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pedrospatch · 2 years ago

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a safe haven l six

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: Joel opens up to you about a very traumatic loss; he makes a confession about his feelings towards you; you make a confession of your own and it leads to something more.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. fluff, infidelity, Joel and reader are having a full blown affair at this point, angst, talks of child loss (Sarah), lots of feelings come to the surface, two idiots realize they are in love. SMUT. oral sex (m receiving), size mention bc i will always be convinced our man is packing) unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up pls), reader discovers she likes praise, creampie.

word count: 8.4k

August 2024

The next two and a half weeks that had passed by had done so without major incident, but things had taken a somewhat complicated turn.

You and Joel still manage to see one another a handful of times even with the exhausting amount of hours he’s been putting into his patrol duties, though it isn’t nearly as often as either of you wanted or would have preferred. But there was no other choice.

After numerous sightings of a group of potential raiders earlier on in the month, Tommy had no choice but to assign every last competent, able bodied patrol person, including himself, to work double shifts to ensure the safety and security of Jackson. He and Joel had come across the remnants of a campsite just about fifteen miles south of the settlement and they worried the group was hiding out, planning a violent, ambush attack on the community when it was least expected. Tommy had done his absolute best to keep the word from spreading throughout the commune to avoid causing a panic, but he found himself having to fess up when people went up to him and all but furiously demanded to know the truth—the real reason behind why their loved ones were now being asked to be on the other side of wall twenty four hours a day, seven days a week.

Joel, who you’d come to learn is one of the sharpest and strongest shooters out of everybody in Jackson besides his younger brother, reluctantly took on the role of lead patrolman. He had been assigned an absurd amount of double shifts to work, including the overnight routes, making it almost impossible for you to see each other. You’d understood he had no choice but to comply, but still—that didn’t make the situation any easier to deal with. Both of you tried to make the very best of what little time you managed to get together, but it hadn’t been nearly enough. As if not being able to see Joel wasn’t agonizing enough for you, the fact that he was out on the other side of the wall scared the hell out of you. The only way to keep yourself from losing your goddamn mind was to distract yourself.

You did everything that you could to keep your mind off Joel being out there. Burying yourself deeply into your work helped for the most part.

Besides that, Joel had asked you, as a favor to him, to keep a watchful eye on Ellie in light of his absence. You’d spend most of the day with her in the stables, you would have lunch with her in the mess hall along with Dina, and in the evening, you would go home and make dinner early enough to fix an extra plate of food for her so she had a nutritious homemade meal to enjoy instead of two decades old canned ravioli. You would take it over to her place and drop it off before Luke came home from the clinic. Ellie waited until it was late in the evening and he was asleep to return the plate back to you, and the two of you would take a lengthy, late night stroll through the town, keeping each other company for a while before heading off to bed. She hadn’t seemed to be all too concerned about Joel, but then again, Ellie had known better than you did that he could take care of himself out there just fine. If anything, you spending so much time with her had been more for your benefit than hers, and you started to suspect that just like Joel had asked you to keep an eye on Ellie, he had also asked her to keep an eye on you too. After all, you had made it abundantly clear to him that you were nervous about him being out on patrol while there was a possible threat looming in the shadows.

By the time the middle of August came around, no additional traces of the group had been found—they seemed to have vanished into thin air, causing a wave of relief to sweep through the town. Tommy and Maria finally decided to ease up and end the double shift assignments, allowing every single patrolman and woman to return to their normally scheduled work rotations. Joel went back to his usual early morning and afternoon patrol hours, which meant that the both of you could resume your clandestine meetings out behind the barn underneath the stars.

“I missed you,” you say, sighing out contentedly as you lean back against him.

You and Joel are sitting out on the large, vacant patch of field behind the barn, his soft, green flannel blanket acting as a barrier between your bodies and the itchiness of the grass the animals would graze on during the day. You’re nestled in between his long legs, your back against his warm chest as the two of you share the delicious, ripe peach he’d brought along with him as a surprise for you.

“Mm, probably not as much as I was missin’ you, sweet girl,” Joel replies with a hum before taking a bite of the fruit. Noticing there’s only a couple bites of it left, he reaches his arm around and holds it out for you, his bulging bicep straining against the sleeve of his faded black t-shirt. “Here, darlin’. Want you to go on and have the rest.”

“These will be out of season in a couple of months.” Giving a sad little pout to nobody in particular, you sigh again and sink your teeth into the peach. Through a small mouthful, you realize, “Who knows when we’ll ever get peaches around here again.”

Joel’s lips meet the spot on your neck right behind your ear and you feel him grin. “S’alright with me. I’ve got my sweet, perfect little peach right here. And I’ve got her all year round.”

You playfully elbow him in his chest. After polishing off the rest of the peach, you lick off the pit and toss it out into the distance.

“Didn’t think you’d be the type to litter,” he teases.

“It’s biodegradable,” you retort with a tiny laugh as you leaned your head back against his shoulder and gaze up, admiring the stars that sprinkle the velvet night skies. “Or at least, I think it is. Come to think of it, I never paid much attention in life science when I was in FEDRA school. It was my least favorite subject.”

You gather your hair in your hand, bringing it over your shoulder to keep it out of Joel’s face.

“Mm,” he whispers, licking his lips as his eyes fall to the delicate flesh of your exposed neck. He ghosts his mouth over your pulse point and his warm breath fans against your cool skin, prompting your eyes to flutter closed. “Just temptin’ me on purpose now, ain’t you, baby?”

“I would never do such a thing,” you object in an innocent tone, and he immediately clocks the smirk behind it. A comfortable silence falls over the both of you and while you’d normally welcome the peaceful, tranquil moment with him, tonight it feels impossible. You had gone so long without Joel over the last couple of weeks—at least, it had certainly felt long—and you realize one of things you’d missed most about him was the sound of his voice. “Ask me a question, Joel.”

“What kinda question can I ask, darlin’?”

Feeling brave, you offer, “You can ask me anything you want. No limits.”

Humming curiously to himself, he tries to think of something he hasn’t asked you before. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Really, Joel?” You snort, trying to mask your laughter as he rests his chin on your shoulder, the scruff of his beard tickling your skin as he presses his cheek against yours. “I just told you that you can ask me anything you want and that’s your question? What’s my favorite color?”

“Yeah,” he answers, simply. “I wanna know what it is.”

He turns his head, lifting it off your shoulder to brush a gentle kiss to your temple. Joel could not, for the life of him, even remember the last time he’d shared this kind of physical tenderness with anybody. Forehead kisses, holding your hand, all sorts of little tokens of affection he didn’t think he could still be capable of giving to someone came to him so naturally with you. You had brought out an entirely different side of him, one that had been buried beneath his rough exterior for well over two decades, and the part that Joel still can’t quite wrap his own head around is that you’d done it with such ease. He’d go as far as to say that you had done it without even trying.

“So?” Joel prompts you. “What is it?”

“It’s brown,” you answer.

“Brown? Why brown?”

“Because. It’s earthy, it’s warm—and your eyes are brown,” you state, grinning to yourself as you feel his loud laugh rumble through his chest and against your back. “What about you? I mean that’s if Joel Miller even has a favorite color,” you giggle teasingly, placing a hand on one of his denim clad legs. You then add, “Actually, I’m kind of curious now. Do you have a favorite color, Joel?”

Joel hesitates, momentarily holding onto his answer.

“I do. It’s purple,” he finally responds after a brief bout of silence. “Purple’s my favorite color.”

“Purple,” you repeat after him, unable to mask the surprise in your tone. “Really?”

Joel chuckles. “What? That weird or somethin’?”

“Uh, sort of. For one, you just don’t strike me as the kind of guy who would have a favorite color in the first place—and even if you’d told me you did, I would have never in a million years guessed that it was purple,” you admit, sheepishly. You trace a small circle around his knee with your finger and curiously ask him, “Why is purple your favorite color?”

“‘Cause. That’s my daughter’s favorite color.”

You scoff playfully. “Come on, Joel. Ellie’s favorite color sure as hell isn’t purple. Her favorite color is green. But red’s a close second.”

When he speaks again, his voice is so quiet you almost don’t hear him despite being in such close proximity.

“I ain’t talkin’ about Ellie.”

At first, it doesn’t quite register, but after a moment of processing, the pieces click together in your mind. Joel has another daughter.

Your smile vanishes and you slowly turn around between his legs to face him. Looking at him with wide, shocked eyes, you utter, “What?”

“Her name was Sarah,” he confesses, softly.

Was.

Your throat dries at his use of past tense.

Because you know exactly what that means.

Opening your mouth to speak, words fail you and you close it. You suddenly remember the way he would tap dance around certain details of his first life in Texas. Whenever he would speak about his life before the outbreak, he would be cautious, careful to watch himself and his words. You’d known Joel had been keeping something from you, something he wasn’t ready to disclose to you for one reason or another—but never would you have guessed that him having a daughter would be the secret he had been hiding.

By now, you’ve turned your body around and you kneel in front of him, sitting back onto your heels. Not wanting to push him too hard or too fast, you clasp your hands together in your lap and wait silently—patiently—for him to continue when he’s ready.

“Sarah’s favorite color was purple. She’d wear it all the time. Her backpack, her school supplies, they all had to be purple or she wouldn’t use them. When she was nine years old, she begged me to paint the walls of her bedroom purple. One day, I took her to Home Depot after school to look at all the different shades.” He laughs, musing, “Didn’t know there could be so goddamn many of them. Anyhow, I told her I’d think ‘bout it. I went back to the store the next day while she was at school, bought a couple cans of the lavender shade I knew she’d like the best and by the time she got home, I had it all painted for her,” he explains, a sadness glazing over the fondness of the memory. “She loved purple. It was the color of the t-shirt she was wearin’ the last time we were together on the night of the outbreak.”

Your heart sinks. “Joel, you don’t have to tell me—”

“S’alright, peach. I wanna tell you ‘bout her,” Joel assures you, reaching out for your hand and taking it in his own. “I trust you, baby. Trust you more than enough to tell you ‘bout Sarah.”

Nodding, you lace his fingers together with your own.

“I was never married,” he starts to say, knowing whether or not he’d also had a wife before the world ended would be a question on your mind—that’s if it wasn’t already. “I was never with Sarah’s mom. I met her in high school and we’d been friends up through senior year of college. We started to date then, but after a year, we realized we weren’t a good fit together. We broke up and a couple months later, we found out she was pregnant with Sarah. Her mom and me, well we both made an agreement to co-parent her as best as we could. Just a few months shy of our daughter’s first birthday, she realized she couldn’t handle raisin’ a child at our age. I tried real hard to convince her to stick around and keep tryin’ but I couldn’t get her to stay. She bailed out on me, but the worst part of it was that she bailed out on Sarah.”

He stops for a moment and you give his hand a gentle, but firm, encouraging squeeze.

“As if bein’ a father to a baby girl didn’t scare the shit of me, being a single father made it all feel so much scarier, y’know? I was young, in my early twenties. I was always workin’ so damn much, tryin’ to build my construction business with Tommy. Now I had this tiny little person to take care of, and I honestly didn’t know how the fuck I was gonna do it.” Joel pauses, his sixth sense detecting that your knees have started hurting from the position you’re in. He closes his legs together and pulls you to sit on his lap. “It wasn’t easy, and I probably made a lot more mistakes than I’d like to admit. But somehow, I made it work and it turned out alright. Sarah was my best friend in the whole entire world. Hell, I loved her more than fuckin’ life itself. She could be a handful, but she was perfect in every single way. She was my sweet little butterfly, my ray of sunshine on even the darkest of days.”

Swallowing harshly, you ask, “What happened to her, Joel?”

Joel sighs, resting a hand on your bare thigh. His fingers skim the scalloped hem of your floral shorts. “It was the first night of the outbreak. We were tryin’ to get out of Austin. Me, Sarah, and Tommy. We didn’t know where the hell we were gonna go or what we were gonna do, but we just needed to get far away from the city. We got separated at one point when our pickup truck got into an awful wreck. I had Sarah in my arms ‘cause she couldn’t walk. She’d broken her ankle in the crash. Tommy told me to get her to the river where she’d be safer, said he’d find his way over there to meet us.”

Your heart begins to pound. Part of you almost doesn’t want to hear how his story is going to end—because in a way, you already know how it’s going to end. But if Joel is telling you about Sarah, it’s for a reason. He’s opening up to you, the way you’ve opened up to him. He’s sharing his heartbreaking loss because he trusts you—and Joel Miller doesn’t trust anyone that’s not his family.

Draping an arm around his shoulders, your fingers toy with the curls at the nape of his neck as you anxiously wait for him to recount the event that follows next, the event that will surely shatter your heart into pieces.

“The streets were crawlin’ with infected. One caught us in its sights and chased after us. Tried to dodge it through a buildin’ but it followed us, runnin’ us out into a field just a mile from the river. I didn’t think we were gonna make it—then, a soldier came outta nowhere and shot it dead. It felt like some kinda fuckin’ miracle. I thought we were lucky. I thought we were gonna get some help.” His voice grows hoarse, thickening with emotions he’s not too sure he can hold back this time. “I couldn’t have been more wrong. He was given the order by his command to kill us both, even though we weren’t sick. I tried tellin’ him over and over we weren’t infected, but it didn’t matter. He shot at us. He grazed me in my side, but Sarah—he got her. Got her multiple times. I was foolish enough to think it hadn’t been fatal. I tried gettin’ her up, begged Tommy to help me—but it was useless. Sarah died in my arms. Took her very last breath in some field outside of Austin.”

“God,” you whisper shakily, a sharp, painful ache shooting through your chest at the thought of him cradling his daughter’s lifeless body in his arms, her purple shirt soaked in crimson. “Joel, I don’t—I don’t even know what to say. I’m so sorry.” Willing yourself to keep it together for his sake, you hold the back of his neck in your hand, fingers coaxing him to look up and meet your gaze.

“After that, I just didn’t see any point in carryin’ on anymore. I’d lost the most important thing in the fuckin’ world to me. I couldn’t see in the darkness now that my little ray of sunshine was gone. So, a couple nights later, I picked up my gun and tried to end my own life,” he confesses. Even though it’s been over twenty years, traces of shame still linger behind. “Put the barrel of a pistol to my temple. Told myself it was what I wanted to do and I pulled the trigger.”

Without thinking, you reach towards the scar on his right temple with your opposite hand, the one you’d noticed for the first time before he had kissed you in Ranger’s stall. You lightly brush your fingertips over the jagged, raised patch of skin. You’d wanted to ask him about it on several different occasions, but never had the courage to actually do it. Now that you know he’d gotten it from his own hand, it just makes the entire thing all that much more heart wrenching.

“M’sure you’ve guessed it by now, but I missed. I flinched and I missed. For twenty fuckin’ years, all I could do was wish I hadn’t missed. Spent a long time hatin’ myself for missin’ what should’ve been the easiest goddamn shot of my entire life. Then, Ellie came along.” Joel moves his hand, gingerly taking your chin between his thumb and index finger. “And not long after her, I met you, sweet girl. The two of you came at me outta nowhere.” He can’t help but chuckle, remembering his first encounter with Ellie, the way she had flown at him with her switchblade clutched in hand only to end up thrown against the wall. “You both came outta left fuckin’ field and brought out sides of me I thought had been dead and buried for years now. You and her, you mean more to me than I can fuckin’ explain. You’re the most important things in the world to me now.”

Your breath catches in the back of your throat at his declaration. It’s not like you didn’t know Joel cared about you. Of course you know that. But the extent to which he did had been something of a mystery, at least up until this very moment.

“I didn’t know I could feel this way ‘bout anyone again,” Joel admits. He slides his arm around you, pulling you closer to him. “Openin’ up my heart to Ellie, that was one thing. But openin’ it up to you? That’s been somethin’ else, peach. I don’t think you even realize the hold you’ve got over me and my heart. What really fuckin’ gets me is that you don’t even gotta try. All you gotta do is look at me with those eyes and give me that pretty smile of yours, and I’m fuckin’ done for. You’ve got me wrapped all the way around your little finger and then back again, baby. Y’need to know that I’d do just ‘bout fuckin’ anythin’ for you. You understand that?”

You stare at him like a deer caught in headlights.

“Joel,” you stammer his name, your nerve endings feeling like they’ve been lit on fire. “You really need to stop talking like that.”

“Why’s that?”

You don’t even think—you just blurt the words out before you can stop them.

“Because I think I’m falling in love with you.”

The tables turn and it’s now Joel who is at a complete loss for words.

Embarrassed by your own admission, you begin to ramble nervously. “Look, I know it’s ridiculous. We haven’t known each other long, but I can’t help it. And maybe it’s for the best if you know where I stand and how I feel. You still have time to back out of this—”

Still holding your chin, Joel carefully brings your face toward his, silencing you by slotting his lips to yours. He moves to cup the side of your face in his palm, forgetting about any kind of softness as he greedily licks into your mouth. He’s kissed you plenty of times before and you thought you knew all of his kisses well enough by now, but you’d been wrong. This one is different from all the rest. His lips move against yours in a possessive manner, but not the kind of possessive you’re used with Luke. No, with Joel, it isn’t a possessive stemming from control and abuse, rather, it’s out of pure need, want, and desire. Even as his mouth devours yours, there’s still a sweet, loving tenderness to it.

“Joel,” you whimper against him. “I—”

You falter, unable to say those three words. There’s something holding you back—maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s knowing that once you say them, you can’t take them back. Not that you would. But it’s a big step, and you’re not quite ready to say it, even if it is how you feel.

And he feels the same.

He deepens the embrace.

I love you.

Joel might not be ready to say it either, but he hopes the way he’s holding you and swelling your lips with his puts your mind at ease and reassures you that you’re not the only one who’s falling.

You shift yourself in his lap, moving to straddle him, your legs on either side of his thighs as your mouths remain fused to one another. He reaches and grabs for every single part of you that he can, running his hands all over you from your shoulders down to your hips, dragging lower until they’re unabashedly cupping the delicious curves of your ass. You whimper in his mouth again and the moment your lips part, his tongue takes advantage, darting inside to start the heated, unhinged dance with your own.

You clutch at his shoulders, your fingers curling around tight around fistfuls of his t-shirt in an attempt, and a very desperate one at that, to keep yourself planted on the ground. You hold on trying to keep yourself tethered to planet earth, but with the way his searing hot mouth moves with yours in perfect unison, it’s impossible. You’re free falling without a safety net, and you don’t even care.

Seating yourself completely on his lap, you feel the bulge of his cock straining against the zipper of his jeans and the wetness pools between your thighs.

Letting go of his shirt, you reach around him and bury your fingers in his curls, lightly tipping his head back as your tongue explores his mouth like it’s the first time all over again. Joel tastes like the sweet fruit you’d shared, a strange mix when combined with the mint from his toothpaste. But there’s something else he tastes like and you’ve tasted it several times before, however even after all this time, you still can’t figure out what it could be. It tastes like Joel. That’s the only way you can think of to describe it. It just tastes like Joel and it’s addicting and you want it on your lips for the rest of your life.

After a minute, you and Joel finally force yourselves apart, your lungs and his begging for oxygen.

“Joel,” you choke his name between heavy pants for air.

“Baby.” He’s about as breathless as you are, possibly even more. “Baby, please. I’ve gotta have you,” he pleads, hands now splayed on the small of your back. “Please. I fuckin’ need you. Or else m’gonna lose my goddamn fuckin’ mind.”

“Barn,” you rasp out, releasing your grip on his hair.

Confused, Joel’s eyebrows knit together. “Barn?”

“Barn,” you repeat as you climb off of him.

You’re unsteady—incredibly unsteady. Knees wobbling, legs trembling and feeling like they’re seconds away from giving out underneath you. But you hold a hand out to Joel, exhaling a tiny, labored grunt as you help him up off the ground. Grabbing his blanket, you give it a shake before taking his hand in yours and leading him around to the front of the barn. Dropping his hand, you use both of yours to slide one of the double doors open an inch or two and take a peek inside to make sure the coast is clear. You then slide the door open a bit further, just wide enough for you and Joel to slip inside.

“Wait a minute,” he chuckles as he watches you slide the door closed. “How’d y’know it would be unlocked?”

“I didn’t know it would be unlocked. I was just hoping we’d get lucky,” you admit, beckoning him for him to follow you. “Come on.”

Through various cracks and gaps and open windows, enough moonlight filters into the barn, shining a decent amount of light into the structure—enough so that it’s not pitch black and you two are left stumbling around in complete darkness.

Joel glances around. The last time he’d been inside the barn was back in June for the summer party. He remembered it having been cleaned and cleared out for the event and now, two months later, it’s packed to the rafters with countless bales of hay. In retrospect, he shouldn’t have been surprised. But as he walks, piles of loose dried grass and herbs crunch underneath his boots and he remarks, “There’s fuckin’ hay everywhere, darlin’.”

“Um, yeah. What else do you keep in a barn?” you jeer lightly, earning yourself a small scoff from him. “Hey, at least they don’t keep sheep and other livestock in here, Joel. Besides, beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

Joel snorts, masking his laughter at the thought of walking into a barn full of animals instead of an absurd amount of hay. “Yeah, guess that’s fair enough,” he concedes. “Might kill the mood if that were the case.”

You lead him over towards one of the far corners of the barn, your eyes falling to a large, almost bed sized pile of loose hay. Draping the blanket over it, you stand upright and then freeze, your body flooding with nerves once you realize what’s inevitably about to happen between you and Joel.

You hadn’t done anything with him since the night he’d pleasured you out on his front porch. Of course you wanted more, so much more, but that doesn’t make you any less nervous. You’re so much younger, hardly have any experience—you’ve only ever been with one man, and even then, it hardly counts. It’s been such a long time since you’d found sex something you wanted, something you enjoyed. Whenever Luke touches you, it makes your skin crawl, but when Joel Miller touches you?

It sets you ablaze, leaves you needing more of it. Of him.

Part of you wonders if your touch makes him feel the same. What if it doesn’t?

His arms wrap around your waist from behind and you exhale the breath you’d been holding shakily.

“What’s the matter, darlin’?” Joel murmurs softly into your hair, sensing your pensiveness.

“I’m just really nervous,” you blurt out.

“S’okay,” he says, quietly. “M’kinda nervous too.”

You’re slightly taken aback. “Really? What are you nervous about?”

Joel rests his chin on your shoulder. “We’ve both crossed a lot of lines already, peach. But this one? S’gonna be the one we can’t come back from,” he tells you. “Might be what seals the deal between us, y’know?”

Slowly, you turn around to face him. “Yeah, I know,” you respond, peeking up at him through your eyelashes. “And I know I should care, but I don’t. It’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“S’wrong,” he agrees with a tight nod. “But I don’t care either, sweet girl.”

Before you can utter another word about it, Joel crashes his mouth onto yours. He snakes one of his arms around you and lifts the other, cupping the back of your neck as he ravages you with his lips and tongue, kissing you with such urgency, such desperation that it melts you into a whimpering mess in his arms. Your mind is hopelessly lost in a thick, cloudy haze—all you can focus on is breathing him into your lungs like he’s the air you need to stay alive. His hands fall down to the hem of your white camisole and his mouth abandons yours to pull it over your head. He discards it, tossing it over his shoulder somewhere behind him. He then pushes your shorts and underwear down your legs and you kick them off along with your shoes. You’re now standing before him completely naked.

Desperate to feel his skin against yours, you take the hem of his t-shirt and clumsily tug it over his head, eliciting a laugh from him. You throw it somewhere over his shoulder to join yours and your hands eagerly meet his warm, bare chest for the first time. Biting down on your bottom lip, your trembling fingertips brush over several bumps and rough, raised patches of skin that you know have to be his scars. He has so many, and all you want to do is kiss each and every single one of them, but Joel has other ideas. He pulls you into his arms, flush against his chest, and he holds you tightly.

More often than not, Joel feels as if you’re not real—worries that you’re just a perfect, flawless figment of his own imagination. He doesn’t know whether or not you’ve caught onto what he’s been doing, but he steals moments like these whenever he can, moments where he stands there and takes you into his arms and holds you without saying a word.

It’s his own way of reminding himself that not only are you real, but you’re real and you’re his. Joel doesn’t care about the fucking ring on your finger. He doesn’t care that you’re promised to another man. He doesn’t care that he can only hold you in secret, that he can’t walk next you down the streets of Jackson in broad daylight and hold your hand while doing so. He doesn’t get to share a roof or a bed with you and he doesn’t get to join you for dinner at the table every night—maybe this isn’t how he preferred things to be, but he just doesn’t care.

It doesn’t matter to him.

Nothing matters to him except for one thing.

Your heart belongs to him. It bleeds with his name.

You’re his. You’re all fucking his, and only his, in all the ways that truly matter.

And he is yours.

Joel chokes out a strained groan as you press your plush lips softly against his neck, your tongue swiping across his pulse point. You firmly suckle his flesh, hard enough to break the tiny blood vessels underneath his skin and once you’ve left your mark, you trail your lips down his neck, eliciting another strangled noise from him. You sweep them over his collarbone, then down the length of his chest, showing each scar you come across with the affection it deserves. Your teeth nip and scrape at the softness of his belly and you quickly discover that it’s one of your favorite parts of him. Lowering yourself to your knees, your nose skims over the trail of dark, coarse hair below his navel and your fingers suggestively skim the waistband of his jeans.

His eyes widen. “You ain’t gotta do that—”

“I already told you, Joel. I want to,” you assure him, your voice low, sexy, filled with a lust for him and only for him. You make yourself comfortable, a challenging feat since you’d overshot the blanket and are now kneeling directly on the itchy, dried grass. It doesn’t matter, though—you’re more than willing to deal with discomfort for him. You place a hand on his hip and peer up at him. Your eyes meet his in the milky white moonlight. “You made me feel good. Please, just let me do the same for you?”

The nod he gives you is so subtle, so quick, that you almost don’t catch it.

He’d grown tense beneath your touch.

You can’t help but laugh softly—not at him, but at the fact that he doesn’t realize that pleasuring him isn’t a want for you, it’s a need.

Gently, you pat his hip. “Relax, honey,” you encourage him, surprised at how the pet name rolls off your tongue with such natural ease.

Your hands reach for the button of his jeans and you swiftly undo it, then tug at his zipper. You start pulling the denim down his legs. Joel helps you, kicking off his worn, black leather boots before stepping out of his jeans, kicking the article of clothing off to the side. Heart racing in anticipation, you slide his dark boxer briefs down his legs, but stop short, breath hitching the second you feast your eyes on his cock. You’ve felt him through his clothes before, knew he was well endowed, but you’re still shocked to see just how big he really is. The mere thought of his hard, thick length filling you up and stretching your cunt makes your entire body ache with need. You can’t be certain how he’ll fit, but truth be told, he could tear you in half and you would thank him for it.

Joel draws in a quick, sharp breath when he feels your small hand wrap around his base. Just as fast as he’d breathed it in, it’s knocked back out of his lungs when your other hand joins in and you run your fingertips along the thick, prominent vein on the underside of his cock. He twitches in your hands—you’ve hardly touched him, haven’t even put your mouth on him, and he’s already teetering on the edge.

“Christ, baby. You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me, I hope y’know that,” Joel croaks, tilting his head back to look up at the rafters as he silently wills himself not to explode too soon. His hips involuntarily jerk forward as you lick his tip, collecting his leaking precome on your tongue before wrapping your soft lips around it. Another loud, ragged groan tears from the back of his throat as you take him in slowly, inch by inch, further into your warm, wet mouth. Your own moaning around him causes a vibrating sensation, making it harder for Joel to keep himself from spilling into your mouth.

“Fuck, peach,” he curses, feeling the head of his cock nudge the back of your throat. He’s more than a mouthful for you, but you accept the challenge with eagerness and take him in further, gagging around him as drool dribbles down the sides of your chin. You, the same woman who just moments ago had said she was nervous about being intimate with him—whoever that woman had been, she was long fucking gone.

Joel’s eyes flit down and he sinks his teeth hard into his lower lip. He can see your silhouette as you work him with that pretty little mouth of yours. One glance is all he can handle before he’s squeezing his eyes shut, the pressure building in his lower abdomen and already dangerously close to reaching its peak. If Joel so much as looks at you again, he’ll come down your throat, and that’s not where he’s planning on finishing tonight.

You bob your head back and forth on his cock, your eyes watering each time he slips past the back of your throat—your cheeks hollow as you suck him greedily, and you alternate between that and stroking his long, thick shaft, your tongue swirling around his head.

Without opening his eyes, Joel reaches down with his hand and cradles the back of your head in his palm. The sounds that fill the barn are nothing short of obscene. His grunts and groans mixed together with the sounds of the moans you’d release in between your wet and sloppy slurping. He forces his eyes open and bravely takes another look at you, his heart slamming painfully against his sternum as you move your head faster, chasing his release as if you’re chasing your own.

“Fuck, baby—wait, stop. Need you to stop.” Joel’s hand leaves the back of your head and he cups your jaw, gently, but firmly, forcing you to release his cock from your mouth with an audible pop. “Ain’t gonna last much longer, not if you keep on like that.”

“Isn’t that the whole point?” you ask, smirking up at him as you wipe the mixture of his precome and your saliva away from your chin with the back of your hand.

Joel leans over and takes your arms, effortlessly yanking you up to your feet. His hand dives between your thighs to get a feel—to find whether you’re ready to take him or not. He slips two fingers between your soaked folds without so much as a warning, causing you to gasp out and grip his biceps, your fingernails digging into the firm muscle. Joel withdraws his hand from your cunt, admiring the way his digits come back coated with your slick. He looks at you, his eyes locking with yours as he lifts his hand to his mouth and slowly licks his fingers clean.

That alone nearly makes you come undone, almost makes you melt into a pathetic, whimpering mess at his feet.

“Joel,” you say his name pleadingly. “Please.”

Sliding his fingers out of his mouth, he steps forwards and curls them around your wrist. “What is it, my sweet little peach? Hm? What do you want?”

“You. I want you,” you answer. You’re quick to correct yourself. “No, I need you. I fucking need you—I need you more than anything I’ve ever needed in my life, Joel.”

Leaning down, Joel skims the tip of his nose against your cheek before bringing it down along your jawline. “Where, darlin’?” he whispers huskily, sending a shiver up your spine. “Where do you need me, baby?”

Your mouth falls open slightly unable to say it. You don’t know why you’re suddenly shy, flustered as if you just hadn’t been down on your knees gagging around his cock.

“Tell me, peach,” he coaxes you gently with another low whisper. “Tell me where you need me. Tell me where you need my cock, sweetheart. Need to hear you say it.”

“Inside me.” Blazing heat floods your face. “I need you inside of me—I need you to fuck me. Please, Joel.”

“So polite ‘bout it, too,” he remarks. “What a good girl.”

Though he says it in a teasing manner, his praise nearly makes you collapse.

“You like that,” he realizes, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. “Yeah, baby? Y’like it when I call you a good girl?”

“Fuck, I—yes, I do,” you confess.

“C’mere.” Joel wraps an arm around your waist, hand splayed over your back as he lowers you down onto the blanket. He follows suit. You both let out breathy laughs at the way your naked bodies sink down into the pile of hay. Propping himself up with his arm, Joel looks down at you, his smile fading as a serious expression crosses his features. He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, finger grazing the silkiness of your cheek. “Y’sure ‘bout this, peach? Ain’t too late to stop.”

Smiling softly, you lift a hand to the side of his face, your fingers stroking his graying beard. “I’ve never been so sure about anything, Joel,” you promise him. “If you could take a peek into my mind, you would see how bad I want this, how bad I need this—how bad I need you. I don’t want to stop.” And you don’t just mean the sex. You don’t any of this to stop—the secret, late night meetings, the stolen kisses, the illicit affair. “I’m sure about this. I’m sure about you, Joel.”

That’s all he needs to hear.

Joel reaches down between your bodies, gripping his base, pumping his throbbing cock in his fist before lining himself up at your sopping entrance. Adrenaline courses through your veins—every nerve ending in your body is going up in flames. You spread your legs wider for him, hoping he’ll understand the nonverbal cue. He does. He begins to ease himself into your cunt and you hook a leg around his waist, encouraging him to go deeper. The barn fills with the sound of his grunt and your loud cry at the initial stretch. He sinks his cock further into you until he bottoms out and you cry out again, feeling a delicious burning sensation as he cradles his hips between your thighs.

“M’gonna need you to relax a little sweetheart,” he whispers gently, ceasing his movements to give your body a chance to adjust to him. Joel takes advantage of having you pinned underneath him with your head thrown back and his lips latch onto your neck, hungrily. He fervently kisses his way down the column of your throat, nips his way to your collarbone—but unlike you, he’s careful to do so without leaving any kind of mark behind. He would give anything to have the freedom to leave traces of his loving all over you. Maybe it’s the heat of the moment and the way he’s buried inside you to the hilt that brings out the primal in him, but Joel wouldn’t mind seeing you walk around Jackson covered in his love bites. He wants everyone to know he’s the one who’d left them behind, needs them to understand that you’re his. But that isn’t possible. Joel lifts his head from the hollow of your neck and nibbles lightly at your chin. “You alright, baby?”

Forcing your eyes open, you lift your head and bring yourself to look at him. At first, you feel discomfort, but after a minute, your body finally relaxes around him and it subsides. It’s replaced with the burning desire to feel more of him. The pretty glow coming in from outside the barn illuminates his face and you smile. “I’m better than alright. I’m perfect,” you assure him. You place a hand delicately on his chest, feeling his heart thrum hard against your fingertips. “This is perfect.”

Joel kisses the tip of your nose. He slides out of you slowly, then right back into you in an experimental thrust that brings your body off the blanket, your back arching in sheer pleasure. It’s such a deliciously tight fit, and he almost can’t believe how fucking good it feels to be sheathed in your taut heat. He drops his head, taking your breast into his mouth, tongue swirling around your hardened nipple as he bucks his hips once more. He’s being careful. Too careful.

“Joel—I need you to move,” you gasp. You drag a hand down his chest and over his soft stomach, letting your fingernails rake lightly over his flushed skin. It’s warm to the touch, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. “Joel, please. Fuck me.”

Thankfully, you don’t have to tell him twice.

Joel releases the pebbled flesh from his mouth with a loud, lewd pop. He pulls his cock out of your dribbling pussy, then slams back into you with such force that he places a hand on the crown of your head, keeping you in place underneath him on the blanket. You wrap your own leg around him, locking your ankles together, your heels digging into the firm curve of his ass. You lift your hips just as he rolls his own right into them. The new angle gives Joel the opportunity to fuck you even deeper and he hits the sensitive, spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you hold onto him, moans you’ve never heard come out of your own mouth before ringing in your ears and in his. He starts picking up his pace.

“Baby.” He’s breathless and speaks between every snap of his hips. “Fuck, y’feel s’good—s’tight around me—”

“Don’t stop, Joel. God, please don’t fucking stop,” you plead him, your finger burying themselves in his hair. “Keep going, just like that—fuck, you feel so fucking good inside me—”

You bite down on your bottom lip, adoring how Joel squeezes his dark eyes shut each and every single time the head of his cock brushes that one particularly deep spot inside of you. Knowing that you and your body has this kind of an effect on him, it gives you a boost of confidence. You’ve spent the last couple of years allowing a pathetic excuse of a man—if one could even call him that—pick on you, say things about your body, and make you feel like your inability to conceive a child made you defective. Worthless, even. And here’s a real man, one who makes you feel beautiful with the way he talks to you, the way he kisses you, touches you, and fucks you. You’re not perfect by any means, but Joel Miller makes you feel what your own husband doesn’t.

He makes you feel like you’re enough. More than enough.

The barn fills with a combination of moaning, panting, and the sound of damp skin slapping against damp skin.

Glancing down at you, Joel shakes his head and warns, “Ain’t gonna last much longer, baby. M’so goddamn close.”

An unexpected wave of courage washes over you. Planting your hands firmly on his chest, you take him by complete surprise and slide out from underneath him. A small grunt escapes him as you push him onto his back. Amused, you can’t help but giggle at the shocked expression on his face as you guide him to lie down on the flannel blanket. Eager to see his reaction, you keep your eyes trained on his face as you straddle his lap. You grip the base of his cock in your hand and then slowly sink down onto him, your cunt greedily squeezing him as you slide down until you’re fully seated.

Joel’s jaw falls slack. It’s the most stunning sight he’s ever seen.

You, completely naked on top of him, your pouty lips plump and swollen from his kisses. Your smooth, supple skin glows in the moonlight shining through the open window behind you. All while every inch of Joel’s cock was buried deep inside of you, head nudging at your cervix. Eyes glimmering devilishly, the sexiest little smirk tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Like what you see?”

He tries to speak, but he can’t.

You’ve rendered him speechless.

Grabbing his hands in yours, you guide them to your hips. His blood roars in his ears and his fingers dig into the pillowy soft flesh, holding on as you begin to rock them back and forth. You throw your head back, your hair spilling over your shoulder. The friction of your clit against his pelvis heightens your pleasure. Joel had thought he would be the one to topple over the edge first, but he’d been wrong.

Eyes pinching shut, you start bouncing yourself on his cock, your desperation mounting. You feel the tension between your hips coiling back tightly, ready to snap forward.

“Fuck, Joel—I’m gonna—I’m so fucking close.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Fuckin’ come for me, baby,” Joel encourages you, his fingers digging even harder into your hips. One of his hands abandons your side and he reaches up and gently takes your slackened jaw in the palm of his hand. He coaxes you to look down at him. “Need you to be a good girl and look at me, peach,” he instructs you, slipping his thumb between your parted lips. “Need to see that pretty face of yours when you come all over my cock, sweetheart.”

“Oh fuck—fuckfuckfuck!”

Crying out, you unravel and fall apart all over him, the ecstasy blurring the edges of your vision.

It doesn’t take Joel much longer to follow. He lets out a low, guttural growl, choking out a string of profanities as he slams you down onto his lap and holds you in place, spurts of warm come coating your velvet walls. Your pussy squeezes him, draining him of every last drop.

You collapse forward onto him in a sweaty, whimpering mess and he wraps his arms around you. With him still inside you, you both lay there and try to catch your breaths as the high slowly but surely begins to wear off.

After a few minutes, Joel pulls out of you and he shifts your bodies, moving you so you’re now laying beside him. Tucking you against his side, he slides his arm around your shoulders and pulls you even closer. His other hand finds one of yours and he takes it, bringing them both to rest on his chest.

“You alright?” he asks you, lacing his fingers together with yours.

“I’m great,” you answer him tiredly, prompting him to chuckle. “What about you?”

Joel strokes at your hair. “Never been better, sweet girl.”

You groan. “Joel, don’t do that,” you mumble into his shoulder. “You’re going to put me right to sleep.”

He laughs again. “We’ve still got a bit more time, y’know. If you’re tired, you can take a quick nap. I can wake you up in ‘bout an hour when it’s time to head home.”

“No, that’s okay,” you decline the offer, worried he would accidentally fall asleep too. “I really wish we could sleep together—I mean, actually sleep together. In an actual bed. Not having to worry about anything. Just like normal couples do.”

“Well, we ain’t exactly a normal couple, darlin’.”

“No, we’re definitely not,” you murmur. You don’t even realize how sad you’d sounded until you feel Joel give your shoulders a comforting squeeze.

Neither of you say anything else about it as you spend the next hour laying there, tangled up in each other’s embrace, waiting until it was time to go your separate ways.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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Unparadiz’d

Warnings: non/dubcon, bullying, blowjob, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Part of Roo’s Pajama Party (October 7-8)

Prompt: Unparadiz’d - brought from joy to miserie. (List of prompts here) + this look

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. I hope you enjoy this one and have a lovely weekend.

This is the last of pajama party drabbles. Let me know if you want me to do anything else like this.

“Actually, you’re both wrong. Gladiators were more often highly-trained. In fact, many were soldiers, but they most certainly weren’t slaves,” you intone.

You can’t help a smile. After more than an hour of chatter over things you didn’t know or care about, the conversation finally sways in your direction. History. That’s your ish. The Roman Empire especially.

“And where did you get that?” Ransom scoffs.

Charles rubs your back encouragingly. He hates how you tend to fade into the background. He needs someone who can stand at his side, not behind him.

“Well, I studied history. Masters, um, but you know, I am always open to learning new things. So, perhaps you might have proof otherwise.”

Ransom scowls. He hasn’t offered much more than that for most of the night. You don’t take it personally. He isn’t much better with the table full of people he calls friends. As the newcomer, you’ll happily just let it slide off your back.

“I don’t care that much,” he snorts. “Whatever. Charles, what about that Corvette? Sounds like a broke down train pulling up.”

“It’s antique. A classic. You would know if you had any sense of taste.” Charles rebuffs smoothly. “Safia, you’ll have to recommend me your chef. Mine can’t make ravioli for shit.”

You smile prettily and keep your fingers pinched around the stem of your glass. Charles’ friends are the society type. Your own are few and far between and the most you did was go out for coffee or a movie. These people are intellectuals and you can’t help but feel like a pretender.

“Stealing from me again, eh, Charles,” Safia drawls. “Mm, I might. If you’re a good boy.”

Safia is gorgeous. Thick black brows, thicker hair, full lips. You can’t tell if she’s flirting or you’re just intimidated.

“So,” Kimora turns to you pointedly, “you studied history. How cute. What did you study exactly?”

“Hmph, Marie Antoinette and the like, I’m sure,” Ransom mutters.

“Um, ancient history, actually,” you speak up. “Egypt, Greece, and Roman. But I was able to explore a bit more in my undergrad.”

Ransom clucks and drains his glass of whiskey. Your eyes meet his stormy ones. You’re not sure if his irritation is meant for you or if it’s more a general disdain. Every time you speak only deepens his agitation. You might be better staying quiet. You can bear the lecture from Charles after, but the hatred in that man’s eyes pierces like a knife.

“Well, if you’re looking for any writers on the subject,” Charles suggests, “I give her a five-star review.”

“No one wants to read about dead people,” Ransom snips.

You sip from your glass and lower your gaze to the table. You’re embarrassed. There’s really no particular reason to be but the way he talks scalds you with shame. Everything you do is wrong in his eyes.

“I don’t know, Hugh, some of them are a lot more interesting than you,” Charles retorts.

“Fuck off,” Ransom snarls. “Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, my bad. At least Hugh doesn’t sound like it belongs on a dog,” Charles chuckles.

Ransom slams his hand down, rattling his plate and cutlery, “you’re such a fucking smart ass, Charlie.”

“Oh, behave,” Safia reprimands, “sit down.”

“Piss off, mommy dearest,” Ransom spins and stomps out. “Bunch of snobs.”

As he storms off, Charles laughs louder and Safia tuts and shakes her head at him. Bronson reaches over to take an untouched quiche from Ransom’s plate. “More for us.”

You stare after the angry man. Something must be wrong. It can’t just be the dinner. It’s been rather pleasant up to that point.

“Well, we’ve almost finished the bottle,” Charles reaches for the wine. “You’ve got a spare bed?”

“You know I do, Charles,” Safia affirms. “I had the guest rooms made up. I know you all too well.”

“Oh, don’t act like you haven’t kept pace,” Kimora tosses back with a smirk. “Charles, save some for me.” She puts her glass out and you glance down at your own. You still haven’t even finished your first.

The night wears on as you once more get lost amidst the garble. You put a word in or two but someone else always talks a bit louder or you find yourself without much to say. Finally, the plates are cleared and you disburse to find a room to sleep in.

You didn’t expect to stay the night, but Charles seems to have anticipated it. He pulls a black nightie from his leather bag and fans it out on the bed. You stare at the dainty fabric.

“Oh, wonderful.”

You wonder why he didn’t mention the possibility. It hardly matters. Charles knows best.

You change into the night gown. It’s tight and a bit short. You fix the straps as they dig into your shoulders.

“I don’t understand, it’s your size,” he drawls and belches into his hand, “mm, those prawns aren’t settling.”

“Are you okay? Should I get you some water?” You offer.

He waves you off and grumbles as he stomps around the bed. You watch him go then slowly look down at the nightie. Your chest threatens to fall out of the bodice.

You sit and wait and listen. The tap runs then shuts off. Charles’ wretch follows and his vomit hits the water loudly. You cringe and get up. You go to the bathroom door and nudge it open, “Charles, can I--”

“Get the fuck out!” He barks and you obey.

You back up to the bed and sit. You won’t be able to sleep. He’s sick and you just want to make it better. Well, it’s good he gets it out. You probably wouldn’t want someone hovering over you in the same situation.

You wait for Charles. Twenty minutes before you get up and knock on the bathroom door. He doesn’t answer but as you try the handle, you find it locked. He’ll come out when he’s ready.

You keep the lamp on and move to the top of the bed. You fold the blanket back and recline, but don’t cover yourself. You turn onto your side and close your eyes.

As you keep your ears perked for Charles’, you slowly drift down. After the long night and stress of meeting new people, you’re exhausted. You cross your arms and sink into the mattress. Reality is vague on the other side of your eyelids as sleep creeps up your body.

You lurch away as a door clicks. You roll onto your back and look toward the bathroom. The door is still closed. You blink as a shadow emerges from behind the other. The door to the hallway.

You lay in disbelief, paralysed in surprise. It’s Ransom. He wears only a pair of silk boxers. He must have gone into the wrong room.

“Um, hi?” You sit up, “I think--”

He puts his fingers to his lips and you snap your mouth shut. Confused. Maybe he needs to talk to Charles.

“Charles is just--”

He wiggles his finger then points it as you. He comes up to the foot of the bed. He tilts his head as his eyes scour over your body. He smirks.

“You know about gladiators, huh? Know everything, don’t you?” He hisses.

“Erm, no, I... no,” you gulp. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you had to say something,” he snorts.

“No, I was only... talking,” you tense and bend your legs up protectively. “I’m just about to go to sleep. I can let Charles know--”

“You can shut the fuck up,” he puts his knee on the bed and reaches for you. He snakes your ankle and pulls your leg straight. You squeal as he hauls you down the bed. “Make another noise and I’ll go find Charles and bash his head into the fucking toilet.”

“Please,” you wisp.

“I fucking mean it,” he wrestles your legs down as you try to kick. He crawls over your body to straddle you. You claw at his forearms and wriggle helplessly. “You think you fucking know it all, well, I’m about to teach you the most important fucking lesson.”

He closes his hands around your throat and you cough. His thumb presses down sharply and you whimper. He shakes you until you’re quiet. Your eyes wet and you try to bat away the fuzzy sheen.

“You don’t fuck around with me,” he growls as he glares down at you. “I don’t care if you’re fucking that cockwad, you speak to me with respect.”

You wheeze and slap your hand on the bed. You didn’t mean to. You were just trying to fit in. Why is he so mad?

“So let’s start easy. Don’t make a fucking sound, do you got me?”

You nod frantically against his grip as your head pulses from the lack of air. He grins and slowly releases you. He brushes his hands along your shoulders and yanks down the straps of your dress. Your tits pop out and you close your eyes in shame.

“Look at these things,” he gropes your chest greedily. “Guess that makes up for that mouth.” You sniffle and he pinches your nipples meanly, “look at me, you bitch.”

Your eyes snap open and round, tears bobbling along the brims. He snickers and flicks his finger up your throat. He pokes at your mouth and toys with your lower lip.

“I know exactly how to train that mouth of yours. Surprised Charlie hasn’t already,” he pushes his finger into your mouth, forcing deep until his knuckles press against your teeth and you gag.

He rips his hand away and raises himself on his knees. You squeak as he rolls down his boxers and springs free. His dick bobs as he climbs over you and you shake your head and snivel.

He grabs his dick and your head. He wrenches you up by your hair, straining your neck as he presses his tip to your lips. You clamp your mouth shut and whimper.

“Open the fuck up or I’ll break your teeth. Don’t think I’m fucking lying. I’m here, aren’t I?”

You tremble and give in. Your eyes flow over and blur with the wash of tears. It’s not just the violation, it’s that Charles is right on the other side of that wall. And you’re just letting this happen.

Ransom rams into your mouth. He shows no mercy as he thrusts down and invades your throat. His hand fists in your hair as his other trails back to your throat. He rubs there as he pushes down to his limit. As he thrusts, he feels himself from the outside, growling and grunting as you gurgle.

“Yeah, fuck,” He ruts harder and harder. Saliva pastes across your cheeks and your throat sears from his relentless fucking. “That mouth isn’t so fucking bad. Fuck. And those tits. You fucking play with those tits.”

He straddles just above your chest. You bring your hands up and cup your tits in your hands. You babble and squeeze, squirming as he pumps into your mouth.

“Like that. Huh? Listen to you. Sounds like he don’t fuck you good enough. He doesn’t punish this mouth how it should be,” he snarls and puffs as you feel the tension cord through him, “oh, yeah... yeah... yeah...”

His breath rattles and he quakes. He yanks your head up so your mouth is right against his pelvis. He rocks slightly, suffocating you, and suddenly, twitches. You feel him explode in your throat. His cums flood you, rising into your mouth and coming out your nose as you choke and hack.

You quake and cough as he pulls out of you, inch by inch. Your body lurches as you barely hold back a swell of nausea. He raises himself over you, his dick softening slowly as it shines with spit and semen. He groans and cradles his balls.

“Actually, you aren't entirely useless.” He taunts.

#ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale #dark!ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #drabble #knives out #sleepover #pajama party

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v-ternus · 9 months ago

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GHOULS AND THEIR FAVORITE FOODS

Started thinking of the ghouls a little too much while I was hungry, so Im now here to present this dumpster fire.

Aether: frozen yogurt

He loves when it’s warmer out, it means the cold treat is even better than usual (yes he's the type to eat cold stuff when its cold out). He loves the tart, plain flavor and puts cookie dough bites and butterfinger pieces on it.

Dew: ravioli

Any filling, any sauce. Lil guy will put these away like they’re air. The store bought, premade ones are good, but he loves the ones Mountain makes— mushroom and cheese filled in a brown butter sauce.

Aeon: rice crackers

He likes to think that this is what it must feel like to chew on styrofoam. Sure they taste good, but he mostly eats them for the crunches. He lowkey hates the ones wrapped in seaweed.

Aurora: indian food

She is an absolute fiend for samosas. She could make a meal out of it if only she didnt want to eat everything else on the menu. She loves literally everything, but her favorite is chicken madras. She’s busy eating her way through the menu at the restaurant in town. She goes with Copia every Friday for lunch, its their “thing”.

Mountain: barbecue

He’s in heaven whenever they tour through some of the southern states. Loves brisket. Loves cornbread even more.

(he also just loves meat in his mouth)

Rain: cheap pizza

He loves all chain pizzas, but his favorite is Little Caesars. A crappy and slightly-overcooked-from-sitting-under-the-warmer pizza will cheer him up on even the worst days. Also hates olives. Like he really, really hates them. Dew messed up the first time he ordered and got a supreme pizza with olives and Rain straight up cried.

Sunshine: pierogies

She'll eat any pierogi, as long as you give her sour cream on the side. Sometimes she likes them crisped up in butter, but that's a big sometimes. Sunshine has still not found a filling she dislikes.

Swiss: fancy(ish) pizzas

I cant really blame the guy for liking the woodfired stuff. Favorite toppings include but are not limited to: roasted garlic, roasted peppers, prosciutto, and arugula. Him and Rain are opposites when it comes down to this.

Cumulus: pad thai

Americanized or traditional, she will devour it. Though she regularly eats meat, she only gets tofu as the protein option for her pad thai. Unlike the others who seem to have had the best luck, she has found one that she absolutely hated. It was from an Asian fusion chain restaurant. She would've sent it back if she wasn't so scared of being perceived as rude.

Cirrus: crab rangoon

She hates when there's actual crab in her crab rangoons. She just wants that sweet cream cheese. It is the only thing she asks for when they pick cheap Chinese food for dinner.

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stuckymonkey · 1 year ago

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Hot But Not Bothered

Natasha Romanoff

Pairing - nat x autistic!reader

Summary - it's a very hot day at the compound, and nat is getting flustered by y/n's distaste for over-warm garments.

Warnings - use of y/n, implications of sexy times, reader has autism and too much confidence to care about the demons that are clothes, fingering, oral

Word Count - 1k

a/n - i love this ship, and i thought this was a fun idea! literally ended up turning into pure smut

masterlist natasha romanoff

Summers at the Avengers Compound could get a little heated, in more ways than one. Today was one of the hottest days of the year and an awful time for the AC to take a very unauthorized break.

I lounged around on me and Natasha's shared floor in barely any clothes. The feeling of warm clothes sticking to my skin no matter what was unbearable. I was breaking a sweat just from sitting on our usually comfortable couch.

No matter how much iced water I drank, or how many cold showers I tried to take, I could not cool down. I had drawn all of the curtains closed, making our living room nearly pitch black, save for the T.V that was currently playing.

"Baby, what do you want for dinner?" I heard her call from the kitchen. "Something cold!" I whined. Her footsteps could be heard as she made her way to where I was sitting, only in a pair of pajama shorts and floral mesh bra. "Hi," I made grabby hands at her, successfully getting her to sit on my lap. "Hi," she breathed, her face heating up in a blush.

She was wearing a black sports bra and capris, somehow. "How are you not dying in these?" I asked, tugging at her pants. She shrugged. Having autism was a gift. My grandmother had told me so and I believed her with my whole heart to this day. But it could also make things very difficult for me, like being warm and wearing clothes.

I had a very specific garment palette: baggy hoodies, jean shorts, leggings. The end. See how shirts aren't included there? I hate shirts with a passion, Nat knows this but it never stops her from getting flustered when I don't wear them.

"You know," I whispered to her, "I've seen every glorious inch of your naked body, and you've seen mine, so I don't know what has you all flustered, kitten." she preened at the name, grinding her hips on mine.

She gasped as she must have rubbed her clit the right way on the fabric of our pants. I grabbed a hold of her hips, stopping her movements. Her wide green eyes flew to mine. "Go make dinner kitten. We can play when you get back." She whined while I have her a wink. Reluctantly she got off of my lap, earning a small slap to her ass, making her moan as she went back to the kitchen.

Because it was dusk now, the air had cooled off and I threw on one of Natasha's old shirts. "Hi baby," she giggled as I placed kisses on her neck from behind. She turned around, leaving the counter to kiss my collarbone and rub my nipples through my shirt. "Natty," I grabbed her hands, once again halting her movements.

"Y/n/n," she whined. "Let me play," she said, smirking after licking her lips. I gently spun her back to the counter where she had ravioli cooking on the stove, one of my favourite comfort foods. "Pay attention to the food Natty." I said. Once I saw that the meal had her full attention, I swiftly pulled down her capris, exposing her bare cunt to me.

"Fuck, Nat." I ran my finger through her glistening folds. Her quickened breaths filled my ears as I kept teasing her entrance. "This all for me, kitten?" I asked. "Yes," she managed to get out, doing her best to focus on the stuffed noodles and keeping her knees from buckling.

"Good girl," I purred as I put one finger in. I felt her lean back on my hand, making the heel of it rub against her clit deliciously. She let out sinful groans as she kept tending to the food. I added another finger, moving it quicker as she started grinding and clenching on my fingers.

"You're almost there, aren't you kitten?" "Yes, please." she moaned into the light of the kitchen. I moved my mouth to her dripping folds, licking around where my fingers were buried inside of her, pumping quickly and curling to hit just the right spot. I sucked on her sensitive clit, getting "Oh"s and chants of "Yes, yes, yes!".

Before I knew it she was cumming on my face. I sucked at her cunt, devouring everything I could before straightening up and letting her taste herself on my lips.

We moaned together, moving our tongues in a dance. "Fuck," she said. "tastes good, doesn't it, kitten?" I asked. She hugged me closer and nodded. "I love you," I said, pecking her lips. "I love you too, dekta."

I filled both of our plates and helped her get comfortable on the couch, taking off my shorts and giving them to her, knowing she didn't appreciate being bare for long periods of time. I, on the other hand, loved it.

I loved this woman with my whole heart and I know she loves me too. The show we were watching soon finished, and I helped Nat set up a warm bath to soothe her muscles while I cleaned up the counter.

After cleaning up the dishes and putting the extra food in containers I joined Natasha in the bathroom. "You were such a good girl today" I whispered. She closed her eyes at the praise. I would have joined her but I knew my body couldn't handle the heat, or the task of drying off and feeling a towel against my skin.

Nat fell asleep in my arms, her skin still warm from the bath. Thankfully by then the AC was back on full blast and I could enjoy a comforting night with my best girl and the love of my life. Also the best thing I've ever tasted, but you get it.

#marvel mcu #marvel fanfiction #mcu #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff smut #nat x autistic!reader #autistic!reader #natasha x autistic!reader

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lululandd · 1 year ago

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being john ‘soap’ mactavish’s significant other would include:

had a little power outage today and legit had nothing to do so i wrote these

♡ babysitting his nieces and nephews.

this man has hella extended family and he loves them so so so so so much so he visits them fairly often and ofc they all flock to him when he does. you two would take them out on walks and does playtimes and cute little sleepovers. (mans has onesies and jammies that matches with them its so heartwarming)

♡ funny post-it notes around the place.

you would be looking for something in a cupboard and he’d leave a note saying ‘i put it on the top shelf’ and when you rummage around the top shelf there’d be a note saying ‘made ya look lol (im just kidding its right here)’. there would also be sweet notes hidden in jacket pockets🥺💖 like the true romantic prankster he is.

♡ night screaming.

he seems nonchalant and doesnt need to decompress after work like his teammates does, but he does suffer night terrors and he screams in his sleep. his teammates names, or just a loud ‘NO’ and a myriad other things. sleeping medicine makes this a lot worse because you cant wake him up from whatever nightmare he is having quick enough and he screams for much longer so he doesnt take sleeping meds or anything that could induce drowsiness. it's terrible when he has a cold because on one hand he needs the sleep and the medicine but on the other it would make the nightmares last longer.

♡ ice.

soap loves sucking and chewing on ice. is it is it in the middle of winter? he does not care he still will be doing it. sometimes he kisses you after and holds you in place as you laugh and try to squirm away.

♡ inadvertently picking up his accent.

especially if you're not scottish but lives in scotland. you’re not mocking him you swear!

♡ big fat quiz of the year.

he loves watching these and play along. he misses so much civilian things and would love to know what events he missed during the year. he found out gaz also watches these and they legit spent 15 minutes giggling about the mitchell brook primary school children, repeating their little “oh nooo!”

♡ helping him shave his mohawk.

mans love it when you touch his head gently and begs you to cut his hair every couple weeks as the sides grow out. he pretends as if he ‘cant get the back part right’ on his own.

♡ endless spongebob quotes.

it started because you accidentally said escalators three times in a row and he automatically replies with “EELS” in a deep voice, and you two just lost it. nowadays one of you could point at meatballs in the supermarket, and both would chant “meatballs meatballs spaghetti underneath!” and later if you two happen to pass by the pasta section, “ravioli ravioli great barrier reef!”

#john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #call of duty imagines #call of duty #scuffed writing

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bandnerdlevel43 · 7 months ago

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Ravioli Week, Day One- Love: Platonic/Romantic/Friend (Favorite AU)

Ravio x Lu Legend (Ravioli), Spirit Tracks Link x Zelda (Zelink) (< Implied)

Summary: Ravio is on a mission to rescue his husband from the Shadow’s tower. Not only does he dread what he finds, the mission doesn’t exactly go as planned, either.

Word Count: 3,742

Warnings: TW for mentions and evidence of torture and drugging, implied talk of Rulie’s whole sacrifice thing, Shadow does swear but it’s minor and I censored it anyway (I don’t swear :/), writer can’t resist making Legend a damsel in distress, mostly angst

A/N: Hello, everyone! I apologize for being… *checks calendar* …an entire week late? Holy Hylia, guys, I am so sorry. I totally missed the actual Ravioli Week. Well, I hope this is worth the wait!

As for the au, I'd like to explain. I didn't really have a favorite au before this, so I decided to use my own that I’ve been playing around with. Essentially, it's Hyrule Warriors Part Two: the Electric Boogaloo, with various companions attached in some way to each Link shoved together in the same adventure. For example, from Wind's Hyrule, Tetra; and from Wars’, Impa. I also added Spirit and his Zelda, since I love Spirit Tracks so much (older than Wind and Tetra bc I think it's funny how Wind would react that his successor is older than he is). And, of course, I had to include Ravio, with a side of marriage because I said so. Basically, this whole au started with me thinking that Midna and Hilda just screeching at each other was hilarious, and now Legend and Rulie are in Dink Jail and the Idiots have to get them out. *Shrugs* What can you do?

If you're still reading this, I use the name “Spectre” to refer to Spirit's Zelda. I can't remember where I found the name, but if anyone can find the person who came up with it, please tell me. Thank you!

That's all I have to say! Enjoy!

----

“Close it, close it, close it!” Ravio gasped.

Link slammed the door shut behind him, throwing his slight body against the rusted steel. Ravio's fingers fumbled against the lock as the screech of claws on metal howled in his ears. The wolfos bayed frustratedly, making Ravio jump. Link groaned, his legs visibly shaking under the strain. Frankly, he was surprised the boy hadn't already snapped like a twig.

“Done!” Ravio scrambled away from the door. The wolfos behind it was very angry at the setback, that he could tell. He held his breath, waiting for the creature to burst its way in despite his best efforts. The thick metal rattled and, in some places, warped before its force, but its attempts proved fruitless. A snarl sounded from behind the door, and from then, silence. Ravio sighed while Link sank to the ground with a tiny whimper.

“Are you alright, Mister Link?” Ravio panted.

“I'm fine,” the Hylian chuckled. “That hurt, though.”

Ravio helped him up. Link stumbled to his feet, but he was relieved to see no further struggle.

“Next time, I'm locking the door,” Link told him.

Ravio shuddered. “I should hope there is no next time,” he mumbled.

Link snorted. Suddenly, his eyes widened, stepping around Ravio with his jaw agape. Ravio blinked, turned around, and sucked in a breath.

He had never seen anything like it, and not in a good way. The dungeon was two floors tall, but apparently empty. The only light came from a couple of holes in the ceiling that allowed the smallest rays of sun to poke through. The smell of mildew drifted on stale, chilly air and burned his nose. Broken pieces of stone littered the floors and soaked in pools of water, giving the whole place a dilapidated feel. The cells were somehow even less sanitary! It was obvious that these cells had held a variety of creatures. Clumps of fur had been hastily shoved into corners, piles of hay lay rotting in a plethora of puddles, and rusted chains had been ripped from their place on the walls, bits and pieces of them tossed carelessly to the floor. The whole place reeked of decline and despair. Ravio's heart sank.

“Wow,” Link laughed nervously. “I’d almost rather have another go with the wolfos.”

“Link,” Ravio breathed.

“Hm? Oh- hey, wait!” Link called as Ravio dashed off to the nearest cell.

He went from cell to cell, giving each the briefest glance possible to confirm they were empty. He never considered himself a religious man, or at least one who actively worshiped the Goddess. Faith was for those who still held hope that things would get better on their own. He was far from believing in divine intervention, especially not invoked by his own hand. Despite this, he found himself pleading to Lolia to please, let him be somewhere else. Somewhere other than this horrible cesspool of a prison.

“Link?” His wobbling voice bounced off the stone and danced around his ears. “Link, it's Ravio. Can you hear me?”

An agitated pause. Ravio licked his lips anxiously. Maybe there was hope. Maybe they misjudged and this was the wrong chamber. Legend would be somewhere clean, humane, and maybe even comfortable. He almost sent a prayer of thanks to the Goddess when a weak, piteous moan destroyed his optimism.

Link (this was about to get confusing, very quickly) caught up. “He's upstairs,” he said seriously.

That was all he needed. Ravio ran for the stairs, Link close at his heels. He nearly tripped multiple times and even stepped in a puddle once. Still, the icy water couldn't hope to compare to how his blood ran cold with dread. Hilda had told him to be prepared for the worst sights, and Impa had been far too ready to provide vivid descriptions of torture, druggings, and- ohh, he was going to be sick. His own paranoia made him lightheaded.

“Ravio-” Link puffed. “Ravio, you have to remember-”

“I know,” Ravio replied tightly.

“We don't know what's up there,” Link insisted. “You can't do anything rash, alright? Stick to the plan. Whatever happens, don't…”

Ravio froze. Link trailed off, following his eyes until his own rested on the slumped form two cells down. It watched them, wary but unmoving. Like a prey animal that had already accepted its demise.

“Link?” Ravio asked shakily, fearing the response.

The figure hesitated. Then came the hoarse reply: “Rav..?”

“Lolia,” Ravio swore under his breath.

He was there within seconds. Legend sat up, slowly, with a grimace. His chains clinked as he shifted, and Ravio couldn't help but notice how well-oiled and shiny they were compared to the despondency of the rest of the cell. Anger swelled in his chest. He cursed the Shadow, and the monsters who did this to him. He cursed Lolia; and, while he was at it, he cursed Hyrule's goddess Hylia as well. How could she let this happen to her chosen hero?

“Ravio,” Link said abruptly. “The portal.”

“Right!” He dug into his satchel until his fingers bumped against the jagged shard of metal. He lifted it out and gingerly set it on the floor.

The sound of chains shifting caught his attention. He glanced over. Legend had moved into the light, and oh- it was worse than Ravio could have ever imagined. He was covered head to toe in gashes and bruises. Many of his wounds were red and swollen from infection. His wrists were wrapped in harsh burns. Worst of all, though, were his eyes. His eyes were heavy but dark from too many sleepless nights. They carried so much distrust and uncertainty, but within that a small glimmer of hope that was too hesitant, too weary. Ravio's heart never ached so painfully before.

Legend reached his hand out between the bars, his fingers shaking with miniscule tremors. The flesh on the top of his hand had been shredded and torn thoroughly, and only on that hand. Ravio had only a heartbeat to feel a flicker of confusion before Legend’s fingers touched his cheek, brushing his skin lightly.

“It- It is you,” he croaked. “I-I thought they had drugged me again. Ravio, I-”

“Shhh,” Ravio hushed softly, gently holding his battered hand. He gripped Ravio’s own tightly, like a man drowning. “Save your strength. We’re getting you out of this place.”

“Ravio, I lost it,” Legend said hoarsely, squeezing his hand. “I tried to hide it, but they took it. They took your bracelet, too-”

“Breathe, Link,” Ravio soothed best he could. “What did you lose?”

Those were definitely tears welling up in his eyes, threatening to spill over at the slightest provocation. “The ring,” he whispered. “I lost our ring.” He hung his head shamefully. “I’m sorry, Ravio.”

Ravio’s heart shattered. He shook his head violently, cupping Legend’s face with his hands. “No,” he said sternly. “No, Link, look at me- It's not important. It's just a dumb piece of metal. It's not important.”

Legend's expression was so pained it had Ravio’s eyes stinging as well. He forcefully swallowed the growing lump in his throat. Keep it together, you stupid rabbit, he scolded himself. He doesn't need you breaking down too.

“It's more than that,” Legend mumbled. He looked like he was about to say something else, but a bout of coughing attacked Ravio's ears instead. He groaned, his breath rattling in his chest.

“The portal's ready.” Link approached from behind Ravio, and Ravio didn't miss how he had unsheathed his sword, standing protectively over the two of them. “The keys will be here soon.”

“Thank you,” Ravio said genuinely. Link nodded in return.

Legend’s eyes flickered in suspicion. “Who are you?” he asked.

“My name is Link.” Link lifted his hat in a polite greeting. “But you can call me Spirit.”

Thank the Triforce he had a name ready. However, Legend didn’t share his welcoming attitude. “There’s another one?” he remarked incredulously.

Link- Spirit- grinned at that. “Seems like it.”

Legend snorted, which encouraged another coughing fit. “Delightful,” he grumbled.

While Ravio was glad to see some of his usual sarcasm show through, he was concerned for the younger hero. He didn’t want him hurt or put down by Legend’s gruff exterior, but it seemed he didn’t need to worry. Either Spirit (This is going to take some getting used to) hadn’t detected the edge in his words, or he was simply being a good sport.

It was probably the former.

Ravio didn’t have time to elaborate on the thought. Without warning, an invisible finger traced a circle in the ground by Link- blast it, Spirit! Startled, Spirit leaped back as the circle developed a waterlike film over the center. Ravio only stood when the portal spat out Shadow- and only Shadow.

Shadow hung in the air, his lip curled as he hurled an explosive back down through the portal. A muffled boom and a warped chorus of shrieking answered him.

“Hey!” he snapped. “Is this a rescue team or a statuary?! Shut it now!”

“Where’s Zelda?” Spirit demanded, the color drained from his face.

“She’s fine!” Shadow snarled. “Leave that open and we won’t be!”

To highlight his point, a large, meaty hand reached from the open gateway, swiping at Shadow’s feet. He drew his bloodstained sword without hesitation and thrust the blade through the monster’s muscle. He yanked it out ruthlessly and kicked the hand back down. Ravio quickly snatched the piece of the Master Sword off of the floor, which caused the portal to seal closed. Shadow huffed and spat at where the portal once sat.

“Where is she?” Spirit shouted, accusation evident in his tone. “You left her with those monsters, didn’t you?”

“Cool it, train boy!” Shadow bared his teeth, exposing dark tips that made Ravio flinch. Had- Had he bitten a monster? “She told me to. Listen, I don’t like it any more than you do, but loverboy over here-” he jerked his head at an affronted Legend- “is critical to our plan. She…” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, tipped his chin defensively, and finished, “...is not.”

“WHAT?!” Spirit nearly threw himself at Shadow, who made no move to defend himself. Alarmed, Ravio had to act quickly. He stepped between the two and held the younger back. Spirit yelled at him now, saying, “Let me go, Ravio!”

“I can’t do that, Link,” Ravio said through gritted teeth. “You’re not thinking clearly!”

“Coward! Let me go!”

Ravio winced. He had to admit, it had been a long time since that word had any bite to it, but this time, it wasn’t the word that hurt, but the mouth that spoke it. He held fast anyway. He didn’t mean it, right? “If Shadow says it’s a death trap to go back, then we can’t go back, but Link, listen to me! You have to trust her!”

Spirit stopped struggling, his hands dropping to his sides. Tentatively, Ravio let go. He took a step back, and relaxed when he saw no signs of aggression.

Spirit lifted pleading eyes to Shadow’s. “Please tell me she'll be okay,” he begged.

Shadow nodded cautiously. “She's more capable than all of us combined,” he assured. “She cut down the most massive Hinox I had ever seen with just her sword.” A tiny smile twitched at his lips. “I'm more worried for the monsters than her.”

Spirit mulled that over in his head. Ravio knew how little he trusted the darkling, even after all this time.

“Trust her,” Ravio repeated.

That seemed to work. Spirit glanced his way, then nodded. Not at Shadow, but at him. “Let's hurry, then. The faster we get him out, the less time she's in danger.”

Ravio winced and threw Shadow an apologetic look. The other man simply shrugged indifferently, as if to say, “What can you do?” He unhooked a ring of keys from his belt and said, “What do I shove these into?”

Ravio gestured to the lock on the door, wringing his hands restlessly. He made quick work of it, allowing the cell door to creak open. Ravio rushed in, dropped to his knees, and wrapped his lover in a tender embrace. Legend grunted, but otherwise did not protest. Instead, he lay his head limply on Ravio's shoulder, exhaling deeply.

“I'm sorry we didn't come for you sooner,” he whispered into his hair. “I'm so sorry, Link.”

“Don't…” Legend rasped. “Don't apologize. Just… don't.”

“Hate to interrupt,” Shadow said loudly, “but I have to get between the two of you to release ‘Mister Hero’ here.”

Ravio hastily released Legend, who frowned at Shadow, then at him. Shadow took his place and began unlocking the shackles. Legend continued to stare at him, not at all subtle in his careful assessment. In turn, Shadow winked. Legend looked scandalized.

Shadow stood, and Legend shook the chains off his wrists. Shadow dropped into an exaggerated bow, smirking. “He's all yours.”

Ravio blushed, but knelt before the Hylian once again. Legend's brows furrowed, still glaring at Shadow. “Say his name is Link and I'm punting him into the Sacred Realm,” he warned.

“Ha!” Shadow snickered. “Believe me, I would've done that myself if I was anything like you twinks.” An ironic statement, considering he was the smallest of them all. “No, I'm Shadow. Not the Shadow. Just Shadow. No relation, by the way.”

Legend regarded him with even more suspicion, if possible. Ravio decided this was the perfect time to change the subject. “Can you walk?” he asked.

“Does it look like I've tried?” he retorted. There was an instant flicker of guilt in his worn eyes, and he stared at the ground. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

“No, you're okay.” Ravio smiled softly, brushing his bangs out of his face and tipping his chin up. “It's not your fault.”

“Hurry it up, you two,” Shadow called irritably.

Legend scowled. Ravio distracted him with an outstretched hand. His heavily lidded eyes softened as he clasped his own hand around Ravio's. With a grunt, Ravio pulled him to his feet, which immediately gave out beneath him. Ravio dipped down and caught him before he could fall.

“Oof- I don't think I can walk, Rav,” he chuckled ruefully.

“I'll carry you,” Ravio suggested.

Legend looked dubiously at him, his legs visibly quaking despite being held up by Ravio. “Are you sure?”

“No offense, Link, but you're practically a skeleton,” he pointed out. “I think I can handle it. Now, hold on.”

Granted, Ravio himself was somewhat doubtful, mostly because of his own lack of confidence, but he had to pretend he had it. For Legend's sake. So, he scooped his frail body into his arms and hefted him up. He admittedly stumbled once or twice, but Legend was still shockingly light. He felt another pain in his stomach.

“Ready? Good, can we move?” Shadow said impatiently.

“What's up with you?” Spirit folded his arms.

“In case you hadn't noticed,” Shadow snapped, “Zelda and I weren't exactly making friends-”

“‘Zelda’? What happened to the little nickname you gave her?” Spirit scoffed.

Where had that come from? Ravio widened his eyes, taken aback by the aggression in the young hero's voice. “Guys?” he said timidly.

“Excuse me if I don't see the relevance of Spectre's nickname,” Shadow snarked, his cap lashing like a cat’s tail. “As I was saying, Zelda and I-”

“You wouldn't have to if you hadn't left her to fight a horde of monsters on her own!”

“Would you let me finish my d— sentence?!” Shadow shot up into the air, looming above Spirit, his red eyes flashing menacingly.

Spirit jabbed him in the chest with a finger. “Not if you keep acting like an arrogant hog!” he spat.

Oh, dear. There was way more tension between these two than Ravio had thought.

“Really? You're the one who can't comprehend the fact that Zelda can be friends with someone other than you!”

He was going to have to be the adult here, wasn't he?

Spirit laughed bitterly, the sound devoid of humor. “You would think that I have a problem with her making friends. No, I have a problem with narcissistic, manipulative, self-serving liars like-”

“Shut UP!” Ravio exploded. “Just shut up, both of you!”

The dungeon fell abruptly silent.

Ravio's ears flicked back. He chewed the inside of his cheek anxiously.

Then, slowly, Shadow lowered his feet to the ground. Spirit let his sword fall to his side. They watched him, likely startled that such an exclamation could come from one so emphatically against conflict. To be fair, Ravio was surprised with himself as well.

He waited until all hostility was gone from the two of them before speaking. “Shadow, tell us what you were trying to say.”

Shadow opened his mouth, but Ravio interrupted him, adding, “And no witty quips. Or passive-aggressive comments.”

Shadow gave him a flat look. In an even flatter tone, he said, “Zelda and I didn't make it to the Traveler. We were intercepted by a squad of the Shadow's underlings- which, by the way, were poorly chosen. Personally, I would have gone with something quicker. Lizalfos would've had a much easier time; besides, they have more style than Hinox-”

“So we need to find Hyrule ourselves,” Ravio concluded, ignoring how Legend stiffened in his arms.

“Well, yes,” Shadow conceded, somewhat miffed at being cut off for the third time. “But there's more. It wasn't just chance that a fully armed attack team was just wandering around where we happened to be at the time. There has to be a reason why, and I can only think of two.”

“Spit it out,” Spirit muttered.

Shadow, thankfully, pretended to be deaf. “One:” he announced, holding up a finger, “our information was wrong and they're more heavily armed than we thought. Two, which I believe to be more plausible: the Shadow knew we were coming.”

Ravio sucked in a breath. “So, what you're saying is-”

“We're about to have a whole lotta monsters on our hands.” Shadow glanced at Legend. “And something tells me they're not here for a civil discussion over tea and biscuits.”

“Really,” Spirit said dryly.

“Lay off, Spirit,” Ravio chided. He likely didn't look very intimidating, considering how pale he was. He really shouldn't be the leader here. Where was Hilda when you needed her? “Do you have a defense plan?”

“Other than run with our tails between our legs?” Shadow said wryly. “Nothing.”

“It's an idea,” Ravio sighed, only a little sarcastic. “Escape plans?”

“Hide until Aurora calls us all to rendezvous.”

“How high are our chances of Spectre getting to Hyrule?”

Shadow looked at Spirit and exhaled deeply. “Look,” he started. “I have no doubt that she can scrape through alive. But alive with the Traveler? No chance. She won't have time.”

Ravio sighed again. “You're really great at having a positive outlook, aren't you?”

“Glad I could help.”

He wrinkled his nose, but continued. “What about us?”

“What?”

“What are our chances of reaching Hyrule?”

Shadow narrowed his eyes. “Depends on what your husband knows.”

Legend stilled. Ravio gazed with concern down at his lover, who had squeezed his eyes shut, as if to hide from the world.

Ravio was torn. They were probably Rulie’s only hope of escape, but he hesitated to ask. Legend looked close to tears again. He opened his mouth, but to his surprise, Legend spoke.

“They moved him about a week ago,” he said. His voice was hoarse again. “He'll be somewhere cleaner. To- To keep him healthy.”

The way his voice broke didn't exactly put any of them at ease. Shadow's jaw was tense and his skin looked more gray than Lolian brown. “That's quite a lot of positivity, Sunshine.” He licked dry lips. “Don't overdo it, now.”

“Wait, hold on a minute- What do you mean ‘keep him healthy’?” Spirit asked apprehensively.

Ravio wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer, but before either could respond, Shadow's ears pinned back against his head. Without warning, the darkling pounced at Spirit and threw him to the ground, shouting, “Get down!”

Twin fireballs of blue and orange hues whizzed over their heads. Ravio ducked in the nick of time, the blue one just grazing his hair. Chills scrambled down his spine as he whipped around.

Spirit tossed Shadow aside with a growl. He jumped to his feet and froze. Before his eyes floated a large bat-like monster with a flat snout and rings around its intelligent eyes. And it was swelling. Fast. Great Goddess, did this thing even have a skeleton?

“Look out!” Shadow hollered.

Spirit let out a string of colorful curses that would've made Tetra proud and dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the creature's breath, which of course had to be fire. Why did it always have to be fire?

The flames singed the end of Shadow’s cap. He rolled to put it out and drew his sword in a fluid motion while Spirit, for some odd reason, pulled his boomerang from his pouch.

“I killed you!” he shouted furiously. “What’re you doing here?”

“You know this charming fellow?” Ravio gasped.

“Unfortunately.” Spirit grimaced. “Real pain in the- Shadow, duck!”

Shadow leaped into the air. Blue fire shot from underneath him. The bat screeched.

“What do we do?”

“That's the best question anyone's ever asked today!” Spirit snorted.

The cogs in that head were turning; Ravio could tell. He took in his surroundings in less than a second and dropped to his knees. He began rifling through his pack. “Shadow, get cozy. Distract that thing!”

“What?!” The darkling swore through his teeth. “Alone?”

“Exactly! Ravio, take the Vet and get out of here. We'll stall him.”

Shadow turned sharply. He flicked his fingers, tossing something shiny directly at Ravio. It flew through the air and landed awkwardly on Legend's nose.

“Keys!” Shadow yelled. “Go! Find the Traveler!”

“We'll handle this!” Spirit agreed.

Ravio took a step back. He gawked at Spirit. He couldn't deny his overwhelming panic, but he wasn't about to leave them!

“Go!” Shadow commanded, bloodstained teeth glinting in the light of the fire.

He hesitated, afraid. Could he really turn and run, just like that? But then an image of Legend bloodied and motionless presented itself in his mind’s eye, so he turned and fled.

What could he say? He had always been a coward.

He just had to hope that his family didn't end up the same way.

----

A/N: So, yeah! If you have any questions about my au, feel free to scream at me through my asks or the tags. (Bonus points if you can guess who they’re fighting hehe) Love you all!

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ofallthingsnasty · 1 year ago

Note

I need more Evan content in my life TT_TT would you consider writing something about him following the reader home and stalking them from his POV?

Aah, I'm so happy you like him!! He's my big, pseudo-soft creep vuv💕 I made him more soft than creepy in this, because he really thinks he is being cute and the good guy™

fic referenced (be sure to check the warnings before reading)

tags: yandere, stalking, minor nameless bill cameo (squint and you'll miss it... he's the mechanic), fem reader, chubby reader, minors dni but this is sfw, tagged as terato bc evan is a werewolf but that doesn't really come up here word count: 1.2k

Never has anyone been as happy as Evan to sit behind the wheel of their car, just waiting in the parking lot of the local grocery store. His favorite station is softly announcing tomorrow’s weather as he drums his fingers on the leather, eyes trained on the brightly-lit entrance of the shop. Waiting. Anticipating.

You went in just about five minutes ago, an hour before closing.

He loves it when you do your weekly grocery run after work - it’s takes the edge off every long day when you dip out of your apartment with that familiar shopping bag slung over your shoulder, keys dangling from one hand as you make some last-minute adjustments to your digital shopping list. You always go to the same store, usually around the same time as well. It’s so easy to keep track of your routine and watching you putter about has become one of his guilty pleasures, following you to and fro with his car, on foot, on his dingy bike.

You’re not using a shopping cart today, opting to tuck one of the plastic baskets into the crook of your arm instead. Ah, your car is broken, can’t carry much more if you have to haul it all home. Of course, he already knows that - you had told him yourself and he is still delighted by the fact that you’d readily share the information with him. You had been so cute, so grateful when he had recommended you a mechanic, someone he could trust not to upcharge you for whatever it was that was broken (even though his attitude could be horrid - but you are a tough cookie, he knows that. You can handle a little bit of attitude thrown in your direction.)

He checks the time again, waiting for an appropriate amount of time to pass. Ten minutes. He’s always aiming for ten minutes. A short list, just a little run to store for some milk, really, and he gets to see how you crunch your face together when you search for something on the shelves, gets to watch you being lost in thought, oblivious to the world around you. Sometimes he treats himself to waiting in line behind you in check-out, eyeing your little haul and listening to the sweet little thank you you chirp at the cashier.

He doesn’t always duck in when you do - no, no, too obvious, really - but today he will. You’ve been to the shop less than usual in the last week, undoubtedly saving up some money for your repairs and he misses you, your face, your voice.

Evan sighs as his eyes dart over to the clock again. Finally. He shoots out of the car like he’s been bitten by something and doesn’t even bother to grab a basket for himself. Just milk. He’s here for just a carton of milk, anyway.

He finds you by the fruit, critically eyeing some apples and it takes him every bit of strength not to stop and stare. Just milk. Maybe some gummy bears if you keep yourself too occupied with bruised produce.

He doesn’t want to miss you at the check-out, after all. You sure take your time today. Evan has gone over the different types of milk (plant-based included) twice before you finally dip into another section. Full-fat, low-fat, almond, oat, no milk at all - it’s all the same to him and he just grabs one off the shelves as he sees you trotting over to the freezers. He knows damn well where you’ll go to next and he hurries over, positioning himself as though he has some reason to be here, his eyes flitting between on- and off-brand ravioli as if it matters.

It doesn’t take long until you tip into the canned goods section and - oh, you’ve noticed him. Your free hand waves awkwardly at him as you two look at each other and you mouth a cute little ‘hi’ to him. He smiles and does the same, his heart soaring in his chest at the gesture. So, so cute.

The moment is over way sooner than he’d like it to be but you’re probably tired after work, so you turn your attention back to your list, biting your lower lip in thought. Poor thing.

You’re always so lost in thought, with an iron grip on your smartphone as you check your little shopping list. It’s as though you’re all alone in the big store, the way you softly mumble to yourself and listfully touch the packaging to inspect the product.

Evan almost forgets to look back to the ravioli before you turn to him again.

It’s the only interaction he allows himself for the evening. He wants to ask you about your day so bad, wants to know what you’ll be baking (cooking?) with your carefully picked apples, but it’s just too obvious - he consoles himself with the fact that he’ll get to stare at you while waiting in line for the check-out.

He lets you go for the rest of your grocery run, not even watching as you complete your little list. Brave. He’s being so brave about pretending to care for some stupid candy while you probably compare the prices on the weekly deals close to the register - he counts to ten and fists a bag of licorice, peeking around the corner to find you shovelling the content of your shopping basket onto the conveyor belt. Jackpot.

Evan takes a spot behind an older man, close enough to really watch you and far enough to not be too blatant about it, and lets himself really drink the sight of you in.

You wear something cute. Not that your usual work attire isn’t - there is just something about you in something comfortable, something casual that makes his heart swell in his chest. A hoodie. That ridiculously adorable pair of printed sweatpants you have. Or, when the weather allows it, something shorter: a dress, a skirt, shorts. And today, he is oh-so-lucky: you’re in his favorite short number, something that makes the wait so much more worth it. If you let him, he’d buy you a million of the same garment in a dozen colors.

The conveyor belt stutters forward and you greet the cashier with your sweetest voice. He wants to melt on the spot.

He thinks often about what it would be like to complete such a mundane task with you, as a little family. You with a fat little baby on your hip, pushing the cart while he loads it up. What meals would you enjoy together, what would you try for the first time? He knows what you like to cook for yourself already but he doesn’t know the exact recipes. Would you share them with him? Oh, you would.

He almost misses it when the cashier tells you your total and you rummage through your wallet to hand them some bills.

Only one bag of groceries today, barely stuffed. You hurry the straps over the fat of your shoulder, whistling out an exhale in an adorable manner. It seems heavy - he wants to carry it home for you, wants to at least help you if your car isn’t working. But he can’t - you don’t know him like that so Evan is left to stand and stare while you trudge through automatic doors, headed back home. But you don’t have to worry your pretty little head about it, he thinks. Soon enough it’s going to be him who carries that bag for you, who gets you your favorite pesto brand from the top shelf. For now, he’ll just follow you home to make sure you’re safe.

#male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere teratophilia #OC: Evan #capture kill

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jo-harrington · 1 year ago

Text

This is a weird Store Manager Verse thing that will never make it into the larger story.

Store Manager Verse started with me revisiting my journey as a retail store manager but then evolved into something about…sharing food memories and experiences with someone new through Eddie and SM’s not-dates. Again, some based on personal experiences.

TW: Food/Eating, and maybe some personal growing up italian american experiences but…I’m in my feelings tonight so I need the overarching theme of showing affection through food. (Im crying into my dinner, please leave me alone).

Tonight for dinner I’m eating Chef Boyardee. Obviously the thought in this fandom immediately goes to Eddie.

I have had Chef Boyardee a grand total of once in my life before tonight. I was five years old. It was a jarring contrast versus my nonna’s homemade ravioli, and even more jarring still because she had just passed away. It was an emotional experience, and I vowed never to eat it again.

So let’s imagine now…you’re the Claire’s Store Manager now. Far away from home and living on your own. No family to cook with you, you just have your little handwritten recipe book that went from your grandma to your grandpa to you. All the family recipes, even those you haven’t memorized yet.

And here’s Eddie, who is helping you embrace your newfound independence and identity, one convenience store snack at a time. He’s enjoying seeing the brightness in your eyes and the joy. And one Sunday, after you promised to make pasta for him…you have the worst and the longest day. It was a horrible Sunday, everything that could go wrong did, including several consecutive piercings with screaming babies.

“Don’t worry Sweetheart,” Eddie soothes after hours as he’s giving you a much-needed hug. “It’s just a bad day.” He’s had his share of them now, and you reassured him after all of them.

“I just…can’t make dinner tonight,” you tell him. “I know you were looking forward to it.”

Carbonara sauce and heaps of parm. You were looking forward to it too.

“How about I take care of dinner tonight. Don’t worry. Lemme make a stop and I’ll meet you at your place.”

And he does.

He arrives at your apartment laden with bags from Bradley’s Big Buy. You expected some kind of greasy bag from a drive thru, so it’s a surprise when he sits you down on your couch with a glass of lemonade and takes full ownership of the kitchen.

You hear the pots banging, the oven going, dishes clacking.

And it smells pretty good. You’re intrigued. You knew Eddie’s cooking repertoire by now and while he certainly aced Home Ec, this didn’t seem like his wheelhouse. Color you impressed.

“Alright, close your eyes, no peeking,” he tells you. Throws a dish towel at your face to really make sure you don’t look. And he bustles out of the kitchen, juggling plates and a tray and a handful of cutlery.

Then he tells you it’s safe to look and it’s…

Easy Cheese on Crackers, and a Sara Lee All Butter Pound Cake that he’d warmed in the oven, and two bowls of Spaghetti-O’s.

You can’t help but laugh. A silly little giggle. Your heart…so full.

“Eddie this is…”

“I did good didn’t I? We haven’t had any of this.”

He’s beaming.

How can you tell him��that you hate Chef Boyardee?

You tried it once. Begged for it at the store. But it was the antithesis of your upbringing. Of your grandma in the basement kitchen making homemade sausage once a week or grandpa who came home from the home from his factory job and opened can after can of tomatoes to make a big pot of sauce for the whole family.

He let you take a heel of a loaf of bread to dunk as it bubbled on the stove. A secret to be kept between the two of you. None of your cousins ever got the honor.

How could canned pasta ever hold a candle to that?

Still you fawn over the dinner, over Eddie’s efforts. You fully savor the tacky, savory easy cheez on ritz and even pretend you’re being a little naughty by indulging in dessert first with the pound cake.

You just can’t hide your lackluster reaction when it’s time to put the pasta…if you can call it that…into your body.

“This is a treat,” Eddie explains enthusiastically. “Mom didn't really like the Beef Ravioli but Spaghetti-os were her favorite. And then when she was gone, Rick always had a few cans in the cupboard to surprise me for an after school snack. Shit I’m pretty sure he still does.”

He scarfs down the delicacy and your stomach turns further when you realize…

You cant disappoint him like this.

So you load up the spoon and you cringe a little as you raise it to your mouth. And you think about…Eddie being more important than your stupid snobbish childhood.

He stares at you as you take that first bite.

And it’s…perfect.

You’re not at the stove with your grandpa. You’re not with your family. You’re with Eddie. A different experience but nonetheless important and special.

You can see him sitting at the table after school, doodling on his homework sheets instead of doing math as he shoveled spoonfuls of the too-sweet sauce and noodles onto his mouth. You can see Rick mixing a pitcher of Country Time lemonade for Eddie’s mom so she could kick her feet up and listen to records with an ice cold glass after her shift. You can see them all enjoying pound cake on a special occasion; maybe Eddie getting an A on a test or his mom’s birthday or something.

It’s his life, his history that he shares with you willingly. Just like you share yours so openly with him.

“Well?” He asks. “Verdict?”

And what else could you say? But how you feel? About the spaghetti-os. About the little ritual the two of you had started. About…about Eddie himself, even though you couldn’t admit it outright just yet.

“I love it.”

#Eddie Munson x reader #eddie Munson imagine #store manager verse #Eddie Munson fluff

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gravitysgone · 1 month ago

Text

Last night I went to the Thanksgiving dinner and it was lovely. Until after the meal the kids and generally buzzing of activity got my anxiety levels going and I felt like I was a human oscillator and I was vibrating in time with the hum of noise. There were about 100 people there and no one was doing anything wrong. I had just reached my limits. The food was good and I ate a plate of food. So mission accompli.

Joe was still not feeling great last night until the middle of the night. Suddenly he was fantastic and he and his new buddy George (a great big tabby about 9 years old) decided chasing and exploring together was the thing to do. Including hopping on and off my bed over and over. But seeing Joe feeling better made me feel better so it was nothing to complain about. And George is my buddy and the only other of the cats that Joe doesn't get jealous of when I give him attention. The Vet said Wednesday his bald spot is definitely anxiety and as he calms and becomes more relaxed and I do as well, it should grow back. Which is good because right now he looks kind of sad.

For the day today my plan...eat a can of ravioli and watch TV. And eat some pickles...I got pickles as a gift yesterday. Because people know, give the Jeff pickles and he is filled with joy. Man, I sound boring. I am going to start making up crazy adventures and exploits. Like finding the Arc of the Covenant before the Nazis do and stuff.

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sadisticpussies · 1 year ago

Text

He’s in Las Vegas, exasperatedly laboring through hour three of his eight hour shift as a bartender at the Herbs & Rye restaurant — his tolerance for the day had already exceeded its limit after an unfortunate encounter with a group of white collar men who’d made a complaint to his manager about his poor work ethic and his uncanny sarcasm.

His boss, Thomas, had pulled him to the side to quietly reprimand him, sternly reminding Shawn that he was on strike two and if he were to get another complaint from one more customer that his employment would be terminated. It’s not like he necessarily needed this job because just like the others, they’d been temporary; sufficing him just enough for food and for him to save enough so he can move onto the next town.

But he’s only been here for a week; barely managing to save enough to survive off of anything except for microwaveable tv dinners and canned ravioli due to the lackluster minimum wage. He couldn’t afford to lose this job so quickly, especially considering that he was planning on going to Tijuana and already had an itinerary full of mischief that required at least $1,000 to indulge in.

He’s fixing a customer another drink; Stacy, who’d stumbled in an hour earlier solemnly confessing to him about her recent discovery of her husband’s infidelity, she’d chugged down to full glasses Smirnoff gulping them down without a burning wince as she continuously divulged about her marital problems when he heard Thomas beckoning his name in attention.

“Spencer, how many times have I told you about the rules against personal calls while on the clock?” He was sauntering up to Shawn, irritation’s evident across his face as he points a finger at him. “You’re treading on a very thin line here,” He forewarns, much to Shawn’s confusion.

“Personal call?” He wasn’t expecting anyone to call; the only person who knows where he currently is is his mother and he knows that the retreat she had gone to didn’t allow cellphones of any kind for her to make a phone call to him.

Thomas wasn’t amused by Shawn’s confusion, his irritation only accrued as he rolled his eyes and pointed his thumb over his shoulder where the kitchen was. “It’s some guy saying he’s your father. Said he needed to talk to you. Make it quick.” He avers, narrowing his eyes at Shawn before turning away to attend to a customer who has his glass raised midair and calls out for a refill.

Shawn’s confusion heightens as he ponders on why his father was suddenly seeking contact with him. It’s been four years since he’s last seen him; the communication between then was minimal with it being mostly brief exchanges of Shawn assuring his father that yes he is alive and no he hadn’t done something outlandish like join a cult as his father often presumed.

It was never long before their conversations transitioned into arguments — his father’s disdain about Shawn’s abrupt decision to leave after high school instead of attending college or enrolling in the police academy and Shawn’s disdain about his father ruining their family by divorcing his mother was always the reason. They’d bicker; spewing accusations and hurtful insults at each other until one of them got too tired of arguing and would hang up.

His mother would often call to check in, inquiring about his health and safety, avid to hear about what new sites he’s seen in his travels. And like always she’d try to absolve the tension between him and his father, attempting to convince Shawn to seek out contact with him first and have an actual conversation (that didn’t include arguing) but her efforts were futile because Shawn was always haste to refuse, still too upset with his father to even think about reconciliation.

He already felt drained from today, dealing with Thomas and the restaurant full of rude and entitled customers he doesn’t think he has the energy to argue with his father. He assures Thomas of a quick return before sauntering off to the back to retrieve the phone. He picks it up, pressing one hand against his ear to shield the noisiness ricocheting from the front.

“Dad, whatever this is about I can’t deal with it right now. I’m at work—” He peers up, seeing Thomas impatiently tapping his finger against his watch as he mouthed hurry up. Shawn nods, turning away as he rolls his eyes in frustration. “I’ve gotta get back,”

“Shawn,”

“Dad—I have to go,” He avers, removing the phone from his ear and preparing to hang it back on its hook until he hears something that makes him halt. He brings the phone back up to his ear, exhaling a trembling breath. “W-What did you just say?”

He’d heard him faintly, only hearing the end of his father’s sentence but that’s all he needed to be immediately drawn back into the conversation. Gus had emanated from his father’s mouth, it was a name that had solemnly become unrecognizable to him over the span of these few years. Just like his father, Shawn had ceased much of the communication with Gus as well; only sending emails, postcards and letters to him twice every month to fill him in on the current adventures in his life.

The strain in their friendship wasn’t intentional. Shawn escaped from Santa Barbara the day after graduating hoping to find some semblance of meaning in his life. His mother had just left and Gus was scheduled to leave for college afterwards, Shawn felt like he didn’t have a reason to stay in the place that took everyone he loved away from him. He’s thought about returning back, but he relented and succumbed to his fears of facing Gus again; knowing that it wouldn’t be easy to reconcile after leaving him for so long.

He hates himself for leaving like that; abrupt and impulsively, without even saying goodbye to Gus. He shudders at to think about what Gus thinks of him — how angry and upset and hurt he probably was to wake up the next morning and hear from his father that Shawn had left.

He’s never been good at goodbyes, he hates them. But he knows Gus at least deserved that.

There’s a lump that thickens and expands in his throat, his hands shake as he clutches the phone. He’s trying to settle his nerves but the pounding in his ears is so loud that it’s hard to hear what his fathers saying. He didn’t need to hear much because after the words “Gus” and “accident” were mentioned, Shawn was already hanging up the phone and untangling the knot from the apron that was tied around his waist. His hands were shaking so much that he fumbled with the knot, cursing loudly in frustration as he pulled and tugged at it.

He hears the heavy gait of footsteps approaching behind him that’s accompanied by the shrilly timbre of Thomas’ voice, “It’s been five minutes now, you need to get out there and…where do you think you’re going?” He questions, perching his hands akimbo as he watched Shawn toss the apron aside then hurriedly retreat to the break room.

He returns seconds later, his helmet and jacket in hand.

Shawn’s mind feels skewed; he’s panicking, can barely focus on anything at the moment and there are tears gathering in the back of his pupils blurring his vision. “I uh, I have to go. My best friend, he’s been in an accident and I have to go see him.” He shrugs his arms through the jacket, patting the right pocket and digging inside to retrieve his keys.

“Go?” Thomas inquired in bewilderment; completely apathetic at Shawn’s earlier sentiments. “We’re short staffed tonight and we don’t have anyone to cover your shift. You can’t go!”

And if Shawn wasn’t stretched on time and wasn’t desperately trying to hurry up to Gus he would’ve vehemently spewed a few derogatory remarks at Thomas for his lack of consideration and human decency. But instead, he only brushes past Thomas as he makes his abrupt departure out of the back door.

…

He’s certain that he’s broken every road law known to man; making illegal passings through lanes, squeezing past rows of cars stuck in traffic and accelerating the motorcycle to a speed he didn’t even know it could reach as he reeved up the gas and sped down the highway. He arrives outside of the hospital a few hours later, hurriedly turning off the ignition and climbing off of the bike after finding an empty parking space.

He takes off in a sprint towards the front entrance inadvertently pushing past a man that’s hobbling on a pair of crutches — who curses loudly at Shawn when he nearly loses his balance and stumbles clumsily.

“Jackass!” The man scolded; the screeching of his crutches dragging across the tiled floors ricochets throughout the room.

He absentmindedly disregards the man’s reprimand as he ran towards the nurse’s station. The woman behind the desk is occupied on the phone, alternating between typing on the keyboard of her computer and filing patient reports. When she looks up at notices Shawn, she holds her finger up in the air and murmurs “one moment,” before continuing her conversation.

Shawn’s impatience immediately wears thin, her conversation has been going on too long and she’s yet to bother acknowledging him again. He’s tempted to interrupt her conversation and demand that she attend to his needs, but he purses his lips in a thinned frown to prevent himself from projecting his anger onto her and continued to (im)patiently wait. After what felt like an eternity, the nurse’s conversation ends and she’s putting the phone back on its hook and greeting him in welcome.

“Hello, sir. How may I help you?”

“I need to see someone who was admitted a few hours ago; his name is Burton Guster. He was in an accident and I have to see him.”

The nurse nods as her fingers type deftly onto the keyboard again. “He’s still getting looked over so you’ll have to wait,” She informs him before directing him towards the waiting area.

Shawn slumps into one of the rigid-cushioned chairs, with his leg bouncing and his teeth nervously biting at his nails, he stares at the round clock that’s hung decoratively on the alabaster colored walls, heeding at the hands as they ticked with each passing minute.

He’s trying to focus: his mind repeats a litany of he’s okay, to distract himself from the possibilities that awaited. Gus is okay because he had to be — because Shawn knows that the universe wouldn’t punish him so cruelly like this, it wouldn’t take his best friend from him in such a macabre way. It wouldn’t do this knowing that Shawn hasn’t had a chance to apologize yet.

No.

Gus is okay.

He wouldn’t accept any other fate.

…

His ass has started to get numb from sitting in the chair for so long and his impatience starts withering again. It’s been nearly two hours already and there has yet to be any developments regarding Gus status. Shawn’s been getting up and walking to the nurses station every fifteen minutes asking if Gus had been moved out of surgery and into a room yet but every time she only tells him that she’s only allowed to disclose that information to immediate family. He understands that it’s hospital protocol and whatnot but he’s becoming more and more peeved.

He’s offered some sense of relief when he looks towards the front entrance and sees Mr. and Mrs. Guster trekking through the doors. The same worry and panic that paralyzed him was written all over their countenances as well, Mrs. Guster was sobbing as she held tightly onto her husband’s arm.

They exchange a few words with the nurse and before he knows it, he’s seeing the door towards the back being buzzed open.

Shawn hurriedly clambers to his feet and approaches the Gusters.

“Mr. and Mrs. G!” They both halt at the exclamation of their names, turning around to see who was seeking their attention. There’s a look of aghast when they see Shawn standing athwart from them.

“Shawn?” Mrs. Guster asks, voice gruff and scratchy from all of the crying she’d done. She brings the wad of tissue that was in her other hand, up to her red nose and dabs away the snot that spilled. “What are you doing here?”

He winces at the incredulity behind her words. It saddens him knowing that his parents are this surprised that he showed up. He knows he hasn’t been around much these past few years but surely they had to know that something as vital as this was going to incite haste Shawn’s return. But with the way they’re looking so perplexed at him, like he’s a stranger, instead of their son’s childhood best friend that they’ve known for years says otherwise.

(He’d dwell on this heartbreaking realization later. He had to make sure Gus was okay first.)

“My dad called and told me what happened. I came to see him. Did anyone tell you anything? Is-Is he okay?”

They share a brief look like they’re wary of disclosing the information to him. It fucking hurts that he’s suddenly become this outsider to them as if he wasn’t an intricate part of Gus’ life. He did leave but why did they act as if his existence hadn’t meant anything to them or Gus?

“He’s stable and awake,” Mr. Guster finally admits, thankfully easing Shawn’s concerns. “They said that it was okay to go see him,”

He nods, giving them a pleading look that begged them to allow him to accompany them to the back. Because he doesn’t know how much longer he can sit here waiting, and although he knows that they’ve assured him that Gus was safe, Shawn wouldn’t be fully content until he actually saw Gus and could confirm it himself.

Mr. Guster sighs, looking down at his wife before averting his eyes back onto Shawn. “You’re welcome to come back if you’d like.”

And that’s all he needed to hear before he’s following behind them as they lead the way down the corridor to Gus’ room.

Mrs. Guster approaches first, bringing her hand up midair and rapting a gentle knock against the door. A few seconds pass by before they hear a rasped, “Come in,” that she her pulling at the handle and swinging the door open.

Albeit relief calms him when he actually sees Gus, Shawn could also feel his throat baring and his eyes watering at the sight of Gus. It’s been four years and six months since he’s seen him; he still looked the same but his face has chiseled and he’s grown into his features. He’s got more hair since the last time Shawn’s seen him; hair that’s styled in a hightop boxed coif. Shawn sidestepped around Mrs. Guster and gauges a fuller view at Gus — he’s sprawled out on the small hospital bed, his legs are dangling off of the edge swallowing up the last inch of space that’s available. He’s got a thin wool blanket swathed across his lap, his arms wrapped in a cast that’s balanced on a small pillow that’s tucked underneath for leverage.

Gus is laid with his eyes fluttered close, nearly half dazed from the medication they fed him. Upon hearing the knocking and his mother’s loud sob of relief, he opens them, blinking rapidly trying to clear his fogged vision. He smiles sheepishly at his parents, but then his eyes wander behind them at Shawn and his smile is substituted for a moue, causing Shawn to recoil away slightly.

He lowers his eyes, abashed and chagrined, condemning himself for foolishly thinking Gus would be elated at his return.

“Shawn?” And it’s so pathetic but his breath hitches when he hears his name fall off of Gus’ lips, at the way he could practically hear the emotion through his tenor as he called out to him. It’s surprisingly tender and soft and Shawn can’t remember the last time he’s ever heard such affection in someone’s voice.

Maybe he hadn’t completely ruined things between them like he assumed.

He remains stood off to the side as the Guster’s bombarded their son with questions, inquiring about the accident and assessing his wounds. Gus repeatedly assured them that he was fine, stating that it was an accident that occurred after another car abruptly drove out into traffic. Shawn smiled adoringly as he watched as Gus’ mother attentively adjusted Gus’ pillows and maneuvered around the small room fixing things.

“Mom, I’m okay,” Gus reiterated for the fifth time that day after his mother tried to buzz a nurse in when Gus placed too much weight on his arm and yelped out in pain when he felt the throbbing pain shooting up his arm.

“It certainly didn’t sound like you’re okay!” She laments, frowning as her finger hovered over the big, red button, contemplating if she should defy against her son’s wishes and call for the nurse to look over him regardless of his asks.

“I just moved too quick that’s all. I promise.” She looked at him disbelieving, knowing that he was probably only saying that to alleviate her worries. Nonetheless, she conceded and had followed behind her husband when he led them out of the room to grab some coffee from the cafeteria.

When the Guster’s leave, it’s just him and Gus alone. Shawn’s still standing hovered by the doorway with his hands shoved inside the front pockets of his jeans and his eyes shyly meets Gus’. He wants to speak, to go over and throw his arms around Gus and tell him that he’s glad he’s okay, but he feels like his feet are cemented to the ground and his tongue feels so thick in his mouth that it causes his throat to dry and he’s suddenly struggling to form a coherent sentence.

It’s Gus that finally breaks the silence between them. He’s shifting on the bed again, trying to maneuver around to a more comfortable laying position and ends up inadvertently hitting his arm against the bed’s railing that has him wincing in pain again.

“I’m good,” He’s haste to assure Shawn whose eyes widened in worry and feet managed to miraculously find their strength to move as he was already at Gus’ bedside, reaching for his arm to help him. His hands quickly retract at Gus’ words and are being shoved back into his pockets again. Silence lingers between them again only briefly before Gus begins speaking again. “How’d you find out?” He murmurs softly in curiosity.

“My dad,”

Gus eyebrows furrow in an indiscernible gesture. He reaches forward, grabbing at the small cup full of ice water. “Right. Well, you didn’t have to come all the way back here. I’m sure you’re eager to go back to Washington or wherever you’re at now.” There’s no hostility or malice embedded in Gus’ words. It’s just a melancholic lilt that Shawn recognizes that has him guilt ridden and apologetic. His absence has made Gus think that he’s stopped caring for/about him when that was furthest from the truth.

“Gus—” He begins, but Gus is already interrupting him rebutting otherwise.

“It’s fine, Shawn. I’m okay. It’s just a broken arm, nothing serious.”

At this, Shawn guffaws in frustration because how could Gus trivialize this? He doesn’t know the sheer terror Shawn felt when he heard about the accident, how he was afraid that he would lose him and now here Gus was just brushing everything off in nonchalance and trying to push him away. And he tries not to but he does get angry with Gus, because how could he truly think that Shawn didn’t care about him?

“No, it’s not okay. I came here because I was worried about you, Gus. I was scared that you’d—” He shakes his head, swallowing down the remainder of that sentence. It was too painful to think let alone vocalize aloud. “I know that I haven’t been here but that doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you,”

He sees Gus’ mouth purse and his eyebrows furrow, like he’s contemplating on whether he actually believes Shawn’s words. He’s feeling defeated, already self deprecating at how he’d managed to single-handedly ruined the only stable relationship in his life.

He wouldn’t be Shawn if he didn’t fuck up good things.

But then, Gus is looking at him and his eyes soften as he murmurs, “Thanks for coming,”

…

Shawn stays in Santa Barbara for the rest of the week. He stays in a motel downtown, refusing his father’s offer to stay at home instead. That was one relationship he wasn’t as avid to reconcile with just yet, there was still unresolved issues that resided between them, issues that he held his father solely responsible for that he wasn’t ready to address.

He was here for Gus and wanted to focus on that not any other issues.

The first day, they’d caught up more with each other, telling the other everything that wasn’t mentioned in their emails or letters. It was bittersweet listening to Gus rave about his college experience, hearing about all the friends he’s made, all the things he’s done.

Shawn felt sad that he hadn’t been there with Gus to experience those things with. He remembers in middle school, they’d talk about all the parties they would go to whenever they got to college, how they’d be roommates (because they knew no one else could handle living either of them; Gus was too OCD and Shawn was messy and snored loudly, or at least that’s what he’s heard from Gus.) then graduate and get married and live next door to each other.

At the time of his departure, he didn’t consider his leaving as a blunder in their plan. He’d been too focused on running away from his problems to even think about that.

Gus then told him about a new job that he recently started as a pharmaceutical salesman that apparently paid more than all of Shawn’s minimum wage jobs combined. It paid enough for Gus to rent one of those luxury apartments with a gym and a pool that Shawn’s always wanted.

He was happy for Gus, really.

He was also really fucking sad that he missed out on so much.

On the second day, they spent the entire day playing board and card games — apparently time at college gave Gus enough time to learn how to gamble because he managed to beat Shawn in poker twice but Shawn redeemed himself in Monopoly and Candyland.

Shawn snuck in some Chinese takeout that they secretly ravished after Gus complained about the hospital food. The nurse stumbled in upon their slaughter and reprimanded them for it much to their amusement. Afterwards, they watched reruns of Three Stooges and it was so ridiculous and overly cartoonish in its comedy but they laughed at every single joke.

Gus ended up succumbing to his exhaustion a little later in the night, laying with his head tucked on the pillow as he breathed softly through his parted lips. Shawn looked over at Gus and felt his heart clench as he inwardly pondered how he could ever reconcile with the fact that he’d willingly gone four years without his best friend, without the person he cared for the most in the entire world.

It’s a question he thinks he’ll never be able to answer.

On the third day, things between them become familiar and normal. It starts to feel like they’re Shawn and Gus again as a whole not as separates anymore and Shawn doesn’t think he’s ever been happier than he is right now.

On the fourth day is when Shawn realizes a few things. They’re in Gus’ room again and he’s finally being discharged after being cooped up in the fight fitted room and barely surviving off of watered down meatloaf and stale bread for nearly a week. Shawn’s in the room, skimming through a magazine waiting for Gus to finished getting dressed so that they could go out into the front while they waited for his parents, when he hears the bathroom door being pulled open.

“Shawn?” He looks up to see Gus’ head poked out of the door, his expression flushed as his chest heaved. “I need your help. I’m trying to finish getting ready but this damn cast makes everything harder.”

Shawn set the magazine down as he clambered to his feet. “Are you sure you want my help because you wouldn’t even take off your shirt in front of me when we used to go swimming,” He teases lightheartedly, smiling at the flustered expression in Gus’ face as he says this.

“That was different. I was younger and still getting used to my developing body. Just come in here!” He avers, grabbing Shawn’s arm and tugging him into the bathroom as he closes the door behind them.

It’s not like he was staring per se, but he’d certainly taken heed at Gus body. He was standing in the middle of the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs that complimented him fittingly, the material snug around his hips. He’d apparently started working out during some time in between his adolescence and early adulthood because Gus now had abs that were chiseled and taut; and when he turned around to pick up his shirt that had fallen to the floor, Shawn could see the muscles in his back flex as he moved.

His eyes appreciatively gauge at Gus’ seemingly fit physique wondering when the hell did that happen.

Shawn hurriedly averts his eyes, managing to look away just before Gus turns back around to face him. “I thought it wouldn’t be so bad with a broken arm but this fucking sucks,” He complains, extending the shirt out to Shawn who hikes up the hem and shimmies it over Gus’ head, tugging it down and over his torso.

He ignores the flutter in his stomach when his fingers brush over Gus’ stomach.

“Do you need me to stay over and help you for a while?” He offers, his mind only briefly wanders back on his job knowing that he would probably be unemployed by the time he returns which meant that Tijuana was going to be postponed for the time being but staying with Gus was worth it.

Gus smiles sheepishly, looking over at Shawn. “Thanks, but I know you’re probably ready to go back to Las Vegas.”

Shawn pulls the shirt all the way down over Gus’ abdomen, frowning a bit at his words. “No, I mean I’m not in a rush to go back. I can stay, I want to stay here for you if you need me.”

Please need me.

“Are you planning on seeing your dad?” Gus posits in curiosity, seemingly subverting the topic of conversation so quickly that it has Shawn wondering why Gus was so hesitant in letting him stay over. He knows that it’s still going to take some time to fully get all of Gus’ trust back but he thought that these past few days were showing some progress.

“Uh, no. I think it’s best if we stay away from each other for the time being.”

“It’s been four years. How much longer do you need?” Gus rebuttals; and okay, maybe he’s right but his relationship with his father was complicated and definitely something that he didn’t want to talk or think about right now.

Gus sighs, “The only reason I ask is because I’ve seen him around Shawn. As much as you think he doesn’t like you, he seems pretty miserable to me that you’re gone.”

Shawn guffaws softly at this, “Yeah, right.” He murmurs disbelieving, reminiscing on the fight they’d had the night before he left home where Henry explicitly said that he couldn’t wait until Shawn left because then he wouldn’t have to deal with the headache of him being around anymore. “He doesn’t miss me, Gus. He’s glad that I’m gone, trust me.”

Gus only shakes his head before eventually dropping the conversation, knowing that it was futile in trying to convince Shawn of otherwise. “Alright…this might be a little more complicated and uncomfortable,” He surmises, nudging his chin outwardly towards the pair of sweatpants that his mother had packed for him.

Shawn grabbed the sweatpants and stood in front of Gus. He extended the sweatpants out, making it easy for Gus to slide a leg in each pant leg. Gus nearly tumbles and instinctively reaches a hand out, resting it onto Shawn’s waist to anchor his fall. “Sorry,” Gus murmurs, fitting his other leg into the pant leg.

Shawn tugged at the waistband, pulling it further up Gus’ legs when he’s gotten them both all the way in the sweats. His fingers inadvertently brush against Gus’ cock when he’s adjusting the sweatpants around his waist and he feels his face immediately blush in a deep crimson color. He gauges a quick look up at Gus, peeking at him underneath the wisps of his eyelashes — Gus is looking up at the ceiling, biting on his lower lip as he avoided Shawn’s gaze.

“Sorry, I was—”

“No it’s—”

“—I wasn’t trying to—”

“—Shawn—”

“Gus!” Both Shawn and Gus pause at the shrilly shriek of someone calling out his name. They exchange confused looks until realization dawns upon Gus who’s now using his freehand to roughly pull his pants up the remainder of the way. He’s reaching for the doorknob and is making a haste egress seconds later, walking out to greet the approaching woman.

Shawn follows behind Gus out of the bathroom, barely making it halfway into the room before he’s blindsided with the sight of Gus and a woman kissing vehemently in the middle of the room. Gus has his arm around her waist while she’s got her hands on his face, pulling him closer as their kisses became more feverish. “What are you doing here?!” Gus asks, his sentences barely coherent between the woman’s kisses.

“You didn’t think I was going to not come see you, did you?!” She mutters, pecking his lips thrice before eventually pulling away to look him over. “Aw, my poor baby,” She coos, brushing her thumb over his cheek as he leans into her touch.

Shawn stood there quietly watching their embrace. Throughout the entire duration of the past few days, Gus has never once mentioned having a girlfriend or dating anyone. So, it’s a little surprising to see him with someone like this, holding and kissing her so affectionately. He harrumphed softly, capturing their attention because they’d gotten so enraptured in each other that they nearly forgot about his presence.

The woman peers over Gus’ shoulder and looks at Shawn. She smiles, wide and toothy, bringing her hand mid-air as she gestures a wave. “Hi, I’m Mira!”

The first impression of her is that she’s unnecessarily cheery (he knows he sounds like a grinch saying this, but how can someone be this enthusiastic all of the time even he has his limits and often broods to balance it all out.)

Shawn waves back, thinning his lips into a feeble smile. “Shawn,” His eyes linger downward to Gus’ hand as it descends to her lower backside. She giggles, playfully nudging at his shoulder before shifting her attention back into Shawn.

“Shawn! Do you want to see the ring my pookiebear Gus got for me?” She gasps, already making her way over towards him much against Gus’ dismay as he reaches for her to attempt to stop her with hushed exclaims of ‘no, no, no, Mira!’ but she maneuvers out of his reach and saunters up to Shawn, holding her hand up in the air and displaying a small diamond ring that’s decorating her finger. “He got it for me after the wedding. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Shawn looks up at Gus who gives him an apologetic smile and only shrugs in response.

His mind couldn’t even begin to fathom the fact that Gus is married. Not only did he neglect to mention the fact that he’d been dating, but that he liked the woman enough to marry her as well at a wedding that he didn’t receive an invitation to or have any knowledge about. Or the painful realization of Gus apparently not wanting Shawn to know about it either from the way he tried to stop Mira from telling him about it.

Shawn couldn’t believe that this is what their friendship looked like now; hidden secrets and minimal communication between them.

If you would’ve told younger Shawn that he would end up losing Gus as a friend when they’re older, he would laughed in your face at the ridiculous absurdity of that comment. Adult Shawn isn’t laughing, he’s heartbroken and upset. He swallows the thick lump that’s stuck in his throat, nodding his head as she masqueraded his heartbreak behind a false smile.

“Yeah, it’s, it’s really great.”

Mira giggles again before practically skipping her way back over to Gus, “Are you almost ready to go? I told your mom we’d go by the house for dinner tonight since she let me pick you up instead,”

He nods, “Yeah. I just have to sign a few discharge papers first.”

Mira nodded as she grabbed Gus’ duffle bag and slung the straps over her shoulder. “I’ll go take this to the car,” She informs him, pressing one last kiss on his lips before departing from the room.

When she’s gone, Gus turns to Shawn. “Sorry about Mira, I know she can be a little eccentric and an acquired taste to some people,”

That’s one way to put it. Shawn ruminates haughtily. “She seems nice. Where’d you two meet?”

“In Mexico last year. I was on spring break; me and a couple of friends took a trip down there for a few days. I met her at a bar, we got drunk and next thing I know were at a chapel with a donkey as my best man.”

“Wow. That sounds very…unlike you,” Shawn laments and Gus frowns a bit at this furrowing his brows. He knows he can’t argue against it because he knows Shawn’s right; Gus wasn’t as adventurous and spontaneous enough to do something like elope with some woman he barely knows. That wasn’t his Gus.

“Yeah, well.”

“And I’m assuming that your parents don’t know either? Because knowing your mother she’d probably have a heart attack if she found out that you eloped instead of having a traditional wedding,”

At this, Gus only smacks his teeth instead of answering with a verbal response which tells Shawn that he’s right. “Thanks for visiting and for staying here with me. I’m gonna head out. I’ll see you around, Shawn.”

…

It’s been two days since he’s last seen Gus. He’s been trying to give him time to settle in after the accident before going to confront him but Shawn had grown exasperated of waiting.

He needed to talk to Gus now, before it’s too late to salvage what’s left of their tainted relationship. He doesn’t know Gus’ new address to his apartment but he remembers Mira mentioning them staying at Gus’ parents house so he chances that as where he was in hopes that it would be true.

He drives through the city, making his way to his childhood neighborhood. He peers over at his house and notices his dad’s truck parked in the driveway, he looks away and drives up to the Guster’s house instead, parking his motorcycle on the side as he cut off the engine. He takes off the helmet and sets it on the rest before making his way up the driveway. Reaching the front porch, he brings his hand up and knocks on the door then stands there waiting patiently for someone to answer.

He’s standing there for a few moments before he finally hears the sound of the door unlocking. He’s relieved to see that it’s Gus who answers the door, but confusion stretches across Gus’ features when he sees Shawn standing there. Nonetheless, he pulls the door open and steps aside allowing Shawn entrance.

“I thought you would’ve been back in Vegas by now,”

Shawn shakes his head as he walks into the living room. He stands there waiting and watching as Gus locked the door then followed behind him. “No, still here. I came by because,” He shakes his head, sighing softly, “we gotta talk man. Everything’s weird and wrong between us.”

Gus folded his arms across his chest, “What do you mean?”

He wants to scream at Gus’ blatant obliviousness because how couldn’t he feel them drifting further apart? Was Shawn the only one who missed the closeness between them? Had his absence inadvertently pushed Gus away and into the arms of Mira instead, where she’s been acting as a temporary replacement in his life? All of his emotions are scattered around and has him beginning to panic. Did Gus really not care that they weren’t best friends anymore?

Running his hands through his hair, Shawn emanates a deep suspire. “I mean this, us!” He gestures a hand between them, continuing with his spiel. “It’s like I want to try to rekindle things with us but you’re pushing me away. We don’t talk. We don’t hang out, you didn’t even want me to know that you were married! I just don’t get how we went from best friends to now being strangers but I hate it because I miss you, Gus.”

“We aren’t strangers, people just change, Shawn.” He doesn’t know how many times he can keep hearing this. This trivialization that Gus is doing is infuriating him profusely. “And we aren’t as close as we were because you decided to leave. It’s kinda what you do. So, excuse me if I’m a little reluctant to let you back into my life,” Gus laments with a halfhearted shrug, that has Shawn’s heart closing in on itself.

Gus’ feelings were fair but couldn’t he see that Shawn was at least trying?

“I’m trying—”

“You don’t need to Shawn. It’s pointless. You’ll be gone again probably for longer next time and we’ll just be right back where we started.”

Shawn blinks, a little hurt by Gus’ apropos. “So that’s it? You don’t even want to try?”

Gus sighs, lowering his eyes as he shakes his head. “Shawn… Mira’s coming over any second now and—”

“I don’t care about Mira! I care about you and us,”

Gus scoffs, rolling his eyes at Shawn’s sentiments. “If you cared you wouldn’t have left me for four years! It took me being in a hospital to get you back here! And now you’re what? Trying to make up for abandoning me, that’s so like you.” His words are venomous as they emanate from his mouth and Shawn’s taken aback by the visceral haughtiness of it. They’ve argued before but it’s never been to this extent, never this real and scary.

“I abandoned you? You were abandoning me first! You couldn’t wait to leave here and go to college to meet all your new friends,” Shawn rebuttals, unable to contain the emotions that’s been stewing inside of him.

Prior to his leaving, he remembers the solemn feeling he felt when he would hear Gus raving about college, how excited he was to meet new people. All Shawn could think about was how easily his existence was going to be erased from Gus’ life the moment he met new people, how he and Santa Barbara would become a distant memory as he progressed into this new stage in his life.

Sure, it would only have been a few hours away, but he and Gus had never been separated before and his worries had gotten the better of him so he left because of his fear of losing Gus and because he’d already lost his mother.

“Don’t do that. Because I was only going a few hours away, you left the state! You didn’t even say goodbye you just left me Shawn! And you didn’t even have the decency of calling for a year afterwards.”

Shawn lowers his eyes, abashed. “It was too hard. I didn’t — I couldn’t—”

Gus throws his hand in the air in defeat, baffled by Shawn’s capability of turning this situation around and perceiving it like he was the one that got left instead of Gus. It’s always been this back and forth but Gus had grown tired of it; of sheltering his emotions when it came to Shawn.

“It couldn’t have possibly been that hard because you stayed away for four years,”

“You think it was easy being away from you?” Shawn accosts incredulously.

There’s no way Gus could even begin to fathom how hard it’s been, how much it’s killed him not being around. None of this has been easy, especially not now standing here and listening to Gus express his feelings of abandonment after he left. He wanted to make things right or at least try but Gus was adamant in his stubbornness, setting these walls that has Shawn kept at a distance.

His throat’s clicking and he can feel his pupils welding with solemn tears again. “I wanted to come back to you but I’ve been afraid of this, of you pushing me away. I don’t know what to do to prove to you how fucking sorry I am but I am, Gus. Please. I can’t deal with you hating me like this,” He begs so pathetic and desperate that Shawn barely recognizes his own voice.

“I don’t hate you, Shawn,” Gus clarifies; and for a brief moment, Shawn thinks that maybe they’ll be okay, that their friendship hadn’t completely demised like he assumed. But then, “I just don’t trust you anymore and I can’t have someone in my life that I can’t trust.” And he feels his heart plummeting to his feet as defeat and despair mulls over him.

…

On Saturday, he returns to Vegas.

He has to beg Thomas for his job back, picking up double shifts for the next two weeks to make up for walking out. He doesn’t go to Tijuana but instead drives down to Texas with a few guys he met at the restaurant who were heading there for a festival.

#shawn and gus #psych fanfiction #shawngus #dule hill #james roday rodriguez #fanfic #psych usa #writing more on a03 #decided to publish this bc it’s so angsty #angst #tumblr post #shawn x gus #burton guster #shawn spencer #writing psych fics in 2023 #unserious but oh well #hyper fixating on them again #send help #babies

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