#it took me over a year to feel in any way properly sad over my grandfathers death; and by tye next morning -after a long late night cry-

[little-diable]

Forever Mine – Harvey Specter (smut)

Y'all voted on reading my Harvey stuff, so here we go! I am so in love with this man, it's insane. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Harvey and the reader are best friends, but on the night when she asks him to pick her up from yet another horrible date, neither of them manages to hide their feelings any longer.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, jealousy, possessiveness, lots of feelings, friends to lovers

Pairing: Harvey Specter x fem!reader (2.4k words)

“Harvey?” Her voice rang in his ear, drawing his tired eyes towards the clock on his nightstand. It was far past midnight, and even though it wasn’t unusual for Harvey to be awake late into the night, it had been one of those nights where he had passed out the second he had found shelter in his bed, hours ago. 

“(Y/n)? What’s going on?” It took her a moment to reply, to let go of a sigh before finding her voice to answer her best friend’s question. 

“Could you pick me up from somewhere?” Harvey had already set into motion to put on his clothes with the phone balanced between his ear and shoulder. Heavy breaths left her, filled with a sadness that made his heart clench in his chest. 

“What happened, baby?” The nickname left him all too easily, even though it was something he hadn’t called his best friend in years. The sharp intake of air he heard urged him on to move even quicker to find his way out of his apartment.

“Do you remember the bar we went to last month with Mike?” Harvey gripped his car keys tighter, clenching them in his fist. A hum left him as he stepped out of the elevator, letting his shoes meet the cold ground while jogging towards his car. 

“I’m waiting there.” And without another word, (y/n) had ended the call. 

……

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, with her coat tightly wrapped around her frame, and her hands buried in the pockets of said coat. It had been a stupid idea, a fucking stupid idea, she shouldn’t have listened to her friends and how they had urged her to go on that date to finally get over her best friend – Harvey fucking Specter. 

It had been an awful date, nothing but a waste of her time, but deep down she had hoped it’d finally manage to take her mind off her best friend, the man (y/n) longed for with every rising of the sun. The man who’d never be hers. The man who looked at her with a love only family members shared, and nothing more. 

A cry wanted to break out of (y/n) at the familiar pain in her chest, squeezing her heart with its all too familiar grasp. Shaky breaths left her as she saw his car approach, needing to prepare herself for an uncomfortable conversation where Harvey would scold her for meeting up with a man like this, while being all too oblivious about her reasons for that date. 

“Thank you for picking me up.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek before properly sinking into the comfortable leather seat. Harvey’s hand found its rest on her knee, and with his thumb running over the exposed parts of her skin, due to her dress, he began driving. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” (Y/n) could tell that he was driving her back to his place, taking the all too familiar route she could probably walk blindfolded. Her heart was racing in her chest as it whispered to her, begging (y/n) to finally tell Harvey about the emotional chaos growing deep inside of her, while her mind forced her to stay quiet, to not risk a friendship she couldn’t live without. 

“Just a horrible date, nothing special.” The hand resting on her knee stopped moving, frozen to the spot as his eyes flickered to meet hers. For a moment, an uncomfortable silence began to fill the car, it clung to her like a second layer of skin, crawling up its limbs like a parasite. Dates had always been a struggling topic between the two, uncomfortable conversations they both tried to avoid. 

“Do I know the guy?” His voice was husky, growing lower with every further word he spoke. His fingers no longer stroked her skin, they had a tight grasp on her knee as if he was making sure she wouldn’t leave his side, not daring to let go as if he was scared to be alone.

“No, the girls introduced me to him.” Nothing but a hum left Harvey as a reply, letting the sound buzz through (y/n). Only as they arrived at his apartment complex to park the car did they find their voices again, sharing a small “Thank you” while Harvey helped her out of the car and led her to the elevator, with his hand placed on her lower back and his jacket wrapped around her frame. 

“Why do you always go on dates with these men? By now we both know your friends don’t have the best taste.” The question hung in the air, it forced a shudder down her spine while her heart slowly began to win the upper hand to silence her mind. Harvey was intently staring down at her, while keeping close to (y/n) with his hand moving from her lower back to her waist. 

“Don’t ask me this, please, Harvey.” Sadness dripped from her voice, followed by something he couldn’t pinpoint. But something inside of Harvey began to shift, it was whispering to him as if he could tell that whatever he’d force out of her, would change the outcome of this very night, a turning point neither could run from.

“You know I’m not one to back down, sweetheart.” Her tongue kissed her teeth while (y/n) pondered over her choices. She was grateful for the few seconds of silence they were offered as they stepped out of the elevator and entered the apartment she knew like the back of her hand. 

“Talk to me, (y/n), what’s going on?” Harvey was towering over her, even as she kicked off her heels and shrugged out of his jacket to expose the dress he loved seeing on her. His hands held onto her to guide her towards the couch, and even as they sat down next to one another, his hands held contact with her body. 

“Harvey, please, don’t make me do this.” She could tell that whatever he was waiting for her to say was different to what she was about to confess. Harvey was too oblivious, he wouldn’t ever pick up on the love she fostered for him, a secret that would turn their friendship into something (y/n) would curse herself for. Uneasy waters that would swallow them both without giving them a chance to swim. 

“It can’t be that bad, sweetheart. Is there something I don’t know? Did somebody hurt you?” Her glassy eyes got lost in his. She allowed herself to study her handsome best friend for a moment before slowly rising to her feet, desperately searching the now growing distance between the. If she was about to lay this on him, she needed some space, enough room to prepare herself to walk out of his door any moment now. 

Harvey’s jaw muscles ticked, he was growing impatient, angry even – about something he had awfully mixed up. He would burn down the earth for (y/n), would hurt anybody who dared to come too close to her. And yet he still didn't know that he was causing her this pain, a biting sensation that made bile rise in her throat.

“You wouldn’t get it, Harvey. Let it go.” Her eyes found the city below their feet, allowing her to study the numerous lights filling the darkness, the high buildings growing nearby and far away. It was a beautiful sight, a sight that tried to calm her aching heart, though without any luck. She heard Harvey move, could watch in the reflection of his big windows how he rose to his feet and walked up to her. 

“Talk to me, baby.” His muscular front was pressed against back, and for a moment (y/n) allowed herself to imagine being held by him like a lover would cling to their significant other. A thought that guided her next movements as she slowly turned in his grasp to stare up at her handsome best friend. 

With her breath hitched in her chest, (y/n) shifted her weight to press her lips against his. It was a quick kiss, a simple kiss, and yet it carried more meaning than any other kiss (y/n) had ever given. She felt him freeze at the touch, seemingly not expecting his best friend to cross that invisible line. 

“This is why I don’t want to talk about it with you, Harvey.” A tear dripped from her eye as the words rolled off her tongue. Harvey stared down at her with something so intense, (y/n) couldn’t help but peel herself out of his grasp, set on leaving his apartment and the man she had been in love with for years behind. 

“How dare you!” His angry words made her halt in her steps. Slowly, (y/n) turned back towards Harvey who wore an expression filled with hurt and anger. (Y/n) could only imagine how his opponents in court must feel whenever he directed his anger at them, forcing them to back down from any fight they couldn’t win – not against Harvey Specter.

“How dare you act as if I have no say in this. Have you ever wondered for just a second if I feel the same? If I was forced to carry the same heartbreak for years whenever you called me to pick you up from shitty dates with men who weren’t me?” Even though her heart began to race once again, begging (y/n) to realise what he had just confessed, her anger managed to guide her, letting her voice grow louder just like Harvey’s. 

“Then why didn’t you say something?” He stalked towards her, with eyes so fiery, (y/n) feared he’d burn her on the spot. Almost no space was left between them, with his chest pressed against hers to push her against the door, and his hand pressed to the spot next to her head. 

“Because I’d rather suffer from this heartbreak for years than risk losing you.” She got no time to reply as his lips came down on hers in a stormy kiss. (Y/n) instantly allowed her lips to move with his, letting their tongues tangle while her arms found their way around his neck. Moans rumbled through the both of them, sounds that rang in their ears like a song solemnly composed for this night only. Harvey’s hands found their way down her frame to pick her up without breaking the kiss, guiding them towards the kitchen where he placed her down on his kitchen island. 

“Promise I’ll take my time with you later, but fuck I need to be inside of you now.” Her excited chuckles left Harvey smirking as he shuffled her dress up to her waist, groaning at the sight of her drenched panties. She was mesmerised by the sight of Harvey lingering between her thighs, something (y/n) had only dared to dream of. 

“I bet your date thought he could have you like this tonight, spread out and ready to be fucked. But let me promise you something, sweetheart,” without breaking eye contact, Harvey ripped her panties apart to expose her aching heat to the colder temperatures now stroking her limbs. “No other man but me will ever get to see you like this again, from now on, you’re mine, you belong to me, and I will never share you.” 

“I only want to be yours, Harvey, like you will always be mine.” (Y/n) pulled him down for a kiss while he freed his cock from his dark trousers and reached for a condom. The seconds kept blurring by until Harvey finally pushed into her, letting his cock stretch her walls as his thumb circled her pulsing bundle.

Both moaned at the new sensation, having to adjust to something they had longed for all these years. With her back arched off the kitchen island, she let Harvey fuck her, letting their bodies meet with every thrust as if they were magnets finding together. A storm was rocking through them both, binding them together to forge another bond so strong, neither of them would ever be able to shake it off again.

Harvey’s name rolled off her tongue like a prayer, filling the apartment that would forever keep their deepest secrets. Both clung to the other as if they were scared that this was nothing but a dream, about to evaporate into a bitter nothingness as they’d be ripped from their sleep. 

Wandering hands kept searching the other’s closeness, clinging to the reminder that this was real, that this was not a trick of their brains but something they could forever cling to.

“I love you, fuck, I love you so goddamn much, (y/n).” Harvey’s moaned words left her heart somersaulting, forcing her upper body off the cold top of the kitchen island to meet his lips for a kiss. They were a tangled mess, and yet a mess so sweet, both were high on all the different sensations. 

“I love you too, Harvey.” Her walls fluttered around his cock as he met her swollen spot, pushing her closer to the edge. (Y/n) trembled beneath him, wordlessly begging his thumb to move faster, to circle her bundle with more pressure to push her closer towards her orgasm.

“Cum for me, baby, show me how pretty you look when you cum on my cock.” Harvey’s gritty voice gave her the needed push to cum beneath him. Her moans rang in his ears, filling every part of his body with an unfamiliar kind of pride he hadn't ever felt with another woman. His eyes didn’t stray from her pleasure-drunken features while fucking her through her high, a high he chased with ferocious thrusts.

Harvey came moments later with curses rumbling through him. She clung to him while his cock twitched inside of her, filling the condom with his release. Neither spoke a word as they stayed connected in the most intimate way, clinging to each other while the hazy fog of lust slowly began to lift. 

“Did this really just happen, Harvey?” Her whispered question left Harvey laughing. Slowly, he pulled out of her to toss away the condom before cupping (y/n)'s cheeks with his warm hands. His eyes studied her for a moment before pressing his forehead against hers to let go of a deep, relieved sigh. 

“It did, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you with me forever, sweetheart.”

[alrightieaphroditie]

wipe my tears away | j.m.

*:·ﾟ✧ series masterlist | previous part!

pairing *:·ﾟ afab!reader x joel miller wc *:·ﾟ6.6k  warnings *:·ﾟ18+! minors please do not interact!! talk of period pain, hormonal emotions, crying, kissing, some manhandling (if you squint), sad attempt at dirty talk, period play (lightly), fingering, maybe some degradation (not really sure), clit stimulation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (f receiving), squirting/messy cum, p in v penetration (not protected, do better!), one mention of blood… please let me know if i’m missing any major ones!  an *:·ﾟthis is for the girlies who get over emotional during their periods (they are me, i am them). this is a bit longer than intended, but once i got in the zone i literally couldn’t stop, so i hope y’all will enjoy it! kind of unedited, so if anything major jumps out feel free to comment lol. i also wrote this with correct capitalization, where all my previous fics were lowercase bc i couldn’t be bothered to turn on auto caps, so let me know if y’all prefer this format!  check the series masterlist for the series tags!

synopsis *:·ﾟ joel comes home to find you laying in bed, crying because of period pain. he may not be a full gentleman, but he wouldn’t let you suffer when he has a trick up his sleeve to help sooth the cramps. 

The pain that begins in your lower abdomen, the feeling that radiates throughout the rest of your lower body with enough force to make you wince, isn’t entirely new. It’s a monthly occurrence, actually. One that you feel like you should be used to by now, considering it’s plagued you for more than half your life. 

But the outbreak had already happened when you first got your period as a teen, and for a while, your body wasn’t receiving the nutrients it needed to sustain that kind of function. It was a double-edged sword, the way you were appreciative that you haven’t had it this bad your entire life, while ruminating on the losses that occurred due to the infection. 

Because it was a different story, now. 

Now, you were eating more than you could ever remember before. Jackson was a thriving community, after all. And you were beyond blessed that you were one of the lucky ones who got to reside within its gates. Now, your body was properly fed and being taken care of for the first time in years, and that double-edged sword reared in your mind again; thankful for the safe space you’ve landed upon, but God, at what cost? Your period pain took you out for days each month, making you feel like a burden even though you physically couldn’t help it. 

Your toe stubbed against a chair in your living room as another cramp worked its way through your body, causing you to cry out for more than one reason. Tears filled your waterline, and a heavy sigh escaped past your lips. The rough material of your jeans was digging into your waistline, your hair felt heavy against your neck and each strand that brushed against your cheek made you want to cut it off, and you just felt so useless. Some logical part of your brain realized this wasn’t really you feeling this way, it was just the hormonal shift, but that didn’t provide any sense of comfort as the tears continued to glide down your face. 

In some ways, you were lucky, as today had been your day off from helping around Jackson. Otherwise, that sense of being a burden to everyone would’ve increased tenfold. You couldn't stop feeling like a burden to yourself, though. You had made a perfectly organized to-do list that was hanging on your fridge of things you wanted to tackle today. 

Your sheets needed to be washed. The floors needed to be swept and mopped, especially after the rain, as Joel and Ellie continued to trek mud through your house by accident. Maria had given you some of the spices that grew in abundance, and you wanted to make one of those simmer pots on the stove that she kept mentioning. 

But doing those chores was the last thing on your mind right now, as another cramp racked its way through your body. Now, you just wanted to go lay in bed wearing nothing but Joel's shirt that you had thrown on earlier and cry while hugging a pillow.

 And so, that’s what you did. 

Your vision was watery as your fingers swiftly worked to unbutton your pants, your feet carrying you out of the living room and into your bedroom before you really even realized what you were doing. Once you hit your bedside, you tugged the jeans down your legs, letting them pool at your feet and leaving them on the ground as you crawl into bed, feeling about as pathetic as you probably looked. Curling up on your side, you reach out blindly and grab onto Joel's pillow, tucking it against your body and letting it provide you a false sense of comfort. After that, the tears start flowing freely. 

You didn’t know how long you laid there, didn’t know how long the sound of your sniffles had filled the room or how long you pressed the pillow against your abdomen. The cramps were still relentless, and it wasn’t like you even had any medicine you could take; expired Tylenol did absolutely nothing anymore. You wish you were more used to this feeling, this pain. But it seemed like the longer you were at Jackson, the worse the symptoms became each month. You had yet to figure out the remedies that were foolproof for this feeling. 

Continuous tears turned into lonely, stray droplets as you held onto the pillow. The room was silent except for the occasional sniff. You had zeroed in on an undone thread on the pillowcase, not paying attention to your surroundings, so you didn’t hear the sound of the front door being pushed open, or the sound of Joel's work boots stomping across the wooden floors. In the corners of your mind, you recognized the voice that was muttering to himself outside your room, but your eyes stayed focused on that singular thread. 

The thought of it being lonely, being apart from the other threads holding the fabric together, made your eyes water again. You could put yourself in its position, the ever present fear of being alone daunting you even now, and that was enough to send the tears over your waterline, racing down your cheeks and onto the pillow once again. The hiccup that came from your inhale was the noise that had the footfalls move towards your room, and through your blurry vision you saw the outline of Joel standing in the doorway. 

“What's wrong?” Through your sniffles, you could sense his urgency, his rough voice filled with nothing but concern, and maybe a little worry. His gaze swept over your body, checking for any possible injury. This was the first time he’d seen you break down to this level, and the sight of you curled into a fetal position, tears streaming down your face with his pillow in your grasp… he prayed to God that another person wasn’t involved with making you feel this way.

It would be a shame to lose his good reputation amongst Jackson because he had to beat some fucker up. 

Your gaze swung up to his face, and you made yourself blink harshly to expel the lingering tears. His face came into focus, the worry lines on his forehead becoming more clear to compliment the frown on his full lips. He had a spot of dirt streaking across his forehead, and his clothes were dirty from spending the day working outside. For whatever reason, the fact that Joel had been out working in the heat for most of the day while you couldn’t even manage to get up and wash your bedsheets made your emotions spiral even more. What is wrong with me? you wondered, hugging the pillow tighter to your body. 

The sound of his work bag hitting the floor echoed through the room, soon followed by the shuffle of his boots being kicked off his feet. His hands were gently pulling the pillow away before you could even register that he was in front of you now, but you felt the bed dip under his weight as he perched himself at the edge. His broad hand rested on your elbow before sliding up your arm, gently caressing your skin until he reached the side of your face. The calluses on his thumb scratched against your skin as he swiped the digit under your eye, wiping away the tears that had pooled. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” his voice was softer this time, comforting you in a way that had you feeling alright for the first time today. You leaned up on your elbows, and Joel helped guide you into a sitting position across from him, your hands holding on to one of his while his other cupped your face, thumb swiping against skin. The action of sitting up had your cramps rearing their ugly heads again, and your wince was subtle but extremely obvious to Joel, evident by the furrowing of his eyebrows. 

“My uterus is what’s wrong,” the scratchiness of your throat had you coughing slightly, and you worked to clear it before trying again, voice nearly as weak as you felt. “I'm on my period.” Joel's eyes widened in surprise at your admission, but he quickly schooled his features.

This wasn’t his first rodeo; he’d been with you for awhile now, but noticed that each month your symptoms were different. Sometimes, your sudden anger at everything gave away the fact that it was that time of the month. Other times, it was your sweet tooth and your cravings that gave it away. Rarely was it your tears, though, and his heart lurched at this new response. 

When your hands went to wrap around your stomach, applying pressure lightly to help ease the throbbing, his free hand came up to the other side of your face. “‘m sorry, darlin. Know that ain’t the best feeling in the world,” his thumbs were doing a stand up job at wiping away the tears on your cheeks, and soon the only sign that you had been crying was the red glaze surrounding your pupils. 

And the occasional sniffle. 

You leaned into his touch, eyes closing at the surprising amount of comfort that you felt from a pair of hands. You always felt at peace with Joel, though, so you weren’t surprised that his hands had this effect on you. You focused on the rough pads of his skin against the smooth texture of your own, taking in big breaths of air through your nose as your crying spell passed through you. Now you were thinking a little more clearly and felt a little embarrassed by the fact that Joel had walked in on you crying over a thread on a pillow case. Not that he’d ever know that’s what you were crying about. 

“It's okay. I'm sorry if i scared you or anything,” you started, opening your eyes to meet Joel's dark gaze. You offered him a small smile. “I really just need to learn how to deal with these cramps without them taking over my day. They seem to be getting worse and worse each month.” Your hands trailed up to grip his forearms, squeezing them affectionately as a wave of exhaustion flitted through your body. 

Joel's eyes squinted slightly. “Cramps, huh?” he mused, the corner of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly. In the far corner of his mind, he recalled a younger Tommy swearing by a foolproof activity that helped one of his girlfriends with her cramps when medicine didn’t cut it. He wasn’t sure he believed Tommy then, or even now, for that matter. But he knew how much you struggled with the pain, and he’d feel like a real jerk if he didn’t at least give this a go. 

“Think I know somethin’ that could help with that.” He pulled your head forward, pressing a chaste kiss on top of your forehead before dropping his hands and pushing off of the bed. You were slightly dazed, partly at the display of affection but also at the quickness in which Joel was walking to the bathroom. When he came back into the room with an old towel, you couldn’t help but look at him suspiciously. 

“Joel…”

“Do you trust me?” He asked, tossing the towel on the bed and leaning down to look at you, eye to eye. His demeanor was calm, but his eyes shined with a hint of mischievousness, and the smirk on his mouth was nothing but trouble. It made him look younger, almost. Like the gray in his beard and around the temples of his hair was there prematurely. You wondered if he was like that more before the outbreak, and you reveled in this glimpse of his past self that he was allowing you to see. 

“Of course I do.” Your answer was absolute, eyes showing no signs of distrust or wariness as you maintained contact with Joel’s. He reveled in the sureness of your answer, in the fact that it didn’t even take you more than a second to respond to his question. The smirk became a full blown grin, and you couldn’t help but mirror it on your own face as you wondered what the heck this man was thinking. 

“Good. In that case, I'm gonna go clean myself up,” his lips pressed against yours in a swift kiss before he backed away, fingers stretching to the hem of his t-shirt. “You’re gonna strip out of those panties, spread that towel out underneath you, and wait for me to come back. Okay?” One of his eyebrows notched up, awaiting your response. 

“Sir, yes, sir,” you teased, sending him off with a mocking salute. It earned you an eye roll, something he had been picking up more and more from Ellie's influence, no doubt. The sound of your giggle followed him into the bathroom, where he quickly worked to discard his dirty clothes and rinse off. The thought of you laying in bed with just his t-shirt on had him adjusting himself underneath the water stream. 

Meanwhile, you were working at a slower pace. 

You gingerly took the threadbare towel between your hands, kneeling up on your knees to place it where you thought would work best. You were starting to get an idea of what Joel was planning, and while you’ve never done anything like this before, you weren’t absolutely hating it. After you had smoothed the fabric out, you climbed back against the pillows, hooking your thumbs under the waistband of your panties and sliding them down. The pad on the inside showed slight signs of blood, so at least you weren’t bleeding too heavily right now. Usually that came after a day or two of the cramps. 

You were combing your fingers through your hair when Joel walked back into the room, pausing at the threshold while you both took each other in. His hair was damp, droplets of water occasionally dripping on his forehead, brushed back at the edges and the tops to keep it out of his face. He had been growing it out a little longer, though you knew when summer fully came around, it’d be time to clip it. 

He’d changed out of a plain, gray t-shirt into another plain, gray t-shirt - clearly a staple in his wardrobe - and you had to admire the way he was filling it out. The sleeves hugged the middle of his biceps, straining against the pure muscle that had been building up. The shirt fit loose around his chest, but you could see the way it was snug around his tummy area, the small pouch of his stomach highlighted by the thin material. 

You weren’t the only one who had been eating better since arriving at Jackson; Joel was starting to bulk up and you were loving it. 

Having ended his workday earlier, and foreseeing spending the rest of the day in bed with you, he had pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants that clung to his thighs and offered very little to the imagination when it came to the thick imprint between his legs. The sight of him had your thighs clenching together automatically, heat racing through your body like a fever. 

And he knew it, too. You could tell by the smirk on his lips, the way his gaze strayed from your eyes to your legs. He loved having that affect on you, loved seeing how needy you became by just the thought of being with him. 

He walked to the other side of the bed, his eyes focused solely on you in his red shirt, the way your legs were crossed at the bottom, giving him just the smallest peak of bare skin underneath. You listen to him so well, he couldn’t help but admire. You gave him your trust so easily, and that was one of the few things that Joel considered to be precious in this world. He'd never make you regret that choice. 

Leaning up on your elbows, your body naturally turned towards him when he finally settled himself on his side next to you. One of his arms slipped behind your head, tucking you into his body as the other came up to guide your face to his. His lips were soft against your own, and all the tension you had felt from crying earlier completely disappeared. 

Your hands clung to his arm as he kissed you, a soft sigh escaping through your lips. Joel took the opening to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue against your bottom lip before dipping it into your mouth. Your mind was growing fuzzy, and you simply let Joel manipulate you how he wanted, eagerly offering yourself to him. 

His mouth stayed on yours, your noses brushing against each other with every tilt of the head, but his hand strayed from your cheek. It paved a path to the collar of the t-shirt, where he fisted the material and tugged it towards himself, halfway pulling you on top of him with the movement. Your hands flung out to his chest to stop yourself from completely crashing into him, and a groan sounded against your mouth as Joel felt the tips of your fingers dig into the skin. 

He soon abandoned the collar, letting his palm slide down the expanse of your torso and bunching the shirt up a little before settling it right over your lower abdomen, fingers splayed out wide against your bare skin. The heat radiating from his palm on your skin was like your own personal heating pad; the soreness that ebbed from your cramps seemed to dissipate the longer his hand rested against your skin, the action making your head spin as you focused on breathing through your nose as Joel’s tongue traced along yours. 

Joel’s mouth trailed from your lips down to your jaw, down to your neck. The stubble growing on his face scratched at your skin when he nuzzled himself in the crook of your neck, causing a combination of a laugh and a moan to flutter past your lips. You could feel him smile against your skin before nipping at it gently, using his lips and tongue to ebb the slight pain away. You could feel him sucking at your skin, and you knew in the morning you’d regret the red and purple marks that would litter your skin, but right now, the feeling was absolute heaven. 

“Spread those legs for me, baby.” The words were whispered against your skin, accompanied by a quick tap to your thighs. You didn’t hesitate to obey; your left leg fell to the side while you rested your right leg on top of Joel's. His hand slipped from your stomach to your upper thigh, gripping the fleshy inside as he helped adjust it higher on his body. 

The cool air from the fan had you shivering as it made contact with your bare skin, emphasizing the wet slick that had formed between your legs. Joel's mouth found itself back on yours, his kiss turning punishing, almost, as his hand slowly moved down your inner thigh; his teeth were biting and pulling at your lower lip, his fingers were digging into your skin as he kneaded and gripped your thigh. 

“Joel,” you mewled, stretching up slightly to angle your hips closer to his hand. You were settled in the crook of his elbow, and his arm came up to bare against your throat ever so slightly. He essentially had you in a headlock, and you were helpless to anything he administered. Goosebumps prickled along your skin, and you whined once more when his fingers brushed against the crease of your leg. 

“Shh, s’okay, baby. Let me take care of you,” his words were soothing, soft. A complete contrast to the way he was handling your body, and it was all you could do but nod in response, eyes wide and trusting as they held contact with him. His pupils were so dilated that you could barely see the rim of brown, even this close. 

Another sharp tap to your inner thigh had you gasping, and Joel's mouth formed into a smirk as his calloused fingers eased the spot. You’d like to blame the hormones fluttering around your body for the desperation you were feeling for Joel, but part of you knew that he simply just had this affect on you. You always grew so needy for his attention, for his touch. Being with him was the only time your brain truly shut off and allowed you to feel safe, relaxed. 

His fingertips were stroking the inside of your thigh like it was the strings on one of his guitars, a slow but firm sensation that had you humming; he was playing a different kind of instrument with you. You could feel yourself growing slicker, the bubble in your chest expanding as he teased you, touched you. 

“Joel, please…” you trailed off, turning your head to the side and bumping the edge of his jaw with your nose. His gaze had slipped to where his fingers were caressing your skin, basking in the suppleness of your skin that so vastly compared to the roughness of his. You felt like a dream. 

“Such pretty manners,.” he mocked, grinning to himself before meeting your eyes once more. “Since you asked nicely, though…” The kiss he pressed on your nose was soft, but your focus was on how his fingers were finally crossing over the crease in your thigh, finally trailing down to your core. 

The first swipe of his fingers through your folds had a small moan emit from your mouth, and a curse came from Joel’s as he felt how wet you were already. “Shit, baby,” he muttered to himself more than anything, watching his fingers as he lifted them up into the light to see the shine. Chest heaving, you watched as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, watched as he placed them on his tongue before closing his lips around the digits and sucking on them while he pulled them out. 

His fingers were now wet with his spit, evident by the thin strand of saliva still connecting his mouth to his fingers. The sight alone had your toes curling against the mattress, your mouth open slightly as you watched him bring his hand back down to your pussy. Your breath left you as his second swipe was firmer, the tips of his fingers passing along your clit for a brief moment before moving back down. 

His forearm flexed slightly against your neck, his free hand moving down to brush against the top of your chest. One of your hands moved to grip his arm, nails digging into skin ever so slightly as Joel’s fingers brushed your entrance, swirling around slightly to gather the wetness that had formed. A soft sigh left his mouth as he felt you, and the next moment, two of his fingers were swiftly pushing inside of you. 

“Joel!” You gasped out, back arching into his touch as he pumped his fingers into you once, twice, three times before pulling them out. Joel huffed out a laugh at your whine from the loss of contact, glancing down at you to see your reaction to him circling your clit with the pad of his thumb. He was rewarded with the softest of sighs, and the sight of your eyes rolling shut while your mouth parted open. 

He didn’t hesitate to capture your lips with his, his mouth against yours as firm as his thumb on your clit. The kiss was quick, and Joel’s nose brushed against yours as he pulled back ever so slightly. “Such a pretty girl, achin’ for me to fill you up. My fingers feel real nice against your pussy now, don't they, baby?” 

A short and snappy nod was your form of a response, as you were solely focused on the way Joel’s middle finger was circling your clit now. Your hips bucked up as waves of pleasure wracked your body, Joel’s expert fingers bringing you relief you so desperately needed. The action had Joel smirking above you, had his hips grinding slightly against your thigh in a sad attempt at getting some friction for his now hard cock. 

Joel pulled back from his admissions on your clit, sliding his middle finger through the center of you before slowly inserting it back inside you. The gasp that left your mouth was music to his ears, and he began moving it in and out, curling it up once it was fully inside your wet pussy. Head falling back against Joel’s arm, your legs widening even further as Joel picked up a steady rhythm with his one finger. 

“So good, Joel,” you rasped, voice breathless as Joel’s finger curled against the spongy part inside of you that had your body jerking in response. Licking your lips, you pulled the bottom lip into your mouth, teeth sinking in as the pleasure continued to build up in your body. Your right hand moved to rest on his wrist, while the other stayed gripping his left forearm. 

Basking in your praise, Joel withdrew his middle finger and, when he pumped it back inside, added his ring finger. The addition had you groaning, feeling his two fingers stretch you out slowly as he pushed them inside and pulled them out. You felt Joel’s lips press against your forehead as he worked to pick up the pace, and soon all that could be heard in the room was the wet sound of your pussy being fucked by his fingers. 

“God, I could listen to you all night,” he mumbled, curling his fingers in a “come here” motion inside you and marveling at how drenched you sounded. “So fuckin’ wet for me, sweetheart. Haven’t even taken my cock yet, either, you needy thing.” 

His words only sparked the fire inside your chest even more, and soon you were moaning his name over and over again in some kind of sick prayer as he filled you with his fingers. Your mouth dropped open as his thumb moved to glide against your clit, pleasure radiating throughout your body. 

Your fingers dug half-moon indentions in Joel’s tanned skin as the waves of pleasure finally crested. 

Your body went rigid in his hold as your orgasm peaked, his fingers never ceasing in motion as your hips began to shake against his hand. He muttered soft praises as you came, moving his arm from across your chest and intertwining your fingers with his. You gasped for air as you came down, thighs twitching ever so slightly as you soon became putty against Joel’s body. 

Only then did he pull his fingers out from inside of you. He kissed your forehead once more, cupping your drenched pussy with the palm of his hand. Your chest was heaving still from the orgasm, body feeling tired once more but for a completely different reason. Resting your head back on Joel’s arm, you glance up at him, expecting him to move his hand away and maybe help you clean up. 

Instead, Joel’s dark gaze was solely focused on your pussy again. Instead of moving his hand away, he slowly moved it up your center, stopping only when his middle finger brushed against your clit. He moved his hand to the side slightly, letting the tips of his other fingers brush against the sensitive nub, before sliding it the other way. His action was slow, methodical even. 

“Joel,” you ventured, squeezing his hand that rested in yours. His jaw twitched, but that was the only response you got. He leaned up on his elbow, your hand moving up along the mattress as he did so. Now, your interlaced hands rested above you, on the pillow, as Joel’s upper body hovered on top of yours. 

Ever so slowly, Joel resumed the movement of his hand, sliding to one side before moving it to the other. His fingers all brushed against your clit, and the overstimulation you felt had your thighs closing together. 

“Keep ‘em open, baby.” Joel admonished, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. His free hand pushed away your left leg before returning back to your clit, and you swore you could feel the wetness lingering on your skin from him doing so. The roughness of the towel underneath you prickled at your skin as your hips twitched from the continued pleasure. 

“Joel,” you ventured again, this time more of a plea than anything. Tears formed on your waterline when he picked up the pace, his hand firmly rubbing against your clit each time he moved it. That bubble of pleasure formed more quickly in your chest, the feeling fiery and almost suffocating as Joel’s movements were relentless. 

“Give me one more,” his voice was rough, distant. “Just one more.” His hand dipped to cup your pussy once more, gliding up through your folds and moving the wetness from there up to your clit. The added lubrication and friction as Joel increased his pace had you crying out, body arching forward at the onslaught of pleasure. 

Your orgasm approached much faster this time, and you could feel your slick dripping down your skin onto the towel. “Oh my God,” you whimpered, your hand painfully holding onto Joel’s while the other, which had moved to rest on his hip, gripped his t-shirt. “Oh, God.” 

This time, when you came, the bubble dropped from your chest and to your stomach and your body went limp as soon as your orgasm tore through you. Your mind was a haze of euphoria, and if you were more cognizant you would have been embarrassed at the feeling of your wetness squirting out from you, would have felt heated at the way Joel praised your body. Instead, you were blissfully gone, basking in the sensation that only Joel’s fingers knew how to bring you. 

Joel’s hand slipped from yours as he pulled his arm up from underneath you, and before you were even aware of the shift, he was up on his knees, moving in between your legs and tugging his flannel pants down. “Gotta fuck you, baby. Jesus Christ, you came so good for me.” His hands bracketed your head as he leaned up against your body, the head of his leaking cock pressed against your wet slit. 

You hummed at his praise, wrapping your weak arms around his neck as you shifted your thighs a little wider to accommodate for his hips. You weren’t entirely sure you could handle another orgasm, but you knew you were desperate to have him inside of you. His head ducked down to yours, and you enthusiastically pressed your lips against his, enveloping his hips with your legs in consent. 

With a nip at your bottom lip, he slowly pressed the tip of his cock in between your folds, gathering the wetness that had accumulated near your entrance before moving his hips even further. The head of his cock pushed into your pussy, stretching you out even more than his fingers did previously. Joel groaned into your mouth as he pumped his hips slightly, pulling out of you before sinking just the tip inside you again.  

“Fuck, sweetheart. My fingers didn’t stretch out your pussy enough, huh? S’fuckin’ tight as hell around my cock.” One of his hands came to brush aside your hair, cupping the side of your face gently while his hips snapped into yours. You cried out against his mouth, the feeling of being filled so suddenly causing you to wince slightly. You welcomed this pain, however, as it quickly gave way to pleasure the more Joel rocked his hips against yours. 

Joel rested his hips against yours for a moment, his head falling down to your chest as he reveled in the tightness surrounding his cock. His breaths came out in short pants, the hand laying next to your head turning into a fist against the mattress. Your hips move up slightly, seeking out the pleasure even after coming twice before, and it brings Joel in further, causing you both to curse. 

“So desperate for me to fuck you,” Joel’s words are accented by short, quick thrusts up inside of you. He pushed up off of you, your arms falling to the bed beside you while your legs fall open as they untangle from his waist. His hands grip the inside of your thighs, and he leans his weight forward a little, pinning your legs to the bed. 

“I am, Joel. P-please fuck me,” you beg, gripping the sheets between your fingers as your hips meet his thrusts. Joel starts off slowly, implanting you fully on his cock before slowly pulling back until just the tip presses against your pussy. His bruising grip on your thighs holds your legs open while he works himself in and out of you, eyes cast on how your slick coats his cock, the occasional red streak coloring his flesh. 

A stray curl of hair falls from his previously brushed back hair, and you itch to swipe it back into place, but his pace quickens and your hold on the bed keeps you from banging against the bed frame. The sound of his cock entering your wet pussy fills the room, the indecency of it causing your skin to flush with heat. Joel’s groans start to find time with your whimpers, and soon the noises of sex are emitting throughout the bedroom, throughout the house. 

Joel’s hands move away from your thighs, traveling up your stomach and pushing up his red t-shirt to see your boobs bouncing with each thrust. He admires the peaks of your nipples, the way goosebumps arise on your flesh as it’s exposed to the cool air, before bringing both hands to grip onto them. His thumbs and forefingers pinch at your nipples, the pain mixing in with the pleasure seamlessly. 

Your eyes fall shut on a moan, body arching into his touch as you clench around Joel, causing him to curse. The familiar sensation of heat fills your body, that third orgasm floating slightly out of reach. You move one of your hands down to your pussy, resting it on your mound. Your fingertips brush against Joel’s cock every time he withdraws, and you moan at how slick he feels before bringing your fingers to your clit. 

“That’s it, baby. Make yourself come on my cock,” Joel encourages, gaze focused on the way your fingers nimbly play with your throbbing clit. His hands squeeze your breasts roughly one last time before he leans up, gripping your ankles and bringing your legs to rest on top of his shoulders. Your thighs press against his cock as he fucks you, adding in another level of pleasure for him as he fights back his orgasm. 

“Just like that, Joel. Just like that…oh!” Your cries fill the room as he pounds into you, your fingers increasing the pace against your clit. Your movements are shaky, not precise in the slightest, but you’re still sensitive and wound up from your previous orgasms that it doesn’t take much to get your third one going. With a few clumsy swipes of your middle finger against your clit, and Joel’s cock ruthlessly hammering in and out of you, your final orgasm floods through your body. 

Joel curses as he feels your pussy clench around him, making his movements stagger with how tight you become. He gives a few more deep thrusts, his own movements becoming shaky and less precise, and he soon slips out of you, rubbing the length of his cock along your pussy lips as you gush with your orgasm. With a grunt, he follows soon, his own cum spurting out of his red cockhead and on to your lower stomach. 

Your legs fall meekly to the bed again, and Joel’s body sags forward a little before he props himself back up with his hands. The sound of you both panting is all that can be heard as you both come down from your orgasms; you, eyes closed and mouth open. Joel, eyes open and mouth closed, nostrils flaring slightly as he regulates himself. 

It takes a moment before you both get back to yourselves, but when you do, you become increasingly aware of the wet feeling underneath your lower body, which causes you to giggle. “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t get around to cleaning my sheets today, huh?” 

A snort comes out of Joel, his head shaking slightly as he moves to brush back his hair. He takes in the sight of you, freshly fucked and thouroughly spent, and can’t help but grin. He might be older, but he relishes the fact that he can still please you like this. That you actually want him to do so. Makes him feel like a god among men. 

He sees the tears around your lash line from your last two orgasms, and he leans forward slightly to wipe them away with his thumb, triggering in his mind the conversation you both had before this all started. “Feelin’ alright?” His gaze moves around your body, checking to see if he hurt you in any way. He notes the red marks against the side of your neck, the cum on your lower stomach and the beginnings of many small bruises along the inside of your thigh from where he gripped them to keep them open. 

He’d be more worried about those if he didn’t know how much you loved having him mark you up. 

“Just peachy,” you grinned at him, propping yourself up on your elbows to take in the mess below you. Joel leaned in to meet you, his kiss soft and soothing as his lips slid against yours. After a moment, he pulls away again, awkwardly shuffling to the edge of the bed before standing up. Hiking up his pants, he moves to the bathroom to get a washcloth to start cleaning you up. 

After wiping away his cum and your wetness, he gently helps you off the bed, holding your arm as your legs fumble when your feet hit the ground. His pride grows then, and you smack his arm playfully when you catch sight of his grin. “Sorry,” he mutters, pressing a kiss against the side of your head before moving to gather up the dirty towel from the bed. He tosses it into the hamper before leading you to the bathroom. 

There, he draws you a hot bath, guiding you in the tub and before pulling his clothes off and joining you. It’s a cramped space, the bathtub not technically suitable for two, but you make it work. You lean your head against Joel’s shoulders, sinking into his body as his arms wrap around your middle. You know you should do something with your bedding soon, should make sure you have the guest room set up so the two of you can sleep somewhere remotely comfortable tonight, but for now, you bask in his presence. 

“Thank you for taking care of me, Joel.” You say softly, closing your eyes and letting the hot water ease away any lingering soreness your body has. His arms tighten around you as you trace mindless shapes against his thighs. He tilts his head to the side, kissing your forehead before resting his on top of yours. 

“Anytime, baby.” His breathing evens out with yours, stubble rubbing against your forehead as he speaks. “I’ll always be here to wipe your tears away.” 

taglist *:·ﾟ @hiroikegawa

[c0llisiion]

NUMB TO THE FEELING — j.jk

♡pairing : jjk + fem!reader

♡: not proof read, exs, idol!jungkook x idol!reader , fwb kinda? , smut , mutual masturbation - lmk if i missed any!

W/C : 1,162

Pt.2 , Pt.3

A/N : SORRY 4 DISAPPEARING AGAINNNNN! i js got too busy guys 😣😣😣😣 rqs are open! Send in your rqs and prompts ily <33 anyways here is a jk fic i wrote instead of finishing my other jk fic :3

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ MDNI. Please refrain from reading if the topics make you uncomfortable. ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

2 months. Its been 2 months since you broke it off with jungkook. It was all over the news, a hot topic for the k media. ‘BTS’s Jungkook and Y/G/N’s y/n ends 4 year relationship’, was still trending on naver. It happened so quickly. Knets are already placing the blame on you for the breakup, as they view you as a mean rebel idol who breaks hearts and messes around. A face of disgust was plastered on your face as you scroll through the endless amounts of hate comments knets put under the articles.

“Wow I always knew she was a bitch”

“She definitely cheated on him with another idol lol”

“What do you expect when you date a wh*re? Jungkook should have never dated her”

“She ruined his image”

Back and forth, people were calling you degrading names and putting Jungkook in a good light. They said all of this while not knowing a single thing about how your breakup unfolded. It was mutual. You both started getting busy with schedules. That simple. Maybe a few disagreements here and there. Maybe a few trust issues but the main point was it was mutual and you both broke up because of schedules. You got tired of the same comments and decided to turn off your phone but you got a new notification.

baby star candy 🤍

Hey

Tf is he doing at this hour?

Y/n

???

baby star candy 🤍

Is it okay if i come over?

Classic jungkook. Getting straight to the point. You stared at the text for a while not realising that you were leaving him on seen.

My baby star candy 🤍

Helloooooo?????

Its fine if you dont want me to

Y/n

Yes. Quick.

You sent your reply before his second text got to properly load. And there you were. Your phone turned off, biting your nails as you waited for jungkook.

It didn't take him a lot of time. Reaching your place in under 7 minutes and 13 seconds. You heard your doorbell and you immediately rushed to the door. You stood at the door for some time, avoiding the impression that you were eagerly anticipating his arrival.

You opened the door and see the tall bulky black haired man with his calvin klein hoodie and grey shorts. You stared at him before he brought you back to reality by snapping his fingers. You let him in before locking the door. You grabbed him by his wrists and took him upstairs to your room.

He quickly settled in your bed letting out a deep sigh, Relaxing and stretching his limbs out onto the bed. His arm was tucked behind his head as he patted the empty space next to him with half lidded eyes. You rolled your eyes before snuggling with him. Your tv was on and playing a random tv show you put almost an hour ago, forgetting to it turn off. You sighed and relaxed into his arm. The silence was comfortable. Jungkook was playing with the hems of shorts and you with the drawstrings of his shorts. You knew where this would lead to.

His hands started slowly massaging your thighs and ass in a comforting way. Its like he knew you were sad. And he did. “Im sorry” he spoke up. You looked up at him. His eyes were focused on the tv infront. “Im sorry about those comments. I should have said somethin’.” He said finally looking down at you. You shook your head and nuzzled into him closer “dont be. Its not your fault. Tbh i really dont gaf.” He chuckled at your attitude. He always liked your idgaf attitude. That’s what made him ask you out. “So you are not sad?” He asked his hands trailing up your shirt, cold fingers resting under your tits. “Hmm i was but then there is no reason for me to be. Maybe we should upload one of our sextapes to show those bitchy knets and completely appall them..” you giggled thinking about their reaction. Jungkook sighed and chuckled. “Yeah? Which one? Our old ones or the one we are gonna make rn?” His cold fingers squeezed your bare tits and tugged on your hard nipples. You hissed at the feeling. He grabbed your hand using his other hand and started using yours to rub himself through his shorts. He let out a soft groan throwing his head back. You bit your lip as you felt his hand lower into your shorts, quickly taking your sensitive bud in between his fingers, tugging it gently. You gasped and held onto his wrists as he continued abusing your bud. He was growing harder and harder because of your hands and the unholy sounds you let out every time he flicked your clit. You put your hands into his shorts and wrapped your fingers around his dick. Your movements were restricted by his shorts which opted you to pull his dick completely out. You stared at it. Oh how much you missed that monster. “Quit staring baby..” you felt yourself melt as he inserts two fingers into your sopping hole. A loud squelch was heard when he started fingering you. Your hands lazily worked up and down his shaft. Small spurts of precum already leaking out of his red tip. You picked up your pace and so did he. You twisted your wrists around his tip. You knew how sensitive he was there and continued. His eyes were squeezed shut as soft moans left his mouth. He started choking on them as he felt your hands squeeze around his length. God the way you had this man under your control with Just your hands was insane. He was quick to return the favour as two more fingers were added. His thumb rested on your clit rubbing it in circles furiously as he fucked your cunt with his long fingers. Loud noises accompanied by yours and his moans were the only sounds heard in the room. Your vision went white as you finally reached your end. Squirting all over his hands and wetting your shorts as well as your sheets. You let out choked out moans and your back arched off of the bed.

“Attagirl…” jungkook said with furrowed eyebrows as he kept finger fucking you. Your hand movements got sloppy which prompted jungkook to thrust into your hands. You picked up pace which made jungkook stiffen. You knew his orgasm was close from the his facial expressions and his voice. You stared at his face as you watch your ex boyfriend come undone under your grasp. He let out a final gasp before cumming all over your hands. You slowed down your movements finally letting go of his softening cock before bringing your fingers to your mouth, licking all his salty cum clean, staring deeply into his brown eyes.

Only you had him like this. No other woman will never come to your level ever.

A/n : HEHEHE sex tape part 2? 🤭🤭🤭🤭 ALSO SORRY FOR THE USAGE OF BABY STAR CANDYAJJEKAJWJA I JS HAD TOOOOOO

[usetheeauthor]

Kinktober Day 5: Uniform

Ralph Penbury (Timewasters) x Time Traveler!Reader

Summary: Ralph’s going to join the French Foreign Legion but you just won’t let him go.

Warnings: 18+ smut, uniform kink, blowjob through pants, boot riding, cumming in pants, sub!ralph

“Love, please…I must leave at once.” Ralph whimpers. Yet despite his protests, he allows you access to his neck so you can properly pepper the soft skin with wet open-mouth kisses.

He’s leaving you today. For how long? Could be months or even years but you tried putting on a brave face about his impending departure. After all, it is for the best if you plan on going back home. Yet the time has finally arrived and you’re an absolute wreck.

It’s so strange to see how attached you grew to him considering how long it took for you to reciprocate your feelings for him. You had always found him to be quite the strange fellow. Very intense with his emotions, too. He instantly fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you but you were put off by his forwardness. Hell, he proposed to you the very next day you met!

All you cared for back then was to get back to your timeline so his pursuit of you seemed futile. His learning of your revulsion made him do all he could to prove himself as a worthy man for you. He wrote you songs of his love, tried sweeping you off your feet any chance he got (literally), and he’d been trying to save you in various situations so that you knew him as your protector…even if those situations were as small as throwing his jacket over a shallow puddle of water for you to walk over.

Slowly you warmed to him, simply because of the effort he’d gone through just to make you love him. But he could tell it wasn’t enough. So, his next bet was to join a greater cause wanting to build from those experiences and better himself. And that’s when you learned that he’d enlisted in the French Foreign Legion.

You thought you’d handle it just fine but now two weeks later and you’ve cracked under your cool facade the moment you see him in that dorky tan uniform. There’s a range of emotions that consume you: sadness, lust, yearning…it’s all so overwhelming. It feels too real.

You look up at him with doe eyes, cheeks stained with tears. “Don’t go,” You kiss him hotly, your tongue caressing his own. Once you part, a line of saliva connects your lips. Your hands roam down his body, desperately clawing him through his uniform. “Stay with me.”

He mewls when your hand cups him through rough material of his pants. “I cannot. It wounds me deeply to go but I must—“

You smash your lips against his hard enough for the hat on his head to land on the ground. You walk him backwards into his bed until you both fall against the mattress. You’re feral, hands and mouth all over him and he melts with bliss.

Ralph didn’t think the uniform would have this much of an effect on you. When he was advised by a confidant that women love a man in uniform, he took the concept and ran with it, immediately signing away his life for military service. The way you’re responding to it went far beyond his expectations. He isn’t even expected to be leaving until next week in actuality, only wearing the uniform to admire himself in the mirror when he caught you in the corner of the room with lust-filled yet wet eyes. But he’ll just save that tidbit of news for another time.

Because you finally understand. You’re just as pathetically needy as he’s always been for you. Although, you’re a lot more lewd in your approach.

You snake down his body until you’re on your knees at the edge of his bed, your face nudged between his legs. His eyes bug out of his head when you begin to suck on the tip of his cock through his pants. You were on the exact right spot. Ralph can feel the suction’s pressure around the crown with some of your saliva soaking through the thick material.

“Oh, my…” He gasps, eyes rolling in the back of his head.

Then to show off some more, you begin to knead his balls through the pants with precision, earning another surprise hitch in his breath. You lick a long stripe up his hardened base, enjoying the feeling of the mild abrasiveness of the fabric against your tongue. Even if you can’t get a proper taste him; the warm, heavy feeling of his cock against your tongue makes you moan out loud.

You soon find yourself grinding down on his combat boots as you latch your lips around the sensitive mushroom head again. His head falls back against the mattress but you sink your nails into his inner thigh, nails sharp enough to penetrate the tough cotton.

He recognizes correctly that it’s a warning to him that he mustn’t remove his eyes from you. So with fluttering eyes and those pink pouty lips, he watches you while he struggles to keep his eyes from rolling and his moans from pitching in tone. It shouldn’t feel this good but because it’s you, it’s heavenly.

“Going to cum, my love.” He rasps, large hand resting on top of your head for a moment as if he’s petting you.

This makes you ride his boot harder, making the steel-toed part of his shoe press directly against your clothed sensitive little nub. You cry out at the delicious feeling. You’re going to cum soon, too.

But he doesn’t get to cum until he tells you he’ll stay. Until you could somehow convince him to follow you back to your life instead.

“Tell me you’ll never leave me.” You demand while rubbing your cheek against him like a cat in heat.

“I’ll never leave you.” He sighs.

“Tell me you’ll follow me anywhere and everywhere I tell you.” You continue to rub your face over the crotch of his pants, looking at him with such tender and wide eyes that look so innocent despite the absolute filthiest thoughts they held in them.

“I’ll follow you. Anywhere, Everywhere you tell me. Please just let me cum,” He’s practically sobbing by this point. “I’ll be so good for you.”

“Cum for your love.” You say, giving him one heavy lick and, in the next second, he’s spurting inside his pants. The twitching within the confines of his pants is erratic. You sneak your hands beneath his shirt, soothing a hand over his belly as he whines and squirms beneath you.

Your high peaks at the sight of him, gushing your honeyed essence on the tip of his boot. You don’t stop rocking against him, wanting to feel his toes flexing within the shoe.

Aftershocks shoot through the both of you as you come down from your high. You continue to kiss and worship the leg you straddled until you rise up on shaky legs and go to lay beside him in bed.

He turns to look at you with a smile, still panting. “Does this mean you’ll marry me?”

[thesirencove]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ WILDFLOWER -- SAM WINCHESTER X FEM!READER

hi everyone !! this is a fic i posted on a previous blog , that i since removed from said blog as i decided to focus on another topic so i created this blog so that i can once again share my works :) i've since edited this fic as i wrote it little bit ago !! let me know your thoughts on this one and enjoy <3 my requests are open and let me know if anyone would like a part two to this !

oh and grab some tissues .

sam winchester x fem!reader (romantic) // dean winchester x fem!reader (platonic)

summary: when a hunt goes wrong...

warnings: blood and bleeding , death , descriptions of being unable to breathe , descriptions of feeling worthless , sad sam :( , lots of angst and overall sad .

word count: 1.8k

it wasn’t meant to happen this way.

y/n and sam were supposed to live a long, happy life together. they were meant to hunt for a little while longer and then retire and live their happy little ‘apple pie life’ as dean trademarked it. they’d already talked about having kids and a dog and building their dream house together. they were supposed to be together until they were old and took their last breaths together. 

simply, together.

but sometimes things don’t go according to plan. just like the moment they were in right now.

sam was kneeling on the floor, covered in blood. not his own. hers. it soaked through his shirt and stained his face.  

“y/n please stay with me,” sam pleaded, holding her limp body in his arms, her shallow breaths barely audible for him to feel any sense of comfort. he was pressing down on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. trying to stop her from dying. still, more of her blood poured out from god knows where. 

“i-’m sorr..y,” she croaked out. y/n could feel herself fading away. the oxygen wouldn’t fill her lungs properly and every one of her limbs were so, so tired. 

the hunt started out perfectly. y/n, sam, and dean were quick to figure out where the monster was and how to get rid of it. a nest of vampires, hiding in the woods, preying on the little town nearby. bodies had stacked up over the years, but it wasn’t until recently that it became suspicious. y/n happened to be the one to find the newspaper article. 

“guys! i found us a case!” she brought the newspaper clipping over to sam and dean so enthusiastically. she was so excited, so proud to have found a case on her own instead of relying on the winchester brothers to find one for them all. they saw the glint of her eyes and couldn’t say no. how could they, seeing how wide she was smiling?

so they went. they should have known it was too good to be true. the vampires were working with a pack of werewolves nearby. they were ambushed. sam and dean had been fighting off a pair of vampires when suddenly–

crack.

it hadn’t come from either of them. sam’s head whipped around to look at y/n, who was clutching her arm close to her chest as she continued fighting off the three monsters who’d grouped up on her. her lips were cut and he could see blood pouring out of a cut above her eye. the beginnings of a bruise stained her cheeks. sam’s vision went hazy, wanting to help her but being so afraid that he couldn’t move. it wasn’t the monsters that scared him. it was seeing y/n hurt. he was frozen in place.

it wasn’t even five seconds later when he saw the last standing werewolf swipe at y/n, eliciting a yelp from her. she swung her silver blade quickly after and the werewolf’s head rolled across the floor. his body dropped, thudding when it went down. 

she followed soon after. y/n dropped to her knees. sam finally snapped out of the trance he was stuck in, rushing to her side. the sound she made when her knees hit the floor rang in his ears as he caught her, pulling her into him. 

his hands were covered in blood as he held onto her. it wasn’t his blood. nor the werewolves. it was hers. her blood was pouring out, staining her shirt and his and both of their hands. it scared him. there was oh so much of it and sam was panicking. 

his y/n. his sunshine. his wildflower. 

she was bleeding out at an alarming rate and he couldn’t do anything. he felt useless, so utterly useless in this moment.

“hey, hey y/n. sweetheart stay with me. please stay with me,” sam practically begged her, as though it would make a difference for her current condition. his voice cracked as he yelled out for dean. for his big brother to do something to save her. his heart was cracking, if not already broken. the tears built and built, finally spilling over like an old dam that couldn’t contain the flood. 

y/n could barely keep her eyes open as she laid there, weakly grabbing onto sam’s arms. she looked down towards her wound. the deep, jagged lines from the werewolf’s claws painted her abdomen. she whimpered at the sight. it burned worse than anything she could have ever imagined but the scream she wanted to let out got stuck in her throat, only building on the agony she felt. 

and the blood. there was so much blood. 

too much of it.

dean rushed over to where sam was holding y/n in his arms, clutching her close to him, like a child who didn’t want to share his favorite plushie. he was holding her so firmly, scared that if he didn’t then she’d somehow disappear. that she’d die faster. he couldn’t lose her, what would he do with her gone? how could he continue to live? 

sam looked up at dean and they exchanged a look, prompting dean to run outside. y/n could faintly hear dean calling out for cas before the weak pounding of her blood became too loud. 

“sam,” y/n rasped, her voice weak. she couldn’t keep the tears from rolling down her cheek. sam didn’t say anything, barely acknowledged that she said his name, not wanting the reality to set in of the situation. not wanting to accept that y/n was dying. the love of his life was dying and he could do nothing about it. he felt so utterly useless, thinking about the countless lives he’d saved, and yet he couldn’t save his love. 

the wounds were too deep to patch up and the nearest hospital was 20 miles away.

“sam,” she repeated, more urgently this time, before subsiding into a minor coughing fit. the blood started coming out of her mouth as well at this point. 

 “shhh, don’t speak sweetheart. you’re going to be okay. it’ll be okay. dean’s going to get cas. he’s going to heal you. it’s going to be okay,” sam said frantically. he was assuring himself of this as much as he was y/n. but both of them knew that this was the end for her. if cas didn’t get here in time then she would be gone.

her breathing became shallow as the blood pooled in her lungs. she felt like she was drowning. falling deeper. and deeper. she felt herself panic and her heart trying to pump more blood, so she could breathe but it just couldn't.

“y/n please stay with me,” sam pleaded. 

“i-’m sorr..y,” she croaked out. 

“promise me, y/n. promise me you-you’ll hold on. promise me that you’ll recover and, and come back. that we’ll live a long and happy life together. the one that we-we..ve always dreamed o-f. with-with a little cottage in the woods. we’re going to have three kids. three of them and a dog,” he trailed off on that last word as he sobbed, stumbling over words as he couldn’t keep himself together. 

“i need you to promise me that.” he begged her once again.

“i promise. but only if you pro-mi..se me-” y/n trailed off, getting weaker with every word she said, “that you’ll move o-n. if-if i die, sam, i ne-ed you,” she gasped for air, “to move on.” sam shook his head, but y/n whispered a measly, ‘please.’ sam, looking into her glistening eyes, once so full of life and now fading from him, and nodded.

dean ran into the room, and sam whipped his head around towards him only to be met with a disappointing shake signaling that cas didn’t come. 

“h-hey dean,” y/n whispered, coughing yet again only for more blood to come out, spilled over her lips and staining them red.

“hey, crazy girl. you’re going to be okay. don’t go pulling a me on us here, alright? heaven and hell are too crowded for you to be joining them,” dean said, taking one of her hands in his and weakly smiling at her. she chuckled weakly, as much as she could, before looking at him again with sad eyes.

“tak-ke care of sa-am for me. and take ca..re of yourself for me, to..o.” dean nodded at her and pressed a kiss to her forehead, one final goodbye for his closest friend and the girl he’d been so excited to see finally get married to sam.

that future was blurred now. no longer an option.

“i lo-ve you, sam” she croaked out one last time, giving him the best smile she could. she wanted him to remember her smile above anything.

“i love you too, wildflower,” sam sobbed, wiping a tear from her cheek and pressing one final kiss to her lips.

and so her heart slowed to a stop. her eyes became devoid of life. her body was fully limp. unmoving. unwavering. sam’s heart had stopped along with hers. 

a final tear made its way down her cheek, like the last fall of snow in winter. 

the flap of wings that they had all been praying to hear had finally come. but it was too late. too late to save her, too late to get married and have the kids they’d once dreamed about, too late to build a home together. too late. 

the sound that came next made dean wince. sams sobs had turned into such agony, such rage that he screamed out as he held the body of his now-dead lover. he screamed at cas, cursing at him, the outburst so unlike him that dean had to look away, squeezing his eyes shut. 

the screams turned to silent weeping as sam held y/n’s body closer to him than before, his flannel and shirt now soaked in her blood. her limp body shook in his arms as he cried. 

and cried. 

and cried.

until he couldn’t anymore. his cheeks and eyes were raw and red from crying. he felt so worthless in himself and in the fact that he couldn’t save her. that he couldn’t get her back. the chapter of their lives had closed, the next page blank. he kept looking into her eyes, so lifeless it terrified him. the girl who made everything she touched full of life was gone. 

he’d never be able to hold her again. never see her smile, or the light shine in her eyes. so many never’s and what if’s filled his brain over and over. every new thought that seeped into his mind was so loud. it was like the thoughts were never ending, until a final thought filled his head.

the sunshine was gone and his wildflower was dead and his heart was broken, and there was no way to fix any of it. but he’d find a way. somehow. no matter how long or what it took. he’d get her back.

[qsphyxias]

Nightwing x Male! Reader (hurt/comfort)

if you fetishize mlm/nblm relationships, get the fuck out of here!

synopsis ; you just broke up with ur bf bc he cheated on u and Nightwing comes to make u feel better.

warnings ; swearing, break ups, venting (not traumatic or too deep) about relationship, manhandle joke, angst? its topic is sad but I think I made it too nice and fluffy

note ; i wanna add more, esp. with pillow talk or whatever but I'm too tired and maybe ill just make another part or smth or edit it

words ; 1.3k+

Your face burned, and your lips trembled against the hand you held up against your moth. You sighed shakily, dropping your head atop your arm leaned up against the railing of your balcony. That was the end of another relationship.

You looked at the wet cement down below, over the thin, black iron railing, your eyes couldn't focus on anything because of the fat tears that obstructed most of your vision. Gravity pulled your tears to the ground, almost pulling you entirely over the rails — you just felt so tired.

The day you've had was just about enough for you to bear. You found out your boyfriend of three years was cheating on you for two of those three years. But the worst part was that you hadn't even found out yourself; he had told you, and he had been the one to break up with you. As if, you were the problem.

You were in the way.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You murmured under your breath, rage began to well up, and you could feel it in your throat — strangling you, taking your breath and turning it into steam. "I wasted three years on him. Three fucking years of my life!" You backed away from the ledge, looking up at the sky as if it represented the entire world before you. "And for what?"

Despite it all, a part of you wanted him back. Not because you loved him, but because, where else will you find someone? You knew everything about him, and you... well, you hoped he knew just about everything to know about you. But now, all that information is useless. You were scared and alone; how much time did you really have? It's not like some handsome, piece of ass is going to come around and save you.

You slid down on the cold surface of the balcony, sitting down and tucking your knees in as you watched your fingers fidget in front of you. You stopped crying, but now it felt worse than before. Your heart had no means to release all that raw emotion because your body couldn't take the exhaustion.

"Hey, are... you alright?" A gentle hand grabs your shoulder, and your head shoots up to see dark blue eyes, staring at you with nothing but hopeful concern. His hope to somehow make you feel better, and his concern that you are currently sitting on the ground, eyes, nose, and mouth red and swollen.

You don't push away, not at all — in fact, that's the last thing on your mind. Even when it hits you that Nightwing is leaning over you, a knee on the ground and his arm on your shoulder. You're too drained to react properly, you just stare at him.

You pressed your hand on your cheek, murmuring your speech. "Give me a fucking break." Had he arrived at a time — literally any other time — less inconvenient, you probably would have asked him for an autograph and fawned over his arms. He chuckled at your reply, not at all offended by your display of disdain at his appearance. He took a seat next to you on the cold hard ground.

For a couple of minutes, you both just sat there, and you stared off into space as you silently fought with your inner demons to not lash out at him. With an apologetic sigh, withdrawing your attitude from before. "I'm sorry, it's been a rough night- I just found out my boyfriend was cheating on me for two years." Nightwing glanced over as you mentioned a boyfriend, so you weren't straight, huh? That totally won't affect how he sees you.

The man beside you sucked in a sharp breath as you mentioned your situation, immediately feeling terrible as he put himself in your shoes. "Don't worry about it; you deserve a little lashing out." You scoffed affectionately as you wiped your remaining tears away with your sleeve, he was friendly, wasn't he?

"That's nice of you to say." Suddenly, the floor looked much more interesting than looking at the attractive man beside you. He noticed the averted gaze and brought you back to reality by placing his hand on yours. "I'm serious, lash out at me! Whatever you wanna say to him, say to me." He was serious, grinning at his great idea.

"I mean I heard you wailing from miles away; I'm sure you don't have a shortage of things to say." He looked proud of himself. "Dear god — you heard that?" You stood up and backed away from him, with him following you closely. "I think half of Gotham heard that." He teased, watching your ashamed expression with a smile.

"You're kind of an asshole, aren't you?" You said, standing your ground as you taunted him right back. His smile only grew, "I have mixed reviews."

"Alright, Nightwing. I'll take you up on your offer." You crossed your arms and stepped closer to him, "I'll vent."

He rubbed his hands together in response, beckoning you towards him. "Give it to me."

Your face turned beet-red at the sudden conspicuous innuendo, and you paused. Hoping he hadn't noticed, you got back in the zone and tried to imagine your ex's face in place of Nightwing's. "Okay, alright. Well. You're... You're a dick."

Dick laughed, for more reasons than one. "That's it? Have at me! Don't be shy." You frowned, "Fine then, you're not just a dick. You're also cruel." You looked into his eyes, seeing your ex's face before you instead of Nightwing's.

To fuel the fire, you channeled all those feelings into your speech. "You broke my heart for no reason when you could have left me when you met him. And- Instead, you wasted my time, thinking I was in this... This loving relationship with a man I was going to marry — " Before you could keep rambling on, you felt strong arms around you, grounding you. You hadn't noticed you were trembling from the emotion until you felt the calm, still body against yours.

You also hadn't noticed how much you absolutely needed that hug.

Hesitating, your arms hovered over his back before you tenderly hugged him back, sinking into his body knowing he could still hold you from his already tight grip. You wondered if you'd ever be hugged like this again now that you didn't have a boyfriend. Whenever your ex did decide to hold you like this, it wasn't often.

Sleep took over your body as his warmth may have reminded you too much of your sheets, and the comfort of your bed. Maybe he reminded you of home.

"... Was that too much?" You murmured against the chestpiece of his suit. He shook his head, not wanting to see your expression just yet. Your frown and your trembling lips broke his heart.

"I think I'm tired." Dick took that to heart and picked you up with ease, walking over to your balcony door and stepping in. "Oh- so you're just gonna manhandle me then?" You declared eyes half-lidded from exhaustion. For a second, he was worried he had crossed a boundary. "Well, I'm okay with that." Now he wasn't so worried.

Dick chuckled as he placed you down on your bed, turning off the light beside you and moving to exit your apartment. He stopped in his tracks as he heard you groan. "Wait, come back..! Stay with me. Please?" He turned around to see you pouting on your bed, knowing you were trying your absolute best to extract pity out of him to make him stay.

"It'll be my first night in three years without a warm body sleeping next to me; you're really gonna leave a guy hanging?" He rolled his eyes as you played the break-up card, waltzing over with a defeated look on his face. You on the other hand, had adorned an expression of joy.

"You regret stopping by my balcony, don't you?"

"... Far from it, actually."

[haunting-jane]

Aang's grief

From the first time I've watched Avatar: The Last Airbender, I've always been really attached to Aang's character and deeply sympathized with his pain. One of the reasons for that, I muse, is the show's bittersweet ending that always made me sad. Sure, Ozai was defeated, Zuko is the new firelord, and all peoples are in peace at last. But when one looks at the cheering crowd, no airbenders are found.

Aang is the only person dressed in orange and yellow amidst a sea of red, green, and blue. He succeeded in his mission of uniting everyone, but there is no way of bringing back or fixing what was done a hundred years prior. And this aspect in specific, I think, is where lies one of Aang's most stinging pain: nobody but him knows what the Air Nation genocide represents.

Nobody truly understands him, because they simply aren't old enough to grieve in the same capacity as him. Toph, Sokka, Zuko, Suki and especially Katara are all amazing, empathetic and kind friends and companions, and they are definitely essential parts of his grief journey. But they just don't. get. it.

Katara and Sokka lost their mother to Fire Nation colonialism, Toph was disinherited and forsaken by her parents, and Zuko's traumas don't even have to be mentioned. However, and I believe this extends to the audience as well, they cannot wrap their minds around a loss as big as that. And in my opinion, that is why so many fans tend to gloss over Aang's trauma or not interpret correctly some of his trauma responses.

Aang lost everything. And everyone. He lost his childhood friends, his home, his old toys, his clothes, his favorite culinary recipes, his parental figures, his books, his drawings, his bed. The Air Nation people weren't just eliminated, their culture, poetry, history, art, cuisine, fashion, ALL of it was erased. And as Aang slept for a hundred years, time went on and took anyone who could remember the Air Nation as it once was.

Although the rest of the Gaang suffered a lot, their pain can still be understood and felt by other people who went through similar situations. Aang, however, is alone. Nobody can really understand what it feels like: to be the only survivor of a genocide, with no home to go back to and suddenly awake in a world strange and hostile to you. At 12, to top it all.

This kind of pain, of rushed trauma causes immense disassociation, and I think Aang didn't even process what actually happened until like season two. Maybe even later. How could he? He woke up and the weight of saving the whole world was thrown onto his shoulders. How could a child, at the same time as all of that was happening, truly comprehend that they are responsible for bringing back an entire nation and culture? That's why I think he was so cheerful and generally happy in the first two seasons, he hadn't actually understood what had happened.

The pain, nevertheless, was there. Maybe Aang didn't truly comprehend that he was the only survivor of a genocide and what was at stake, but he did grieve for his people. And boy, he was angry.

I'm not a psychologist, but I consider that Aang was lost in a haze of anger and denial after he found out what had happened. And, to be honest, I really liked to see those moments when anger came out. It felt cathartic, it felt like something he was entitled to. Don't get me wrong, I fell in love with him as a protagonist precisely because he's a sweetie and a cutie pie. And he definitely deserves to be happy and silly as any normal child. But sometimes I feel like his anger is not really understood, maybe not even by himself.

He wasn't angry just at Fire Nation, he was angry at the Airbender elders who forced him into fulfilling his role as avatar at 12, he was angry at Gyatso for not defending him (or as he erroneously thought), but most importantly, Aang was angry at himself. He was the avatar after all, why did he run and abandon his people to die?

Being a child who did not have time or the means to properly grieve, and was also going through immense pressure, self-blame surely did a number on him and his mental health. Of course he would give up on learning firebending after he accidentally burned Katara. There was no way Aang would ever accept being remotely similar to those who took everything from him (and who took Katara's mom).

Of course he would be initially salty and angry at the people living in the old Air temple, they were acting as if the airbenders never existed in the first place, at least that's how he saw it. He was right there! Maybe his culture was dead, but his tradition still deserved some respect! Still deserved a place in the world! Still deserved to be remembered!

Of course he would be angry at EVERYONE when Appa was captured. He loved Momo deeply, but the lemur wasn't there with him while it all was happening a hundred years ago. Appa was the only one who saw everything, who had lost as much as him. Losing Appa was like losing his last connection, his last piece of the Air Nation. Of course he would be unfair, grieving children do tend to act irrational in moments of anger, especially when they feel isolated from everybody else. It couldn't have been any different, really.

And honestly, I think those issues persisted into his very adulthood. Naturally, losing absolutely everything might be something one never gets over, but considering that Aang never went to therapy and never resolved his internal conflicts and understood his grief, it all persisted.

And obviously he wasn't a very good father. Aang spent his entire life trying to fix what could never be mended, trying to make up for the time he was away in the iceberg, trying to convince himself that he wasn't a failure.

It might be an unpopular opinion, but I do believe he and Katara kept trying until they got an Airbender, and I do not think it would be out of character. Some Aang defenders try really hard to state that he wasn't a bad father. But guys, there's no escaping facts: it's almost impossible to conciliate being the avatar and the responsibilities that come with it with being a good parent.

Of course he would try to repopulate the Air Nation if he never really got over the belief that he was responsible for its destruction in the first place. I know, when studying with that guru, Aang seemingly understandood that he couldn't keep blaming himself for something that he was never in control, but I don't think this kind of conviction can be so easily internalized. Especially when you're blinded by such poignant and isolating grief.

So he favored Tenzin. How could he bring his culture back if he didn't prioritize his little Airbender's upbringing? I wanna make it clear, though, that although I understand why Aang was the way that he was, I'm not justifying his actions. Bumi and Kya were after all emotionally neglected by their father, and that was also not fair.

But, in the end, grief rarely is. Grief kept Aang from truly participating in his two eldest children' childhoods and from seeing that his legacy wouldn't lie on just bringing the Airbenders back.

And I think grief also clouded Aang's eyes with guilt as he realized he could never give Tenzin what was given to him. His tattoo ceremony must have been so sad for Aang, as there was probably only himself, Tenzin, Katara, Bumi and Kya present. The elders were gone, the sky bison were gone, the instruments, the music, the speeches. The richness and culture. He could never give that to Tenzin.

This too, I believe, is also a huge pain Aang carried. The pain of the certainty that no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried on teaching Tenzin everything he knew, of trying to recuperate as much as humanly possible, the Air Nation he knew would never come back. He could find new Air acolytes, discover a new species of sky bison, sew their clothes as accurately as he could...The Air Nation technically would return, when Tenzin had children.

And he did, and Korra opened the portal and suddenly there were dozens of airbenders. But it would never be the same. They would never have the privilege that other nations had, of revisiting their own past, of having their history documented and culture preserved. No. That Air Nation would die with Aang, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

And due to the amount of pressure he put on himself, there was no way he wouldn't pass it on to Tenzin. Can you guys imagine how he felt after Aang passed? Now, he was the one responsible for the Air Nation, and he knew damn well that he was supposed to do it knowing he'd never be as good as Aang. He'd have to find a way to preserve tradition while never actually having known it. To fulfill his father's role and essentially, be him.

Tenzin's pains and traumas are certainly ignored too and deserve a post of their own, tbh. He most definitely compared himself to Aang all the time, and even though he spent most of his childhood with his father, I don't think it was necessarily easy.

Anyway. I'm not really sure how to conclude this. I don't consider Aang an ultimately tragic figure, he did live a happy life alongside his wife and his friends. But I don't think he ever stopped grieving. After all, he wasn't living in usual conditions prior avatars lived in. He had to take on so much responsibility, to grow up so fast, to witness so much chaos and death, only at 12.

In his soul, Aang was a gentle spirit, as Yangchen cleverly put, and a good person, in the raw sense of the word. It just wasn't fair. All that he went through.

Maybe there really isn't a moral of the story or a lesson here. Maybe things are just unfair and not fixable.

So yeah, although Avatar: The Last Airbender technically had a good ending, I can't help feeling blue every time it ends. Because I know Aang, my favorite character of the verse, never really, truly got a happy ending himself. And because I know he'd have to live the rest of his life carrying that pain and that grief.

It brings me a little comfort, however, of thinking that perhaps Aang was watching Jinora's tattoo ceremony. That he was seeing all those airbenders and he was seeing his little granddaughter becoming a master. And that maybe he smiled.

And that maybe, at last, he forgave himself.

[milaisreading]

🌱🩷: 9th story of the Christmas special... I was a little too silly goofy here...

Pairings: Oliver Aiku x Isagi's sister!Yn (Post-Blue Lock tl)

Warnings: Reader uses she/her. Angst...

⚽️Blue Lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura ⚽️

🎄Dec 18th🎄

'Finally back home.' Oliver smiled as he walked down the familiar streets of Tokyo, specifically one of the wards, Shinagawa. Oliver expected nothing less than a cold day, since it was December 20th already. He returned from Italy the night before, and after a good night of rest, the pro-player decided to explore the capital. Everything was in festive mood, and Oliver couldn't help but be in awe with the decorations. It was nearly as good as the ones he saw in Italy, but these ones had a more personal touch to them. During his walk, he did get recognized by some fans and took pictures with them.

Oliver chuckled as he remembered a few of the girls trying to flirt with him. While he did flirt back, he couldn't help but feel nothing while doing so.

"They seem... pretty happy." Oliver muttered and stopped when he noticed a couple a few meters away, laughing and carrying some presents. Oliver's smile turned into a frown as a familiar heartache hit him... for the 5th time that month.

'Is she single? Or did she find someone else?' Oliver gulped and shook his head when the last thought hit him. He doesn't expect (Y/n) to stay single forever, or wait for him... but her being with someone else did sadden him.

'I made my own bed. It's what I get for what I did all those years ago.' Oliver took a deep breath and went to look for a café, trying to forget about her.

'(Y/n)... I wonder how she is doing? Does she ever think of me.'

🎄☃️🎄☃️🎄☃️🎄☃️🎄☃️🎄☃️🎄☃️🎄☃️

Years prior...

"I hate you! I hate that I even trusted you!" (Y/n) sobbed as Oliver flinched at her sobs and tried to move closer to her, but she recoiled and glared at him.

"Is... is it so hard to just love me? And stay faithful?"

Oliver said nothing, too ashamed to really say anything.

'What am I supposed to even say? Sorry you found me kissing another girl?' Oliver flinched as he watched her wipe a few tears away. He really didn't mean any of this. He wanted to make her happy, unlike last time. But it looks like he made this worse than last time.

"Do... do you hate me so much that you can't break up properly?"

"I don't hate you!" Oliver yelled back, but the glare she sent him was enough to shut him up.

"Really? The first time you broke up with me was over text, in the most dry way possible. And now, now you do this! You could have just told me that you can't do long distance!"

"(Y/n), I really do love you! I am sorry, I was weak for a moment and I couldn't help it."

She rolled her eyes and went to pick up the suitcase that was left on the floor.

"Where are you going?" Oliver gulped, walking after her.

"Please-"

"I am over this. You are a unreliable jerk, who can't be loyal to someone for 4 months?! And as to where I am going, it's none of your business. I am not your worry anymore."

She glared at him and was about to leave the apartment, but Oliver grabbed her shoulder.

"Of course you are my worry. I love you and-"

"No, you don't!" (Y/n) yelled back, moving out of his grip. Oliver moved away, both afraid of her rage and sad by the disdain she held in her eyes.

'Last time we saw each other, it was love.' Oliver recalled. (Y/n) took a deep breath and spoke up again.

"You don't hurt the people you love. If you dare to even follow me, I will scream. Got it?"

Oliver gulped and nodded his head as she put on her shoes.

"Goodbye, Aiku. Feel free to have as much fun as possible." She huffed and left the apartment. Oliver watched her leave and slowly closed the door behind himself. He was fighting the urge to puke.

'Is it really over?'

☃️🎄☃️🎄☃️🎄☃️🎄☃️🎄☃️🎄☃️🎄☃️🎄

'I screwed up so bad... I wish I could go back in time.' Oliver sighed as he watched his cup of hot chocolate. Not even its sweetness could sheer him up anymore. He ignored the people in the the background and just went back to his phone. He smiled as he saw some new pictures of (Y/n) that were posted. For the first 4 months after the break up, Oliver didn't hear much about her. Just a few things from Barou or Aryu, if they felt like saying anything. After that, pictures of her modeling in Madrid, Barcelona, Milan, and Rome started slowly appearing on his social media. It surprised Oliver, since he knew (Y/n) as a more private person, who always tried to stay away from cameras. But, things seemed to have changed after the break-up, he guessed.

'Modeling does suit her, she looks beautiful-'

"Aiku? You are here, too?"

The pro-players heart stopped for a moment and he looked up to find (Y/n)'s shocked face.

'Beautiful.' He gulped and blinked a few times before getting up from his seat.

"(Y-Y/n)... you are here? In Japan?" Oliver asked, dumbfounded as the older Isagi slowly nodded her head, feeling a little awkward.

'Thank God there aren't many people here to cause a scene.' Oliver thought, looking at the half-empty café.

"Yeah...uhm.... I came here a few days ago. I am guessing they gave you in Ubers a week off too."

"They did. Oh! Sit down, please. Don't stand there." Oliver offered her the seat across from him.

"Thanks, but I will be going soon. We just came here to buy some pastries."

"Ahh~ Ok, I understand. Wait, we? Is your bro here too?"

(Y/n) blushed and shook her head, then pointed at a familiar redhead standing in front of the cashier.

"Sae? You... you and Sae are friends now?" Oliver blinked, trying to not show any distaste at the idea.

"We... uh, Sae and I are engaged, actually." (Y/n) answered silently, showing a ring that was on her left hand. Seeing the item, Oliver felt nausea come over him.

"T-that's great. I didn't know..." He trailed off. He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

"Yeah, Sae and I wanted to keep this relationship out of public eye. But we plan on announcing the engagement in the next few days." (Y/n) smiled brightly. Oliver couldn't help but to notice that this smile was way... brighter than the once she gave him back in the day.

'It's like, she is completely herself with Sae.' He bit the inside of his cheek, then gave her a tight smile.

"Happy to hear that. I am... glad to see that you are doing well. Congratulations."

"Thank you. I haven't been this happy in a long while." (Y/n) admitted.

'Are you happier with him than with me?' Oliver wanted to ask, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything.

"Hope you are doing great, too. Yoichi told me Ubers did pretty well last season." (Y/n)'s words woke him up from his thoughts.

"Yeah. We have been doing good. I am, happy with my life so far."

'I really am not.' Was what Oliver wanted to say, but (Y/n) is no longer the one to who he can talk about those things. She wasn't responsible for it, anymore.

"(Y/n), let's go. We need to pick up Rin and Yoichi from the airport." Sae called out, causing (Y/n) to nod her head, then she turned to look back at Oliver.

"It was great meeting you again... and thank you for everything. The good and even the bad times, they really helped me grow." (Y/n) said softly as Oliver slowly nodded his head.

"Thank you for everything, too. Hope you have a good holiday with everyone."

The pro-player said, raising his hand for a fist-bumb. The girl smiled and nodded her head.

"Thanks. Have a great Christmas, too."

With a fist-bumb, (Y/n) left Oliver's side and walked over to where Sae was. The black-haired player fought back a few tears as he saw (Y/n) take Sae's hand and leave the café. It hurt more than when she had left 4 years ago.

"Damn it..." Oliver muttered as he sat down on his chair again and hid his face in his hands.

'It's another goodbye... How ironic that it happened again during this time of the year.'

[genshin-squabbles-and-wobbles]

i've seen your yandere scenario the one with breaking the reader, i absolutely loved it - i was wondering if you can do the same scenario except it's yandere scaramouche, xiao, and cyno?

Yes I can my dear! However I already wrote for Yandere Scaramocuhe, and Cyno here. Please enjoy. But I can do Xiao. :)

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°

Scenario: i would like to request a yandere scenario but oh no it's really really sad. if you can, i would want to see yandere kazuha, childe, tighnari like regretting breaking reader. like reader keeps getting hurt by the yanderes until they feel nothing and at first the yanderes didn't mind it thinking they were obeying them but then they start feeling guilty for breaking you because now you aren't expressing any emotions, no matter what they do.

all in all, very very angst at the end

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••° Part 1: Here Part 2: Here Trigger Warning: Mild non consensual Sexual content, neglect, and starvation

Xiao ─── °∘❉∘° ────── °∘❉∘° ────── °∘❉∘° ───

As the Yaksha stared down at you in bed, he looks at you. He looks at your blank face, your blank eyes, your blank emotions. Was it too much to ask to protect you? He wanted to protect you, very badly. You were one of the rare good things to happen to him ever since he lost his family to their Karmic debt. Morax and You were all he had left. Was it too much to ask to be protective of you? Lock you in his hotel room in Wangshu inn? Feeding you almond tofu none stop? However, Xiao never knew how to take care of a human being, after all he is an adepti, he never took the effort to learn about humans and how they function. Of course they interest him, but not enough to learn how to take care of them. Hence, what lead to your neglected, and skinny state, as he never knew how to take care of you, properly. However, he couldn't trust anything. The food you ate could have been poisoned. The paths you took could have been dangerous and deadly...despite you being one of the top adventures in the adventure guild. Xiao looked down at your dead face, yet alive, skinny and malnourished. Was it too much to have a taste of you right now? As he tasted sweetness for the first time when he kissed you. He was different from Almond Tofu but he could taste it. Xiao gently adjusted your hair and clothes and placed his hand on your face. "Hey...can you please at least talk to me, so I know you are okay? It is rude to ignore me like this." Nothing, silence. He tried to invoke some reaction out of you by lifting one of your legs up, and gently pressed his hot tongue on your thigh and dragged it all the way up to your knee. You still tasted sweet. Oh so very sweet to him. He pulled away as all he saw was a blank face and a miserable appearance. Xiao sighed in frustration. "I don’t get it! I provided everything I can for you! What are you just laying there!?" He started to tear up in frustration. He remembered how fierce you were, how happy you were fighting monsters, how cheerful you were at taverns and people. He remembered how you protected him time and time again and how much you enjoyed it. Immediately, as he watched his hot tears drop on your face, he started to apologize to archons, gods, his dead family, his loyal master Rex Lapis. "I'm sorry...its my fault...it's my fault...I should...I should..." He mumbled and started to cry more. It was his fault, all of it. Regret plagued his mind, as his karmic debt was about to eat him alive. This time, he couldn’t take it anymore. He rather die than let his karmic debt over take him. He pressed a gentle kiss on your cheek, and went on his knees. He aimed his marble jade staff to his chest, and plunged it deep, past his hundred years of life. All you heard was a thud. Then silence.

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

I wanna know ur Fontaine msq criticisms 👁️👁️👂I’m all ears

I'm not sure if you wanted me to talk about this secretly or publicly but! Here I go!

The TLDR: Fontaine MSQ aestheticised prison, poverty, child abuse, the justice system/court and didn't properly address any of it.

More:

Focalors/Furina has way too much of a sympathetic angle for a dictator who's lets people drown with her inaction.

Neuvillette feels Bad for sentencing some people to death/prison, but that's it. He's one of the most powerful people in Fontaine. If he felt like there are systemic injustices, I.E sending an abused Child to prison, he should be the first person to DO something about it, not just cry and be sad so the audience can be like aw, that's complex character writing isn't it? No it's not! And guilt doesn't absolve you!!!!!!! (These are stuff we deal with in OTCOJ read my fic now /j)

Meropide has children in it, both Sentenced there (Wriothesley) and BORN THERE (Lanoire), and this is just a quirk of the place. Not only that, Meropide accepts prisoners of all genders and crimes. There are abusers and abuse victims in one place. Do you know how bad that is? How much potential for crimes to happen in a place like that— oh wait, Meropide isn't under Fontaine's jurisdiction. If you are assaulted as an inmate it literally means nothing to the court.

Wriothesley had no qualifications when he took over. Depending on how long he lived on the streets, how old he was when he killed his parents, how old he was when he was first taken in by the orphanage, etc, the man might never have more than 4–5 years of formal education. Sigewinne probably had to teach him how to write reports. And do Meropide's spreadsheets. Edit because I forgot to elaborate on this one: This isn't a point brought up anywhere, which is bad, because when poverty and incarceration robs you of a proper education (and the rights to vote in many places too, too, by the way), it reduces your prospects for jobs, reduces many people's ability to get a home etc etc. Wriothesley was just, narratively, Given his position.

Meropide is an industrialized prison, and they portray this as a good thing. Prisoners are paid in coupons for their labour, and this is also portrayed as a good thing.

The One-Meal-A-Day reform was something Paimon gushed about being so great of a perk, that people might want to go to jail for food (could be interesting and reflective of systemic poverty if MHY had brains, but they don't, so I was just Pissed because essentially all Paimon wanted to say was "Prison isn't so bad, but still don't go to prison guys! Prison labour is really hard!"). By the way, in most real-world prisons they are obligated to feed you three meals a day. Because that's how much food a human needs. MHY went with one meal just so they can say "if you want to eat more, you have to work." And then the welfare meal is a goddamn gacha. So imagine you're a starving child who's too weak to work in the fucking robot assembly line, and you wander up for your first meal in 24 hours, only to luck in with a shit one. I'd kill myself.

They wrote Wriothesley, who's a victim of the system, into a guy who's say shit like "I'm the Duke I can do whatever I want" for a cool moment where he choke-slams an inmate (I know he was a bad guy. But also, in copaganda when cops are violent/disregarding protocols, they are always only portrayed to do that against bad guys, so what does our critical thinking tells us about this one?) They wrote Wriothesley, who was an inmate of a prison so bad, so notorious that it is the literal boogeyman of Fontaine, that has a legal (???) fighting pit, with an administrator who abuses his position to be unreasonable, to willingly stay in the place and become an Administrator who would choke-slam an inmate while saying a cool line about how he has the power to do whatever he wants. They wrote him, the guy who had to be fed on the streets by melusines, to think one-meal-a-day was a good enough reform (while he spends god-knows how much on his boat). This wasn't a victim-turns-into-abuser narrative either, they want all this to be seen as positive character growth.

And then, the final kicker is, they gloss over his entire abuse. You can only read about these shit in his profile, which most people don't because they don't Have Him or doesn't care to unlock it/read it online, and they jammed his entire backstory into a flaccid info-dump at the end of his character story quest. This man isn't Allowed to feel abused and neglected and show any reaction to it within the narrative of Fontaine itself, because if they actually Gave Weight to what happened to him, they'd have to confront THE FUCKING JUSTICE SYSTEM they had NO PLANS on criticising. I don't think they ever explicitly said the fucking Crime-Theatre nonsense was Bad either.

I could go on, but this is already so long. But yeah, I hope this gave you an idea.

[seungkw1]

untitled (hoshi oneshot)

pairing: kwon soonyoung x reader (gender not explicity mentioned)

word count: 1.3k

genre: exes to lovers, non-idol au

warnings: drinking, cursing, implied sex

author's note: hi this is literally the very first fic i've ever written in my life!! it's just a short one but any constructive feedback is appreciated :)

What an annoying fucking day. 

Missing the bus and being late for work, coworkers getting on your nerves, and to top it all off you completely forgot to do that important task that was due today, so you ended up staying late. It was only Tuesday, but you needed a goddamn drink.

It was already dark by the time you stepped out into the freezing cold air, and you huddled up in your coat as you made your way to the mediocre dive bar down the block. Not your top choice, but it was close. You ordered a vodka soda and zoned out as you listened to whatever depressing ass Smiths song was playing - shitty vibe, but you were too tired to care. 

So when the man you had vaguely noticed was staring at you from your peripheral vision got up and headed towards you, you sighed as you turned to immediately shut that shit down. 

“Sorry but I am really not in the mood for a conversation right n-“ your stomach dropped as you made eye contact with the all-too-familiar face. 

“I thought that was you,” your ex-fiancé said sheepishly. 

Frozen in shock, it took you a good five seconds for you to utter a response. 

“Soonyoung?”

What the FUCK was he doing here?

As if he read your mind, he explained, “I’m in town this week for a work conference, but I didn’t expect to run into… anybody I knew.” He paused, waiting for your reaction. More silence. After what felt like an eternity you finally snapped out of it.  

“Um… me neither.” 

Jesus Christ, pull yourself together. 

It had been nearly two years since you last saw him. The breakup had felt like a relief then - he was moving across the country and you never planned to see or hear from him again. Especially not in some random fucking bar on a Tuesday. 

Your heart raced as you noted that he looked good. Like, really good. 

“Mind if I join?” he gestures to the vacant seat next to you. 

“Yeah, definitely. I mean- no I don’t mind. Sorry yeah go ahead, sure” you tripped over your words. Why the hell are you so nervous? It’s just your ex. 

Yeah, just the person I very nearly married. Just the person I had once considered my soulmate…

You shove that thought to the back of your mind. 

Soonyoung sits down and awkwardly begins to make small talk - something neither of you are that great at. You chat politely for a few minutes, asking each other the usual generic questions.  There’s clearly so much you want to say to each other, but you both hold back. 

“Soooo… how’s the…” he pauses. Shaking his head, he abandons whatever he was going to say. He turns and makes eye contact with you, giving you a questioning look. You feel your heart rate spiking. You try not to think about how handsome he looks right now. 

“Do you still like playing pool?” He nods his head over to the open pool table in the corner. A smile involuntarily creeps onto your face and you see his eyes light up in response. The tension suddenly melts away. 

“Only if I can still kick your ass.”

—

A few drinks and several rounds of pool later, you and Soonyoung are laughing it up as if you hadn’t spent a single day apart. 

“Tired of losing yet?” you taunt sarcastically. You are both terrible at pool and neither of you even know how to play properly. But neither of you care about the game at this point anyway - you’re lost in old stories and inside jokes. 

And god, he looks REALLY good. 

Soonyoung pulls out his phone and laughs as he checks the time. 

“Uh-ohhh, it’s gotten prettttty late. We better get you home before you turn into a pumpkin!” You roll your eyes but feel a sudden tinge of sadness. You were truly enjoying yourself - more than you had in a long time - and you weren’t ready for the night to end. But it was getting a bit late. 

“Ugh let me check the train, who knows how long until the next one.” You go to put your coat on but he’s already holding it up for you, not realizing his old habit. 

“Fuck the train, I’m driving you home! It’s toooo cold,” he insists. You let out a short laugh - he only had one more drink but he was clearly drunk. 

“No, dummy, you are in no condition to operate a vehicle. I’ll drive for you.” 

—

You park Soonyoung’s car near your apartment building. He’s mostly sobered up by this point, but he’s clearly a little embarrassed about the fact that he had spent a good chunk of the ride crying as he apologized and confessed that he really missed you. But honestly, you realize that you had really missed him too. 

“Welp, here we are… guess I’d better get going,” he says, trying to hide his mopiness at the thought of leaving you. He slowly starts to open the passenger door but you catch his sleeve to hold him back. As you pull him back into his seat you find your hand subtly sliding up around his bicep. Fuck, he was even more muscular than you remembered. 

“Excuse me but I am not letting you behind this wheel until you are fully sobered up, which you clearly are not,” you tell him firmly. “Come on babe, we’re going inside and getting you something to eat.” The affectionate name rolled off your tongue so naturally that you didn’t even notice you’d said it. 

His eyes light up again. He had always been stunning, but in this moment he was insanely hot. Still holding onto his bicep, memories of his toned body flash through your mind as you feel the heat rising inside you. 

Is this really happening? Fuck, I want him so bad. 

And the way he looks back at you, you know he wants you too.

—

“What do you want, leftover pizza? A sandwich? Ramen?” 

“Ooooh RAMEN!” Soonyoung exclaims eagerly as he comes running into the kitchen. “Pretty please,” he adds with a goofy grin. It all felt so natural. You didn’t realize how much you had missed this, missed him. 

“Drink this,” you force a cup of water into his hands. Your hands brush and you instantly get butterflies. 

Jesus what is this, a middle school crush?? 

He locks eyes with you. Huge pang in your stomach. 

Okay, yeah. You need him. Badly. Right now. 

Overwhelmed, you panic and turn back to busy yourself with the ramen, but you find yourself too distracted to even continue that. 

Soonyoung can’t wait any longer. He grabs you by the hips and turns you around, pulling your body into his. He’s already excited, and you feel his excitement grow even more as he wraps his arms around you and kisses you with more intensity than you’ve ever felt before. 

Fireworks. Electricity. All the things. In that moment, nothing in the world mattered but you and Soonyoung.

God damn. 

He breaks the kiss so he can take a look at you. “You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that right?” He gently grabs your chin and tilts your face up toward him, going in for another kiss. 

You suddenly become aware of the ramen packet that’s still in your hand. You giggle and he ends up kissing you on the teeth. You both burst out laughing and Soonyoung pulls you even tighter into his arms. You feel both of your hearts pounding in your chests. 

He places his forehead against yours. “Soooo…”

“Soooo what?” You give him a tiny peck on the lips. He gives you a tiny peck back. 

“Soooo aren’t you gonna invite me into your room?”

“What for?” you ask coyly. 

“Mmmm I think I have a few things in mind,” he says in a low voice. 

“Like whaaaat,” you tease. 

You feel the both of you becoming even more excited as he mutters into your ear. 

“Mmm I like the sound of that,” you say softly. Then jokingly, “but what about your ramen?”

“I think I have an appetite for something else now…” 

[end]

—

find me on ao3 as well ♡

[suzdin]

Jackson: Redemption (Part Two)

(Joel Miller x female reader)

Summary: The conclusion to part one here.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, mean Joel, dom Joel, smut, edging, spitting, rough sex, mentions of weapons, unprotected sex, mentions of loss

——

Joel is back to ignoring you. And truth be told, it hurts.

Hurts a lot.

You had a pleasant enough dinner that night, after he’d fucked you, sitting with not only the two of them, but Tommy and Maria as well. It was nice to not sit alone. It was so nice, you looked forward to it again at breakfast the next day.

Only, it didn’t happen.

You sat with Ellie, Tommy and Maria, sure. But Joel wasn’t there. And he hadn’t been to a meal in the mess hall for days.

At least he didn’t seem to hate you any more. He no longer glowered at you when you saw him, didn’t make a point to make you feel uncomfortable in his wake. Didn’t fret over you talking to Ellie anymore, either. In fact, you were almost sure he appeared sad in the off chance you saw him looking at you.

But you wish he would go back to hating your guts because that was at least better than…whatever the fuck this was.

So you go on with your life. Taking care of the horses, feeding them daily, cleaning their stalls, working them so they don’t grow restless when they aren’t being ridden. Helping out in the kitchen a couple days a week.

Patricia, a rugged older widow from Montana whom you admire, shows you how to butcher a deer the day one of the scouting parties drags a massive, 8-point buck back to Jackson. It’s as gross as it is fascinating to you, Patricia’s worn hands expertly breaking down the still-warm animal as she discusses all the parts and techniques. You mentally log everything for later, should you ever need it.

You have venison and cornbread for dinner that night and it’s fantastic. You gab on about town life with everyone, since they’ve finally started to accept you. To trust you. It feels nice, but…

It’s empty without Joel. He has a way of filling a room with his presence alone.

You’re pretty sure Tommy and Maria know. Pretty sure they could tell that night when you’d come to dinner, the way you were both so mussed and flustered, Joel wiping the blood from his face instead of cleaning himself up properly like he normally would have. The way you’d smelled of each other.

Maria has tried to talk to you about it a few times. “Are you okay?” she’d asked. “Is something going on between the two of you?”

“Nothing is going on,” you responded, and it’s the truth. Because nothing is going on. He hasn’t wanted to be near you in days.

It doesn’t surprise you when Ellie also clues in that something is off. She’s too smart not to. She’s the only person who can really read Joel, aside from maybe Tommy. She’s taken up Joel’s place for glaring knives into you, but it’s less intimidating when she does it, because she isn’t a big and burly emotionless wall of muscle.

“You remember what you told me?” she’d asked you. “‘Bout that girl I like? You said, ‘Don’t be afraid to say hi. Just go talk to her.’ But you’re over here pussin’ out about talking to my dad when I know you want to! What the fuck?”

“It’s more complicated than that, kiddo,” you’d told her. But was it?

You start having nightmares about your grandparents again. They had stopped for a while. A stress response to everything you’ve been going through with Joel, no doubt. Not that you’re going through anything…the man has made it obvious he doesn’t want you.

So you whittle down the days, doing the best you can to keep your head up, to keep moving.

Because it’s all you can do.

——

Late night. Most everyone in town is settled in their homes or sleeping, except for you and a few other stragglers, as well as night patrol. You know Joel has been on night duty lately—probably took it up to skirt you as much as possible.

You’re sat at the bar and you’ve been nursing a glass of twenty year old wine for the last half hour, rolling the stem of the glass between your forefinger and thumb. You’ve already finished off half the bottle by yourself so it isn’t as though you aren’t already wasted.

It’s red wine which isn’t really your thing, but it’s the only option available other than whiskey, which most definitely isn’t your thing.

It’s quiet in here and you welcome the silence. There’s a low whine of wind outside and the hum of the ice machine, but everything else is serene. You close your eyes. Your head swims from the alcohol.

That’s when a familiar and haunting sound breaks the otherwise stillness of the bar: boots scraping against earth and then wood, the heaviness of the footfalls an unequivocal tell of who they belong to.

Your blood stills. You don’t turn around, hoping that if you make no sound or movement, he’ll be on his way. Like a T-Rex.

You listen as the boots slow and then stop in the doorway behind you, and you purse your lips into a hard line.

Here we fucking go.

“Hey.” Baritone, dripping with that sweet caramel southern charm.

You turn and press the small of your back against the bar, elbows propped up on the wood. You see Joel standing in the dark, dressed in jeans and a light blue shirt that barely fits his wide shoulders with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark hair disheveled.

He looks fucking good, but you’re still livid with him for ignoring you. You need to steady your resolve—gain the upper hand.

“Hey,” you say in a monotone drawl in response, downing the remainder of your glass of wine in one swallow.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Joel says, taking a few tentative steps toward you.

He stops under the lights, casting him in enough shadow to deepen the lines of his face. His brows are drawn upwards into an empathetic countenance, his eyes large and glossy, lending him a wounded puppy appearance.

It’s almost enough to break you. Almost.

“Why? You think I’m an alcoholic?” you laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

He hesitates. “‘Course not. Just see you here a lot, s’all.” His voice is cool and even. Almost soft.

He gives you a once over that makes you swallow. You’re dressed not dissimilarly to Joel, or to anyone else in town for that matter, since you all share the same work loads. You’re wearing dark blue jeans that hug your curves, a light green scoop neck tee that shows the slightest hint of cleavage, and weathered dark brown cowboy boots.

“I just wanted to say—“ he starts, but you whip a hand up to cut him off. Surprisingly, it works, when he stops and looks at you.

“Don’t,” you clip.

“Look,” he continues after a moment. “I’m—“

“Joel, there’s nothing that needs to be said. Because this…” You waggle a finger between the two of you. “This is nothing.” It sounds a lot meaner than you intend it to, but you’re still hurt and you never handled your alcohol well. Especially when you’ve downed half a bottle of it.

He recoils almost like you’ve injured him. “You think this is nothing?” he asks in an accusatory tone, placing his hands on his hips.

“Isn’t it? I mean, you’ve made that abundantly clear, yeah?” you question. You can feel your cheeks heat, but you feel surprisingly brazen, even under the hungering stare he’s currently pinning you with.

He says nothing, but takes another couple of steps forward. You’re so close to breaking—so close—as you imagine him bending you over and ripping your pants down, taking you here right up against the bar. The alcohol coupled with the sight of the surly man in front of you is enough to make your cunt clench tight at the thought.

But you’re angry and hurt and you want him to hurt too. So you hold up your hand again. You know if he actually reaches you, you’d never be able to control yourself; part of you hopes he won’t listen.

But he does. He stops, his arms swinging pendulously at his sides as he comes to an abrupt halt. His countenance twisting into a sneer.

“Fine,” he tuts in that dark, gravelly drawl. “‘F that’s what ya want, then so be it.” You see something in the lines of his face that resembles pain, and then he turns.

He balls his hands into fists and leaves you there, stalking out of the room like some twisted, angry thing, in so few strides that for a few moments you can’t actually believe that he’s there one instant and gone the next.

“Joel! Wait!” you call out, but it’s too late. He’s already gone—or maybe he’s lost interest.

And then you feel empty. Sad. Full of regret for lashing out, thinking maybe you’ve just ruined the only chance you had with Joel Miller. That maybe you should just leave Jackson and go find an abandoned cabin in the mountains and eke out some kind of existence on your own there, away from him.

You think that maybe that’s the right thing to do since being in such close proximity to Joel but not able to have him is madness and you’ve only made it worse.

You re-cork the wine bottle and leave it behind the bar for someone else to finish off, and you make a vow to never drink again.

——

A few more days go by, and Joel has reverted to his usual angry, sullen self. The Joel that hates you and by the way he looks at you, you guess still wants to kill you.

Yeah, that Joel.

You’re okay with it because at least it brings a sense of normalcy to your life, but the more it drags out, the more you begin to seriously consider leaving Jackson for good.

Would they let you? You hadn’t left the walls since you’d been filtered in, and hadn’t really shown any interest in doing so…until now.

It’s currently early morning. The sun isn’t even above the mountains yet, the air still sharp and chilly. You’re dressed unceremoniously in a black hoodie, light colored blue jeans and the same cowboy boots you always wear, because you’re on your way to start taking care of the horses with the help of Chen today.

You get to the stables and greet Chen, who has already begun shoveling hay into a wheel barrow to distribute around to the herd. Chen is about your age and decidedly handsome, and you think he might like you, but you aren’t too sure.

You’ve flirted casually with him and even thought about asking him out, to get your mind on someone other than Joel, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to actually do it.

“Hey,” he greets back. “Rats got into the grain again—we need to do something about that,” he says.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ll talk to Maria or Tommy about it after we’re done today.”

As if summoned by the mention of her name alone, you hear a familiar voice chime from behind you. You jump.

“I’ll have Tommy put down poison again,” Maria says.

You turn to face Maria, who’s smiling the same bright smile she uses when she expects something of you, causing your skin to creep with worry. She says hello to Chen and then turns back to you.

“You’re needed elsewhere,” she says to you. “Patricia will help Chen out today.”

Your eyebrows lift, but you don’t question it. They normally tell you ahead of time when you aren’t doing stables, so it catches you a bit off guard, but you’re okay with that. Anything that gives you a break from routine.

“Pick out two horses and get them saddled up,” she says. “You’re going on patrol today.”

This time you do question things because you’ve never been sent out on patrol—much less beyond the walls—before. That usually wasn’t your thing.

“Patrol? With who?”

She only smiles. You know exactly who.

“Maria! No!” you protest.

“Chen, can you excuse us for a few minutes? Girl talk,” Maria says. He nods and exits the stables.

Once he’s out of earshot, she turns back to you. “You have to. Tommy’s under the weather today. Flu, I think.”

“Maria, there has to be someone else. Surely there’s someone else?” you question in earnest.

“Maybe. But Tommy and I think you two should spend the day together. You know. To chat.” She smiles innocently. You can’t help but roll your eyes.

“Joel hates my guts. You know that, right?”

“No, actually, because he doesn’t. I don’t know Joel the way Tommy or Ellie does, but I’ve come to know him well enough to see that when he’s angry and broody, it’s because he’s trying not to feel anything at all. And he’s been…weird, since the two of you came to dinner together the other night,” she says. “You’ve been weird, too.”

You laugh. “I’ve been weird?” you ask.

“Yeah. I mean, you’ve been distant. Distracted. Something on your mind?” she accuses.

No. Nope. Only a fifty six year old man who fucked you senseless and you’re pretty sure you already have feelings for. That’s all.

“Not really,” you answer.

“Right,” she replies, completely unconvinced. “Well, you’re still going on patrol today. Final decision.”

The barn suddenly grows a little darker and you look up to see Joel, the whole expansive frame of him blotting out what little bit of light has managed to spill in. He leans one arm on the doorframe and his eyes sweep over you, slowly.

You can’t help the way your heart skips when you see him.

——

Joel seems as nonplussed about the arrangement as you are.

It surprises you when he doesn’t put up much of a fight about it; however, he often tends to cow when it comes to Tommy’s orders, and by extension, Maria’s.

You’ve been riding in complete and utter silence for about an hour. The sun is peaking over the mountains now, warming the morning and you’ve already shucked off your hoodie, draping it across the neck of your horse. Joel’s eyes stare straight ahead, unmoving, as you remove the bothersome article of clothing.

You steal glimpses of him when you think he isn’t paying attention. He’s also discarded his black and gray flannel overshirt, leaving his torso adorned in only a snug fitting, dark gray tee.

Said shirt beautifully accentuates the curve of muscles beneath the threadbare fabric, and his arms…you don’t think you’ve seen them before, but his biceps are enormous and unbelievably toned for a man of his age. You squirm when you imagine them wrapping around you; pinning you.

He’s wearing black jeans that somehow grip the tree trunks he has for thighs like they’re hanging on for dear life, and on his feet are the same dark brown Elk Tracker boots he always has on. His hair is unbrushed as usual.

He had picked Amarillo, a handsome buckskin quarter horse; the same one he always takes on runs. You had to admit the two of them shared a bond, the young gelding often listening to Joel better than anyone else.

It annoyed you that a horse held more of a place in Joel’s heart than you did.

For yourself, you had taken out Dakota, a lovely and gentle appaloosa mare whom you’d ridden around town a few times. She snorts as she takes in the surroundings, her ears flicking this way and that as she listens to the songs of the early morning birds.

You grow sick of the silence after a while, so of course you’re the one to break it first. You’ve never been one to be super chatty, but Joel takes not talking like it’s some kind of religious vow.

He could probably go the rest of his life without speaking. You, on the other hand, need to be assured of things on occasion, so you speak up.

“So, what do we do on these patrols?” you ask him. He shoots you a look like you’re stupid, and you probably are, his eyebrows pinching together and his lips parting slightly.

“We patrol,” he answers flatly.

“That’s it? We just ride around all day?” you ask. He shoots you another look and sighs.

“We look for anythin’ that might be out of the ordinary. Signs’a life or tracks. Shoot anyone who seems like a threat,” he expounds.

“How often does that happen?” you ask.

“How often does what happen?”

“Shooting people.”

“Not often. Usually don’t see anyone ‘t’all.”

You recall the night he had returned to town covered in blood. Someone else’s blood. Your fingers curl into the reins, trying to shake the image—and associated feelings—from your mind. Not the time or the place.

You nod and ‘mmm’ softly in confirmation. His eyes return to the trail and you glance at the rifle slung across his torso.

“I don’t have a gun,” you say, as if it’s some big proclamation.

He looks at you again.

“Ain’t givin’ you a gun,” he says. “Said yourself you’re a shit shot.”

“Then how am I supposed to shoot people?” you ask. You’re just trying to get under his skin at this point.

“I’ll shoot ‘em,” he replies.

You hold a hand up in mock defeat. “Ooookay,” you say.

He glares at you. “You’re a pain in the ass,” he chides. “Should cut you loose.”

You know he’s being facetious—at least you think he is—but it doesn’t prevent the words from stinging deep in your gut when you hear them coming from Joel’s mouth. The same way your words most likely did to him a few nights before.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” you remark. He tilts an eyebrow.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he asks, incredulous.

“Leaving,” you answer, intentionally keeping your response vague. He scoffs.

“You wouldn’t last the first winter on your own,” he replies. “Or even the first month. Can’t shoot, can’t hunt.”

You hate to admit it, but he’s right. You were young when outbreak happened, barely a teenager, and your grandparents coddled you; shielded you from the darkness the world had become.

Your grandfather did all of the hunting and gathering while your grandmother tended the garden, so you learned very little about survival during those formative years in the cabin. You had probably learned more in Jackson than you ever had with them.

Although they weren’t good men, you had been lucky at the time to be taken under the wing of the group who’d found you hapless and wandering the roads in Colorado, half-starved and dehydrated. You didn’t mind that they used your body. You welcomed it, in fact, because it meant you earned their protection, though you always knew they weren’t good people by any stretch of the imagination.

In spite of yourself, you decide to postulate with Joel anyway. “I would be just fine on my own,” you assert.

He smiles—like, actually smiles—to that. The first time you’ve ever seen anything from him that was more than just a sarcastic smirk. “Sure,” he drawls.

You’re trying to think of a good comeback when he pulls back on Amarillo’s reins. “Whoa, boy.” His dark brown eyes fix on a patch of soft, pock-marked mud.

You also stop Dakota, who shakes her head and lowers her muzzle to the earth, munching on the fresh spring grass.

“What?” you ask, oblivious. Joel points to what he’s seeing before dismounting to get a better look.

You dismount as well when you see it. There are three sets of similar tracks, the first being heavy and deep; the other two are barely visible, hardly heavy enough to make an indent in the mud at all. Round and fat, with with four corresponding digits on each track.

“Puma?” you ask. Joel nods.

“Looks that way,” he answers, and there isn’t a hint of snarkiness to his tone this time. “Mama and two babies, by the looks of it.”

“Awww,” you can’t help but say. He looks at you and raises his eyebrows, causing his forehead to crinkle in an endearingly adorable manner.

“Ain’t cute,” he grunts. “This is a problem. This is the closest set of puma tracks we’ve found t’town.” He runs a finger along the inner wall of one of the mother cat’s prints. “Fresh tracks, too. Probably from last night.” He scans the area for any signs you’re being watched, particularly the trees.

“She’s just trying to live, like the rest of us,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“She’s a potential threat. Babies too, when they’re grown. To the horses, the livestock—us,” Joel retorts. “You think those walls can stop a puma?” he asks.

You shrug.

“Well, they can’t. She gets any closer, she’ll need t’be dealt with,” he says.

“That’s kinda fucked,” you say. He smirks—dry and mirthless—and shakes his head.

“I change my mind. You wouldn’t last a week on your own with that kinda mindset,” he says. “Don’t know how you survived this long already.”

Your chest swells with anger, but you have to admit that, once again, he’s right. You had only been on the road three days when those men found you, and you’d been lucky to find a fresh stream to drink from until then, which you’d stumbled upon by happenstance rather than skill.

Though you don’t know it yet, Joel admires your softness—your naïveté—for what it is. It had been a while since he’d known someone like you and it made him miss the old days. He wants to protect you. To teach you. He won’t admit it, but he doesn’t want you to leave, either. He thinks, if you left, he’d probably have to leave with you, if nothing else but to ensure your survival.

He stares down at you with a mixture of longing and annoyance in his eyes. All you happen to notice is the latter.

“Exactly. I have survived all these years. There’s a reason for that,” you say.

Yeah. Your grandparents. Those men. Tommy and Maria.

“‘F you say so,” he responds, rolling his eyes. That lights a fire in your belly and your skin heats at how flippant he’s being.

“Fuck off,” you snarl.

He laughs, pleased with himself that he’s managed to get under your skin finally, and the satisfaction of it goes straight to his cock. He wants to push your buttons a little more to see just how much he can get you worked up.

What he doesn’t know is that you also want to get under his skin even more than you already have. You aren’t sure how, since he’s seemed to trap you with his words, but you’ll figure something out.

He turns to clamber back up his horse and you see your opportunity. It’s childish. It’s stupid. It will most definitely piss him off, which is what you want. But you need to regain control, and swiftly.

He lifts his arms to grab the saddle horn in order to propel himself upwards, and in doing so, exposes about an inch of skin between the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his jeans. You need to act fast, before he’s actually on the horse, lest he hurt himself—or you—in the process.

You slip your fingers under his shirt and skate your finger tips up his spine. His skin is surprisingly soft to the touch, and you want to hold them there in reverence of the warm, silken flesh, but he obviously doesn’t give you the opportunity.

He reacts like a spooked animal—which is not too far off once you stop to think about it—startling the horses in the process. He grabs your arm and twists you against him, pulling you close, contorting his lips into a gnarled sneer.

“Just what the hell you think you’re doin’?” he snarls in your face.

You should be satisfied with your victory since this is exactly how you wanted him to react, but you still feel a ripple of fear go through your chest, your breath hitching in your rib cage. His brow furrows into a dark line, his lips stretched thin in a frown.

“Well?” he asks, and his grasp on your arm loosens, but he pulls you closer with his other hand at the small of your back. “Manage t’finally shut you up?”

You shouldn’t be so turned on by this, but your core is rife with heat and your underwear already on the verge of soaking. What you don’t know is that Joel has been half hard in his jeans most of the morning, staring at the back of your head whenever you happen to glance away, thinking about that night.

That one night.

But he’s also been thinking about the night when he found you in the bar, and subsequently the pain you’d caused him by pushing him away. He was there to apologize, and you wouldn’t even give him half a chance.

You maintain eye contact as long as you can, but you’re forced to look away when his dark eyes overwhelm every sense in your body.

He uses his free hand to drag your face back to his. “Asked you a question, pretty girl,” he says, and that’s when you feel the hard line of his cock digging into your thigh. You swallow.

“Just um—just wanted to piss you off,” you answer meekly. “Couldn’t let you win.”

He smirks, keeping your gaze forced in his grip to look at him. “Well, it worked. Now what?” he asks you.

You attempt a shrug, but you’re barely able to hump your shoulders when his mouth is on you, ravenous, starting at the delicate dip of your collarbone and working his way up to your lips, bit by bit, until your mouths collide, teeth and tongues lashing.

You chirp with satisfaction—relief—that he’s finally touching you, kissing you, again, his hand that was at the small of your back moving up to tangle in your hair. He rumbles in his throat, baritone and needy.

He kisses you deeply, deft tongue working the inside of your mouth, latticing his tongue over yours as you suckle back with equal fervor.

Using the hand currently fisted in your hair, he drags your face away from his, your lips parting in a satisfactory smack, to stare into your eyes, while the other hand roves your body.

“This what you want?” he asks you, stopping at the swell of your breast to massage it against his palm, feeling the hard peak of your nipple. He digs his fingers firmly into the pillow soft flesh.

You can’t nod quickly enough, your desperation with which your body moves against his, with his, more than evident.

He sweeps his hand down your body, slow, slow—agonizingly slow—eventually settling between the soft apex of your thighs, hooking his middle finger against the seam of your pants.

“How ‘bout now?”

You nod even more desperately than before, a minuscule whimper sounding in your throat at the contact, even through the layers of material separating you.

“Use your fucking words. Talk to me,” he snaps, your name falling from his tongue.

“Yes, Joel,” you answer, your voice wavering with need. His expression is stoic, unreadable. It’s hard to know exactly what he’s thinking.

Both hands move to your front now, undoing your pants just enough to slip a single hand inside, his middle finger pressing against the sensitive bud between your folds, causing your hips to jerk into his hand at the sudden invasion.

He drags said finger down your seam, gathering your slick on the pad of his finger, and you grind against him, chasing the feel of his rough digit against your skin. Your breathing is erratic now; labored.

“Fuck, baby, already so worked up,” he says. “Bet you’d let me fuck you right here in the woods, wouldn’t you?”

There’s no use denying it. It probably isn’t the wisest choice with a mama lion running around and god knows what else in those woods, but you’d already let him take you in an alley between some buildings in Jackson—the least romantic place you can think of—with a high probability of being caught. There really isn’t much juxtaposition here.

Besides, he can already tell by the way your body bends to his touch that you would salaciously agree to any of his demands.

“Yes, Joel,” you admit, swallowing the lump cresting your throat.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl,” he snarls. “Knew ya’d say yes. What else would you let me do t’you?”

He drags your jeans further down your hips, exposing your cunt to the cool spring air, your arousal so evident that you can actually smell yourself.

He fixes his hand in your hair again, screwing his fingers in deep until they tug at your scalp, jerking your gaze up to meet his glare.

“Asked ya a question, sweetheart.”

You blink, your mind misty as you struggle to recall what he’d just asked you, overburdened by every towering inch of him.

“Any—anything you want, Joel,” you answer when it finally hits you, and it’s the truth. Joel’s lips crook into a lopsided smirk.

“S’what I thought. Little slut, letting me take her an’way I see fit, in the middle of these woods.”

He notches two fingers at your entrance with his other hand, collecting your wetness on the pads of his middle and index fingers. Your eyes slide down to where he’s currently cupping your pussy, and he whips your head back up for the second time.

“Keep your eyes on me. Wanna see you,” he rumbles.

You obey. At least for a moment.

He glides both fingers through your opening, pushing deeper, slowly stretching you around thick, calloused digits. You keen and gyrate against his touch, eyelids fluttering shut.

“What did I just fuckin’ say?” he barks, feeling the heat of his breath on your face. Your eyelids fly back open.

“S-Sorry, Joel,” you reply.

“Sweet girl,” he praises, smirking. “All bark and no bite, ‘specially when I’m full fuckin’ knuckles deep inside of her.”

His words make you moan and you curl your body against him, craving more, more, your cunt clenching to pull his fingers deeper.

He obliges, crooking them against the soft, spongy material deep within your walls, sending you into a shuddering buck, your arm shooting out to steady yourself on his broad chest.

“So needy, baby. Do you think about me when you touch this cunt?” he asks, not giving you a chance to respond. “Or do ya think of your little boyfriend, Chen?”

Your brows knit together, and you shake your head fervently. “Don’t think about him, Joel. On— mmf— only y-you.”

His fingers fuck into you at a gingerly pace, palm brushing your swollen clit on every pass.

“Faster, Joel, please—“ you plead, chasing his fingers with your body. The hand in your hair moves down to your hips, keeping you firmly in place.

“Stop movin’.”

His lips find your neck, teeth biting sharp against your pulse point, causing you to yelp with pleasure at the small amount of pain. He grins against your flesh and soothes the mark with his tongue, nipping roughly up your jaw, uncaring that it’ll most likely leave marks, groaning deep in his chest when he feels you tightening around his fingers with every scrape of teeth on skin.

He finally picks up the pace and you keen, breathing hard in his ear.

“Who’s this pussy belong to?”

“Y-you, J-Joel—only you,” you say.

“S’right, angel. All mine. And you’re not gonna let him have my pussy, are ya?” he growls.

“No, never—just—fuck—just you,” you say.

“Good girl,” he breathes against your skin, snaking his free arm around to encircle your back, keeping you solidly in place against him as he continues his ministrations with his fingers, repeatedly nudging your g-spot. You feel the pressure building deep in the pit of your abdomen.

Your eyes move from Joel’s visage to his bicep, admiring the way it flexes as he’s pumping deep into you with his fingers, and you realize that Joel is still completely clothed, not even palming himself over his pants despite the ever present erection bearing down on your hip.

“Eyes up here, darlin’,” he says quietly, but there’s a hint of edge to it.

You suck in a breath and obediently shift your eyes back to his, unblinking, as your fingers wrap around the prominent outline of his cock through his jeans.

The arm that’s currently holding you in place moves so fast you don’t register the movement at first; not until his hand is already ensnaring your wrist, pulling you away, his dark eyes flashing with something as if he’s annoyed he doesn’t have enough limbs to keep you where he wants you.

“No. Not yet,” he commands lowly.

You swallow back a whimper.

Finally, his pace reaches the crescendo that you were so desperately needing, a single trickle of perspiration rolling down Joel’s forehead, the combined effort of pumping into you with his fingers and holding you in place making him break into a sweat. His lips part and his nose crinkles, dark eyes drilling holes through your skull as his gaze remains fixed on your face.

You’re so close.

The sound is obscene, slicked wet skin slapping against slicked wet skin, both of you nearly out of breath.

You keen, biting your lip, wrapping a hand around Joel’s sweat covered neck to steady yourself. He lets you.

“You ‘bout to come for me, sweet girl?” he asks. You whimper and seek out his mouth with your lips, but he denies you access.

You pout.

“Come on my fingers, darlin’,” he says, a dastardly grin widening his features.

He can feel you clamping around him, that familiar feeling of pleasure building in your core, the dam on the verge of breaking at any moment.

You’re about to come, your chest heaving in tandem with Joel’s, a loud, throaty moan escaping your lips.

You’re about to come and then Joel stops.

“Jo-Joel? What?” you ask, breathlessly, searching his face for answers. Your eyes dart around, thinking something is wrong. Your core throbs, aching for release. You try to move against him, but he stops you.

“W-why?”

He pulls his fingers out of you, bringing them to his lips and actually licking them clean right in front of your face.

“Pull your pants up and get back on the horse, sweetheart,” he commands softly.

“But—“

“Do it,” he says, leaving no room for protest.

You pull your pants up and fasten them as you watch Joel. He has a triumphant look on his face, and that’s when it hits you.

Joel is denying you an orgasm because he is punishing you.

Punishing you for what? For taunting and poking the bear? For touching him? For pushing him away a few nights ago?

Maybe all of the above?

Angry tears threaten to breach the levy, your hands twisting into fists, nails digging so hard into the soft flesh of your palm you break skin.

Fury licks like hot embers at the backs of your eyes. You see red.

“Joel, what the fuck,” you snarl.

“Get back on the horse, or I’m leavin’ you here,” he threatens. “Ain’t gonna ask again.”

Your cheeks heat. You want to punch him. He stares you down, daring you to defy him, jaw clicking to one side as he plants his hands on his hips.

You want to. You want to defy him so badly, but you believe him when he says he’ll leave you behind.

With a deflated snarl, you turn and clamber back up your horse, refusing to look at Joel.

You finish the rest of the patrol in silence.

——

Despite being on a horse most of the day, your legs are surprisingly sore from keeping you balanced in the stirrups for hours. Not to mention your ass is numb and your back hurts like hell.

And Joel. Fucking Joel.

You can’t even look at him without wanting to strangle him.

You think you catch the occasional cocky smirk playing on his lips, but you can’t be sure; the man is so hard to read sometimes. Either way, you somehow maintain composure despite wanting to slam your fist into his jaw, and that alone deserves a medal.

You return to Jackson approximately six hours after you left. The rest of the ride was uneventful—boring even—and Chen is there to greet you at the gate.

“Welcome back,” he says, taking Dakota by the reins as you dismount. Your legs shake with the effort, causing you to groan.

“Hey,” you greet.

“You okay?” Chen asks, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. The way Joel’s eyes clock the movement doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

Joel dismounts next to you, bumping Chen’s arm with his elbow in the process. You know it wasn’t an accident.

“Sorry,” Joel says. “Slipped.”

You glare at Joel. He pretends not to see.

Chen clears his throat, clearly uncomfortable with whatever he just witnessed, reaching for Amarillo’s reins next. “I’ll just take the horses back to the barn, then.”

“Hang on. I’ll help you,” you announce, trailing after him. You’re barely able to make it a few steps before you feel a familiar hand surround your wrist.

Chen turns just in time to see Joel rooting you firmly in place.

“S’okay,” Joel says to you, but his eyes are currently burning holes through Chen. “Think he can handle it.”

You look up at Joel, your brows knitting together. You then turn to Chen, apologetically.

“Is everything alright?” he asks you.

“Everythin’s fine. She’s needed elsewhere,” Joel responds before you can. Chen passes the much larger man an incredulous glance, before sliding his gaze back to you.

“Are you sure everything’s alright?” he asks you again, sensing the tension churning between the two of you.

You swallow, briefly toying with the idea of ripping your arm free of Joel’s grasp and telling him in no uncertain terms to fuck right off.

But you don’t, because you can’t help but feel a small amount of giddiness that Joel Miller is actually touching you in public. The way your body thrums under his spell doesn’t go unnoticed by Joel, either. You swear you see a ghost of a smirk gracing his naturally pouty lips.

You’re also more than a little curious what he could want with you.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Just forgot that…Joel wanted me to help Ellie with her homework today,” you lie, hoping it sounds convincing enough to be be true. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

He nods, casting his gaze where Joel’s large hand still loosely encircles your wrist. His thumb skirts the meat of your palm.

“Yeah. Okay. See you tomorrow,” Chen says.

——

You walk in silence in the direction that you know leads to Joel and Ellie’s small cottage. Joel doesn’t move his hand from your wrist, and you get more than a few stares from the townspeople of Jackson who have probably never seen the two of you together aside from that one dinner several long nights ago. And even then, you had Ellie separating the two of you.

You imagine that from a distance it must look pretty intimate, as if you’re two lovers linked hand in hand. Your fingers brush over his, teasingly, but he doesn’t falter.

He’s a man on a mission, making a beeline straight to his house. You try not to let yourself get your hopes up, but it’s difficult not to. What does he want?

“Joel,” you say, and he looks at you with a frown. “Slow down, please.”

Surprisingly, he does.

“Why are we going to your house?” you ask. You think you know—maybe—based on prior events. But you don’t want to make assumptions.

“To talk,” he answers vaguely.

Well, that clears things right the fuck up.

“That doesn’t tell me anything, Joel,” you retort.

“Jesus,” he says, followed by your name. “Can’t wait five fucking minutes?”

You huff, but don’t press the issue further, falling into yet another palpable silence.

——

You’re standing in Joel’s living room.

You’ve never been in here before, with all the times you’ve seen the outside of the small cottage. It’s cozy. The furniture is a mix of new and old, rustic and mass produced. It’s decorated like a woman lived here once, long ago, the few feminine touches here and there making you smile. Making you remember your grandma.

Joel strides in from the kitchen, clutching a bottle of alcohol by the neck in one hand and two short, clear glasses between his fingers in the other. He perches them on the coffee table and leans into a sit on the couch, pouring the brown liquid into each glass.

“Sit down. Ain’t gonna bite,” he says.

“With you? I’m not so sure about that,” you joke, hesitantly scooting next to him on the couch. You intentionally leave about a foot of space between you.

He smirks.

He slides your glass closer to you on the table. You think by the color that it’s whiskey. Smells like it, too.

“Ellie?” you ask him. You don’t need to elaborate more than that; he knows what you’re getting at.

“Stayin’ over at Tommy and Maria’s place tonight,” he responds.

You swallow.

“Oh,” you say. Oh.

Your cheeks flush. You vowed not to drink alcohol again, but you find yourself reaching for the glass anyway. You definitely fucking need it now.

“Don’t have ice like at the bar. Sorry ‘f it’s warm,” he says.

You down the contents of the glass in one go. The heat blooms hot in your chest all the way up to your throat. You hiss at the way it burns.

Joel shakes his head at you. “Lightweight,” he criticizes, downing his glass without even making a face. He pours two more glasses; you wring your hands nervously, watching him.

The veins in his neck pulse as he leans over the coffee table; his biceps flex as his arms reach. You can already feel yourself starting to sweat.

“So you wanted to talk,” you say, attempting to stay focused.

“When you got here. To town, I mean. I didn’t like you,” he says like it’s some kind of revelation.

You purse your lips and hum lightly. “Yeah. I know. Everyone knows,” you reply. “You still don’t. Right?”

He scowls at you sidelong and rolls his eyes, bringing the whiskey to his lips and sucking down the second glass.

“Thought you were too soft. Didn’t think you’d ever integrate into the community.”

“So you brought me to your house to insult me? Real classy, Joel,” you berate, putting your hands on your knees as you stand to leave. A single hand—broad, thick, warm—wraps one of your legs.

“Sit down,” he says sternly. “Ain’t done.”

You flounder. Eventually, you sit back down, and you notice you’re considerably closer, this time.

“Didn’t think you could do it, but ya proved me wrong. Can’t deny you’re a quick learner and a hard worker,” he admits. You relax…a little.

“The reason I came to the bar the other night…” he begins, raking a hand through his stubble, “…is ‘cause I wanted to apologize for bein’ an asshole to you.” He looks at you directly this time, and you can see the barest hint of warmth in the dark pools of his brown eyes.

You peer back at him. You want to say something, but you aren’t sure what, exactly. You want to trust him, want to kiss him, fall into his arms, but you still have reservations. This isn’t a side of Joel you’ve ever seen before. This isn’t even the Joel from this morning.

“And I forgive you. For Diana. Know it wasn’t…your fault,” he continues. You hear him swallow, watching his adam’s apple make a pass along the line of his throat.

You feel your pulse quicken and you rip your gaze away, reaching for your glass on the table to swallow it in a single gulp. Somehow, it burns even more than the first.

“I’m sorry,” you manage, your voice cracking. “How did you know her?”

You don’t think it could have been a romantic connection; she seemed quite a bit older than Joel. Then again, who knows. It isn’t like Joel doesn’t have about twenty years on you.

“When I first came to Jackson, I was a nobody. Just some angry old man who happened to be related to Tommy. Ellie was having trouble adjustin’, too. People didn’t like us. But Diana took Ellie under her wing, same way Patricia has with you. Little by little, people started accepting us. I was forever grateful to her for that. For helpin’ Ellie.”

You nod slowly, taking in this new bit of information. You aren’t sure what to do with it, if you’re being honest.

Part of you wants to thank him for the booze and flee back to the safety of the barn or the mess hall. You can feel the alcohol working its way through your system already, heating you from the inside out. Your thoughts thrumming high like a fever pitch between your ears.

You want to flee. But an even larger part of you wants to stay.

You settle for placing a hand on his knee, consolingly, because you’re afraid to touch him any other way right now. He tracks the movement like you’ve just dropped a cobra into his lap. And then he’s on you.

The broad expanse of his hand wraps the back of your neck and his lips crash into yours, devouring you like a man starved. His other hand slithers around to the small of your back, tugging you into him.

You let out a moan while his tongue explores your mouth the moment your lips part. You moan a second time and he swallows it down, rumbling in a deep timbre as he tastes you.

Ellie’s stayin’ over at Tommy and Maria’s tonight.

Is that an open invitation for you to stay? You can’t even begin to imagine sharing a bed with Joel for an entire night. You can barely envision a bed at this point, after sleeping on that uncomfortable cot for so long. The idea makes your head swim. You can’t help the way your body begins trembling like a cornered mouse.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Joel. “You alright, darlin’?” he asks. “Shakin’ like a leaf.”

“I’m fine,” you lie. Truthfully, you’re still wrung tighter than a bow string after this morning, and you’re more than a little concerned that history will repeat itself.

You tell him in as many words.

“Won’t happen again if you’re a good girl this time,” he rumbles. It goes straight to your core.

Oh, fuck.

He stands, pulling you up with him in the process. “C’mon, darlin’,” he says. “Bedroom’s this way.”

——

You’re in Joel fucking Miller’s bedroom.

You’re in his room.

It’s sweltering in here. You aren’t sure if it’s because the room is already warm, or the alcohol, or both. You feel a bead of sweat roll down the plane of your back.

Joel’s already shucking off his jeans. You look at his face and that familiar scowl has returned, the distinct line of his visage darkening predatorily.

Won’t happen again if you’re a good girl this time.

His words buzz through you, making you shiver. Making you sweat harder.

“Take off your clothes, sweetheart,” he orders.

It would probably help with cooling you down. At least for a moment. You sit on the edge of the bed and pull off your boots, tossing them to the corner next to an unfolded pile of laundry. You remove your shirt and pants next, joining your boots on the floor.

“Can we open a window?” you ask, fanning yourself lazily.

Your back is still to him. Although you’ve already fucked once, and Joel has been face and fingers deep in your pussy, you’re still mostly afraid to turn around.

You haven’t seen each other fully naked yet.

“Neighbors are gonna hear us,” Joel replies lowly. You hear the window open soon after, and a cool breeze slips over your body. It’s exactly what you need.

“Thanks.”

You turn nervously to face him, heart fluttering like a caged bird in your chest. Your breath hitches when you take in the sight of the man before you—he’s stripped down to his boxer briefs, the long line of his cock straining against the thin fabric.

For his age, he’s fit. You could tell he was muscular before, but you didn’t realize the extent of it since he’s always covering himself up in flannels and jackets.

His shoulders are wide and square, easing down into the corded musculature of his chest and arms, sweeping to a barely pooched stomach marred by a healed over, ugly scar, and hips that are just slightly more narrow than his shoulders. A dark swathe of curly hair disappears into the waistband of his shorts, and you’re impervious to stop your eyes from fixating on the bulge there.

Your breath damn near stops when his gaze rakes over every inch of exposed skin. He looks at you like you’re the only person he’s ever bothered to see.

“Something on your mind, darlin’?” he asks you.

“You, Joel. J-just you.”

“C’mere,” he says with an outstretched hand.

He meets you halfway and snakes an arm around your back, the other hand moving to loosely collar your neck. He bends his face to the hollow of your collarbone, swiping at a line of sweat on your skin with the flat of his tongue. You keen, feeling the vibrations of your throat against his palm.

“Y’gonna be a good girl for me?” he queries. You nod, your heart rate quickening at your pulse points still in his grip.

“Then prove it.” He pushes you into a sit on the edge of the bed in front of him, spreading your legs with one swift motion of his foot, slotting himself between them.

His face is hard and expressionless. He says nothing, but you already know exactly what he expects of you.

Your fingers are shaking. This is ridiculous—it’s not like you’re some wide-eyed, innocent virgin. But as you reach for the waistband of his shorts and pull them down his thick legs, large cock springing free right in front of your face, you can hardly prevent yourself from vibrating with need.

“S’okay, angel. You’re okay,” he soothes, cupping your cheek with a weathered hand.

It’s not like you haven’t seen his cock before. But not like this, inches from your face, the head an angry shade of pink and leaking precum.

You steady your nerves as you fist the base of the shaft in your hand and bring him to your lips, sliding the tip into the heat of your mouth and slowly inching yourself down onto him, your jaw gradually adjusting to the girth. He grips your shoulders and releases a ragged breath.

“That’s it, baby girl. Jus’ like that,” he praises.

You relax your throat muscles as you take him deeper, breathing through your nose, hollowing your cheeks.

“Doin’ so good. Takin’ this cock so well. Not even a single tear.” He moves a hand from your shoulder to your hair, brushing it aside so he can watch you. “So fuckin’ pretty with my cock buried in your face.”

The head of his cock bumps the back of your throat and he moans, hips jerking involuntarily at the sensation, causing you to choke. He pulls out of you, letting you catch your breath.

“Doin’ so well. Know you can take it, though, can’t you?”

You hum in affirmation and take him back into your mouth when you feel you’re ready, better adjusted to his size on this go around, taking him almost all the way to the back of your throat in one go. He rumbles deep in the barrel of his chest and twists his fingers tightly in your hair.

You reach the end of his cock and hold there as long as you can, tasting the salty tang of sweat and precum on your tongue. You pull back off of him when you feel like it’s too much.

“One more time for me, baby. Prove to me what a good little slut you are,” he growls. “Be a good girl f’me.”

You slide him back into your mouth, the vein that runs the length of his cock pulsing against your tongue, the dark curls at his base tickling your nose when you reach the end and he bottoms out again. You take long, even breaths through your nose, holding him in your throat.

He doesn’t give you a chance to break away this time. He grips either side of your head and holds you in place as he begins to slowly fuck into your face.

“Mmmf— fuck yes, baby girl, doin’ so well…”

His pace quickens when you proffer no resistance, rutting at a heedy crescendo into you. Rivulets of drool dribble down your chin.

It doesn’t take long before it becomes too much, your throat tightening and jaw aching something fierce. You make a small sound of surrender as you tap his forearm, and he stops almost immediately, gazing down at you, his lips parted into an arc. He cups a hand under your chin and tilts your head back, eyes shifting from brown to black.

“Open up for me, baby. One more time.”

You oblige, his thumb and forefinger pressing gently into the hollow spaces between your upper and lower jaw. He runs the thumb of his free hand over your bottom lip, dragging it down, and spits directly into your mouth.

You blink up at him in surprise as he gently clasps your lips shut.

“Good girl. Think you’ve earned it now?” he asks you.

“Y-yes, Joel,” you answer as you swallow him down.

He moves away from you, grabbing a pillow from higher up on the bed and positioning it at your back.

He crouches in front of you, wrapping your hips with his muscled arms and dragging you to the edge of the bed, lifting and spreading your legs.

“Fuck, sweet girl. Fuckin’— fuckin’ soaked,” he growls.

If it’s possible, the attention makes you even wetter, causing you to cant your hips and clench around nothing. He chuckles.

“So needy, sweetheart. Get comfortable.”

You lean back onto the pillow and the way it smells like Joel makes you swoon. He pushes your legs together briefly to drag your panties down and off, tossing them onto the dresser pressed to the wall behind him.

“I’m keepin’ those,” he says. You don’t dare to question it.

He lifts himself slightly higher and reaches your breasts, gripping your bra in both hands, and before you can say anything, he rips it free from your body, leaving it in tatters on the bed next to you.

You want to say something. It’s not like bras are common nowadays, having to get them custom made most of the time, or be lucky enough to find one in a derelict store.

But, once again, you don’t question it. Your desperation for the release Joel is about to give you overrides the logical portions of your brain. You can worry about the scrap of fabric later.

He must read what you’re thinking on your face, because he says, “I’ll replace that for you. Panties, too.”

You nod. “Thanks.” You don’t know what else to say, but you forget about thinking soon enough anyway, because his mouth is on you in an instant, tongue parting your seam as he swipes up your slit.

You’re still so sensitive from the orgasm he denied you earlier, your back coming all the way off the bed when his tongue reaches your clit, your hand darting out to grip his hair for purchase; to ground you.

“Fuck!” you cry out.

He drags his teeth with the lightest pressure he can manage over the delicate bundle of nerves, keeping you spread open with his hand. Each pass has you mewling and writhing against him.

“You that desperate to come, sweetheart?” he asks, his lips glistening with your slick as he locks eyes with you.

“Yes, please,” you beg.

“Poor baby,” he jests, burying himself back into the hot apex of your thighs. He takes your clit between his lips, suckling it. You grind against his mouth, shamelessly chasing the high he denied you earlier as retribution.

He slips two fingers between your soaked folds, sinking them all the way to the hilt and crooking them against your g-spot, fucking into you with both fingers as his mouth showers your clit with much needed attention.

He can already feel you bearing down on his fingers, and he can’t help but grin as he fucks into you faster.

“Gonna come for me, angel?” he asks softly.

That’s all it takes; suddenly your orgasm is ripping through you, and you’re falling to pieces beneath him, the flood of your release dripping down and soaking the bed sheets below. He doesn’t pull away immediately, riding out your high as long as he can, murmuring at the taste of you on his tongue, his lips, until you indicate that the stimulation is too much. He stops, lifting his eyes to yours.

You’re a mess. An absolutely wrecked, fucked out mess.

He stands, motioning for you to move back. You do your best to climb up the bed at his behest, but truth be told, you’re absolutely weak from how hard you just came.

“Take your time,” he says, trailing a hand up your spine. It’s almost affectionate.

You eventually make it to the middle of the bed and he places the pillow behind your neck. You settle into it, situating yourself as best you can. He’s on you an instant later, caging you down into the sheets, his massive frame pressing you into the mattress as it groans under your combined weight.

The first time you fucked was not intimate, with you facing away from him in a dark alleyway as he railed into you from behind. You’re almost shy to be face to face with him like this.

He gnashes his teeth over your earlobe, bearing down on the soft flesh. “Gonna make you come again on my cock, darlin’,” he drawls in that sweet southern lilt in your ear. “Think you can take me all at once?”

You nod. “Yes, Joel. Know I can.”

“Know ya can too, sweetheart,” he agrees, shifting his weight on top of you as he lines his hips up with yours, slotting his head at your entrance. “Ready?”

You hardly have time to incline your head in a nod before he’s spearing into you, hips snapping roughly against yours as he enters you in one long, hard thrust. You cry out, arching beneath him at the intrusion.

“Fuck, baby. So goddamn tight,” he groans.

He angles your legs up, tilting them back so he can push himself further into you. He bottoms out, bumping your back wall with the head of his cock.

The stretch is almost too much. He’s almost filling you too much. But you’ve taken all of him before and know you can do it again.

He snaps into you one more time, making you keen. You’re both slippery with sweat, the breeze through the small window hardly providing any relief at all, but it doesn’t matter.

He props himself up on his elbows, hovering over you as he presses the flat of his hips into yours, rutting into you slowly. You shut your eyes and roll your head into the pillow.

“Uh uh. Eyes on me,” he growls. You don’t test him, your eyes flying open and making contact with his a second later, the ridge of his brow pinched in concentration. “Good girl,” he praises.

Every press into you, no matter how languid, is heavenly. No one has ever split you open like this before, made you ache like this before, and you don’t think anyone will compare ever again.

Not like you would ever want to be with anyone else after Joel.

“Joel…” you whimper, skating your fingers up his biceps. “Harder, fuck me harder,” you plead.

He smirks, twin dark eyes sparkling. “Not yet. Goin’ to enjoy you,” he replies, leaning back onto his calves so he can watch the way you swallow him. “Such a needy little cunt.” His words would make you drip if he wasn’t currently stuffing you full of him.

He lowers himself onto you, lips skirting your neck as he peppers the occasional kiss up the line that extends into your jaw. It’s surprisingly soft—for Joel, anyway—until he bears down with a sharp sting of teeth along the curve of your cheek, making you moan. He feels you clamp down on him in reverence to the small hurt.

“Such a dirty little slut,” he rumbles, soothing the area with his lips. “Only for me.”

You nod in agreement, shuddering beneath him, writhing with desire as he continues to pump steadily into you, nudging your clit with his lower belly on each pass. “Yours, only y-yours,” you agree.

He fists a handful of your hair and presses his lips into yours, your mouths merging in a clash of tongues and teeth, pausing on occasion to administer soft nips to your lips, making them puffy and swollen with use.

He’s marking you; claiming you. A stark contrast from only weeks ago.

You match the motions of his hips with your own, desirous to feel more of him, chasing the sensations of his cock driving into you, craving more. He’s still going so slow—agonizingly so.

He places a rough palm into your hip, preventing you from moving. “Tell me what you want,” he says.

“Need you to fuck me harder, Joel,” you beg.

“Only ‘f you ask nicely.”

“Please, please, fuck me harder,” you plead, slinking your fingers into his sweat-soaked hair. “Need to come again.”

“Okay, angel. Since ya asked so nice.” He grabs you just under your thighs, hiking your legs up above his hips, deepening the angle. You keen and buck against him at the added depth.

He begins slamming his hips into yours, your keening moans matching every wet and squelchy smack of his hips into yours, your combined utterances of pleasure filling the small space.

Each thrust threatens to knock every breath, every sense out of you; you feel the familiar pressure starting to flower deep in your core. His name becomes a chant on your tongue, which only spurs him on.

“Gonna come for me, angel?” he asks you, feeling your walls tightening around his length. You barely manage a nod, your head going swimmy at the thought.

His lips contort into a snarl, and he gives you everything he can, railing into you so hard the head board is slamming roughly into the wall. There’s a feral, hungry look in his eyes, seeing you and seeing through you all at the same time.

Suddenly, your vision turns to white stars and your head slumps back, hitting the pillow, crying out as a second orgasm crashes through you like a freight train.

“Fuck, Joel, yes—“

Joel isn’t far behind, his breaths becoming more ragged—more erratic—in the broad barrel of his chest, jaw going slack as he clamps his eyes shut in concentration. His hips stutter into you and stall out for a brief moment and then he’s pulling himself free of your soaked folds, gripping himself in his fist and pumping a few times before he’s spilling thick rivulets of cum across your stomach and mound, your name departing his lips multiple times as he milks out the last few drops.

He stays perched over you for just a moment, admiring his work; you’re both breathless and drenched in sweat, and he falls back onto the sheets next to you, his chest heaving as he sucks in as much oxygen as he can.

“That was—“ he begins, lungs shuddering in his chest. “Fuck, baby. Thank you.”

You smile, propping yourself up on your elbow next to him, leaning down to place a soft kiss to his temple.

“No, Joel. Thank you.”

He looks at you. There’s a gentleness in his eyes, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him look this soft and vulnerable before. It makes your heart sing.

You fall back onto the bed next to him, still in the process of catching your breath, a cool breeze spilling through the window just in time to fan over your sweat-slick bodies. And you lie there in silent worship for who knows how long, basking in the afterglow.

——

You shower together to conserve the limited usage of water. As soon as the last of the shampoo is rinsed from your hair, he reaches behind you and cuts it off.

You didn’t expect Joel to let you shower at his place. You had been showering daily at Tommy and Maria’s for so long—practically living there for the most part aside from sleeping arrangements—that you had half expected to do the walk of shame to their house afterward.

You’re relieved when Joel offers to let you use his instead.

You both step out of the shower in tandem, dripping onto the bath mat as you stand shoulder to shoulder in the small en suite. He passes you a towel, and you both dry yourselves in silence.

You aren’t talking as usual—Joel being a man of few words—but it isn’t tense as it usually is. It’s a peaceful, relaxed silence, one that doesn’t make you second guess your every minute gesture.

Together, you go back into his bedroom. When you’re done with the towel, he takes it from you, tossing it onto a second pile of laundry in the opposite corner.

“Classy,” you tease. He smirks, and you think you might hear a faint chuckle.

You don’t expect to take this as anything other than face value—just sex—so you aren’t going to assume that he’ll want you to stay. You wonder how long he’ll ignore you this time before wanting to fuck you again.

You bend to the floor to retrieve your pants and shirt, not exactly thrilled to be slipping back into soiled material that stinks of sweat and horses, but it’s all you have available. Joel stops you the moment your fingers graze your jeans.

“What’re you doin’?” he asks.

You arch a quizzical brow at him. “Getting dressed?”

“Not’n that. You can wear somethin’ of mine to sleep in.”

You lift both brows, this time. “Sleep in?”

“Didn’t figure you’d want to go back to that uncomfortable cot,” he says. You balk.

First he asks you to shower with him and now he’s asking you to stay?

For how long?

“Sure.”

He tosses you one of his shirts—Miller Contracting, Austin, TX, it reads, and you think to yourself that’s an odd coincidence, slipping it over your head and shrugging into it. It swallows you, falling about mid-thigh.

Joel strips off the soiled bedding and replaces it with freshly cleaned linens, which he pulls from the dresser, and to your surprise they’re actually folded neatly. Maria or Ellie must have done that for him.

You fix dinner for the two of you in his kitchen—which doesn’t consist of much—namely some leftover rabbit and root vegetables from the community garden, and some slices of unleavened bread.

You had done the bulk of the cooking at your grandparents’ cabin, and what had once felt like a chore now made your heart feel full as Joel cleans his plate in front of you.

You spend the rest of the evening sharing the bottle of whiskey, laughing and swapping stories, reminiscing about the days before outbreak.

When the night grows long and the inevitability of sleep settles like a fog over both of you, you climb into bed together, but not for sex this time.

The idea of actually getting to sleep in a real bed in as many months fills you with a type of elation you had forgotten exists.

Joel pulls the blanket up over you, kissing you between your eyes before dragging your arm across his torso as he rolls the opposite way, his back now facing your front. You’re confused for a moment until it dawns on you—it’s strategical positioning, placing himself between you and the door, should a need ever arise from it. Hopefully it never will.

It makes your heart thrum happily in your chest. You kiss his exposed shoulder blade, and he damn near purrs.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

“G’night,” he repeats, saying your name sleepily. There’s a short pause. “Hey.”

“What?” you ask.

“Don’t want you to leave Jackson,” he states.

You smile, hugging him tighter, burying your face into the curly strands of hair at the nape of his neck. “I’m not going anywhere,” you say.

[mordenheim]

Are we happy? (A)

(This gets a letter next to it because I accidentally wrote two tales from the same prompt. The next will be posted tomorrow)

Liam made his way slowly down the long hallway. The paint on the walls was a yellowish off white, like people had gathered in the hall to smoke years ago. Both walls were lined with evenly spaced dark wooden doors that all looked identical except for the sequential numbers on them. The worst part was the entire hall curved just slightly to the left before him, meaning that it slowly vanished out of sight just a bit up ahead.

Finally, he saw the end of the hallway come into view. A tall glass door with a sleek metal frame. There, etched into the glass to look like it was made of frost were the words.

“Dr. Alvin Ein, Psychiatrist”

The red panda straightened his tie and reached out to grip the door handle. Ice cold as usual. He idly wondered how much the doctor paid for air conditioning as it often felt like he was walking into a refrigerator instead of an office. He rubbed at the back of his head, his mop or unkempt brown hair falling in front of his eyes before he combed it back with his fingers. Seeing that the secretary was absent again, he walked right across the room and into the doctor's private office.

The elderly rabbit looked up from the folder lying open on his desk, smiling as his patient entered. He leaned back in his chair as he steepled his fingers together.

“Ah, Mr. Faebourne. I was wondering when you would arrive. Please, take a seat on the couch and we can get started.”

Sighing, Liam sat down on the couch, turning to lean back on the smooth leather and try to relax. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a slow, cleansing breath in through his maw and slowly let it out through his nose.

“Excellent, have the breathing exercises helped any?”

“They've helped with my sleep, but not much else, Doctor.”

“Hmm... I see. Getting a little desperate, too? I see in your chart that you've signed up for experimental treatments. Are you still open to these?”

Liam blinked, expecting to feel nervous, but he felt nothing at all. That was his whole problem. Depression had robbed him of his emotions. He was never happy, or sad, or angry, or anything at all. He just existed and honestly was tiring of it all. He needed to feel something somehow.

“Yes, Doctor. Did you have something in mind?”

Rolling his wheelchair from behind the desk, he picked up a black doctor's satchel from the floor and set it in his lap. Her wheeled himself over to the couch and patted him on the forearm. “I do. An experimental drug I've been developing for someone with just your problem. If it works properly in just a few days you should be right as rain.”

The red panda watched at the rabbit took a small, unlabeled brown glass vial from his bag along with a syringe. He pushed the needle through the cap and drew out a small amount of a bluish fluid. Tapping the side to get rid of the bubbles he depressed the plunger to force out any trace of air, a bit spraying into the air.

“Now, tilt your head to the side and hold still please.”

Liam nodded, then held perfectly still. He felt a sharp sting in the side of his neck followed by a coolness that spread rapidly from the injection site through most of his body. He felt his muscles slowly relax, and a drowsiness wash over him, his thoughts were clouded for a moment before clearing.

“And three, two, one...”

The panda gasped, gripping the sides of the sofa. He could feel the muscles in his face slowly tightening, drawling the corners of his mouth upwards. The skin of his thin lips tightened more and more until pain shot through his face as it started to split in several places. His heart raced as he felt the first real emotion in years. Fear. Real, gut churning fear. He tried to speak, to tell the doctor something was wrong but he couldn't. He couldn't move at all. It was like he was trapped in his own body.

“There we are. Why don't you sit up for me please, Mr. Faebourne.”

Liam's mind was in a blind panic as he felt and saw his body responding, slowly sitting up in one fluid motion without him telling it to. He wanted to scream in terror, but just smiled that rictus grin at the doctor.

“Now stand.”

Again, without even a thought, his body pushed itself to his feet. It was like he was trapped in the back seat of his own mind, just watching everything that was happening.

“There, there Mr. Faebourne. Are we happy?”

His body slowly nodded it's head while he raged and screamed within, unable to do anything at all. He felt a mix of terror and rage as his eyes locked on the rabbit in the wheelchair against his will.

“Very good. Now, I want you to go home, pack up all of your important items as though you were leaving on an extended trip. Then you will bring them back here. I will give you further instructions when you return.”

Unable to resist in any way, he was dragged along with his body. It nodded understanding at the doctor once more before turning from him and confidently striding out through the door.

[demosuo]

The Snow Melted (Giyuu Tomioka x Reader)

pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Word count: 4k

The day finally came. After two days of rest and care, Fuyuhito would start training you. He showed you through the course he wanted you to complete, making you lead the way back down to observe how you went. He put you through plenty of physically straining exercises that left your body aching and in pain. He showed you different breathing techniques you needed to completely master before even attempting to perform any snow forms. He showed you how to properly on to your sword, how to hold it for specific forms, and how to wield it. 

Any time the two of you would spar, he would knock you down to the ground, watching how quickly you would get back up to have another swing at him. He would always show you how to position yourself, watching you copy him. 

Never once has he laid his hands on you, it didn’t feel necessary unless you specifically asked him for help. The only times he did was to ruffle your hair to mess it up, or to help you get off the ground.

“Your form is off. You’re leaving too many open spots for me to attack.”

“How about this then!”

“Wrong.”

“Alright… How about now!”

“Wrong again.”

“What about this!”

“Now you’re just playing around, focus!”

Months and months passed as he kept training you. Every time he felt it was starting to get too easy for you, he would make things more difficult. The time it took you to get through the course became faster and faster, maybe you’d be able to beat his former students' record soon. 

Your instincts have grown sharp, dodging all of his traps that he would change, and set up every morning. Your stamina clearly increased as you were able to withstand the amount of exercise without needing as many breaks as before. 

“You must remember this, dear snowflake. Never let your anger or sadness get the best of you during battle. It will suffocate you.” He stood above you, watching you get worked up over getting knocked down for the nth time. “It will fill up your lungs. It will feel like you are being crushed by layers of heavy snow. I’ve watched enough of my previous students nearly kill themselves over a simple spar.” You looked up at him from the ground, wincing as you felt dirt get into your scratches.

“I never want to hear anything about you losing yourself in battle nor do I want to witness it. Do you understand?” His voice was firm and blunt. You held your hand out to him, grunting as he helped you back onto your feet.

“Understood.”

“I will continue to warn you about your emotions if need be, but I should not have to. I expect you to take this seriously, as it does involve your life. You can let out your emotion after the battle is over.” His eyes were furrowed, never once leaving yours. 

“I understand, Fuyuhito. I will do everything I can to keep my emotions at bay.” You replied, returning the same seriousness in your tone as his. His body relaxed, his gaze softening with the satisfaction of your reply.

“Good. Let’s work on your forms. There has been a significant improvement lately. Show me all six forms.” 

Day and night, day and night, it finally came to the day of final selection. You were able to master all six forms of snow breathing. He could try and be difficult and try to nitpick everything but there was nothing for him to point out. He was proud. The former snow hashira was feeling confident enough to send you away to the test. After two and a half years of training and preparation, you were going to prove to him, and to yourself that you can defend yourself. With confidence, with no second thoughts, and without hesitation.

“Before you go,” He turned around to face you, holding a light blue and white gradient haori and a nichirin sword. “Please, take these with you.”

“Are… Are you sure?” He nodded, watching you carefully take the sword and attach it to your belt. You took off your old haori, putting on the new one. You took the sword out of its sheath, admiring how beautiful it looked. The haori was a beautiful white-to-baby blue gradient with small faded snowflakes printed into the blue. The ends were carefully cut to make them look like the arms of a snowflake, it was like nothing you’d ever seen before.

“Now you really look like a demon slayer.” He chuckled. He placed his hand on your back, guiding you out of the place you called home. “Are you ready?”

“I am. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Fuyuhito.” You gave him a smile, and he returned one to you. Before you could take another step forward, one that would not have him by your side, he grabbed your arm and pulled you towards him.

“Please, (Y/N). Come back to me alive.” He spoke in a voice that was just above a whisper as he held his arms tightly around you. He didn't want to let you go. He wanted to be selfish and try to come up with an excuse to keep you back longer. He wasn’t sure if you were going to come back alive or have a crow tell him that you didn’t make it. But he knew he couldn’t keep you behind because of his worries. You needed this step for your journey.

“Of course, I will. When I come back, I want a big dinner where we can eat as much as we want! Alright?” He let out a hum of agreement before you wrapped your arms around him, holding him as tightly as he was to you. 

He finally managed to bring himself to let go, keeping his eyes trained on you as you trudged away in the direction of the final selection. 

“I will be back, that’s a promise! So wait for me! I’ll be back soon, father!” You gave him one final wave before putting your attention towards the path.

“She called me father…” A fond smile crawled onto his lips. He felt like he accomplished a long, hard mission, it filled him with pride. “She called me father!”

–

You walked through the tunnel of wisteria trees, feeling the nerves build up inside of you. Only this time, it wasn’t because you were anxious, it was because you were excited. 

As you entered the open area, you glanced around at your surroundings, looking at all the different people who have showed up for this test. Some looked like they already wanted to turn back, and some looked as if they were better than everyone here, some looked like they were about to burst into tears. 

There were probably around twenty or more people here. A pair of eyes landed on you, followed by one more. One of them made their way towards you, feeling bad that you looked excluded from everything.

“Hey! I’m Sabito, what’s your name?” A voice called out to you, snapping you out of your trance. You turned to look at the owner of the voice. He had peach-coloured hair and wore a green kimono, patterned with a geometric hexagon design of yellow and a darker green. 

“This is Tomioka!” The smaller boy peeked out from behind his friend, giving you a small wave. Although he was timid, his eyes glistened with curiosity, it almost seemed as if he wanted to say something. He’s cute.

“I’m (Y/N), are you guys feeling nervous?” You tried to continue the conversation, not expecting anyone to walk up to you.

“I’m feeling pretty confident, I don’t know about him.” The peach-haired boy chuckled, waving off the annoyed look from his friend. “Hey, what do you say we team up? It’ll make things a lot easier.”

“I appreciate the offer but I will have to say no to it.” You gave Sabito an apologetic look, noticing how Tomioka looked upset about your rejection. “I’m sure I’ll bump into you guys, I want to hear you guys brag about how many demons you’ve killed!” You tried joking around with them, in hopes to lighten up the mood you accidentally bought down. Both of them perked up seconds after, nodding to your comment. They were both so cute.

The three of you continued to chatter, slowly getting more comfortable with each other. Tomioka occasionally peeped in a comment before going back to watching the two of you talk. That sparkle in his eyes never left.

“Good evening.” Two identical girls showed up, both holding lanterns. Both were wearing identical purple kimonos and a wisteria flower hair clip. All the whispers chimed down as everyone put their focus on them. “Tonight you’ve come to the demon slayer corp final selection. Thank you all for being here.” They explained how demons have been caught by demon slayer swordsmen, and have been kept here for this event. For you to pass the final selection, you must survive seven days without any help from outside.

Seven whole days, you can handle this. You’re capable of surviving until the morning after the week, you will get out of this alive and go back to Fuyuhito. Hopefully, after it’s all over, you’ll be able to visit Tanjiro on his charcoal run.

“Now, your trial begins.” The twins said in unison. No one dared to move forward, many having second thoughts upon entering. Taking a deep breath in, you were the first to step forward. Shortly after, everyone else followed suit, entering the area beyond the wisteria’s protection.

–

“Snow breathing: Fourth Form - Piercing Blizzard!” 

You swing your sword at the two demons coming your way, drawing them in and watching them get sliced in the necks. The demon's body disintegrates into the abyss after a gargle and a screaming from them. You continued to run off in a random direction, hoping to encounter more demons. A grimace fell upon your face as you saw the bodies of unfortunate participants, you stopped at any that you came across. Sending your prayers to them out of respect before resuming your hunt. 

The only moment of rest you could get was if you could find a spot in the sun up in the trees. Even then, it was too risky to let your guard down by sleeping. You had to be on guard at all times, who knows if a demon is going to snatch your leg and pull you back down into the shady area? Tonight, thankfully, is the last night. You need to get through this one last night and you’ll be able to go back home, just like you promised to your old man.

“GIYUU!” 

Your head snapped in the direction of the voice, immediately recognising the name. You took a sharp turn, quickly sprinting towards the desperate voices. When you arrived, there in front of you was a massive hand demon, Tomioka struggling to stand back up and Sabito trying to keep the attention all on him so his friend could recover. Quickly climbing to the nearest tree, with everything you could muster, you launched yourself off the highest branch.

“Snow breathing: Fifth Form - Six Snow Shards!”

The shards came down at high speeds, slicing the arms before shattering from the impact of the ground. All attention was on you now as you landed on the demon itself. A hand tried to reach out to you with the intent of throwing you off its body. You quickly jumped out of the way, bringing your sword down once more to slice that arm off. You landed in front of the demon, feeling a wave of fear wash over you as you realised just how small you were compared to the monstrosity. 

“Awww, aren’t you cute? Here to try and save them are we?” The demon sneered at you. You tighten your grip on your sword, moving your body into an offensive position. You saw Sabito making his way over to Tomioka to check up on him. Sabito helped the injured boy onto his feet, glaring at the demon from the side. You charged towards the demon, dodging the hands and trying to slice as many as you could. You had to get close enough to slice its neck. Were you able to do it? Its neck was thick, with multiple arms covering the base of it and most of its head. 

Your breath hitched as you felt a hand lift you, squeezing you with his grip slowly tightening. You couldn’t react quickly enough and now you were panicking. All of the oxygen was being forcefully squeezed out of your lungs and you couldn’t get your arms free from the grip. Just as you were about to call out to one of the boys, a pink flash flew past your sight. At that moment, you felt the oxygen rushing back as you took a deep inhale. You fell onto the ground, your head spinning from the lack of air that was in your body. A hand grabbed onto your wrist, pulling you up and running.

“I need you and Giyuu to distract him as much as you can, I’m going to try and attack him from behind.” You nodded, following his instructions as he let go of your wrist when you were near the black-haired boy.

“You ready?” You looked at his injured form, only hoping that he wouldn’t get any more hurt as this battle continued.

“Yes.” And with that, the two of you charged at him in sync, trying to combine your form. One attacking from the left and one attacking from the right. You pulled him to the side, helping him dodge an attack that came from below. You made eye contact with Sabito, he was waiting for the right chance to strike. Who knows if this will be his only chance or if he’ll have another, it was better not to risk it. Fatigue was slowly starting to push through your bodies, you and Giyuu start to lose momentum. 

“Wait a minute, where is the other one–” 

“Water breathing: First Form - Water Surface Slash! Tenfold!” Everything was starting to look hopeful until the sound of the sword shattering echoed in the air, it was the only thing you could hear as both you and Tomioka watched the demon laugh at his attempt. A hand came to grab Sabito’s head, gripping it tightly as he struggled to get out. 

“SABITO!” The boy next to you yelled, being the first to snap out of the frozen state. He rushed towards the demon, only to come to a halt as he heard a loud snap, multiple cracking noises, and finally a wet thud. Filled with devastation, he instead ran towards his fallen friend, holding him close to his chest. The demon's laugh got louder at the sight, mocking them. 

You couldn’t move. You felt something keeping you stuck in your spot even though there was nothing. Sabito had the perfect chance to perform the attack but if his sword shattered trying to cut its neck, there was no way you would be able to do it. You wouldn’t have anyone to distract him as Tomioka looked as if he was about to pass out any moment, you weren’t going to have a chance. You turned to look at the injured boy, locking eyes with him. 

Your priority has changed now. It was like something snapped inside of you. 

You need to get yourself and Tomioka away from the fight before another life is taken away. You ran towards him, prying him away from his dead friend. His grip slipped off his friend's arm, only now grabbing onto the green and yellow haori. Swiftly but carefully picking him up and running in a random direction. You looked back at the body that once had energy, feeling tears well up.

I’m sorry.

“Wait, we can’t leave him, let me go! We have to go back.” He tried to wriggle out of your grasp. He wanted to avenge his friend this instant.

“He’s dead, Tomioka! You can barely stand up! This isn’t a fight that we can win!” You yelled back, shutting him up in a second. You held onto him tightly, understanding his pain. You kept him close. 

You ran until you found yourself giving out near a secluded spot. You pressed your body against him, trying to protect him from hitting the ground because of you. Your breathing was ragged, feeling exhausted from everything that had happened in such a short amount of time. 

Fatigue had finally caught up to you but that was the least of your concerns for now. You looked down at Tomioka, noticing his tear-streaked face. He had already passed out but he was still holding tightly onto the haori.

You couldn’t sense any demons around. You finally took this opportunity to relax. These past few days, you have been extremely tense. Not even having a moment to yourself as you would keep bumping into demons or trying to save other participants from one. 

You pulled yourself to the closest tree, leaning up against it as you adjusted Giyuu’s head to be resting on your thighs. You tried to drape the green and yellow haori over him as a blanket of some sort. The fight replayed in your head over and over again, you couldn’t get rid of the dreadful noise of a sword shattering, followed by the sound of bones crushing. 

“Damn it!” Tears ran down your cheeks, they felt hot against your skin. You wiped them away, trying to focus on your breathing so your crying could come to an end quickly. Every breath you took in came out quicker than the last, you were starting to hyperventilate. It has been so long since you last felt this way and you hated it. You felt movement on your thighs, looking down to see a tearful expression on Giyuu’s face. Have you woken him up? 

He managed to push himself up, wiping out the tears that came out. The two of you stared at each other briefly before he was pulled into a tight embrace, you holding him to your chest as you grieved. You didn’t know the two of them at all, so why was it hitting you so hard? He buried his head into your shoulder, finally letting his tears run free, holding onto you tightly as if you were going to disappear on him as well.

“I’m so sorry.” Apologies stuttered out one after another. You felt like you were at fault for Sabito’s death. There was nothing you could have done, you shouldn’t be blaming yourself. The demon was too strong for any of you. 

“He’s really…” His voice was hushed. He knew the answer but he was clinging to anything he could to be told his thoughts were wrong. He wasn’t ready to face the truth yet.

“He is…” You tried to keep yourself together, wanting to comfort the poor man. A choked sob escaped his mouth as he let out a heartbreaking cry. Your grip on him tightens, placing a hand on the back of his head as the two of you both mourned. They were so close to passing the trial together, why did it have to be now? How was he supposed to go back to Urokodaki by himself? Will he be equally as upset as him? Would the older man be upset at him?

Who knows how much time had passed? It felt like they were crying for hours. Both were exhausted out of their minds, ready to collapse at any moment. They were able to steady their breath, with the occasional hiccup every so often. Your robe was soaked from his tears and your own. He lifted his head to look at you. Your eyes were bloodshot red but so were his. They felt puffy and dry. You gently placed your hands on the side of his face, tilting his head down to press a small kiss to his forehead before bringing his head back to your shoulder. 

“CAW! THE FINAL NIGHT HAS OFFICIALLY ENDED! PLEASE FOLLOW ME TO THE MEETING GROUND! CAW CAW! I REPEAT!” 

The calls from the kasugai crow startled the both of you. The sun had just started rising on the horizon. They both made it to the end.

“Are you ready to get up?” You kept your tone low, not wanting to cause another burst of tears. You loosened the grip around him, placing your hands on his shoulders and slowly pulling him away from you. He shook his head, not ready to depart from your warmth just yet. “We’ll give it another minute, we can’t keep the others waiting at the meeting, alright? Try not to fall asleep on me.” He furrowed his brows and nodded, almost as if he was telling you that he wasn’t going to. You could see him fighting the melatonin. 

–

The two of you walked back, following the crow. His arm was wrapped around your shoulder, your hand holding onto it while the other was around his waist to hold up him. You had tied Sabito’s haori around his waist so he wouldn’t strain his hand by holding it all the way back. It was a slow journey back but you made it. You looked around at the lasting participants, all equally beaten up or injured. There were only six people who had survived the seven nights. How tragic. You could only pray for their safety on their journey back home.

“Welcome back everyone,” the twins from before the trial appeared in front of the group. ”And congratulations. We’re pleased to see you’re safe.” The twins explained how they were going to take their measurements for their official uniform and how the rankings will show and work. The twins clapped in sync, six crows emerging from nowhere before landing on their assigned individual. Everyone let out a noise of shock before trying to familiarise themselves with their crow. 

“Please, step forward and pick the ore you wish to have your sword made from.” 

They all look the same? Even the colours of the ores were similar. You helped Tomioka up the steps, making sure that wouldn’t trip on any of them.

You grabbed an ore before handing it to the twins. Tomioka followed suit not too long after. You helped him back down the stairs, waiting for what seemed to be a medic group to make their rounds to the two of you to clean your wounds and bandage them up. You let go of him when they came up to you, letting them handle him while one attended to you. You glanced over at the man next to you, his face showed no emotion, and his eyes lost the spark you saw before the trial. They looked dull.

“Will you be alright getting home?” You thanked the person treating you, taking a step towards the slayer. His lips pressed into a line and nodded. Seeing him like this, your heart clenched. 

“I’ll be off now, Tomioka. Please get back safely.” 

There wasn’t much you could do for him at this very moment. You needed to get home before it got dark, you are in no shape to fight any lurking demons. You gave him one last smile before walking in the direction of your home. You didn’t get too far before feeling a hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you back.

“Will… Will I get to see you again..?” His grip was tight and shaking. It took a couple of seconds to get over your initial shock. You placed your hand on top of his, hoping that he would look you in the eyes just one more time.

“Of course, you definitely will. I hope we get to work on missions together. Let’s grab something to eat the next time we see each other, okay?” He nodded his head, his grip loosening up. Now it was your turn to hold onto his arm. He lifted his view from the ground to face you with confusion. “Please, look after yourself, Tomioka.” He averted his eyes from yours.

“I’ll try.”

“Good! I’ll see you around then.” You gave him one quick hug before walking away, ready to go home to finally sleep and relax. He stared at your retreating figure until it was out of sight before turning in the opposite direction, making his trip back to his master.

-----------

I'm slowly getting back into writing and this was my first time writing a fight scene, sorry if it was rushed!!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

[moroser]

[incoming long and personal and dark post]

it dawned on me that it’s april and that means it’s been 6 years since i stopped doing drugs. big achievement. i did weed the whole time, thinking i needed it to keep away from the worse stuff, but i stopped that too, almost 2 months ago now. everything i’m about to talk about i did without anyone in my life (offline) noticing and all by myself.

my entire life has been unstable and so difficult. and i mean difficult and sad. i used to drink pretty heavily, but i stopped when i found pills. i was taking pretty much any opioid i could find, i even stole them. i was text book addict with pills. i had every excuse to keep going with it, it made sense to me at the time. i was in so much pain mentally, emotionally, and eventually, physically. taking them was reprieve. 

eventually, i was taking so many a day, quite honestly i should have died. my brain was blank, i lost my creativity and i stopped drawing, which is the one thing i love the most to do. create. even though i did not stop, the fact i felt nothing in that realm anymore was heartbreaking. i’d spent several nights staring at the ceiling practically waiting to die. i had one dream that i can remember while on drugs and it was of me staring at myself opened-eyed and dead on my bed. it shook me.

the drugs affected my ability to think, cry and feel, then one day on my way to work, after taking so many, i got so sick on the side of the road on the freeway several times. eventually i pulled off into a town i didn’t know and passed out in the parking lot of a gas station for who knows how long. i woke up dazed with the taste of puke in my mouth, and totally dehydrated. i missed work, i was embarrassed with myself. i have no idea how long i sat there for before getting out of the car to walk around. eventually i made it home but i felt like i wasn’t the same after that. 

decided to detox (after trying before, and failing), which was the worst events i’ve been through in my life. took days, nearly a week to get over the worst of the symptoms. i don’t think i slept at all. i was so sick, shakes and chills, vomiting, etc. i let spongebob play for the entire time, that sponge grounded me lol. i’d made it through that time. and i stuck too it, using my desire to feel my creativity again and wanting to be better to my body to stay away from relapse. 

2017 i cleared my system of alcohol, pills, energy drinks, pop, and the only thing i’d let myself use was weed because i felt it would stop me from everything else. and technically, it did. it aided me for a long time. but the passed ~3 years i’ve been so ill with stomach issues and nausea and throwing up that i decided to stop that too. 

so now i’ve been completely sober for 1 month and 21 days. for the first time since high school i have nothing in my system that is altering me the way substance abuse has. it’s been a major adjustment. my focus is shit, my sleeping is difficult and my dreams are insanity. it literally feels like i’m sleeping just to wake up somewhere else because my dreams are so vivid and clear. i wake up every four hours having to adjust and remember i actually live here, not in dreamland. i didn’t dream at all while on drugs or weed, so in a way, i welcome the vibrancy of them. 

looking back, none of those things helped me. they only broke and shrouded my spirit with a darkness i don’t want to feel ever again. i want to be healthy and i want to give my body the chances that it deserves. i want to heal properly. i want to live so much. i want to find someone to be with that will understand me and accept me even with my flaws and history. i feel better already, but i know there’s still a long journey ahead and i can only hope it gets better. i deserve better. i know i’m a good person. i know i have so much creative potential in me and it’s what i want to give my energy and soul to.  

thanks for listening, if you read this. i am proud of myself for getting as far as i have but the support from my friends and strangers online has been a colossal sense of communal help i’ve never had offline. sharing my art has been a big help and just people enjoying it means so much to me. thank you.  

[ethereousdelirious]

For Ace Attorney fics, I would love to read about Miles violently puking from food poisoning and being cared for by Phoenix. Any form of emeto story about Detective Gumshoe would also be appreciated.

Can’t wait to read your stories, so pumped to see AA sickfics! :)

*CLAWS MY WAY OUT OF HELL AND EMERGES, FIC IN HAND* IM HERE I HAVE IT ARE YOU STILL HERE I HAVE IT FOR YOU

I am. SO SORRY. it took me so long to get this done skdhshhd

I couldn't think of anything for Gum/shoe this go around, but here's the Nar/umitsu! Feel free to drop another request for our favorite detective and hopefully I'll be in a more ✨️creative headspace✨️ upon receipt

CW: emeto (if that wasn't obvious lmao)

This was not how the evening was supposed to go.

When Miles had suggested a date, a proper date, he'd had his heart set on fine dining and privacy. No distractions. Just a quiet restaurant where he and Phoenix could finally, finally emerge from the smoke of their tumultuous lives and learn who they each were when the world wasn't on fire.

Of course, nothing could ever be so simple.

Miles had, at first, attempted to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. Phoenix had that unfortunate effect on him these days, particularly when he lost that hard look in his eyes and remembered to smile. It made him look younger, more vibrant.

The smiles had come more freely as the wine flowed, but tapered off as the sensation in Miles’ stomach grew stronger and stronger— not butterflies, but nausea.

Now, as he clutched the siding of Phoenix's run-down little rental, Miles could only pray that Phoenix's loyalty, which had withstood so much over the years, would hold up.

He stared down at the bark mulch as the warm evening breeze kissed his skin, cooling the sheen of sweat on his face.

“Oh, uh. Is it happening?” Phoenix asked from somewhere behind him. Or beside. Hard to tell with his hair in his face.

Miles swallowed down a wave of brackish saliva with difficulty as his stomach turned over. It wasn't that late. With the porch light on him, any passing neighbor could glance over and witness the scene.

“I mean…” Phoenix's house keys jingled. “Can you make it inside?”

Miles’ stomach gave another sickening lurch and he tried to shake his head, and pitched forward so hard his muscles burned and still, and still—

The first dry retch was so violent it made his ears ring and he nearly lost his balance from that alone. Phoenix caught him under the other shoulder just in time to witness Miles vomit properly. He almost gasped at the sensation of his stomach slamming inwards on itself, could do nothing but cling to Phoenix as wave after wave of bile and acid forced itself up his throat.

Somewhere beyond the misery, beneath the squeezing agony in his stomach and the burn in his throat, something cool brushed the nape of his neck— Phoenix's hand, steadying him.

Miles coughed up another wave of stomach acid and keened, the sad little sound forcing its way past his gritted teeth.

The weight of Phoenix's unanswered question sat at the bottom of his belly, unperturbed by the nonstop retching. The night breeze cooled Miles’ sweat-slick cheeks. Anyone could see them out here. “Ye— es,” he coughed, and forced himself to straighten. A deep breath kept him on his feet, that and Phoenix’s vice grip on his shoulders.

They shuffled over the threshold and the unfamiliar scent of Phoenix’s home washed over him— Although not wholly unfamiliar. Phoenix… Phoenix smelled like this, his suits… Under the cheap cologne he sometimes remembered to splash on, yes, Phoenix smelled like this.

The gentle scent was wasted on Miles and his aggravated stomach, but it was… It was nice and it was Phoenix and the taste of bile choked it all out as his stomach gave another feeble heave. His lips parted and his body wrenched, but nothing came up, and thank God for that.

“So I guess the oysters were off,” Phoenix mused, and Miles couldn't stifle the nauseated groan that crawled out of him. He managed to direct it a little, into a pained, “Do shut up” and promptly had to follow his own orders to keep the product of another retch from staining Phoenix’s cheap laminate flooring.

“Right,” said Phoenix, and pulled Miles forward. Miles stared at the scuffs on Phoenix's dress shoes, watched the ratty laces flick with the motion of his legs. And Phoenix muttered something that sounded disturbingly like “...just cleaned the toilet, too…” and Miles fell to his knees.

…In Phoenix’s defense (ha), the toilet was remarkably clean. Miles promptly defaced it with a mouthful of— Well, better not to think about it, actually. His forehead hit the seat; he fumbled for the lever to flush the damned thing and Phoenix made a little noise and guided his hand.

Once the roar had died down, Miles opened his eyes and watched the ripples his breath made in the water. He couldn't move. Didn't want to. What was the difference? Either way, he was stuck on his knees in Phoenix Wright's bathroom while the man himself hovered behind him, coughing awkwardly and clearing his throat like he couldn't stand the silence.

“I'm sorry,” Miles said into the toilet.

“Oh, it's no big deal,” Phoenix said. “A little bleach and it'll be good as new.”

Miles groaned. Half out of exasperation and half from the crescendo of cramps squeezing his abdomen. “The date, Wright. I'm sorry I ruined our date.”

“Oh!” Phoenix shifted slowly, bringing his heat and his weight closer and closer to Miles’ side. “You didn't ruin anything.”

“You're not… not that good at bluffing.”

“Okay, well. I'll admit, this isn't my first choice of evening activities. But I don't think you have anything to apologize for.”

This level of grace was not something Miles would have extended in the opposite direction. Not without a good deal more huffing and crossed arms, anyway. Lesson learned.

His stomach having settled somewhat, Miles shifted his weight backward until he found the wall. Cold sweat crawled on his skin— everywhere. His face, his back, his chest, all of it slick with sweat. He must have looked disgusting, and there was Phoenix, ever by his side.

“Bet you didn't plan on staying the night so soon, huh?” Phoenix said, and got to his feet. “Sit tight; I'll get you some water.”

Miles began to shiver in the time that Phoenix was gone, and by the time Phoenix returned, he'd started shaking so hard that could barely hold the glass. This was the worst part about being ill. Not the vomiting, though that was unpleasant. No, it was the weakness.

Phoenix had to help him raise the glass to his lips, help him stand, help him to bed.

They both stayed quiet throughout this process, save the occasional murmur from Phoenix, requests and intentions. And through it all, Phoenix had a look on face that said almost as much as any words could, the sort of tender pity generally reserved for loved ones.

Somewhere under all the pain and nausea, butterflies filled Miles’ stomach.

Phoenix knelt beside the bed now. He reached out a hand and brushed Miles’ cheek, like something out of a dream. “How are you feeling now?”

Sick, embarrassed, wrung out beyond belief. But safer now, too. Miles studied his hands where they rested atop the duvet (Phoenix's duvet). “Better,” he said. “A little better.”

Phoenix had him, after all. He'd be okay.