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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year ago

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Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Escape the Friendzone 2/4 (Word count 5.3 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

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Massive arms go about her as she's pulled against a lean chest. It's an awkward, tense hug. He smells of open air and coppice, with a whiff of acrid sweat on top as she lays her head somewhere between the bumps of muscle of a warm chest.

Not even the body heat makes him appear more human: his heart is not pounding as fast as she thought it would after making it clear he would score some tonight.

She fears she's dealing with a sociopath. Might even be a psychopath.

"Are you still afraid?"

"I don't know." Her breaths are everything but steady as she inhales the intoxicating scent of a madman.

"Don't be scared. I will only hurt those who wish to hurt you."

His pledge renders her weak; it makes her legs shake. She gets far more than she bargained for when pulling him in to give her a little late-night comfort.

Friends with benefits is a situation bad enough, but this is not okay. The guy's fixation seems boundless, and if she tries to wriggle out of this… relationship and starts seeing someone else, it might end up in König scrubbing the potential future love interest's guts off his shoes.

And something in the idea isn't even wholly appalling.

Good God…

"I don't want you to hurt anyone," she whispers like it isn't his day-to-day job – to hurt and kill people. She is on the verge of collapsing to the floor and stays upright only because he holds her in authoritarian embrace.

"Little angel, it's what I do." He releases her only enough to bow his head and look into her eyes. His stare betrays slight distaste. Those eyes are calm mirrors of how can someone be so naive.

"You come to me if someone is mean to you," he orders in a stern voice that makes her feel faint.

"Alright," she breathes a fluent little lie. He's satisfied with her answer, however, and presses her head back against him with effortless control.

She imagines him knifing someone with a listless stare from sparing a glance her way; she fantasizes him strangling some chauvinistic moron in the darkness after they have been "mean" to her. Quickening breaths betray her sick thoughts to him because he pulls her even closer. She can feel the enormous cock pressing against her body with a promise of violence.

"Angel… I wish you would stop teasing me."

"Yeah?" Her laugh is restrained, and her heart is racing inside her chest – like it's some kind of a good idea to have a heart attack while a murderous psycho turning into a boyfriend is in the same room with her. "Where's the fun in that…?"

"Do you always tease men like this?"

"No," she swallows a mouthful of woodland and musk. "Just you."

"Hm."

"König… Can I see your face?"

The man finally seems to find his reserve again. He detaches from her, and she can hear the audible gulp inside the hood.

"Maybe later."

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other like he usually does when he's a bit nervous. Probably to ease the discomfort from still being forced into those pants with such an astoundingly large, swelling erection, too.

She can't come up with anything that might explain why the man is so uncomfortable with showing his face. From the small glimpse she saw in the showers, everything looked completely normal. There is some other reason why he wants to wear the mask, most likely some mental block, and she would simply have to wait until he's ready and willing to take it off.

"How about a kiss?"

He doesn't shake his head or escape her as she hesitantly steps toward him and raises a hand to the hem of his hood.

"If I just…"

He does nothing as she starts to raise the mask. The look in his eyes is somewhat haunted, though.

She lifts it just enough to reveal a clean-shaven chin and a pair of thin, tightly shut lips. She briefly notices that there's a scar on his jaw before his mouth opens to call her in. They're polar opposites of each other: she feels breathless and limp when their lips meet while he's a statue of rigid power. Even his mouth is tense as she catches his bottom lip between hers and tries to soften that immortal stiffness. Distant notes of hops catch her tongue just before he pulls her back into a crushing hug.

The guy is not the most perfect kisser. He's very avid, though. In fact, his eagerness is what makes it a scary experience, what makes the kiss clumsy. He smashes his lips on hers with force, then opens his mouth so wide she fears he will devour half her face.

The ungloved hands slide down her back and cup her ass. He's gentle, but she still feels like she's levitating, half an inch above the ground from his groping. He moans like they are already having sex, but before she can disconnect herself from the violent kiss, he does it for her.

"I want to fuck you," he pants across her lips, eyes half-lidded and drunk. "Can I fuck you?"

The man has no conception of how to dance these dances. He simply declares his wish to shove his junk inside her and kill those who might do her harm. She feels dizzy in his arms, like dew that will evaporate under too much heat.

"Yeah, yes," she tries to sound sane, although there's nothing sane about this.

So much for being just friends or being nothing at all…

Her heart is beating faster and faster; it wants to rend itself out of her chest. She feels ample sweat between her thighs, then realizes it's only her own wetness that has broken through the cotton of her underwear. The dress is so tight in the middle that she can't simply try and throw it over her head, and the buttons at the front seem to have suddenly become too big to slip through the holes.

He doesn't take any of his clothes off while watching her undress. The instant she opens her whimsical veil of blooms, he moves close and shoves the fabric down her shoulders so that it drops sadly on the floor. Then he flicks a knife out.

Shit… Shit what the fuck–

"No–Don't–!"

The blade is forced with a flat surface under the middle of her bra. He pulls the fabric away, turns the blade - it's a miracle she's not bleeding by the time he cuts through the center front like it's butter. Her breasts fall free, and the destroyed lingerie hangs cheaply on the side before it gets dragged away too. She looks at his work, her exposed tits and the crude, fat knife he swiftly returns to its sheath.

"That was my favorite br–ah…"

The man is terrifying, even when he sinks to his knees. He dives for her breasts, licks the undersides and sucks her nipples like he's famished. Her head rolls back, and she feels fainter still as he gropes her like she's his toy, chews a nipple until she shudders and cries in pain. Then he goes down, down, panting hot breaths on her skin as he goes, the hood grazing and tickling her skin.

His hands shake slightly as he tears down the last piece of covering fabric from between her legs. She can't even step out of the briefs before a blazing tongue is pushed to her clit, all but delicately.

Perhaps he's not a virgin, but he's not a veteran, either – still, it draws a filthy moan out of her.

She has to take support from his head to prevent herself from falling when the tongue simply forces its way between her legs. It curls to meet her folds, slick with her wet. She knows she's practically leaking at this point, and hears how he licks his lips.

"Of course the angel tastes like heaven too," he rasps in her mound, sounding rather… bitter. Almost annoyed.

She thinks it's only the beginning, but he suddenly rises like a Kraken from the sea, like a Godzilla about to destroy an entire city.

"Get on the bed. All fours."

She chokes the whimper that tries to escape her, then turns and crawls onto the bed as if they are running out of time. His urgency is hers now, and she presents herself to him, waiting for the man to thrust in without remorse, but it's his mouth she feels first.

"Uh–Oh my god…"

He licks her with a flat tongue, torturously slow while she's on display. They're long, profound sweeps, as if he wants to sample her rather than give her pleasure. Although he does give her an immense amount of it.

She falls on her elbows, face down on the bed, exposing more of herself to him in the process. Her pussy has been neglected for so long that the feel of his hot tongue on her is absolutely breathtaking, thigh-shaking. She pushes herself back a little, lets him taste his own medicine for once.

And of course it only makes him more unhinged.

"You're wet like a…" he laughs a short, dry laugh straight into her folds, and she finally whimpers at the sound. "You want it so bad?"

"Yes…?"

It's a sad little confession but more than enough for him. He freezes behind her, and something in the way the air shifts tells her he has risen and is now standing high above her as she's in this crudely vulnerable position.

"I've made you wet this whole time?"

She snivels, opens her eyes, closes them…

"Yes," she sobs in the bed, nearly topples, but he grabs her ass and keeps her in place.

"Ach du lieber Himmel…"

She pants and cries in the sheets, but the sobering silence lasts only for so long.

The sound of a belt being opened shoots her skin full of goosebumps. Only a few seconds later, the fat tip of his cock is swept across her folds: it probes for a second, then slides in.

"A-ah–"

"Scheiße… So tight…"

He hisses and goes all the way in – the journey is long and torturous as he stretches her wide. The thickness only grows at the base, his balls are already tight as they arrive to press against her.

And mercy is not at the top of his list as he realizes she has denied her need and therefore, his. He starts to sail inside her, back and forth, in and out, like it's his job, too. It's total torture. She might just pass out before this is over.

"You little tease…" He seizes control of her hips while using her as his own personal fleshlight. The noise of wet, slick fucking is deafening. The pace is upped soon, and he has to use strength to hold her in place while ramming her from standing while she tries to hold on for her dear life and hold onto the sheets.

"Not so fast, König," she whimpers into her pillow, but he won't listen. The pace is frantic, and his thrusts are deep; he fucks her with despair, with anguish-driven, starved thrusts born from greed.

Nothing has ever felt so good, nothing.

"Just friends, eh?"

She has a hard time deciphering whether he is happy or mad. His voice is pitchy, and she knows, she just knows that he sounds equally as unglued on his missions. Perhaps that's why people rarely talk to him.

"Don't–don't be angry…"

"No? Say that you want me," he commands somewhere behind her, desperation coating the air with pungent sweat and musky arousal. "Say it–say it–"

"I want you," she finally cries, and it feels like an absolution. An amnesty. Remission of sin.

There's panting and frantic sound of slaps of flesh against flesh behind her. The air all around is pure electricity. It makes her quiver and throb and squeeze: him, the sheets, anything and everything.

"I will bring you flowers every morning and fuck you every night. Ja?"

His length is the only thing she can focus on; all else dissolves into a hazy mist. The cock glides in her like he's oiling a gun part, and he could ask her to kill someone and she would only say–

"Yes, yes."

He slides in and out with less and less control, moans and grunts with every thrust now. She's already past the point of no return, even though the orgasm keeps hovering right beyond her reach. She only needs a few more minutes. Or maybe just one...

"König… Not...so–fast…"

He answers something in German, an annoyed string of words she has no clue what they mean. He's probably just swearing profoundly.

"Get...what you deserve..."

That's the only thing she can flesh out from the English that follows. He finally finds some mercy with a choked groan and tries to slow down a little. It's even worse when he does that. He pulls almost completely out, then sinks back in, agonizingly lazy, and that does it: the full length of his giant cock slipping inside her without effort makes her walls clench.

"Oh God…" Her back is arching, her toes are curling, a tight cry disappears somewhere in the pillow, and he won't stop with the – "Oh–fuck–!"

"Yeah," he cheers her on as she screams, cries in the sheets while his cock swims in her. His hands dig into her hips, and she barely has brains left to think it might leave bruises. The orgasm comes in waves, shakes, and he won't let go even when she's only a heap of throbbing, soaking flesh and rapture.

And it's not the end; quite the contrary. He continues to fuck her with abandon: balls slap against her with every jab; they must be covered in her juice at this point, making the sound of sloppy thrusts utterly obscene. She's able to stay in a face-down, ass-up position only because he's holding her there for his cock.

The grunts turn into a wide, thick groan as he approaches the edge as well. The pace slows down almost to a halt before he comes.

"Jetzt…kommt–" he groans through gritted teeth, voice all taut while he grinds through his release. It's a multitude of deep, oddly paced thrusts, a sad attempt to get everything he can, and she's still like a wet gulf sucking him in.

The last throes are sluggish, the madness starts to pass, and she feels like every bone has left her body. There is nothing solid left when the man slowly relents and settles somewhere deep inside her. She can hear how he pants with his mouth open, and it sounds painful, wet, almost drooly. Then he swallows with a breathless gulp, slips out, and lets her go.

She immediately falls forward - topples, crashes, crawls on the bed, tries to rearrange what's left.

Just friends...

Yep.

He crashes somewhere beside her, spent and out of breath. The front of his shirt is covered in sweat; the air is filled with the stale scent of musk and saline sweat and pure, mad sex. She can barely catch a glimpse of the slick, glistening length of him. It feels like a miracle that this thing has been inside her. It’s not that it’s monstrously thick: it’s simply long, curving a little to the side, lean and aggressive even when growing soft.

"You play with fire, Engel. Why did you make me wait so long?"

The masked killer beside her is panting but satisfied for now, and turns his head to look at her. She has to muster all her courage to look back.

"I'm…a bit shy."

"You're perfect," he declares while watching her in her sex daze and ruin. So, at least he's not angry. He finally looks… normal, even with that absurd hood still on, with that intoxicated, admiring stare in his eyes. The ice in his blues has turned into melting snow.

"I noticed you the minute I arrived here."

She can't prevent a hand from reaching out at that, from splaying fingers over his chest.

"I noticed you too," she whispers back before moving closer to snuggle him. His heart is finally thumping in his chest, right under her cheek – from the late exercise or their closeness, she can't tell. A heavy arm goes around her, pressing her further into the nook of his armpit.

"You remind me of one of my knives," he says while holding her close.

Oh good God…

"You are a butterfly knife girl."

"Oh?"

"Ja. Small and cute and a lot of fun. And I can't get enough of you."

So much for getting rid of the man after getting some d. God, what was wrong with her? Any other woman would have put up some boundaries, perhaps gotten a restraining order by now.

"Is it… a good knife?" Her voice comes out as an annoying squeal, and he pulls her closer, ever closer.

"I mainly use it for playing."

She wets her lips in an attempt to calm herself, to comfort herself. She’s just another plaything for a murderer whose hunger seems endless, even if he’s more civil now. Still, she fears this man is only after sex and violence. Her little dresses and petite lingerie won't stand a chance against such brutality.

"What knife are you…?"

"Classic Glock field knife. Tall and ugly."

Behind the thin veil of indifference, there's pride. It borders on arrogance. She catches a dash of bitterness, too: field knives don't pair well with butterflies, perhaps.

"König, you're not ugly," she breaks their odd cuddle to look at him. "This sounds like a trustworthy knife to me."

He looks back at her with an even warmer tinge to the glacier of his eyes.

"It is. You cannot hope for a more loyal blade."

Her gaze drops somewhere in the darkness of his shirt. He's pledging himself for the second time to her, and it causes another storm inside her head. There's warmth on her cheeks, too.

"You are cute when you blush," he observes with pleased tranquility.

Perhaps... Perhaps he doesn't want to hurt things he finds cute.

Perhaps he will take care of them, like he takes care of his knives.

It still takes some getting used to that he allows his hood to be lifted just enough to push his tongue inside her mouth or pussy but taking it off to show his face is too much. She is lying there with him in an odd post-coital dream, thoroughly naked while he's still fully dressed. But she doesn't feel cold, not when pressed against his blazing form like this.

"Did you nick my underwear?" She asks out of the blue, and the hand stroking her waist stops in the middle of an idle caress.

"I might have," he admits without a single ounce of remorse in his voice.

"König… That's not cool," she says, knowing he can hear the lack of scolding in her voice.

"You want them back?"

"I… Gosh. Yes, that would be nice."

What a pervert.

"Or... Nevermind. Keep them," she sighs, trying to brush off the fact that the underwear in question wasn't even clean. "Do you steal women's underwear often?"

"No. Just yours."

A laugh meant to convey her shock is far too laced with joy to make it clear that she finds his deeds preposterous. She simply fails at every turn in trying to express that she's a decent woman. He knows it now, probably saw it long ago; that she's the perfect cheval glass to his perversions.

The hand on her hips moves to caress her thigh, and the drowsy stare observes her with growing mischief.

"Ready to go again?"

"Whuh–Again…?"

He takes her hand and moves it right over his cock. It's lean and demanding, and pulses under her palm.

Tall and ugly, she thinks while her walls dare to throb with hunger.

"You make me hard," he says, almost as a whisper, "all the time."

Jesus… There was definitely no rulebook when it came to this guy.

She gets to watch from the bed how he gives her a show as the man finally decides it's time to take his clothes off. The shirt is the first one to go: it flies somewhere on the floor while he holds on to his hood. The sculpted muscle looks even bigger up close, and the plates are covered with thin hair. It runs thicker below the navel, and his thighs are pure power: they surround the sleek length of his cock like trunks of strength when he finally gets himself out of those pants.

The v-shape of his upper body is something she will never get over. Broad shoulders shrink and curve into narrow hips which in turn swell into powerful thighs, and while perhaps this guy wouldn't win the gold medal at a fitness competition – judged by the way he's lean and athletic but not low fat ripped – he certainly is the most beautiful man she has ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on. He's a demigod with his herculean strength, a titan who's too big for the world of mortals. A tormented Samson who will never be tamed with treachery or tricks.

The bed sags as he crawls back to her like the gentlest predator. Her legs open wide to receive him – a classic missionary feels like the most intimate choice after the faceless pounding she received earlier. He gathers her legs as he proceeds: forces them up, up, almost next to her arms until he's hovering over her exposed pussy.

She should've known that some boring missionary wouldn't satisfy this man at all.

Her eyes drop to her legs and what's between them: she's in no position to do much of anything, but as the tip of his cock – smooth, pristine velvet – slides across her wet folds once more, she rather helplessly tries to drive her hips up to meet him.

It's like she's drunk or in a dream. The scene is wild and filthy: she's plump and spread open, ready for the taking, thighs almost in her ears as he draws his hips back and finds her opening.

"Please be gentle," she begs with a whisper. He halts for a while to lock gazes with her rabbit stare.

"You are pretty when you beg, little one. But I would never hurt you."

She swallows, and her lips part – his gaze instantly falls on her mouth, then raises back to her eyes, gentle and painstakingly ardent. He's close, so terribly close – and not just physically. Her thighs quiver with anticipation as the thick velvet slides in.

Holy fuck–

She savors the spread, and he's gentle, like he promised. The groan that erupts from inside the hood above makes her walls ache. He's so merciful this time, and she wishes to lift the black veil that still keeps them apart, to see his face as he takes her, to see that scar on his jaw and how his mouth hangs open with hunger, just like hers…

His cock comes out all wet – she can hear it – before plunging right back in, and it makes her mewl.

"Oh God…" Her eyes shut tight from the sensation of being so filled. She's even more starved than she thought. It's scary, far scarier than the mass murderer above and inside her.

"You like that?"

He's breathing heavy, and she knows he's looking at her, the distorting face of pleasure, the way she's biting her lip. Tears try to force themselves out from the passionate, featherbrained proximity, from being so tightly knitted together, like a bunch of happy, overstimulated nerves.

"Look at me," he orders, and she opens her eyes like they're under his command and not hers.

"You like it like this?"

She nods with tears in her eyes, and he won't stop looking at her like she's his most prized possession.

"Gut. I will make you scream again."

The man's dreamy stare follows every twitch of a lip, every bat of an eyelash. She looks down briefly to escape that love – the sight of the long thickness disappearing in her while she is so crudely open for him makes her feel dizzy, even when she's lying down.

Some pillow princess…

"Sehr schön," he comments while watching her face which must look like that of a dumb, anesthetized doll. His cock has that effect, and now that he's hovering over her, staring into her soul while filling her, it makes everything even more painful because it's sweet. She's under lazy waves, and decent men seem the most boring thing on earth right now.

"You like my knives?"

"Ah–what…?"

"You stared when I played with my knife."

She knows he has caught her staring more than once and bites her lip again not to blurt out how she had stared when he had played with... other things as well.

"Mh, yeah… It was beautiful."

"You're beautiful."

The sudden waves of intimacy leave her fragile and weak. His stare is nothing short of a caress. She is open and helpless for him to pound to his heart's content, but he's gentle, bordering on loving...

"I can teach you how to play with them."

Jesus Christ, this dude is just crazy.

"Uh-huh," she agrees to it with her mouth hanging open from the overload of sensation. The lewd sound of his cum pushing out of her with every thrust is an obscene background music for this – or any – conversation.

"I have a collection."

Why the hell would he be talking about his knife collection in the middle of–

"I own at least fifty knives. I can show you all of them if you come to my room."

His gaze is at least as piercing as his cock, and she realizes how serious this is: knives are his life. He finds them beautiful too, he collects them and cares for them. They're a profession, but they're also the most important thing in his world.

Knives are his essence.

And he had likened her to a butterfly knife...

"S-sure."

The sound from where they are joined rises to a sluggish crescendo: drowsy, filthy claps of flesh on soaked flesh. He makes her sick and well at the same time: he drags her to hell and raises her to heaven. He's the remedy and the curse. He plays with her like he plays with his knives: ravenous, entranced, obsessed.

She tries to concentrate on too many things at once: that intoxicating voice, the memory of him playing with death, the cock plunging inside her over and over again, making warmth pool below. She imagines him killing people with his collection, picking his tool for the day. He's not the only lunatic here because even the very thought makes her tight around him.

"You are close?"

"König… Just–" she whispers on the cusp of a deeper, soul-rending orgasm.

"You like it when I talk about knives?"

She breathes laboriously and tries to hang onto the last bits of her sanity, but he knows her, knows her already. He weighs down on her until her thighs come to rest right next to her breasts. He's plowing her in a crude angle, indecent and deep. It's vulgar, and she loves it; loves the way he stares at her, all helpless under him.

"Please, I'm gonna–"

"I can show you my guns too."

Ohmygod–

"I'm gonn–ah–!"

She shatters, her walls clench; her pussy sucks him like he's hard candy.

“Sieh dir das an… You were made for me.”

"Nh– Please…"

Her head tosses on the pillow as if in a dream. She's fathomless, and going to pass out, the cock inside her makes her eyes roll back in her head until she sees white, the color of saints.

"Shy girl… Beg for it."

The voice that answers his command is not that of a shy girl; it's not hers at all. She hears it from underwater, and her reality consists solely of the man filling her, spreading her, transforming her from an angel into something deliciously wicked.

Please, just–

It's not her voice, and yet it does sound everything like her. It begs, mewls a plea after the other in a string of helpless little whimpers.

Don't stop, please pleaseplease…

"Besser als jedes Messer…" he rasps, more darkly now. "You drive me crazy, Engel."

A chant arises in her head: she has sinned and there's no turning back. He feels far better than any promise of heaven. She could never have guessed that being cast out would feel so good.

His release comes with a tight rip, he goes taut like in that shower, only ten times more desperate. The hiss under the hood turns into a pained, strained roar of a grunt. The first time was foreplay, a quick one: this is true release. She almost hopes she would faint as the whole body of the Austrian titan goes hard as a rock. She couldn't be more spent and used, and still, her pussy answers his godly essence by clenching around him, pulling him in like he's the best man there is.

The man of her dreams, the man from her worst nightmares...

His eyes are liquid, the waterline twitches. She sees behind the walls, a millisecond's worth of fragility before his head drops, and the muscles are released from the violent trance. Broad shoulders cage her in like she's suddenly deep inside a mountain pass. Spent and dead and gone, there's no hurry any longer: he is buried deep inside and throbs whatever leftovers he has to give her.

She's filled to the brim, crushed under his weight, banished: and it's only delicious, the feeling of her body disappearing somewhere in the depths of the bed he has plowed her into. She waits dutifully as the man gathers himself, even gets brave enough to touch him. The masked face is buried somewhere in her neck, and his stomach ripples with a few shivers as her hand runs down his spine.

"I want to do this every day," he declares softly while panting through the thick fabric of his self-made shield. She feels pure horror and thrill in her chest.

To do this every day… She will eventually break, like a toy that has been used too much. She's not made of steel like those butterfly knives used mainly for playing.

"König, this is crazy… We're crazy," she tries to put into words the unholy mess raging inside her. He snorts before releasing her from the absurd position. The weight of him leaves her empty as he pulls out, then drags his way beside her to gather her back into his arms.

"Don't be ashamed, little one," he coos through the mask. "You don't have to pretend with me."

Two rounds of intense sex have liberated him, the manic terror has turned into a strange compassion. The look in his eyes is magnanimous and tender, almost droopy. She feels weightless and timid, an angel once more.

"We belong together, you and I," he states with conviction that sends sweet dread inside her heart. "Don't worry. You will never be lonely again."

Her fate is sealed, and she fears a big, fat knife will cut her heartstrings too if she tries to escape his protection. Her jaw trembles at the prospect of him returning to her every day to fuck her bare after an adrenaline high on the field. She sees a future of tears and sweat and cum, a beast lulled into sleep amidst a withering sea of flowers and torn lace.

She tries to find the right words, hopes he will be swift and merciful in his execution.

König, please…

It's not the hood, it's–

"Everyone fears me," he sighs beside her. "I'm glad you don't."

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sauronxgaladriel · 5 months ago

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Haladriel Library

Saurondriel/Haladriel Fanfic Recommendations. Some of these stories could fit into multiple categories. If you have any more recommendations feel free to add them!

Marriage

Shadow-Bride by eye_of_a_cat

Bridesprice by FormerlyIR (Irony_Rocks), Irony_Rocks

Poison & Wine by Coraleeveritas

Galadriel takes longer to discover Sauron's identity

no matter how many skies have fallen by stitchingatthecircuitboard

A man is a god in ruins by eye_of_a_cat

Queen of the Southlands by FormerlyIR

Galadriel Says Yes

The House That Fire Built by Ready_For_The_Laughing_Gas

dig up the bones (but leave the soul alone) by Wyrd_Syster

Gilded by eye_of_a_cat

And white winter, on its knees by eye_of_a_cat

The Trials of Mairon by EllieCarina

Mortal Laws by Helholden

A Portion of Thyself by Frotu

Reforged in the Making by FormerlyIR (Irony_Rocks)

Fabricated by Frotu

Canon Divergence/Reimagining of S1 and onwards

I could be your king by cliffdiving

The Tides of Fate by fireheart321

In Case of Defeat, Break Glass by eastwynds

that i may rise and stand, o'erthrow me by mortaltemples

Five times Halbrand's secret got revealed by eye_of_a_cat

Across That Fine Line by MyrsineMezzo

Instruments of Salvation by Scriberated

a fair form by properhaunt

Autocorrelation by EisforEverything

The Return of the Queen by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

A Feast of Starlight by TheLightofArwyn

Supernatural Creature AU

should have known better by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo) (Witch/Demon AU)

Wild Magic by Scriberated (Witch/God)

Storm Tides & Weaving Threads by elssiie (Siren AU)

just a taste by stardustspell (Vampire AU)

Haladriel meet before TROP

Spark, Ignite, Burn by cliffdiving

our souls were made from the stars by silverwing12 (Deleted)

Necessity's Bargain by Scriberated

Though the Gods and the Years Relent, Shall Be by Helholden

determination is the cure (for longing) by downtheroadandupthehill

where the spirit meets the bones by kangaroopaws

people throw rocks at things that shine by ophidion

Pick a star, and follow it home by CloudlySkies124

Hades Persephone Vibes

Beasts of the Hill and Serpents of the Den by Helholden

a dust like thine by mortaltemples

One-Shots

Unsired by shady-swan-jones (sweetleaf), sweetleaf

the light of his eyes by eastwynds

now dark, now glittering by mortaltemples

In the Shadow of Your Heart by mzladybird

i cannot heave my heart into my mouth by fallofrain

this love is glowing in the dark by Orcas86

we could just kiss, like real people do by justatinycollector

a millstone around my neck by mortaltemples

the nameless by bimmyou

next time by you_wear_fine_things_well

ouroboros by Amuria

Pregnancy/Parenthood

Light and Power by chronicallyexhaustedwriter

shining like a fiery beacon by ophidion

A Blessing of Eru by Scriberated

mitosis by Orcas86

Darkness Bound by no_more_doubt

Smut

A Stressed Tiding by FormerlyIR (Irony_Rocks), Irony_Rocks

this love is glowing in the dark by Orcas86

Buried in Bone by Invisible_Hand

Riptide by makeshiftdraco

Perfection by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

like magnets work, only drawn to thee by audreystark

To Follow the Light by Thrill_of_hope

A Moment of Honesty by Draconic_Grace

Dream Within a Dream by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

bind yourself to me by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

Dream Within a Dream by Nenya Business (Cec_Jo)

Lady of the Seas by eye_of_a_cat

Dark/Dead Dove

all your pain will end here by poeticmemory

Land of Enchantment by EisforEverything

perle by emphemeron

Glanduin Kiss by Anonymous

The Cost of Victory by EisforEverything

what you and i have wrought by thefudge

what heart's ease by fallofrain

Sauron as Annatar

hold her head above the water by Orcas86

next time by you_wear_fine_things_well

the light of his eyes by eastwynds

Contaminate by Frotu

#haladriel #saurondriel #halbrand x galadriel #galadriel x sauron #this list is maaaainly for my own use but i thought id share xD #more to add later #im prowling for more fics to devour #trop #the rings of power

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buckyalpine · 1 year ago

Note

Hello and hope you are doing well!! I was wondering if you could do smut story where the reader get more than she bargained for when telling Bucky that his dark side could do a better job at certain things. Also your stories are amazing ❤️🖤

Bucky gives you what you ask

YESSS. Thank you bb, Im so sorry this took forever and I hope you see this, I loved this so much. And as always I got so lost in it. Good God. He is dirty, dirty here.

You loved the way Bucky loved you. He was so soft, gentle, took care of all your needs without leaving behind a single mark on your delicate skin. Bucky was nothing more than a soft sweet thing, slowly getting back into his boyish 40's charm, a gentleman at all times. If you didn't know about his past, you would've never guessed he'd have another side to him.

But you'd seen the shift in his demeanor whenever he'd train in the gym and even more so when he was out on the field. The way his eyes would narrow with laser like focus when hitting his targets, the way he wouldn't flinch when putting a bullet between their eyes. His face would be expressionless when his metal arm would wrap around their throat, slowly draining life out of them, parts of the Winter Soldier still running deep in his veins.

And how badly you craved to have that side of him take you apart.

"What is it sweets" Bucky watched you fidget with the buckles of his tac suit, helping him undress after he'd just returned after a mission. There was something about him in his all black straps, leather and weapons that made your knees weak. It didn't help that his beard had started to fill out, the ends of his hair starting to curl at the nape of his neck. "You okay?"

You adore how attentive he is even when he's exhausted after weeks away from home but you wished just for once, he'd choke you with his metal arm instead of just hugging you with it.

"I want-" You paused for a second before continuing, "I want more"

"More of what doll" Bucky's wide puppy eyes were filled with worry; he made sure to always pay attention to your needs and he'd do anything to make you happy. "Tell me, you know I'd do anything"

"Just- take more control, be more rough with me" You weren't sure how you wanted to explain yourself but your body knew exactly what it needed, growing hotter by the second the longer he stood there in his tac suit before you. He let out a soft chuckle when he realized what you meant, laying down his knifes off to the side on the dressed.

"I had you moaning my name before I left doll" Bucky playfully rolled his eyes while you huffed, your sexual frustration only growing more when he tossed off his Kevlar leaving him in his tight black tshirt.

"Well the Winter Solider would have me screaming" You shrug, not noticing the way Bucky froze, now staring at you without blinking. "I think that side of you would do a better job at certain things, Buck"

"You don't want to see that side of me sweets" Bucky tried to keep his voice neutral, ignoring the way his cock was already throbbing in his pants, straining painfully against the thick fabric.

"But what if I do?" you challenged back, taking a step back when he moved forward, slowly backing you against the wall of your shared bedroom.

"Doll..." He warned, squeezing his eyes shut trying to collect himself, his fingers twitching at his sides. "That's not a good idea"

"Why not, think the Winter Soldier wouldn't be able to make me feel as good?" You added a taunt to your voice, hoping to rile him up, his chest now nearly pressing against yours, caging you against the wall.

"Is that so" Bucky tested the water slowly, still wanting to give you an out if you needed one because he wasn't going to be able to hold back once he started. You nodded, heart hammering against your chest as he took in a deep breath, his jaw clenched.

"As you wish sweets" He whispered by your ear, the tip of his cool metal knife suddenly pressing against your throat. Your eyes grew wide at the fact that he'd slipped it into his hand so swiftly, you hadn't noticed. "If you want me to stop, say Brooklyn, understand?"

"Yes" You squeaked, while he dragged it till it rested under your chin, tilting your head up to look meet his darkened eyes. Without a word, he sliced down your blouse, ripping away at the material that caught in the middle. He didn't give you a chance to speak, his hands grabbing the edges of your bra, splitting it into two before tearing your leggings into pieces next.

You were complete naked within seconds, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze, still fully dressed himself. Bucky had seen you naked countless times, in fact you'd change in front of him without a care in the world, always giggling at the cute blush he'd have on his cheeks.

But this wasn't the same.

Not even the slightest.

He tossed you over his shoulder and threw you on the bed letting you bounce off the mattress while he stood at the edge.

"Spread your legs"

It wasn't a request. It was a demand.

Bucky looked like he wanted to devour you. This was the same man that had his head between your legs more times than you could count but he was staring at you like he'd never seen you before. You shrunk back, squeezing your thighs together at the low growl he made, grasping your ankles and splitting them apart till you were completely exposed to him, your wet folds giving away how turned on you were. He fumbled with the button of his pants, unzipping them and pulling them down just enough to free his cock, his palm and fingers swiping up your pussy to gather you slick, slathering it over his erection.

"Such a pretty baby with such a pretty pussy"

You bit back a whine as he started to jerk his cock, circling the tip with his thumb, spreading his own arousal around. He took a step back to admire you, his eyes shamelessly raking up and down till he was satisfied with his fill. He moved to lay on top of you, his nose trailing along the column of your neck, inhaling your soft scent. There was something so feral about him, you stayed frozen in place while his hands found their way to your waist, squeezing the soft flesh.

"I'll show you exactly what you've been missing out on" He nipping your earlobe before crawling off you again to throw off the rest of his clothes. "God, I've wanted this for so long"

There was no prep, no foreplay, no soft kisses and sweet words. Bucky grabbed your hips, manhandling you till your face was pressed against the mattress, his swollen cockhead prodding at your fluttering pussy. He let out a dark chuckle, swiping his cock up and down through your folds, pressing his tip against your clit.

"Bucky, fuck me" You were desperate to feel him inside you, wiggling your hips as best as you could to get him to push it in you but you were instead met with a harsh slap to your ass, the cool metal making your skin sting.

"Impatient little slut" He shook his head, taking both your wrists and twisting them behind your back, He held them in one hand while the other snaked up tp grab your hair, tugging it tight from the roots. "Beg. Beg me to fuck you"

"P-Please Bucky, want it!"

"You want who to fuck you princess, say it, tell me exactly whose cock you want to ruin you"

"Yours soldat, please, want you, please fuck me solda-FUCKK" Bucky slammed his cock into you without warning, setting in a brutal pace that had you gasping for air. His balls smacked you with each thrust, the grip he had on your wrists and hair tightening for better leverage.

"I fuck needed this" His head was thrown back, his thighs meeting the back of yours as he fucked you harder than ever before, the squelching of your pussy making a sticky, dirty mess all over him. "You have no. Fucking. Idea. how fucking hard is it every time I fuck you"

His words were punctuated with harsh thrusts, growling at the way you'd already started to flutter around him as he hit your cervix. Your jaw was slack from surprise and pleasure, pathetic moans and whimpers replacing your words.

"Do you? Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to hold back kotenok? How hard is it for me to not fuck your brains out when I'm deep in such a tight pussy? How badly I want to rail you, YA tak dolgo khotel tebya trakhnut" [I wanted to fuck you so hard for so long]

You'd never hard Bucky speak Russian, not once but his filthy mouth didn't stop as he continued to rail you, foreign curses dripping from his mouth.

"You think I'm such a gentleman don't you, huh? You remember the first time we had sex princess? how I made love to you? How slow it was, how you moaned when I put my cock in you for the first time?"

"Y-yes" Your body was slack against the bed, only held up because Bucky was gripping onto you with a bruising hold.

"I made love to you that night, didn't I. But I like to fuck baby, especially you, I've wanted to fuck this pussy for so long, ruin it all just for me"

You were suddenly flipped over again, whining when you felt empty, only to be filled right back up again seconds later when Bucky laid on his back, pulling you to straddle on top of him. He planted his feet against the mattress, not giving you a chance to move, fucking up into you, the angle of his hips rubbing against that sensitive spot inside you.

"Oh-oh f-fuckk" tears streamed down your face as he tweaked your nipples between his fingers before wrapping his hand around your throat. He muffled your sobs, slipping his thumb between your lips, shoving it down your mouth till you drooled.

"You look so pretty when you cry kotenok, is it too much?" He taunted, squeezing your throat tighter, "Don't think I haven't noticed the way you stare at my arm princess, I always knew you were a needy little slut deep down You wanted this though, hm? Wanted my fat cock to ruin you till you wouldn't be able to walk?"

"I-oh god-fe-els good I-gonna cummm" You could barely formulate sentence, practically squealing when Bucky rolled over once again, this time tossing your legs over his shoulders, his hand snaking down to rub your swollen clit.

"Gonna cum, are you princess? Who do you belong to, say it, who fucks you this good?!"

"Y-You Bu-"

A harsh slap to your cheek made your pussy clench, Bucky's blue eyes dilated to rings, a feral expression his face as he smacked your face once more making you sob out of pleasure again.

"That's not whose fucking right now you is it?! Tell me, say it"

"YOU SOLDAT" You wailed as he continued to thrust into your puffy, overstimulated pussy, getting his teeth, grabbing onto the headboard as it slammed against the wall.

"That's right kotenok, you belong to him now" Bucky let his body weight fall onto you, bringing his knees up and pounding you deep against the bed, his own pace growing sloppy, balls pulling tighter towards his body. "Gonna give you all of his cum sweets, gonna fill this slutty desperate cunt with all of my cum, that's what you want isn't it? To be a little cum dump for the Winter Soldier?"

Bucky's mind went somewhere else, back to the first time he'd seen you, still as the Soldier, back when the team first discovered him. Back when his brain was fried but you had remined seared in his mind. Back when his mission was to finish you but some part deep down inside him wanted something else he didn't understand.

"God, where were you all those nights I had to touch myself alone, when I needed something warm and tight to cum in? huh? Bet you didn't know that huh princess? didn't know that the Soldier lusted after the pretty bunny that tried to take him down?"

Your eyes grew wide at his confession, pleasure desperate to snap within seconds.

"Did you know the winter soldier wanted to fuck you bunny? Did you know he'd jerk off when no one was watching? Had no idea what was going on Bunny, just remember my cock aching so bad, leaking so damn much. Nothing made it better until I touched myself. Didn't even know what I was doing, just fucked my fist while I thought about how pretty you looked in that tac suit, came all over my sheets like a little boy"

"I-fuck-Can-can I cum soldat?" You clung onto him, whimpering at the way you had to desperately hold back from gushing all over the sheets, his words too much, you couldn't take it any more.

"Go a head and cum princess, takoy khoroshiy kotonok" [such a good little kitten] He nipped up your neck, rubbing your clit faster, moaning with you as you started to cum around his cock. His movements didn't stop, fucking you through your high till your body jolted under him, the smell of sex heavy in the room.

"S-S'too much" You hiccupped while Bucky continued to fuck you like a man with no morals.

"Too much? It's too much for you kitten? Don't worry, gonna fill you up so good baby, where, where do you want to soldat to cum?!"

"Inside!" You cried out, locking your ankles around his waist, your slurred sob turned into a guttural moan when he pinched your clit between his fingers.

"Here it comes kotenok, got so much cum for you, it's gonna drip baby, get ready, here it comes, here it fuckin' comes- OH FUUCCKKK" Bucky roared against your neck before stilling, his cock throbbing and twitching, hot seeding feeling you up till it leaked. You were practically floating, too fucked out to realize He'd gently gotten off you and cradled you close.

"Are you okay pretty girl?" Bucky cooed, snapping back into the sweetheart that he was, the switch over leaving you reeling with your eyes still crossed. "My poor baby"

Bucky chuckled at your dazed expression, cuddling you up to his chest, caressing your sweat slicked skin.

"Come back to me princess" He pulled the covers up to warm you up in his arms, resting you carefully against the pillows. "My good girl, you did so good for me angel, m'so proud of you, so good"

You whimpered in response, curling up against him, your body still jolting and pulsing.

"Was it too much angel?" His brows furrowed with concern, cupping your cheek to look at him. He kissed away the now dry tear tracks that stained your face, his thumb swiping over your hot skin.

"Never" You rasped out, your voice raw from screaming, "Was perfect Soldat"

"You're perfect angel" Bucky grinned, stroking your spine while you continued to snuggle into him, his cock already twitching at the thought of another round. "My perfect little kotenok"

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disneyprincemuke · 7 months ago

Text

you don't get to tell me about sad * fem!driver

outtakes of her year that i didn't know where to fit lol so this is the last(ish) angst installment

pairings: sebastian vettel x fem!driver, max verstappen x fem!driver

notes: iM BACK BABYYY

(series masterlist) | (📂 2025: fall from grace)

(prev)

so she runs from her garage again. just another weekend where everything has skewed from what was discussed and there is no reasoning to be done.

she finished the race damn near last over a pitstop that ran longer than it should have.

the minute sebastian could not spew an excuse she would hear out was the minute she stopped listening to him during the race. and honestly, it was the only way she could salvage not finishing last of the pack.

“let’s talk about it,” sebastian says, hurriedly chasing her down as she storms into the racing home, her presence immediately silencing the chatter in the room. “let me talk you through what happened. it’s not your fault.”

“i know it’s not!” her distress is made known, echoing in the air of the room. she stops in her tracks and turns to face sebastian still by the door, flinching back. “how could that be my fault? i was doing my end of the bargain as a driver!”

he takes a deep breath. “rocky, just listen to me, okay?”

“it’s not fair! none of this weekend was my fault!” she shrieks, turning back around and trudging up the stairs loudly. “the team fucked me over, that’s what happened! i can’t possibly think of a reason you could come up with to excuse what happened!”

“i’m not excusing it, i’m just–”

“oh, god, sebastian!” she stomps her foot on the ground to demand sebastian’s attention. which surprisingly works. “just admit it — the team fucked me over. point blank period, that’s literally what happened.”

sebastian sucks in a deep breath. “yes, we did. and we’re extremely sorry. but–”

“’but’ again,” she laughs dryly, rolling her eyes. she makes a sharp turn for her driver’s room and holds a hand up to stop the step he tries to take towards her. “take your apology to the headlines being drafted about me as we go in circles over this, sebastian.”

“you know i’m not breaking up with you,” matt says amidst the silence that they’ve been sitting in as he packs his bag. “i just need a break.”

“from me,” she points out shakily, dropping her head low.

“from this cycle.” he lifts his head and sits back to look at her.

she sits on the edge of her bed, feet hovering slightly over the floor. she watches her feet swing slightly, counting in her head, desperate not to lose the last remaining sanity she feels she has.

initially, she sat in the vacant room in tears, refusing to watch him pack up to leave her all alone in her apartment. she wallowed in her woes in a dark corner before she eventually dragged herself back into her bedroom.

she’s been sitting here watching him in silence ever since, trying to find the words in her head to say something to him.

maybe he’ll change his mind; maybe he’ll stay if she says the right thing.

“yeah, i get that.”

“i don’t think you do.” he stands from his position on the ground and walks over to her on the bed. he takes the empty spot next to her, resting his hand above hers that grips the mattress tightly. he feels her grip loosen slightly. “i still love you, bub.”

she shakes her head with a sigh. “i would have stopped a long time ago if i were you. i’m not very nice.”

“it doesn’t work like that,” he squeezes her hand, “you’re having a hard time. i get that and it’s okay. but i want you to want the help i’m giving you. i’m not going to force it on you if you’re just going to keep pushing me away when i try.”

“i don’t know why i keep doing that,” she admits with a scoff. she drops her back on the bed behind her and looks up at the ceiling of her bedroom. “i’m not usually like this, i promise. i’m better than this.”

“i know.” matt mirrors her actions and drops himself on the mattress.

she wants to say she’s sorry and that she’s thankful for him sticking around longer than he had to. it’s at the edge of her tongue but she simply cannot get herself to admit that she’s wrong. that perhaps this time, someone is finally right about her.

“do you, really?” she hums, “i’m the worst.”

“i think you should give yourself a little more credit,” he sighs, reaching out for her hand again. this time, she moves her hand away before he can grab it. “i’ll come home soon, okay? i’ll come back for you, i promise.”

she repeats in her head the gameplan she’d drafted with sebastian. the one that seemed so foolproof all weekend that made her believe she could turn it all around.

instead, she’s standing on the grass next to her wrecked car, another unfortunate mishap she’s sure would make her talk of the town again.

she puts her hands on her hips as her eyes trail over to her blown tyre. then she remembers that her crash wasn’t caused all by herself.

“are you alright?” charles asks softly, slowly approaching her as he takes his helmet off. “unlucky weekend.”

she glances over her shoulder where he approaches her. she forces a small grin to her face and tries to wave his concerns away. “i’m fine.”

her chest starts to hurt slightly, tears prickling at her eyes.

this is not the time and place to be breaking down. especially not at someone like charles because surely, something went wrong with her that caused this.

“it’s my fau–”

surely, it can’t be his fault. there’s no way that the person she’s looked up could cause this crash.

but there’s also a voice in her head telling her to believe charles. he wouldn’t be apologising if he didn’t actually think that he caused it.

“unfortunate,” she chuckles. she swallows the scream threatening to make itself known and shrugs at charles. “i’ll see you in the paddocks, mate.”

“thought i might find you here.”

“fuck off, max.”

the older driver laughs, walking over to her with hands in the pocket of his jeans. he drops himself on the little platform she’s resting on.

“everyone’s looking for you,” max chuckles, innocently taking a sip from his water bottle. “i heard seb panicking and sending out a search party to get you.”

“i know,” she snorts, “i heard him screaming and delegating people to find me.”

the only reason max knew where to find her is because he is the one who introduced her to this place. he had found her holding her tears in at some point last season walking around the paddocks and he whisked her away without another word.

it’s a pretty obscure location in the paddocks, one that max often resided in when it got too chaotic and loud. she’s the only one he’s ever given this sort of information to.

“how’s everything?” he asks with a sigh, leaning back on the wall behind them. “matt flew back to the states already?”

she nods and drops her head, picking at the grass beneath them. while she truly tried to keep her problems to herself, max approached her a week prior when he saw her entering the paddocks all by herself.

he had asked why the man, typically found on her arm every race weekend, was not with her today.

she softly admitted that they’re on a break, prompted by her reactionary behaviour from how her year is going so far. still, she tries to keep the confession minimal.

it’s hard enough to watch your boyfriend pack his things in silence to leave you behind. it’s even harder to admit that there’s nobody else to blame but yourself.

her mishaps every weekend on the paddocks, she can point all the fingers she wants. but when it came to her matt, there was nobody else she could pin it on. there were 2 people in that relationship and she knows that she’s the one that’s burned it down.

“i’m so sorry,” max sighs, resting his cheek in his hand. he props his elbow on his knee as she leans forward. “that must be really hard for you.”

she shrugs. it’s really not that big of a deal. or, at least, it shouldn’t be to somebody else in a happy relationship of his own. “it’s my fault, anyway. i don’t blame him.”

“you can still be upset about it,” he mutters. “i know you love him, so i don’t imagine any of this is making you feel better at all.” he puts a hand on her back and rubs circles, something he honestly wishes someone had done for him when he was younger. “it’s just me, mate.”

“it’s alright, but thanks for trying to be there for me,” she grimaces, turning momentarily to give him a small smile. “but i don’t reckon i get to feel bad for deliberately pushing him over the edge.”

she’d been fine all day. she thought she was genuinely getting better: she’d even gone for a walk in the sun and felt enlightened most of the hours she’d been awake.

that was until she had sat down at her dining table with dinner, consumed whole by the silence and emptiness of her apartment. without understanding why, she lost her appetite as her stomach started to churn.

her heart feels like it’s skipping beats from how unwell she suddenly felt.

she finds herself on the floor of her bedroom, phone pressed up against her ear as the ringing pulls her in and out of her trance.

her world has spinning for the better part of 5 minutes, her chest feeling like it’s closing in on itself and the framed picture in her peripheral vision taunts her.

there’s no climbing out of this rut; she’s almost sure she will be stuck in here forever. she either lives with the fact that she’s a failure or it’ll someday kill her.

��hello? is this really you?”

tears she hadn’t realised were there start to fall out of her eyes. the sob she didn’t know she had in her throat fills the room as she drops her head into her other hand.

“i don’t know why i called,” she pauses with a soft sob, “sorry, i should go.”

“no,” a firm voice demands, “just stay on the line.”

“okay.”

she had just spoken with matt this morning, on a short 5-minute welfare check video call. she told him she was feeling slightly better with the biggest smile on her face.

now she doubts herself if she’d even meant it. if she was truly better, she wouldn’t be here on the floor feeling worse than when she woke up this morning.

going backwards isn’t supposed to be the way she’s going.

it’s always forward. if there’s no progress towards the betterment of her situation, then she’s simply not trying hard enough.

she should try harder. it’s the only way.

“hey,” matt coos softly to catch her attention. “if you need me there, just say the word. i’ll come home.”

she wants to say yes. she even wants to break into a louder sob and admit that she misses him; probably might even be going crazy without his presence as of late.

she hasn’t got anything figured out.

but instead, she says, “i’ll be okay.”

being alone in her hotel room is the last thing she wanted for herself, the silence too overbearing for her to handle. though asking to hang out with her friends she watched leave together to get dinner wasn’t an option either.

so she opted to lock herself in her driver’s room until someone chases her out. perhaps she’ll sleep over without anybody finding out.

she’d coddled herself up in her beanbag under a blanket, reading away furiously on the things people said about her.

sure, she shouldn’t be on these sites speaking ill of her, but there’s nobody to stop her. she’s fallen down the rabbit hole of everyone’s opinions of her once more and she can’t seem to stop.

she’s stooped even lower this time: she’s on social media reading what the public has to say about her.

it’s not just about whoever in the industry is saying now.

she never tried to let anyone’s opinion of her, in forms of tweets and social media posts, get to her much.

but a post highlighting about the two mere instances where she had unintentionally lashed out on matt in the paddocks did it for her. and the one time she had a disagreement with sebastian in her racing home after a pitstop mishap.

“for fuck’s sake,” she cries, throwing the blanket off her.

she can’t throw her ipad. she starts to heave, feeling it all coming down on her once more.

she grabs the closest thing to her. and unfortunately, it’s the very mug she’d gotten 2 years ago as a present for sebastian.

you know, the matching mugs she got as a celebration for scoring points as a race engineer and driver duo on the grid.

and it does what a mug would do if you threw it against the wall: it shatters. into pieces.

it’s repairable if she really thought about it rationally. the handle has popped out along with another large piece straying by its side.

only then she realises what she’s done.

“oh, fuck.” she sits hurriedly and brushes the stray hairs from her face. “oh, no.”

she scrambles from the ground and runs over to the other side of the room where her favourite mug sits in 3 separate pieces, tears prickling at her eyes as she realises what she’s done.

she gathers it into her hands with a heavy cry, dropping her hands into her lap. if she’d known sooner that this mug was what she’d grabbed out of fury, she wouldn’t have chucked it across the room.

“come on,” she whispers to herself, trying to fit the pieces together as if it would magically mend itself. “fix yourself. be a mug again?”

“i thought you were back at the hotel– are you okay?”

“i didn’t mean to do it,” she cries at the familiar voice and accent, lifting her head and hands to show him what she’s done. “i didn’t mean to, i didn’t even realise what i was throwing until it broke into this many pieces.”

“hey,” sebastian coos, softly closing the door behind him. he walks over to where she kneels on the ground and grabs her shoulder. “you’re okay. it’s okay.”

she shakes her head profusely and rests her head on his shoulder. “i didn’t mean it. i didn’t want to break it — i still like you, i promise. you’re like my dad when we’re on the road. i’m s– i didn’t mean it.”

“relax.” he squeezes her shoulder, pressing a firm kiss to her temple. “it’s just a mug. we’ll just get a new one, okay? don’t even worry about it.”

he waits for a second as she processes his words, slightly hesitant to agree with him. she nods slowly, “are you sure? you’re not mad?”

“i’m not mad,” sebastian hums with a smile. “let’s get you back to your hotel room, okay? i was just about to head out.”

“okay.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore @c-losur3 @notawc @sadg3 @kazuha-pista-badam @mellowarcadefun @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @woozarts @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @a-disturbing-self-reflection @mclarengf @xoscar03 @nomie-11 @green-thots @tinyhrry @iwilleatyourgod @inejismywife @love4lando @louvrepool

#sebastian vettel x reader #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 grid x reader #f1 female driver #formula one x reader #fem!driver #f1 fem!driver #female driver #disneyprincemuke vr #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #vettel reincarnate

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ohdeerfully · 10 months ago

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Requests? I got you 😌

Reader who made a deal with Alastor, be his informant, and he'll provide aid when needed. And reader was damn good at holding up their end of the deal, while Alastor hasn't really needed to uphold his since aid hasn't been asked for.

So what might happen when his dear little informant hasn't came back from gathering info on the Vee's?

EATING IT UP idk i love this kind of stuff thank you so much. im making this a two-parter! it was getting kinda long and i wanted to get something posted (:

Your Half of the Deal (i)

Alastor x Reader part i part ii part iiiTW: kidnapping, cursing, alastor is manipulative (per usual), alastor is in denial if you want to be tagged in the next part, let me know! join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

Deals with Alastor were, for a lack of better words, a big deal. Not something to mess around with. His twisted nature allowed him to create so many loopholes for himself, forcing one to do more than what they bargained him for. It was unfair, but that’s what happens when you make a deal with the Radio Demon.

You weren’t as lucky as the other demons at the hotel, not receiving the typical advice Vaggie debriefed any newcomer. Alastor got to you first. He got you soon after you fell into Hell, before you even knew exactly what was going on or the whole ‘soul’ thing.

“My,” A light voice cooed from the shadows, causing you to jerk your head up. Your ass still stung from the tumble you took after falling down into god knows where. You were curled up in a dark, moldy corner, a brief respite from all the freaks that you kept running into. Your fingers–no, claws?--still aches after defending yourself from a pair of spiked thugs.

“What a poor sight. How dreadful!” He continued. You could barely make out the form of the speaker. You just knew he was tall. With blazing red eyes. His voice had a radio-like filter over it, with a general low frequency humming around himself during the silence.

He had seen you, a new fallen demon, fight yourself away from those two earlier, a wild look in your eye. How it pleased him, seeing that look somebody gets when they are desperate for their life. But you, in particular, piqued his interest. To be able to acclimate to a new body, in a new place, and fight for your life at the drop of your hat.

You seemed capable, and he liked that. He knew you were naive, fresh meat always was. And he liked that.

You had yet to speak, only looking up at him from your fetal position. But he could tell you were tense and ready to spring, if need be. He played a grin on his face and leaned down closer to you.

“Oh, how rude of me! I’m Alastor,” He held his hand out to you from his bent over position. You shook his hand cautiously. “I saw that scuffle earlier, and dear if I may say, you fight like a wild tigress.”

You quirked your brow at this comment. “Thanks,” You replied plainly. “(Y/N).” You didn’t want to talk right now. But, you were at least glad to see a face that didn’t immediately go through your throat.

Alastor, of course, didn’t go after those of the ‘fairer means,’ as he would put it. At least, not in a violent way. He was all for the typical manipulation.

“Even still, a fair lady such as yourself needs someone to protect her! And,” He stood up straight again, a dangerous glint in your eye. “For a price, I could be at your beck and call.”

“A price..?” You responded weakly. You had to admit, seeing this tall, confident man in front of you did seem to put you at ease. He seemed kind. And it wouldn’t hurt to have some help, if there were more creatures wanting to attack you.

“Your soul!” He said, all too cheerfully. Your mouth dried up at this. With everything that has happened to you so far, you had a hunch that the term ‘soul’ actually carried meaning in this place. But, how much..? Was it worth the protection he promised?

“More like a mutual contract, really! Mutual benefactors!” Alastor lied, seeing that hesitance in your expression. “I get your soul, you do what I ask, and I protect you! Simple enough.”

The expression he held, with that tall grin of his, didn’t do much to calm your nerves. As chipper as he seemed, there was something to it. Something more, but you couldn’t quite tell.

“Deal?”

His glowing eyes seemed to darken as he squinted them in anticipation, his smile somehow growing wider. The static in the air seemed to crackle with more energy, almost violently, as you considered his hand that he had held out. There was an ominous aura that made your skin crawl.

Ah, what the hell. Flashes of those thugs from earlier was enough to put you on your feet. You could only imagine the other shit that lived in this place, and had a feeling they were the bottom of the barrel. You had only just managed to get away from them.

You made eye contact for a couple of seconds, the prickling sensation on your skin becoming harsher and more aggravating the closer you stepped to him. You grabbed his hand.

You were thinking about your unlucky situation–which you often did in your free time–as you gave yourself a onceover in the mirror, black eyes examining your tight outfit. A little spy getup–a little stereotypical, something you would definitely see in the movies. But, hey, it never failed you.

Thinking back, you could tell now that his words and smile were filled with deceit and manipulation. You often got pissed at yourself for how naive you were. You hadn’t even called on him once since then, and you’ve been stuck as his little pet for nearly four months now. He runs you around like a doll in a big playhouse, sending you this way and that to get intellect from his various enemies.

“I’m much too popular to be roaming in those areas!” He had claimed when you questioned why he, the Radio Demon, couldn’t just do it himself. “Demons flee at the sight of me. The Vee’s would see me from a mile away.” You had a suspicion that he just didn’t want to be seen in public making such a petty fuss over his television rival.

There was no point in dwelling on it, but you couldn’t help the occasional feeling of regret that twinged your chest when you thought too long. You were stuck as his, whether you liked it or not.

Slicking back your hair, you finalized your sleek outfit. Another day of being thrown into precarious situations by that red asshole. It was becoming a weekly thing, with Alastor requesting more and more information, especially from those Vee’s he hated so much. In fact, now that you thought about it, they were the only demons you snuck by. How obsessed they were with each other.

It was no easy task, getting through the security of that place. In fact, it was nearly impossible, seemingly getting harder every time. You had a cautious feeling that they knew what you were up to, and kept falling short of catching or stopping you. There were cameras pointed in every direction, every angle, in the highest quality imaginable. Every trip left your heart racing with adrenaline.

“On your way now, are you?” Alastor asked coyly. He waited for you at the entrance to the hotel, a glint in his eyes. Oh, how he loved playing with you like this. Watching you bend and break for him. He loved it. And you hated him for it.

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll get killed this time,” You said snidely, referencing the increasing danger of each trip. “Wouldn’t that be a treat for me.” You said this in a whisper, but Alastor still heard.

He bent at the waist to be eye level with you, that sinister grin of his lowering slightly. It seemed he had wanted to say something, his teeth parting for a moment before closing again. His grin perked back up and he straightened himself into a stand. He simply reached out and patted your head.

“Now, don’t go out with that kind of mindset! Why, you know our deal!” His lips curled in reference to the rather one-sided promise you made each other. To be honest, considering you never had to call for Alastor’s aid, you weren’t even comforted by the notion. Who’s to say he even shows up? How will he even know if you need help?

Alastor stepped towards you, his hands flapping as he shooed you out of the door. “The night is only so long! Go along!”

So, now you’re here. Tucked behind a corner near the Vee’s residence. There were cameras everywhere, obviously, and you swore you saw more than last time. What point does Alastor even have, making you come here so often? What more could he want? You knew him and Vox were rivals, but it wasn’t like Alastor didn’t know how to take care of the TV-head.

You had a sick feeling that Alastor just enjoyed making you do bullshit for him like this, and didn’t care much for the actual information. The thought drew a sneer on your face. If you weren’t literally soul bound to this guy, you would probably just let yourself get caught and likely killed on the spot. But, of course, your deal made that dream impossible.

With a couple hops on your toes, you began your brisk walk towards the back of the manor. You were hyper aware of all the cameras, and hoped that your dark outfit helped blend with the shadows.

However, the second you lifted a window and stepped foot into the building, lights flashed and an alarm rang. Fuck.

The television demon himself got to you surprisingly fast. As if he had been waiting. Which, honestly, wouldn’t have surprised you. You briefly wondered why it took them so long to have an alarm system in the first place, and began frantically looking for a way out. The window behind you had shut and locked. The hallway was incredibly narrow and Vox stood in the way.

Fuck it, you made a mad dash for the Overlord, hoping to catch him off guard. You raised a clawed hand and swiped at his television head. A pointless attack, you realize, as the screen nearly flickered for a moment; his wide, pixelated grin staring into you. Before you could move again, his arm tightly gripped at your throat. You felt an electrifying sensation, stinging through every nerve, and blacked out.

“Heyy, Al?” Charlie’s voice rang through the doorway of Alastor’s radio tower. “Have you seen (Y/N)..? She was supposed to help with some decorations.” She had opened the door without warning.

He paced back and forth in thought, gripping the top of his cane with one hand and tapping the end of it in his other. He didn’t respond to Charlie, but the question did ring in his head over and over. You hadn’t come back from the night before. You always came back before the day broke.

He didn’t know the feeling that stirred in his chest as he watched the minutes pass by. The hours pass by. All without a sight of you. He never thought to keep watch as you worked, refraining from sending his shadow to spy on the spy, as he always saw you as capable enough.

Besides, he thought to himself. What a waste of my time that would be. Fretting over a single demon.

“Alastor,” Charlie said again. He craned his neck to her, stopping his train of thought. His grin had a strain to it and his nose wrinkled in aggravation. Why was she in his space? He hated intrusions.

“What?” He said bluntly.

“(Y/N)?” She spoke your name again, hoping to prompt some conversation out of the Radio demon with the implied question.

Alastor composed himself, acting unphased by the… worry? That he felt. “Why would I know where she is? I take care of this hotel, but not so much the residents.” It was a true enough statement, as he preferred just watching the demons Charlie try desperately to rehabilitate and fail miserably every day.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” He interrupted Charlie before she could say anything, her mouth hanging open and words dying on her tongue. He briskly turned on his feet and walked towards her, standing at the doorway. “I would prefer you knock next time.” He shut the door on her.

He couldn’t handle the heavy feeling that threatened his lungs as he thought about what was happening at the Vee’s residence.

Did he really care to go out, risk a scene, risk the intel, just to get you? To make sure you were okay?

Yeah. He had to. He hated that feeling in his chest, especially as it just grew heavier and more overwhelming. He just chalked it up to the deal he had made with you putting a pressure on his own soul to hurry up and deal with it. But he couldn’t help the tightness that consumed him when he thought about what you were doing in that place. Or what they were doing to you. He brushed the emotion aside, trying his best to ignore it.

He argued with himself that yeah, he was only going because of that deal he had made. No, no way did he have a soft spot for you. No way in Hell. He was just doing this to hold up his deal. Yeah.

With a heavy sigh and a twitch at the corners of his lips, he brushed his talon-like fingers through the fringe of his hair, pushing it back before letting it fall into place again. He tried to maintain a leisurely composure, but a wild glint in his eye was proof enough that he was stressed out.

Best to get this over with. He had a deal to uphold. He opted for the faster route, melting into his shadow.

part ii part iii

#alastor #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #tw: kidnapping #kidnapping #alastor doesnt realize he Feels stuff

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lokischocolatefountain · 1 year ago

Text

Seven

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Rating: Gen (kind of a crack fic if you ask me)

Summary: You and Javi discuss children

“How many?”

“Hmm?”

“You keep saying children plural. How many do you want?” You asked, flipping through the pages of the magazine idly. You weren’t even reading, just looking at pictures and reading a gossipy headline about some of the other actress.

“Hmmm seven?”

“Fuck no!”

“Why not?”

“Why not? WHY NOT?” You asked, horrified. “Javier, I’m a human being, not a baby making machine. You have a government job and I’m just a lab tech. We will never have 7 kids money unless you pocket some of the cocaine you seize. God, can you imagine if they all wanted to go to law school? Or medical school?”

“I wasn’t thinking that far ahead,” he said, taking the magazine from you and setting it aside. He pulled you into his lap, kissing you neck from behind and making you squirm. “I was focused on how hot you’ll look pregnant.”

“Of course you were. Horndog,” you scolded, pinching the arm that held you close. He hissed, but didn’t loosen his hold, only pulling you in closer.

“Can you blame me? With such a hot girlfriend, a man is bound to let his imagination run wild.”

“Shut up.”

“Five?” He asked, making you angrier.

“Are you trying to have a family or form a basketball team?”

He laughed before kissing her lips. “Four?” He bargained.

“Three is the absolute maximum for me.”

“Then three is good.”

“Yeah?” You asked, softer when you heard the sincerity in the reply that came with no hesitation.

“Mhmm.”

“But everything is up for debate after the first one,” you added, just in case. Pregnancy did not look fun and you didn’t want him holding you to this if you were too fucked up from the first pregnancy to try again. “I might hate being pregnant and never want to have another one again. We might have to be satisfied with one baby.”

“That’s good too, baby. I only want as many children as you’ll give me. Whether that’s one or three or seven.”

“Definitely not seven.” You smiled, adjusting yourself to sit back on the sofa with just your legs in his lap. “And no bargaining on gender either. If we have three daughters, you can’t ask for another one just to try for a son.”

“I would love three daughters. Why do you think I’ll ask you for a fourth one after that?”

“I don’t know,” you said, shrugging. “Men usually want sons. To teach them soccer or go fishing or whatever.”

“I’ll teach our three daughters soccer. Girls have legs. And I don’t care for fishing anyway. If they want to be with animals, they can take care of the ranch.”

“God, I planning my life out with a ranchero who wants a million kids!” You said, laughing.

“You’re just realizing that?”

“Oh god, I don’t know what’s worse— ranchero or DEA agent. Do you like chop wood shirtless or something? Cause I can’t handle that. I will end up having 7 kids if I saw that.”

“You’re mixing up rancheros with lumberjacks, baby. But I’ll learn to chop wood if you want. And I’ll teach our daughters to chop wood too. And how to shoot. And how to fix a car. Teach them plumbing and everything. So that they don’t have to call their boyfriends at midnight to ask them to fix their sink,” he said, making you giggle at the recollection of that night.

“Oh please, you weren’t complaining,” you scoffed, reminding him of the night he came over to fix your sink and ended up staying all night and all day in your bed.

“Exactly. No boy is slithering into my daughter’s bed like that. I won’t allow it.”

You scoffed. Oh you poor little fool… “You think my father didn’t teach me how to fix my sink, Javier? That I didn’t break it just to invite you over?”

“Fuck!”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck. Let’s have three sons.”

Advent Calendar Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfic #narcos fic #narcos fanfiction #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x ofc #javier peña x y/n #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier pena fic #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fic #all that i've inflicted on the world

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revolutionsingingintherainnn · 2 months ago

Note

Hi! Fellow desi here...

So Navratri is coming soon and I am really excited already!! Can you please write something about spending Navratri with Lando. It would be like teaching him the garba steps and the reader being obsessed with garba and Lando just being in awe.

I love your writing sooo much <3

Desi Girl ༉‧₊˚.

彡 ln x desi!reader 🪷

彡 fluff + smau 🪷

masterlist ☾☼

being an indian meant that there was some festival or the other every few months. that meant new clothes, new jewellery, and the same old feeling of being blessed by the gods and goddesses. for most indians, the blessings of the almighty was all they sought throughout the year.

navratri was one of y/n's favourite festivals. nine days of music, dance, and worshipping different goddessess. every year, y/n bought nine new chaniya cholis for the festival, and every year she danced all night till her feet had blisters. it was the happiest she ever felt.

this year was different though, because she had a boyfriend. a boyfriend who was hot and rich and very much british. since the festival and the autumn break coincided, lando had decided to spend the break with his girlfriend in india. y/n had taken him shopping to all kinds street markets, where all he really did was hold her bags, give his opinion when asked, and made sure that she was hydrated. he had watched as she bargained, and tried on jhumkas, and smiled and laughed even though the sun was scorching hot.

the first two days of navratri had been y/n doing garba with her family and friends, and lando watching from afar, afraid to step into the fast moving circles of humans who were dancing in perfect sync. everyone was sweaty, especially his girlfriend, but she seemed to shine in the sweat. that just made lando fall in love even more.

on the third day, y/n had decided that she would teach lando the basic steps of garba. she took him in a little corner, not too secluded, but there was enough space for him to practice. she taught him the footwork of the dance, but even after multiple tries, lando tripped way more than he ever thought was imaginable. his girlfriend laughed though, so he hadn't completely failed at dancing.

he had tried participating with her friends, where they were all doing the same basic steps that y/n had been teaching him. after a few minutes of stepping on people's toes, and people stepping on his toes, lando had given up, sweating, shining, smiling.

y/n had grabbed his hand and pulled him to the food stalls. lando had never eaten anything like it before, but y/n was excited, and she was happy, and lando eating whatever she wanted him to would make her happier, so who was he to question it?

their first stop had been the pani puri stall. it was certainly an experience to try and fit the entire puri in his mouth without staining his clothes. when he had complained to y/n that there was no way he could fit the whole thing in his mouth, she had smirked at him and said, "remember when i said that to you? that it wasn't going to fit in my mouth?"

lando was blushing, knowing exactly what she was talking about, "y/n,"

"what did you say to me then? ah, yeah, practice makes perfect," y/n had been smiling wide as she teased him. lando had choked on the pani puri, and y/n had laughed, patting his back.

they went through all the stalls, where y/n proceeded to stuff him full of food. it was all extremely spicy for him, and despite y/n laughing at how red he had gotten, lando was determined to not ruin the fun. eventually, she had fed him gulab jamuns, kheer, and so many other sweets, he had lost track.

after eating, lando and y/n walked around the area, talking and laughing, and he had never felt so in love. he repeatedly told her how beautiful she looked, and even at the tenth and hundredth time, y/n blushed just the same. god, she really was breathtaking.

"so, what's the next festival?" lando asked.

"well, navratri ends on saturday, and then we have dusshera on sunday, and then, about two weeks later, diwali! oh, are you going to stay? i mean, i know you have your training and you have to be at the mtc for work or whatever, but dusshera is really fun, cause my nana sits all of us kids down and tells us the whole story of lord ram and how he defeated ravan!" she was rambling, they both knew, but lando loved it.

"i'm going to make sure i'm here on sunday," lando said softly.

"yeah?" her small hands were squeezing his big ones in hope.

lando leaned in, kissing her softly, before he pulled back, "yeah,"

lando.jpg

♫ Desi Girl (From "Dostana")

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 801,572 others

lando.jpg who's the hottest girl in the world

view all 73,496 comments

yourusername your desi girl <3

user1 is this a hard launch??? ARE WE HARD LAUNCHING RIGHT NOW???

user1 LANDO IN INDIA??? HELLO??? WHY WERE WE NOT TOLD???

user2 he better get an indian passport now

user3 jijaji pt.2???

carlossainz making the most of the break, i see

carlossainz spanish food or indian food?

lando.jpg 🤐

yourusername im watching you, norris

user2 HOLD ON DID LANDO DO GARBA?????

☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓

i'm not really a garba person, despite living in gujarat for quite a while, but this is specifically for my desi girls, cause we gotta feed our delusions somehow to live, right? i hope you enjoy it! i've also got a link for my taglist and requests that you can find here!

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aayakashii · 5 months ago

Text

got very depressed today and ended up writing a very self-indulgent comfort fic that now I will make everyone's problem ヽ(*´∀`)人(´∀`*)ﾉ

featuring 🫵you🫵, Peekaboo, and special guest Sagara Haru. It's fluff, tooth rotting fluff again. I am just a girl.

soft beats to feed your baby anomaly to

Your fingers tapped against your chin as you stood in the middle of the Jabberwock kitchen, eyes scanning all the pots that were scattered around the counter and shelves, way too wary to actually rummage through them with your hands.

“Baby formula… baby formula… baby formula…” you muttered repeatedly, as you read every label of every container, until your eyes stopped at an inconspicuous pot with no label.

Stepping closer, you opened the lid, and was met with a crumpled bag of baby formula stuffed inside.

“God, I would never find this if I only relied on the labels” you said, huffing, pulling the bag out and walking back to the living room.

A small bottle with boiled water was ready, on top of a small stool, right beside a crib that contained a very hungry and very impatient Peekaboo.

“Found it, Peekaboo!” you said, triumphantly, and slumped on the floor, bringing the stool closer.

“I can now make your bottle and feed you! I'm sorry it took so long, but you gotta tell your dad that his kitchen is a mess.” you rambled, as you began to scoop the baby formula and put it carefully in the bottle. Peekaboo chirped in what seemed like agreement with you.

As you quietly kept scooping small amounts of the powder, you finally relaxed, humming the tune to a song that was stuck in your head for the past week. At this, Peekaboo's ears twitched and perked up, and he waddled closer to you.

“Okay, done!” You finished shaking the bottle to mix the contents and Peekaboo immediately raised his little arms towards you.

“You want uppies?” you said, smiling as you noticed his expectant face. “Okay, let's give you uppies.”

With a groan (Peekaboo was heavier than he seemed), you picked him up and began to bring the bottle towards his mouth, until his arms patted your hand, pushing the bottle away.

“What's up, baby? I thought you were hungry” you asked, confused.

Peekaboo kept flailing his arms, pointing to the bottle and to you, clearly trying to communicate something.

“I'm sorry love, I don't know what you mean…”

His little face scrunched up, as he wiggled on your arms and booped your mouth and then the bottle.

“You want me to drink from the bottle too?!”

He shook his whole body, growling impatiently. For a moment, he stared at you, as if he was thinking about how he could convey his message in a way that you would understand. After a few seconds, he chirped his usual sounds, but tried hard to mimic the melody you were humming a few moments before.

“Oh! You want me to sing for you while I feed you?” you guessed.

His little face lit up, and he nodded fiercely.

“Okay, okay, but er… I'm not a very good singer, honey” you replied, apologetic despite his excitement.

Peekaboo growled, showing his huge sharp teeth and you knew there was no bargaining with a spoiled anomalous animal.

“Fineeee, fine! Okay, I'll sing, but you have to promise me you'll drink your bottle and not bite me, okay?” you sighed.

Peekaboo nodded happily again, chirping and extending his stubby little arms to the bottle.

As you titled the bottle to his mouth, his red, shiny eyes looked at you expectantly. You cleared your throat and began to murmur the lyrics to the song.

Stars shinin' bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper, "I love you”

Peekaboo frowned and tapped your throat, clearly ordering you to sing louder. You sighed heavily again, shaking your head in defeat, and raised your voice.

Birds singin' in the sycamore tree

Dream a little dream of me

You began to sway gently, careful not to make Peekaboo sick with the movement.

Say, "Nighty-night" and kiss me

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me

While I'm alone and blue as can be

Dream a little dream of me

The little bunny-like anomaly closed his eyes, gulping his food and peacefully enjoying the slow swaying of your body, feeling relaxed in your arms.

Stars fadin'–

You cleared your throat again, as your voice cracked trying to reach the higher tune, but Peekaboo seemed to pay no mind to how out of tune you sounded sometimes.

Stars fadin’ but I linger on, dear

Still cravin' your kiss

I'm longin' to linger 'til dawn, dear

Just saying this

The bottle was quickly emptying as you clumsily sang and danced with the small animal in your arms, and, in your concentration, you failed to notice a flash of red appearing on one of the corridors.

Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you

Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you

But in your dreams, whatever they be

Dream a little dream of me

You hummed the ad-lib part of the song as Peekaboo downed the last bit of the bottle, still moving slowly and carefully as he yawned in your arms.

Stars fadin' but I linger on, dear

Still cravin' your kiss

I'm longing to linger 'til dawn, dear

Just saying this

Your voice didn't crack this time, and you put Peekaboo against your shoulder, giving little taps against his back in order to help with his digestion – a little burp coming out of his mouth making you giggle as you sang.

Sweet dreams 'til sunbeams find you

Sweet dreams that leave all worries far behind you

But in your dreams, whatever they be

Dream a little dream of me

As you finished the song, Peekaboo ended up fast asleep on your arms, and you kept humming and dancing, all while completely unaware of how Haru observed the scene, hidden behind one of the pillars of the living room.

The red-headed blushed furiously, his hand covering his mouth in order to hide a smile that was so big that could light up stadiums upon stadiums.

“Isn't that good, Peekaboo? We finally got you the other mom I've always wanted for you!!” he thought to himself, pumping his fist victoriously in the air, as wedding bells ringed into his mind after seeing the domestic scene unravel in front of him. He hadn't even confessed nor invited you to a single date, but after that, he knew he couldn't wait any longer.

#tokyo debunker #tokyo debunker x reader #haru sagara #tokyo debunker haru sagara #i love haru i cant #i wanna marry him and raise anomalies with him #i wanna be peekaboo's MOTHER

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slytherinshua · 11 months ago

Text

YOU WERE ALWAYS CUTE

genre. fluff. warnings. none. pairing. seunghan x fem!reader. wc. 971. a/n. seunghan baby photos are THE MOST ADORABLE THING EVER SKDJKSK I LOVE HIM

“Look at your little hoodie! You were so small!!” You gasped, an infectious smile plastered on your face as you flipped through pages of an old photo book from the mid 2000s. Seunghan’s childhood was documented in candid photos, starting from when he was a newborn to around his 8th birthday.

You were having the time of your life adoring how precious your boyfriend was as a baby. Seunghan, however, not so much. He had been hiding his face in his hands for the last 5 minutes, begging you to stop just seconds after his mother had handed you the book. He dug his head into your shoulder, getting clingier out of embarrassment. You paid no attention to him, only having eyes for the much smaller and just-as-adorable baby version of him in the photos.

“Y/n, can’t you do this later?” He whined, clinging to your shirt as if he could possibly change how you spent the next hour.

“Nope— Oh my God! You’re so cute!” You squealed this time, eager to hold the page open for Seunghan to also see the photo. The date tells you he was around 2 at the time, playing with toy dinosaurs in an adorable fuzzy onesie pyjama set. The sight was almost too precious for you to handle. Seunghan took a glance at it before hiding his face even more into your shoulder.

“Stop looking at them.” He pleaded in a weak mumble, his voice almost completely muffled by your shirt. You giggled, reaching your hand up to stroke his hair, gently leading his head to lay in your lap.

“Just 5 more minutes. They’re too cute not to!” You bargained with him, flipping to the next page with a grin. He sighed and closed his eyes, resting the back of his hand over his forehead, trying to relax while simultaneously staying tense each time he hears you react to another photo.

“Some things never change, huh?” You commented, attentively looking at the next photo— 4 year old Seunghan holding a packet of jellies in his hand, smiling happily at the camera. “You’re so precious.” You gushed, your hands combing through his hair, messing it up slightly and causing him to groan and swat your hand away.

“It’s been 5 minutes.” Seunghan said as soon as the second passed, quickly snatching the photobook out of your hand. You frowned. You would have rather spent another 20 minutes looking through them, as you knew his mother had several other photobooks of the same sort. But, your boyfriend was stubborn. You let up for now, mentally reminding yourself to look through the rest of the photos later after dinner.

Seunghan placed the book back on the shelf with the others, glaring at you once you made eye contact with him. You cracked a smile at him and opened your arms.

“You haven’t changed at all, you know?” You reminded him as he settled back on the couch.

“I have! I’m much better now.” He pouted. He let you wrap your arms around him, but he didn’t hug you back, still putting up an annoyed front. He wasn’t really that mad at you, just incredibly embarrassed. There were all kinds of photos saved in those books— and even though he knew you were the one, it didn’t cut back on the humiliation.

“I was going to see them sooner or later.” You persuaded him, kissing his cheek softly to try to cheer him up. It doesn’t quite work as well as you would hope, though it does get you a reciprocated hug back.

He was pouty for the rest of the evening, sending you glances all through dinner and post-dinner board games as his mother and older brother teased him to no end. You heard endless stories about his childhood, both funny and heartwarming. It wasn’t until you were getting ready for bed that Seunghan seemed more cheerful.

“When we visit your parents… I’ll get to look at your baby photos as well, right?” He asked while you were brushing your hair for bed. You looked up to the doorway of the guest room you’d be sleeping in, seeing Seunghan leaning against the doorframe.

You laughed, “Why? You barely let me look at yours.”

He scoffed and walked closer to you, “I let you look at it for a long time!”

“10 minutes is not a long time.” You corrected, “But, alright. I guess you can see my baby photos too. Why do you want to, though?”

“For the same reason you do, I guess. You’re just cute.” He said simply, smiling at you.

You were the one scoffing this time, turning your attention back to your hair, studiously ignoring your boyfriend as he gets even closer to you. He planted a kiss on your forehead silently before walking out of your room, mumbling a casual ‘goodnight’ and ‘sleep well’. You shook your head with a smile, fondness for him bubbling up in your stomach

At times, Seunghan was the most attractive boy you had ever seen. He had smooth pickup lines for days, and was sweet enough to melt anyone’s heart. But it was times like these that you liked a little more— when he showed his more vulnerable side. He got embarrassed and petty like any other person would, and you liked the reminder that you had that effect on him.

You were happy that Seunghan hadn’t noticed the stack of photo books sitting on the bed. Once you were sufficiently ready for sleep, you dipped under the covers and grabbed the first one you were looking at, flipping back to the pages you left off on. And a thought came into your brain as you scanned over the last photos— it wasn’t even a fair competition; Seunghan was objectively the cutest baby ever.

↳ riize taglist: @eternalgyu,, @kangtaehyunzzz,, @weird-bookworm,, @haecien,, @seolboba,, @cyberpunksunwoo,, @cosmicwintr

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shalotttower · 5 months ago

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Equations

Title: Equations Characters: L Lawliet x Reader (female) Summary: A short snippet of Reader and L moving places. Probably can be counted as imagine. Word count: 990+ Notes: yandere L, kidnapped Reader, captivity, L and Reader were together at Wammy's House, Stockholm Syndrome, L is being a shithead gremlin.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it keeps no record of wrongs.

You're not religious at all, but those words glimpsed once on a bookshop wall stuck in your mind when Wammy's House stayed behind, somewhere in-between the pages of your journal, so carelessly flipped through by a boy with a blank expression, who had and still has no idea what those verses mean.

"What is it?" you ask, when Watari enters your room with a suitcase.

"We're leaving in an hour," he says. "Get ready, please."

You don't argue.

L doesn't have many rules, and most of those existing are unspoken. Some can be bent, some can be bargained and twisted into an illusion of freedom until it snaps. But if Watari comes in and tells you to get ready, you obey. It means you're moving somewhere else, another place unknown. So you pack: clothes, shoes (just two pairs, there's nowhere to wear them anyway), hygiene necessities which fit neatly inside one single bag.

When you get in the car, L is already there, looking through the window. The glass tints everything a tone darker.

Watari starts driving.

The first time you used it as a chance to understand where you were, memorize the road signs, the turns. By the eleventh you stopped caring, because it didn't really matter ─ even if the whole world map was imprinted inside your head, what would it do?

So you lean against the seat and watch the cows in the pasture on the right. Everything is green and yellow outside. Some rural town probably ─ a happy little world tucked away. A small part of you wishes to exit this car right here and now, just to see what happens. Intrusive thoughts are like that sometimes. They pop up and disappear without a reason or logic behind.

The sun is bright.

There's a church up ahead, with freshly painted doors and windows which have a stained glass pattern of white lilies among golden rays of light. A beautiful work of art put onto display for whoever cares enough to look.

You wonder: if God existed, what would he think of L's fingers curling over yours. The touch is barely there at all, yet you feel it down to your bones.

Love is patient, love is kind. His thumb brushes over your knuckles.

"What are you doing," you ask flatly, not expecting a reply. It's a reflex, like the knee jerk reaction, to ask him questions, because otherwise who knows what's there in that shaggy-haired head of his.

"Holding your hand," L says.

"I can see that. Why?"

"Why not?"

"That's not an answer."

"Then ask a better question."

You turn to look at him and immediately regret doing so, because his eyes are wide and focused, and you can see your own face reflected there. Between his bony fingers and yours are lifelines crisscrossed together by a forceful hand.

"Stop that," you tell him without much heat behind.

L doesn't look away, nor does he stop staring.

"Stop what?"

"That."

"If I knew what you're referring to, I'd probably have better chances of stopping it."

L tilts his head to the side. So that's what it is. One of those times when he feels a tad more playful, a bit more nagging, and tries to drag you into a verbal game that doesn't end until you surrender and let him have his way.

The church is long gone by now, and the cows too. Just empty space surrounded by trees which line up along the sides of the road.

You wish you were tired enough to nap through the rest of the ride, but since Watari brought a humidifier for your room, your night sleep has never been better. That leaves reading, and you pull an e-book from your bag to continue the novel started a few days ago.

You feel his head lean closer to your shoulder halfway through chapter six. His hair has grown a bit and tickles.

"Find your own book," you murmur and flip to the next page.

L hums and stays in place.

Ten minutes pass, then fifteen, he doesn't move and you wonder ─ when. His fingers are linked loosely with yours and you haven't tried to pry them off yet. Why haven't you?

When did you start tolerating his presence to this extent?

It's quiet save for the tires noise. Your index finger taps a pattern against the screen. Tap-tap-tap.

"The killer is-" L begins right when you get to the chapter nine.

"-male-" he continues despite your elbow hitting his side.

"-mid-thirties, dark hair-"

You slam your palm over his mouth, and the e-book falls from your lap onto the car floor. L blinks once before licking your hand like he's five years old instead of twenty three stepping into twenty four. You yelp and wipe it off against your jeans while Watari coughs in the front seat.

"You-" you catch yourself mid-sentence, then take a deep breath. "I would appreciate if you didn't spoil the books I'm currently reading."

Or movies you're watching; or games you play; or anything at all really whenever it catches your attention long enough to become invested. He doesn't do it often when he's on a case, but off those L tends to get very bored very quickly and finds entertainment in your reactions.

His lips twitch, and you know 100% percent that he's going to do it again until you give up on reading altogether and spend the rest of the ride talking to him instead, though "talking" is a loose term here. More like indulging whatever topic L decides to fixate on this time around, because if you ignore him, he will be just as content with staring at you for hours on end with nothing but silence between you both.

#shalott fanfiction #death note #yandere #yandere l lawliet #yandere l x reader #yandere l lawliet x reader #shalott imagine

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pearlessance · 4 months ago

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Forgive Me, Father - Idle Threats [viii]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel hears your confession and breaks all ten commandments in the house of the holy.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, reader has added backstory to progress the plot, mention of sexual assault, murder, canon typical violence, renouncing of god, desecration of a church, blood, brief daddy kink

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

The following days are easier than any other you’ve had since leaving Jackson. It takes two days, but Joel hears your laugh again and feels himself release a heavy weight at the sound. Once, when the two of you are switching watch shifts, you sleepily mutter his name. And he goes to you like he always will—and you whisper an almost incoherent confession of your affection. “I love you, too,” you say, and he tries not to think about the way it makes him feel like a boy your age, hearing those words for the first time.

You move slower, and it’s not because of the extra weight strapped to your horses. Joel doesn’t say it, but he knows it’s because you’re afraid of returning to Jackson. Afraid of things going back to the way they were before this run.

In truth, Joel worries about it too. Worries about finding a new routine, worries about Maria and Tommy and Ellie, worries about what they’ll say. It won’t make him change his mind, he knows. Nothing would ever make him regret this selfish decision to keep you. But sometimes, in a too-long moment of silence, anxiety builds in his chest when he thinks of it.

But you still have several days before you return, and Joel intends to soak up this sweet, delicate time with you while he still can.

A little over halfway back to Jackson, you stop before the sun sets and make camp in an old, abandoned church. The very same one advertised on the billboard Joel had seen on the way to Casper.

Some of the pews are turned over while others have been broken apart and likely set ablaze in the pile of ashes in the center of the floor. There are no infected, but there’s a stone statue of Mary that looms ominously in the corner, covered in dust and cracked along its painted surface.

Joel feels uncomfortable here. Feels watched, judged. His skin crawls and he thinks about pushing on until you find some other place to rest.

The altar table has been left untouched, decorated with a yellowed, satin ribbon draped along its center. The bible lying on top is flipped open to a passage Joel knows well.

Corinthians 10:13

No temptation has seized you except what is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that which you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.

It’s bookmarked not with a scrap of paper but with a silver necklace tucked in its spine. A dainty thing with a cross dangling from the end of it. Joel picks it up, watches it sway between his calloused fingers.

And when he turns to face you, you’re standing in the middle of the center aisle and the setting sunlight casts a shadow across your face, making you look like some angelic being sent to him by God himself. “Did you ever come to one of these before the world ended?”

Joel nods, takes the necklace in his hands and finds his way back to you. “Quite a bit when I was a kid,” he answers. “My mom was pretty religious. We went to every Sunday service and sometimes the ones on Wednesdays, too. Even sent Tommy and I to the church's after-school program for young kids.”

He holds the necklace out to show you, and a shiver runs down his spine when you trace the cross in his palm, your touch electrifying. It’s just the smallest brush of your index finger, but it makes the air get caught in his lungs. “Pretty,” you say wistfully. “Do you believe in God?”

Joel jerks his chin in a silent demand and you obey wordlessly, turning away from him. He unclasps the necklace as you hold your hair out of the way. “I did,” he answers slowly, wrapping the silver chain carefully around your throat. “And then I didn’t.”

“And now?”

He secures it and runs his knuckles down the nape of your neck. No would be the closest thing to the truth, but it’s not quite it. Joel thinks about lying to save himself the shame but rejects the thought as soon as it comes. “I believe in you,” he says quietly.

Somehow this confession feels heavier than his declaration of love. Perhaps it’s because this is the thing he’s struggled with, this strange worship of Judas. You’ve come to him in pieces, a shell of a girl, a betrayer—and yet it’s your altar he crawls to. It’s you who holds the keys to heaven, who controls both his grace and his damnation.

Joel leans forward and presses his lips to your skin, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He can feel your breath falter, and so he does it again. This time a kiss to your shoulder, right above the collar of your sweater.

His hands have a mind of their own as they find your waist. Joel knows this is wrong, knows how sinful it is, and yet he knows the only way to endure the taste of the forbidden fruit is to bite into it, to devour it, to consume it for as long as he’s able. He has spent so much of his life fighting, resisting, repenting—but maybe it’s time God asks for his forgiveness.

Your skin is smooth beneath his calloused palms. He slides them beneath your shirt, over your hips, up your torso. He pulls at the soft garment, and you lift your arms for him to make it easier as he pulls it off and discards it in the nearest pew.

And then his hands are on you again—this time tracing the edge of your jeans, pinky finger dipping slowly beneath the band around your waist, teasing. You’re panting now, chest rising and falling in quick succession. You say his name a little like a prayer and it brings a smile to his face.

“Shh,” he says. “Patience is a virtue, little girl.” But he wants you, perhaps even more than you want to be touched, so his left hand finds the button of your jeans and undoes it.

He moves slowly, and you stand completely still as Joel peels the too-tight jeans down your legs. You kick your boots off, and soon you’re standing in the middle of this crumbling church in nothing but a pair of baby pink panties and a white lace bralette, looking every bit the divine goddess he doesn’t deserve.

When you turn to face him, there’s a playful glint in your eye. “Let me try it,” you say. “One question, though. Is it forgive me, father? Or is it forgive me, Daddy?”

Two things happen inside him at once.

First, the crudeness of your words baffles him so completely that he laughs. Full-on laughs for the first time in twenty years. The vulgarity of it in a place of worship is somehow both amusing and horrifying.

Second, all the blood in his head rushes south. Because the word daddy in your mouth is the most erotic thing he’s ever heard, the dirtiest thing he’s ever heard, and Joel knows right away that he will never have the strength to process why such a thing makes him so goddamn hard. Doesn’t even attempt it.

He simply enjoys it instead. Allows it to drown him, consume him wholly. Accepts what is and what isn’t. Accepts that he is the most deplorable man that’s ever existed and it’s why he’ll never deserve you but it’s also why it’ll never matter. Because now…you belong to the most deplorable man.

The devil and his pretty, perfect Judas.

And then you lower yourself to your knees in front of him and Joel struggles to keep his weary heart from bursting from his chest.

His attempts at composure are blown to pieces when you press your hands together and look up at him through your lashes. With all humor bled from the moment, overtaken by a sudden hunger, you say, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” and something evil stirs inside him.

Something more than sinful. Something ungodly. Something blasphemous.

That cross is draped beautifully between your breasts, cleavage elevated by the angle of your arms.

Joel reaches out with both hands and runs them through your hair affectionately. “You look so pretty on your knees,” he says. “You got somethin’ to confess?”

You nod and a smirk graces your face. “I’ve been having wicked thoughts,” you say, voice taking on an innocent and girlish tone. “And…I’ve been giving into temptation, Father.”

“S’that right?” Joel licks his lips. His cock throbs in his jeans, desperate for your touch in a way it’s never been before.

He watches, transfixed, as you take your bottom lip between your teeth, taking your hands from the position of prayer and instead running them up his strong thighs. You slide them beneath his flannel, soft hands cool against his heated skin. “I’ve been letting a man touch me.” You’re whispering, but he feels each syllable down to his bones. “An older man,” you continue, pulling at his belt.

Joel finds you mesmerizing. Thinks you’ve ruined him. Completely, utterly decimated the man he used to be. “Touch you how?”

You don’t take your eyes off his as his belt clinks against the button of his jeans. “I’ve let him inside me, Father,” you say, pulling down his zipper at a torturous pace. “I’ve let him in my mouth, in my heart, in between my thighs.”

He never thought it possible, but his need for you grows teeth, morphs into some vicious, ravenous thing. Joel brushes his fingers through your hair, pulling lightly at the roots. “And what do you think you should do as repentance, sweetheart?”

Joel’s reminded of a siren’s song when you answer, “I think I should show a little extra devotion. Don’t you?” You pull his cock from his jeans, and the simple touch of your hand has him nearly shaking in anticipation. You break character for only long enough to giggle softly, wipe the back of your hand over your glossy lips, and say, “My mouth is watering.”

He smooths your hair back away from your face, admiring the way you look on your knees for him, just as desperate as he is. “Go’head, baby,” he says.

You don’t waste any time. You’re slow in your pursuit; tongue tracing the vein on the underside of his cock. Savoring, worshiping, devoting yourself to him and him only. You swirl your tongue around the head, licking up drops of precum.

When you finally take him into your mouth, you don’t stop until you’ve swallowed him whole, choking on it, nose pressed to the tuft of hair below his navel. It’s the most glorious thing Joel’s ever seen in all his life. And then you moan, and he can feel the vibrations of it down to his toes.

You pull your head back far enough, and your mouth leaves him completely, connected by nothing but strands of saliva. Your lips are already bruised and swollen, but they pull into the prettiest, proudest smile he’s ever seen, and Joel’s weak in the knees.

“Filthy little girl,” he says affectionately, hands still running through the silky strands of your hair. “Y’like that? Hm? You like that mouth filled up, don’t you?”

“Mmhm.” There’s so much love, so much worship in your eyes that he feels his chest pull tight. You take his cock in your mouth again, tongue sliding along the underside of it, cheeks hollowed out to take him in deeper.

Joel feels your devotion with each soft lick, each swallow at the back of your throat, each ragged, choked breath. He knows he won’t last long. Your mouth is too hot, too wet, too sweet. And when you pick up the pace, bobbing your head, fingernails leaving indentations in the exposed skin of his thighs, pressure builds at the base of his spine like a fucking noose. “There you go,” he encourages. “Doin’ so fuckin’ good, baby. Shit —just like that.”

Your cheeks are flushed, and Joel’s once gentle hands pull tight in your hair, guiding your mouth down onto him. It only makes those delicious moans around his cock that much sweeter. Your thighs are clamped tightly together, and he barrels towards euphoria as he thinks about just how wet he knows you are, his dirty little girl.

“Fuck, baby—fuck. Hold on, hold on.” He pulls your head back, cock slick and glossy, covered in your spit. He’s going to finish just like this if he’s not careful. “Gonna be over too soon if you keep that up.”

“Please, Joel,” you say. “I want to taste it. It’s all I want. Let me make you feel good.”

Joel thinks Michaelangelo never would’ve sculpted David, had his existence overlapped with yours. Because in all the time of the universe, a sight has never lived as beautiful as the one of you begging on your knees before him.

What kind of man would he be if he refused? Joel wants to give you everything you could ever ask for. Wants to give you the world at whatever cost to his soul.

So, he doesn’t stop you when you wrap your bruised lips around his cock again. You feel like heaven, or as close to it as he’ll ever be allowed.

He comes at the back of your throat with a groan and trembling hands in your hair. Hands that are all too aware that they hold something holy, something divine. “ Goddamn —fuck. Mm, yeah. There you go, baby. There you go.”

His cock throbs in your mouth, and you don’t stop sucking until he’s completely spent. And when you do finally lean back and stick out your tongue, he’s nearly hard again at the obscene way his come drips down your lips, down your chin.

Then you swallow, and Joel grins and rests his palm gently on your cheek. He uses the rough pad of his thumb to push the last few drops back into your mouth, and you suck it down greedily. “Gotta take it all, little girl. Make me proud, hm?”

And as soon as you’re satisfied, Joel’s pulling you back to your feet and pressing his mouth to yours in a ravenous kiss. He can taste remnants of himself on you, and it’s the most comforting sensation he’s ever experienced. It’s proof of your union, evidence of your devotion. A physical, tangible way to convince him he’s not alone in his sacrilege.

Joel lifts you off your feet, and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. He carries you to the altar table, lays you down, and pushes your knees apart. Normally, he likes to take his time with you. Likes to savor the way you taste, the way you feel. But he’s so hungry for you and you only that he cannot— cannot wait another fucking second.

But then you say his name and his every intention freezes. “You don’t have to,” you say, and it confuses him. You attempt an explanation. “I don’t want you to feel like you always have to make me finish, too. I just…I didn’t do it expecting anything in return. I want you to know that.”

You sound so sincere, so… benevolent. A far cry from the bratty little girl he first met. He presses a kiss to your temple and says quietly, “I’d never let my little girl go without. Not the kinda man I am, baby.”

He might be too old to go rounds with you, but he knows how to make you feel good. He’s real good at it, in fact.

Joel leans over and presses a chaste kiss to your clit, right over your panties. He delights in the way it makes you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the sounds you make when he pulls the fabric to the side and slides his tongue through your wet warmth.

He presses your legs back, opens you further, and laps at your pussy like a man starved for you because he is. You taste like redemption, like home.

Your hands weave into his hair, tugging lightly, and Joel moans when you press his face against your pussy like he just can’t get close enough. He takes your clit in his mouth and sucks hard, tongue rolling over it softly.

“Fuck, that feels so good, Joel— God —”

A groan escapes him, lips vibrating with the sound of it. His cock begins to harden again, hanging heavy between his legs. He’s insatiable for you; returned to the needy, desperate stage of his masculinity he once thought he’d grown out of.

Joel quickens the movement of his tongue and slips a finger inside of you. Your back arches off the altar table and your hips grind against his face, smearing your slick down his chin, over his lips.

He hooks his finger inside of you and strokes the spot that makes you writhe. You look so beautiful he thinks you must be some divine being. It’s the only thing that makes sense in his head.

Your legs begin to tremble around his shoulders and that’s when he decides to pull away. Because he wants you to cum for him, wants to be the reason you shiver and shake—but he wants to feel it.

In one smooth movement, he pulls you to the edge of the altar table and sinks his cock into you deep.

“Oh my God,” you whimper. “Fuck, fuck, Joel, I’m gonna—!”

“Wait,” he says, stilling the instinctual rocking of his hips. You’re so tight, so smooth and wet as your pussy flutters around his cock. He pushes into you to the hilt but doesn’t move, doesn’t give you the satisfaction. He moves his hands to your lower belly, applying just a little bit of pressure. He can feel himself inside you, can feel just how full of him you are. “Want you to cum with me, little girl,” he says. “Can you do that for me? Hm?”

Slowly, experimentally, he shifts his hips the smallest bit, thrusting into you and laughing maliciously at the way you squeeze your eyes shut and whine for more. “I can—can try,” you stammer. “But it feels so —”

“Shh, I know baby,” he says, thrusting into you again, a little harder this time. It feels euphoric, indulging himself in you in a place of worship. He can feel faith in the air like magic, faith in you, in himself, in the love you share.

He moves again, fucking you slow and deep. If it weren’t for the way you make him feel, he thinks he might last a little longer. But the taste of ambrosia lingers on his tongue and he can see the pulsing of your clit and feel the tension in your muscles created from holding yourself back from the edge of pleasure.

Pride swells in his chest. His perfect girl, doing everything he asks, doing anything to please him. It makes him feel holy, like maybe the only godly presence in the room is him.

This is what you’ve done to him. You’ve taken this shell of a man and turned him seraphic, turned him sacred through your worship. Emotion builds in his throat when he thinks of it, when he realizes just how lucky he is to exist in this same universe as you, in the same lifetime.

He kisses you deep and fucks you even deeper.

“Joel,” you pant, fingernails digging into the side of the altar table. The aged satin cloth has been wrinkled beneath your weight, hanging slightly askew off the edge. “Please, please, I can’t—!”

Warmth pools low in his belly. You sound so pretty when you beg. He presses one hand harder against your abdomen and uses the other to circle your clit. He can feel his cock move beneath his palm with each thrust and the sensation is the filthiest thing he’s ever experienced.

The pressure builds and builds and builds, and then finally —

“Go ‘head, baby. Cum for me,” he says, thrusting a little faster, rhythm faltering as rapture fills him like sunlight. Your legs tremble around his hips and your moans echo in the church as you find faith, too.

“I love you,” you say, and it feels like redemption. Like the opening of heaven’s gates.

Like forgiveness.

You come down slowly, and Joel’s completely spent with almost no energy left. Yet still he helps you dress, pulls your sweater back on, and buttons up those too-tight jeans.

You eat together, rationing what little food you have left to try and stretch these precious days out a little longer. You admit around a bite of hard bread that you’re exhausted from the day’s ride and he is, too. And so you work together to stack the pews in front of the church’s double doors, sealing yourself inside but more importantly keeping anything outside from getting in.

There’s a window at the back of the church in a room Joel knows was once used for confessional. He leaves it cracked just enough to hear the horses outside if a commotion is caused. And then he holds you in his arms and sleeps.

It’s the best sleep Joel’s gotten in twenty-five years, the sound of your voice echoing even in his dreams.

But halfway through the night, the sound of whinnying and rambunctious laughter can be heard, jarring you both awake.

You’re out of his arms and at the back of the church before Joel’s finished blinking his eyes open.

He stands to his feet, heart racing behind his ribcage.

Men’s voices, but far away. Several of them.

He watches you move quickly through the church to the window at the front, watches you carefully peak through the dirty glass pane.

Joel saddles up behind you and has never been more thankful that you skipped the warmth of a fire. Because fifteen yards away, there’s a group of men passing through. Some on horses, others walking casually beside them. They’re not subtle about their presence.

Maybe they don’t think anyone’s around. And on any normal day, they would be right. Except this day, Joel’s here. You’re here.

He picks up his rifle from the makeshift bed the two of you created hours ago.

You don’t move. You stay focused, transfixed as if you’re trying to see the minute details of their faces from this far away. You wipe the glass with the ivory sleeve of your sweater and it comes away grimy, covered in dust.

Joel knows there’s something you’re not telling him. Can feel the tension, electric and tight in the air, skin crawling with it. Your eyes are narrowed, focused on the sound of rambunctious laughter coming from the small group of men.

And then your spine straightens and all concern bleeds from your face, replaced in an instant with rage. Red, murderous rage. Joel thinks he’s only seen that sort of frenzy in his own reflection. Now it stares back at him, mirrored and bloodthirsty. “What is it?”

You don’t answer. The scrape of your knife against its sheath at your thigh strikes a terror in him he hasn’t felt in years. His stomach turns uncomfortably because Joel knows, he knows something isn’t right. Something is going to go wrong. He can feel it in his marrow.

“Stop,” he says. “Talk to me.”

It’s like his words don’t even register. You say nothing as you pull at the pews stacked in front of the doors. They scrape noisily against the hardwood floor, and Joel tries to find something to stop you, to get through to you—but that knife is still clutched in your blanched fist and he knows in your rage you’ll swing at him all the same.

“There are eight of them and two of us,” he tries to reason. “We have no ammunition, no bullets, no arrows. We have to let them—”

“Go?” You turn your frenzied eyes on him. “What’s now eight used to be twenty,” you say. “I won’t let them get away this time.”

“Then we plan for it,” he says, holding out a hand and taking a tentative step toward you. It doesn’t matter to him what your reasoning may be. Joel knows that sort of wrath, knows he’ll never change your mind. And he knows following you down this path of slaughter is bound to bloody his hands further, to taint his soul this time beyond repair.

But he made a promise to you. Nothing in this world will you ever face alone.

The problem is that Joel knows neither of you will make it out alive. Not in this. You got lucky back in Casper, and he’s got the knowledge and experience with age to know you won’t get lucky twice.

He can’t let you do this.

“They won’t get far, okay? Not in an area like this. We go home— tomorrow. We ride to Jackson and we’ll get there in a day if we don't stop. And then we’ll come back for them, alright? We’ll stock up and track them down. I swear to you—”

“You don’t know,” you say, voice shaking. “You don’t know what they did—!”

“So tell me. Tell me everything. Give me the knife.” He reaches for it slowly, carefully. You eye him like he might grow claws and an extra head if you look away for an instant.

You don’t trust him, Joel realizes. Not at this moment, not with this. “Joel,” you say in warning. “Don’t.”

He wonders what’s led you here. Wonders about who’s distrusting hands you once placed your justice in.

The answer comes to him the moment the question crosses his mind.

“I’m not like her,” he says. “Look at me, baby girl. Look at me .”

You do. And though that frenzied look lingers in your eyes, something in you softens and he’s grateful for it.

“I’m not Maria. You understand me? When I make you a promise, I mean it. I will kill them. All of them. But we have to be smart about this. We have to do it right. Yeah?” He reaches out again. “Give me the knife.”

You angle it higher, just out of his reach. For a second Joel thinks all progress has been lost because he moved too quickly, too carelessly. But then you say, “Swear it to me. Swear on her life that you won't make me let them go.”

On her life.

Not her death, but her life. A promise of certainty. An unbreakable oath. Because if he fails, if he shatters this trust, Sarah’s life means nothing.

Joel’s lungs ache. Everything hurts and his skin feels like it’s on fire because no one has ever seen him like this. No one has known exactly what to say, exactly which bruises to press.

He nods slowly. “Okay,” he relents. “I swear on her life that we will find them.”

Carefully, you hand him the blade, and as if giving it away had flipped a switch, you deflate.

Joel slides your knife into the side of his boot when you turn away from him and go back to the window.

He stands beside you, a looming presence at your back. Even though he wants answers, he doesn’t want to pry them out of you. And your silence allows him the space for his mind to wander into unspeakable places. Joel has seen firsthand the depraved, vile things that mankind spirals into beneath the weight of survival.

For a time, even he had sunk so incredibly low.

And because he’s seen so much, his brain is filled with gut-wrenching images, theoretical scenes of torture, corruption, and perversion. Each one is more brutal than the last. And in them all, you’re the center of it.

You watch the group of men through the window until the blue illumination of their flashlights disappears from view. And the moment they do, you’re slipping through the window in the back of the church.

Joel follows you, a million questions on the tip of his tongue. But he stays silent and does nothing but help you gather debris fallen from the trees in the wooded area behind the church.

Once, he picks up a curved stick, and as if you’d seen it from the back of your head, you say, “No. Not that one. If they’re too curved, the arrows won’t shoot straight.”

The two of you gather timber for over an hour. And when his hands are just as full as yours, you return to the church. Joel returns your knife and you attempt to teach him how to shave the stick correctly and to whittle the point of it into a weapon.

He’s not even half as fast as you are. For every arrow he creates, you produce three. It’s a slow, tedious process, but eventually, you begin to speak.

“It happened on the last run I did for Maria,” you say, eyes focused on the knife and wood in your hands. “I fell asleep one night. It’d been days since I’d given myself a chance to rest and it had finally caught up to me. I’d barricaded myself in a house and might as well have been dead to the world. Two of them found me. Didn’t wake me, didn’t try to kill me or anything. They just took my bow and my pack. My pack that was mostly empty, had nothing in it but a twelve gauge with two bullets, some cans of food, water, and those stale fucking barbecue chips.”

You shake your head dismally.

“Should’ve fuckin left it. But I…I was afraid. If I came back to Jackson without the one thing she asked for, what use was I? What kept me there?”

It pains him to hear you say it. He wants to tell you you’re wrong, that despite what Maria has made you believe, your worth is not tied to what you can do for her. But he doesn’t. Joel just lets you talk.

“I tracked them to a warehouse a few miles outside of Boise. Watched them for a while, memorized all the entrances, the windows. Even memorized their faces. They had two people on watch in rotating shifts. I didn’t want to kill them, considering they didn’t try to kill me. But I wanted my pack, and so I waited until four of them were talking during a shift change and slipped inside through the back.”

Your eyes darken, and Joel fears what you may say next.

“Didn’t go as planned. One of them saw me. Outed me immediately, of course. And I thought they’d kill me. Shoot me or something. But that didn’t go as planned, either. The leader was called Gabriel.”

Your hands around the arrow still and your eyes grow misty. You’re reliving it, as clearly as if it were happening now.

“He, uhm…held me down. Suggested the rest of them take turns with me.”

Joel feels something inside him shift. Feels a decision being made, feels murder begin to drip down his fingertips like water.

“They’d already had my shotgun and took the pistol I had tucked in the back of my jeans the second they ripped them off. I thought…I thought it was the end for me. Because even if I survived it, even if I made it through all twenty of them…I might as well have been dead anyway.”

He understands now, Joel realizes. Understands why you were so infuriated about a run for a pregnancy craving when the price was this. His mouth runs dry.

Your words echo in the dark church. “Had my knife tucked up the sleeve of my jacket, though.” A small smile graces your face as you turn the blade over in your fingers admiringly. “Was able to stop Gabriel before he got any further. They were…stupid. Arrogant. Came at me one by one because why would you need more than that to fight a little girl with nothing but a knife ?”

Now there are only eight of them. The main perpetrator perished, his blood stained so deeply into your jacket that when you’d returned to Jackson they’d had to burn it. No salvaging anything from your destruction.

Nothing but this vengeance, this promise to yourself to right those who wronged you. He forced you to break it for your own safety. And though a surge of regret and sorrow trickles into his psyche, he knows there’s still an unbroken vow remaining.

The promise Joel made to you.

“Some of them ran. I tried to track them but after a few days, I just…I needed sleep. I wanted to go home.” You go black to fletching your arrow, whittling the end into a sharp point. “I’ll find them one day. Then it’ll be me taking turns with them .”

You don’t say much else for the next two hours. And he doesn’t, either. He helps you sharpen the timber into arrows and when you yawn three times in less than five minutes, he gives you his flannel and lets you lay your head in his lap.

Joel smooths the tangles in your hair as you sleep. And when you begin to softly snore, he carefully shifts your head onto your sleeping bag and tucks the strap of his rifle beneath your arm.

When he slips out of the window in the back of the church, he latches it shut. He decides against taking a horse, worried it’d create too much commotion.

But he does take your serrated sawback knife, telling himself it’s poetic justice.

They’re only two miles away, stashed in a rundown grocery store that’s been picked over one too many times. Two men sit outside the door. Old habits die hard, Joel thinks.

One has his head tilted back against the stone wall, sleeping with an ease he doesn’t deserve.

Joel takes out the other one first. And he does it quicker than he’d like. He creeps up behind him silently, wraps one hand around his throat, and uses the other to cover his mouth. The snap of his spine reverberates through Joel’s hands, tingling from his palms down to his elbows.

The other wakes with the commotion but doesn’t even have the chance to scream before your knife is lodged in his neck so deep the sharp point sticks out of the other end.

Inside, the other six all rest as well. Joel wonders how they can do so peacefully, knowing they’ve given an innocent little girl fuel for her nightmares. A girl who’s lost enough, who’s sacrificed enough, more than anyone should—only to lose a piece of herself at their greedy hands.

He makes quick work of them. Even delights in the way life leaves their eyes. One by one, Joel uses your knife to slit each and every one of their throats.

By the time he’s finished, his hands are caked in blood, splatters staining the sleeves of his heavy, canvas coat, and all that’s left of the men who hurt you are eight corpses.

You’re still sleeping when he slips back through the window of the church. It’s a little ironic, he thinks, to return here to this holy place with an angel inside, all while covered in the stink of death.

Joel sits beside you, back pressed against a pew. His hands rest on his knees, blood still drying beneath his fingernails. He watches you sleep and thinks his damnation is worth it if this brings you a sense of safety.

Though he tries not to, Joel thinks an awful lot about Sarah. Thinks about how he failed her, how just a little more brutality could have saved her.

He’s spent years regretting that night, regretting holding on to the shred of humanity he had left when he should have been holding onto her. He makes a promise not to repeat the same bad habits. Makes a promise he’ll never let his naive desire for respite get in the way of his need to protect you, to keep you safe. He’s breaking the habit, the same as he did with Ellie, because Joel doesn’t think he'll ever survive a loss of such magnitude again.

It doesn’t matter what he has to become to keep you safe. Doesn’t matter the cost to his soul.

Your face looks peaceful but your fists are coiled tight beneath your head. As if even in your sleep you’re fighting something, always on the defense. He wonders if it’s a trait you inherited before or after those men, before or after your sister's death, before or after the accusatory way the inhabitants of Jackson look at you.

Joel feels something heavy rise up in him. Something akin to sorrow or grief. This deep, pensive heartache because it’s just not fair. You’re so young, so innocent, dealing with the same demons he still fights and sometimes loses to at age fifty-two.

He doesn’t want this for you. Doesn’t want you to become volatile, murderous, monstrous in the ways he has. Joel spent so much time pushing you away and he thinks maybe it’s because there’s so much of his anger mirrored in you. That staring it in the face felt too harrowing, too raw.

The longer he thinks about it the more pieces slot together in his brain. Your cruel words hurled at anyone who sets you on edge. Your inability to follow any direction that isn’t forced. The self-isolation, the distrust in even those you love most. That animalistic fight in you, flight and freeze be damned. The need to protect others before yourself—Joel, Ellie, Miley, even Maria.

You don’t deserve to live like this. Don't deserve eternal damnation or to experience the wrath of God for the monstrous things you result to when you feel all else is lost. Violence is the only thing that has never turned its back on you.

Joel’s melancholy manifests, a single tear sliding down his cheek. You’re just a little girl and it's not fucking fair.

He doesn’t want this for you. He wants you to live a full, happy, peaceful life. Not one spent out here chasing ghosts, trying to find your worth in providing for others. He wants you to be protected, to know you’re loved even when you lash out, wants you to know that he understands. Joel wants to be that for you. Wants to be the unwavering support you deserve, wants to be the thing that pulls you back from that ledge you’re dancing upon. Joel wants to be for you what he needed in the darkest part of his rage.

But to do that, you’re going to have to relinquish a little more of that control you hold so tightly.

When you wake, it’s gradual. You don’t startle or flinch at the blood on his hands. But your eyes linger there on the red stain for some time before you ask, “All of them?”

Joel nods once. “All of them.”

And then you’re crawling into his lap, straddling him, pressing your mouth to his, thanking him in the only way you know how. Your tongue tastes like sleep and ambrosia and sunlight, but when Joel cradles your face in his hands he leaves blood in the wake of his fingertips. The bright red is a stark contrast against the smoothness of your skin, the violence an antithesis to your innocence.

He slides his bloody hands into your hair when your hips begin to move. His cock hardens quickly as his body catches up with your intent, always needy and eager, always just waiting to join you in more than just soul.

While he unbuttons his jeans and slides his zipper down to pull his erection out, your mouth never leaves his. Even when you shove those too-tight jeans down your thighs just enough to make room for him. When you lift up on your knees and sink down onto his cock in one familiarized movement he can feel the vibration of your moan against his tongue, can feel the breath of air from your gasp as he settles in deep.

The stretch is blissfully painful, stinging in all the right ways. You rock your hips slowly at first, adjusting to the sheer size of him, adjusting to his all-encompassing warmth. Your fingers dig into his thick shoulders, desperate to keep your balance.

And then you lift just enough to come slamming back down, the friction setting his skin ablaze. Again, again, again —it’s hurried and needy and depraved. Your hips move fervently over his, seeking out what you know only he can provide.

Your eyes are squeezed shut when you pull your sweet mouth away from his. Joel watches you lean back and place your hands on his thighs for support, back arching, and somehow he finds himself even deeper inside you. You’re moaning and his breath is coming fast and he thinks you look more than just angelic from this angle. He watches you ride his cock and wonders if you were fucking made to do this.

Cheeks flushed, lips parted, his name on your lips. Is this what Eve saw in the waxy reflection of the forbidden fruit? Is this what she saw when she knowingly abandoned paradise?

Joel thinks it can’t get much better than this. Thinks the only thing that’s ever come close is the feeling of blood on his hands in the name of those he loves, in the name of you.

He wraps his hand around your throat, staining you even further red, and says, “I’d do anything for you. Anything .”

He thinks about the Ten Commandments, about how he can cross off every single one of them with just this act alone.

You shall have no other Gods before me.

No divine being has made him feel like this. No divinity has ever reached up through his ribs and squeezed a fist around his heart. Not like you have.

You shall make no idols.

He thinks about the way you look in his canvas coat. Joel has found his own form of peace through you, has found forgiveness beneath your tongue.

You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain.

Your pace quickens. The obscene, wet sounds coming from the place you’re joined echo in the walls of the church. “Oh my God, Joel, I’m—I’m close.”

He knows you are. Can feel it in the way your pussy squeezes him like a vise, in the way your rhythm becomes sloppy and desperate.

Keep the Sabbath day holy.

Joel doesn’t know what day it is. But he knows he wishes he could stay here in this home you’ve made together within the bones of an old religion, wishes he could stay inside you. He doesn’t know if there’s anything more unholy than this insatiable desire.

Honor your father and mother.

He thinks about that day in the dining hall when embarrassment climbed Maria’s cheeks as you screamed in her face. Joel thinks she deserved it more than he realized that day. He thinks about the way you spoke to him in that watchtower, thinks about the way he’d had to drag you there by your hair, all while listening to every disrespectful thing that came out of your mouth and how a few short weeks later you got down on your knees and called him daddy.

You shall not murder.

He takes the hand wrapped around your throat and flattens it against your sternum. The blood is drying but still marks your skin in the shape of his fingerprints.

You shall not commit adultery.

Joel knows he’s supposed to be with a lovely, soft-spoken, age-appropriate woman but knows, too, that death would be kinder than the loss of you.

You shall not steal.

He was angry at first, about the strawberry scone. Mike’s wife is a kind woman who spends her time baking for the community. But Ellie likely never would’ve had the opportunity to try it had you not nicked the pastry. If it was always going to lead the two of you here, together, Joel would have stolen every last scone on God’s green earth.

You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.

Lying seems a small price to pay for you, for your safety. He remembers telling Greg and Bonnie that you were running late the night you left him in the watchtower alone. He wanted to keep you safe then even without noticing that’s what he was doing. Safe from ridicule, from judgment.

You shall not covet.

He recalls seeing Abel’s hands on you, seeing his lips against your hair in a chaste kiss. Joel had wanted to kill him then, for touching what was his. He knows by taking you for his own, he’s taking you away from someone like Abel. Someone with a little more moral in their heart, a little less blood on their hands. But he doesn’t care because you’re his now and always.

Joel lifts his hips in tandem with yours, meeting each stroke, thrusting his cock even deeper inside you. Your legs begin to shake around his and Joel thinks damnation isn’t so bad. “Anything,” he repeats. “Lie, cheat, steal.” His hand on your chest slides up again, wrapping tight around your throat. “I’d kill for you, little girl.”

Your pussy flutters around him and your spine bends in the most beautiful arch he’s ever seen. It solidifies his belief in one very important thing, the last nail in the coffin that cements the two of you together eternally.

This filthy, sinful devotion is cosmic. Celestial. Unearthly. So much more than a bible and cross.

It’s worth it. It’s worth everything.

“You like that? Hm?” Your rhythm falters but his remains steady. “Like that I’d spill blood for you, s’that it? That’s what got you all wet, sweetheart?” Your moans turn saccharine— sacrilegious. “Pretty pussy’s so fuckin’ tight, baby. Such a messy thing. I’d kill anyone for my little girl. Anyone .”

“Joel, I—!”

He knows, he knows. Because he is, too. “Yeah, thaaaat’s it,” he says, drawing out each syllable. Your hands squeeze hard around his thighs and your muscles draw tight. “There you go, baby. Cum for me. That’s it. Sweet fuckin’ girl. Gonna fill you up. That what you want?”

You rasp out his name and the words yes, please, please, and it sounds like a fucking prayer. It’s a hypnotic litany. It makes him feel cherished, adored. And the sound of it spoken in worship in the house of God sends him over the edge.

Even though your legs tremble around his, you ride his cock relentlessly. Joel’s vision goes white and his hand on your hip squeezes tight enough to bruise. You feel so good, so warm and wet. You lift your hips and slam them back down until the oversensitivity becomes more than he can bear. His hand abandons the home it’s made around your throat and finds the small of your back instead, stilling you completely.

You lean forward, collapsing with your hands pressed against his chest. Joel wraps his arms around your middle and cradles you in his lap, all too aware of the divinity he holds in his hands. He presses a kiss to your temple and listens to your heavy breaths.

Some time passes. He’s not sure how long the two of you sit there with Joel still wedged deep inside you, basking in the afterglow. The sun rises outside and the songbirds of the morning begin to sing.

Eventually, you lift your head and whisper, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Joel doesn’t understand. He’s stolen something he was undeserving of, only to be loved back. If anyone should be thankful, it should be him.

It feels like a punch to the gut when you say, “For seeing me.”

Because he now knows no one else ever has. No one has ever seen your defiance as anything but a nuisance, has never seen you as more than a troublemaker, as a bad omen.

But Joel does see you. He sees right through all that savage fight to the little girl beneath, that soft, childish innocence you keep under heavy guard. He thinks he’s been able to see through it since the first moment he laid eyes on you.

It’s her he wants to protect.

Joel takes your chin in his hand and makes you a commandment of his own. “I will always see you.”

[part seven] [part nine]

taglist; @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef @elliesr1fle @pascaltesfaye

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[masterist]

#joel miller #ao3 fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #x reader #smut #joel miller self insert #idle threats #pearlessance #tlou

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