he catches sight of that simple phrase.

thank you – no plan —

Joel pauses, reading over the final set of words with a dangerous tug in his heart.

I trust you.

That tug was guilt and the creeping sensation of doom.

Trust. You.

He’s really fucked up now.

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us #tlou #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fic #my writing

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rainy-day-gracie · 6 days ago

Text

jealous

jackson!joel miller x reader

cw: explicit smut (minors dni), jealous!joel miller, pwp, pre-established relationship (fwb), alcohol consumption, swearing, dirty talk, angry sex, exhibitionism sorta (they're in public but no one sees), light choking, use of a gag (panties oops), fingering, teasing, begging, a HINT of assplay, joel is ferallll but so is reader hahaha

wc: 1.5k

a/n: hello all in order to distract us from the trauma of season 2 here is a jealous joel miller fic. things get nasty but that's how we like it.

masterlist

Joel’s knuckles were white as he kept a grip on his whiskey, sipping it slowly, deliberately, imagining his white knuckles knocking out the guy’s teeth.

The guy with his hands around your waist, on your ass.

He knew you were doing it on purpose.

Dancing, flirting, glowing in the lights of the dance hall.

Joel savored the burn of the whiskey, trying to distract himself from your smile, your laughs, your touch, none for him. He supposed he deserved the punishment, but the way you were dancing… pure cruelty, if he were being honest.

It was past midnight, Jackson’s young kids sound asleep, and the music and dancing took on a new spirit. Instead of the family-friendly twirling and turning, intimacy cast a shadow over the dance floor, lights dimmed and everything slightly hazy with the lighting of cigars.

Cigars thanks to you, getting lucky on a patrol in an abandoned rich neighborhood. Joel wondered how much people were willing to trade with you, giving away whatever they could just for the burn of tobacco on their tongue.

Joel wanted the burn of something else, something other than whiskey, or a cigar.

–

You’d been watching him the whole night, glooming in the corner of the hall, a dark shadow coiling with rage.

You’d known what your dancing would do to him, pressed close to men younger than him, smaller than him.

His last words, spoken in the soft light of sunrise pouring through his bedroom curtains, echoed in your head as you fixed your eyes on him.

We both know I'm no good for you, too old, too mean. Better for both of us that this never happens again.

You hoped he burned at the sight of your hands on another man, another man you both knew you didn’t want.

A grin spread across your face as Joel sipped his whiskey, a slight shake in his hand. A loaded gun, cocked, and ready to fire.

He tilted his head, his dark eyes on you lighting your body with desire.

As the clock struck one in the morning, you unraveled yourself from the man you’d been dancing with, giving him a polite smile, and wished him goodnight. Although he was a good dancer, there was only one man you wanted coming home with you.

If you played your cards right, he would be.

Keeping your eyes forward, passing Joel entirely, you left the hall with a smile.

The night was cold, late fall casting a chill over Jackson. Frost covered the ground, and your breaths were white with warmth. Only a handful of people wandered the streets, sleepy quiet overtaking the town.

Boots that weren’t yours crunched the grass behind you, and you knew who followed without having to turn around.

You grinned to yourself, keeping your eyes fixed ahead. Keeping him chasing.

Climbing the steps of your house, the boots behind you went quiet, as if he were hesitating.

You put a hand on the front door, but didn’t turn the knob.

There was silence for a moment as you waited, until the boots moved again. Loud thumps against the wood of your porch, slow, deliberate. A shadow rose behind you, not touching, but his voice sending goosebumps down your arm as he spoke for the first time.

“You gonna open that door, or I’m gonna fuck you right here on the porch?”

Desire shuddered through your body, and you gripped the door handle to keep from jumping on him. “I thought you said this was never happening again.”

Joel growled. “That was before you grinded up on guys you don’t belong to. Now, open that door, or the neighbors will be gettin’ one hell of a show.”

Letting go of the handle, you turned to face him, anger panging through you. “‘You don’t belong to?’”

Joel clenched his jaw, stepping forward until your back pressed against the wood door. His dark eyes peered into yours, and as he spoke, his whiskey scented breath mingled with yours.

“Don’t lie and say you were doin’ all that dancing just for fun,” Joel growled. “Don’t pretend that you wanted any of those boys.”

You huffed a laugh. “Yeah? And what do I want, Joel? You tell me.”

Joel straightened, stiffened. “I don’t know.”

“Now who’s the fucking liar?” You hissed, pushing him back with both hands on his chest.

Joel grunted at the impact, his eyes darkening. In an instant, his hand wrapped around your throat, not hard, just enough to keep you pinned against the door. Arousal flooded your core, and you gave him a wicked grin.

“What do I want, Joel? Do I want a nice little man and a picket fence? Do I want to be left the fuck alone?" You smirked, breathing to let him smell the booze on your tongue. "Or do I want to be fucked so hard I don’t remember my own name?”

“Careful, girl,” he hummed, your pulse thundering under his fingertips.

“You’re the one that followed me like a dog on a leash,” You breathed, pushing his hand off of your throat with a shove. “Too old, too mean, remember?”

Joel was silent, though his nose brushed against yours like he was barely keeping from sinking his teeth in.

When you spoke, your voice was low, and raw. “Didn’t you ever think that maybe I like my men old and mean?”

Joel grabbed the neck of your shirt, pulling you away from the door in a single tug. Pushing you forward, he bent you over the rail of your porch, your hips biting into the wood as you caught yourself.

Behind you, Joel grinded his hips into your ass, denim on denim, his cock hard pressing through his jeans. He leaned over your bent torso, whispering in your ear.

“You stay bent over like this until I’m done with you, and maybe I’ll give you what you want so badly.”

You huffed a laugh. “Oh, what’s that, old man?”

“To come on my cock so many times that you lose count,” he growled, reaching around to unzip your jeans.

You tensed, eyes scanning the street where party stragglers stumbled to bed. “Joel, there’s people out here–”

“Better stay quiet then, huh?” He said, pulling down your waistband roughly, making you moan at the force. “Oh, baby, your sweet little cunt is droolin’.”

He pulled at the elastic of your soaked panties, making you yelp out into the dark street as the cloth snapped against your core.

“You know better than that, baby.”

In an instant, Joel tugged your panties up, up, up, pulling the cloth roughly into your cunt before the fabric ripped against your skin. You whimpered, unable to stifle your desire as he quite literally tore the panties from your pussy.

Cunt exposed, Joel drove a finger into your slick like he couldn’t help himself, and as you moaned in response, he stuffed your soaked panties into your open mouth.

“Much better, baby, much better,” Joel groaned quietly, like he didn’t even care if you heard him or not. You keened at the praise, his calloused finger tracing patterns up and down your soaked core. “I know all of this is for me, even though you’ll pretend it’s not. Your little stunt at the dance did the trick you wanted it to, right?”

The digit slipped inside of you, in and out before you even had a chance to react. You squirmed under his touch, and he pressed his free hand against your spine to hold you against the wood.

“I never was a jealous man,” he rambled, playing with you. “Not until I met you. Not until I saw the way every man in this damn town drooled over you. Not until you let me into your bed, and I was stupid enough to leave it.”

You arched against the wood, desperate, your moans stifled by the panties between your teeth.

“Poor thing, been missin’ me, huh?”

Your eyes fluttered as he pushed two fingers into your weeping cunt, curving them to press against your g-spot with the same precision he uses to pull the trigger of a rifle.

“I’ll let you come on my fingers if you admit that you’ve missed me, baby,” Joel growled, playing with your core like his favorite toy. Your whine of pleasure was muffled by the gag in your mouth, but he chuckled at the sound. “Having trouble?”

He thrusted his fingers in and out, in and out, winding you up tighter and tighter. A tidal wave rose in your belly, and he knew it.

“C’mon, speak up,” he teased, curling his fingers expertly.

You mouthed around the panties, desperate for him to give you what you want. Humming with delight, he dug his free hand into your mouth, pulling out the panties as you gasped for breath.

“I missed you so much, Joel,” you cried, forgetting where and who you were as he pushed a third finger into your core.

“Then why were you dancin’ with another man, grindin’ on him like a little slut?”

“I-I wanted to make you jealous, I wanted you to want me–”

“Oh, baby, you ain’t gotta do nothin’ for me to want you,” he drawled, and mercifully pressed a fingertip against your neglected clit, and you moaned into the night. “Now, come for me, baby. Prove just how much you missed me.”

You obeyed with a cry, your cunt pulsed in response, his fingers relentless on your skin. Your core clenched around him, nails biting into the wooden railing as you came on his hand. Your knees buckled slightly, and he drove a hand into your hair, pulling your head up.

“No, no, no, baby, we’re not done yet.”

Joel pulled his fingers from you slowly, chuckling at the whimpers that left your lips. Lightly, he traced his soaked fingertips up the curve of your ass, circling that tight ring of muscle above your wet cunt.

“Get inside. Or I’ll take this ass right here.”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #jackson!joel miller #the last of us fic #joel miller fic #pedro pascal fic #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

be-xkyy · 1 month ago

Text

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑉𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝐹𝑟𝑒𝑛𝑐ℎ

Warning: sexual content (mentioned), forced transformation, murder (mentioned), isolation, child abduction, blood, violence.

Tagging list: @kthehoeforfictionalmen ★ @dreamlessnight ★ @riawrld ★ @darkuni63 ★ @minshookie29 ★ @rosey1981 ★ @thejadevvitch ★ @jellystar-star ★

Divider credits: @cafekitsune ★ @bernardsbendystraws ★

Son name: Alexandre

Husband name: Louis

Masterlist

Yandere Vampire who doesn't understand why you're so cold toward him; yes, maybe he killed all your friends and locked you in his castle, but he only did it because it was necessary.

Yandere Vampire who thinks you're being overly dramatic; he's already made up for his mistakes, turning you into a vampire, HIS mate, HIS wife, HIS duchess. Don't you see that he did the best for you by freeing you from your pathetic mortality? He gave you the greatest gift of all: eternal life.

Yandere Vampire who, despite his best attempts to make you happy, you're always melancholic. He gives you precious jewels that are over a century old. He makes sure his servants take care of everything and follow your every command so you don't have to lift a finger. He makes passionate love to you every night, giving you so many orgasms and love that in the end, you can't even form a coherent word. So why aren't you happy?

Yandere Vampire who after a long time decides to stop trying to figure out what you need to be happy and asks you directly (which is what he should have done from the start). One night, when you're both in your shared chambers, he decides to ask you the blessed question.

“I see that during these long months, my hard work to bring you happiness and joy has been a complete failure, so tell me, my dear, what do you need to be happy?”

“I want to be free. I no longer want to be confined within the walls of this castle. I don't want to be with you.”

“...”

Yandere Vampire who falls silent upon hearing your cold response; it almost seems as if your words didn't affect him, but his red eyes, which seem to glow, betray his anger. That, coupled with the lover/creator bond that unites your souls and betrays his anger, which seems to burn your body from the inside with a blazing fire, makes you shudder.

Yandere Vampire who decides to be merciful and forget this conversation, but not before threatening you. He approaches you, grabbing your jaw firmly. His elegant, ringed fingers grip your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes, which shine with a burning and terrifying fury.

“Never, EVER say something like that again, my dear, or I'll show you what it means to truly feel miserable and unhappy.”

Yandere Vampire who becomes more distinct and rougher in the months following your small talk. He makes love to you more roughly, leaving your body aching and your neck and chest covered in bites and love marks. In retaliation, you leave his pale back covered in deep, bloody scratches (which only feed his ego).

Yandere Vampire who one day while looking for his next dinner date in a nearby town sees a smiling happy woman in a house who reminds him of you when he first met you. She's sitting in front of the fire in the fireplace, which illuminates her with a yellow and golden glow; she's cooing to a baby who's laughing and gurgling happily; a light bulb goes on in his head when he sees this scene. Maybe that's what you need to be happy, a baby. Little brats always bring joy and happiness, right? Maybe you two can't have a baby biologically, but he can take someone else's baby... right?

Yandere Vampire who decides to take matters into his own hands. He sneaks inside the house, ignoring the pain in his throat and yearning to suck the woman's blood dry. After all, he can't alert the town of his presence (there are already many suspicions of vampires in the area). So, he decides to be subtle and snaps the woman's neck, which he does. He sneaks up behind her when she notices his presence; it's too late. He hears the woman's heart race as he grabs her jaw from behind and twists her head with an ugly "crack." The woman's heartbeat stops, and her body goes limp.

Yandere vampire who drops the woman's body to the ground and focuses all his attention on the baby lying on the floor on a worn, old floral blanket. The baby's lower lip trembles as if he can understand the cruel fate of his only parent. His eyes water, and high-pitched sobs soon follow.

“Waah-Waah!!!”

“Hey brat, don't cry. You have no idea what a favor I'm doing you! Now you'll have a beautiful and loving new mother. No more old or worn-out blankets, just the finest clothes and silks for you.”

Yandere Vampire who takes the child in his arms, rocking him a little, but he doesn't stop crying; on the contrary, he cries even more. Frustrated, he covers the baby's mouth, slightly muffling his sobs, and slips out of the house, quickly heading for his castle.

Yandere Vampire who enters the castle through the extensive gardens filled with red roses. He ignores the curious servants who stare at him curiously as he enters with the sobbing baby in his arms and, without wasting any time, heads to his chambers, where he knows for sure you'll be. He pushes open the wooden door and enters. Your eyes immediately look at him, or rather, at the child in his arms.

“My dear! Look at the gift I brought you.”

“From where? Where are his parents?”

“The mother is dead, and there was no sign of the father anywhere, so now he's all yours!”

Yandere Vampire who smiles proudly when you approach and take the baby from his arms. His eyes soften when he sees you cooing at the baby, gently rocking him in your arms, and the child soon calms down. You head to the bed, placing the baby on the soft silk sheets, protecting him from the cold. He can't help but notice the child's resemblance to you, but he snaps out of his thoughts when he hears your annoyed voice.

“You carried him all over the frozen forest in just pajamas? A baby is very delicate and could get seriously ill, you stupid man.”

“I didn't think of that at the time, my dear. I just thought of bringing him to you, and now he's here with you. That's better than nothing, right?”

Yandere Vampire who happily notices how you become someone much more energetic and happy since the arrival of the baby; although he won't deny that he's a little jealous of the fact that you spend more time with the baby (whom you named Alexandre) than with him; you take Alexandre for walks in the garden, you bathe him, you dress him and you even read to him to put him to sleep; the baby quickly became very attached to you.

“Mother! Mother, look at this!”

“I'm seeing you, my love.”

Your voice comes out lovingly as you look at the now five-year-old boy running through the rosebushes adored with vibrant red roses. You walk slowly, following your little boy. Louis, your husband, walks beside you. Your arm is intertwined with his, though you ignore him most of the time. But that doesn't make him talk any less.

“He grew up so fast, don't you think? I remember when I brought him here, and he was just a baby.”

“I remember.”

“I honestly didn't expect him to make it past the week, you know, given the fact that he was cold and malnourished, but your love seems to be able to cure anything, my dear.”

“...”

Your red eyes glare at him in annoyance, and he just smiles, revealing his white teeth and sharp fangs. You want to wipe that smile off your face and slap him for saying something so out of place, but you hold back as Alexandre runs up to you both.

“Mother! Father! I want to see the roses up close! Lift me up, father!”

“Yes, sir! As Your Highness commands!”

You can't help but let out a laugh as your son reaches out for his father, bouncing slightly before Louis finally picks him up and places him on his hip. Alexandre stares at the roses (which he's seen a million times before) with fascination before pouting.

“Roses have the same color as her eyes! I want my eyes to be red too, father!”

“I think your eyes are beautiful—”

“Don't worry, my son, soon your eyes will be red too.”

“Louis—!”

“Really, Father?! I'm so happy my eyes will be like yours and my mother!”

~~~

“Have you lost your mind?! Why are you telling my son he'll also have red eyes?! He's not going to turn into a vampire!”

You yell in annoyance as you pace around your chambers, your furious eyes glaring at him accusingly as he lies in bed, propped up against the pillows. He smiles at you with a shrug before getting up from the bed and walking over to you.

“Why not? I mean, our son could live forever as a five-year-old. Is that really so bad, my dear?”

“That's selfish! You killed his parents, forced him to live confined here in this castle, and now you also want to force him to be five forever?! You are truly a horrible man!”

“His mother.”

“What...?”

“I killed his mother. I already told you there was no father anywhere, and I confined him here because it's safer for him... besides, I know the idea of him being five forever doesn't bother you, my dear.”

“That's not true—!”

“Oh, you can deny it all you want, but I can feel in our bond that you don't mind the idea at all. It almost seems like you'd like him to be your baby forever... so tell me, my dear, who is the really horrible person here, huh?”

You don't know how to respond, because it's true, everything he says is true. You don't want your son to grow up and leave here, leaving you with the pain and agony of your lost life tormenting your soul again. Just thinking about it sends a feeling of pain to your dead heart. Even though you hate yourself for being so selfish, you can't deny what he's saying, so you duck your head and remain silent.

He lets out a playful laugh, moving closer to you. He runs his ringed hands down the front of your dress's corset, tracing the soft fabric with his fingers. His hands slide back, playing with the laces of the corset, untying the knot and loosening the bodice. He rubs his nose against your jaw, leaving a trail of kisses up to your ear. You shudder when his cold breath hits your skin. He murmurs playfully against your ear.

“Don't be ashamed, my dear. After all, being selfish is in our blood. Just let yourself go~”

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traumaone · 20 days ago

Text

Lead The Way

pairing: Michael Robinavitch x Senior Resident!Reader

wordcount: 3.3k

warnings: mentions of cheating, age gap (late 20s and late 40s), brief mention of human trafficking (suspected in a patient)

synopsis: after over a year of pining over Robby, reader gets into a relationship to try and get over him, and gets cheated on. Robby (after putting up with a snippy reader) comes to the rescue

masterlist

!! not proofread so apologies for any mistakes !!

5:34 am

An hour on the treadmill this morning and the loudest, grittiest metal playlist you could find had done nothing to burn away the pure vitriol coursing through your veins.

Eight months of your life now wasted with one of the stupidest men on earth just so you could find him screwing a med student in your apartment. It hadn’t even been the act of catching them that had hurt the most, no, it was the fact that you hadn’t had a chance to break-up with the asshole before he’d screwed you over.

Embarrassment and rage were working double time to keep the fire burning in your chest even as you stepped through the doors of the ED. Your home, your sanctuary, now tainted by your thoughts about the fact that you’d been cheated on by a plastic surgeon.

Dana knew something had happened the moment she’d spotted you walking through the waiting room, back a day early from holiday and almost an hour before your shift, had you even been working, would’ve started.

“You look like you’re about to bring the wrath of God down on this place, kid.” Dana teased, but there glint of concern in her eyes.

“I don’t even have the words right now.” You leaned against the front of her desk, gripping the counter so hard you were sure it would leave marks.

“Let's start with why you’re back a day early from the break you desperately needed.”

That simple sentence sent another wave of wrath through your body.

“I’m well aware I needed the break, and it was fantastic until I came home last night to find my boyfriend screwing one of his med students in my bed.” You spit out the last part in a harsh whisper, careful to not let the elderly patient being wheeled by hear you.

“You’re fucking kidding me.” Dana’s mouth was agape.

“I save lives for a living, Dana. I’ve lost count of the number of patients I've treated.” You ranted, running your hand down your face in exasperation. “I have manually pumped a human heart with my own hand, and he pumps implants into trophy wives… and he cheated on me.”

“Woah, woah, you got cheated on?” Ellis had somehow, despite having a usually recognisable gait, snuck up on you, her brows furrowed in concern and anger.

You let your head fall against your folded arms, letting out a groan as you heard Dana chuckle. Ellis’ hand rested on the middle of your back, comforting and familiar.

“Is this that asshole you met at the conference Gloria sent you to?”

You let out another groan at the memory. Gloria had insisted someone from the ED attend a conference on the modernization of emergency medicine (read: how to prioritize money over patient care). Robby, Gloria’s favourite man to torment, had been the obvious choice. He was an attending, pretty much the face of the ED at this point. And you, an ex-nightshift senior resident, not enough of a people person to be sent to a conference meant for networking, were completely powerless against the look in his unbelievably sad brown eyes when he’d complained to you about it over coffee, and offered to take his place.

It had been miserable, a weekend filled with board members who had never set foot in an ED telling you, an actual doctor, how you should be doing your job. Coping came in the form of multiple glasses of whiskey in the hotel bar, and that was when you met Preston. Overly charming, a little slimy, even, but he was there, sitting in front of you, and the man you wanted was not.

He’d wooed you, paid for your drinks, commiserated with you over how stupid this conference had been, asked to take you out to dinner when you both got back to Pittsburgh, and you’d agreed. An obvious mistake, but hindsight is always 20/20.

“The very same.” You nodded, peeking out from beneath your arms.

Ellis scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. “Who was that guy anyway? You never talked about him.”

A fact you were very grateful for at this moment.

“He was a plastic surgeon at Presby.” You explained, wincing as the words left your mouth. “I caught him with one of his med students last night.”

“Of course you did, he was a plastic surgeon.”

You shot Ellis a glare.

“Okay, sorry.” She relented, raising her hands in surrender. “Not the time.”

“Not the time for what?” Abbott, the newest member to your pity party, questioned, regarding the three of you with a suspicious glance.

“Not the time to keep digging into my personal life.” You recovered quickly, halting any attempts from Dana or Ellis to spill your problems. “Got a case for me?”

Abbott frowned, but pointed at the board above you. “Got a girl in central fourteen who needs pain management for endometriosis.”

“I’ll head there now.”

You pushed away from the central counter with a soft smile from Dana. Abbott tracked you across the room with his gaze, not unusual, but you knew he wasn’t going to let what he’d seen at the front desk go easily.

As predicted, once you’d set your bag down at your desk Abbott had appeared at your side, his head slightly tilted as he tried to catch your eyes.

“You okay?”

Abbott was your oldest, if not your closest, friend since you’d started at the ED. you’d done your first three years of residency with him before switching to the day shift. According to Robby, he still called you his best resident. It’s not exactly a false statement. During the massacre that had been pitfest, the two of you had fallen back into your old rhythm, moving like a well oiled machine even after a year apart.

“I’m fine. Just had a rough start to the day.” You forced a smile that in no way convinced Abbot.

“You wanna go get some air before you start?” He offered, a knowing look on his face.

Abbott had introduced you to his ‘special spot’ after you’d lost your first patient. You never crossed the railing, not like he did, but you had found there to be something humanising about watching the sun set over the city.

“I’m good, I promise.” You assured, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze. “Just need to get in the groove.”

“If you change your mind you know where I’ll be. Sunrise is looking real nice this morning.” Abbott raised his brows at you, nodding towards the door to try and lure you away.

“Unlike you, I’m not a slacker.” You laughed, pushing at his shoulder. “Now leave me alone. I’m busy.”

“You don’t even have a patient yet.”

“Busy!”

7:22 am

Your first hour had passed by in a blur. You made your way through a patient needing pain management, road rash after a triathlon, botched boob job (not done by your ex, unfortunately), and an incredibly cute baby with an overcautious new mom before Robby had walked through the door.

He’d shown up in his usual uniform; dark cargos, scrub top with a clean white tee underneath, and his favourite hoodie with the sleeves pushed to his elbows. A simple outfit, yet somehow the most alluring thing you’d ever seen a man wear.

He’d taken a quick glance to the board, said a good morning to Dana, and taken the long way to the stairwell, sparing a quick glance into the room of your only current patient on his way. He and Abbot had created a small morning routine, meeting each other on the roof where they could debrief in private before descending to the chaos of the ED.

You envied that kind of relationship. You and Ellis had been close when you were still on night shift. The only two female residents on shift, commiserating over your dead social lives and keeping a tally of all the drunken patients who’d hit on you. She’d made work fun for you.

Collins, Landgon, and Samira weren’t bad company, they were honestly great, but shifting your entire work crew after three years had thrown you for a loop. They were all welcoming, but three years of working together had naturally formed bonds that unintentionally kept you on the outskirts, not as much anymore, but things had been lonely at the start.

Robby, however, had taken you in immediately. You’d spent years hearing stories about him from Abbott, reading the notes he left in your charts, hearing patients talk about how handsome the doctor from the shift before had been. He’d been intimidating at first, but it had only taken you your first shift to realise the two of you got on like a house on fire. Even Gloria had made a comment on it.

“Um, excuse me?” Whitaker’s voice brought you out of your reverie.

“Whitaker, good to see you.” You greeted, tapping into your computer to edit a chart. “How’re you doing?”

“Not too bad, a little tired.” He answered, shrugging his shoulders. “How are you?”

“I’m not doing too bad. Do you need me?”

Whitaker’s cheeks flushed at your phrasing. “Oh, um yes. A patient just came in with who she says is her aunt, but their dynamic’s a little… off.”

“Aunt’s answering questions for her? Patient checks in with the aunt before answering anything on her own? Both insist on not being separated?”

“Yeah, exactly that.”

You nodded. “And just to double check, the patient is above eighteen?”

“Yes, she’s twenty-six.”

That made you turn your head. “Okay, could just be a strange dynamic, but let's flag Kiara and I’ll come check it out.”

Whitaker led you to the patient, taking you straight past the stairwell Robby and Abbott had just emerged from.

Robby caught you by your shoulder, guiding you back so he could see your face. “You got a minute?”

You shook your head, pulling away from his touch. “Whitaker needs me for a possible case of trafficking. I’ll come find you after?”

His brows furrowed, his eyes searching your face for something you couldn’t figure out, but he nodded.

“Sure.”

8:07 am

“Hey, you still need me?”

Robby sat reclined at your desk, his glasses sitting low on the bridge of his nose as he read over a chart.

“How’d things turn out with Whitaker’s patient?” He asked, peering at you over the rims of his glasses.

God, you loved it when he did that, but your moment of enjoyment cut itself short for professionalism.

“It was a good catch on his part. We put the girl in a private room under the guise of a pelvic exam and Kiara is with her now.”

“Nicely done. Keep me updated when you learn any new information.”

“Yes, sir.” You nodded, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. “Did you need me for anything else, or…”

“Abbott mentioned that you seemed a little bit off this morning. Came in a day early, at five in the morning no less.”

“Rat.” You muttered under your breath. You should’ve known that Jack would say something. “I’m fine, just caught a case of cabin fever. ‘M not used to having so much time off, just needed to get into the groove of things again.”

Robby nodded, but you could tell immediately that he hadn’t fallen for the lie.

“Okay, just remember I’m around if you need me.”

“Of course.”

11:48 am

Robby should’ve been focusing on his patients, focusing on the med students he had been tasked with teaching, but each time you crossed his path he couldn’t help but take a moment to admire you.

He could still remember the first shift he’d ever worked with you.

You were Abbot’s best resident, the nurse's favourite doctor (donuts and coffee every Sunday had secured you that position.), and despite being an R3, the two of you had never crossed paths.

Sure, he’d seen glimpses of you from across the ER, read the sticky notes you left scattered around your desk, had a million and one patients ask for the ‘charismatic, young doctor’ from the night before.

After almost three years of unsatiated curiosity, Robby had made peace with the fact that you’d become nothing more than an urban legend in his life. That was until a year ago when Abbott had needed him to cover a night shift, something to do with the wedding of an old friend he’d served with.

You’d greeted him with a smile and a fresh cup of coffee, shook his hand, and told him Abbot talked about him so much you felt like you already knew him. Robby had repeated the sentiment and tried to match your smile, but he was slightly too aware of just how soft your hand felt against his.

It had taken him less than an hour to realise why Abbot liked you so much. You were incredible at your job, even better with the patients, and the moment an urgent trauma had crossed the doors of the ambulance bay, you transformed. Warmth had quickly been traded for brutal efficiency. Your every move was clean, smooth, practiced to perfection.

Robby had been hooked on you by the end of the shift.

He hadn’t made a move on you. Even after only an hour he’d known you were miles out of his league, not to mention that the gap in age hadn’t been anything to blink at. He’d been sure you’d have no interest.

He’d clearly been wrong.

The shift had ended without incident, only a few immediate cases had come through the ambulance bay, but other than that it had been the victims of drunken brawls, sick kids, and elderly people falling in the dark.

You’d stopped him outside, laid a hand on his arm, offered him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen and told him how much you’d loved having him on this shift, and made him promise to say hello when your shifts crossed paths. It hadn’t been a declaration of love, but it had opened a new door.

He’d spent the next few weeks clocking in just a few minutes earlier, catching you just as you crossed the threshold back into the outside world. Robby would flirt (in his own way), and you’d flirt back. It had been a good start to his mornings, made him feel a bit younger, put a new pep in his step.

After a particularly long day, he’d found himself up on the roof with Abbott, staring out at the city looking for a reason to keep going, and Jack, as if he’d read his mind, had dropped the bomb that you were switching to the day shift. He hadn’t specified why, had just accused Robby of stealing his best resident. That simple sentence had kept him fueled for the next week.

The true nail in his coffin had been almost a year ago. You’d fallen on the sword for him, taken his spot at yet another ridiculous conference Gloria had insisted someone from the ED attend. That had been the moment he knew he was falling in love with you. And he fell fast.

He’d spent the entire week you were gone thinking about you, planning the best way to ask you out for dinner without forcing you into a corner if he’d read the signals wrong. And then you came back, exasperated by the amount of ridiculousness you’d put up with over the last week, as happy to see him as he’d hoped, but with a dinner date for a week ahead locked in your calendar.

You were incredible, he couldn’t blame another man for noticing, he’d just wished he’d noticed sooner.

Robby had spent the next eight months watching parts of you slowly fade away. Your smile lost its usual sparkle, your hair didn’t shine under the fluorescent lights the same way it used to. He had asked you about it, pressed you for details on more than one occasion to no avail. You always seemed to be carrying a weight on your shoulders, until this morning.

Even without Abbott’s words bouncing in his head, he could tell something in you had changed. Your eyes looked tired, shadowed by bags under your eyes, but that weight he’d noticed had finally seemed to leave your shoulders. Even with your exhaustion (and snappy attitude), you seemed lighter, happier than he’d seen you in months.

He knew he’d get the information out of you eventually, but for the time being he was just glad to see your true smile again.

7:21 pm

One death, four close calls, and one too many idiot patients later, You found yourself on the cool bench across from the hospital, beer in hand as you laughed with your coworkers. Robby sat next to you, as usual, a serene look on his face as he watched Perlah and Princess argue semantics about an old patient.

As the calm night washed over you, the guilt of snapping at Robby finally settled in your stomach. It hadn’t been fair of you, it wasn’t his fault your ex had turned out to be a piece of shit. A cruel part of you had still blamed him though, thinking that if he’d acted on the feelings you hoped he had for you, you wouldn’t have had to put up with subpar treatment for eight months.

One by one your coworkers headed home, wishing you a good rest of your night and promising to see you again in the morning. Before you knew it, only you and Robby were left in the comfortable silence.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you today.” You spoke softly, picking at the tab of your beer can. “I took out my anger on you and it wasn’t fair.”

“Thank you.” Robby nodded. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Do you remember that guy I’ve been seeing?”

Robby nodded again, a small frown furrowing between his brows.

“I found him in bed with one of his med students last night.”

Robby let out a heavy sigh, his head shaking slightly as he looked down at his shoes. “That is…”

“Yeah.” You almost laughed. He didn’t even need to speak for you to know what he would’ve said.

A moment passed before he spoke again. “You don’t deserve to be treated that way, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” You let the laugh escape you this time. “He was an absolute asshole.”

Robby laughed with you. “I didn’t know much about the guy, but what I did know, I didn’t like.”

That shot a strange feeling up your spine.

“Wanna know the worst bit?” You asked, pushing down the feeling.

“Of course.”

“I was more upset about the fact that I didn’t get to break up with him first than I actually was about the cheating.”

He laughed, a true deep laugh, the kind you heard rarely but loved.

“You shouldn’t have to put up with that shit.” Robby lectured, resting a hand on your knee where it almost brushed his. “As cliche as it sounds, it’s worth waiting for someone who you know will treat you right.”

“Someone like you?” You questioned, suddenly emboldened by the alcohol coursing through your veins.

Robby paused, his eyes flitting from your eyes to your lips for a split second. “I’m not sure I’m the man you want.”

“I know you are, Robby.”

His calloused hand moved to rest against your face, his thumb tracing over the ridge of your cheek. In the subtle glow of the park lights you could perfectly see his features, those gentle brown eyes you could never seem to forget. You leaned in, brushing your nose against his in a quiet invitation.

The feeling of his lips against yours had been more perfect than you’d imagined. They were slightly chapped, warm, and just right. His beard scratched against your cheeks in a way that made your thighs ache.

He pulled away after one kiss, ever the gentlemen, and rested his forehead against yours.

“Let me take you back to my place.” He begged, brushing a quick kiss against your cheek. “I’ll wash your clothes, walk you back to work in the morning.”

You struggled to bite back the smile on your lips. “Lead the way.”

#michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #the pitt x reader #dr robby #dr robinavitch

1K notes · View notes

anantaru · 12 days ago

Text

⚝ DAY 11 — BREEDING

kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3

— including. — heizou, neuvillette, wriothesley, albedo

— warnings. — fem! reader, breeding, lots of cum n spit, hitting it raw, petnames used: darling, baby, rough syx

⚝ — HEIZOU

it's addiction, a form of fixation and heizou doesn't stop until you're crammed full of his cum— literally as his fingers spread his seed from your lips down to your chin to watch it mark you, your tears mixing in as he presses his thumb past your tongue, just to see how far you'll take it.

"you're a damn masterpiece," heizou coos, tilting his head with a grin that's not just wicked— it's fanatical, wild, the kind of grin a man gives when he's long past the point of reason and fully drowning in sexual passion. his fingers were still wet with you, his knuckles glistening, and yet he kept them poised just out of reach, just enough to make you twitch, grind, gasp like you're coming undone without him even touching you.

"look at you," he drawls, voice so sweet you'd never tell he's feigning innocence, "quivering mess for me already? you don't even know what to do with yourself, do you?"

without looking away once, the detective watches— fixated as your thighs tremble, as your hips lift just barely from the mattress, chasing friction like you'll die if you don't get it, body slick and aching, soaked enough to stain the sheets beneath you— and archons, does it make him smirk wider, you feel it, the raw sting of overstimulation threading through your gut, curling your toes, making your stomach pull tight with the weight of everything he isn't letting you have.

"fuck, i knew you'd take it all baby," heizou's already painted you in his spit and cum— yet it's still not enough, it never was— instead, he pulls his cock from your tightness just to smear the tip over your swollen entrance, patting his dick on your folds, laughing breathlessly when it makes a filthy squelch, "this mess? this is mine, mine, gonna fuck it into you until it's leaking out onto the sheets, no one else gets to see you like this,"

and the detective makes sure of it— everlastingly keeping you plugged full of his slender fingers, thick cock and tongue and when you cum again, after he's bred and bred and bred you the entire night, you're spasming and gushing so violently it splatters all over the sheets. yet he doesn't stop, instead, heizou just shoves his cock back in deeper, harder until you writhe beneath him, back bowing again and again— each arch a reflex, a raw plea for mercy as numerous sparks burst behind your eyes, "gonna mark you with it baby, yeah? you'll be dripping for days."

⚝ — NEUVILLETTE

neuvillette's formality cracks the moment he realizes what he's done— your folds already glistening, your mouth open and wanting, wanting him and archons, dragons beyond, the way you soaked him up was putting him on edge as he drops to his knees like it's judgment, tongue diving in to taste his mess, face buried, nose brushing your clit as he moans like it's the only language he knew, "so wet already, you— you need correction,"

he rasps— voice rough, an octave lower, soaked in something that might be reverence if it weren't so wretchedly obscene— and still, he doesn't let you touch yourself, not even when your thighs begin to shake around him, not even when your body rocks with the force of how close you were, how desperately your slick pussy clenched around nothing in search of friction.

you ache, no, you burn, for the pressure the moment his girth was pressing into your walls again, the smallest touch setting you on fire, for anything to soothe the overwhelming throb between your legs.

your hands twitch where he's pinned them down, the need so sharp it's nearly painful as your stomach coils, tight and low and heavy, and all you could think about was grinding your hand down to help yourself out, circling your clit fast and frantic until you fell apart.

but neuvillette only watches you, drinking in the sight of your helpless squirming, the flushed heat of your skin, the lust in your eyes, the way you beg without words.

the man wanted to see it— that aching edge where pleasure becomes unbearable, he wanted to know how far he could take it, how much you'll squirm, how much of his seed he could store inside you, how loudly you'll whimper, all because he won't let you come.

"you want it that badly?" he whispers, lips ghosting your throat, "oh so greedy, darling, so desperate, do you even know how you look like this? shaking for me?"

and he still doesn't let you touch yourself.

he fucks you until you sob, fills you until you cry, until your juices were slicking up his pelvis, spit frothed into the mess, his hands keeping you open wide before he pulls out to slowly rub his shaft between your folds again, your slick and his cum coating his erection so fucking nicely the overstimulation has you grinding down against his cock in mindless circles, hips chasing friction like you're possessed, like your body had forgotten how to stop.

"i need to see it," he growls, standing, slapping the head of his cock against your cunt, "need to watch it drip out," and when neuvillette fucks you full, it's with unbearable precision— every thrust calculated, dragging your walls wide and making you feel how his cum fills every inch, "don't try to hold it in, darling, let it spill out, let them all see how thoroughly i've claimed you."

⚝ — WRIOTHESLEY

to wriothesley it was certainly not enough to just fuck you— he wanted to destroy you, breed you until you're feeling only him and his warm seed pooling from your hole, the man wanted to see his release flooding your pussy, cum mixed with spit and arousal as he mouths at your chest, grunting into your skin.

"you're so fucking good at taking it," he pants, "i'm impressed," as his voice turns husky, cracked open at the seams, like he's trying to growl but the sound gets caught somewhere in his chest— because fuck, you're tight, yeah? tighter than he expected, tighter than he could handle without his breath catching and his rhythm faltering for just a split second.

naturally the handsome man doesn't say it out loud, but you could feel it— how his hips were stuttering every now and then, how his hands gripped you harder, how his mouth parted like he's choking on the heat of it all.

he's supposed to be in control, isn't he? always was, right? but the way you clenched around him made something shiver through his whole body as his forehead falls against yours, damp and hot, "fuck, you're gonna make me cum too fast like this— shit—'", as his cock drags so deep inside you it knocks the rationality off your head, your toes curling and thighs twitching in exhaustion, hips jerking involuntarily, yet he's thrusting down harder just to make you feel more of that unbearable stretch.

the obscene pressure made your mind go white and your slick drip down his thighs, "but you're gonna take more, aren't you? I'm gonna stretch this hole until it can't hold another drop," as wriothesley shamelessly spits between your legs before watching it drip down to mix with your slick, his groans landing on your ears as if it's heaven.

"gonna fill you again," he growls between thrusts, hips slamming into you, "again and again until i fucking see it running down your thighs," as he doesn't stop even when pretty tears bead your lashes— wriothesley just flips you over, presses your cheek to the soaked sheets and fucks you through your whimpers, "you're gonna wear my cum like a brand."

⚝ — ALBEDO

scientific? sure, terrifying and obsessed? please.

albedo watches every twitch, every pulse, every droplet that slips from your hole after the first round, "fascinating," he mutters something dark underneath his breath, fingers sinking into the obscene slick between your thighs— warm, wet, and clenching as though your body itself was begging.

he groans low when he feels the way you pulse around nothing, fluttering and soaked, hips twitching like you cannot bear the emptiness. yet his hips don't move at first— just press deeper, just spread you wider, parting the mess to watch how it drips and sticks, how your whole body quivers from the exposure.

albedo curses, "ahh, you're throbbing for me already? this way? this wet?" it leaves him like instinct, resembling life— something deeper than thought, older than want, "you're clenching so tightly, it's trying to hold me in," as he continues to be brutal the second time— driving in so hard your breath leaves your lungs, his mouth messy and open against yours.

"do you feel that?" he hisses, sharp and low, but you barely hear anything over the blood rushing in your ears, your toes curling helplessly, nails digging into his back as sparks of raw lust flare through you— wickedly so, unrelenting shocks that made your body flinch and jolt against him.

your stomach felt tight, heavy, on the brink of exploding— like it's about to break open from how close you were, how full you felt of his cum, how deep albedo was inside you.

every thrust knocks your head back into the pillows, making your body seize up like it's trying to run and stay all at once as he groans when you clamp down at his cock, and the way you twitch around him drove him into madness, "how it gushes back out when i pull? yet i hate seeing it leave you," as he spreads you wider, studies how his cum seeps out, then pushes it back in with slow, filthy thrusts, "again, you'll take it all again, i want you dripping from the mouth and cunt, maybe both— marked inside and out, i need to make it happen."

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #heizou x reader #heizou smut #neuvillette x readr #neuvillette smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #albedo x reader #albedo smut #kinktober #genshin x you #genshin impact x you

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colouredbyd · 19 days ago

Text

We Will Be Okay

poly!marauders x fem!reader

Summary: After days of silence, you’re attacked and left broken. Only then do the Marauders realize what they’ve done. Their apologies remind you that, even in darkness, you're not alone.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Angst, emotional vulnerability, emotional hurt, major argument ,mentions of injury / physical harm, guilt , violence (graphic), hurt/comfort

Authors note: lowkey more angsty than what i planned but still happy ending :D

masterlist

It started quietly. Like most heartbreaks do.

You’d been off all day, and somewhere deep down, you were hoping someone would notice. That maybe one of them—just one—would catch the way your hands trembled when you picked up your quill, or how you hadn’t touched your food since breakfast. But the hours passed like shadows stretching long, and no one looked your way with concern. Not Sirius with his careless charm. Not James with his golden heart. Not even Remus, who could read poetry between the lines of silence, but somehow missed the silence in you.

You weren’t angry then. Not really. You were something smaller, something colder. Disappointment had a way of settling in your chest like frost—beautiful and quiet and cruel. You walked beside them through the halls, their laughter echoing against stone walls, and tried to match their rhythm, but your steps felt wrong, like they belonged to someone else.

You asked them to meet you after Defense. You hadn’t said much—just that you needed them. Your voice had been thin, barely tethered to your throat, but James nodded distractedly, Sirius brushed his lips against your cheek like a promise, and Remus gave your hand a soft squeeze. You held onto that gesture like a lifeline.

They never came.

You sat outside the greenhouse as the sky turned a muted gray, your cloak pulled tight around your knees. The wind bit through the seams. You waited. Five minutes. Ten. Thirty. A full hour. No footsteps. No familiar voices. No Marauders. Only the hollow ache that curled in your stomach like something starved.

When the cold crept into your fingers and the numbness reached your spine, you stood, slowly, as if your bones had aged a hundred years in a single hour. You didn’t cry until you were halfway back to the common room, and even then, it was silent. Just wet cheeks and the burn of being forgotten.

By the time you pushed through the portrait hole, the weight in your chest had turned molten.

They were there, of course. Sprawled across the common room like they had never made a promise to you. Sirius lounged on the couch, his grin lazy and effortless. James was on the floor, tossing a snitch between his hands. Remus sat by the fire with a book open, though his eyes weren’t reading.

Your voice was quiet when it came. “Must’ve been a good practice.”

James glanced up, flashing a bright smile. “Yeah, brilliant actually. Padfoot nearly killed me though, bloody show-off.”

Sirius chuckled, stretching like a cat. “You’re just mad I scored.”

“You never showed up,” you said.

Three pairs of eyes turned toward you, the air around them suddenly heavier.

“What?” James blinked.

“After Defense. I asked you to meet me.”

Remus straightened in his seat. “You said you were fine.”

“I lied.”

The silence that followed was not surprised. It was guilty. The kind of silence that knows what it missed.

“I waited,” you said, your voice thickening. “Outside. For an hour. I was freezing. I was crying. I felt like I was coming apart and I waited because I thought one of you might care enough to come.”

Sirius stood, brows furrowed. “Wait, we didn’t know—”

“You didn’t ask.” The words came sharp, bitter on your tongue. “You didn’t even look.”

James stood too, hands half-raised. “Love, we had practice. You didn’t say—”

“You don’t need me to say anything when Remus limps after the full moon. You’re all around him before he even opens his mouth. When Sirius gets a letter, you can feel it without even reading it. And when James is quiet, you know the sadness before he does. You read each other like scripture. Like something sacred.”

Your voice cracked, but you kept going.

“But me? I’m invisible unless I’m breaking in front of you.”

“No, that’s not true,” Remus murmured.

“Isn’t it?” You looked at him now, the ache in your chest shining through your eyes. “I go silent, and none of you flinch. I pull away, and you let me. I stop laughing, and you just talk louder. Do you know what it feels like to be surrounded by the people you love most and still feel completely alone?”

Sirius ran a hand through his hair. “You could’ve said something, baby.”

“I did. I said I needed you today. I asked for one thing. One moment. One chance to not have to carry it alone.”

James stepped closer, slower this time, like he was approaching a wounded animal. “You’re being unfair.”

“No. I’m being honest.”

There was a long breath between you. The kind that hangs before something shatters.

“You’re not mind-readers,” you said, looking at Remus again, voice quieter now, more tired than angry.

He nodded slightly, guilt lining his expression. “We’re not.”

“No. You’re not. But you read each other. You always do. You feel it. You respond to it.”

You blinked, and a single tear slipped down your cheek.

“But not me.”

This time, no one spoke. Not to deny it. Not to argue. Not even to explain.

You stood in the middle of the common room, feeling like a ghost in your own life.

And they just watched.

Like they finally saw you—only after you broke.

You didn’t speak to them for four days. You didn’t sit beside James in the Great Hall, didn’t brush shoulders with Remus as he passed you your favorite quill in Transfiguration, didn’t catch Sirius’s eye when he hovered behind you on your way out of class, searching your face for something—anything.

You were polite. Distant. Deadly quiet. A nod here, a murmur there. But nothing real. Nothing kind. No softness left in your gaze, no warmth in the corners of your smile.

It was worse than screaming.Worse than fury.It was absence. And it was killing them.

James had started bringing an extra pumpkin juice to breakfast every morning, still setting it beside him out of instinct, only to watch it go untouched, growing warm while he sat beside it like a boy with no idea how to undo the damage he helped cause. Remus had stopped asking questions aloud. He already knew the answers—or worse, knew he didn’t deserve them. He buried himself in parchment, eyes red-rimmed from nights spent rewriting apologies he couldn’t find the courage to speak, because what words could reach a silence like yours?

And Sirius—he was unraveling. Coming apart at the seams. Pacing the corridors at night like a man possessed, all sharp movements and bitten lips, a storm held barely in check. He didn’t sleep, didn’t speak unless he had to. The glint in his eyes had dulled to something dangerous. He looked like a ghost who couldn’t stop haunting the last place he’d seen you smile.

They tried everything. Notes slipped under your dormitory door—ink smudged with trembling hands, hearts poured into parchment. Waiting for you after class, offering hesitant smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes. Gentle words murmured like confessions into a silence that refused to give anything back.

But you remained untouched.

Because for once, just once, you needed them to feel it. To feel what it was like to be ignored. To be pushed aside. To ache alone. Even if it shattered you, too.

It happened on the fifth day.

The air had turned bitter, the kind of cold that felt personal—something that clawed beneath your robes and curled into your ribs. The soft amber light of the afternoon filtered weakly through the cracked greenhouse windows, shadows slanting long across the tables as you repotted Fluttering Ferns with numb, clumsy hands. Professor Sprout had given you space, sensing the storm in your silence.

But peace was a fragile illusion. It always was.

By the time you stepped outside, dusk had begun to fall, painting the world in hues of gray and gold. You moved like something hollow, each step heavy, each breath scraped raw against the walls of your chest. You were so tired. So endlessly tired.

Tired of pretending it didn’t hurt. Tired of missing people who didn’t seem to miss you back, at least not when it mattered most.

You didn’t hear the first hex. Not until it was too late.

One moment, you were standing beneath the bare branches, the cold threading through your fingers. The next, a bolt of red light slammed into your chest, knocking the breath from your lungs as if the world itself had struck you down.

Your legs crumpled beneath you. The ground rushed up fast, unforgiving, your palms scraping across dirt and gravel as you landed hard. The ache in your ribs bloomed sharp and immediate, spreading outward in shuddering waves. You gasped, but no air came. The world narrowed to a pinpoint, and you blinked rapidly, trying to stay conscious.

A second curse hit. This time your shoulder—a crackling burst of pain that felt like lightning poured straight into your bones. You cried out, or tried to, but it came out a hoarse gasp. The pain was immense, searing through the muscles and down your arm until your fingers went limp.

And then the third hit you like a whip.

It tore through your side, slicing clean through fabric and flesh. You screamed then, you know you did, because it felt like the scream came from somewhere deeper than your throat. Somewhere buried. The pain was bright and brutal, wild like a creature with no name.

Blood soaked through your robes, warm and sticky. It slid down your ribs in rivulets, staining your skin in rivers of red. You tried to reach for your wand, to move, to crawl, but your limbs betrayed you. Your fingers twitched and spasmed, nothing more.

You were trembling. Shaking so hard your teeth chattered. Your body was going into shock, you knew that. Part of your mind screamed to stay awake, but the rest of you just wanted to rest. To close your eyes and let it be over.

Then came the laughter.

It was low, mocking, and cruel.

Rosier’s voice, thick with amusement, cut through the haze of pain. “Isn’t it pathetic?” he sneered, his words slipping into your blood-slicked skin like poison. “The Gryffindor princess thinks she’s untouchable. Thinks the world will bend to her.”

Mulciber’s laugh joined, jagged and dark, ringing through the trees. “She’s nothing without her little pack of fools.”

You tried to turn your head, tried to look at them, but your vision was swimming—dizzy, unfocused. You could taste the earth on your tongue, gritty and sharp, and the world was starting to spin in the most awful way.

The words felt like daggers, slipping between your ribs, cutting deeper than any spell could. You couldn’t even find the strength to lift your wand, to scream. All you could do was lie there, broken, helpless, blood pooling beneath you like a dark promise.

The fourth curse hit your ribs. Something cracked. You felt it. Something inside you gave way completely, not just bone, but something more fragile. Your spirit. Your hope.

You thought of James’s gentle eyes, the way he’d always saved you a seat. Of Remus’s quiet steadiness, his soft laughter. Of Sirius, loud and brave and furious, looking back at you in the corridor, hoping for a smile that never came.

What if this is the last thing they remember of me?

You were just a bleeding body in the woods. Just another cautionary tale. Just another girl the world didn’t save.

“Doesn’t even matter if she dies,” Mulciber sneered. “Who’s going to come for her now?”

But the world had already started to fade. Everything was slowing down. The cold wasn't biting anymore. It was crawling in.

And in that final, terrible moment, you wished—not for a miracle, not even for revenge—but for a hand to hold.

Just one. To remind you that you weren’t alone.

But no hand came. And the world went silent.

You don’t know how long you lay there. Time ceased to exist, and all that was left was pain, a tidal wave that swallowed every inch of you. The only thing that tethered you to the world was the cold, the bitter cold that gnawed at your limbs, the faint buzzing in your skull, and the odd, rhythmic thumping of your heart.

It wasn’t until the wind shifted, until the first rays of dusk began to curl their fingers through the trees, that the world came back into focus.

And then there was nothing—no air in your lungs, no strength in your body, only a strange detachment. The stars above you were a distant thing. So far away, so far beyond your reach.

It had been four days. Four days of desperate hope that you’d walk into the Great Hall, that you’d knock on their door, or slip back into your usual routine, but you never did. Every corner they turned, every moment of looking into the spaces where you used to be, only made it worse.

James couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed. He could barely remember the last time he’d felt anything other than the sharp ache of your absence.

Remus hadn’t said much at all. He’d been quieter than usual, retreating into his books and their shared study sessions, but they both knew—he was spiraling. Not as visibly as James, but you could see it in the way his hand trembled when he flipped through the pages of his Potions textbook or how he would glance at your usual seat at dinner and then look away, like a wound that couldn’t heal.

Sirius? He had become unrecognizable. His smiles were gone, replaced by a constant scowl, and when he wasn’t throwing punches at the walls or muttering under his breath in frustration, he would pace the corridors, muttering your name like a prayer, a curse, a plea. If anyone had asked, they’d have thought he was furious, but if you looked closely enough, you’d see the raw pain underneath it all, the brokenness no one dared acknowledge.

They were walking, not really speaking to each other, not really aware of where they were going. James’s eyes kept flicking to the doorways as though you might suddenly appear from behind one, and Remus’s fingers were twitching with the need to reach out and touch you. Sirius’s hands were clenched at his sides, his jaw tight, trying to keep himself together, but everyone could see the storm brewing in his eyes. It was like they were waiting for something to give, for something to break.

And then someone came rushing toward them—a student they didn’t know, pale, wide-eyed, their steps panicked.

“Why are you three here!?” the student asked, breathless, eyes darting back down the hall behind them. There was no greeting, no civility, just the sharp edge of disbelief.

The Marauders stopped in their tracks, confusion rippling through them. “What do you mean?” Sirius asked, his voice hoarse, his brow furrowing. “What’s going on?”

The student’s eyes flickered nervously. “You don’t know?” they said, voice trembling slightly. They looked between the boys, clearly startled by the way they seemed to have no idea what was happening. “She’s in the Infirmary. Everyone knows. Everyone knows.”

James’s heart slammed in his chest. His mind struggled to catch up with the words, but they pierced through him, leaving nothing but a hollowed-out, agonizing ache. “What… what do you mean? Who?” he managed to choke out, but he knew. Deep down, he knew.

“(Y/N)” the student said, their voice trembling now. “She’s hurt. She’s really hurt. Bad. Really bad. They found her out by the greenhouse, half-dead… blood everywhere.”

James’s breath hitched. Remus’s face went ashen. Sirius froze, his hands falling to his sides. The world seemed to go still for a moment, as if the reality hadn’t quite sunk in yet. And then, as if something inside each of them snapped, they turned on their heels, all rushing toward the Infirmary.

Every step felt like a thousand miles.

Sirius, usually the calm and collected one, was the first to lose control. He ran faster than the others, his mind already spiraling. No no no no—the mantra echoed in his brain, a chant that couldn’t stop. He could barely feel the cold stone of the floor underfoot, only the pounding of his heart in his chest as it thudded in his ears.

James’s voice cracked as he called out to you. “Please… please be okay…”

And Remus? He was already half a step behind, his steps hurried but strained. His heart was pounding in his throat as a mix of guilt and panic twisted his insides into knots. I should’ve done more. I should’ve done something.

They reached the Infirmary door, slamming it open, breathless, panic-stricken, and there she was.

The sight of you, broken and bloody, was something they weren’t prepared for. Something they’d never wanted to see.

You were there, lying on one of the beds, pale, drenched in sweat and blood, and the entire room seemed soaked in it. It pooled at your side, staining the white sheets a stark, crimson red. Your robes were ripped, jagged tears in them, and your skin was bruised and battered. Blood was still trickling from a gash on your temple, down your neck, staining your collarbone. Another wound on your side was still bleeding, the cut too deep for any normal healing charm. And the bruises, dark and swollen, bloomed over your arms, your legs, everywhere.

James felt like the floor had just disappeared beneath him.

He stumbled forward, his hands shaking as he reached out for you, but stopped himself, not knowing how to touch you, afraid of making it worse. He was too late. He had been too late. He couldn’t hold back the tremor in his voice as he called out to you, “Y/N, please… please wake up, please… We’re here, we’re here, love…”

Remus fell to his knees beside you, his breath ragged as he looked over every inch of you. The color drained from his face as the realization hit him—he hadn’t done enough. He hadn’t saved you when he should’ve. “I—I should have been there,” he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible. “I should have seen it. Why didn’t I see it?”

Sirius… he didn’t know what to do. His chest was tight, every word in his mind coming out as French curses under his breath. “Putain… non, non, non…” The words came out as angry sobs, harsh and jagged. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry… please, please be okay. I—I can’t lose you. I can’t—” His voice cracked, the rawness of his panic making his chest ache. He reached for your hand, but his fingers were trembling so violently he could hardly make contact. “I should have protected you, damn it…”

And then James collapsed beside you, his whole body trembling. He broke down, tears streaming down his face, his shoulders shaking violently as he sobbed uncontrollably. “I—I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please, I never meant to hurt you. Please—don’t leave me. I can’t—I can’t live with myself if you—”

Remus tried to pull James back, his own hands shaking as he gripped his shoulders. “James… calm down, my love, breathe, breathe,” he urged desperately, his voice filled with pain, but his words were faltering, as if his own chest was collapsing in on him. “We’ll fix this. We can fix this—”

But James was beyond hearing. The panic was rising in him, clawing at his throat, choking him, until it felt as though he couldn’t breathe. His sobs were louder now, broken, desperate.

Sirius had fallen silent, staring at you, his eyes wide, frantic, as if he was seeing the reality of your injury but couldn’t believe it. He kept muttering in French under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “Mon Dieu… no, this can’t be real. Please, no—not like this…”

The scene was chaos, the air thick with their grief, their guilt, and the blood that kept staining the floor. Their world had shattered, and all they could do was stare at you, broken and bleeding, and wonder how they’d ever put the pieces back together.

It had been a week since the infirmary bled scarlet.

Seven days since your unconscious body was carried in, limbs limp, robes torn and stained the color of mourning. Since your blood had dried beneath their trembling hands, since Madam Pomfrey had pushed them out of the room with a glare sharp enough to cut bone. Seven days since the world tilted on its axis and none of the boys had been able to breathe quite right.

Now, the hospital wing was cloaked in silence. A strange, reverent quiet. The kind of stillness reserved for cathedrals and funerals.

You were no longer on the brink of death—but barely.

Wrapped in bandages, some still stained pink. Salves coated your bruised ribs. A potion-infused cloth was tied gently around your temple. You hadn’t said much since waking. Not to them, not to anyone.

And yet they came. Every morning. Every hour they could.

Sirius would sit by your bedside, speaking in low, broken French, brushing your hair away from your eyes even when they were closed. James paced endlessly, muttering half-formed thoughts to himself, fingers twitching like they itched to hold your hand but feared the weight of your rejection. Remus had taken to reading to you—old poetry, mostly—his voice soft, barely above a whisper.

None of them said the thing they were all thinking: We thought you’d die. And we weren’t there.

The days that followed bled into one another, soft and silent and slow, as if time itself were limping alongside your broken body.

The Infirmary lights were always dim now, flickering like candles at a funeral. The scent of antiseptic clung to every breath. You stirred in and out of consciousness—each awakening a slow crawl through pain. Your body felt like it had been stitched back together with trembling hands and tears. Every breath hurt. Every inch of skin screamed. But you were alive. Barely. Beautifully. Tragically.

And they were still there.

Your boys.

Silent. Fragile. Hollow.

They never left your side, not for a second.

Sirius sat nearest to your bed, always in the same chair, hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his fingers tangled in his hair. He didn’t speak, not really. He whispered sometimes, soft little French nothings like prayers he didn’t know he was saying. His eyes were glassy, rimmed red, the gleam in them long extinguished. Once, you caught him reaching out, like he meant to brush a curl from your forehead. But his hand stopped midair and trembled there before falling back to his lap like it weighed a thousand pounds.

James looked the worst, like he hadn’t slept since they found you. His curls were unwashed, his face ghostly pale, dark shadows carved beneath his eyes. He paced most of the time, back and forth in quiet fury, hands flexing helplessly, like there was something he should be doing, could be doing, but didn’t know what. And when he wasn’t pacing, he was crying. Quietly. In corners. He tried to hide it, but you heard it. You always did.

Remus was the stillest, the softest. He barely moved at all. He read aloud sometimes, in a voice that cracked and shook. He fluffed your pillow, changed your bandages, held your hand gently, like it might crumble in his. But his silence said more than any of it. He was unraveling at the seams, guilt eating through him like moths through silk.

The healers came and went. But the boys—your boys—they stayed. And though none of you spoke much, though your voice was weak and their courage was weaker, something lived in the silence. An apology. A hope. A promise not yet spoken.

It was evening again. The sky bled lavender and gold through the infirmary windows.

Remus was the first to break the silence.

“You used to hum when you read,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “Did you know that?”

You blinked slowly. It was the first time you’d responded at all.

“I didn’t realize I missed it until it was gone.”

Sirius looked up from where he sat cross-legged on the floor. His eyes were rimmed in red. “I miss everything. The way you laugh. The way you argue with me like you’re not scared of me. Even the way you kick me in your sleep.”

You shifted slightly in the bed, a wince ghosting across your face. James immediately straightened, panic in his eyes. “Do you need Pomfrey? Are you—are you okay? I’ll get her, I—”

You shook your head gently.

He collapsed back into the chair, dragging his hands down his face.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he whispered. “I keep thinking about it—about that night. I keep seeing you bloodied, in the dark, broken, and I—I can’t fix it. I’m supposed to fix everything.”

“You’re not,” you rasped, voice weak and raspy.

The room fell still.

James looked up like he’d just seen a ghost. “What?”

You exhaled slowly. “You’re not supposed to fix everything.”

Sirius stood abruptly. “We didn’t see you. We didn’t hear you. And then we nearly lost you and we—” His voice cracked. “I—I didn’t get to say I was sorry.”

Your eyes found his. And for the first time in days, you saw him. Really saw him. The grief swimming in the gray of his irises. The guilt carved into the sharp edges of his cheekbones.

“I don’t know how to forgive you yet,” you whispered.

“We’ll wait,” Remus said immediately. “We’ll wait forever, dove.”

James dropped to his knees beside your bed, forehead pressed to the mattress beside your arm. “I love you,” he sobbed. “God, I love you so much, and I keep thinking if we’d just listened, if we’d seen you, you wouldn’t have been out there alone—”

“I thought about you,” you murmured. “When I was on the ground. I thought about how mad you’d be if I died.”

That shattered something in all of them.

Remus leaned forward, pressing a trembling kiss to your knuckles. “You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve to be left behind.”

“I didn’t want to be the girl who needed,” you said. “But I did. I needed you.”

Sirius stepped closer, his voice barely holding together. “I’m so fucking sorry, mon cœur. I didn’t mean to make you feel small.”

“You didn’t make me feel small,” you whispered. “You just stopped making me feel anything.”

James sobbed harder.

And then you reached for them. Shaky, slow, but open.

They came at once. A tangle of limbs and apologies and muffled cries into hospital sheets.

Remus’s forehead pressed to yours. James held your hand like it anchored him to the earth. Sirius whispered every endearment he knew, over and over again, until your breathing slowed.

“I’m not okay,” you said.

“We’re not either,” James replied.

“But we’ll be,” Remus promised.

And in that tiny, broken moment, surrounded by your boys and your wounds and your silence, you believed him. Just a little.

#poly!marauders fic #poly!marauders x reader fluff #james potter angst #remus lupin angst #remus lupin x reader #sirius black angst #sirius black x reader #poly!marauders x reader #poly!marauders fluff #james potter x reader #marauders fanfic #marauders x reader #marauders

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peachesofteal · 2 months ago

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Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ mdni, Reader POV.

His name is Simon.

He’s still stuck in your mind as Captain Riley, like it’s dug in there, claws unwilling to let go, and he says you don’t have to call him Simon if you don’t want to. Which is comforting, in its own strange way.

Comforting just like his presence, the one that’s been at the bakery almost every day. You’ve been trying to keep to yourself, agonizing over the moment when it all comes crashing down, when he figures out how weird you are, but it’s not that easy.

He doesn’t let you hide.

“What do you do when you’re not at work?” You resist the urge to wring your hands together, keeping your focus on the sidewalk, concentrating on the cracks, the leaves.

You’re on a walk. With him. He asked you earlier when he came by as you were closing up, before you moved on to the rest of your work.

“Take a break. Walk with me.”

You couldn’t say no, though it took longer than it should have to get your “yes” out.

He didn’t rush you. He never does.

“Um,” You’re not much of a doer. You bake, you go home, you read, you watch the occasional tv show or movie, you work on recipes. You learned to embroider last year, and sometimes you add little flowers or such here and there to your work aprons but there’s nothing outside those things, no extracurriculars or exercise, no circle of friends to get a drink with on the weekends. Sometimes you hang out with Mara, who works the front at the bakery, but it’s rare. You’re not good with friendships usually. You keep to yourself, and that’s fine. Everything is easier that way.

You guess Captain Riley could be considered a hobby. All the minutes you’ve spent holding your breath and watching the front door, waiting for him to walk through and make his way to the counter, all the times you’ve caught yourself staring at his hands, thick wrists and palms the size of dinner plates. He could probably crush a skull between them, crush you. It’s unhealthy, the way you think of him. The way you daydream about a man who’s probably old enough to be your father. The way you close your eyes in the middle of the day when it’s busy and you’re overwhelmed and the sound of the dishwasher is grating on you, just to picture his face, hear him calling you baby, feel his-

He says your name. Oh right.

You shrug, trying to feign indifference, trying to brush it off. “I’m usually at home. Work takes it out of me.” That’s true. Work can be exhausting. Bending, scraping, kneading, lifting giant mixing bowls, pulling dough until you’re tired. Wrists, elbows, neck, all of them, ache. Price you pay for passion, you suppose. “I’m pretty boring.”

“No you’re not. Just a bit nervous, yeah?” Your stomach twists.

“I like to stick to the things I know, I guess.”

“Less scary?” The truth is full of shame and you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to raise a shield that doesn’t exist. A smoke and mirror act that wouldn’t fool anyone.

“Yeah, less scary.” He’s silent for a beat, and then turns to face you on the sidewalk, a finger under your chin, tipping your head back until your eyes are locked on his.

“It’s okay, y’know?” Embarrassment floods, fire burning in your cheeks, and he tsks, wiping one of the tears trying to trickle down your skin. “None o’ that.” You smile, but it’s hollow.

“Sorry.”

“None of that either,” he bites out, and your spine straightens like a string has been pulled from your tailbone up through your neck. “There’s nothin’ wrong with it.” With what? With you? He’s joking. You almost snort, but the seriousness in his gaze stops you short. Steals your breath.

You’ve made it around the block already, standing in the parking lot of the bakery, twilight purple and orange shining in the reflection of the big front window. Disappointment settles in your stomach like lead. He’s going to leave now, go back to wherever it is he goes, and you’ll be alone, elbows deep in cream and sugar, trying not to think about him for the hundredth, thousandth time.

Might as well rip the band-aid off. “Well, um. Thanks f-for, uh…” if you say thanks for the walk, will you sound dumb? Does that make it sound like you’re a dog or something he took for a stroll? “The walk.” Yep. Dumb.

“Goin’ back to work?”

“Mhm. I’ve got this catering order for early pick up tomorrow.”

“What’re you making?”

“Meringue. Lemon. Pies.” You cringe, but he places a hand on your shoulder. It’s warm, warm like a blanket, a soft fuzzy thing you can curl up with in front of a fire. “Meringue is really the thing about the pies. The rest of it doesn’t really matter, that’s why I- ah… why I put it first.” The two of you drift towards the back door, more so you in his wake, and when he closes it behind the two of you, it’s natural, you don’t even question it. Him.

“It’s science.” You place the bowl in front of where he’s sitting on a stool, and try not to look at the bulk of his thighs. He’s in some sort of uniform, but it’s more casual, less stiff. The fabric breathes and stretches across his body, his chest, his middle… the heaviness of his legs. The room is suddenly very hot, and you try to shake the distraction off. “All of baking is a science, actually. Cooking, you can salvage anything. Cooking is easy. Baking? Baking is chemistry.” You pull the cradle of eggs over, and roll one in your hand before cracking it, separating yolk from white. “Meringue is a perfect example. It only has four ingredients. How hard can it be?” You feel a little thrill roll through you, the kind of excitement you get when you’re just about to start turning a handful of ingredients into something, and the pressure builds up in your chest, muscles in your arms and neck going tight as you fight against an overzealous outburst. You tense so hard you shake for a second before you get a hold of yourself. “If the eggs aren’t the right temperature, if the bowl isn’t clean enough, if you add the sugar too fast, it all falls apart. The protein in the egg whites mix with the sugar and make the meringue stable, it's literally chemistry. That's the cool thing about it.” You look between him and the hand mixer, and everything dries up. You’re suddenly very aware you’ve been prattling on about how to make meringue like he cares, and you have to hold onto the edge of the butcher’s block to practically keep yourself up. The mortification is enormous and threatens to drown you in its viciousness, vile things playing on a loop inside your head as you grapple with what’s just happened. Stupid.

He’s standing before you can blink. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing, I- I just uh… I’m sorry.” Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“For what?” You shake your head, but he doesn’t let it go, just comes around to the side and covers your hand with his. Warm again. Safe. “Tell me what’s wrong sweetheart.” The gentle coax in his voice turns stern, and you find yourself obeying before you can stop it.

“Meringue, it’s so… w-why would you care about meringue?”

“I don’t know anything about meringue,” he rubs two knuckles against the apple of your cheek, “you were teaching me.”

“Oh.”

“Y’know you go somewhere else when you talk about baking?”

“What? I do?” He nods.

“You’re free from the scary bits. You’re excited and… weightless. It’s precious,” he cups your face, touch slow and careful, “like you, precious little girl.” The air in the room has vanished, and your knees go weak, struggling to support you as your pulse races, butterflies swarming in the pit of your stomach.

“C-captain Riley- I-” He steps back, your heart free falls to the floor. He’s studying you like there’s a riddle to be solved, analytical and hungry, something razor sharp and rolling with darkness lurking behind it all. It’s so intense, too intense, but fleeting, and vanishes within a second. A light’s been snuffed out, leaving you in the cold and clueless.

“Will you teach me the rest?”

“Um, yes?” It doesn’t sound like the human language. More like a mouse’s squeak, and you glance around, trying to get your bearings as he leans against the table with his arms crossed.

It takes you a minute, or ten, to get back in the rhythm. You have to start over, which is fine, but you’re shivering a bit too much to handle the yolk separation, a different kind of anxiety rattling in your bones. It’s not until he palms the small of your back and tells you to take your time, that you settle and succeed.

By the time it’s over, you’ve made ten pies for your order and one extra.

“Do you want to try?” You hand him a fork.

“Course.” You’re on the edge of your seat as he takes his first bite, watching his jaw move, his throat bobbing with each swallow. Then he takes another, and another, and another until half the pie is almost gone. You try to smother your giggle, but the effort is paltry, and he smiles at you in return. “Somethin’ funny?” Your teeth press into your bottom lip so hard it stings.

“Nope, uh… do you like it?”

“It’s delicious sweetheart. You’re really good at this.” Tingles of pride flush through you from fingers to toes, and you bounce on the balls of your feet a little bit.

“I’ll send the rest home with you.” You slide the pie tin into a box and he shakes his head.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to!” You blurt, and then bite your tongue, looking down at peaks of meringue. “I w-want to, it’s my-” you snap ‘love language’ back before it manages to escape, horrified at yourself. “I like it, feeding you, um, feeding people.” You’re sweating. You can feel it starting to bead along your spine, the back of your neck, and you wonder if you’ll get hot enough to melt into the floor and disappear.

“If you’re sure,” he murmurs as he forks another piece of the pie free. “You didn’t have any though.”

“Oh,” it’s your factory setting response at this point. Oh. Can’t you think of anything else? “Th-that’s okay, I don’t always eat my own… stuff.”

“Why’s that?” You’ve turned fully towards him now, and he’s still so close, close enough to see the ribbons of caramel in his irises.

“It’s not for me, usually. I mean, I eat of course, and taste test, but I don’t do it for me. I do it as a job and for other people.”

“Hmm. That’s a shame,” the bite is still sitting there, waiting, and you’re just about to ask him if he’s going to eat it when he lifts it to your lips. “Open.”

It’s not a request. It’s an order, a directive, and your thighs squeeze into one another, riptide of confusing want, desire, dragging you out to sea.

Your lips part-

and then Captain Riley is feeding you. It’s a small bite, tart-sweet on your tongue. Lemon and sugar crusted clouds linger as you swallow, but nothing matters except for the man in front of you, pulling a fork from your mouth, his eyes never leaving yours-

“Good girl.” Heaven. Hell. Words disappear like you never learned a single vowel. Your body becomes a never ending live wire. You’re out of your element, you don’t even have an element, not truly. Your element is here, in kitchen of the bakery, alone with flour and sugar and piping bags. Your element isn’t… it’s not this. Not this man, this older man, this brutally handsome man who towers over you, this man with his perfectly imperfect nose and scar on his cheek, with big hands and a voice you could drown in. Not this man standing in front of you, telling you you’re a good girl, staring like he wants to consume you. “How’s that?”

“U-uh, um. It’s… it’s good.” You don’t recognize your voice. It’s high pitched and trembling, the waver it in matching the shaking of your limbs, your entire body.

“Do you want another?” Yes. No. You don’t know.

“I…” you’re flailing, but he instead of pushing you, instead of trying to fit a circle into a square, he merely thumbs your cheek, drags the calloused pad down to ghost across your bottom lip.

“It’s okay baby, take your time. Do you want another bite?” There’s a hummingbird in your chest, trilling a million miles a minute, and you nod automatically.

“Please.” You whisper, and he obliges. You don’t care to have another bite of pie, but you do want more of this. So much more of something you’re not sure you can have, something you definitely don’t understand. Some sort of dream that doesn’t happen for people like you.

Your phone vibrates. It lights up on the other side of the table and your stomach pitches, first out of panic, and then out of dread.

Spell broken. Fairytale over.

“That’s my bedtime. My bedtime reminder, I mean.” You just told him you have a bedtime like you’re five. Nice. “I’m usually in bed… by now. I get up really early on some days for prep and other stuff, and I’m a ten hours of sleep a night kind of girl, so, uh, I try to stay consistent with my routines and stuff, but I’m pretty bad at it. That’s why I have the alarm…” Stop talking.

“I’m sorry I kept you.”

“No!” You reach for him and then think better of it, fisting your hand at your side instead. “N-no, I’m glad you’re here. I just have this early pick up tomorrow, but it’s no big deal, I’ll-”

“go home and go to bed. Do you have anything else you need to do?” Stern again, like he's serious about enforcing your bedtime, like he cares about you getting enough sleep.

“Not really, I just leave the dishes in the sink for tomorrow.” He tucks the pie box into his arm and motions to the back door.

“I’ll wait for you to lock up.”

He gives you his number and makes you promise to text him when you get home, which you do, dutifully, laying in bed, curled up beneath your blankets, typing out a hazy message with one eye open.

>Home. In bed. Thanks for hanging out.

The text back comes only a few minutes later.

>Goodnight sweetheart.

>Goodnight Captain Riley.

#peaches writes #raspberry girl fic #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader

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nekoashiii · 24 days ago

Note

your dragon sylus is my absolute favorite ever. I especially love the part where he scent marks the trees around the cottage ahh he’s so lovely. how do you think he would react if men show up at your door?

Pairing: dragon!sylus x reader

Notes: Eat dragon sylus lovers, I made more

Click here for my masterlist.

The bracelet must have slipped off your wrist sometime during the storm. You hadn’t even noticed—your fever had consumed every ounce of attention, and Sylus had refused to let you so much as take a step outside until your strength returned. Still, the moment you spotted your bare wrist, something tightened in your chest.

It had been a simple thing—woven with beads, feathers, and a tiny polished stone Sylus had gifted you after his first hunt for you. He never said much, but you knew what it meant to him. And to you, it was a promise of a good future.

You didn’t know it had been found.

Not until a low, rumbling growl echoed through the den like distant earthquake .

You stiffened. You were seated beside the fire, wrapped in Sylus’s massive fur pelts, reading a weathered book he’d found at some long-lost ruins. When the growl came again—closer, sharper—you stood slowly, your hand reaching toward the cave wall for support

“Sylus?” you called, voice soft but uncertain.

No answer. Just the scrape of claws against stone.

Then, you heard something unexpected—a voice. A human voice.

“Hello? I… I mean no harm. I found this near the river trail and—”

The knight’s voice was young, unsure. His words were muffled by the heavy ferns and trees that lined the forest’s border. He hadn’t dared come too close, yet. But he was close enough.

Far too close for anyone’s comfort.

Sylus’s presence surged like a storm. The air grew heavier, warmer, dangerous. You turned just in time to see him descending from the higher ledge of the den, red eyes glowing like dying embers, wings twitching with restrained fury.

“Sylus—wait,” you breathed, already stepping toward him.

But it was too late.

The trees outside screamed with the sound of splitting bark and flapping wings. Sylus vanished in a blink, launching into the air with such force that dirt kicked up in his wake. You could still smell his scent—smoke, cedarwood, and something ancient—burning through the forest.

⸻

Outside, at the forest edge,

The knight hadn’t even stepped over the first marker—the one tree carved with deep claw marks and a dark, tar-like resin oozing from the wounds. It reeked of beast territory, of death.

But the knight was naive. Young. Perhaps new to his patrol. Maybe he thought it was just a bear’s territory. Or a wolf pack.

He realized the mistake only when the sky darkened, and a massive, scaled body dropped from the canopy above with a deafening thud.

Sylus landed before him, wings fanned wide, eyes narrowed into glowing slits. His horns curved like twin blades, and his chest rumbled with low, bone-chilling sound. Smoke slipped from his mouth and nose—not fire, yet, but a warning.

The knight stumbled back, dropping the bracelet onto the mossy ground. “I-I wasn’t trespassing! I swear! I just—there was a bracelet—someone might’ve—!”

Sylus didn’t answer. He took one slow, heavy step forward, tail dragging deep grooves in the earth. The scent he had laced these woods with his claim, his warning hung in the air.

You were his. This place was his. And no one came near either without consequence.

The young knight flinched when Sylus leaned down, nostrils flaring as he took in the scent. Not of the knight—but of the bracelet. Of you.

His claws twitched.

The dragon in him knew. It belonged to his mate. And this human—however innocent—was holding it.

Sylus let out a hiss, hot and sharp, and the trees around him seemed to wilt from the smoke

The knight had enough sense to drop to one knee. “I swear, I meant no harm. I thought it might belong to someone who… who lives nearby.”

Sylus’s eyes bore into him like burning coals. He could have incinerated him. Ripped him apart. But instead, he plucked the bracelet from the earth with deadly care, wrapping it in one scaled palm before turning sharply.

He left no parting words, only a sound that sounded almost like a growl of warning and a flick of his tail to the tree barks that knocked leaves from trees.

The knight didn’t linger.

Back at the den, You felt him return before you saw him. The heat rose, the wind shifted, and then he was there, ducking through the cave’s entrance, wings folding in as he loomed into the firelight.

“Sylus…” you whispered.

He didn’t speak. He only walked to you, slowly, deliberately, as if making sure you were okay. Then he knelt before you, massive form coiled tight to make himself smaller, less beast and more man.

In his hand was your bracelet—cleaned, warmed by his fire, glinting in the glow.

Your heart squeezed as your mood turned upside down with joy. “You got it back!”

He pressed it into your palm, then leaned forward until his forehead touched yours. His voice came low, gravel-rough.

“Tell if you lose something. Anything. Ever.”

You blinked, startled by the possessiveness in his tone.

“The man—he didn’t mean harm.”

“I don’t care,” he growled, quiet and firm. “He smelled like you. He stood near what is mine.”

Your cheeks flushed, but your hand slid into his without fear.

“You didn’t hurt him, did you?”

A pause. “No.” Then, a beat later— “…This time.”

You smiled, slipping the bracelet back onto your wrist. “Thank you.”

His eyes softened just a touch. Then he pulled you into his chest, wrapping wings around you like a comfortable blanket. His claws flexed protectively along your back.

You were safe here, With him

#x reader #lads x reader #love and deepspace x reader #lads x you #lnds x reader #dragon sylus x reader #sylus fluff #sylus x you #sylus fic #sylus x reader #dragon!sylus

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baby-yongbok · 23 days ago

Text

Run

Bang Chan x afab!Reader x Hwang Hyunjin

⤷ Genre - Smut | friends to lovers | MDNI

⤷ WC - 7.5k

⤷ Summary - You walked right into it - the thrill, the desire, their twisted idea of a game in the middle of nowhere. You gave yourself over, let them take control. Now all that’s left is to run. But the real fantasy? It begins when they catch you.

⤷ Content warning - primal play, psychological play, mxm, oral (f&m rec.), unprotected sex, choking, slight dumbifictation, spit (for like 10 seconds), anal sex - double penetration, public sex, humiliation, overstimulation (m rec.), Mention of & light use of substances, Dom/sub dynamics (let me know if I missed anything!)

⊳ Masterlist ⊲

The sky is burning, orange into pink as it fades by the second. The clouds drag like your feet through the fallen leaves. The woods are quiet, too quiet for what the boys promised you but you keep going.

You follow the trees, look out for the red marks that Chan put there just for you. To lure you closer and closer until you stumble into the clearing.

Chan is there - back against a tree, cigarette hanging off his lips, eyes dragging across you slow like molasses. The glow of the lighter catches his cheekbones, and you can feel the heat from where you stand.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” he says, voice low, lazy. But his fingers twitch. You notice.

Then - Hyunjin. Loud, chaotic, all limbs and a toothy smile as he appears from the dark, shirt half unbuttoned and wild in every sense of the word.

“There you are,” he purrs. “Took you long enough.”

“I’d be here quicker if we met at normal places. What do you guys have against a park?” Hyunjin laughs, something that almost sounds crazed and Chan pushes himself off of the tree, letting one foot fall in front of the other lazily - closing in.

“What? You afraid of some woods?” The corner of his mouth ticks up into a smile, his dark eyes study yours and you look away.

There’s an aura to Chan - there always has been. It’s something that neither of you have put a name to, something that you’ve only known him to have with Hyunjin. The two came as a pair. Attached at the hip as something more than friends but you’ve never seen it. Not really. You just know.

“Don’t you like the way this sounds?” Hyunjin cuts in, throwing an arm around your shoulder, he whispers, “Silent, free. Listen.” You do, you listen and you're met with nothing but the faint sound of a cricket and the rustling of leaves in the wind.

Chan watches the two of you, studying the way Hyunjin touches you so comfortably - studying the way that you let him. “Thought you might like an escape but you’re free to leave.” he breaks the silence, taking his cigarette between two fingers and turning to face the small fire flickering in a makeshift bonfire.

Hyunjin follows, sparing you a single glance before plucking the cigarette from Chan’s lips and wedging it between his own. Your feet bring you closer, ignoring Chan’s words and taking the open bottle of liquor from the tree stump next to them. You fist the neck of the bottle, taking a swig that’s too long, too bitter, but you need it.

“Atta girl.” Hyunjin coos but Chan just watches, studies. A silence falls over the space, the crackling of fire is all you have to remind you that you’re not alone in the eerie dark. You’ve come here with them before. You’ve smoked here. Drank here. Laughed here. But tonight - tonight feels different. Like the air’s been wired to snap. Like they’ve brought you here for something else entirely.

“Hyunjin…” Chan exhales slow, smoke curling from his lips. “Tell her what we talked about.”

Your pulse thrums, the looming nerves that buzzed in your background move forward and spread. Hyunjin hums, it almost sounds like a moan and he looks over at Chan, just a bit. “You don’t think it’ll scare her away?”

You can hear the smile in his voice and then you look over, catching the dare in Chan’s gaze. It’s subtle but you could never miss it. “It might.” His voice is clear but his lips just barely move. “But I’ve got faith in her.” A pause. Then, soft and sharp: “She hasn’t gone weak on us… right?”

He’s talking to you, you know that he’s talking to you.

Hyunjin turns to you, his lips twitch, barely a smile, as he leans in closer - close enough that you can feel the heat of his body against yours.

His fingers barely brush your arm. A fleeting touch that makes your breath catch, but before you can pull away, it’s gone. He’s teasing, not letting you settle.

“Why the hell are you two acting like that?” The waver in your voice betrays you but you keep your spine straight, you give the illusion of security just as they give the promise of danger.

“Shh,” Hyunjin breathes and your eyes meet his, “You feel that?” he whispers, his voice dripping with something hungry. “The pull? The way the air's gotten thick?”

His eyes flick to Chan, who watches the entire exchange with quiet intensity. “It’s not the woods making it heavy, sweetheart,” Hyunjin continues, voice laced with amusement, like he knows something you don’t. “It’s us.”

Then Chan’s gaze sharpens, and just like that, the atmosphere shifts. His next words come with purpose. Quiet but decisive.

“Run.”

His voice is so smooth, like it’s part of the air, but the weight behind it is undeniable.

“Hide.”

And then, his lips curve up in a ghost of a smile. “Let’s see how well you can stay hidden.”

You stare at him and then Hyunjin, your eyes move back and forth and your head spins with pressure. What the fuck? You want to say it, but your mouth just opens, lips parting just enough for your breath to cloud in the cold.

“Told you it would scare her away.” Hyunjin is laughing again, smiling like a taunt but Chan is still, staring, daring. “You’ve played hide and seek before, haven’t you, doll?”

Your gaze breaks to him. “What the hell are you two getting at? You want to play a stupid game?” Chan tsks and Hyunjin looks at him with a knowing glint that you wished you possessed.

“When’s the last time you just… ran?” Chan takes a languid step forward, his heavy boots thudding softly in the leaves. “Like a wolf on a full moon. Free, unchained from responsibility.”

Hyunjin’s gaze never leaves you, his eyes simmering with an intensity that seems to press against your skin. As Chan speaks, Hyunjin takes a languid step forward, moving in a slow circle around you. His boots don’t make a sound as he shifts in the darkness, a shadow slinking in and out of your peripheral vision.

You can feel the subtle shift in the air as he moves, his proximity so close that your body instinctively pulls tighter, almost as if anticipating something - but you can’t predict his next move. His presence is undeniable, suffocating in the way it hovers, waiting.

His voice cuts through the tense silence, too smooth, too close. “Run,” Hyunjin echoes, a low hum in his chest as his eyes never leave yours. “But you’ll never outrun us.”

Hyunjin keeps circling, never touching but always near - like a predator closing in on its prey. Naturally, you bare teeth, resisting. “Why the hell would I let you two chase me through the woods? What’s so freeing about that?” Your eyes stay on Chan’s and he fucking smirks.

“Don’t you trust us?” He murmurs, head tilting to the side in mock curiosity. He knows the answer. He knows that you do. If you didn’t you would’ve never come here.

You know the answer too, but for a different reason. Because you’ve hooked up before. Kisses in shadows, hands under clothes, fast and desperate. That time one shot turned into nine and Hyunjin mentioned how he wanted your thighs on his shoulders in the back of Chan’s car. You trust them, but not like a friend.

“You’re going to run,” Hyunjin murmurs, his voice like a warning. “Or you’ll stay. And if you stay, you’ll belong to us.” He stops, standing behind you with just a breath of space between you. You can feel his heat on your back, a blazing contrast to the chill between the three of you.

“And if I do run?“ You ask, half out of curiosity, but there’s a weight behind it now, a recognition of the game you're caught in. You think you already know that answer. Hyunjin smiles, leaning in to just barely whisper. “You’ll still belong to us.”

Your heart skips. You knew it.

Chan watches, studying yet again but this time he learns something new. “You like that, don’t you?” your eyes flick to his, “The idea of us having you in such a primal way.”

Your throat feels dry, your tongue too heavy. “You two are drunk or something.” Chan doesn’t respond, he only closes in. “I didn’t come here for you two to be acting all fucking weird and - and …” the words die in your throat.

You try to swallow but your throat stays dry. Chan is too close now, and Hyunjin hasn’t moved from behind you. You’re boxed in, heat at your back, fire in front. Still, you square your shoulders, even if your legs feel like they’re humming with anticipation.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you mutter, but there’s no bite. Just breath.

Chan tips his head, mock confusion curling at the corner of his mouth. “Like what?” He asks, but he knows. He always knows.

“Like you’re waiting for me to break.”

Hyunjin lets out a low, dangerous sound behind you - like a laugh dragged through a growl. “You already did,” he murmurs, voice close to your ear. “You just forgot.”

Something flashes in Chan’s eyes - recognition - and then, slowly, deliberately, he says, “You remember that night on the roof?”

Your stomach drops.

You know exactly which one.

You’d been too high, toes curled over the ledge, stoned on something you didn’t question because Chan passed it to you with that look in his eyes. Hyunjin was sprawled out nearby, shirtless and golden in the moonlight. That was the night you’d said too much. That was the night you told them how you wanted it - chased, caught, pinned. Like prey. Like a fucking animal.

“I remember what you said,” Chan continues, voice lower now, like he’s slipping under your skin. “You said you wanted to be hunted. Wanted to feel teeth at your neck. Wanted to run until your legs gave out, and then be taken.”

Your breath hitches, body going still.

“You didn’t mean it?” Hyunjin asks, tone playful but tight with something else. “Because it sounded real to me.”

You shake your head, but even you don’t know what you’re denying. Your heart pounds too loud, too fast. The fire’s crackle feels like it’s inside you now, licking at your spine.

“You’ve thought about it since then,” Chan says, stepping even closer. “That feeling of being chased… like the world falls away and it’s just us. The dark. The dirt. The trees. Need.”

And maybe you have. Maybe that night etched something into you that you never let yourself revisit - until now. Because your body? It’s already leaning in. Your thighs press together without you realizing, your breath turns shallow.

Hyunjin catches it, sharp and smug. “There she is,” he whispers. “You want it. Say it.”

You don’t speak, can’t. But you don’t need to. You take a step back - toward the trees.

Chan’s grin is slow, dark, knowing. “Run.”

Your breathing picks up. Your fingers twitch at your side and you can feel your resolve stretching thin over your desire. Hyunjin brings his hands up, gently peeling your jacket from your shoulders and down your arms, he whispers, “What’re you fighting it for? Run.”

Your eyelids flutter, you can hear him too clearly - like he’s settled in your brain. Chan just watches, hands in his pockets like he isn’t trying to rope you into a game of manhunt. You take another step back and then another.

Hyunjin moves next to Chan, watching with phlegmatic anticipation.

“Go,” he says. “You’ve got a head start.”

Silence again.

Not empty.

Not safe.

Crackling. Loaded. Breathless.

You turn your back on them.

And run.

Leaves crack underfoot, branches whip at your clothes, and your breath comes fast. You’re running blind, high and aroused and absolutely feral. Every step is a pulse, every heartbeat another second closer to being caught. You can feel them - as if there are chains connecting you all, leading them to you through the dark, stalking you just like they wanted - and now you want it too.

You don’t know who will find you first.

That’s part of the thrill.

You crouch behind a tree, trying not to breathe too loud. You have no idea how long you’ve been running. You have no idea how far you’ve gotten or if you ran in circles. You have no idea where they are.

Your senses sharpen and it’s like you can smell them before you hear them, a strong musk - honey, cigarettes and liquor.

Snap.

A branch, somewhere behind you. Closer now. Then silence.

You freeze, hand over your mouth. Another sound. Breathing? A footstep?

Nothing.

And then - “Found you.”

Hyunjin’s voice in your ear, hands on your waist. But you twist, dart away, laughing as he curses.

“Fuck- she’s quick-”

The game is on.

Chan’s voice floats through the dark, smooth and sharp. “Don’t let her think she’s winning, Hyune.”

“Let me have my fun, hyung.”

They split up, lingering far but still too close. Chan watches, slow and calculating, you vault over a log and stumble. “That tree again?” Chan calls out, amused. “You’re going in circles.”

Fuck.

You are.

Or are you?

“You think we don’t know this forest?” Hyunjin pants. His voice comes from the left… no, right… no, “We own it.”

Panic flares in your chest, but it’s the wrong kind. It’s not fear - it’s the thrill. Your pulse spikes like a live wire and you feel alive. This isn’t about getting away. Not really.

You keep going.

Until you hear Chan again, this time closer - too close:

“Left foot’s dragging. Getting tired?”

You bolt, cleaning up your rhythm like your life is on the line. You forget about being quick and focus on being neat.

You could handle Hyunjin catching you. You could fight him off, something wild and rough, but Chan, he’s worse - because you know he’s calculating. Quiet. Waiting for you to zig when you should zag. He’s not chasing you to catch you. He’s chasing you to learn you. Like a predator with patience.

You press your back to a tree, chest heaving. You don’t know how long you’ve been running, how far you've gotten - but it’s silent. That’s what matters. You’ve lost Chan.

A grin breaks across your face, shaky with adrenaline. This is fun.

You listen again, it’s silent, right? The forest pulses with your heartbeat. You wait. One second. Two. Ten. Nothing.

No voice. No footsteps.

No Chan.

No Hyunjin.

It’s worse than being chased.

Your thighs press together, your spit is thick in your mouth and you listen. You try to listen but the thought of what’s to come, the image of them catching you clouds your vision. Will they take you? Right here? Wild and primal - or will they make you run again? Hunt you over and over like a game of cat and mouse.

You want both. You want it all.

Crack.

What was that? Who was that?

The air in your lungs thins, your thighs press tighter and you fight the urge to peek. Don’t you dare fucking peek.

You hear it again, the direction is unclear like they’re everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Fuck it.

You hold your breath, leaning forward ever so slightly just to take a glimpse, something quick. Nothing. You pull back even quicker and that’s when you hear it, a whisper.

“Boo.”

You scream, Hyunjin tackles you into the leaves, laughing wicked and full. “You’re so fucking loud,” he purrs against your neck. “You want him to hear you?”

“Chan-” you gasp.

Hyunjin grins. “Yeah, call for him. Bet he’ll lose his shit.”

You breathe out his name again, softer this time. “Chan…”

Hyunjin hums, pressing his nose into the curve of your throat. “Thought so,” His hands settle on your hips like he’s trying to calm you, soothe you, even as he straddles you like prey. “Let me help you up.” he murmurs, voice lower, tender in a way that feels wrong.

And you believe it - stupidly, you believe it - because Hyunjin feels like warmth, like comfort, like that sliver of reprieve before the slaughter.

He pulls you to your feet, hands brushing dirt off your arms like a lover would. “Shhh,” he whispers, lips barely grazing your cheek. “Stay quiet. Follow me.”

So you do.

The woods swallow your footsteps. You trail behind him, heart still skittering, adrenaline crashing into lust and confusion and something dangerous.

Then-

“Where do you think you’re going?” The voice doesn’t come from behind you. No.

It comes in front.

Too late.

Before you can even react, Chan’s hand is around Hyunjin’s throat, slamming him back against a tree so hard the bark cracks under his spine. The impact shudders through the ground. You gasp, instinctively reaching forward - but Chan doesn’t even look at you.

Hyunjin’s laughing. Laughing.

“Found me,” he rasps, grin splitting his face like an axe to wood.

“You always were the easy one,” Chan growls, voice as rough as the hand still pinning Hyunjin.

“You said don’t let her win,” Hyunjin manages, eyes flicking toward you with a wild glint. “Didn’t say I couldn’t guide her.”

Chan doesn’t smile. Not fully. Just the ghost of it - mean and knowing.

“She didn’t win.” His eyes meet yours. “She walked straight into the wolf’s den.”

Your breath stutters. You take a step back - but he doesn’t come for you. Not yet.

Instead, he leans in toward Hyunjin. Fist still on his collar, other hand sliding up his side. And Hyunjin - Hyunjin fucking melts, head tilting, throat offered like he’s been waiting for this.

“Chan,” he murmurs, breathless and sweet.

You can’t look away.

Chan’s mouth brushes the hinge of Hyunjin’s jaw. Lower. Down his neck. Slow, deliberate. You watch his lips part, his tongue trace the line of a tendon, right there - where you were aching for it. Where you still are.

Hyunjin gasps, eyes fluttering shut, mouth slack with need.

It should be obscene. It is obscene. But it’s not for you.

It’s a lesson.

Your stomach flips. The air feels too tight to breathe. You want to move, say something, but your body’s locked in place, the ache in your core twisting into something uglier.

Then Hyunjin moans. Soft and bitten-back. And Chan just smiles.

Like he knows.

Like he planned it.

Like this was always meant for you to see.

And that’s when it hits you: this isn’t over. It’s barely even begun.

You bolt.

Leaves whip your legs. Branches claw at your arms. You don’t even think, just run, throat tight with humiliation and arousal and rage.

Behind you, laughter cracks through the trees.

Hyunjin’s first - breathy, wrecked, gleeful.

Then Chan’s - low and cruel and thrilled.

“Didn’t even touch her,” Hyunjin pants, already moving.

“She’ll beg next time,” Chan replies, and you can hear it: the grin in his voice. The certainty. “We’ll take our time.”

And just like that - The hunt is on again.

You sprint, branches slapping at your arms, lungs burning. But even with the blood pounding in your ears, you hear him.

Chan doesn’t shout - he calls, like a song. Like a spell.

“Where are you running, sweetheart?”

You stumble. Just a beat. Just enough.

“I wasn’t even touching you.”

The words slice. You blink hard, try to focus. Keep moving.

“But you wanted it, didn’t you?”

Your breath catches. You nearly trip.

“You watched my mouth on him like it was your fucking salvation.”

A whimper breaks out of your throat. You push faster. Leaves blur. The forest bends.

“You thought you’d be the one I’d ruin first.”

You’re shaking now, not just from exertion-shame, heat, frustration-all crawling under your skin like fire ants.

“And you still want it. Even now.”

The last one hits like a hammer. You don’t want to believe it. But it’s true. It’s so fucking true.

You can feel it-between your legs, in your teeth, under your skin. A thread you can't snap. You want to go back. You want to keep running. You want to scream.

Then you hear Hyunjin’s voice, somewhere behind you, breathless and laughing.

“She’s gonna break soon.”

Chan’s reply is velvet and final.

“Let her.”

You veer off the path, heart clawing at your ribs. It’s a gamble, doubling back, but it feels smart. The boys had split up-Hyunjin darting deeper into the trees, Chan trailing behind like a shadow. You could feel them peeling off you. You could breathe again.

So you circle. Slipping through brush, feet light on damp ground. Smiling now-just a twitch of lips. You might win this. You might actually-

You break through a clearing and freeze.

The bonfire is there, dimly lit.

This is exactly where you started, and even worse,

Chan is already there.

Leaning against a tree like he’s been waiting for hours. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, collar crooked, chest rising slowly like the night has bored him. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just looks at you, eyes shining like he never chased you at all.

You stop breathing.

“I was hoping you’d come back,” he says, voice low. Calm. Like this is a date. Like this isn’t war.

Behind you, twigs snap. Leaves rustle. Not far now - Hyunjin.

Trapped.

Chan pushes off the tree, saunters forward, slow and deliberate.

“You really think you’re hard to catch?”

You shake your head but you don’t run. You can’t. You don’t know why.

He tilts his head, a smile cutting deep.

“Then why are you still playing?”

His fingers brush your jaw before you flinch back, but it’s too late. You’re rooted. Trembling.

“You could’ve let me wreck you back there. Let me use him to pull every sound out of you. But no,” he whispers, stepping closer. “You just had to make it harder.”

Hyunjin finally appears behind you, wild and flushed, eyes burning with something unhinged.

Chan doesn’t take his eyes off you. “Now, you’re ours. Properly.”

Hyunjin presses his chest to your back but you feel something more, you nearly moan. “Tell me you weren’t thinking about it.” his voice is breathy in your ear. “Our hands on you. Breath on your neck. Fingers in your hair. You wanted to be the one under Chan’s grip, didn’t you?”

You laugh - but it’s shaky, more like a shudder. They caught you.

“Tell me,” Chan murmurs, “You didn’t picture it when I licked him.” You still don’t speak. But your silence is louder than a scream. “You want a turn, baby?”

Hyunjin’s hand is on one hip, Chan’s is on the other. They’re everywhere. “Say it,” Hyunjin whispers, smiling against your skin. You inhale with every intention of speaking but none of the execution.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Chan coos, too calm, too sure “Say it.”

Snap.

“I want it.” Your voice is strained, your throat is dry and then Hyunjin is on you. His lips latch to the soft spot of your neck, kissing and nibbling like a dog with a damn bone. His touch turns bruising, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hip but then, suddenly, it’s gone.

Chan’s hand wraps around Hyunjin’s throat again, slower this time, like he’s savoring the feel of his pulse under his palm. He pushes him back, his voice slips out, lower now - cracked and frayed at the edges for the first time all night.

“Control yourself.”

Hyunjin groans, the sound deep and simmering, more animal than man. He tilts his head toward Chan’s touch, eyes flicking to you as his lips curl.

“How about you control me?”

Something changes.

It’s not a switch, it’s a crack - splitting down the middle of Chan’s restraint. His jaw clenches, tongue pressed hard behind his teeth like he’s holding something back, barely. And then he’s not.

He surges forward, catching Hyunjin’s mouth in a kiss that’s rougher than it should be, open-mouthed and teeth first, like he wants to devour him. You feel it like a shock in your chest.

Then Chan’s hand finds you, fingers fisting your shirt, pulling you in until your breath is trapped between both of theirs. You can smell the kiss on them, feel the heat pouring off their skin.

Chan pulls back just enough to look at you. His voice is hoarse when it lands.

“Kiss him,” he says, eyes dark. “I wanna taste you.”

Hyunjin’s lips find yours with his eyes closed, yours shut too, a moan breaks through and Chan slots himself behind you - trapping you yet again.

Chan pushes your chest against Hyunjin’s, his lips on your neck while Hyunjin slips his tongue into your mouth with a groan. You don’t know what to do with your hands, you don’t know who to touch but Chan solves that problem for you. He takes one of your wrists and brings your hand back, placing it over the bulge in his jeans, you moan.

“That’s it, baby,” His voice is the one that’s wild now, his breathing ragged. “Use both of us, don’t make me show you how.” You break the kiss, panting against Hyunjin’s spit slick lips. His hand slips under your shirt, nearly clawing at your skin.

“Look at me while you touch him.” You manage, finding Hyunjin’s shining eyes in the dim light. “That’s my girl.”

Chan’s mouth ghosts along your neck, teeth scraping over your pulse like he’s deciding whether to bite down. He hums, low and approving, when you squeeze him through his jeans, your other hand is still tangled in Hyunjin’s shirt like you’re holding on for balance - like you need to.

Hyunjin’s grip tightens on your waist, his fingers branding your skin as he buries his face in your throat. He bites harder than he should. You gasp, your hips jerking back into Chan’s.

“Oh, she likes that,” Hyunjin breathes, drunk on your reaction.

Chan’s hand closes over your throat, not squeezing, just holding, a reminder of who’s in control. “Of course she does,” he growls. “She wants to be ruined.”

You whimper, and it earns you a hard roll of Chan’s hips, the pressure making your knees buckle. He doesn’t let you fall-he never does, he never would-but he wants you unstable, trembling, caught between them.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Hyunjin says again, rougher now. “Let him feel how wet you are, but don’t come,” he whispers. “You come, we start over.”

“You come when I say.” Chan leans in close, turning your head so that his hot breath fans over your lips, “You’re mine when you come. Say it.”

Hyunjin groans against your stomach, sliding down, already tugging at the waistband of your jeans with frantic fingers. You feel his teeth drag across your skin.

Chan watches you fall apart from behind, his voice the only tether left.

“Say it, or I’ll stop him.”

Chan’s fingers tighten on your throat, enough to make your breath hitch but not enough to choke. You feel your heart race, your body trembling, and you know it's not from fear. It’s desire - frenzied desire.

"Say it," he growls, his voice so low it vibrates through your bones. "Say you belong to me."

Hyunjin pulls your shirt up roughly, his hands clawing at your skin as if he wants to tear you open. “Say it, baby,” he sounds like he moans, he probably does. His lips are dragging across your chest, nipping and marking your skin. His voice is a little more frantic now, as if he's barely hanging onto control, too.

“I belong to you, both of you. I’m yours.” Your words are dizzy just like you are. They’re the only thing in your head that makes sense besides them.

You gasp as Hyunjin’s hand slides lower, finding its way past the waistband of your jeans and into your underwear. He groans when he feels how wet you are, running his finger through the slick slowly. “Fuck... she’s dripping, Chan.”

Chan growls, leaning in to bite your ear, his teeth sharp enough to make you cry out. “Don’t move,” he commands, his voice like a whip cracking in the still air. You want to obey, but it’s getting harder with every stroke of Hyunjin’s fingers, the teasing pressure making your legs quake.

Hyunjin fights your pants down your thighs, getting them off completely and tossing them to the side. You shiver as the cold air hits you mixed with the static of lust pulsing around the three of you.

Instinctively, you close in on yourself, pressing your thighs together just for Hyunjin to pry them open again. Chan moves his hand from your throat and grabs at your hips. His tongue moves past his lips with purpose, licking up the side of your throat and sucking a bruise into the flesh before he whispers,

“Open wider. Let him eat.” Hyunjin’s mouth is between your legs, obscene and skilled, moaning into your skin while Chan bites your shoulder, hissing filth into your ear.

Hyunjin’s tongue dips up and slowly swipes at your folds. You moan. He growls. He does it again and again and again and then he latches to your clit with a flat lick that ends with the tip of his tongue circling and teasing your sensitive bud. Your arousal drips down his chin and it sets something off in him.

He grabs your thighs, nails in your flesh before giving you some shallow tongue fucking that makes you tilt your head back on Chan’s shoulder.

“See what happens when you let us win?” Chan coos, sliding a hand under your shirt to cup your breast. He pinches your nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he watches Hyunjin in the moonlight. He can make out the glisten on his chin when he pulls away. He can see the bliss in his eyes.

“She’s so wet, you gotta fucking taste her.”

They trade. They take turns. Fingers, mouths, teasing each other while teasing you.

Chan latches onto your clit and you palm Hyunjin through his jeans. That’s enough to have him stripping himself to feel you - to really feel you. He guides your hand back, wrapping it around his cock and spitting down to give you something to work with.

“That’s what you’ve wanted, isn’t it, baby.” It’s barely a question but you nod anyway. You jerk his cock and he holds your thighs apart from behind you, keeping you open for Chan to continue tongue fucking you. “You sound so fucking gone.”

You can’t even find the words to respond, not with Chan’s tongue flicking and teasing, not with Hyunjin’s cock pulsing in your hand. Hyunjin pulls you back toward him abruptly, making you switch positions, turning you to face him. His lips crash into yours like he needs to taste how wrecked you are. Possessive fingers lace through your hair and you feel lightheaded, like all the heat in your body has gone to your core.

You moan, it’s all you can manage.

You feel stretched thin - nerves burning, mind blank, every inch of you hypersensitive and strung up between them. It's like your body is working faster than your brain, need overriding thought, pleasure overriding shame. You're not even sure where you end and they begin anymore. You just want more. More mouth, more hands, more everything.

Chan is still kneeling behind you, kneading the plush flesh of your ass in his big hands until he spreads your cheeks and rims your tight hole.

You gasp into Hyunjin’s mouth and he takes the opportunity to press his mouth into you further. He groans at the taste, sucking on your tongue before letting go and whispering. "I have to be inside,"

Chan stands, there’s a rustle of clothing and then skin - his skin - against your shirt, pressing against you. He grabs Hyunjin’s jaw, hard, steering him to his lips. You don’t miss the way they groan, the way Hyunjin’s hips stutter against you. They’re as drunk on each other as they are on you, lost in this fever heat. Hyunjin trails kisses along Chan’s jaw before he pulls back, panting heavily.

“Hold her open for me,” Chan tells Hyunjin. There’s a glint in his eyes where the light hits. Hyunjin obeys, bringing you back with him until his back hits a tree. He presses you into him, bucking his bare cock against your back while Chan stocks forward, admiring the two of you.

Chan hooks an arm under one knee and then the other, he hoists you up, positioning you right above his cock with a growl so raw you’d thought it came from Hyunjin. Chan rubs his cock through your drenched folds, barely teasing at your entrance before he pushes in.

You howl.

You claw and keen.

“Ah, fuck, baby - you’re tight. So fucking tight.” Chan praises you through gritted teeth and a wild look in his eyes. Hyunjin moans at the description, breaking a bit and lining himself up behind you.

“Hyune,” You whimper, less like a warning and more like a plea. He shushes you, using the dripping slick from your cunt to lube your ass. “Breathe,” He presses in and your eyes roll back. “Take it, angel. Breathe.”

Chan slows his pace in your cunt while Hyunjin eases his way into your ass. He gives you a few shallow thrusts, bottoming out slowly and letting you adjust to how full you are. The stretch has you gasping for air, every inch of space claimed with them - just them - until they start moving.

It’s slow at first. Every thrust is perfectly timed like they can feel each other's rhythm. It’s slow until Chan can’t help himself and starts bucking up like an animal. You groan, Hyunjin moans.

“Hyung, fuck, I can feel you.” The words sound wild from Hyunjin's pretty mouth, wilder when Chan slams into you harder and he starts to melt into a broken mess. “Fuck, fuck - keep going.” He pleads, his grip on your thighs is like iron but you’re too far gone to feel the sting.

“Please don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.” You whimper, just as fucked out as they are - hell, maybe more. You’re drooling now, your tongue can’t stay in your mouth like a wolf in heat being bred and marked by rabid alpha’s

Just then, Hyunjin bites your shoulder, a warning before he grabs your jaw with one hand and turns your head forcing your mouth open. He spits into it once, twice, messy and obscene.

“Swallow.” You do.

“Fuck-” They choke out the curse in unison when you clench around them, they press into you at the same time, their cocks rubbing against each other with only the pulsing wet walls of you to keep them apart.

“This pussy is gonna fucking empty me.” Chan grunts, looking you in the eyes and you clench, keening loud and lewd.

You jolt with every thrust, a ragdoll between them while they use you, praise you, break you down. “She’s gonna fucking come,” Hyunjin moans, “I can feel it.”

“Do it,” Chan grunts, glancing at where you’re connected. He can see everything, how full you are with him and Hyunjin. “Fucking do it.”

They pump into you at a rhythm that syncs so well you can only call it wicked. Hyunjin is groaning, growling in your ear. While Chan is grunting, moaning, struggling to keep his control right in front of your eyes. You cry out as they pound into you hard enough to shatter the stars overhead. You shatter too.

“H-hyune- Cha- Channie, I’m fucking - fuck!” You quake, thighs trembling, cunt gushing and clenching while you see stars. They don’t stop, they only cry out, howling like wolves who need to let the world know who just ruined you.

“Holy shit, baby, I wan’ your mouth.” Hyunjin is panting, slowing as he nearly reaches his peak. Chan does the same, slowing as you ride out your high and then they both pull out. Chan peels off his jacket, laying it on the ground for you to kneel on.

You’re still shaking. Your body limp and slick with sweat, barely able to hold yourself upright. Chan’s jacket is soft under your knees, but nothing about this moment feels gentle.

Hyunjin’s cock is in your hand before you even register it. It’s still wet from your cunt, flushed and pulsing, and he’s staring down at you like you’re something holy. Ruined and holy.

“Open your mouth,” he commands - soft but not sweet. His hand tangles in your hair, pulling tight enough to arch your throat. “Be a good girl and show me.”

You part your lips, tongue out, obedient and dazed.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, stroking himself slow just inches from your face. “You look so fucking desperate like that.”

Chan crouches behind you again, running his hands down your back, trailing over the bruises he left, the fingerprints painted into your skin.

“Look at her,” he murmurs to Hyunjin, voice dark with wonder. “So ready to be used. Fucking perfect.”

Hyunjin leans in, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “This what you wanted, angel? To get ruined twice and still beg for cock down your throat? To gag on it like a whore?”

You whimper - barely a sound - and Chan coos.

“She can’t even speak anymore. Drunk off the come we let her have.”

Hyunjin’s cock slides against your tongue - wet, warm, heavy - and he groans like it’s the first time. “God, yes... that mouth. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

You hollow your cheeks, tongue working instinctively. Chan watches over your shoulder, one hand gripping your ass, the other threading into your hair beside Hyunjin’s.

“Take him,” he says. “Deeper.”

Hyunjin's hips buck forward and you gag but hold him, eyes watering, throat burning in the best fucking way.

“That’s it,” Chan growls. “Choke on it. Be good and take it.”

Hyunjin shudders above you, voice raw. “She’s fucking moaning on it, hyung. You hear that?”

Chan grins like the devil himself. “I hear it, baby. She just loves being a slut for us.”

You try to nod, but your throat is full and your jaw is straining, and that’s answer enough.

Chan drags his hand from your hair to your mouth, wiping the spit from your chin, then pushing it back between your lips around Hyunjin’s cock.

“You drool on his cock, I’ll make you lick it back up. Clean him like you’re starved.”

You gag again, loud this time, and Hyunjin moans - deep and broken. He pulls out for a breath, watching your spit stretch from your lips to his tip.

“I’m gonna come down your throat if you keep doing that,” he pants. “Fuck, you want that?”

You gasp, eyes wide and glassy, tongue still out.

Chan grabs your jaw, tilting your face to look at him. “Swallow all of it. Don’t fucking waste a drop.”

Hyunjin thrusts forward again - shallow, controlled, but shaking at the edges. You take him, take it all, gagging and drooling as Chan whispers in your ear “Hold still. Take it. You’re doing so good, baby. So fucking good.”

Hyunjin’s breath shudders. His grip in your hair tightens, and his hips stutter forward with a desperate sound that’s half a sob, half a snarl.

“Ah - shit, fuck, I’m-”

You feel it before you taste it - thick, hot, spilling over your tongue as Hyunjin groans like the weight of it knocks the air from his lungs. “Hold still. Open wider - yeah, just like that. You’re doing so fucking well, sweetheart.” Chan watches you swallow with heat in his eyes. You choke slightly, tears leaking from your eyes as you gulp around him. He holds you there, buried to the hilt, trembling.

“Don’t rush. I wanna watch it all go down that pretty throat. Wanna hear you whimper with a mouth full of him.”

Hyunjin pulls back slowly, his cock slipping from your mouth with a wet pop. He’s still panting, flushed and wide-eyed like he’s just seen God, and maybe he has. “Fuck, that’s it. That’s our girl,” He’s cupping your face now, gentle - contradicting everything he just did. “You did so fucking well, baby.”

Chan doesn't give you a second to breathe.

His hand threads into your hair, firm but not cruel, guiding Hyunjin’s cock from your lips only to replace it with his own - thicker, heavier, the taste of salt and skin overwhelming your senses.

“Didn’t think I was done with you, did you, doll?” he growls, already pushing past your lips, taking advantage of how loose your throat is now, wrecked from Hyunjin. “Open wide. Let me use that pretty mouth.”

You hum a moan but you’re not the only one. Hyunjin groans above you, breath catching as Chan’s hand slides around his waist and grips his cock again - still flushed, still twitching, too sensitive to be touched but not able to pull away.

“Fuck, hyung, baby…” Hyunjin’s hips jerk forward into Chan’s hand, legs shaking.

“She’s already a mess, ruined from both ends,” Chan huffs, mouth curled in something cruel. “And you’re still leaking like a whore, Hyune.”

He pumps Hyunjin slow and tight, fingers teasing the head where your slick still clings, smearing it over the shaft. Hyunjin shudders, his hands on your shoulders now for balance, head tipped back, lips parted in a silent moan.

“Th-there - fuck-” Hyunjin’s voice cracks. “That’s too - too…”

“You’ll take it,” Chan grits out, cock fucking deep into your throat, your gag swallowed by the sound of Hyunjin’s desperate sob. “Just like her. Just like the little mess you are.”

You can barely breathe - tears stream down your face again, spit slicking your chin, drooling down to Chan’s balls. But you don’t stop. Can’t. The taste of him makes your brain short-circuit, and the way he jerks Hyunjin off like he owns him? It has you dripping again, even as your knees shake under you.

Hyunjin leans forward, bracing himself, eyes glassy. Then he kisses Chan.

Hard. Mouths crashing together over your head, messy and hot, all teeth and tongue and groaned curses.

Chan growls into the kiss, fucking your mouth harder, and jacking Hyunjin faster now, just to feel him shake.

“You’re so close again,” Chan mutters into Hyunjin’s mouth, their foreheads pressed together. “Gonna come all over my hand while she chokes on me?”

Hyunjin nods, desperate and ruined. “I - I can’t-”

Chan bites his lip and grips his cock tighter. “Yes, you can. You’ll come again just like this - watching her.”

He leans back just enough to see you.

Your eyes flutter open to meet his - blown wide, desperate - and he groans low in his chest.

“There’s our perfect fucking girl,” Chan says, thumb brushing the edge of your lip as you gag on him again. “Taking my cock like a good little hole while I milk Hyune dry.”

And then it happens

Hyunjin breaks with a sound that’s feral. His cock pulses in Chan’s grip, spurting hot over Chan’s fist, some of it landing on your shoulder, your chest, dripping down to stain Chan’s jacket beneath you.

You moan around Chan’s cock - eyes rolling back, the whole thing too much and not enough.

Chan laughs low, cock twitching deep in your throat. “She liked that. Fuck, look at her.”

He doesn’t last long after that. He pulls out just to come all over your tongue, your lips, mixing with Hyunjin’s cum on your skin. They both watch you swallow, licking your lips like it’s your last meal.

Hyunjin collapses beside you, spent, and Chan leans down, cupping your jaw, thumbing away your tears with the same hand slick from Hyunjin’s come.

“Still want more, sweetheart?” he whispers, voice hoarse. “Or did we fulfill your fantasy?”

Hyunjin’s hands, once relentless, now gently trace your cheek, pulling your attention his way. There’s still that burning intensity in his eyes, but it’s paired with something else - care, tenderness, as if he's remembering what it means to be gentle. "You okay?" His voice is softer, different, like he’s come back to the moment with you.

Chan, standing in front of you, kneels and runs a hand up your thigh. His touch is a stark contrast to the roughness from earlier. His fingers move with intent, slow and deliberate, tracing the outline of your body as if memorizing it. "You did so well," he murmurs, his voice hoarse but sincere. His lips brush your neck, soft, as though he’s afraid of breaking something fragile.

You feel them, both of them, pressing close, not in a demanding way, but in a way that feels... protective. Hyunjin nudges his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply. "That’s all you, baby," he whispers. "You’ve got us wrapped around your finger, you know that?"

Chan chuckles just barely, a small smirk on his lips as he presses his forehead to yours. “It’s more than that, it’s like we’re chained.” Hyunjin hums, acknowledging, agreeing.

You take a breath, finally remembering how to use your voice. “You’ve got me.” They both pull back, looking at you with eyes too wide, too wild, too vulnerable.

“Good.” Chan sighs and Hyunjin leans in putting his forehead together with the two of you, he whispers.

“We’ll keep being each other's escape.”

⤷ a/n - This is my first long fic since I've had writers block. I hope that you enjoyed! I was really excited for this fic and I've been hard on myself about it. If you enjoyed it then feedback and a reblog will actually make my day. Thank You!

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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 1 month ago

Text

then send me a son

pairing: joel miller x reader

cws/tags: so much angst (w/ happy ending! i swear), discussion of suicide attempt (the canon one), suicidal ideations, losing a child, losing a parent, survivors guilt, discussions of abortion, unplanned pregnancy, p in v, oral sex, virginity loss (but it's not that big of deal/not a kink), both dealing w grief, ellie is dead, this is set in jackson post tlou pt I

summary: joel is put on suicide watch after he returns to jackson w/o ellie and reader becomes his 'caregiver' of sorts. lowkey enemies to lovers but also not bc it's kinda one-sided 'hatred'

a/n: author is pro-choice! and also understands the complexities of mental health that reader and joel do not at times (just wanted to make it clear that i understand... from personal experience... what depression is like as well as suicidal ideation).

title is from the song 'the suburbs' by arcade fire, but listen to the entirety of the suburbs (album) and funeral (album) if you want to understand my mindframe while writing this

the last sentence is a quote and i've reblogged it before but i'll find the image and post it/reblog it again

wc: 9.4k

masterlist | ko-fi | taglist

Joel is just surprised Tommy has the gall to ask, “Where’s Ellie?” when he arrives in Jackson alone.

In this world, when two people leave and only one comes back, you don’t ask because you already know what happened. You wait for that person to tell you about a miracle, and when they don’t, you know for sure.

“Heaven, if you believe in that sort of thing,” is Joel’s response.

But Joel doesn’t believe in Heaven or Hell, or anything other than ashes and dirt.

“I don’t know what to say,” Tommy says because he’d already said ‘I’m sorry’ when Sarah died, and that didn’t bring her back.

It takes a hefty amount of booze to get Joel to tell the story.

“I just hope she died for something. Then, at least, I’ll know I’m being selfish.”

I didn’t get that with Sarah, he thinks. She didn’t die for a ‘noble cause’. He doubts Ellie did either.

“You’re being put on watch,” Maria tells him the next morning – when he’s sober and asking what his duties are now that he’s back.

Life goes on, which means work goes on, so what’s my job? As long as it’s not burning bodies, I’ll be okay.

“Watch? Like I’m watching, or I’m being watched.”

“Being watched.”

He asks why, though he doesn’t need to. Tommy knows why he’s got that scar on his forehead.

“Fucking authoritarian bullshit,” he mutters, half into his pillow. “Thought you were a communist.”

“I am. And this has nothing to do with that.”

“I bet Tommy put you up to it anyway.”

“He didn’t ‘put me up to anything’.”

“But he told you, didn’t he?”

“He told me a long time ago.”

“Figures. You always knew I was a coward.”

“You say stuff like that, and then act like you don’t need help.”

“I didn’t say I don’t need help. I said I don’t want it.”

She’s silent, letting him continue. “Now let me grieve in peace, will you?”

She hums something akin to agreement, but asks for something that sounds like protest to him. “Where’s your gun?”

“Which one?”

“All of ‘em.”

He tells her because he doesn’t want Tommy or anyone else searching through all his bullshit because that’s what happens if he doesn’t give ‘em up.

“Want my kitchen knives too?” he says, almost wryly.

She takes most of them, but leaves the more blunt ones out of sympathy. He can have butter on his toast. Unless she takes the toaster so he can’t take it with him in the bathtub.

She leaves the toaster, and then, leaves him alone.

Quite frankly, he’s too old to kill himself. Sure, people do it at his age, but he’s so goddamn tired. Moreover, he knows he could get someone else to do it pretty easily. Maybe he could be a martyr. He could save someone from a clicker or a soldier. He could save someone’s life for once. But would that be enough to save his soul? To make it to Heaven and see Ellie and Sarah again?

Maybe, he would, if God really does love people the way some say he does. But if Joel was God, he’d deny himself entry.

He stays in bed for the rest of the day. Aside from the two times he eats. And once in the middle of the night to take a piss because he may be depressed, but the last of his dignity is motivation enough not to wet the bed.

He doesn’t shower or change his clothes. Not like he’s wearing a shirt anyway, just boxers ‘cause it’s too hot outside and he doesn’t want to get up and turn on the fan. Sleep doesn’t come easy, but it comes. It comes because it has to, reluctant as it is.

He wakes up to the voice of an unfamiliar woman. Quieter than Ellie or Sarah, less stern than Maria or Tess. Not like he was expecting to hear from three out of four of those women, not outside of his dreams.

You’ve always cared about people, saving lives and all that. But you’re no good with a gun, so Tommy finds a better job than patrol for you.

“You’re going to be watching my brother, Joel.”

“Like, spying on him?”

“No, like making sure he doesn’t kill himself.”

A suicidal man is nothing new, especially in this world, but Tommy’s bluntness about it is. He acts as if it’s a normal job. Like the ones in office buildings that sound wonderful even though the people who tell you about them assure you it was barely better than life is now. This new watchmen position is the same as patrol, in a way. Terrifying in the gravity it holds. You have to keep someone alive.

You can shoot deer, you can run quickly, you can hide well. You can survive on your own. But, at age 10, your mom bled out as you sat by her side. You were too weak to carry her, to dig a grave and bury her. Your survival feels unearned, but you’re no good with guns. You’d miss if you tried to do it. That’s a rare thought anyway, and surely not one you plan to ever speak aloud. They’d put you on watch too, which sounds suffocating, in all honesty.

You don’t know Joel. You’ve heard his name in passing, but you arrived in Jackson during the period of time he was gone. He was going to take some girl to some hospital for something or other.

“What about that girl?” you ask. “Is she not taking care of him?”

“She’s not around anymore.”

“Oh,” you say.

He just nods. The ‘why’ of the whole arrangement makes sense, but you’re still unclear on the ‘how’. Am I just supposed to stay in his house 24/7? Is he allowed to shower on his own? Do I have to cook or do laundry?

“Just check in on him. He’s not the most… personable, but don’t take anything he says to heart.”

Just check in on him. It sounds simpler than it will be, you know that much. Even keeping a plant alive takes more than ‘checking in on it’.

You arrive at his house around 10 AM. You assume he’ll be awake, but when you look around his living room and kitchen, you can’t find him. Oh God, you think. What if he’s…

He’s asleep in bed. You’re pretty sure. He’s lying there and there’s no evidence that anything’s wrong, but when you say his name from the doorway, he doesn’t move. So, you walk closer to him, just to make sure he’s breathing.

“Joel,” you say softly – because your other option is reaching out to touch him, and you feel that’s a little too personal, especially when he’s not wearing a shirt.

“Who the Hell are you and how did you get into my house?” he says.

“Tommy sent me.”

“Oh, so they’re making you watch me?”

“Yeah.”

You’re glad he knows about the arrangement. Maybe he’ll give you some direction on what to do with him.

“Must hate you if they stuck you with me.”

You can’t tell if he’s being ironic, but you hope so. Still, you don’t know how to respond. You decide on a simple, “I’ll let you get some sleep. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

Though you’re alone in the room, you sit with perfect posture on Joel’s couch, looking around at the decor – or lack thereof – looking for clues about who this man is.

You think about making him breakfast, but you’d have to raid his cabinets to do so, and you’re terrified to make any missteps when it comes to Joel. You don’t think he’ll kill himself over burnt toast, but there is a persistent need lodged inside your brain to make him like you. It’s a little selfish when you should be focused on just keeping him alive, but maybe if he likes you, he’ll feel better, maybe you’ll feel better too. That’s still nothing but the ever-lingering hope in your heart. But it’s something.

He comes downstairs eventually, in a t-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms.

“Good morning,” you say.

“No, it ain’t,” he says, heading in the direction of the kitchen.

“Do you want me to help you with anything? Breakfast or coffee?”

“I can make my own damn coffee, kid.”

And he does. The first shred of kindness you get from him is an offer to pour you a cup.

“I’m alright, but thank you.”

He sits down in a chair across from you and sips his coffee as you watch him awkwardly.

“Are you really gonna do that all day?”

“Do what?”

“Sit there and stare at me.”

“I don’t know what else to do.”

“You could leave, for starters.”

“I’ll get in trouble.”

“What? You afraid Tommy’ll get upset with you?”

“A little.”

“He’s a softie. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

You are worried. Sure, you want Tommy to be happy with you, but moreover, you don’t want to leave Joel alone lest something happen to him. You might not know the guy very well, but you’d hate to see someone take their own life.

“Can I just stay here? I promise I’ll leave you alone.”

He shrugs, and you take it as a yes.

He does not need a caregiver or a watchman. He does not need you, but you look like a kicked puppy and there’s no way he’ll force you to leave. Another young girl he’ll reluctantly let stick by his side. It’s almost cruel of Tommy to send someone like you. Someone young and full of life. Someone he has a hard time pushing away.

He should’ve sent Joel a crotchety old bitch or a drill sergeant. Maybe Tommy thinks he’s doing Joel a favor by giving him a nice girl, polite and eager to please. It’s a good thing your chipper attitude irritates him. It’s the first item on the very small list of qualities that Joel dislikes.

At first, he insists on making his own food. You’re still a guest, even if he’s reluctant to have you as one. It doesn’t matter where he lives, he’ll always have been raised in Texas. He’ll always hear his mother calling him out on his lack of manners. His hospitality is force of habit.

Plus, if he lets you do anything for him, he’ll owe you something – at least in his mind. And he doesn’t want to owe anyone anything. He doesn’t want to give or get or build any kind of rapport with you whatsoever, especially since you seem to take all attention as progress, despite the fact that Joel is harsh with you most of the time.

The whole ordeal makes him feel like more of a failure than he did before. He couldn’t save Ellie, or Sarah for that matter, and now he’s being forced into his own retirement or held hostage depending on how you look at it, so he can’t even get the satisfaction that productivity brings.

He also finds himself pretty fucking bored without work. He became so used to being in constant battle, even in his sleep. One wrong move and he was dead. The worst injury he’s gotten in the past few weeks was a paper cut.

Reading was never his biggest hobby, but it’s not bad when you find the right book. Often, you’ll sit across the room from him and read a book of your own, and the silence as he relaxes into the couch is quite peaceful for a change.

No amount of peace and quiet can cure his boredom, though. It makes him antsy, and you notice. You notice a lot when your job is just staring at him, it seems.

“I found a book of crossword puzzles,” you announce.

“Congratulations,” Joel says.

“I thought since you were bored, I’d give them to you, and maybe you could do them…”

By the look on your face, he can guess that you’re regretting your words. Lest he make you cry, he accepts the book.

“Plus, it looks kind of old so I don’t know if I’d know how to do it myself,” you add.

He knows you don’t mean it as an insult, but it sounds like one, and it makes him laugh. The list of qualities Joel likes about you is already long — and buried deep in his subconscious — but he’ll have to add the fact that you can make him laugh.

“Are you calling me old?”

“Not in a bad way. You’re just older than I am.”

He flips through the book and finds that about 80% of them are done.

“Somebody did most of these already.”

“I’m sorry… maybe I could erase that person’s answers and then you could do them?”

“I think I’d still be able to tell.”

You hang your head in defeat.

“Gimme a pencil and I’ll try the ones that aren’t done yet.”

You look through his junk drawer, find a pencil, and hand it to him. He doesn’t expect you to sit on the couch next to him.

“I know you’re supposed to watch me, but you don’t have to watch that closely.”

You move away slightly, no longer looking over his shoulder.

“I was just curious about the answers.”

“I was kidding around,” he says (though, it’s only a half-truth). “Come back here.”

It takes him about a week to finish the book.

“Had to go back and fix some of the others,” he says. “The person who originally filled ‘em out was an idiot.”

“That’s not very nice. Maybe it was a kid.”

“Kid had great handwriting, then.”

You pause, hesitating for a reason he can’t pinpoint.

“What? You want me to say sorry for calling that guy an idiot. ‘Cause I will if it matters that much to you.”

“No, no, fuck that guy, he was an idiot,” you say, clearly taking after him.

“Language, Missy,” he says, jokingly scolding you.

“Sorry. I should stop swearing.”

“It’s okay. You probably picked it up from me anyway.”

“Maybe,” you agree. You’re fidgeting, holding something behind your back, he notices.

“Whatcha got there?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” you say, holding it out to him. “I just figured since you finished the crossword book, I should get you more.”

He only did the crosswords for you. He never really cared for them anyway. He just wanted to make you happy — he’d rather have you content than pissy or whiny. The only thing worse than your constant insistence on getting his approval would be if you just sat there and cried all day.

He’d tried to give the book back to you, but you couldn’t do ‘em on your own since you were lacking in 90s pop culture knowledge. So, he did them, with you watching over his shoulder the whole time.

He’s about to admit this to you and hand the new one back over to you when he looks at the pages – white paper, stapled together, all drawn up in pen.

“Did you make these?” he asks, in awe of both your ability to draw perfectly straight lines, and moreover, how much you must care if you’re willing to go to these lengths. Kiss-ass behavior, he tells himself.

You nod, and he gets the sudden urge to hug you, but opts for a thank you with a smile he can’t repress.

“You didn’t have to do all this, but it’s very sweet of you.”

He considers taking back the ‘very sweet’ comment when he finds that 3 down is four letters with the prompt “grumpy old man”. JOEL fits perfectly in the blank spaces.

You go on walks, read endless books, and Joel finally lets you start taking on some of the housework. It should be nice, but you get the feeling he’s not all that happy about this situation. Not that he tells you it outright. He doesn’t tell you much at all. And you’ve tried. It’s not like you’re asking hard-hitting questions.

“How old are you?”

“56.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

He doesn’t even bother to ask the same question back to you. Sometimes, he doesn’t even look up at you when you speak to him. You know it’s the depression of losing someone close to you, you know what that feels like – the problem is, you don’t know how to fix it. You only know how to hide it.

It’s quite simple, in theory. All you have to do is give him the desire to get out of bed every day. But you don’t even know what he likes. All you know is that your presence is not high on his list of favorite things. You try and try until you swear his shitty attitude is rubbing off on you.

Tommy checks in with you periodically, asking you how things are going with Joel, and this would be the perfect opportunity for you to get out of this position, which Joel would probably love, but to spite him, you tell Tommy it’s going well.

And it is, in a way – Joel is not actively mean to you. He doesn’t insult you or argue with you, he just mostly ignores you. So, you figure if you ignore him, maybe he’ll miss your attention. Stupid teenage bullshit mindset, acting like you have a crush on him, playing some sort of push and pull game that he’s not even privy to.

But that’s not like you. That brooding behavior is all Joel, so it lasts no more than a day or so until you go back to trying, and accept the fact that he’s just an asshole. Doesn’t mean you have to be one.

You never expected to win him over with the crossword puzzles but you see the look in his eyes when you give him the homemade ones, and you know there’s something in there besides all that pain. You know that look, can’t put a name to it, all you know is that it’s a good sign, one you had yet to see from Joel.

Joel wouldn’t have thought he’d get tired of hearing someone ask, “can I do anything for you?”, constantly begging to dote on him, to care for him. The last time someone did this for him was on Father’s Day, which is an ancient holiday now, almost mythical.

But it’s been weeks of the same old shit. It has nothing to do with you. In fact, you’re probably the best ‘caregiver’ he could’ve gotten stuck with. Thing is, though, he doesn’t want a caregiver, and he’s tired of said caregiver bombarding him. It’s enough to just have her watching him like a hawk, but yapping in his ear is another thing. Because he enjoys the quiet (and because the way you ask him questions reminds him of Ellie.)

It’s a joke, a stupid joke. It’s his patience wearing thin.

“Can I get you anything?” you ask.

“Sure. A beer, maybe. And a fuckin’ blowjob,” he mutters. Yeah, that’d be the dream but it’s a joke, bordering on a jab at you.

“I don’t think we have any beer,” you say. You both know damn well there’s no alcohol in the house.

“I know.”

“And, as for the other thing- is that something that you’d want… me to do?”

“Hey,” his tone softens. “Sweetheart, it was a joke. I was messing with you.”

“Okay, so you don��t want that, correct?”

“It was a joke. I’m sorry I even said it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you say, sheepishly. “It’s your house, your rules, right?”

The concept of free speech in his house was one he’d brought up regarding ‘swear words’— It’s his house so he’s allowed to say ‘fuck’, ‘shit’, ‘bitch’, and every other word he could come up with, and he came up with some deep cuts just to make you laugh. Admittedly, it’s a nice sound.

“Yeah.” He thinks for a moment. “I just think that these sorts of topics aren’t appropriate for someone…”

“You know I’m an adult, right, Joel?”

“Yes, I know, but you’re still young and you seem a little innocent. I don’t want to put those types of thoughts in your head.”

“I know what a blowjob is, and I know what sex is. I just haven’t found the right person yet. That doesn’t mean I’ve never thought about it or whatever.”

You rarely snap at him, so he knows that word — innocent — must’ve been more offensive than he’d meant it. Maybe you’re not innocent. Maybe you’re just kind and a hell of a lot younger than him. Maybe it just seems like you should be.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just saying that I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“But do you want it?” You punctuate every word with a newfound annoyance.

“It’s not about that.”

“Yes it is.” You’re quite incredulous for someone who has been presented with the idea only a moment ago.

“Fine. Yes, in theory, if we were just two people who know each other, then, sure, if you offered, I’d say yes.”

“I offered.”

The way he calls you ‘sweetheart’ feels more like an insult than a term of endearment. You’d rather be ‘kid’ or nothing at all, anything less patronizing. It’s worse when he calls you innocent. You’re not innocent, you’re just nice — something that Joel is not. You’re painfully nice. You’ve heard it makes people like you. You’re still waiting on the results, though.

But, if he’d ordered you to suck him off, you’d have kneed him in the balls, and he would’ve thought twice about calling you ‘sweetheart’. The thing is, he doesn’t. Instead, he backs away from the opportunity, tells you it was a joke.

But you see two things behind his eyes: one, he wants this. He might not want to want this, but he does. More importantly, you see his genuine concern for your well-being override this desire and you realize you feel safer around him than you do around most men. That’s one of the reasons that you do give him ‘a fuckin’ blowjob’. The other being that, sometimes, before you go to bed, you can’t sleep, and a certain man comes to mind as your fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties.

When you reiterate that you offered, you exchange a long stare wherein you try to reach into each other’s souls and sort this shit out but when you both realize you can’t, Joel says, “Okay.”

And you say, “Okay.”

A new kind of tension bubbles to the surface as Joel sits down on the couch and you kneel before him.

You fiddle with his belt, eventually managing to get it undone, but Joel does the rest of the work it takes to get his pants down to his ankles, boxers too.

You’d imagined he’d be big, but that’s how fantasies work. Every man’s dick is big in your lewd daydreams, but it’s like you manifested it with Joel. You begin to feel like you’re in over your head, and though you aren’t innocent, you aren’t experienced enough to take him. But who are you to back down from a challenge?

Joel can see hesitation wash over your face for the first time. You pause, study the scene like you’re trying to decide your approach, and then you take his cock in your hand, looking up at him like you’re asking for the green light.

He gives you the go-ahead with the only piece of advice he thinks you’ll need. “Just don’t bite, and you’ll do fine.”

He probably should’ve mentioned another thing: don’t take too much at once or you’ll choke. His head lolls back and his eyes fall closed the moment your lips meet the tip of it. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t want you to feel intimidated by his presence while you’re exploring, so to speak. He lets out a low groan of approval to let you know he’s still with you.

But he’s fading into a beautiful oblivion until he hears you gag, feels you sputter and it shocks him out of that blissful feeling. His eyes snap open and he cradles the back of your head.

“Easy, easy,” he says. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

You pull away briefly and catch your breath.

“That’s good,” he says. “Breathe, baby.”

He can see you looking for instructions, so he takes your hand and helps you get a firm grip on his cock, sliding your hand up and down, and finally letting you do it on your own.

“Doin’ good, baby,” he says. “You gotta give your mouth a break sometimes.”

You’ve never gotten anything close to praise from Joel before. It’d warm your heart like nothing else if it weren’t so goddamn sexy in this context.

You nod, wipe the spit from your chin, and give your mouth a brief break, but you can’t hold yourself back forever. Soon, your lips are back on his cock, kissing from the base to the tip, flicking your tongue over the head, seeing what reactions you can get from him.

When you get into the rhythm of hand and mouth in tandem, you barely register him telling you that he’s gonna come.

You imagine it’s an acquired taste but it’s not awful. You can swallow it. So, you do, and you look up at him with a smile.

He looks like he’s woken up from a dream and he’s still getting his bearings straight, but he’s quick to stand up and take your hand.

“Where are we going?”

“To my bed.”

You’d follow him anywhere but bed does sound good to you right now. It sounds like an adventure. You don’t go into his bedroom unless absolutely necessary. You’d think he was hiding something horrible in there if you didn’t have a mutual feeling regarding your own bedroom.

“Are we going to have sex?” you ask.

“No,” he says.

“Then, what are we going to do?”

“You,” he begins. “Are going to lie back and relax.”

He coaxes you to lie down, and he doesn’t have to try hard.

“I,” he continues. “Am going to make you feel good.”

You’re fairly certain about what he means, so there’s nothing left for you to do but let him do the work. It’s just another part of the job you’ll have to learn from experience.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says.

You nod.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he says, playing with the hem of your t-shirt.

“Wait-” you say, sitting up, and he withdraws. “Can we kiss… first?”

He looks surprised for a moment, and you worry you’ve fucked up.

“I just feel like we should do that,” you say, much quieter.

“Yeah,” he says. “I guess that makes sense.”

His hand cups your cheek and he looks you in the eyes like he’s trying to find answers somewhere in there.

“Has anyone ever kissed you before?”

“Not really, not the way I want you to kiss me.”

“Feels a bit rude of me to have put my dick in your mouth before you’d even been kissed.”

Still, he leans in and kisses you, but it’s soft, gentle. It’s not a peck on the lips, though, it’s more. It gradually gains momentum and passion. Eventually, he slips his tongue in your mouth and you take it in stride.

“You’re very good at this,” he says. “If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t think this was your first time.”

“Is that a compliment?” you ask, doubting Joel is capable of such things.

He ignores your question, and sighs. You know it’s not directed at you because you’re fairly sure he’s not listening.

“I know I said I was gonna do some things with you, but I don’t wanna take things too fast, okay?”

“Are you saying you’re just going to kiss me?”

“I think that’d be the right thing to do.”

“That’s not fair,” you whine.

You wish you could sound sexy, or whatever, but you probably come off like a bratty child.

“Excuse me?”

“That’s not fair. You said you’d make me feel good. I thought you were gonna return the favor.”

“I was.”

“Then, why are you backing out?”

You’re shocked that he’s the pussy — pun-intended — in this scenario.

“I thought it might be too much for you.”

You grab his hand and slip it under the flimsy fabric of your shorts.

His eyes go wide.

Fucking hell, you’re wet, is the only thought on Joel’s mind. It makes sense. He’d be offended, maybe even worried if you were dry as a desert down there, but he’s barely touched you. Either you really enjoyed kissing him or you actually liked sucking him off too.

He gently presses the pads of his fingers against the wet spot on your panties.

“You’re right, baby. It’s only fair if I help you out.”

He’s able to get your shorts and your panties down in one swift pull. You look impressed by the action. Just you wait, he thinks. He’s not an expert by any means, but it’s not too hard to learn if you pay attention — and sex is one of the only times Joel does listen — it’s also not a skill you lose over time. It’s muscle memory, or maybe it’s innate.

His thumb rubs your clit lazily as he watches your face scrunch up in pleasure, your eyes fill with need. When the first finger slips inside you, he hears a breathy sigh come from above — it sounds like relief though he knows you haven’t come yet.

He’s never had a woman have such a strong reaction to his lips on her clit. It almost startles him at first. You’re frantic from the moment his lips meet your skin, crying out for him like you’re scared he’ll stop.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m right here. Don’t have to get so worked up. I’m gonna take care of you.”

He can’t say another word because his lips are occupied, so he relies on his hands, his soothing touch, to tell you that everything is alright. He gets the urge to tell you how good you are for him, how good you taste, how pretty you are like this, but he knows it’d be cruel to let up now. He’s callous often, sometimes harsh, but rarely cruel.

His instinct tells him to drag this out, to make your thighs shake, to have tears running down your cheeks, to tease you. To be the asshole that he tends to be when you’re around (and when you’re not). This is a version of Joel you might come to like.

He’s lived long enough to be well-practiced in this field of life. Doesn’t matter if he’s particularly romantic or even sociable, it’s just happened enough times over the course of fifty plus years for him to know the ins and outs. He can get you there quickly and lead you through it slowly.

He’s so used to you saying his name in a tone he considers pestering that he’s begun to hate the word itself. But when it’s drawn out and desperate like this, it sounds wonderful.

You’re at his mercy, he thinks. Which means he’s in control. And, as much as he’d hate to admit it, control does not mean he can kill you, control means he can care for you.

When you come down from your high, Joel is looking up at you from between your thighs with messy hair and kiss-dark lips. His smile looks like one of pride. Your cheeks heat up, only half-remembering what just happened. You could describe the event simply in a cause and effect relationship — he went down on you, so you came. You know what an orgasm feels like, but that was something beyond anything you’d ever experienced before. You fear an addiction may be coming on.

Your voice comes out shaky, which only makes your first words after a long silence sound stupider. “Thank you.”

He looks confused, and it takes him a moment to respond. “My pleasure,” he says, and you swear it might be when you see a semi through his sweatpants.

You’d offer more ‘help’ but you truly don’t think you can manage it. You can feel your body pulling you towards sleep. Your eyes have barely opened and they want to close again.

Joel notices because how could he not, you’re completely naked in every sense of the word.

“Get some rest,” he says before standing up.

He’s leaving.

“Where are you going?” you ask, instinctively.

“Downstairs.”

You do not want to say it. The fear of rejection is too strong, but so is the sudden urge to cry. Holding back tears is a strength of yours, though, so Joel never sees them. Somehow, after doing one of the most adult things, you feel like a baby in the wake of it. You are supposed to be taking care of him, and you are failing.

“What?” is his response to your refusal to meet his eyes.

“I just assumed you were going to stay. That’s all.”

“I can. If that’s what you need me to do.”

You don’t say anything. He climbs into bed anyway after picking up your underwear and handing it to you.

He doesn’t hold you but he doesn’t leave either. What he does do is kiss you on the forehead when he thinks you’re already asleep. It’s a compromise between your fear and your desire.

It isn’t as weird as one might think it would be — acting as if you’ve never done anything remotely sexual with one another. It’s easier because you don’t have to go back to being friends. You never really were. It was always awkward. What’s new? Only your knowledge that at least some of your feelings are mutual. Only the fact that you think about having sex with him every time he’s in front of you. It’s really just out of curiosity sometimes. What would he be like in bed? Does he want it too? How would you even broach the subject?

Sometimes, it’s not just curiosity. Those days are harder to navigate. You have to pretend like every little touch — most of them accidental — fuels the fire. It’s not the sensation itself. It’s just the acute awareness of his body, how close it is to yours, how easily you could reach out and touch him, that enters your mind.

“You’re staring.” Joel says from the other side of the couch.

“Sorry. I zoned out.”

“Got something’ on your mind?”

“Not really.”

“C’mon, what is it?”

“Why do you suddenly care about my thoughts?” About me.

“You think I didn’t care about you before? You’ve been in my house everyday for months now.”

“So?”

“And, I haven’t tried to kick you out yet.”

“You’re not allowed to kick me out. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Okay. How ‘bout this: I’m down here sitting with you because I know you don’t like to be alone.”

“So you pity me?”

“No, if I pitied you, I’d have told Tommy to give you a new job.”

“Okay, so, you expect me to believe you care but you refuse to talk to me half the time.”

“I’m not much of a talker. But, now that I’m trying to talk to you, you’re shutting me out.”

“I’m not— It’s just not a big deal. I don’t even remember what I was thinking about anyway.”

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“I said, that’s bullshit.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll talk.”

You take a deep breath before speaking, one long enough that he gestures for you to go on.

“I was just thinking about what it would be like if we had sex.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, since we, you know, we did that stuff… it’s not like it’s a totally crazy thought.”

“‘That stuff’? Be more specific, honey.”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I do, but you can’t be thinking about having sex with me when you can’t even use big girl words when you’re talking about it.”

“It doesn’t even matter.” Your face is burning. It so, totally, does matter. “I was just curious.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Mm-hmm. Go on thinking, I’ll get back to reading.”

“Wait, what? You just made me tell you that to make me embarrassed? You’re not even gonna—”

“What? Gonna fuck you?”

The word slips out of his mouth so easily.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Truth is: he’s been thinking about you every day since. He only caught you staring because he was doing the same. He tries to restrain himself because it feels like the right thing to do.

But he still, he acquiesces and takes you upstairs to his bedroom.

He lays you down on the bed and undresses you slowly like you’re a gift and he doesn’t want to tear the paper. He places your clothes atop the dresser, but leaves his strewn across the floor.

Wonder fills your eyes as he reveals his naked body. Hesitation and awe wrapped up in one.

“Wow,” you say, breaking the silence, “it’s, um, you know— do you think it’ll fit?”

It’s not the first time he’s heard that. It no longer brings him that bashful pride that it did when he was younger. It’s just a fact. A nuisance sometimes.

“Not if we don’t get you ready first.”

“Do you need to get ready first too?”

He looks down at his cock, rock-hard and eager.

“No, baby, just looking at you is enough to get me ready.”

A thought crosses his mind — one he thought he’d left in his teenage years — what if he comes too quickly?

He lies back on the bed next to you and reaches for you, waits for you to let him maneuver you.

“Come here,” he says.

You sit up and face him, slowly inch towards his arms that beckon you.

You’re fairly sure you know what he wants you to do. Sit on his face. But god, something about it seems awkward in the amount of control you simultaneously give up and are given in turn.

“You trust me, right?” he asks.

“Of course.”

An answer you wouldn’t have ever thought you’d give back when you first met.

“Then, come sit on my face.”

You swing your leg over him and steady yourself above his face.

He grips your thighs to guide you. You grip the headboard to save yourself from passing out the moment Joel’s mouth meets your skin.

Joel wouldn’t be the man you’d have thought would have such a talented tongue based on how little he uses it. You can’t blame him for not talking right now. Your moans echo off his bedroom walls and permeate the balmy summer air. The windows are closed and the curtains shield your naked bodies from the neighbors but even if you’d left them open, you wouldn’t have the sense to care.

You’re an incoherent mess of moans and half-words, trembling thighs and sweat. Your orgasm comes on strong, and if your eyes weren’t screwed shut, maybe you’d see the gates of heaven.

It’s been a while since he’s done this. Tess never liked it like this and the last woman before her was one from another lifetime, pre-outbreak, an inconceivable world despite having once called it home.

He’s not really thinking about that, though, in this moment, all Joel can think of is you. Your skin, your sweat, your heat, and the pretty noises you make. At one point, he swears he hears his name though your thighs are covering his ears. And he doesn’t mind it one bit.

“I’m gonna pass out,” he hears from above him.

“No, you’re not. I’ve got you,” he tries to say, though surely his words are muffled.

“Don’t let me go.”

He doesn’t. He carefully helps you lie back on the bed. When he meets your gaze, he swears he’s never seen adoration like that in anyone’s eyes before. At least, not in a long time.

It terrifies him, but in spite of his hesitation, he holds you close.

A blanket of peaceful silence settles over your bare bodies.

You speak quietly, trying not to awaken Joel’s senses. The ones that pull him away from you. The moment feels like glass in your hands.

“Are we going to have sex?”

“Hm?”

“We were going to, right? You were getting me ready for it.”

“I thought I wore you out.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I want to stop.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’d tell you if you were.”

He hesitates.

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

Those are the words that awaken his arousal. In an instant, you find his body looming above yours. He kisses you until your lips are red and puffy. He doesn’t break your gaze as he positions his cock at your entrance. Your green light is your needy hips begging him to fuck you.

He starts slow, even the head is a stretch. You scrunch up your face and hold back the urge to squirm.

“It’s gonna be a little uncomfortable at first, baby, and that’s why we’re gonna take it slow.”

Slow is an understatement. It takes ages for him to give you another inch — or maybe you’re just antsy. This one makes you whimper, makes you clamp down around him.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be fine.”

Joel’s voice is tender and sweet, and it gives you enough hope to ask for something you think he’d usually deny you.

“Can you hold my hand?”

He interlocks his fingers with yours. It feels oddly natural. He doubts he’s heard someone ask to hold his hand since— not now, he’ll go soft if he thinks about her. He’ll close in on himself and you need him — in more ways than one.

He continues slowly as he promised he would until he hears your moans of pleasure and your pleas for more, more, more. More is a little bit faster, a little bit harder, as deep as you can take it, and most importantly, his thumb tracing circles on your clit.

You squeeze his hand with yours as your inner walls clamp down around him.

“Just let it happen. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

When you come, he does too — the most blissful mistake he’s ever made.

Curses fly out of his mouth through his orgasm, stopping briefly as he catches his breath, and resuming when he pulls out and watches as his come drips out of you.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you insist. “I liked it.”

“I’m glad you liked it.” Because I fucking loved it. “But, it’s dangerous. We’ve gotta be more careful.”

In the future — it’s implied. Another time is nothing when the lines have all been crossed and when the other side brings him a warmth the hot summer never could.

You have more power over him than the sun.

It becomes a routine — briefly — and you are more careful. You discreetly buy condoms, but when your next period doesn’t come, you fear it might be too late.

You don’t tell Joel, not at first. Sometimes, they’re irregular, and you don’t want to give the man a heart attack. But then a week passes, another week passes, and eventually you have to — especially when you’re beginning to feel a bit nauseous and have no other explanation for it. It’s better to say something before he asks.

“Joel,” you say, “I haven’t gotten my period yet.”

A look of horror crosses his face before he asks, “How late is it?”

You take a breath before admitting, “A few weeks.”

“How many?”

“Almost three.”

“Fuck.” He sighs in preemptive defeat. “Have you taken a test?”

“No, I thought it would come so I didn’t want to overreact.”

“We’re going to go get one.”

He stands up immediately and turns towards the door.

“Wait,” you say, stopping him in his tracks.

“I should probably get it. It’ll look less suspicious.”

No, it won’t. Those who suspect something is up with you, will have their suspicions, and those who don’t, won’t think to pay attention.

They recommend taking multiple because false negatives are common.

The first one is a clear positive, so clear you think it might be a false positive, so you wait to freak out until you see two lines come up on the second test.

Joel is silent, even when you hand him the test.

But, so are you, because what more is there to say? The tests say it all.

“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he says, and you’re surprised until he clarifies.

“I doubt they’ll make you pay for the pill or the procedure — however they do it, but I’ll take care of you while you’re recovering. I’ll be there through it all. Promise.”

The pill or the procedure. The abortion that he expects you to have. Truth be told, you hadn’t really thought about what you’d do until now. It’s probably the right decision. Do you really want to bring a baby into this world? Can you even take care of one?

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll make an appointment.”

You save your tears for Maria. She approaches you in the clinic. You’d be delighted to see her at any other moment.

“Making an appointment?” she asks.

“Yeah, just a checkup,” you lie.

The woman at the counter clarifies with you. “Just a checkup? Is that what you’d prefer?”

You turn back and forth between her and Maria.

“Um, no,” you say, “keep it as is.”

Maria raises an eyebrow and there is nowhere left to hide. You might be able to outrun her, but she knows where you live and isn’t afraid to confront you at your doorstep.

She saves you some of your dignity when she whispers, “How about a chat at my place? I have some tea that helps with nausea.”

The tea is persuasive but you’d have to go anyway. You don’t speak on the walk to Maria’s. She brews the tea and you sit across from each other in the kitchen before she finally speaks.

“What’s the appointment for?” she asks. “And I’m not here to judge you, I just want the truth.”

You’re not my mom, you could say, but she’s the closest thing you’ve had to one since your own passed.

“An abortion,” you say quietly, looking down at the table, at your hands around the mug.

“Okay,” she says, gently. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

You try to reply but all the comes out is a sob.

Eventually, she pries the truth out of you. You explain what happened when you told Joel the news.

“So, he made the decision, and then told you he’d be there for you if he did what you wanted?”

“I guess. But, I think it might be the right choice. I mean, it'd be hard to raise a child in this world…” You cut yourself off when you look at her bump. She’s gonna be a mom, a good mom. And, stupidly, you’re jealous.

Even though it’s not there yet, you swear you can see a high chair in your periphery. You could be holding a warm bottle instead of a hot mug of tea. Maria could be feeding her child his first bite of baby food next to you.

“Let me ask you something, and I want you to really think about it, and be honest with me.”

You nod and wait for her question.

“If Joel had said he’d support you no matter what, even if you wanted to keep the child, if he said he’d step up as a father, would you have made the appointment?”

“I don’t know.” Oh, but you do. Maria waits for you to come to a conclusion, for you to spit it out.

“I like the idea of having a kid. I love kids, and I sometimes think about what it would be like being a mom, but I know that I can’t be one. Not right now.”

If there is one thing Joel can’t be, it’s a father. Not again. He’s too old, too grouchy, too cynical. He’s not the man he used to be. He was never good at it anyway. He couldn’t save his own kid. He’s already a failed father — once, if not, twice.

You’d be a great mother, and that’s the greatest tragedy. He’s failed you already. He’s not good at the kinder things of life. He shouldn’t have indulged in you, in the love you gave him when he cannot give it back. There are a lot of things Joel can’t quite get right — being a lover, a father, a good man.

Every night since the outbreak began, he’s watched Sarah bleed out in his arms. Sometimes he sees Tess, Sam and Henry, Bill, even Tommy which feels like an augury. Ellie is there almost every night, losing consciousness. Only sometimes is she in that hospital bed, often, she’s lying in the show, with blue lips and almost no pulse. Now, you’ve begun to enter his subconscious. You’re always too far out of reach, screaming his name until he’s shot dead, and the last thing he hears is you shriek as you watch him die in front of you.

Another person is another tragedy once they have the misfortune of coming into his life. There cannot be another person, especially not a child.

You should be back by now, he thinks as he splashes water on his face for the umpteenth time, hoping it’ll wash away all the mistakes he’s made.

He can tell it’s Maria by the way her knuckles rap on his front door. He can tell she’s pissed too.

When he opens the door, he sees you in standing behind her, like you’re afraid of him.

“Unless you want to have this discussion on your doorstep, I suggest you let me — us — inside.”

He does, reluctantly.

“Joel Miller, when do you plan on becoming a man?”

“What?”

“You just told her to make an appointment, didn’t even give her a chance to think about it? You managed to run away from your problems while you’re on house arrest. Impressive.”

“I thought that was what we both wanted,” he says, looking past her, to you.

“I guess, maybe,” you shrug.

The one thing he’s grateful for is Maria’s suggestion that you talk privately.

You sit further from him than usual, you refuse to meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask what you wanted. I thought I was making the right choice.”

“It’s okay. I don’t even know what I want.”

But the tears suggest otherwise.

“Do you want to keep the baby?”

“Maybe, but I can’t. It’s not a good idea.”

“That’s what I think, but Maria’s right, it’s your choice.”

“But I don’t know how to make that choice.”

“You’ve got a good heart. Follow it.”

You spend a lot of time thinking, remembering, and trying to convince yourself that there is no part of you that wants to be a mother. But, in your bedside drawer, there is a handful of photos — all from before the outbreak. You see your mom as a child on a swing set, and as a teen blowing out candles on her birthday. Her mom is in that one too, sitting next to her, smiling. You wish more than anything to have pictures of you and your mom.

You think about the little girl who pretended a ratty old stuffed bear was her baby. You can hear your mom telling you that you’re doing a good job, how you’ll be good at this one day. Your bedtime stories were never about fairy princesses, but about your family, the ones you didn’t get to meet.

“I wish I could have that,” you’d say.

“One day, you might be able to — the world is scary right now, but that doesn’t mean it’s gonna be like this forever,” she’d insist.

In retrospect, you wonder if she really believed that, if she really believed that teddy bear would one day be a baby that you’d be the one carrying, and she’d be the proud grandmother.

“I told her I wanted to be a mom like her,” you explain to Joel, and he understands.

You know about Ellie, but not about Sarah. Joel never brings either of them up to you. Until now. It’s a fair trade, he tells himself. Photos for photos, info for info. But it’s more than that.

“Hold on for one minute, I’m gonna go get something, and I’ll be right back.”

It’ll only take him a second to grab the pictures, but he’ll need a moment to compose himself.

“This is Sarah,” he says, pointing to the little girl in the photo. “My daughter.”

You’re silent for a moment, gazing at the photo, at a younger Joel you’ve never met.

You’re the first person not to tell him that you’re sorry for his loss, and he is relieved not to hear the empty sympathies once more.

“What was she like?” you ask.

It’s hard to explain, and for that reason, he talks for at least a half hour about Sarah. All her likes and dislikes, all his favorite moments from the day she was born until the day she died. He tells the story of that too.

When you try to tell him that he sounds like he was a good dad, he has to explain why he wasn’t.

“I couldn’t save her,” he says.

“I couldn’t save her either,” you say, pointing to your mother in one of the photos.

“You were just a child,” he says. “It’s not your fault.”

“And, you were just a man,” you say. “It’s not your fault.”

“A grown man.”

“Doing the best that you could.”

And you’re right. He did try his best. He stops arguing not because he’ll ever concede but because the weight of the present falls upon him all at once as he meets your eyes and remembers why you’re here.

He can’t have Sarah back, he can’t have Ellie back, but you’re right in front of him — and he loves you. It’s too late to turn back and kick you out on your first day, it’s too late to never speak to you, it’s too late to not love you.

It’s not too late to fail you like he’s failed everyone else. It’s not too late to do the opposite either.

You tell him your decision, and wait for his disagreement, for him to dissuade you. But, he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he says.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to try my best.”

You cancel the appointment and make the final decision, but it doesn’t feel real until Joel finishes building the crib in the spare bedroom. The most unexpected part is how excited you feel even when you’re nauseous, even when your feet are bloated, even when your back is killing you.

You’re also terrified, particularly when you hear Maria’s account of her labor and delivery. For someone describing how painful it was, she seems oddly unfazed, happy even. She’s too focused on her baby boy, and you get it — he is pretty cute.

When the day comes, you find that you’ve underestimated the pain entirely. The wounds you’ve gotten in combat are nothing compared to this. Every hour that goes by feels like a full day for you. Every time the doctor checks your dilation it’s still not yet time.

Until it is. And everything becomes a million times more chaotic. You swear the only thing keeping you sane is Joel’s hand in yours. (You have to apologize later for squeezing it so tightly.)

Finally, the telltale cry comes, and it feels like you’ve run a marathon by how exhausted you are and by how proud you are of yourself for doing it. This will go down as the greatest feat of your life and you are more than satisfied with that fact.

The doctor announces that it’s a boy and though he said he’d be fine with either gender, Joel’s smile is wider than you’ve ever seen it. You’re smiling almost as big. It hurts your cheek muscles but you can’t stop, especially when they hand you your baby boy. Though he doesn’t know how to speak, his hand wrapped around your finger tells you that it’s going to be okay.

There is so much pain in this world, but not in this room.

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