#raider angst

[toxicanonymity]

How much Joel react if Sweet Pea snapped at him, even just a little bit?

Like she has her period now, or maybe just its super hot or some shit or no sleep or something.

Would Joel feel bad that his sweet, well-trained girl was lashing out? or would he snap right back?

Couldn't sleep. raider master

850 words, raider!Joel x f!reader

WARNINGS: angst, light manhandling, dark fluff, spanking, choking adjacent moment, grinding, reference to FEDRA assault.

A/N: analysis here. calling it a hypothetical bc it doesn't fit neatly btwn hunger and the next part.

He grabs you by the arm and you won't look at him, so he grips your jaw and turns your head. His brow furrows as he searches your face. You still don't want to meet his eyes. ”What the hell’s wrong with you today?” he demands. You don't answer. “Hmm?” He prods.

“Nothing,” you mutter, but your eyes are welling up. He stares at your quivering lips, then your eyes as he awaits your answer. You finally look at him. “Sorry. I couldn't sleep. I'm tired.”

He lets go of your jaw and you start to pull away but his grip on your arm tightens and he asks, “That all?”

“Yeah,” you sniffle.

His jaw clenches then moves back and forth. His eyes are pensive, concerned. “‘member what I said after ya ran?”

You nod. “that you only want me if I'm good?” A tear runs down your cheek.

His face softens and so does his voice. “that I only want ya if you're–” he sighs and cups your cheek. “No, sweet pea. That ya gotta talk to me when somethin's botherin’ ya.”

You look down and away, then nod. He lets go of your arm and sits down on the bed.

“You're a good girl, sweet pea. c’mere.” He pulls you onto his lap. He strokes the nape of your neck with his thumb. “That day ya ran. . .” He brushes a tear off your cheek. “That was real bad.” It was bad. FEDRA had you on your knees, made you play Russian roulette, stripped you. "I didn't. . ." He searches for words and doesn't find them. He looks at you with his brows knitted. “we’re past that, ain't we?”

You nod earnestly. “It was stupid. I wouldn't–it was a long time ago. I'd never-”

“'S’what I thought,” he nods. “You're my good girl, sweet pea.” He kisses you on the temple.

“You're not gonna spank me?” You look at him with wide eyes.

His nose twitches. “That what ya want?” He pulls you further into his lap and when you feel his warm, hardening package, you get a rush of arousal. He slides you off his lap and uses his body to push you down on the bed face up. He pins you to it with his hips, arousal digging into your front. He wraps his hand around your throat, not too hard. He sees something in your eyes, and the serious look he gives you says youre not off the hook. “What ain't ya sayin'?”

You stammer, unsure what he means. You hazard a guess, “please?” Your hips lift into him.

He smirks, then it fades as he closes his eyes for a second. “No. why couldn't ya sleep?”

“I–” you sigh. “I was worried about the dog.”

He breathes out a laugh, then with his hands under your arms, he pulls you up further onto the bed so your legs aren't dangling. He sits back on his heels, straddling you with his knees. You eye the bulge in his pants. He asks, “That's it?”

“It's too cold at night,” you whine. “And what if he runs away. I can't believe all that time he was. . .” you start sniffling again.

Joel pauses, seeing the sincerity in your eyes. “Alright,” he nods. “we’ll make him some place warmer. god damn.”

“Really?”

He shrugs, then leans forward and plants his forearm on the bed. He hovers over you, then puts some weight on you again, his cock harder now, making you gush as he presses it against just the right spot. “Yeah, really."

“Thank you,” you whisper. “He's still skinny.”

“Hell, make'm a goddamn vest if ya want,” Joel murmurs, searching your face affectionately.

You laugh, which makes his eyes come to life with warmth. He asks, “okay?” He wipes a tear off your cheek. “see, all ya gotta do is talk to me, sweet pea.”

You nod, then start to explain. “didnt wanna wake you up. 'cause sometimes you're. . ." Your voice trails off, "kinda. . .mean.” wondering if you've gone too far, you second guess whether you even feel that way.

Joel cocks an eyebrow. “I'm kinda mean? Hmm” his lower lip juts out in contemplation.

“No. Well. I mean. . .”

He pushes himself up, then forcibly turns you over face down. His hips press his hard bulge into your ass, and he brings his mouth to your ear. “f’i didn't know any better,” he murmurs, then lifts his hips again for clearance. “I'd think ya were into it.” He pulls up your dress and smacks your ass. You grunt and your mouth falls open with the sting of his hand, making you twitch with need.

“Maybe,” you mumble into the pillow.

You sigh and push your ass up, seeking contact. You look back and he shakes his head in playful disapproval as he unbuttons his pants.

----

ty for reading.

So the answer is both - I think he'd snap back, but underneath that he'd be concerned that it's out of character for her. His concern or hurt often presents as anger or frustration at first and he's getting more emotionally intelligent to where he might realize it sometimes.

[fr3sh-tragedies]

Serenity

[Shadow of the Tomb Raider] Lara Croft x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.12k

Proofread: Yes

Content Warnings: Touch starved Lara (?), feelings of homesickness, fear of death, mentions of mourning, brief descriptions of wounds

Categories:

Angst Fluff Mix

One-Shot Preference Headcanon

[A/N]: Wanted to try a bit of a different format for the summary, hope it makes sense.

Enjoy!

Harsh winds whipped past the shape of the land, bending around every mountain and down every ravine and valley like ribbon. Shivering harshly and clutching onto her heavy coat, Lara sighed, planting herself in front of the campfire she had set up. As the flames crackled to life and began to grow, she scooted closer, holding her hands out towards the blazing heat in an attempt to warm them. She huffed out hot air into her cupped palms before rubbing them together and shifting to hold them out again.

She repeated this motion a few more times before wriggling her fingers around a bit. Once she was sure they were warmed up enough, she slipped her journal out from her traveler’s pack and took her pen out. She flipped over to the next blank page, beginning to jot things down with stiff hands. It started with her summarizing all that had happened during the current expedition up until that point, but quickly shifted to her feelings of homesickness. It wasn’t the manor or her private apartment she was missing, however. She was missing the woman waiting for her back home.

A small smile of content formed on her lips at the mere thought of her.

“God, [Y/N], I wish you were…”

She shook her head as a chill ran down her spine, as if she was being reminded of the brutal conditions she was in. With a small struggle, she scribbled out the ending of the sentence before starting a new one.

“No, I wish I was there with you. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss you. Especially how warm you are. It’s freezing out here, although I’m not sure what I was expecting. Even when we stayed by the hot springs for a bit, my hands were too frozen to do anything. Writing this right now is extremely difficult because we’re headed toward the peak of a mountain where the snow is really dense. The altitude levels are getting high, and it’s making some of the crew sick, so we had to set up camp in the meantime. Aside from Jonah, the crew here doesn’t really care for all of this. They’re either doing it for the media exposure or for the money. The majority of them have made it clear that they aren’t doing it for the sake of discovery. I do kind of wish you were here in all honesty. Jonah is interested in what we’re looking for, but it always takes some convincing with him. With you, you’re always on board immediately. And, according to the others, you share the same level of enthusiasm as me. I guess I never really noticed it.

“Which is honestly a bit of a surprise. I know I can get a bit…aggressive about these things, or obsessive. People tell me I start getting picky about things once I realize they don’t have the same interests and intentions as me. And Sam wonders why I don’t like hanging out with other people.”

She laughed softly to herself, skimming over her words before she continued writing.

“Except you, of course. I wish I could bring you along with me to these expeditions, but I’m just…worried Trinity is going to get to you somehow, and aside from Jonah, you’re the only one I have left. If they got ahold of you, I don’t know what I’d do with myself. I’ve lost too many people already. I can’t lose you too.”

A small pause. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself during these trips anymore. Before she had met [Y/N], she had gotten used to sleeping alone and spending the majority of her time alone. She could go on journeys without worrying about returning home to someone. She didn’t want to die, that wasn’t what she was thinking of. She just didn’t feel guilty about trips taking longer than she initially planned. Deep down, though, she knew [Y/N] understood. Each time she’d make it home to her girlfriend, she was always greeted with relief and excitement rather than annoyance and resentment.

During the nights where she was alone on the expeditions, she could eventually get herself to fall asleep for short periods of time, pretending she was back home in bed with her girlfriend, cuddled up together under the blankets and sleeping in.

Another thing she had to readjust to was doing things solo. The only thing she tended to do on her own at the manor anymore was paperwork. [Y/N] would do everything with her there: researching, reading, cleaning, taking trips to different cities, and so on and so forth. She had grown so accustomed to that to where she found herself itching to talk to someone or move around at the campsites when she used to just sit there and think to herself.

She genuinely enjoyed the idea of having someone to come home to every time, but it still caused guilt when anything went wrong. There was a near-constant worry that her job was straining the relationship, regardless of what [Y/N] told her.

She had never been in a relationship before, so she really had no idea what to expect. It was stressful trying to learn how to open up to someone, but once she realized she could fully trust [Y/N], she found it much easier to start talking about her past.

Another sigh slipped past her lips, her gaze dropping down to the page of her journal again.

“I can’t wait to get home to you again. And honestly, I never thought I’d be able to say that. With how often I’m traveling, I figured I wouldn’t find someone who was willing to put up with my constant researching and preparing. I suppose I could take you on easier trips where I know Trinity won’t be. I could teach you how to go rock climbing and the basics of how to survive out in the wilderness.”

A sense of fondness washed over her, remembering how Roth would take her backpacking and traveling to random places so she could learn all of his tricks.

“If Roth were still here, I bet I could’ve convinced him to let you come with us to one of our training expeditions. He loved teaching all about journeying. He probably would’ve talked your ear off the way he did with me.”

Once more, a soft laugh escaped her.

“I’d honestly give anything to hear him lecture me about trusting my instinct again. You would’ve loved him. He was a good man.”

She studied her entry, repeatedly skimming over Roth’s name scribbled out in her shaky handwriting. 

“I wish you could’ve met him.”

She frowned at the memory of what happened in Yamatai, guilt beginning to bubble up to the surface again. She sighed, trying to shift her focus to something else.

“I can’t wait to get back home to you. I miss you. Hopefully I’ll be able to see you sooner rather than later. I already want to come back just so I can be with you again. I love you.”

Gently, she shut her journal and tucked it away again, dropping her pen in on top of it before zipping the bag shut. Once she placed the bag to her side, she shifted to turn back to the fire, which had grown to a decent size. Her unfocused gaze watched the flames in front of her dance wildly to the bitterly cold gusts of wind. Soon, as she waited for Jonah to call her over, her mind wandered off, her body shivering, aching, and craving to be in her warm, plush bed by [Y/N]’s side again.

The expedition finally came to an end. Unfortunately, it had taken an extra three days thanks to Trinity’s operation disrupting everything. Lara was returning home with another artifact, one which she planned to donate to a local museum instead of adding to her personal collection. She asked Jonah to drop the artifact off for her, her expression alone telling him all he needed to know. He agreed, knowing she just wanted to get home to [Y/N] again and rest. Once the plane landed and they disembarked with their luggage, Lara instantly found her car still parked in a private garage she had paid for ahead of time.

She hopped in instantly after tucking her small amount of luggage into the trunk, started the engine, and sped off toward her home. The majority of the drive there, she reflected on what had happened during the expedition. Although she had been in a warm environment for hours on the way back, she still felt chilled to the bone after swimming in glacial waters for hours on end. All she craved was to get home and warm all the way up so she could sleep comfortably, even though she knew the moment the numbness subsided, her joints would ache even more.

Once she finally arrived, she parked her car in her usual spot and headed inside, completely forgetting about the bags in the trunk. Her body felt like it would collapse any minute, so she was desperately trying to get inside and find [Y/N].

With a great deal of effort, straining the aching muscles in her arms and back, she shoved the main door open leading into the front parlor. Before any of the servants could lead her somewhere to get her injuries treated or get changed into warmer clothes, Lara made a beeline to the stairs leading up to the second floor of the main building. She wobbled down the hall to her bedroom door, weakly pushing it open with a small grunt of pain. She didn’t spot [Y/N] in the bedroom right away, so she checked the bathroom attached to it.

She wasn’t there either. Odd.

With a groan, she forced herself to trudge back out of the room and down the hall, planning to check the library next. And if she wasn’t there, she’d search the main study. Before she could make it to the doorway leading to the library, [Y/N] stepped out carrying a couple of books. When she spotted Lara, her face lit up, excitedly placing the books aside on a nearby console table and rushing over to the brunette. At the sight of [Y/N] heading her direction, a small surge of energy bolted through Lara’s senses. She beamed over at her and opened her arms, sighing in relief when the smaller woman leaned heavily into her embrace.

“Lara, you’re back! How was the trip? Find anything good?”

Lara grinned wider at her enthusiasm–a breath of fresh air to have someone show genuine interest in her own passion. “Yeah, we found an old artifact, but I told Jonah to just go donate it to the local museum. I don’t have much space left on the shelves in my study, and I don’t want to clutter our room with them.” [Y/N] chuckled at her words, a small nod as her response as they remained in their embrace a moment longer.

At length, much to Lara’s dismay, [Y/N] leaned back. One hand dropped down to gently take hold of the brunette’s, and the other lifted to cup her cheek. At the feeling of warmth against her face, Lara leaned into the touch, her eyes shutting as she sighed. “C’mon,” [Y/N] started softly with a warm smile, “let’s get you patched up and changed. Then you can get some sleep.” Before she could try to refute, Lara yawned and nodded, wearily following the smaller woman’s lead as she carefully tugged her toward the bedroom again.

Once in there, she sat Lara down on the bed, retrieved the First Aid kit from the medical cabinet in the bathroom, and joined her on the mattress, which the brunette seemed to immediately sink into. She pulled out a damp rag she had also grabbed and began to dab cautiously at the scratches and cuts littered across Lara’s skin. When she began to apply the antiseptic, she earned a few hisses of pain, though they quickly died down with each passing second. All the while, Lara’s eyelids were growing heavier. She did her best to bite back her yawns, though most of them still snuck through.

After cleaning all of the visible marks, [Y/N] stitched up what she needed to, and applied bandages to what was left. She quickly packed the kit back up and stored it in the bathroom once more. Then, she helped Lara head into the bathroom and get undressed, helping her step into the bath when the warm water filled up enough. Once the brunette was situated and comfortable, [Y/N] took her hair down for her and began to rinse and lather it with the shampoo she had set up beforehand. Once her hair was clean, she then washed Lara’s back, shoulders, and mostly everything but her stomach, legs, and mostly whatever was underneath the water, which she let the Croft do on her own.

By the time Lara was clean and wrapped up in a towel after stepping out of the tub, [Y/N] left and came back in carrying a pair of clothes that had just been pulled out from the dryer. She gave the brunette a bit of privacy to get dressed. Lara hummed contentedly at the warm, soft fabric brushing across her skin: a pair of black fleece pants with a slightly oversized gray t-shirt.

She stood after tugging her clothes on. After folding the towel back up enough to hang on the rack on the wall, she flipped the lightswitch off and left the bathroom, finding [Y/N] standing by the bed with a tray in her hands. Curiously, Lara walked over and sat down at the foot of the bed with an eyebrow raised. Before she could question what it was, [Y/N] moved to hand the tray to her, revealing her favorite dish warmed up and placed nicely on a plate.

At the sight of it, she blinked, and soon looked back up at her girlfriend, who had moved to her own side of the bed. “Go ahead and eat. I wanted you to have something in your stomach so it doesn’t growl and wake you up like last time.”

With a pleased grin, Lara nodded and shifted up to her spot in bed to prop herself up against the headboard. She was quick to pick up her fork and dig into the dish, clearly grateful to have something prepared for her instead of needing to fix something for herself the way she had done the past few days in the wilderness. It saved her a lot of time and energy, all of which she could spend on recovering from the trip. Within minutes, the plate was clean and her cup was empty. She moved to get up and bring it to the kitchen downstairs, but [Y/N] was quick to stop her and take it from her hands. “Hey, no, go ahead and stay here, alright? I really just want you to relax for a while.”

Even if Lara had planned on refusing the help, it would’ve been no use, as [Y/N] was already by the door by the time she finished speaking. She quickly slipped out of the room, leaving Lara there to wait. She hadn’t even had a chance to nod. She sighed, shuffling downward to bundle up underneath the thick blankets layering her mattress and tugging them partially over her head. The moment her head made contact with her pillow, she groaned in relief, the plush surface welcoming her and pulling her into a partial slumber already.

She fought to stay awake a little longer, however, wanting to be cuddled up against [Y/N] as she slept so she could hear her heartbeat. Ever since the two had started sharing the bed, that’s how Lara fell asleep. It’s why going on long expeditions was so difficult sometimes–she had no heartbeat to listen to, no breathing she could hear but her own, and no warmth to lean into when she got a chill or had a strange dream that kept her eyes pried open in alarmed confusion. Another yawn pushed past her lips, her eyes slowly fluttering shut. Just as she was close to being lulled into sleep, the bedroom door creaked open again. [Y/N] stepped inside and turned the lights off, then headed over to the windows and closed all the heavy curtains, leaving a very dull light in the room.

She then crawled into her side of the bed, though she was quickly met with Lara scooting over and pressing her head against her chest, planting her ear directly over the girl’s sternum to hear the steady thumping of her heartbeat resting safely behind her ribs. A sigh of relief made its way from Lara. She wriggled over a bit, nuzzled her face further into the blankets, and finally settled for a position. With a small smile, [Y/N] rolled over just enough to wrap both of her arms around the brunette’s torso. She pulled her closer as softly as she could.

“Did you wanna talk about the trip?” She whispered softly. A bit of a delay, but Lara answered with a small shake of her head. “No,” she murmured almost inaudibly. “Maybe tomorrow.” [Y/N] nodded in response. She slid one of her arms over a bit, earning a groan of disapproval, though it was quickly replaced by an even fainter groan of pleasure once her fingernails began to gently rake through Lara’s brunette locks. [Y/N] repeated this motion for a while before changing to let her nails scratch soothingly at the sore muscles of the taller woman’s back. “Mmm, what about you?” Lara finally managed to slur out after a few minutes.

[Y/N] hummed, confused. “What about me?” She questioned quietly. Again, there was a pause before she got a response. “What about your day? Tell me…about your day.”

“Oh. Well, it wasn’t very eventful, to be honest. I just helped some of the maids and then read a few books. That’s why I was leaving the library when you made it in.”

“Mmh.”

Lara groaned and shuffled even closer. “I missed you so much,” she whispered. [Y/N] beamed down at her, pure adoration in her eyes. “I missed you too.” She pressed a kiss to the brunette’s forehead, to which Lara responded by scrunching up her nose and leaning her head forward, wordlessly asking for another one. The smaller woman complied after letting a gentle giggle slip in between breaths and pressed a longer kiss to Lara’s head, earning a small huff of satisfaction.

For a while longer, [Y/N] continued to talk about whatever came to mind. Lara wasn’t entirely listening, she just wanted to hear her voice, but [Y/N] already knew that. She didn’t mind. She could talk about seeing a bird on the window sill, and Lara would still find it calming solely because she could hear her speaking. She could hear the low rumbling and vibrations in her chest with every word spoken, and on top of the sound of her heartbeat, it was like the ultimate white noise for Lara.

She wasn’t entirely sure why it brought her so much comfort, but she certainly wasn’t complaining. It helped her fall asleep and stay asleep, which is something she struggled with for the longest time. Being able to get a proper night’s rest felt so refreshing.

Especially after having to be on high alert and sleep lightly for weeks on end during most of her journeys.

After a while, [Y/N] ran out of things to talk about. However, knowing that hearing her make noise was what helped Lara fall asleep, she opted to sing softly instead. An hour or so must’ve passed before Lara’s breathing deepened and slowed, evening out as her body signaled she was fully asleep. After finishing the song she had been practically humming at that point, [Y/N] stopped singing. When she fell silent, her own eyes beginning to droop from fatigue, Lara tugged her closer, unconsciously trying to find the source of the noise again. She settled after a moment when her hearing focused in on her heartbeat once more.

She mumbled something under her breath, though the blankets muffled most of it. The other half of the incoherent speech was caused by her lack of conscience. [Y/N] didn’t mind it though. Finally being able to hold Lara safely in her arms again after two and a half weeks was all she had been wanting. She glanced down at her, smiling tiredly and pressing a gentle kiss to her head again before yawning and closing her eyes.

Soon enough, she fell into a deep slumber as well.

The following morning, the sun crept in through the blinds, alerting everyone of its wake. Bright golden beams trailed their way into the bedroom, sneaking up the covers and making Lara suddenly aware of her surroundings again. She grumbled, calloused fingertips grasping at the hem of the comforter that had slipped from over her head and tugging upward, desperately trying to block out the warmth that stirred her awake. It had been years–until she met [Y/N], anyway–since she had been able to sleep in peacefully without the overwhelming worry of needing to constantly accomplish something. She wanted to stay asleep at least long enough to finish her dream.

For a moment, she smirked to herself, noticing just how soft she had gotten once her relationship had been established with the other woman. Had they never met, nor had they gotten as close as they did, she’d likely still be awake at this hour, buried away in her personal study with stacks of books and loose files strewn about.

With a sense of bitter hesitation, one in which she debated falling back into the dream she had been having just a moment prior–which thankfully wasn’t another nightmare keeping her awake–she let her weary eyes flutter open. A small shove downward let the covers fall free from over her head again, begrudgingly allowing the sunlight to caress her features in a more willing manner. A sigh of relief slipped past her lips once she was able to let her eyes adjust to the blazing beams of light dancing around with each small movement.

After a moment of gaining her bearings, she yawned, drowsily rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes as she shifted over to find [Y/N] still resting at her side. The corners of her lips perked up into a small smile of contentment at the sight. She hummed, shuffled up to let her head rest even in front of [Y/N]’s, and gazed over at her.

The light that had disturbed Lara of her rest now brought her a sense of peace. The warm glow of the amber streaks lighting up the room seemed to embrace every little mark across [Y/N]’s skin, highlighting each scar and stray freckle. Never before had she seemed so at ease in her slumber–or maybe Lara had been too focused on holding her close to have noticed. She noticed it now, though.

And she intended to savor every minute of it.

Moments passed, and her hands were itching to feel the softness of the woman’s skin. With a slight ounce of uncertainty, worried she might stir her awake, she finally lifted her hand from the spot on the mattress next to her and drove it up to let the backs of her fingers graze over [Y/N]’s cheek, huffing out a small sigh at the warmth as though she hadn’t been pressed tightly against her mere moments before.

Her fingers trailed up to tuck a few loose strands of hair behind the sleeping woman’s ear, slowly and silently shuffling forward to press a featherlike kiss to her forehead. At the feeling of soft lips and touches against her skin, [Y/N] began to wake, her brows furrowing together momentarily in thought, as if she were stuck between her dreams and lucidity. Her features softened just as quickly as they tightened, followed by her eyes flitting open and instantaneously focusing on the smitten gaze in front of her. She hummed, grinning and letting her hand slide up to gently take hold of Lara’s. With a small squeeze to her lax hand, [Y/N] turned her head to press an equally soft kiss to her palm.

“Morning,” she murmured against her skin, letting her focus flicker back toward the deep brown eyes now somehow filled with even more love than before.

“Morning,” came her faint reply.

“Are you feeling better now that you’ve slept?” Lara grinned, nodding almost unnoticeably. She carefully slipped her hand from [Y/N]’s, then letting it trail down to the smaller woman’s hip. Once moving a bit closer, as well as shuffling back down further into the comforter, she wrapped both arms around [Y/N]’s waist, tugging her closer and letting her head fall against her chest. Once [Y/N]’s chin moved to rest atop the brunette’s head, Lara sighed, her eyes fluttering shut once more. “Yes, but if I’m being completely honest, my entire body is aching right now. So much happened before I got back.”

She chuckled, wincing to herself at the sudden jolt of pain that erupted from the nerves in the skin taut against her stomach. “I don’t know if I can physically get up yet. Or if I'll be able to at all today.”

A playful snicker sounded above her, prompting her to lift her head and look up at [Y/N]. “Are you sure that’s why? Or do you just want to stay in bed and cuddle like this for the day?” Lara rolled her eyes with a smirk of her own. “I’m telling you: every single muscle in my body is painfully sore. I could get up if I absolutely needed to, but I don’t, so I’d really just prefer to stay here.”

With a moment in between the playful banter, Lara dropped her head back against [Y/N]’s chest. She waited, pondering what she wanted to say as her nails gently scratched at the soft fabric of the shirt she leaned against, sighing silently at the feeling of the motion being reciprocated in a far more soothing way. As she focused on [Y/N] tracing random shapes and words against her scarred skin, subconsciously wondering if she could make out anything specific if she focused, she closed her eyes.

“But even if I somehow wasn’t sore like I am now, I’d absolutely want to stay like this for the day. I missed you,” although her voice had already started off gentle, her tone only seemed to drift further into silence. Whether it stemmed from sheepishness or fatigue, [Y/N] didn’t know. She didn’t mind it, however, and instead pulled her closer. “I missed you too. So very much.”

She paused, one of her hands stroking the brunette strands sprawled out on the mattress behind Lara as her brow creased in thought. “I do worry about you though,” she admitted after what felt like hours, not sure if Lara was still even awake at the moment or if she had heard her. She had, however, and was quick to gaze back up at her, partially hidden way beneath the comforter. Her eyes, which had just been staring at her with a mix of blissful fatigue and love, were now a concoction of bleary concern and confusion. “Why?”

“Because sometimes I worry that something is going to happen to you while you’re away, and I’m never going to know. I mean, I know you won’t go down without a fight, but I’m still terrified that there will be a day where I see you alive for the last time. That thought alone plagues my mind every single time you leave, and it just…scares me?” She scoffed. “No, it’s so much more than just feeling scared. I’m terrified beyond belief that a thought like that could somehow become a reality.”

She hadn’t realized she had begun rambling until Lara shifted up to be eye-level with her again, a far more serious expression taking over. With her features creased with concern, Lara cupped [Y/N]’s face, the pads of her thumbs stroking away the tears that she hadn’t even realized had fallen. When had she started crying?

“I promise you I’m never going to let that happen, alright? There’ve been so many times I shouldn’t have been able to survive, but I did. Like you said: I won’t go down without a fight. And now that I have you here, I have all the more reason to fight to stay alive. I couldn’t bear the thought of never coming home to you. Just…don’t ever worry about me not coming home, okay? One way or another, I’ll find a way to get back to you.”

Her tone softened with every passing word, her heart and mind filling with relief upon seeing a gentle smile grace [Y/N]’s lips. She returned her grin and leaned forward to rest their foreheads together. “Even if it means I have to admit to Jonah that I’m wrong,” she added with a fake annoyance and a small roll of her eyes. [Y/N] couldn’t help but chuckle at her words, allowing Lara to finally let out a small sigh of solace.

“I wouldn’t trade my time with you for anything,” she reassured, trading roles and pulling [Y/N] into her chest instead. “Not for an artifact, not for a trip to some uncharted land, not for my studies, not for anything. I know I may not be the best at showing it, but I truly love you, [Y/N]. I promise you that I’ll always find my way back to you.”

At her reassurance, [Y/N] nuzzled closer to focus in on her heartbeat, unable to bite back the wide smile that stretched across her lips. “I love you too,” she whispered.

Her words were true, she just wished she could find a way to prove it to her every day. Regardless of how invested she could get in her studies or research for her next expedition somewhere far away, she wouldn’t trade these moments of serenity for the world. She treasured them far more than any artifact she had discovered, and would do anything to ensure more of those memories could be made. Not even the strongest forces out there would stop her from returning to the one person she could call home, and she vowed, one way or another, to make sure it stayed that way for good.

[pettyprocrastination]

whoever this beloved anon was I am so touched by your kindness! You definitely didn’t have to do this but I am so happy you enjoy this idea and I will happily expand upon it for you!

this is just a collection of word vomit bullet points for the time being but I will happily answer any and all questions about this pair!!

warnings: violence, angst, child death (Sarah Miller), foul language, the same warnings that apply to tlou, reader is Sarah's mom and described as having similar features to her. 

So the general Idea is that you and Joel are happily married before the outbreak. 

You had been Sarah's mother, his high school sweetheart he got pregnant when neither of you were old enough to have any reaction to the pregnancy test other than a fucking panic attack in one another’s arms. but you made it work 

you both worked but made time for one another and your sweet girl, going to museums every other weekend and joel insisting on swooping you off for a date every now and then 

nothing special. He knows you’re more of a diner gal than anything too fancy that makes you both feel out of place. 

On his birthday in 2003, you had planned to tell him that you were pregnant again. But the memories of your own fears of motherhood from all those years ago begin to swirl through your head again and you get cold feel. deciding to tell him the morning after

it is his birthday afterall, you want to focus on him. 

but when you’re woken up in the middle of the night because tommy needs to get bailed out, Joel kisses you sweetly one last time before promising he’ll be back and you can’t shake the feeling that something bad is happening. 

its you that shakes sarah awake that night. shouting at her to put on her shoes when she’s still rubbing the sleep from her eyes because you’ve been listening to the radio for the past two hours, calling joel again and again and again praying for him to fucking pick up but to no avail. 

Sarah, bless your little girl’s bleeding heart is the one who insists you check on the adler’s against your better suspicions and when you find the eldest looming over her daughter, blood and sinew dripping from her mouth, you grab your daughter hand and burst into a full sprint until something slams into your back and sends you tumbling onto their front lawn

its how joel finds you, struggling to keep the once sweet old woman, whose now nothing more than dead eyes and gnashing teeth straining to snap at your pulse point as you push against her while sarah shrieks before your husband runs forward and cracks her skull with a wrench. 

there’s hardly a moment of pause, just enough for him to pull you up and into his arms before he’s ushering you both into the car with an urgency. 

when the truck crashes, you get separated from them. Perhaps at Tommy’s side when the flames rise and create a wall, separating you from your husband, or maybe pulled into the mob of chaos when trying to escape from those already infected-

all joel knows is that you promise you’ll find him: just get sarah to safety and you’ll meet him at the river

Poor thing is already so frightened, held in her father’s arms with tears streaming down her face insisting they can’t leave you they just can’t but her father kisses her forehead and reassures her its going to be okay 

“we just need to be brave, okay babygirl? Your mama’s real tough, she’s gonna be alright.” 

he isn’t sure if he’s saying it to his daughter or himself. 

but when he comes to the river you aren’t there. Only a soldier who points a gun at the scared little girl in his arms and then he loses everything

its when the light is gone from his daughter’s eyes that he realizes. His voice cracked and raw from sobbing that he looks around to see his brother with drawn in shoulders and tears in his eyes but his wife is nowhere to be found. 

Tommy says you got lost in the chaos. Everything was so loud, so sudden that he turned around and suddenly you weren’t there. 

Joel wants to go back but its Tommy that stops him, that dulls the red in his vision to a sad faded pink because his brother points at the orange horizon not too far from them, so much of the city is already in flames. 

“We’re gonna find her, but not there.” 

So Joel searches. for the first year spent in the world post-outbreak its all he did. 

He became a smuggler because of it. 

Information came at a price and he needed to be able to fucking pay it, whether it be in blood or ration cards. He was willing to do anything to find you or any thin thread that lead your way. 

But it’s Tommy that asks him to give up. Not in those words of course. 

The youngest Miller knows better than to say something so cruel that would make his brother, the only person he has in this world turn on him. 

But his voice is worried when he asks him one night in Boston when he hasn’t even had the chance to wash the blood from his knuckles 

“You think she would have wanted this for you?” 

the fight that followed his words was brutal. Vicious insults and scarred fists slamming against each brother until they're both too tired and bloody to continue. Each leaning against a wall for support and Tommy’s wavering voice breaking the silence. 

“I don’t know where she is, Joel. But I do know you're gonna get yourself killed if you keep lookin’ for her.” 

All he can do is nod. 

It’s a few days later when he meets Tess. Who has heard plenty of stories about the elder miller’s brutality and wants him to put that muscle to good use for some extra profit. 

It begins his new life. One that empty and cold but one he can live. 

Until of course, Ellie comes along. The sweet and incredibly opinionated girl that makes him become something akin to the man he thought died twenty years ago. 

its when he’s traveling with Ellie, that it happens. When a warm familiarity has settled between the two because so much blood and pain has been shared he can’t help but see her as something close, something bright even though all he can force himself to utter in her reference is “cargo” 

when theyre traveling through the woods as Ellie chatters away, probing his memory about a movie that may or may not have existed thirty years ago because her descriptions of the plot are incredibly odd he hears a voice shout for them to stop and finds himself staring at a man- no, a boy- pointing a gun at them. 

Ellie stills, but Joel can see enough to know that from the lanky figure and dimpled face that he’s young. Maybe twenty, twenty-two at the oldest, but his eyes dart from Joel to Ellie with a pinprick of fear that allows Joel the time to charge forward and slam him to the ground before wrestling the gun from his hands. 

He has enough to time to tuck it under the stranger’s chin before he hears the sound of the safety being turned off and finds himself looking up and seeing a gun just inches from his face. 

Joel’s head whips around when Ellie’s voice calls out his name in fear, he turns to see another stranger holding her a gun point, shoulders drawn back and a shadow cast over their face by the had obstructing their identity. 

“You hurt one of mine, I hurt one of yours. That a fair deal?” 

Its takes him a moment to recognize you. It’s been so long since he’s heard your voice, the sweet tease when you would poke at him each time he woke up late despite the fact that you reminded him to set his alarm the night before, the times you’d chide him with a harsh “Joel Miller!” whispered in public anytime he was able to grab you a bit too passionately to be appropriate in public but the laughter in your voice let him know you were never truly mad at him. You didn’t know how to be. 

But that sweetness is buried under a cold rasp that cuts through the air as you point a rifle at the scared little girl in front of you.

“You think I won’t?” You’re older now, skin covered in scars from a life he didn’t know you got the chance to live and your eyes are cold as they regard your husband. “Put the gun down and get the fuck off of him, I won’t repeat myself.” 

Joel mumbles your name in awe. The woman he loved, the woman he mourned the one he fought so hard to find stands before him like some sort of hallucination and suddenly the world feels like its spinning until you bark orders at him again. 

“You’ve got five seconds Joel, make a fucking choice before I make it for you.” 

He looks down and realizes the boy under him, the one with the bleeding nose and snarling face has your eyes and his dimples. 

“One.” 

The one above him has Sarah’s hair. Soft brown curls that shine under the sun. 

“Two”

Wait. No, they both do.

“Three.” 

Twins. Jesus fucking Christ you had twins. 

“Four.” 

Joel holds the rifle up above his head and the one boy standing snatches it from his grasp, tossing it to the ground and kicking it far from his reach. He slowly stands, allowing your son- dear god your son- to scramble to his feet. 

Your voice softens just for a moment. “You okay, Duke?” 

Blood stains the bottom half of his face from where Joel slammed his fist into the boy’s nose just moments before, but he nods nonetheless. 

Now, they both stand on one side of you and he can see the resemblance clear as day the same way he would whenever Sarah was by your side.

When you order him to hand over his bag, he does so without question before telling Ellie to do the same. 

She watches him with wide eyes, her hands still up in the air but gaping at her companion as if he had grown a second head. 

“Joel!” “Just do it, alright?”

He doesn’t miss the way you watch their interaction with narrowed eyes until she tosses her bag to you and you slowly lower your gun. 

“Now, you want to tell me what the fuck you think you’re doin’ at my home?” 

[viking-raider]

Sy's Therapy Barn

Summary: Austin Syverson is newly retired from the Army and struggling to cope with his PTSD. Until he decides to take a chance on a hobby, most wouldn't think could help, and the person there to help teach him how to do it.

Pairing: Syverson/Reader

Word Count: 5k

Rating: M - Quick-Burn, Language, Angst, Fluff, Mentions of PTSD, Combat Fatigue, Trauma, Wine drinking, Flirting, Support System, Movie Quotes, Leap of Faith, Mentions (but no depictions) of Mental Illness, Domestic Violence, Alcoholism, SMUT - Light, P in V

Inspiration: I saw this Instagram video of a handsome, buff gentleman that ran a pottery business and promoted it on the site.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed it. I am so sorry to any Pottery people for butchering it.

Syverson wouldn't lie, even though he had thought the hobby was stupid, the first time he thought about it. But, upon seeing a poster at an outdoor market he had decided to attend one, warm Dallas weekend, to get out of the house. Something inside of Sy had urged him to save the number in his phone, before finding the ale stand.

It wasn't until almost a month later, after waking up in the dead of night. He laid curled up in a ball, hugging his knees and struggling to breath. With the blankets and pillows thrown off the king-sized bed, and the black fitted sheet beneath him drenched in his sweat. Aika pressed against his back and whimpering at her owner's distress. It was then that Sy knew he needed something more, other than just denial, the gun range and booze to deal with his PTSD and Combat Fatigue.

He wasn't about to go sit down on some squeaky metal, folding chair, in the basement of some random religious church, listening to other Vets talk about their combat experience. Everyone nodding their heads and offering sympathy and the Word of God. Sy had stopped believing in God over a decade ago. Because, how could some magical man in the sky, with some grand plan for you, before and after you died, allow such bullshit evil into the world.

He didn't want sympathy, far from it.

Austin Syverson, also didn't do sympathy.

So, he pulled up the number from the outdoor market and gave the business a call.

“Mini's Pottery Haven, how can I help you?” A cheery voice chimed on the other end.

Sy let out a hard breath. “Hi, I saw your poster at a market, a couple weeks ago, for a pottery class.” He said, rubbing a palm over his buzzed head, feeling stupid for calling a pottery business, thinking it would help him, in any way, with his trauma. “I was wondering, if you're still doing classes?”

“Yes, we are!” She confirmed, happily. “We have one tonight, with two spots left, if you'd like to join it.”

“Oh!” Sy started, surprised, not expecting one so soon, hoping for a day to work up the nerve to call her back and cancel. “How much is it?”

“Thirty dollars, for just one person, and sixty dollars for a couple.” She informed him, pressing her phone to her ear and bringing up the planner on her computer. “You can pay when you arrive at the class.” She added, distractedly.

Sy paced his kitchen for a moment, before pausing and straightening his back. “I'll take one of the spots and pay the thirty, when I arrive.”

“Excellent! Can I have your name, please?”

“Syverson.” He answered, out of pure habit.

“All right, we look forward to seeing you tonight, and what you create!” She told him, her voice upbeat and optimistic, like she expected Sy to be the next Michelangelo, before hanging up.

“The boys would lose their shit, if they ever find out I tried pottery.” Sy said, stuffing his phone into the front pocket of his jeans.

Later that night, Sy found himself standing out front of the humble, little pottery shop, the full window front was bright from the lights inside, which was flowing with people, all standing around chatting with each other and holding glasses of wine.

“At least, they have booze.” Sy commented to himself.

“First time?” A soft voice asked, from behind him.

“Huh?” He frowned, turning around to find a gorgeous woman standing behind him, a large bag slung over her shoulder, as she regarded him with a kind expression. “Oh, yeah. You?” He asked, trying to be polite.

“Naw, I've been getting my hands messy with clay for years.” You smiled at him, patting your bag. “I assume you're here for the class.” You asked, motioning towards the shop.

“I am.” Sy nodded, licking his lips. “Just working up the nerve to go inside.” He explained to you.

“Ah, yeah. We pottery nerds can be dangerous.” You teased, smirking up at him. “You make one reference to Ghost in there and they'll turn you into a clay mold. If not, pelt you out of the shop with lumps of it.” You giggled, moving by him to step up onto the curb and grab the door handle.

A laugh rumbled out of Sy's broad chest, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I'll make sure to keep the Ghost quotes to myself then.” He said, turning his sparkling blue eyes towards you.

“Well, no time like the present.” You told him, pulling the door open and holding it for him.

“That's true.” He nodded, his smile softly fading as he joined you on the sidewalk, stopping beside you for a moment. “Thanks for the pep talk.” He said, giving you a gentle nod, before going inside.

The place was a buzz with voices as he paused by the counter, taking out his wallet to pay for his admission for the night's class. He glanced over his shoulder to see where you'd gone, but you had vanished somewhere into the crowd. Shrugging, figuring you'd paid in advance or had some sort of membership, he handed over his bank card to Mini, the owner of the business, who was a sweet looking, elderly woman, dressed in a loose and colorful, bohemian strap dress. Taking his card and the Hello, My Name Is: sticker she handed back with it, Sy turned away, spotting the small wine station, also surrounded by numerous black sharpies. He headed over, scribbling Sy, on his sticker and poured himself a glass of some kind of red wine, before finding somewhere quiet to stand, to wait for the class to start.

As he stood there, sipping his wine and looking at a wall of finished clay figurines, cups and other knick knacks, he felt a pair of eyes on him. Clearing his throat, he glanced sideways, figuring you were checking him out, which he was more than fine with. But he discovered it was another woman giving him eye-candy. She was tall, with bleach-blonde hair and in a hot-pink tracksuit, she felt out of place for a pottery shop. Though, Sy knew he shouldn't be one to speak, standing there in a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt, that had been to war with him, tight blue jeans, a pair of cowboy boots, with a black stetson cowboy hat.

The way she lifted her wine glass, however, suggested she wanted to jump his bones.

Which only amused the retired Army Captain.

“All right, ladies and gentleman!” Mini called, clapping her hands together and coming around the counter to regard her customers. “If we can all head towards the other end of the shop, where all the potter's wheels and everything are. We can start the class.” She smiled, motioning everyone to the back.

Everyone moved to the back in a messy, single-file line, still sipping the rest of their wine and chatting with each other. The woman in the pink tracksuit lagging back to walk with Sy, fluttering her lashes at him.

“Ma'am.” He acknowledged her, touching the brim of his hat, but didn't give her much else.

“What's a man like you doing in a pottery class?” She asked, biting the corner of her lip.

Sy licked his lips. “I got nothing better to do.” He said, not willing to admit the real reason he was there to her.

“I'm sure a big, strong, handsome man like you could find something to do.” She insinuated, fluttering her lashes at him.

“Pottery is just fine, thanks.” Sy replied, offering her a weak smile.

“Everyone, please find a pottery wheel and it doesn't matter which one.” Mini said, motioning to the dozen or so pottery wheels in a circle, a round lump of clay already waiting on them to be shaped.

Sy waited until almost everyone was seated, not wanting to take the chance of getting stuck sitting next to the woman hitting on him, far from that mood tonight. So, taking up a pottery wheel and grabbing the provided apron, he took off his hat and set it on a shelf behind his wheel, and slipped on the apron. Sy chuckled, sitting down on the comically small stool before the wheel, as he balanced his large, muscular body on it, smirking up at the rest of the group; seeing some of them sit on the stool like they'd done it a million times and others wobble.

“The first thing we're going to do, before we start shaping our clay,” Mini began explaining, sitting at wheel herself, apron on and perched on her stool, like the forty-plus year pottery maker she was. “is to assign our first timers, helpers. I will be giving instructions and so forth, but your helper will be there for you, just in case you need a refresher or get frustrated.” She told the group, looking around at everyone. “But just remember, just like us, human beings, we are all unique and beautiful. It doesn't matter how many times your clay refuses to shape into what your mind's eye thinks it should, or tears apart, or even if it doesn't bake right in the kiln. It is still beautiful! You still brought it into this world with your own two hands, and you should be proud of that. Because it's something no one else in this room did.”

Sy blinked at her, slightly taken aback by her statement. So used to Army instructors drilling into him about, if it's not perfect, you're dead or your buddy next to you, is.

“So, helpers, I'll let you pick your person. You've all worked here before, so you know how to identify them.”

“And how do you do that?” Someone blurted out, making Mini and the helpers chuckle.

“Well, that's one way for us to find you.” One of the helpers quipped in an Australian accent, moving across the room to said person. “But, it's the name tags, mate, or Ryan, I should say.” He smirked, offering out his hand to the newcomer. “I'm Joel.”

“Those of us here that don't have a name tag, are old pros.” Mini smiled, resting her forearms on the edge of her potter's wheel, while the rest of the helpers spread out.

“Good to see you made it all the way into the building.”

Sy looked over his shoulder and grinned up at you. “Yeah, I had a little bit of help.” He replied, glad, and a bit surprised, to see you were one of the helpers.

“Well, you're about to get some more help.” You said, glancing at his name tag. “Sy.”

He felt a lump lodge in his throat as you said his name. “That's great.” He rasped back. “I'm going to need it. These hands have only known how to do one thing, for the last twenty years.” He told you, holding up his calloused mitts.

“Oh, you got good hands for clay shaping.” You said, taking one of them in both of yours. “I'm sure we can teach these pups a new trick or two.”

“Can you teach this ol' pup any?” Sy asked, smiling at you.

“I might.” You nodded, pulling a stool up beside him. “Let's listen to Mini first, then we can find out what you want to make that clay into.” You told him, giving him an encouraging smile, that cracked open the door to a place he had tried to keep shut.

“Everyone have their partner?” Mini asked, looking around, then nodded. “Good! Now, you're going to learn your proper posture for molding.” She began, leaning forward and started her instruction for the next several minutes.

“Christ, I don't know if I can remember all that.” Sy said, blowing out a breath and shaking his head at his mound of clay. “I'm just a simple country boy, fresh out of the Army.”

You giggled beside him, lightly patting him on the back. “That's why you got me.” You reminded him, sweetly. “Now, what do you want to make? And, I swear if you say a dildo, I will get up and leave.” You warned him, seriously.

“Have people actually asked you that?” He frowned, cocking his head at you.

“Yes, more often than you might think.” You huffed, shaking your head. “I'll make anything else though.”

“To be honest with you,” Sy started, frowning down at the clay and shaking his head. “I don't know what to make. I've never been the artistic type. I always failed art class back in school.”

“Well, that's the wonder of art, and clay for that matter, Sy.” You told him, softly. “You can make whatever you want. You don't need to be artsy for it. What's the first thing that comes to your mind? Anything at all.”

“My dog.” He blurted out, biting his lip, feeling silly for it.

“All right, what about a dog bowl?” You suggested, tossing out the first dog related thing that came to your mind.

“Could we make a bowl?” Sy asked, looking over at you.

“Absolutely!” You nodded, grinning. “If you wanna make a bowl for your doggo, then we'll make one. I'll use all ten years of my clay making experience to help.”

“All right, a bowl for Aika, it is.” Sy nodded back, inspired.

“That's a sweet name.” You commented, watching Sy position himself, much as Mini instructed, then drizzle a little bit of water onto the clay and cup it in his large hands, almost hiding it completely in his palms as he started to work the wheel with his foot. “Good, that's a great speed. Keep it up. Little less pressure though.” You reminded him, watching the clay start to pancake a bit.

“Sorry.” He apologized, letting off on it.

“You're all right.” You answered, shaking your head. “So, what made you try out pottery?” You asked, reaching out, instinctively, to add a little more water.

Sy was quiet for a long moment, playing with and shaping his clay, watching the thick residue from it cover his fingers and palms. While trying to find a way to answer. He could give you the same answer he'd given the pink tracksuit lady or he could be honest. Spying you from the corner of his eye, he noticed you weren't waiting for a reply, not being pushy or intrusive. You had simply asked him the question and given him the space to answer it, when and if he wanted to with no hard feelings.

It was a breath of fresh air to him, just like feeling the wet clay in his hands. Knowing he was creating something, not harming it.

“I was hoping it would help me,” He finally answered you, licking his lips, deciding to be honest. “With my combat PTSD.” He added softer, waiting for your reaction.

“It can be quite calming.” You admitted, no ill reaction on your face. “It can also be rather frustrating.” You chuckled, with a smirk. “I about tossed the piece I was working on this morning, when one of the sides collapsed on me. I'd only been working on it for six hours.”

“Six hours!” Sy exclaimed, sitting back to look at you more steadily.

“You suffer for the art sometimes.” You told him, with amusement at his expression. “But, it's well worth it in the end. Most of the time, at least.”

“Christ, I hope this doesn't take that long.” He said, looking down at the weirdly shaped, almost oblong bit of clay on his wheel.

You looked around the room, before leaning close to Sy. “I think you're wonderful, Oda Mae.” You whispered into his ear, so none of your friends could hear you, knowing the complaints they'd give you for the reference after the class.

A huge smile crossed Sy's face and he howled with laughter, catching everyone's attention.

“I crack a good joke, we all know it!” You told them, grinning with guilt.

“I like you.” Sy said, once everyone's attention went back to their own station. “You're the first person that's made me laugh, like that, since I came home on retirement from the Army. A year ago.”

“Oh yeah?” You grinned, feeling a hot rush through your body that wasn't the glass of wine you had earlier. “Well, if you think I can crack a good joke, you'll see how good of a pottery teacher I am.”

“You take any students?” Sy blurted out, before he knew what he was thinking.

You floundered, mouth hanging open. “Um, no.” You admitted, shocked he'd asked, then saw the light start to fade in his blue eyes. “But I could consider it.” You said, quickly. “Especially if it helps you cope with your PTSD.”

“I think it just might.” He proclaimed, finding himself smitten with both pottery and you.

You laughed, throwing up your arm as Sy flicked the wet clay on his fingers at you. “Austin!” You tried to duck the mucky droplets as they splattered all over your apron, the side of your arm, face and hair, still giggling.

“You were looking a bit dry over there!” He guffawed, grinning at you. “What the heck, are you shapin', anyhow?” He asked, balancing himself back on his stool and eyeing your kaolin clay, seeing the strange, cup-like shape you had going.

“I don't really know.” You sighed, shrugging your shoulders at the grayish-yellow clay before you. “I'm just trying to understand it, and make something. That will hopefully not crack in the kiln. If I ever get around to firing it.” You told him, leaning forward again, feeling the soreness in your lower spine and forearms from working in that position for so long. “What about you?” You asked, cocking a brow at Sy, without looking away from what you were starting to consider your Frankenstein.

“Another ceramic grenade cup.” You smirked, curving your thumb into the center of the clay. “Or, what was that tea pot you made?” You asked, giggling as you recalled pulling the craft out of the kiln.

“I don't want to talk about it.” Sy replied, sounding disgruntled.

You laughed, nodding your head. “That's right, it was supposed to be a turt—Austin!” You shrieked, as his big, wet clay covered mitt swiped across your face. “Oh my god!”

“It was nothing, woman.” He huffed at you, with mischievous eyes, as he sat back down. “But I do have a question for you, babe.”

“Oh?” You replied, standing up to wipe the streak off your face before it dried.

“I was thinking,” He paused for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip as he continued to work his clay. “I still have a large chunk of my retirement payment from the Army, just sitting in my bank account.” He said, scowling as one side of the clay started to collapse.

“All right.” You nodded, staring down at him, as you stood between your two pottery wheels in the garage of Sy's house, situated on the ten acres he owned.

“I've been considering,” He licked his lips and sat back, to look up at you, wanting to see your face when he said aloud what had been on his mind for the last year and a half. “I want to open up my own shop.”

You blinked at him a couple times, processing his words. “Your own pottery shop?” You asked for clarification.

“Yeah, I want to open a pottery barn, to help Vets, like myself. Hell, to help anyone with PTSD or trauma. It helped me through so many nights of episodes and flashbacks.” He explained to you, babbling out the idea that had been swirling around him, and looked back up. “You helped me.” He whispered quietly, before shaking his head and squeezing the clay on his wheel.

“It's a stupid idea.”

Watching him destroy the piece he'd just spent the last hour and a half working on, stung you, but it hurt you more to hear him say his idea was stupid. You thought it was incredible. That it was so thoughtful and sweet of him to want to share a hobby that had given him so much in the last two years.

You were flattered to be a part of that journey with him, as well.

Your big bear.

“I think it's a terribly-” You sat down in his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “good idea, Austin Syverson.” You declared, kissing him lovingly. “And if I hear anyone say otherwise, I'll pelt them with wet clay, until they think it is.”

A bright smile pulled across Sy's face as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “So, you'll come be my first employee?” He asked, nosing the side of your neck, smelling your perfume mixed with the earthy scents of pottery, tinged with a light sheen of sweat from how warm it was in the garage.

“Oh, I'm going to work for you, am I?” You cooed, amused. “What position, do I get?”

“Hmm.” He hummed, pressing his lips to your skin. “How about the head of pottery?”

“What's your job going to be?” You asked, eyes fluttering shut.

“I'm the boss.” He chuckled, tugging on your ear. “I'll have a bunch of jobs. But there's no one I trust more than you, with all your infinite wisdom of pottery, to run that area.” He told you, his hands pushing under your tank top. “I do only have two years of experience, compared to your thirteen.”

“Oh, laying it on thicker than a glaze, Captain.” You purred, feeling his fingers leave trails of drying clay on the skin of your back. “But I do like the sound of it. Do I get to boss you around during classes?” You asked, cupping the back of his head in your palm and rubbing the short hair there with your thumb, while your other hand dripped to the strings of his camouflage apron.

Sy smirked, giving your neck a sharp bite and making you gasp. “You boss me around already.”

“I do not!” You huffed, with an amused flash in your eyes, pushing his head back to look up at you.

“Whatever you say, my darling.” He replied, blue eyes sparkling.

“That's what I thought.” You smirked, kissing the bridge of his nose.

Pulling his hands from your tank top and gripping you by the hips, Sy pushed you up and pulled your legs across his lap, so you straddled him. You moaned at the straining bulge in his black sweatpants, pressing down against it through your short-shorts, sucking lightly on your bottom lip.

“What are we calling your little pottery business?” You hummed, reaching between your bodies to slip into the waistband of his sweats, finding his thick manhood and gliding your hand along it, drawing out a shivering sigh out from him.

“I don't know.” He rasped, clawing at your hips and the band of your shorts, leaving red marks in their wake. “Maybe, Sy's Therapy Barn or something.” He puffed, losing focus on the idea of running a business and growing more interested in tearing your shorts and underwear off.

“I like it.” You nodded, slipping off his lap, smiling at his hands grabbing to bring you back, but stood and took your shorts and panties off, before straddling his thick thighs again. “Rolls of the tongue and easy to remember.” You told him, taking his burning shaft in your hand, stroking him firmly as you guided him towards your glistening entrance.

“Mmhm.” Sy mumbled, his mouth latching onto your collarbone. “Whatever you say, babe.”

You chuckled, caressing your free hand over his head and gripped his shoulder, using it as leverage to sink down onto him, with a soft sigh and leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

“I love you, Syverson.”

“Ditto.” He rumbled back, wrapping his arms around you and locking you against him.

“Welcome to Sy's Therapy Barn!” You grinned as a man came through the door, the bell above it chiming through the building, his ripped muscles making the fabric of his Under Armor shirt scream, his tattooed arms showing below the short sleeves. “Are you here for the classes or to look about?” You asked, motioning around the grand shop with beaming pride.

You and Sy had found a thousand square foot warehouse, filling it with all your pottery and therapy needs and dreams. Sy had even decided to go to school and become a licensed therapist, allowing him to help the people coming into the Therapy Barn better. While they got their hands cupped around the little mounds of clay, during your classes, so they could shape it into whatever their minds wanted or needed.

Part of the warehouse was set up with kilns of all sizes and kinds, tall and wide shelves to hold pour molds and drying creations. While another section was where you and Sy held the classes for the therapy groups, either for former or active Combat Service people or, those who Sy referred to as Regulars, members of the public who hadn't served. All of them there to try and remedy their PTSD, trauma, depression, loss, domestic violence or anything else along those lines.

People that didn't require therapy were also welcome, of course.

But the two of you catered to those in need specifically, and so far, business was booming. Sy had gone to the several local Veteran Centers in the Dallas area with fliers promoting the business's program, as well as the VFW Canteens and posting on the internet. Even calling some of his old comrades. Sy had been worried and a bit skeptical with your first pottery class, sure that no one was going to show up to it. However, when the time rolled around, the bell above the front door started dinging with customers, most of them were middle aged or elderly, but there were several your and Sy's age, looking apprehensive.

It made you smile to see that look on their face, it was the exact expression you'd seen on Sy's face, that night you met in the parking lot of Mini's Pottery Barn, before he discovered the magic of forming clay. You always looked forward to seeing it change into the wonder of how amazing it is, to see your brave Captain use his fresh Bachelor's Degree to help them work through the same struggles he had. The struggles you had woken up at one or two in the morning, to find Sy in the garage, in nothing, but the shorts he'd gone to bed in, hunched over his pottery wheel, his muscles tight and teeth gritted, but his hands cupped gently around the piece of clay he was working. Trying to chase away whatever he had been awoken by.

“I'm here for the class, with Dr. Syverson.” He replied, looking around uneasily, like he expected a bomb to go off in one of the teapots you'd crafted and had on sale in the front window of the shop.

“That's great!” You grinned at him, trying to be open and encouraging towards him. “The class will start in ten minutes. You can either take a seat or have a look around. There's coffee, tea and water on the table with some cupcakes and snicker-doodle cookies, so help yourself.”

“No booze.” He mumbled, eyeing the table.

“No,” You answered, giving him an emphatic look. “Some of our potter's are recovering and sober, so we don't offer it.” You explained to him, glancing over at one of your regulars with a nod. “To repress the urge to relapse.”

He looked at you for a moment. “That's—actually, very thoughtful of you.” He said, blinking as it came over him.

“We do our best.” Sy said, appearing from the back. “Pleasure to meet ya.” He offered his hand to the other man. “Captain Syverson, 1st battalion, 3rd SFG(a). Also Dr. Austin Syverson, the co-owner of this here Therapy Barn.” He introduced himself, always giving his classifications to the Vets, knowing how at ease it made them and started that thread of a bond with him.

“Pleasure to meet you, Captain.” He replied, shaking Sy's hand. “Lieutenant Daniel Burton, 3rd recon battalion, for the Marines.”

“Well, it's good to meet you, Lieutenant.” Sy nodded, then smiled over at you, his hand moving to rest on the small of your back. “I'm sure my fiancee has given you the introduction to our business.”

“That she has.” Daniel nodded, giving you a kind smile. “Though, I'll admit, I'm a little apprehensive as to how this is going to help me get straightened out. I watched some videos on pottery on Youtube and it just doesn't seem like much.”

You and Sy looked at each other, a smile and knowing look on each other's faces.

“It seems that way. I thought the same thing, myself, at first.” Sy confessed, a winking at you. “But, all you have to do is take all your emotions. All your pain, all your love, all your passion and all your rage and work it into that bit of clay we give you on that pottery wheel and the rest comes with it.”

You looked at Sy, it had become a thing between the two of you, and in doing so, that line had become his motto. It had become part of the business's motto, and few people actually caught the reference. But that was all right. The two of you still got through to people in the end. Saving them from their dark past through horrible movie quotes, a man that took a chance on a hobby and your skill with moving clay, sculpting a life and a business out of it.

[toxicbrothel]

POV

Joel has to drive somewhere, and Carter is busy. It’s just you and Joel, and you’re taking the smaller van. As Joel gets in the driver’s seat, for the first time he tells you to buckle up. It feels silly, given everything that’s happened in this van while it was moving, but you do it anyway. The road is mostly quiet, and you never see another car. It feels weird having a seat all to yourself, but seeing Joel drive really turns you on. His massive triceps casually flex with every turn. His thick thighs shake a little on the bumpy road. Joel looks over at you and does a double take, allowing himself the hint of a smile. 

“What?” you ask. 

He shakes his head as though to brush it off, then says. “The way you were lookin’ at me.” His nose pulls downward and he bites his lip like he might actually laugh otherwise. It gives you such a burst of joy that you could cry if you dwelled on it too long. 

“How was I looking?” you smile. 

He shakes his head. His nose twitches again. 

“How?” you plead. 

“. . . Like,” he shrugs.  “Like you’re . . .watchin’ a movie, or somethin’.”

You shrink into your dress to hide your smile, embarrassed of how wide it is, and for something so simple to make you so happy. It’s wrong to feel happy when you’re driving by pits full of skeletons and rotted clothes, you think. Looking out the window, looking at anything but Joel, is a reality check, but you can’t keep your eyes away long. 

You bring your left knee up on the seat and turn toward him, resting the upper left side of your head on the headrest as you watch. “I never see you drive, you know.” 

“Guess not,” he agrees. 

“I like how you do it.”

He reaches over and pets the crown of your head, and his eyes travel down your body before he returns his hand to the wheel. “Dress looks good on ya."

“I love it,” you gush. You fiddle with the hem and look down. There's that sting and pressure behind your eyes again. It’s the fact that he picked it up for you, back when he used to leave you at the trailer. And he didn’t give it to you until now. He wasn’t sure you’d like it, he said. Then, on this unseasonably warm day, he finally took it out of the bottom of one of his drawers. Like it was always in the back of his mind--you'd like to know what else is back there.

Unshed tears begin to blur your vision, and when you blink, the tears web your lashes. Joel notices. He watches you for a second and your lip quivers. He looks at the road again. You bring your knee down from the seat and look straight ahead, and when you blink again, one rolls down. Joel draws in a slow breath through his nose and looks at you as he exhales. You wipe your eyes with your fingers, then glance at him, brow furrowed, and quickly shake your head like you don’t wanna talk about it.

He nods in agreement and goes back to watching the road. A few seconds later, he looks at you again and puts his hand on your thigh. His voice takes on a soothing tone. “I know, sweet pea.” After a minute, he opens his mouth to say something, but doesn't. 

He rubs your thigh, then squeezes it. You nod and take a deep breath.

He adjusts his head on the headrest, looking pensively at the road. He's driving with one hand. He makes everything look so easy.

Sitting side by side, with what feels like a massive gap in between, even though he can reach you. . . It suddenly feels wronger than ever. You feel strange and exposed without your bodies together. 

“I feel weird in this seat,” you admit and wish it didn’t come out whiny. 

As soon as the sentence leaves your mouth, he takes his foot off the gas and the white noise of the gravel becomes slower, more soothing as he pulls off the road. He parks on the grass, surveys the area in silence for a few seconds, then turns off the engine. He gets out and gently closes the door. You take off your seatbelt while he’s coming around to your side.

You start to open the passenger door, and he opens it the rest of the way. You scoot to the edge of the seat and he leans into the van. You wrap your arms around his neck and his hands on your back pull you even more toward the edge. “It’s okay, I got ya,” he murmurs. You wrap your legs loosely around him, and he pulls you flush. A moan slips out when you feel him against you. You lift your chin, and when your lips brush his beard, he tilts his head down. His lips quickly find yours, and he moans quietly into your mouth as his embrace tightens.

------

------

Thank you so much for reading! And ty for the photo, Lum! 🌸🫛 💕

I imagine she picks the flower at some point on this trip as well.

[anama-cara]

The Healer: Bargaining finale (part 5/5)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4. Joel Masterlist

Raider!Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: You finally reach the doctor's house with Joel and your sick little brother and you show Joel your appreciation. Reader's thoughts in italics. Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: 18+ mdni, sickness/fever, age gap, unprotected PIV

a/n: I wasn't sure how to end this. At first I had a much darker ending but I decided that I liked these characters too much so I added some *feelings*. Please let me know what you think

You had awoken to the sounds of birds chirping and soft breathing. Joel’s arm was draped over your waist and his hand rested on your stomach. It was pleasantly warm. In your mind you pretended that you were sleeping next to someone who actually cared. You imagined it was real. That you could have a companion that loved and protected you, that you could wake up like this next to them in the mornings. It was a nice daydream, but just that. That kind of dream didn’t exist in this new world, nothing good survived. And you certainly had no hope of finding a good man like that to love you.

Joel’s arm twitched in his sleep and you were pulled from your daydream and into your memories from the night before. How his lips felt on your neck, how his hands felt on your body, how his voice sounded as he said your name, how his fingers felt inside you.

For a moment you keep your eyes closed to the world and sink into the comforting feeling. Listening to the songbirds, letting the first rays of sunlight filtering through the tree dance over your closed lids, feeling Joel’s chest rise and fall against your back. You draink it all in, you hadn’t experienced a moment this peaceful in a long time.

There’s a rustle from the sleeping bag across the fire and you jump. Shit. What are you thinking?

You remind yourself that this is Joel, the leader of the band of raiders that terrorizes your countryside. He is not a good man, even if he is helping you, which he really isn’t, this is on just his way.  Suddenly you feel shame, you can’t believe that you let him make you cum, let him hold you, sleep beside you. You curse yourself for being so foolish and letting yourself go last night.

Sleeping beside a fucking criminal, a bully, a killer. A fucking menace. What the hell were you thinking?

You wriggle out of the bag and jump to your feet. To your relief your little brother just rolls over, still sounds asleep. You let out a breath.

“Scared of getting caught?” Joel’s voice is rough with sleep but you can hear the smile on his lips.

“Come on get up,” you kick him in his sleeping bag. “The sun is up we gotta go.”

“Ok bossy,” he grumbles as he rubs his palms over his eyes with an exaggerated yawn.

You wake up your brother as Joel packs up the camp and you’re heading out for the last leg of your journey before the sun is fully risen.

---

You’d been diligently following a few yards behind Joel, carrying your brother in your arms. He seems to get weaker with every step. In the last mile he doesn’t even respond to you when you call his name. He’s just limp in your arms and you can feel his fever burning through his clothing. You make a desperate sound as you try to shake him awake.

Joel’s head whips back. “What’s wrong?” He turns and retreats back to you.

“He won’t wake up,” your voice trembles as you’re trying not to panic. You hold back the tears that threaten to brim over.

“Jesus sweetheart why didn’t you say somethin.” He moves to take the boy from your arms but your grip tightens.

“What are you doing?” There’s fear in your accusation.

His eyes rack over your face, reading your expression. “You don’t trust me,” he says flatly but his expression almost looks hurt. He takes a breath and a hard expression returns to his face. “We gotta move a whole lot faster. If you don’t want him to die we gotta get to the house and get this fever to break.” Joel takes your brother from your arms and you don’t fight him this time. He takes off in a jog and you run after him, trying to keep up.

--

The house looks similar to yours, farmhouse style with a big front porch. Its white paint is peeling and there are a few cracked windows on the top floor but in all its still in good condition. As you come up the dirt drive you see a thin man in his late 60s watching from the window. After he sees the boy Joel is carrying, he disappears from the window only to reappear in the doorway. He sets his rifle down on the table and comes out onto the porch to meet you.

“Joel,” the man gives a stiff nod in greeting. His eyes dart to you then back to Joel.

“Doc,” Joel gives a nod. There’s respect but no friendliness there. Joel dips his head in your direction, “This here’s one of your neighbors, and this is her little brother. He’s got a bad fever and needs your help.” The doctor narrows his eyes at you and Joel, but when he looks down at the child in Joel’s arms his expression softens. “Of course, bring him in.”

You follow the him inside and Joel sets the boy down on the couch. The old man looks at you, “I’ll require a payment of course. What supplies have you brought to offer?”

“What I don’t, I-“ you stammer in a panic but Joel interrupts you.

“You and I will discuss payment later. You help him first.”

The man’s gaze shifts from you to Joel, he pauses a moment then nods in agreement. “Very well. But if he needs antibiotics the price will be doubled. Upstairs.”

Joel carries your brother upstairs and sets him in the bathtub. “Out,” the doc instructs him then turns to you. “You, undress him and fill the bath. Lukewarm. We’ll try to bring his temperature down. I’ll go get him a glass of water, we need to keep him well hydrated.” You tend to your brother for hour before the fever finally breaks. You help dress him and carry him to a bed in one of the guest bedrooms on the top floor. You go to sit beside him but the doc shoos you from the room. “No, he needs rest, out, out.” Exhausted you return downstairs and plop down onto the couch.

You must have been drifting off because you’re startled when the cushion sinks as a weight sits down next to you.  

“Doc is gonna give him some medicine, says he’s got pneumonia. You didn’t hear him coughing?”

You blink, quickly trying to gather your thoughts. “Umm, yeah, I did, I just thought it was part of a cold, you know cause its winter, I mean he always starts coughing when it gets colder. I didn’t think much of it, I was just thinking of his fever. I should have paid more attention.” Your voice tightens.

“No, sweetheart that’s not what I meant,” he trails of looking frustrated then leans back into the couch. “Doesn’t matter, it’s gonna be fine, he’ll get better now.”

“Joel, how much did he ask for? He said the medicines were expensive.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But-“

“I said don’t worry about it. I took care of it.”

You swallow, “thank you.”

His head turns to look at you, and eyebrow raised in surprise.

Tentatively you reach out and lay a hand on top of his, trying to express your appreciation. “I’m serious Joel. Thank you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches and he turns to face forward again. He lets out a sigh and leans his head back into the couch, closing his eyes and casually relaxing. You’ve never seen him like this. “Doc also said the boy needs rest so we’re gonna stay the night and leave tomorrow. Said we can sleep upstairs in the other guest room down the hall. I think he likes ya’ never seen him so generous before.”

You blink. We? “What about your mission? I thought you were supposed to meet up with your men today for a job?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “They’ll assume I got held up. They can do it without me.”

“Joel if you need to leave-“

He opens one eye to look at you. “There’s no place I’d rather be right now sweetheart.”

You swallow and gather some courage. “Joel,” you say hesitantly. “Why are you helping me? Why tell us about the doctor, why escort us, why pay for the medicine, why be… nice to me?”

He turns to face you fully now, his hand strokes your cheek then returns to grip your hand. You instinctively tense and go to pull your hand away but you stop as his eyes lock on yours. “Don’t you get it sweetheart?”

“What?” you reply a bit breathlessly. His eyes are making you nervous.

“I care for ya.”

You feel your heartbeat quicken and you’re silent for a moment as you let his words sink in. What the fuck?

“I know, I’m sorry for how we first met, I shouldn’ta done that, but-“

“Y-you care for me?” You can barely get the words out.

Joel shakes his head. “I shouldn’ta said nothin.” He moves his hand from yours. “No, wait-“ you reach out and grip his retreating hand. Why are you holding his hand? Why is your heart aching? Why do you want him to stay?

But despite the thoughts running through your head your body is acting. You shift closer to him and your hand that reached out to hold his is now slowly moving up his forearm in a gentle caress. Joel closes his eyes for a moment at your touch. You silently urge him to continue.

“Sweetheart I know I fucked up. You were so good to me and I didn’t treat you right. I know I don’t deserve ya.” He is looking into your eyes now, desperation in his eyes. “But I swear I wanna do right by ya. I wanna be there for you, protect you, be with you.”

You don’t break away from his gaze as you move closer still. You’re just inches away from him, almost touching his chest as he stares down at you.

“I want you” he whispers.

And finally you speak the truth that you know is in your heart. “You already have me Joel.”

Your hand glides up his arm and presses against his hard chest as you lean forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips. It’s tender and sweet and like nothing either thought you’d ever experience again in this fucked up world.

You lift your body from the couch to move fully into his lap now, straddling him. Your hands wrap around his face and you lean into him, deepening the kiss and pushing him back against the couch. His hands grip at your hips and you can feel his bulge underneath you. Instinctually you rock your hips into him and he groans in your mouth. You break the kiss and nip at his neck before sliding out of his lap and onto the floor between his feet. You kneel between his legs and look up at him, one hand rubbing circles over his knee. He’s looking down at you, slumped in the couch. You smirk as you watch his tummy rise and fall with each heavy breath. He spreads his legs more and you shuffle closer to him on your knees.

A wicked smile curves on his lips, “You gonna show me just how grateful you are now? This how ya thank me?”

You nod vigorously and reach out for his belt just as you hear the floor creak upstairs. You jump up and throw yourself onto the couch, lounge back and trying to act casual. Joel lets out a barking laugh at the panic in your eyes. “I didn’t know anyone could move that fast sweetheart,” he laughs as he pats your knee. Your heart is beating fast, you completely forgot there was someone else in this house. You were about to suck Joel off in the middle of someone else’s living room while they were just a few rooms away and could walk in at any moment.

Joel smirks and grabs your hand, pulling you up. “Come on.”  He leads you up the stairs and down the hall to the guest bedroom. “Goodnight doc, see you tomorrow,” he calls out loudly then winks at you as he shuts the door and pulls you towards the bed.

He pushes you down with his hands on your shoulders. He stands before you, tall and strong, dark eyes looking down at you and you feel yourself start to get wet. He reaches for his back and grabs his flannel, pulling it off over his head. Quickly he undoes his belt and drops his boxers and jeans in one go. He steps out of his pants and stands before you, completely naked, looking like a freaking god. You’ve never seen his body before, usually he tells you to strip and he remains fully clothed. This new imbalance has your blood pumping and your core clenching. You gulp as he closes the gap between you and scoops his hands under your arms to lift you and push you all the way up onto the bed. He lays over your body, face just a few inches above yours, dark eyes scanning yours. His hand reaches down between you to undo your pants and he pulls back for just a moment to pull your pants and underwear from your body. You take this opportunity to quickly shed your shirt before he’s back over your again. He rests on his elbows and his hands come up to cradle your face, fingers intertwining in your hair as his lips crash into yours, desperate and needy and hot. You whimper against him and he pulls back after a moment.

“Joel I need you, now.”

“Sweetheart I don’t wanna hurt you again. Lemme help stretch you first, get ya ready to take me.” His hand reaches down, trailing over your skin as he moves down your body.

“Joel, I’m ready now.”

His hand moves between your legs and he grins as his fingers reach your wetness. He rubs against your clit with two fingers. “Yeah you are. So wet for me already, fuck.” He plants a kiss to your neck, sucking at your soft skin as his other hands wraps around his cock and guides it to your entrance. You suck in a breath, tensing as you brace for the pain and the stretch, used to Joel shoving into you. But this time he doesn’t. He takes his time, slowly pushing into you inch by inch, letting your body adjust. He groans, fully inside you and you can’t help looking down between you. You watch as he moves his hips and slides in and out of you easily. He catches you staring and smirks, “like that? Want it faster sweetheart?” You nod, unable to speak, and he jerks his hips, hitting something deep inside you causing your head to fall back into the pillows. Your back arches as he sets his new pace and you groan. It doesn’t take long for you to feel your orgasm building. Your hands are gripping the sheets and you’re shaking your head and moaning as it takes over you. Your body spasms under Joel’s and he holds you down with his forearm across your chest. “Fucking bronco, hang on sweetheart I’m almost there.” He continues thrusting into you as you come down from your high and after a few more deep movements he’s spilling inside you, warmth spreading through your core. His breathing is ragged and he collapses on top of you, bodies flush against each other. He tucks you in his arms then rolls both of you to the side so he’s lying behind you, cradling you in his arms.

He kisses your hair from behind. “So fucking good.” He murmurs.

You lay together like that for a long time until your both starting to drift off.

“Joel, I-, I”

“I know sweetheart, everything will be just fine now.”

You smile to yourself as you drift off, comforted by the idea that for the first time since the world fell apart you think the next day will be a better one.

[nehi-soda]

Mean- Part 1 Teaser

Here's a snippet of something I've been working on and obsessing over. The main story is a dark!joel x f!reader, post-apocalypse au, dead dove fic, so I understand if it's not for everyone. Coming soon!

You were still in a daze as you clung to his jacket sleeves, the fabric rough against your trembling fingers. Deep and soothing, his voice resonated through the haze of confusion, a lifeline in the darkness that threatened to engulf you. He was so warm and strong you wanted to bury your face into his chest. “Th-thank you.” You managed to draw some sort of noise out of your vocal cords. “You were in a spot of trouble there, huh?” He spoke, a smile ghosting his full lips. "Uh… yeah," you replied, a meek smile tugging at the corners of your own. “You could say that.” You weren't really sure why you were smiling at all. Joel's hand moved to the side pocket of his worn jacket, retrieving a small metal flask. With practised ease, he unscrewed the cap. "Here, take some water," he said, his voice a gentle murmur. Grateful for the gesture, you accepted the flask, the cool metal chilling your fingertips as you brought it to your lips. The water was crisp and refreshing, quenching the thirst that parched your throat after your ordeal. But as the liquid trickled down your throat, a strange sensation began to take hold—a heaviness that settled deep within your bones, dragging you down into the depths of oblivion. Your eyes fluttered shut, and the last thing you felt were strong arms scooping you up.

[raiderjoel]

🐺

[skulls-soul]

Ok so hear me out sorry for the angst BUT what if Morgan doesn’t allow themselves to have feelings for Alex or at least officially have feelings for them

Because they have no control on who they fall in love with so of course throughout the years of someone being by your side, and being there for you no matter what, and listening to you and understanding you and seeing you for who you truly are!!

Of course you’re gonna fall in love with them

But they’re a murderer, a mass murderer at that! a person who kills heroes as if they are just a rabid Chihuahua

And Morgan would never take a life

So they shouldn’t love someone who takes others life away from them

But that doesn’t stop them from falling in love

Because love is blind and love can sometimes scramble up your own personal rules just for a single person

So, of course, if the entire world sees them as a power couple or partners in not only crime, then that’s fine cause it’s not the truth

Even if their own family perceives them like that it’s fine

Their partners in crime, and only partners in crime

Morgan is totally definitely 100% not in love with them.

They can’t be…

Yet the idea of them not being by their side til the day, they die, hurts them.

And the idea of Alex holding someone else close, and dear to their heart, completely replacing them, hurts them.

The idea of never being able to move their relationship beyond a platonic

It doesn’t hurt them…

They swear that it doesn’t…

But no matter how good they are at fooling everybody (even themself)

Sometimes the truth will leak out

They just hope and pray that their fear of their emotions leaking out at the wrong place in the wrong time, and especially in front of the wrong person..never and they men never becomes a reality

Leaving Alex and their closest friends left in the dark

[toxicanonymity]

i need more raider joel more than i need air in my lungs

Night air.

3500 words, raider!Joel x f!reader | ✨gif

Raider master list ⭐ Joel master

reader-curated playlist | sweet pea (smut songs)

“‘s’too cold out here, sweet pea. put on a shirt, would ya?" Your heart flutters at the implicit invitation and you return with a flannel over your nightie. . . He makes room for you, but doesn’t take his eyes off the fire as he lets you climb into his lap. You study his face and see something new flickering behind it. Worry.

You want to ask him what’s wrong, but you don’t.  "When are you gonna come to bed?” you ask instead.

SUMMARY: Joel brutalizes a bad guy, gives it to you hard, then works on something for you and gives it to you slow. His POV is revealing. WARNINGS: I8+, POV alternates, ANGST, Joel's trauma, overkill violence, dubcon (stockholm syndrome) unsafe P in V x2 (hard then soft), dark fluff, f masturbation, somnophilia, staying inside, NO Y/N. A/N: ty @milla-frenchy for Qs & recs 🖤

—--- JOEL——

Yeah, Joel killed two of his own men, and they had it coming.  He caught them red handed on their way into your room in the stash house. It still makes his blood boil to think about. If they hadn’t walked into that room talking about you like a piece of meat, those two men would be alive. Joel would do it again in a heartbeat.  

He’s not surprised when the others are shaken, but if they’re good men, they have nothing to worry about.  When things remain tense longer than he expects, Joel rounds them up for a group meeting. He puts you in the usual room with his trusted guard Carter posted at the door.  The meeting becomes heated. 

“No one’s gonna be left at this rate,” one man barks.  “They ain’t gonna say it,” he gestures behind him to the other men, “but I will. She shouldn’t be here.” 

Joel’s voice raises with his blood pressure. He asks, “What’d you say to me, Harold?" as he stands up. 

Louder, maybe loud enough for you to hear, Harold repeats, “She shouldn’t be here.  It’s bound to happen.” Bound to happen? These low-lifes are bound to put their hands on Joel Miller’s girl? Joel can feel the beat of his rage in his veins. All his muscles tense. 

He takes a deep breath, exhales sharply, then says matter-of-factly, “I’ll show ya what else is bound to happen.” 

Joel picks up his rifle. 

"Yeah, kill me," Harold chides. "Kill us all."

Joel shakes his head no. His voice is deep and flat.  "Not until ya beg me to." Now he’s gotta make an example out of someone. 

Joel forces Harold outside, then puts his rifle behind his back and lets Harold take a swing at him, just for fun.  When Joel gets this wound up, he needs to feel something. After getting clocked square in the jaw, Joel beats him until he’s barely conscious. Then, Joel hoists Harold, who is not a light man, and impales him on a sharp, severed fence post. 

Joel puts his rifle around front again, leaving Harold alive but doomed, and heads back toward the house.  He’s almost to the door when Harold manages to groan through his gurgles.  Joel turns around, calmly raises his rifle, shoots him in the head, then keeps walking. He goes back inside, chest heaving, wiping blood splatter off his face with his wrist. The rest of them are still inside. No one came to Harold's defense or ran. Joel stares down the men, and based on the faces he sees, he’s not worried about any of them.  

“Rest of ya got nothin’ to worry ‘bout,” he reassures them. “long as ya leave her ‘lone.” 

The men nod. Joel thinks about adding, and I’m not the only one you’ve gotta worry about, tempted to warn them that you know your way around a pistol and can handle yourself. One bullet, right between the eyes of that fucker. Joel thinks about it all the time. There’s something about his little sweet pea being a badass. And thank god, because he almost lost you. 

“Now back to business.” 

They discuss the rival crew they think sent two guys to Joel’s trailer, only for Joel and you to kill them. Joel doesn't think the crew is stupid enough to cause any more trouble, but agrees someone has to keep watch Just in case. 

Joel almost reminds his men that he holds all the smuggling routes and contacts, just in case they’re concerned enough to pull something.  But he doesn't need to say it. He dismisses them and grabs a duffle bag before collecting you from Carter. Carter asks what to do with Harold, and Joel says leave him for a while.

–

When the two of you get back to his trailer, Joel is ready to fuck out his anger. He sees himself in the mirror, chest heaving, veins about to pop, blood splatter on his hairline. God damnit, Harold. Joel  showers because he doesn’t want any part of Harold getting close to you. Not even his blood. 

You’re in the kitchen getting a glass of water when Joel walks out of the bathroom in just a towel.  He crosses the kitchen, drops the towel, and pins you against the counter, pressing his hardness against your ass. He backs up enough to scrunch up your dress and growls, "good girl," when he finds you panty-less and wet. You knew. You were ready for it. 

He grunts as he shoves himself into you, and he gives it to you good. "No one’s," he thrusts, "gonna," he grunts "touch ya." He plunges into you twice more, breathing heavily, then adds, “but me.” The power of his hips sends you to your toes with each thrust. He wraps an arm around you to hold you steady and watches over your shoulder as your tits jiggle with each punch of his hips. It doesn’t take you long to come.  Then he curls his hands under your arms to hold your shoulders down from the front and begins to pulse with a low groan. He leans his head against yours and cradles it from the other side as he catches his breath, then asks, “you good?”

You nod, “mm-hmm,” and he pulls out, feeling better. 

“Good.” 

-

In the following days, things settle down in Joel’s group and get back to normal. The rival crew doesn't show up.

—--

One night, Joel leaves you inside the trailer while he sits out by the fire, as he often does.  What you don't know is that he's not just sitting, drinking, and thinking.  He’s working on something.  He’s been making things for you. He hasn’t given you anything because nothing’s good enough, and it’s probably not going to get any better, but he keeps doing it.  Sometimes he feels a little silly, but they’re things that will help both of you.  Practical things. 

He made a thigh holster for your gun. There was an old one without the straps in the weapons cache which is just a small room of chaos in the stash house, no telling what else is in there.  He used part of a belt for the top strap and some black ribbon on the bottom, for the time being.  It would be better than nothing, but he hasn't given it to you in case it wouldn’t work. Maybe it doesn't matter. As the weather changes, you'll probably need new clothes, anyway. Maybe even pants, he internally grumbles. Sweaters, too, so your chest won’t be exposed. 

Tonight, Joel has another strap of leather with him, one that wasn't right for the holster. He also has a pot of water and a steel nail with a makeshift handle so he doesn’t burn himself. He heats up the tool and uses the hot nail head to emboss the strap with bold letters. He’s been working on it all week, and he’s only on ‘E.’ It’ll be first name only at this rate. You might not wanna wear it anyway, but it’s for your own good.  

Joel’s almost lost you twice now. If there’s anything he can do to make someone think twice about touching or taking you, he’ll do it. Because Jackson, may he burn in hell, was right. Joel can’t have his eyes on you every single second. He's told you before: you tell’em you belong to Joel Miller. They’ll back right off when they hear it.  But it doesn’t hurt for them to see it, too. And of course Joel wouldn't mind seeing it himself. 

Joel’s fingers are too big for work this small.  He accidentally makes the vertical line of the E slanted. Ah hell, this whole thing is no good anyway. You may never see it at this rate. But it feels good working with his hands, especially on something he thinks could help keep you safe and keep you his. You're a good girl, his good girl. 

He should be thinking strategy, what’s going to happen with these warring crews, but that’s just not where his head’s at.   

—--- YOU 🌸🫛—-----

You listen to the fire crackle and pop, longing for Joel to come to bed, longing for him to hold you, and more.  He seems to stay outside longer than usual. When he adds a new log to the fire, you get impatient and decide to go out. You put on your shoes and go to the door, pushing it open just an inch. The rail to the stairs is blocking your view, but he's looking down at something. His jaw clenches in the firelight and he raises his eyebrows as he looks up.  You slowly open the door, stepping out onto the stairs in your nightie.  He puts something down on the ground, out of view.  

“‘s’too cold out here, sweet pea. put on a shirt, would ya?" Your heart flutters at the implicit invitation and you return with a flannel over your nightie.  As you approach, he takes a swig of whiskey and puts the flask down.  His eyes are dark as he watches the flames.  He makes room for you but doesn’t take his eyes off the fire as he lets you climb into his lap. You study his face and see something new flickering behind it. Worry. You want to ask him what’s wrong, but you don’t. 

"When are you gonna come to bed?” you ask. 

His brows knit as he looks at you. For a few seconds, he concentrates on picking lint off the flannel and smoothing your nightgown. 

“I dunno, sweet pea. Got some stuff to figure out.”  

“Can I help?”

He shakes his head no. You put your arms around his neck and rest your cheek against his shoulder. Then you slowly roll your face against him so your lips touch his warm skin and your nose rests on top of his shoulder muscle.  You close your eyes and stay like that for a moment.  He doesn’t stop you. Then you dare to press your lips ever so slightly into his skin before pulling your face back to look at him, your lips disconnecting with a barely perceptible smack. Joel’s still looking at the fire, but he allows himself a subtle smile as he exhales a silent laugh, then cradles your head.  “Go to bed, sweet pea.” He kisses your temple. “I’ll be there in a li’l bit.” 

You take the flannel off and get in bed, still smelling like the fire. You think of getting naked, eager to feel Joel however he wants you. But maybe he likes undressing you, and it’s chillier than normal, too.  You lay under the covers getting wet and tingly thinking about what he'll do when he comes to bed.  

The fire is still blazing.  There’s no sign of him putting it out.  It doesn't seem like he's coming in soon, but you're too turned on to just go to sleep. You close your eyes, recalling the feeling of Joel’s warm skin on your lips by the fire.  The way his eyes sparkled. The way he always opens his arms for you to get in his lap–that seat is always yours whenever you want it. 

You think about how handsome he is. Even, or especially when he’s looking rough.  All dirty and beat up when he got home that one night, muscles pumped up. His sexy stitches. You play a montage in your head of all the times you’ve heard him yell, seen him stomp around ordering guys to do this or that. How fiercely he protects you. Your lip creeps under your teeth and you close your eyes. 

All the way turned on, you slide your hand down between your legs and imagine him walking in and ravaging you.  You recall how urgently he fucked you at the kitchen table after he thought you almost died.  You recall the time he fucked you naked in missionary and and marked your neck.  You try to visualize the look in his eyes.

And then, when you’re just about to come, you remember that one morning. Those few seconds you kissed, when he kissed you back. He had pulled you into him before he knew what he was doing. You still savor that fleeting moment he was grinding against you, his plush lips locked with yours. You can practically feel it.  And that’s enough to put you over the edge. You turn your head into the pillow and brace for your orgasm. 

—----- JOEL —------

You must think Joel can't hear your pretty little sounds when you touch yourself, but over the crackling of the fire he could swear he hears you moan into a pillow. His nose can't help but twitch into a little smile. He lets the fire die as he finishes the 'E',  then he comes inside and washes off the smoke in the shower. By the time he gets in bed, you're asleep on your back with your left arm on your chest. 

He carefully gets into the bed, spreading his weight out to not jostle the mattress. He's to your left, lying on his side, facing you. You’re so pretty and peaceful with your eyes closed and your sweet lips just slightly parted. An urge has been growing in his chest. He’s tried to push it away, but it's only grown, and he's afraid he can’t stop it happening. 

He can’t bring himself to do it when you’re awake. He can’t let himself see how happy it makes you. The loss feels inevitable, and it gets closer and closer.  The panic he felt when FEDRA had you on the ground.  The devastation when it sounded like you were shot outside his own trailer. It gets worse every time. And last time, there was something new. Two losses flashed before his eyes.  The loss of you (in the present and future), and the loss of what could have been–at least for a while, when he had the chance. The worst part is, he doesn't know which would hurt more.  

His eyes fall on your mouth again. 

If he does it now, it won’t mean anything. It won’t change anything. If he does it now, maybe this urge will stop pulling at him every time you’re close.  And then he can tell himself it never happened. Yeah, if he does it now, it can be like it never happened. Like he never let himself get that close, never gave you hope that he could be anything more than the terrible man he is. 

His lip twitches as he watches you sleep.  Then his breathing syncs with yours, and for a moment, everything fades away but you and him and the physical need that's tugging at him.  

Joel leans over you, careful not to wake you, and he hovers over your pretty face. It's happening. His heart races as his face drifts toward yours, drawn to you like a magnet. 

He closes his eyes, presses his lips gently into yours, and something rushes through his blood to every part of his body.  Fuck.  He's instantly soothed. With your lips still locked, he takes one breath through his nose then pulls away. He takes a deep breath, expecting the buzz to fade, expecting to hate himself. But you're so pretty and your lips were so soft. He almost chokes on his own saliva.  He's quickly gotten hard.

Still fast asleep, you sigh and your nose twitches. You hum the prettiest little "mm," and roll over on your right, facing away from him like you normally sleep. 

He pinches his eyes shut tight. He has to have you. 

–

Joel curls himself around you, inhales your hair, and cups your breast. He presses his cock against you, hardening to full strength by now.  He lets out a deep but quiet, "Mmm," not enough to wake you up. The exposed skin of your back and shoulder is so inviting, he's salivating. His arm slides from your breast down your nightie to your mound and you sigh. He lifts his head to see if you're awake as he aimlessly caresses you over your nightie. Your brow furrows with his light touch. Aw, sweet pea, he thinks to himself. You're just so cute. He presses a gentle kiss into your neck where it meets your shoulder, and he begins to ghost your clit through the fabric. 

You sigh again, but still don't seem to wake up yet. He presses your mound so your hips tilt for him, and he pulls up the nightgown. He tests you with a finger and finds you wet but pulls back and pauses to add saliva to his tip.  He teases your entrance with his cock, and you sigh "Mmm, Joel," as you begin to stir awake. He pushes the curve of his tip just slightly inside, then holds your breast. 

He asks, “You 'wake?” 

“Mmm,” you answer weakly. 

"wake you up?" His cock prods at your tight, wet entrance, pushing in a little further.. He's itching to be inside you, but he's taking his time, captivated by your peacefulness. 

Your spine arches and you push back on him, taking another inch of his cock in with a moan as you stir awake. "Joel,” you sigh. 

He presses his lips into your neck and lets them linger.  You ask, "are you awake?" 

"Mm-hmm," he answers, his voice deep and gravely.  He groans softly as he pushes his cock into you. He takes a deep breath as your insides make room for him. It dawns on him that he's never taken the time to savor the moment your bodies are joined, but shit, it feels good. He didn't know it could feel so good like this. He’s feeling every groove of you in slow motion. Each centimeter of you greets him with a tight, warm hug.  You push back on him with a moan, bringing your bodies together. 

Oh, sweet pea. You want it so bad, and you take it so good.

—---YOU 🌸🫛—---

Joel’s cock spreads you apart and he buries his length in you slowly at first, palming your breasts. He pauses, all the way inside you, and removes your nightie so your naked bodies are flush. It feels like a dream. The way he kissed your shoulder, the way he’s fucking you right now with his whole body cradling yours, each thrust so deliberate, you can’t help but still wonder if he’s truly awake. If you're truly awake. He grunts softly each time he bottoms out. His sighs and moans are deep and gravely. 

“Sweet pea,” he whispers against your neck, “ohhhh, you — ohh, you take it so good, baby.” His hand slides down your stomach, between your legs. He whispers in your ear,  "God DAMN, youfeelsogood,” he inhales sharply, then sighs your name.  Your nipples harden and you get goosebumps. 

“Joel,” you whimper at his fingers on your clit.  The fullness of his cock was enough, and the addition of his hand has you twitching already.  

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he whispers, and his voice is so soothing, you relax again. He slows down his pace, his length sliding snugly into your warmth slow enough to feel the drag of his tip inside you. He touches your clit and you whimper again. He adjusts his hand to touch it less directly, pulsing his flattened fingers.  That’s what you need. You moan. 

“Good girl.” 

You wanna ask him again if he’s really awake, but you don’t want to break the spell. You let the silence linger, peppered with moans and sighs from each of you. You’d love for this to last forever. You love every way he gives it to you, but the newness of this is something to savor. After a few minutes, sweat begins to bead and run between your bodies.  You’re both breathing heavily. He gropes at your breasts and the entire front of your body, like he can’t get you close enough. His breathing gets ragged.  You memorize the feel of his cock dragging thick and slow inside you.  Then he adds his hand again. His thrusts become more powerful.  “Come for me, I want you to– nnngh.” 

“Joel,” you whine. 

‘Ohh,” he moans. 

“Joel, I’m–”

“Go ‘head, baby—ugghh—-you can do it”

Your upper back presses into his chest.  He groans and holds you tight as you convulse against him and choke his cock with your climax. “Ohhhh, baby, mmmm.” He bottoms out and pulses inside you as you’re still coming.  He sighs "ohhh," as he fills you up with his warm release. Your body hugs him more with every pulse of his cock.  

When you’re both finished coming, your bodies are still joined. You relish the fullness of him inside you.  You expect him to pull out any minute, but his breathing regulates with yours. 

At some point, Joel's breath stutters abruptly, and you realize he's fallen asleep like this. Holding you close, body curled around you, cock gradually softening inside you. It isn't long until you drift off, too. 

-

Smut continues here: asleep inside

Next major chapter: hunger

-

Thank you so much for reading and engaging. Please consider commenting or reblogging to show raider Joel your love, even if this post is old. 💖 Love you guys. I love your passion for him. Your engagement motivates me. <333

Friendly reminder that there will be no pregnancy in this fic, Joel was snipped pre outbreak. 

----

@toxicfics for notifications, make sure your phone is set to enable push notifications from tumblr. Some of my fics are pretty dark!

⚠️ Since so many people are saying tags aren't working, I may discontinue the tag list soon, sorry ⚠️

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda  @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname   @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @am-3-thyst @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret @bean-is-reading

[fr3sh-tragedies]

Hurt What's Mine

[Shadow of the Tomb Raider] Lara Croft x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.05k

Proofread: No

Content Warnings: Language, mentions of blood, heavy descriptions of gore and death, hospitalization, brief mention of medication

Categories:

Angst Fluff Mix

One-Shot Preference Headcanon

[A/N]: Thank you for 170+ followers! I've got a couple of people who have requested things through my inbox, and I'm hoping I'll be able to answer them soon! I will be open to requests soon, but there are a few more characters I want to write for ahead of time so it's easier to get an idea of what fandoms I'm open to. If you sent in a request, thank you! Once I've posted for a bit longer, I'll upload the masterlist I've made as well as the rules for requesting, then I'll answer requests!

[A/N] #2: If you do have a request that you'd like me to write in the future, please let me know! I'll get to it eventually, things are just hectic right now. Thank you for reading!

Enjoy!

Amongst the loud snapping of twigs combined with the rustling of the leaves overhead, softened chatter could be heard throughout the entrance to the forest. The sky, which had been painted warm shades of red and orange mere moments before, had grown murky with hues of purple and black. Small stars illuminated the sky as it grew darker, bright pools of light poking through the inky atmosphere to aid the moon in flooding the landscape with a soft glow. In accompaniment with the darkness seemingly swallowing up the woodland area that Lara and [Y/N] wandered into, a harsh breeze rushed through the air.

As the two walked deeper into the forest, Lara made sure to reach over when coming across drywood and break it free from the ground, tucking it under her arm. After seeing her do this, [Y/N] mirrored her actions and began to gather wood as well. The two had decided they’d head into the nearby forest to gather kindling for the fire they planned to build back at camp. There, Jonah was waiting, sorting through his supply of herbs and a small flask of water he’d said he would use to stir up a broth of sorts that would help all three stay warm for the night. The only problem being there was no fuel for a fire nearby, so both women volunteered to scavenge for some together.

It had taken quite a while to make it to the woodland area safely, but the conversation they had struck up with each other managed to keep the journey bearable. Thankfully, Lara had remembered to snatch her makeshift machete before heading out. Using the sharpest part of the rusted blade, she sliced through the brush that obstructed their path, allowing them to meander forward with a partial trail behind them.

Soon enough, neither of them were able to carry more of the drywood they came across. With a huff, Lara spun on her heel and jutted her chin toward the path she had made. “We should head back. We can always come back later if we need to gather more.” [Y/N] nodded, trailing behind the brunette as she led the way. A few minutes passed in silence, both women focused on not tripping over the loose roots or pebbles that littered the dampened blades of grass. Ultimately, as they neared the halfway point of the path, [Y/N] decided to break the silence.

“God, I’m glad we haven’t had any run-ins with Trinity. Those guys are a huge pain in the ass,” she complained. At her words, the corners of Lara’s lips perked up into an amused smirk. “Yeah, they are. We still need to keep our guard up, though. There weren’t any traces of them following us here, but that’s been the case the last couple of times as well. They’ve got the wrong motives, but they’re clever, and they know how to handle stealth operations.”

A grimace painted [Y/N]’s features as she nodded in response. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” Silence once again fell upon them, allowing their senses to return to the sound of their own footsteps beneath them as they staggered ahead. While they recalled the way they came from, they struck up another conversation with one another, trying to keep the mood light in the eeriness that made itself known between the towering trees. It seemed to work–both felt more at ease as they chatted away. Merely a moment seemed to pass, however, before a loud clamp echoed throughout the area, followed by a ticking and whirring noise nearby.

Before either had time to react and understand what had happened, Lara flew backward with a holler and collapsed onto the ground. She was yanked forward once she made contact with the soil. The whirring noise returned, louder this time, and she was soon dangling high in the air by her foot. She groaned, her ears ringing and vision blurry from the way her head had bashed against the floor. Her eyes were pinched tightly shut, though her hand instinctively reached for her belt to find her gun.

Squinting and blinking her eyes rapidly, Lara managed to clear her view. All at once, she could make out what had happened. Just a few feet away, [Y/N]’s leg had been caught in a similar trap, but she wasn’t conscious enough to try and escape. Lara’s arm whipped forward to take aim, watching with a newfound sense of terror as a horde of shielded soldiers, clad in black, swarmed forward to the two. Even as she struggled to steady the hand that she gripped the gun harshly with, Lara began to fire warning shots, striking several of the soldiers and watching them plummet to the ground in waves.

A few that hadn’t been shot dashed toward [Y/N] and took hold of her limp arms. They hollered at each other to get her down, using her as some sort of human shield to avoid being killed as well. Upon seeing them grab the unconscious girl, the blood pumping from adrenaline underneath Lara’s skin lit aflame with fury and a desire to defend. Her aim became far more accurate, more fatalities becoming visible as she fired away at them, a wolf’s snarl lacing her words as she bellowed at them to leave her alone.

She knew she just needed to get enough of them down so she could break free from the pulley that tightened the rope around her ankle to a painful degree. If she could do that, she could protect [Y/N] and help her flee. A false spark of hope flushed through her veins as she noticed she had cleared most of the squad, the lie of it evident as her clip ran empty and more men emerged from the distance. She cursed at herself, her hands unsteadily flying back up to her belt to find another magazine and reload. As she struggled with fiddling her pack open to search, she failed to register the sound of thundering footsteps nearing her from behind.

Finally, she pulled a clip free with a small huff of relief. She let her empty mag drop to the ground, flicked upward with the new one to reload, then cocked the hammer back before taking aim. A single bullet fired from the barrel, and everything went black.

Everything seemed to come back at once–every sense flowing forward and overwhelming Lara’s mind. A muffled groan slipped past her lips as she managed to lift her head. Entirely unaware of her bearings, her eyes flitted around in confusion, unable to see with her eyes wide open. She jerked her arms forward, hoping to grab hold of whatever fabric covered her face, only to feel cold steel dig harshly into the skin on her wrists. She hissed in pain, wriggling for a moment as she tried to understand what had happened.

Her focus returned to what she could feel. She had been chained to something, though it was hard to make out exactly what it was. Against her back, she could feel jagged wood scratching at her scarred skin each time she moved. Her arms encircled whatever it was she was pinned up on. Piecing things together, she figured she had been cuffed to a wooden beam somewhere. That didn’t explain where she was, though. Aside from the village she and the others had passed through once they arrived, there were no structures of any kind as far as she could tell. Had one of the villagers turned and taken her hostage?

She could feel the frigid grated steel beneath her, which confirmed she had to be somewhere else. The ground in the homes of the village had been purely dirt and tattered cloth.

Then where the hell was she?

What had happened before she blacked out?

“Oh, look who’s up from her nap,” a booming voice called out, pulling Lara from her thoughts. Her head shot up, a quick yelp of pain greeting her as her head throbbed from the sudden motion. “Who the hell are you? Where am I? Where’s [Y/N]?” She couldn’t recall what she had been through beforehand, though some part of her told her she needed to defend herself regardless. A deep chuckle rumbled nearby before the owner of the previous voice stepped closer. Lara braced herself for a hit, fighting back a flinch when gloved fingers gripped the top of what had been obstructing her view and tugged upward.

She squinted with a hiss as the overhead lights flashed their way into her eyes, effectively blinding her for a moment. As her vision cleared and adjusted, she jerked her head to the side to face whoever had granted her the ability to see again. A moment hardly passed before her face contorted with anger: her brows furrowed tightly together, practically knitting themselves as one, her jaw clenching as her teeth ground painfully against each other.

“Who the fuck are you?” She snapped. Quickly, her outrage completely replaced the feeling of distress, only worsening when her gaze flickered down to see Trinity’s emblem stitched into the man’s tactical vest. He laughed, tossing the woven bag that had been tied around her head to the side. “You don’t need to know who I am, but I certainly know who you are.” He grinned, then reached behind Lara to pick something up from behind the pillar. Briefly after, he leaned back again, dangling her tactical belt tauntingly in front of her, still fully equipped with all of her weapons.

Her eyes widened a fraction at the sight, instinctively flying down to find and confirm that she had indeed been stripped of her only means of defense in this position. Immediately, she knew she needed to free herself. With the methods she had been taught after tussling with offenders before, she knew she could easily wrestle this man to the ground and overpower him. With her arms restrained, however, she could only fight back at an infuriatingly close range.

He seemed to notice the stress that had returned to Lara’s mind, letting out another cackle at her misfortune. He stood, twisting his torso far enough to hurl the belt over the railing. As he made his way over to squat in front of her again, she took this opportunity to look around. She had been right: she was chained to a wooden support beam, and she was seated against steel. Through the holes in the grated plates, she could see she was far up off the ground, at least three or four stories high.

Looking up, she could see layers of other platforms above, towering to an ungodly height. Dropping her gaze back down, the platform she was on curved around a circular building just behind her, and ahead of her, a long metal bridge stretched out to connect to an identical structure. As her eyes focused in on a figure across the platform, her blood ran cold, wishing she hadn’t recognized what was happening.

Everything that had happened before she ended up here came flooding back. The forest, the traps, the soldiers, everything. Now separated, [Y/N] was similarly cuffed to a pillar. Her binds seemed tighter, red lines already formed on her wrists as though she had been struggling against them for a while. For the first time since making it to the town, Lara felt genuine fear. Had they already hurt [Y/N]? Had they forced her to give away where Jonah was?

“[Y/N]!”

“Ah, so you noticed,” the man voiced, bringing her attention back to him. Shakily, she lifted her head, She screamed at herself, willing her voice into intimidation. “Let her go. She has nothing to do with this.” Internally, she cursed at the way her voice wavered and cracked.

The man grinned devilishly, shaking his head. “You don’t get it, do you? The moment you brought her here, you forced her to be a part of this. Like it or not, she has everything to do with this.” He leaned forward, blocking her view of [Y/N] and forcing her to look him in the eye. “It’s your fault.” Bringing his hand to his chin, he glanced up and mockingly pretended to think. “I suppose the saying, “like father like daughter,” is true after all. Wouldn’t you say so?”

At the mere mention of her father, a concoction of emotions bubbled beneath the surface of Lara’s skin. Even so, she forced her expression to remain stern. “Don’t you fucking talk about him.” Once again, she was met with a laugh.

A soldier that had been stationed nearby stepped closer to the two, concern laced in his tone. “Sir, shouldn’t we be careful? She’s taken out half of our men already, and most of it was entirely on her own.” The man in front of Lara rolled his eyes and stood, giving a small shrug. “Relax, I’m just having a bit of fun. There’s nothing she can do like this,” he gestured toward her. “With respect,” the soldier started, “she’s gotten out of tougher situations. Maybe we should–”

In an instant, the man, who Lara assumed was the captain at this point, whipped his gun from its holster on his hip and stood. He flicked his arm upward and pointed the barrel directly against the soldier’s forehead, prompting him to freeze. “I’ll fucking take care of it, you got it? All I’m gonna do is get her to tell me a few things, then we’ll blow both of their brains out, then be on our way. Stop me like that again, and the first round will go through your thick skull. Understand?”

Quickly, the soldier nodded and stepped back to his station. “Yes, sir.”

The captain then tucked his gun away. He turned and made a motion with his head to the group across the bridge. Lara glanced behind him to see what was happening, only to panic further as they crouched beside [Y/N], who flinched away at their touch. “Don’t touch her!” She screamed, thrashing violently against her restraints.

“Oh, don’t worry,” the captain teased, crouching down in front of her again to look her in the eye. “As long as you answer some questions, we won’t hurt her anymore.” Anymore. That word bounced through Lara’s head as she barely managed to notice that [Y/N]’s skin was littered with bruises and cuts. She swallowed hard, glaring at him. “What do you want? What questions?” He again acted as though he was deep in thought. “Well, for starters, you could tell me where the artifact you're looking for is.”

She scoffed. “So what? You can use it to wipe out humanity? Like you tried to do with the Divine Source?” The captain forced a smile. His hand lifted from his side and made a motion toward the group behind him. Lara watched, horrified, as one soldier used all his strength to kick [Y/N] in the stomach, another grabbing a fistful of her hair and slamming her head back against the pillar. She cried out in pain, desperately trying to free herself.

“Like I said, tell me what I want to know, and she won’t get hurt.”

Lara practically growled at him when she spoke. She ordered him to call the group back, threatening to make his death hell if he didn’t comply. “What do you think you can do? Can’t exactly kill me while you’re stuck here.” She scowled, her fingertips tapping at the chains in search of the padlock. Her arm shimmied a bit, allowing one of her hairpins to slip from the cuff of her sleeve and into her hand that she kept tucked away for situations exactly like this.

As she fiddled with trying to find the padlock, the captain continued to hound her with questions.

“Where’s your camp? I know you brought someone else here too.” She shuddered at the thought of Jonah being dragged into this as well. “I don’t know. I don’t even know where the hell I am, and you expect me to remember how to get back?” Another motion was made, prompting another harsh punishment to be given to [Y/N]. Lara shouted her name, begging her to hold on and promising she’ll get the two of them out.

The captain scoffed and crossed his arms. “Are you really not grasping what I’ve said? Answers for me means less pain for her.” Panicked, Lara thrashed again, her hands trembling as they continued their search. “I’m trying! But you aren’t giving me questions I can answer!” It was hard to mask her relief when her fingers finally found the padlock, though she instead focused on wriggling the bobby pin into the lock. “Well,” the captain huffed, standing again and slipping his gun from his belt. “I think I know something that might trigger your memory.”

At that, he turned and began walking toward [Y/N], wordlessly ordering the group of soldiers to back away. “No, don’t hurt her!” Lara was practically screaming at her hands to still, and with another brief moment, she finally managed to pick the lock, wrestling her arms free from the chains and stumbling as she stood. Without an ounce of hesitation, she lunged forward toward the captain, grabbing hold of him and trying to keep him away. He hollered in surprise, reaching back to claw at her and get a grasp. “Get off of me, you bitch!”

The team of soldiers that had been abusing [Y/N] only a mere moment before were now hurtling toward her. With a bit of a struggle, three of the soldiers managed to pry her off of him, throwing her back before forcefully pinning her against the pillar yet again. She fought against them, screaming for them to let her go. The captain ahead grumbled and stared her down for a moment, though he was quick to turn and walk toward [Y/N] again.

As Lara thrashed against the soldiers holding her down, the head of the team reached up toward a sheath against his hip, his gun having been smacked out of his hand and over the ledge from Lara’s outburst. Something felt as though it were burning in her mind, growing hotter and hotter as the captain closed the space between him and [Y/N]. She couldn’t let Trinity take another person she loved away from her. She wouldn’t allow it.

Hardly managing to remember her training, she turned and lunged her torso forward, using all of the momentum to headbut the soldier grasping her right arm in the face. He howled in pain, letting her go and falling backward. She then turned to the man holding her left shoulder. In the blink of an eye, she whipped her arm in a circular motion, gripping his wrist and forcing his arm to twist until he let go. Just as quickly, she shuffled forward and kicked the third soldier square in the chest, effectively knocking the wind out of his lungs.

Before she could stand, two more men sprinted forward and blocked her path, one of them managing to land a few rough kicks to her face and head. She hooked her arm beneath the back of his leg, jolting up to stand and flipping him backward. The second soldier struggled to free his rifle from the band on his back. By the time he managed to try and aim at her, her forearm flew sideways and struck his wrist, the impact catching him off guard and causing him to drop his weapon. Lara then leapt forward and gripped the straps of his tactical vest. She spun around to gain more force before driving him around again and launching him over the railing, not bothering to watch as he plummeted toward the ground countless meters below.

She turned, determined to get to the captain, but froze in place. Still so far away, he had freed [Y/N] of restraints, knowing she wouldn’t have been able to fight back. He pinned her against the platform, his knees planting themselves on either side of her hips as he drove his knife down into her stomach. Lara watched as [Y/N] tried to gasp for air, only to choke and let out a silent scream.

She felt everything grow heavy, ready to give into the temptation to drop to the ground. An inhumane level of fury coursed through her veins, and soon she found herself running forward at full speed, no longer in control of her body.

The neared the captain in only a few seconds, leaping from the ground and thrusting her arms forward. She tackled him off of [Y/N]’s writhing body and ripped the blade from his hand, dropping it and instead using her fists to beat any part of him she could see. Hit after hit, punch after punch, a new bruise formed on his skin, thinner sections splitting open into gashes. His blood seemed to all pool together beneath his head.

Lara let out a yell with each strike made against his skill. She lost count of the amount of times her knuckles made contact with the swollen form beneath her, not even noticing that her knuckles had begun to tear open and bleed from the sheer force alone. As his arms and legs fell limp against his sides, Lara’s punches came to a stop. Her bloodied hand reached over and grasped the handle of the knife, knuckles white from the tightness as she lifted the blade above her head.

Instantly, she plunged the knife down, listening with a sick joy as the thin metal ripped through layers of skin and organ, cracking through parts of his ribs. Mirroring what [Y/N] had done, the captain hopelessly tried to gasp for breath, instead wheezing and sputtering while his hands weakly scratched at her arms. Only for a moment, she kept the knife there. Before she could watch the life leave his eyes, she drew the blade out and immediately thrusted it down into his jugular with an equal force.

Her hands let go of the handle and dropped to land at her sides. She stared down, gleefully studying the way the captain clutched at his throat, a thick puddle of blood erupting from his mouth and trickling down his cheeks and jaw, disappearing into his hairline and accumulating with the crimson red under his trembling form. Glaring down at him with dull eyes, she lazily tugged the rifle from his back, forcing herself to stand and turn around.

She hadn’t heard the group of soldiers thundering up the stairs, but she had apparently sensed it. Effortlessly, she lifted the rifle and took aim, crouching down and firing away as the men made their way up one by one. By the time the team died out, she heard the gun click. Her gaze bored down at the rifle, realizing she had burned through the ammo. With a grunt of disapproval, she discarded the gun, then ripped another one away from a nearby lifeless body. She used that rifle to finish off the squad, blankly staring ahead after lowering the gun.

As her mind clouded over, taking in the scene before her, she tossed the gun to the side, straining to hear as it clattered against the steel platform. A bloodbath. That was the only way she could possibly describe it. Piles of bodies across such a small space, silver metal now stained red from blood and black from gunpowder. Lifeless eyes of the fallen seemed to watch her as she lifted her hands, taking in the way blood coated her skin. She wasn’t sure how much of it was hers and how much of it was the captain’s. She paid it no mind, instead rotating her hands to examine her knuckles. She had most definitely broken a few, if not all, of them,

Had she actually done all of this?

Nothing felt real.

The sudden sound of harsh coughing broke her out of her trance, forcing her attention toward the source. She scrambled over to [Y/N]’s side, holding her head up as she processed just how badly she had been hurt. Adding onto the gaping wound in her torso, countless bruises and cuts peppered every exposed inch of skin. The back of her head had been dripping blood from being hammered into the wooden beam. Lara gasped and frantically helped her prop her head up to prevent choking on her blood, her eyes scanning the surrounding area for something to help stop the bleeding. She grimaced when [Y/N] whimpered from the way she stretched over to grab a torn uniform.

Thinking on her feet, she slid to the wall of the base and leaned the wounded girl against it, apologizing tearfully each time she yelped in pain. After tearing the uniform into a thinner piece, she began stuffing part of the wound, earning more cries. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, finally using the rest of the cloth to ball it up. “This is going to hurt, but I need you to trust me.”

Before [Y/N] even opened her eyes, Lara forced her hand downward, applying an immense amount of both pressure and pain to the wound. At this, [Y/N] screamed in agony, her eyes beginning to roll back as her breaths quickened. Lara cupped her jaw and shifted forward. “[Y/N]? No, [Y/N], I need you to stay with me, okay? Keep your eyes open! Everything’s going to be okay, I promise. Stay with me,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady.

“[Y/N], please, I can’t lose you. Not like this. Keep your eyes open–that’s all I need you to do!” Her words fell upon deaf ears, no matter how desperate they became. Before Lara could beg for her to listen again, [Y/N]’s head drooped down, her body now completely limp.

“[Y/N]?” Lara whimpered, shaking the unconscious girl’s head as a silent plea. When no response came from the motion, the Croft felt her tears beginning to spill, only being able to whisper “no” repeatedly. Her hand, the one that had been holding up the woman’s head, slid down to check for a pulse. She gasped softly when she found it, though realized she had to act quickly from how weak it was. “Shit,” she blurted, once again examining her surroundings. That bastard had thrown her radio over the railing with her weapons. There was no way she could contact Jonah without alerting any other potential Trinity bases of where they were. One look down at [Y/N], however, forced her to take that risk.

She stood and quickly rushed over to the nearby bodies, her calloused, bloodied hands desperately searching their equipment for a radio of sorts. She cursed with each failed search, though lit up only a fraction once she found one. Quickly, she ran to sit by [Y/N]’s side again, holding her up and pulling her close, keeping an eye on her as she sent out a message.

“Jonah? Jonah, are you there? Can you hear me? I need your help: [Y/N]’s bleeding out!”

She released the button, only earning static in response. Her eyes shot back to the woman beside her, her only shimmer of hope dimming immediately. Her finger clicked down again, lifting it closer to speak into it once more.

“Jonah, I need you here! Jonah, please, can you hear me?”

A choked sob erupted unwillingly from her throat. She felt like curling into herself and breaking right there. Now hunched over, she clutched the radio tightly against her chest, grasping a handful of her hair as she tried to come up with another plan. All she could bring herself to do for a moment was weep, terrified of losing the woman propped up by her side.

Her mind cleared for a brief second, and although she had no idea where they were, she knew they couldn’t stay there. More reinforcements were bound to show up sooner or later, and she was in no state to fight them all. She stood, peering out at the landscape in hopes of finding a landmark she had passed before. The lids of her eyes threatened to shut, heavy with fatigue from the loss of adrenaline and the salty tears that had fallen.

She staggered closer to the rail, gripping onto it tightly as a way to ground herself as she searched further. Her heart felt like it was going to sink down into the pit of her stomach upon spotting a village in the distance. She turned to [Y/N], unsure if either of them could even make it that far. There was a chance it wasn’t the village she had been in either, on top of the fact there could be more traps hidden in the forest.

That only stopped her briefly. She knew they needed to leave, and she knew it was better to head out with the chance of finding Jonah than staying there to die.

Willing every ounce of strength she had left, she plucked the rifle she had thrown to the side back up, slinging it over her shoulder before wobbling back to [Y/N]. She huffed, sucking in a deep breath to ready herself, then bent down to pick her up, one arm tucking itself underneath her knees, and the other wrapping around her torso.

She turned, stumbled forward toward the stairs, and wrestled with the urge to look down at the unconscious form in her arms.

Each step down felt like a mile, Lara’s calves straining and aching, feeling as though they would give in and snap like twigs. By the time she managed to make it to the ground, it took everything in her not to collapse. She just kept telling herself they’ll be there soon. That was all she could do to keep moving forward. If she didn’t make it, not only would [Y/N] die, but she would as well. The marks from the beating she had taken had begun to finally sink in, adding to the difficulty.

She swayed every few steps. Her body threatened to fall over anytime she leaned too far.

She had no way of knowing she was going in the right direction, only able to rely on her instinct. There was no path, no landmark, no sign of nearing the village, which is why it was such a surprise when she could hear hollering up ahead. She strained her ears, hardly managing to make out that the unidentified voice was calling her name.

“Jonah?” She whispered hoarsely.

“Lara! [Y/N]! Are you two out there?”

“Jonah,” she weeped, unable to raise her voice any further.

Her feet continued to stumble toward the sound of his voice. The closer she got, the stronger the small spark of adrenaline she somehow still had grew. Finally, realizing he was only a few feet away, Lara managed to pick up her pace, lightly jogging forward. “Jonah, we’re here,” she cried out weakly. She moved ahead, breaking through the entrance of the forest to reveal the small patch of land they had originally tried to set up camp at. There, Jonah turned around and instantly ran over.

“Lara, you’re alright! I heard gunfire, but I didn’t know where you were, and–”

“Jonah, we need to get back to the plane right now. [Y/N]’s losing too much blood, and I don’t know how much longer she’s going to last,” although her tone was weak, there was no doubt she was terrified. Jonah finally looked down to the woman in Lara’s arms, his body tensing at the sight of all she had been through.

“Shit, what did–okay, but what about what you came here for? We can’t come back! Trinity’s going to–” Jonah knew that even mentioning the artifact in that moment was a mistake, but his mind was racing, preventing him from thinking logically.

“Forget the artifact, Jonah!” Lara snapped, her raspy voice finally reaching the volume she’d wanted to have when calling for him. “I don’t give a shit about that right now! I just want [Y/N] to survive! I’m the reason she’s in this state to begin with–I don’t want to be the reason she dies!”

At her sudden tone, Jonah could only nod and motion for Lara to hand [Y/N] to him to carry her there. Reluctantly, Lara did so, only after realizing she wouldn’t be able to make it to the plane in time if she were the one taking her. Without a moment to lose, Jonah began rushing up the path toward where they had landed, shouting behind him for the Croft to follow.

The ringing returned the closer they got, her vision blurring and growing dark. Everything was spinning, and she had to force herself to keep track of Jonah. By the time they had all made it into the plane, Lara’s body finally gave out.

“You know, I don’t think I had ever scared my father that badly before,” Lara murmured, a gentle chuckle escaping as she smiled fondly at the memory. With a sigh, she felt the pad of her thumb caress the tattered skin on the back of [Y/N]’s hands. For just a single moment, the ticking of the clock hanging above the door synced up with the beeping of the monitor beside the bed. Just as quickly, they fell out of rhythm again, and Lara waited for them to repeat it. Every few minutes, for the past several weeks, both would beat together for just a brief second, only to fall apart again.

It was the only thing she could look forward to anymore. It kept her distracted so she didn’t have to process everything just yet–so she didn’t have to look up at the woman deep in a coma in the bed she sat by. Jonah would come in here and there, reminding her to eat something small or to bring her a spare blanket for the night. Nurses would step inside to take vitals and update Lara on what was happening. And even though [Y/N] was there, whenever everyone else would leave, Lara still felt alone.

She could talk to her, but it was more like talking at her. She had no idea if the woman could hear anything she said, nor did she know when she was going to wake up. It had been seven weeks since they made it back from the expedition. Lara’s injuries were treated fairly easily, but [Y/N] had fallen into a medical coma from blood loss and excessive blunt force trauma. Her chances of survival in the beginning were slim, but things started to steadily improve as the days passed by.

Those days, however, felt like years to Lara. The woman she could once talk to and joke around with, the woman she could once hold and be held by, the woman she could once gaze into the eyes of, now lay before her, unmoving and silent. She was alive, but to Lara she seemed dead. She had been so lively before, and now she couldn’t even open her eyes.

To fill the never-ending silence that weighed heavy upon her shoulders, Lara would talk aloud, pretending as though she was sharing her thoughts with [Y/N] like she had done before everything went awry. Recently, after running out of small-talk she had murmured like it was scripted, she had resorted to retelling memories she had of her father back as a child. Somehow, even as [Y/N] stayed unconscious, Lara felt comfortable sharing her favorite times spent with her late father. Anyone else would’ve been waved off and told she wasn’t comfortable, but [Y/N] had always been the one person she could come to to speak of him freely.

Even seemingly dead, [Y/N] was still the only one she trusted. It was funny, in a way.

She huffed out a sigh, lifting the woman’s hand to her lips and pressing a featherlike kiss to her knuckles. Once her lips left the clammy skin, she brought her head down to lean it against the back of her hand. Her eyes closed, brows furrowed as she bit back a sob.

“I wish I had never brought you with me. If I hadn’t, you would still be comfortable at home, watching TV and sleeping in. You wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t… You wouldn’t be hurt, or strapped to this machine, or fighting for your life. You wouldn’t be in a coma.” She sniffled, squeezing the hand still against her forehead. “This is all my fault. I’m so sorry, [Y/N]. I would take it all back if I could.”

Some part of her waited, half-expecting a response. She whimpered, clearing her throat to prevent herself from bursting into tears again. With a hard swallow, she lifted her head, gaze trailing up to [Y/N]’s face. She smiled. “I have no idea how, but you still look so beautiful. Even when you’re out like this.”

Her free hand lifted far enough to caress the girl’s cheek, then pinch the bridge of her own nose, internally groaning at how heavy her eyes felt. Once her hand planted itself back on her thigh, she glanced over at the heart monitor, watching each movement on the screen intently for a moment, allowing herself to gather her thoughts. Finally, she faced [Y/N] again. Her hand squeezed her leg, unsure of what to say.

“I love you. So, so much. I should’ve said it more before… all of this, but I’m saying it now. I do love you, [Y/N], more than anything in this world.”

She huffed out a pained laugh.

“I don’t know why I’m so mad at you. None of this is your fault. I’m the one who dragged you into the expedition, and I’m the one who ended up getting you captured. I wish I hadn’t begged you to come with me. You deserve to be at home, not in this bed. I should’ve protected you, and I didn’t, and for that, I’m so sorry. You deserve someone better: someone who wouldn’t have gotten you into this mess.

“The worst part is: I don’t even know if you can hear me. I’m not sure if you’ve heard anything I’ve said this entire time. I’m not sure why knowing that you might not hear me hurts so badly, but it does.” Tears once again pricked the corners of her eyes. “God, I wish I could hear your voice again. I miss you so much. I know you’re right in front of me, and I know you’re still breathing and alive, but I’ve never felt so alone. It doesn’t feel like you’re really here. It feels like you’re not you.”

The tears stinging her eyes now blurred her vision and poured down in thick masses. Her free arm raised, allowing her to use the sleeve of her jacket to wipe them away. Once they dried, she looked up at her again, hands trembling harshly.

“Please wake up. I’m begging you.”

Grumbling was all Lara could do in her unconscious state. Any small sound she could hear had her grumbling louder: pages flipping, pens scribbling, pills rattling, doors opening, monitors beeping. Everything that she could hear seemed to be working against her, screaming at her to wake back up. It was late at night when she finally let herself drop her head onto the edge of the hospital bed to rest. Hand still clutching onto [Y/N]’s, she managed to drift off for the first time in days.

The sounds grew incessant, however, stirring her partially awake. Each little noise irritated her further, and she had to fight the urge to muffle the scream bubbling up in her throat with the sheets cushioning her head. To add onto her growing frustration, something squeezed softly at her hand, forcing her back to her senses.

“For fuck’s sake,” she mumbled, lifted her head, then looked down at her hand. Her brows pinched tightly together, she sat there, processing what she had just felt. Again, her hand was squeezed.

Her brain, although severely sleep deprived, finally managed to register what had happened. Immediately, she looked up from her hand, her eyes landing on [Y/N], who finally opened her eyes for the first time in months. She gazed back at Lara the way the brunette had been craving the entire time. Upon seeing that she was now awake, tears instantly trickled out from Lara’s eyes, a shaky sob accompanying them.

“[Y/N]?” She whispered, unsure if she was actually awake.

“Hey, Lara,” came her raspy reply, a tired grin gracing her cracked lips.

Right away, Lara sprung up from her seat by the bed and leaned forward, capturing [Y/N] in a tight embrace. “Oh my god, I don’t–” She sniffled. Her leg lifted up, allowing her to sit beside the woman now practically cradling her in return. “You’re awake. You’re finally awake. I don’t believe it.”

She leaned back from the hug, cupping [Y/N]’s face in her hands and studying every little feature she could see. Sob after sob wracked through her body as she pressed a kiss to the wounded woman’s lips, only shifting back to pepper the rest of her face in similar kisses. “I thought I lost you,” she whispered after calming down enough to speak. Her voice trembled and broke more with each passing word, rambling about what she had feared.

“God, I love you so much.”

Again, she captured [Y/N]’s lips in her own, pure relief washing through her senses when she felt her kissing back. Weakly, the bandaged girl chuckled. “I love you too,” she rasped out.

Lara instantly leaned back into the embrace, clutching desperately at the hospital gown she rested against. She swayed side to side, shivering as [Y/N] soothingly rubbed up and down her back. She couldn’t begin to explain how she felt at that moment. All she could say was she was so relieved to know that the woman she held closest to her heart was alive and breathing.

“Can I ask you something?” A soft voice whispered. She leaned away again to look her in the eye. “Of course. Anything at all.”

“What happened after I was stabbed?”

Lara froze, now growing uncertain. “You don’t remember?” She sucked in a shaky breath when her only response was a shake of the head. Her gaze dropped down, unsure of where to start. She scratched the back of her neck anxiously, took another deep breath in an attempt to steel her nerves, then cleared her throat. “Well, I’m not really…”

She turned to glance behind her, ensuring no one else was in the room before she spoke again. There was no shame in what she had done–not for her–but she’d be torn away instantly if someone overheard. [Y/N] had just woken back up, and she wasn’t going to risk losing her all over again. Although, that still might be a possibility, depending on how she took the news.

She explained herself, sparing no detail of what she had committed in her blind rage. From wrestling with the soldiers to stabbing the captain of the team in both the chest and the throat, she confessed every little atrocity that had been brought about by her hands alone. As she spoke, she averted her eyes, too afraid of being gazed at with disgust. She focused on the pattern stitched into the bedsheets bundled up atop [Y/N]’s legs.

Finally, she managed to tear her eyes away from the sheets and look back into [Y/N]’s. She swallowed, surprised to see that familiar glint of admiration in her eyes. There was no sign of repulsion or discomfort at the heinous things she had admitted to. “You’re not mad?” Was all she could ask. [Y/N] snickered and shook her head.

“Are you kidding? Those asswipes beat the shit out of me, and one tried to kill me. I don’t exactly have sympathy for them after that.” Relieved, Lara sighed and grinned. It was a breath of fresh air to see her laugh again, even though it was rather weak.

She turned to sit next to [Y/N], who she then pulled into her side. With a quick peck to the top of the head, she closed her eyes and yawned. “Tired?” “Mmhm.” “Yeah, same.” Lara laughed, looking down at her in confusion. “You were in a coma for nearly three months. Why are you tired?” [Y/N] smirked and rolled her eyes. “I wasn’t willingly unconscious. Plus, my body just sucks,” she murmured, earning another chuckle.

“Well, I love your body,” Lara mumbled, tugging her closer. “Every bit of it.”

Waiting a moment, [Y/N] leaned against the brunette fully, her head dropping onto her shoulder as she closed her eyes. She grinned, listening to Lara yawn again before she shivered. “Move your legs for a second,” she whispered to the already half-asleep woman. “Hm?” “Move your legs.” “What? Why?” “So I can cover you up with the blankets.”

Lara seemed to take a moment to understand what she had said. Finally, though, she lifted her legs with a groan, letting [Y/N] slip the covers out from under her and essentially tuck her in beside her. Both sighed in relief: Lara from the warmth of the sheets and [Y/N] pressed against her, and [Y/N] from the feeling of Lara holding her close.

Lights had been turned off throughout the ward for a while, which both women were silently grateful for. As they shuffled to lie down more comfortably beneath the covers, everything seemed to settle down for the first time in months. Lara’s body finally relaxed, the lack of sleep from the past several weeks catching up to her at a rapid speed. She hummed softly as she turned onto her side, pulling [Y/N] into her chest.

“I’m never taking you on a trip like that again,” she slurred out. “At least, not until I know Trinity won’t be there.”

[Y/N] nodded as she listened, also partially asleep. She squirmed a bit, sliding closer while trying to mind her IV. As her head settled against Lara’s chest, she yawned. A moment passed before she spoke again.

“You do know the nurses are gonna come in any minute and realize I’m awake, right?” A groan sounded from Lara, prompting a snicker from [Y/N]. “I’m gonna crawl back into the bed again the second they leave. I just want you in my arms right now.”

“Well, either way, I want you to know that I could hear you for most of the time I was out. And I also want you to know that I plan on saying “I love you” as many times as you did before I woke up. I really do love you. I mean, you were right here the second I woke up, and I don’t know if you ever…” She thought for a moment, opening her eyes and looking up at Lara. “Did you ever leave the room?” Even as she fought to stay awake, Lara scratched her cheek nervously. “Only when I used the restroom. I was afraid I wouldn’t be here when you woke up.”

[Y/N] grinned. “Well, I’m glad you were here. I was worried you wouldn’t be here at all when I woke up. I figured you’d leave and head home, or maybe go back to the village we were at.” Gently yet reassuringly, Lara squeezed her closer. “I would never do that to you. You’re everything to me.”

“And you’re everything to me.”

Another yawn managed to escape the brunette’s lips. She pressed a small kiss to the top of [Y/N]’s head and sighed, already drifting off again. “I love you, so damn much. No one’s going to hurt what’s mine, never again.”

“I’m yours, huh?”

“Of course.”

A gentle smile graced [Y/N]’s features as she shuffled closer, pressing a kiss to Lara’s collarbone as her eyes fluttered shut.

“Of course I’m yours.”

[rpdepartment]

too many people had ᴅɪᴇᴅ for me to trust you

[viking-raider]

A Witcher's Soul

Summary: When tragedy strikes, Geralt of Rivia seeks comfort in the arms of one woman.

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning: PG - Abandonment Issues, Child Abandonment, Fluff Parental Loss, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Memories, Bathing, Love Confession, Soft!Geralt, Character's Death

Inspiration: This scene from Season Three of the Witcher! 😭

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy this! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

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Geralt rode Roach hard, only deviating from his path to guide the powerful black horse around a tree or rock. He gripped the worn brown reins tightly, feeling them cut into the top of his bare hands as he urged Roach to move faster, foam already starting to gather around his bit. The Witcher's mind raced, desperately trying to push down the power of the news he received from a good friend, while trying to help someone he'd found on the job. He struggled for a few days, trying to push it down, telling himself it didn't hurt.

She had left him almost a century ago, at this point.

Witchers had no emotions, he told himself, as a means to drive them back. It didn't work however, the emotions continued to smash into him.

So, he left in the dead of night, not a word to Anika, Otto, or even Jaskier, of where he was going or why. Though, he was sure Anika would know why. Geralt covered almost a whole league by the end of morning, cutting through the forest outside of Murivel, until he reached a modest clearing and an even more modest, three-room hut constructed in the middle of it, a stone and clay well on the left side, the bucket swaying softly in the breeze.

Roach came to a hard stop, hooves cutting deep grooves in the grassy earth, with Geralt wasting no time in dismounting the stallion and stomping across the yard to the front door. His sore and broken heart rose up with hope that it would swing open and the face of the one he was seeking would appear, to greet him. But, the door didn't open to him, instead he was greeted another way.

“Geralt!” A soft and confused voice called out.

He swung around on his boot heels, his golden eyes zeroing in on you as you stood just passed the tree-line, a basket of herbs and mushrooms balanced on your hip, as you regarded the Witcher. You hadn't seen Geralt in over a year, since he decided he needed to go to Cintra to make sure Ciri was safe from the sea of black and gold he'd seen on the Amell Pass. After the Dragon Hunt. You had heard the thunder of the new Roach's hooves coming up the path to your home, while you were gathering in the forest, and came to see who it was. You were surprised to see Geralt in general, but you were worried by how rushed he seemed.

“Geralt, what's amiss?” You asked, coming to close the gap between you. “Are you well?” You inquired, seeing the unusually deep crease between his brow and across his forehead, and how his complexion was paler, almost matching his hair.

Geralt took a deep breath through his nose, lips pressed together for a moment, working up the strength to speak. “I need you.” He finally rasped, his expression breaking into something soft and vulnerable.

“You rode all the way from wherever, just for time with me?” You smirked, tisking.

“Please.” Geralt replied, reaching out to grasp your free hand and squeezing it, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, his expression breaking even more.

You frowned at him, all jest dying inside of you, seeing his wall fall before you and the pain he was being crushed underneath. “Let's go inside.” You whispered softly, tilting your head towards your door.

Nodding, Geralt reached out for your basket, but shaking your head and swatting it away gently, you pushed the front door open and put your hand on his arm, guiding him inside. You set your basket on a large table and turned towards the just as large fireplace, grabbing wood from the dog grate and tossed it in. Building it back up, sparks flying up the chimney. You moved to Geralt, who stood motionless beside the table, taking his hand and guided him over to the chair at the head of the table, gently coaxing him to sit down, then knelt before him. Grabbing the heel of his boot and his calf, you tugged the muddy, black leather off and set it underneath the table, followed by its twin. There was dust and mud covering his black clothing. You brushed your palm over his knee and thigh, casting some of it off, before standing up again and starting for the next room, only to have Geralt grasp your wrist and pull you into his lap. His arms wrapped around your shoulders as he buried his face into your chest, and breathed deep.

You frowned at him, sympathetically brushing your fingers through his hair and pulling it free of its usual tie, his white strands cascading over his shoulders. You nosed the top of his head, caressing the back of his hair and squeezing his bicep, still confused as to why he was there and what was ailing him so much.

“Geralt.” You whispered into his strands. “Tell me, what's happened?” You asked, your fingertips brushing the back of his neck. “Did you not make it to Ciri in time? Has something happened to her or Jaskier?” You inquired, licking your lips as your heart thundered against his forehead. “I noticed that isn't the Roach you had the last time you were here.” You pointed out, remembering the sweet Chestnut you used to feed and brush, when Geralt stayed with you, but now there was a sturdy black stallion standing in your dooryard.

He shook his head and cleared his throat. “No, they're both fine.” He rasped, turning his head to rest his temple against your collarbone. “As for the last Roach, she was killed by a Chernobog, a few months ago.” He added, softly.

“Oh, I'm so sorry.” You cooed, tucking his hair behind his ear. “Then, what's the matter with my Wolf?”

He was still and quiet again, for a long time, his fingers restlessly toying with the strings at the back of your bodice, before suddenly standing with you still in his arms, and turning to sit you on the chair in his place. He went out the door, rounding the house to the well and dropped the bucket to the bottom. You watched Geralt come back inside with each bucket, holding it in one hand, like it was the weight of one of his swords. Pausing in the open doorway and giving you a hard stare every time, as if he expected to find you moved off the chair or vanished completely. Only then, did he go to your large cauldron, dumping the full bucket in and returning back outside for another.

“Are you going to tell me, what's the matter, Geralt?” You asked, your concern only mounting with his bizarre behavior and irregular moodiness.

“Nothing.” He grunted harshly, setting the cauldron over the fire to boil.

“That's a lie.” You answered, just as sharply, being one of the few people on the Continent brave enough to talk back to the White Wolf in such a manner; other than Jaskier and Ciri. “You wouldn't have come from the bum fuck of Nilfgaard to see me, if something wasn't bothering you.” You insisted, glaring at his back.

Geralt ignored you, heading towards the back rooms of your home and leaving you more worried and annoyed at his behavior. He came back a few minutes later with no shirt on, and your suspicions on his task were answered. Despite what the people of the great Continent thought of Geralt of Rivia, he did not in fact like smelling of death, blood and horse. When he stopped for the winter at Kaer Morhen or with you, he bathed regularly. He just found it more a nuisance to do so while on the Trail, since the next Contract or sleeping rough would only dirty him up again.

Pulling the roiling cauldron off the fire, Geralt carried it to the large, soaking tub you boosted in your bathroom. He filled it almost to the brim, before adding in Lavender and Sage bath salts to the steaming water. A fragrant haze filled the room as he tugged his pants off and tossed them over a chair in the corner. He strode out of the bathroom, returning to you, still sitting where he'd left you. He took your hand and helped you stand, untying the strings of your bodice and tugging down your dress, so it pooled around your feet, before slipping his arm under your knees and an arm around your shoulders, scooping you up against his chest.

You sighed softly, wrapping your arms around his neck, while he carried you to the bathroom. “I missed you.” You whispered into his ear, as he stepped into the tub, lowering you both into it.

“And I, you.” Geralt replied, holding you in his lap and resting back. “Ciri and Jaskier are well, by the way.” He said, his fingertips stroking the skin of your side, beneath the water. “Ciri is being watched over by Yennefer, who's helping her try and control her magic and Jaskier was with Anika, last I left him.”

“Anika?” You frowned, tilting your head back against his shoulder. “Why is Julian with Anika? If he's well.”

Geralt's thick, scarred arms squeezed around you, almost painfully, making you squirm in his lap. “You remember my mother.” He mumbled, barely audible. “Visenna.” He said so quietly, you had to strain to hear it.

“Yes, I recall you telling me of her, a few years after we met.” You murmured, seeing the strained expression on his face. “And that you'd seen her at Sodden Hill. She healed you, after the ghoul bite.”

“I remember bits of my life with my Ma.” He rasped, his grasp on you loosening, but he still held you close to him. “She smelled like embers, from keeping our measly fires alive during the long nights.” He told you, the crease between his golden eyes slowly vanishing as he went back to that time, tapping into that abandoned little boy, he had never grown out of, but skillfully concealed from those he didn't cherish. “We were quite poor, even though she was skilled as a healer. So, she-” He paused, his voice thickening and his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

You looked up at him, seeing the redness in the whites of his eyes and the unshed tears threatening on his lashes. It frightened you to see the Witcher like this. In the fifteen years you'd known him, you'd seen him in many states, but you had never seen Geralt cry. Reaching up, you cupped his scruffy cheek in your hand and thumbed a droplet away, pressing your lips to his jawline.

“She would use her magic to create the most elaborate meals that we couldn't afford.” He continued, tilting his head into your hand. “There was—I would have done anything to make her smile. And yet,” He voice broke again, this time with more than just hurt and abandonment, but with resentment. “The day she left me, she was sick. She needed some water, so I went to get her some, and when I came back to the road...she was gone.” He croaked, pushing his jaw forward and shaking his head, trying to deny the burn of more tears.

His fingertips pressed into the skin of your side and back. “I called for her.” He said weakly, his golden eyes off in the distance. “But she was gone.” He whimpered, the tears finally winning out, dripping off his jaw and into your hair and the bath water.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your forehead to his neck and hugging your arms around his torso. You had known Visenna had abandoned Geralt. He had told you that bluntly not long after you had met. The torture of her leaving him there, to be taken away to Kaer Morhen, where he'd suffered such agony in his transformation into a Witcher, at just five years old, coupled with the pain he never got over with his mother.

You wondered how Geralt had survived at all.

But no, Geralt was strong, even from a young age.

“She's dead.”

You pulled out of your thoughts, shocked. “She's dead?”

“She was giving aid to some villager and was mistaken as an Elf.” Geralt told you, bringing a hand out of the water to wipe it over his face. “They beat her severely and she later died, at the Temple of Mourning, where Anika was. Which is how I found out.”

“I'm so sorry, Geralt.” You cooed, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, connecting the dots to his arrival. “I hope the two of you were able to make some sort of easement between you, when you last met.”

Geralt pressed his lips together and buried his face into your hair, his throat too tight to speak in the moment. He considered how he and Visenna last met, in the forest outside of Sodden Hill, as he laid feverish and hallucinating from a Ghoul bite to the leg. After saving a poor Merchant, who was trying to bury the dead from a camp Nilfgaard had attacked. At first, she had tried to conceal her identity from him, pretending to be Renfri, Yennefer and finally, you, before he managed to discover who it really was. Triggered by her belief that, People linked by Destiny, will always find each other.

He asked her what she thought of his eyes. Demanding to know, if she knew what they did to improve a Witcher's eyes. Telling her that it didn't always work. She had begged him to stop. Calling him by his name, only for Geralt to reject her right to do so, like she had rejected him. He had begged to know if she knew how many boys actually made it through the Trials. Tears filled both of their eyes as they stared at each other in the darkness.

In the end, his Ma had left him, again, fading into the night, trying to convince him she was just a dream and he would never get the answer he wanted.

So, had he made peace with his mother abandoning him, forcing him on the Path of the Witcher?

No. Geralt decided in the end, he had not.

The only thing Geralt did know was he wanted you. You were the first person he had thought of, upon finding out about his mother's death. Wanting to feel you against him and needing the comfort only you were able to provide. You shifted out of Geralt's lap, moving around him, while reaching over the side of the tub, grabbing the small cup that sat on the foot board there. Dipping it into the water and gently pouring it over Geralt's silvery-white strands, you set aside and took up a round, solid bar of honey and chamomile scented soap, using it to work his hair into a rich lather. Geralt moaned, feeling your fingers massage his scalp, resting forward to prop his elbows on his bent knees, eyes falling shut.

“I love you.” He murmured, quietly.

You stopped, resting your hands on his broad shoulders. “You've never said that before.” You said, looking around at him, mouth softly agape.

“No?” Geralt rasped, cocking a brow over his shoulder at you.

“Not once, in all these years.” You assured him, your hand gently massaging the scarred muscle of his neck.

He turned to you, causing the cooling water to slosh over the edge. “Then, I have a great deal of making up to do.” He cooed, reaching out to cup your face in his rough palm. “Because I do. I love you. Out of everyone, besides perhaps Jaskier and Vesemir, you know me better than anyone, and no one has ever taken better care of me than you have.” He told you, his face betraying the emotions a Witcher truly had, but guarded for their most treasured person, and not those of an abandoned child, rather those of a man in love.

“I love you too, Geralt.” You assured him, turning your head to kiss his hand. “And I will always care for you, me bleidd.” You whispered, picking up the cup to continue washing his hair.

[moonknightblog]

Moon Knight Fallout Au?

[paradoxicalpaldeann]

apparently the partygoers (the smiley balloon fucks) from the backrooms can create more partygoers by infecting people? like a virus. sooo... partygoer!kaif?

[local-salt-raiders-fan]

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