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felibrary · 9 months ago

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wish you were sober

synopsis: in which you drunkenly confess to aventurine and he doesn’t believe you, rather believing that he’s not worthy, less even deserving of your love. despite that, his insecurity, you're under the belief that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. love - something that you want to introduce to him and show him “what it means to love you.”

pairing: aventurine x reader | wordcount: 2.3k (i’ve gone insane) | content & warnings: hurt/comfort, alcohol; they're both drunk, insecure aventurine, unestablished relationship, they label themself as friends but reader barely knows anything abt him LMFAO, dual pov, DO YALL GET THE REFERENCE IN THE SYNOPSIS LMFAO??, rushed ending icl, half assed-ly proofread; oneshot

a/n: yesterday i listened to wish you were sober by conan gray and was like “damn.. this’d fit sunday” but then i asked azul what he thinks cause i couldn’t decide between su**day and <aventurine3. and they replied with that it’d be so much more angsty with aventurine (okay not quote on quote but you get the msg) and i dislike su**ay anyway!! so boom! (y’all are still getting another sunday fic..yay..ig.....)

tags: beloved @azullumi <3 and @cherieiu (stop punching me)

“i love you.”

your confession doesn't come over as surprising for aventurine, he anticipated it. just like how the ebb awaits the flood, yearning for it but disappearing as soon as it arrives. missing out on each other for just a split second, as the other party sweeps and slips away from the grasp of the other. nevertheless aventurine is glued to his seat on the rich sofa.

colorful poker chips are splattered around the rich mahogany floor tiles, bottles of vodka and wine, some already with their cork removed and empty, others who haven't even been opened yet. a chandelier adorning the ceiling of the big room, its lightbulbs glowing dimly in the caliginous room, illuminating it.

one of the lamps flickers while the others continue to shine brightly - too brightly aventurine thinks, if he were to watch them any longer he’d feel like melting. the closer he got to you the sun, the deeper he'd fall into the bottomless pit he managed to crawl out of.

the room reeks of alcohol. is the temperature rising? he feels like every time the last number on the digital clock changes the warmer it gets. his blond bangs stick to his forehead and beads of sweat are running down his flushed cheeks - that answers his question.

it’s hot - humid even. he's not sure if he's able to bear the heat in this narrow atmosphere any longer. he tries to blow the sweat away by waving at his face with his hand, trying to cool off his face - a futile attempt. god, what's this a/c even good for, if it can't do it's damn job.

he opens his mouth with the intent of wanting to say that you're lying, that you shouldn't say stuff like that when you're drunk and that you'll regret later. but he doesn't, he refrains from doing so. instead he gulps down the words immediately, letter for letter. they're a bitter pillow to swallow. flowing down his throat like the wavering water running down a stream - intoxicating, similar to the alcoholic liquid you've downed.

the blond looks at you through half lidded eyes. you lift yourself off the ground, he takes notice that you have a hard time doing so, legs slightly trembling as you remove them from the floor tiles. (you've always been a lightweight he thinks)

as you make your way over to him, standing up and wanting to sit yourself next to him on the large black leather sofa. you clumsily bump against one of the almost empty shot glasses that still lies on the floor. tripping over the small glass as your foot comes in contact with it. the glass that still contained some of the red wine you've poured in, not too long ago, tumbles as easily as a domino tile, falling upon the smallest touch. making the flimsy piece immediately meet the ground.

it breaks into a few sharp shards and the remaining alcohol starts seeping out of it, staining your once white socks with crimson colored alcohol. “ah m’sorry!” you mumble as you quickly bend down to gingerly pick up the fragments, placing them in the palm of your hand carefully, so that they won't cut you and leave slits.

aventurine takes another peek at you as you tidy up. your face is flushed, your cheeks tinted in a bright red and you let out incoherent sorrys, blabbering incomplete phrases. he wants to tell you that it's alright. that he feels the same and reciprocates yours feelings, that you don't have to apologize and he'll help you.

but he freezes.

the words that he wants to tell you, the ones he's been longing to say don't leave his mouth. neither does he move. instead he coughs, continuing to watch you while you clean up. a tissue has found its way into your right hand, helping you soak up the alcohol. (its his hand that should be intertwined with yours, not the tissue)

his throat hurts.

(he's not in the right mindspace to acknowledge if it's because of you - the unsaid words that he didn't reveal to you yet or because of the alcohol.)

it's dry and lacks any kind of refreshing liquid that'd quench the drought that occurs in his throat. he contemplates, thinking about the choices he has. swallowing down his own spit isn't worth it, it makes his throat burn even more.

he comes to the decision to pour himself another glass of alcohol. (debatably his worst decision until now.)

twirling the almost translucent liquid in his glass, before fully gulping it down in one go. a bit of the alcohol escapes the depths of his mouth, running down his chin and messily staining his porcelain-like skin.

he doesn't like the bitter taste, he can't seem to befriend himself with it. (neither can he befriend him with himself) although it's not the worst, he's just not able to find a reason to like it. after all, after a single sip it starts to sting as it enters his mouth.

the scent isn't great either, it smells strong, too strong for his liking, a scent that reeks of cleaning detergent and not to mention, it prickles on his tongue and burns as it slides down his throat when it makes its way into his blood. but there's one thing aventurine can't deny: it's efficiency.

it fulfills its purpose well making him lightheaded and dizzy, to the point of forgetting everything.

all sounds are drowned out. even the lame pop songs playlist you turned on because you insisted that “it'll set the right mood” is barely audible for him now. his ears hurt hellish, he wants to put his hands over his ears to escape the white noise. the sound that plays in his ears is similar to the one of when an airplane starts boarding - an unpleasant noise.

the only sound that remains for aventurine’s slightly drunk state is your voice. it echoes through his ears. your drunk confession playing over and over in his mind like a broken record, anticipating the day it'll be fixed, so the misery it is in ceases.

his sloppy and sluggish movements - the way his hands tremble as he pours himself another glass, the nervousness that forms inside his body and the blush that spreads as quickly as a wildfire on his cheeks - they're tormenting him, and he blames none other than the alcohol for it.

“a drunk mind speaks a sober heart, drunk words are sober thoughts, when you're drunk you reveal your true desires” his ass. the both of you are just friends. friends that are acquainted through work, nothing more, nothing less. aventurine couldn't bear to lose his only friend, after all he's already lost everything.

(anything he'd never want to lose will eventually be lost. it is as if fate had decided that everything that is worth wanting, everything that he wants to have and keep, will be lost the moment he gets his fingers on it. to aventurine there’s nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life that is full of anguish.)

his father whom he never got to meet, his mother and sister whom he was forced to leave behind and kakavasha, his younger self. all will be lost - everything was lost. if he wasn't careful now, one slip up on the thin ice or feet accidentally trampling over the floor full of eggshells, he'd not only lose himself in the process, but you too. his one and only friend.

crossing this line he set for himself, as he drew it along the earthy ground with his calloused fingers, trembling as they traced over the mud.

walking past the border that was created to keep everything and everyone distant from him, as he stood on the other side turning his back from the world, walking away and waving, to bid his goodbye from them.

the wall he built around him to shield him from the world, protecting everyone from the ugly thing that was kept inside , protecting himself from the people that only want to torment him.

forgetting all of these things, leaving them behind for you would mean showing you who he really was. a frail human being that hides himself behind a mask. the theater curtains revealing the person who played the role of the man who had called himself aventurine for the past years. placing him in the spotlight and giving the audience a show they'll never forget, like the fool he is.

aventurine doesn't think that he is loveable, that he's undeserving of love - your love.

you think that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. providing him with said love, embracing him and showing him how pure love can be.

the blond caught your eye right away. he was charming, funny and handsome. aventurine turned into your little work crush, your motivation to convince yourself just to see him.

the road was rocky and full of obstacles, set up by none other than aventurine. it gave you a better perception of who he really was and it intrigued you even more. why does he hide himself away from the world? why does he convince himself to not get anyone close to him even though he longs for the touch of another person? who is aventurine, really?

you can't answer any of these questions and neither are you certain if aventurine really can but that doesn't stop you. you continue to climb up all the way to know who he is, who the person you fell in love with really is.

love, is weird isn't it? it comes in all different shapes and forms.

if someone were to ask you why you like him, you wouldn't know how to answer, because neither do you know.

but nevertheless you still like him. why? how come you like someone that you don't even know, someone that is foreign to you, almost like a stranger. even though the both of you label yourself as “friends.”

you're not sure what the color is that infuses his irises, he keeps them hidden beneath his glasses. despite that, you long to stare into his eyes and let all the plain and dull parts of your life get painted in the same colors of his hues. a color that brings you comfort and cures your sorrow. it's the hues that you want to stare at as you tuck a golden strand of hair behind his ear, in return he grants you a small but genuine smile.

a smile that you want to see more often, one that you want to keep for yourself.

as for his scent, every person has their own unique and special scent. you plead to the gods above that he’ll let you bury your head into the crook of his neck and absorb his smell so it becomes the only scent that lingers around your nose.

there are so many more things that you want to know about him but you're unaware of. one might say that you're odd for liking - no, loving someone that you barely know.

a stranger, a foreign person whom you know little about to almost nothing about, is the person that you love. absurd isn't it? but love is weird, love can be pure and ridiculous, but it can also be painful and heart wrenching. love is a feeling that not only brings joy to oneself but also causes pain. but it's a feeling that you never want to get rid of - not until you introduced aventurine to it. showing him what love has to offer and has in store.

in the iridescent light aventurine remains to look as ethereal as ever. a scent of vodka lingers around aventurines figure, the smell is strong, but you couldn't care less. his hair is disheveled but nevertheless continues to shine in the dazzling light. he lets out a tiring yawn and you couldn't imagine aventurine any more beautiful than in this moment.

vulnerable and for your eyes only. making it unable for you to tear your gaze away from the sight before you.

he's like a shooting star, if you don't continue to watch and follow it and blink, even if it's just for a single moment - it's all over and you'll never see it again.

“stop looking at me like that.” aventurine mumbles quietly, almost whispering. upon hearing that, you make your way over to him, glass shards long forgotten as you place them on the small coffee table in front of the sofa.

your arms reach out to aventurine, clutching your hands on his shoulders. your grip is sluggish but you don't falter and continue to hold him. “like what?” your lips are slightly parted and your gaze is drowsy as you counter aventurine's question with a question of your own.

“like that.” he placed the hand that just rested on his thigh, on your cheek, slightly caressing it. “you're just gonna hurt the both of us if you keep this up any longer.” he's not sure where the boldness came from, he blames it on the alcohol once again; it finally seemed to kick in.

“‘m not lying” you hiccup. tomorrow i’ll tell you how much i love you, no matter if it's once” a cough exits your throat “or a hundred times.” the words that leave your mouth are slurred, they're incoherent and muddled up. your grip on his shoulder weakens, hands slipping off and head falling against his chest.

..did you seriously just black out?

aventurine can only sigh at that. a small smile finds its way onto his face. he snakes his arms around you waist, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck and hugging you with the remaining power he had left before falling asleep. guess there'll be a lot to unpack tomorrow but for now he allows himself to indulge in this shared moment between the two of you.

e/n: hope yall enjoyed this as much as i hated writing this!! (i wanted to throw up) i acc hate how i wrote this. it's not as choppy as when i started writing it but it still feels so rushed and so idk.. anyway reblogs with comments are very much appreciated! >< ALSO that one paragraph written in brackets..guess whose speech it was inspired byyyyy (hint: bsd!!)

#toorurs #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail fluff #hsr fluff #hsr aventurine #aventurine hsr #aventurine x reader #aventurine fluff #aventurine angst #aventurine imgines #aventurine headcanons #hsr imagines #honkai star rail imagines #hsr headcanons

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milkloafy · 5 months ago

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HYDRO DRAGON, HYDRO DRAGON, DON’T CRY — WRIOTHESLEY

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: in which wriothesley finally asks you out on a first date and neuvillette ruins it by crying over his pet goldfish. ⋆｡˚ ❀ contents: fluff, “ruined” first dates, hydro dragon is crying :c, mentions of sick pet fish trigger warning, gn!reader but they are wearing a sundress and makeup!! ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 1.3k+ ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: so on vacation i was out for a nice dinner in a dress and heels and then on the way back to the hotel, it started to storm. and it was windy so no umbrellas helped. and no cars there, only walking. and the roads were flooded so my feet were submerged in like dirt puddles and i was tripping over rocks i couldn’t see in high heels hahaah i was going thru it… but at least it spawned this idea ;-; pls enjoy !! also give neuvi a hug for me ok and me too we both need it t-t

Fontaine was a peculiar place to live in.

Most regions in Teyvat succumbed to the whims of the archons and elemental dragons, but in your experience, none were quite as inconvenient as the region of the hydro dragon.

The Iudex was a sensible and level-headed individual, but he had his moments like everyone else. But unlike everyone else, his sad moments impacted the whole area of Fontaine.

Unluckily for you, one of Neuvillette’s sad moments happened to be when you were running late for your first date with Wriothesley.

Wriothesley had messaged you saying he was at the restaurant already, and you were running down the streets of Fontaine to make sure you were too late for the reservation. It wasn’t your intention to be late, but the pressure of a first date set your nerves aflame and you ended up trying on your entire closet until you found the perfect outfit. You didn’t even want to think of the mess that awaited you when you returned home.

Still, the hassle was worth it. In your eyes, at least. Your hair was styled to perfection, makeup touched up to look effortlessly pretty even though you spent over an hour on it, and the sundress you wore hugged your body in a way that showed your curves yet left the gaze wanting more.

You were certain that once Wriothesley saw you, he definitely wouldn’t mind that you were a couple minutes late.

As you turned the corner and saw the restaurant at the end of the street, you immediately perked up, tucking your hair behind your ear and preparing yourself for this date. You skipped on over to the store, but within a few steps of the way, the clouds turned an alarming shade of gray and an immediate downpour began.

The water droplets were huge, leaving stains of tears on the pavement. The rain was indiscriminate, landing on both the buildings on the street, and the individuals walking around there.

You blinked as you felt particularly large droplets land on your face, instantly knowing the makeup you worked so hard on would begin to wash off and smear in the rain. The water landed on your hair ruined how each strand was placed to perfection and your dress looked soggy and almost translucent.

As if possessed, you sprinted to the restaurant and entered to take cover from the showers outside. The restaurant was dimly lit with chandeliers and candles on the tables, the tablecloths adorned with a vase of fresh flowers and empty wine glasses at the ready.

In other words, the place was much too fancy for your current state.

Your eyes landed on Wriothesley, who immediately jumped out of his seat at the sight of you. He rushed over with a concerned look on his face, promptly removing his outerwear and draping it over your shoulders without second thought.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said meekly, feeling a shiver run down your spine as a cold breeze made its way into the restaurant.

He shook his head, brushing your cold hair out of your face and grabbing a handkerchief from his breast pocket. “That’s the least of our concerns right now. Are you okay? It seems you are completely drenched.”

“I’m okay,” you sniffled, accepting his handkerchief and dabbing the water droplets off your face and neck. “It was just nice and sunny one minute, then gloomy and pouring the next.”

A look of understanding crossed Wriothesley’s face as a dry chuckle escaped him. “The Iudex’s work, most likely.”

You nodded in agreement. “First, he encourages me to go on a date with you, then when it finally happens, he cries and ruins it all.” You sighed, but after a moment’s thought said, “I hope Neuvillette is alright. The rain seemed really bad with no build up or warning… I hate to use devices during a date, but is it okay if I message him to check in?”

“Of course,” said Wriothesley, waving off any concerns you might have. As you got your communication device out from your purse, he placed his hand on the small of your back and guided you to the table.

Y/N: neuvillette… why are you crying???

Y/N: is everything okay?

Neuvillette: Frederick wasn’t eating and seems to be floating up instead of swimming.

Neuvillette: I am concerned.

Y/N: oh no!! :((( not your goldfish… do you want to ask sigewinne if she can help disgnose and cure him??

Neuvillette: I do, but I am too worried about leaving Frederick alone right now.

Y/N: hmm…

Y/N: i’m supposed to be on a date with wriothesley right now :’( but i don’t want frederick to grow ill.

Y/N: i’ll ask wriothesley to take me to the fortress of meropide and inform sigewinne!!

Neuvillette: During your date? You should be enjoying each other’s company. Frederick and I will be fine.

Just then, you heard the downpour from outside grow even louder. You sighed, looking at Wriothesley apologetically. To his credit, he seemed to have the patience of a saint as he simply smiled encouragingly at you.

Y/N: i’m sure neither wriothesley nor i could enjoy a date knowing our friend is in this much distress.

Y/N: we will go. don’t worry, neuvillette

Neuvillette: I am sorry for the intrusion, but thank you. I appreciate it. As does Frederick.

Clutching the handkerchief in your hands, you looked up at Wriothesley with concern etched on your face.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“No,” you shook your head. “Neuvillette is worried about his goldfish, Frederick, being sick.”

Wriothesley frowned, his brows crinkling. “That is terrible.”

“I know! So, I may have offered that we go to Sigewinne and ask if she can help Frederick somehow,” you said sheepishly. “I know this isn’t how I expected our first date to be, but it seems urgent. I promise, I’ll make it up to you!”

Standing up from his seat, he patted the top of your wet hair and shook his head. “Helping friends is important. Neither of us could have known Frederick would have complications right now— There is nothing you need to make up.”

You nodded, but a guilty look still flooded your face. It wasn’t enough for you to be late to your first date with Wriothesley. Instead, you also showed up looking like a hot mess, and immediately cancelled the date within five minutes of being there. Fiddling with the buttons on the coat Wriothesley gave you, worry gnawed at your stomach. You were looking forward to going on a date with your long-time crush, and you would be devastated if this ruined all your chances.

As if sensing your concerns, Wriothesley smiled and offered you his hand. Startled you looked up at him, slowly sliding yours into his. It was warm and dry, a stark contrast to your cold and damp ones. The heat enveloped you and you immediately felt your worries melting away.

“I, for one, find it incredibly selfless of you to offer to help Neuvillette like this,” he said in admiration. “Your looks are not only beautiful, but your heart as well. So please, do not feel guilty at the change of plans. Let’s make the most of it. We can always have a fancy dinner date another night.”

Your eyes widened, cheeks flushed at his compliments. “So, you’re saying I have a chance at another date?”

Wriothesley chuckled, brushing the pad of his thumb across your knuckles. “It’s a guarantee, if you’ll have me, that is.”

“I’ll have you for as long as you’re offering!” you said in excitement, too happy to pay attention to the bashfulness creeping in at your words.

“For you, I’ll always be offering,” said Wriothesley with a smile as he led you out of the restaurant and apologizing to the staff for the sudden cancellation. “Now, let’s go save Frederick.”

“Let’s do it!”

#genshin x reader #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x y/n #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #wriothesley fluff #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic #genshin impact #wriothesley #genshin impact x you

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gravid-transluna · 2 months ago

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A little prompt for you, if it tickles your fancy…

A mother-to-be is chilling at home on maternity leave. She’s been having contractions all morning and they’re gradually getting more intense and closer together. Not wanting to bother her partner at work at the first twinge of labour, she spends the day riding out the contractions until they’re close enough together to warrant the phone call.

Eventually they’re strong enough to steal her breath away, coming every five minutes for a solid hour, and she’s pretty sure her waters are breaking. Before making the call to her partner she pops in the bathroom to clean up and change, only when she goes to leave she finds the door is jammed. Well and truly completely stuck. With no phone and only a small latch window, our mother-to-be is stuck in the bathroom and dangerously close to pushing…

~ @shhhsecretsideblog 💜

words: 1177

content: inconvenient birth, fpreg

Absolutely delightful prompt, but then, I expect nothing less from such an incredible writer!

Working from Home

Cleo had been having a productive morning; despite starting her maternity leave a week ago, she had become attuned to remote work, her laptop balanced on her overdue belly, a ready supply of pillows to support her aching back and hips and feet. Even as her belly began to seize periodically, ramping up in both intensity and pace, she’d kept her focus on her work, not wanting to bother her girlfriend at work.

“Shhh,” she’d murmured to her restless womb, rippling with contractions severe enough at this point to make her gasp. “Let momma finish this email, maybe grab lunch.”

The next one had her doubled over her belly, clutching the armrest as she rode out the pain. She was having a difficult time sitting at this point. The pains had introduced a new sensation, intense in its own right: a deep pressure between her hips, weighing down on her cervix. She shifted, lifting her hips from the sofa with a low moan.

“Okay,” she panted at the end of the contraction, shakily removing her glasses to wipe the lenses on the edges of her sweater. “Okay, it might be time to make the call.”

As she stood, she realized that her yoga pants had trails of liquid running down them, and at her crotch a dripping spot had formed.

‘Shit,’ she thought. ‘That’s my waters.’

She knew her girlfriend would usher her to the hospital without letting Cleo get a word in otherwise. Messy tangled bun; sweat stains; belly hanging low from the hem of her once-oversized sweatshirt…. Cleo thought she could afford to freshen up before she went.

She waddled to the bathroom, with an awkward wide-legged gait. The pressure was getting nearly unbearable.

After rinsing her face she tugged down her sodden pants and as they dropped to the floor she suffered another hard contraction.

Braced over the counter, Cleo instinctively bent her knees and swayed her hips in slow circles. Her breathless grunt was punctuated by a sharp release of breath near the end.

The pressure was incessant, demanding. She was aware of a large mass, burrowed deep into the cervix, something she could only presume to be the head. It was getting to be so bad that she almost felt like—

Cleo shook her head. She reached for her phone, only to realize she’d left it on the couch by her laptop. She huffed. With the baby so close, even walking was an ordeal. Trying the knob, she found it didn’t turn. The door wouldn’t budge either. Tugging on it, throwing her weight back with an increasing sense of dread, Cleo realized that the door must be jammed. ‘Not now,’ she thought. ‘Please, not now.’ Despite her best efforts, the door remained shut. Turning, she scrutinized the window now. Maybe-? No. Without her massive belly, the squeeze might have been possible. Not now, though.

Cleo tried to remain collected. “Is it one? One-thirty, it must be. So if she gets off at three, then….” Two hours. She looked down at her protruding swell, swollen and almost misshapen with the size of her baby. Could she hold it in that long? She had to, if she didn’t want to give birth by herself in the bathroom.

The next contraction came with an enormous amount of pressure, nearly buckling her knees. She couldn’t help the groan that rumbled from her throat. It barely sounded like her own voice, deep and animalistic. Palming her clenched belly with both hands, she quickly waddled to the toilet, trailing fluids, and dropped heavily to the seat. Naively, she was hoping that the pressure and its accompanying urge was nothing more than a bathroom feeling. However, as the contraction reached its peak, the urge became undeniable.

She had to push.

She had to bear down, NOW.

Without thinking, Cleo was arching her back and thrusting her belly out and pushing hard on the toilet. She bellowed, red-faced with exertion, as the large round mass began to press downward, with slow force. Her knees sprang apart, struggling to accommodate the seemingly impossible width of the baby moving through her. As the contraction began to fade she was able to pull herself from her involuntary pushing efforts, and regain a semblance of control over her body.

She panted vigorously. Strands of dark blond hair clung to her damp forehead. Her glasses fogged with heavy breaths. Cleo knew she had little time before the next contraction, and spent it lifting her encumbered laboring body from the toilet seat to shamble to the window. Her fingers fumbled with the latch. Her belly felt so low and heavy, dense with pregnancy, almost ready to drop right off her frame. She managed to open the window, grunting as she was forced to strain on her tiptoes. Drawing in a breath, she began to shout.

"Help! Please! Someone, mmh, I'm trapped here and I'm in, ohhhh, I'm in labor---!"

Pressure was building again, splitting through her hips, her belly constricting into a tight ball of muscle. Her voice strained tightly as she shouted.

"Oh GOD, someone! P-please, I'm giving birth! I-I'm--- OH! I'm PUSHING!! It's coming, my baby's coming!"

Teeth gritted, palms to the wall, Cleo bore down silently again. Knees bending, dropped into a slight squat. She could feel it, moving down at an alarming speed. The stretch was immense. The weight was close to her opening, and by the time the contraction ended, she could feel herself beginning to bulge, the huge head lodged just before her lips. Trembling, cold with sweat, Cleo removed her sweater and threw it behind her before her knees gave out and she collapsed into all fours, instinctively needed to be lower to the floor, needed to be grounded as she focused on nothing but getting her baby out. She let her forehead rest against the cool porcelain tile. Her glasses clattered to the floor. One hand felt shakily behind her. Between her thighs her lips were bulging with the head, hot to the touch. She withdrew her probing fingers. They only confirmed what she could already feel, what she already knew, deep inside her, with the intuition of a birthing mother: the baby was coming.

All she could do was help it come. She raised her backside, lowered her shoulders. Readied herself on all fours for her first fully-involved push. When the contraction came she let loose a savage growl, pushing furiously, and felt herself beginning to open around the crowning skull. It was huge, fiery, overwhelming. Birth was all-consuming. She howled, with nothing else on her mind except expelling the baby from her body.

A light rapping at the window. Startled, nearing the end, Cleo glanced up. Her eyes with hazy with pain and primal urges.

A pair of startled eyes stared from the window. Her next-door neighbor.

"Miss Cleo---?!"

"Ah, ah.... hello. I need, urgh. Need to borrow your phone."

"For an ambulance?"

"No," Cleo shook her head, readying herself for the next contraction and another hard, groaning push. "My girlfriend. Gotta tell her, baby's almost here."

#fpreg #giving birth #inconvenient birth #labor kink #birth kink #pregnant kink #birth prompts #answered asks

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rafelandia · 1 month ago

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Nothing's Gonna Hurt You, Baby (Rafe x fem!reader): Chapter One

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: Y/N is new to the island and Rafe seeks asylum in the bar she works at.

Author's Note: Hello! Wanted to say thank you for all of the love on my last few writings. The idea of Rafe not realizing he's falling in love, especially with someone he shouldn't, is so personal to me and honestly what made me create this blog in the first place - so here we go! This will be somewhat of a slow burn, friends-to-lovers-ish piece and I can't wait to hear what you all think! Likes and reblogs are obviously welcomed as well as any requests or questions (related to this fic or otherwise - I love drabbling about this man and will write about anything). Enjoy!

It was a rainy night when she first saw him. She was wiping down the counter top with a slightly mildewed rag when the door chime rang, signaling his entrance. He settled into the barstool furthest from the door, almost as if he was hiding from something. Prior to just now, she had been alone in the shitty, oceanside bar that threatened to capsize any day now. She liked it better this way, empty and quiet. Could play her own music, move at her own pace, even close up a little early if she got lucky.

She noticed immediately that he seemed out of his element, like he knew he shouldn't be here. Although she'd only moved here a few months ago, she'd gotten quite good at deciphering pogues from kooks. This man was no pogue. He'd tried to disguise himself - toned arms adorned in a knitted sweater covered in tiny beads of the salty rain. His jeans were tattered, but not from being worn out and washed a million times; like they were manufactured precisely to look like they'd been through hours of tough labor and dirt. What ultimately gave it away was his watch - she'd never seen metal reflect that brightly even in the shitty, yellow glow of the overhead lamps that hung above her. It had to be worth a good chunk of change.

He looked exhausted, stressed, tired, something like that. She knew that feeling. It had been hard starting over here on the island. It had been 3 months since she'd moved into the quaint townhouse further inland, away from most of the liveliness of the city. Making friends had proved to be quite difficult and she'd only just now managed to afford the sofa for her living room that she wanted.

She wasn't sure why, but she was nervous to approach him. He seemed important. Or intimidating at the very least, she wasn't sure. She walked quietly towards him, afraid to even disturb him with her footsteps. Baby blue eyes reach hers before she can greet him.

"Whiskey," he breaks the silence, fingers tapping on the warped wood of the bar top, "Neat."

Chewing on the inside of her lip, she offered him an empathetic smile and nod before turning to face the wall of liquor that lined the shelves.

"You seem out of place," she pointed out, her fingers wrapping around the thick glass bottle to remove the stopper.

"What makes you say that?" the man inquired, eyes pointed down and looking at the rings of water stains from all of the patrons that came here before him.

"Not that hard to tell. You keep bouncing your leg up and down like you're about to pounce and while you seem unassuming in that outfit, I can tell that that sweater is pretty expensive. Maybe it's the cologne, kinda hit me in the face as soon as you walked in. Could be the watch, too. I'm no expert but I think -"

"Okay, I get it," he cut her off with a chuckle as she slid his poison of choice towards him, "Kook caught in pogue territory."

She takes note of the disingenuous look on his face. He seemed to stiffen in his seat.

"You know I only moved here a couple of months ago, but I've noticed you people are obsessed with choosing sides," she thinks aloud, "Why the need to be so divisive?"

He chewed on her words while the thick, amber-colored nectar sloshed between his cheeks.

"Don't know honestly. You raise a fair question," he leans back in the stool, arm moving to drape across the one next to him.

She tried not to stare while she continued to wipe down the rest of the bar. Really, she should leave him alone she thinks. God only knows what kind of power this man holds and what he could do. Who was she to pry?

"Why did you come here to hide, then?" she asked. Fuck it.

The sun-kissed, stoic man across from her inhaled deeply through his nostrils and exhaled through his lips, tongue tracing the bottom of his teeth.

She thinks she's made a royal mistake before, surprisingly, he answers.

"Just wanted to go somewhere where people don't ask questions," he stated, his eyes meeting hers for a split second before focusing back to his drink that was nearing its end.

Heat crept up to her ears and her stomach turned in embarrassment.

"Shit," she muttered under her breath, "I'm sorry. I'll leave you be."

Her attention diverted back to her closing duties - refilling cocktail napkins and changing over the cooler filled with cut up fruits.

"It's alright," the man smiled as his fingers circled the rim of his glass, "Kinda nice to talk to someone that doesn't need something from me or needs me to fix something."

He notices the way her lips turn down slightly. She felt bad for him.

"You said you just moved here?" he continued.

"Y-yeah. Back in the spring," she stuttered, a sigh of relief taking over when she realized she hadn't ruined his evening.

"Where are you staying?"

"Um, bit of a commuter. I live a few miles inland so I think that marks me safe from the kooks and pogues war," she toyed.

He laughed at her, chest rising and falling with each chuckle.

"Guess it does. You liking it so far?" he asked, genuine curiosity laced in his words.

"It's alright. I mean, I've always loved the beach and the place I found was pretty cheap. Just wanted to get out of where I was before and see what sticks I guess."

The man nods in agreement, silently pondering what it would be like if he did the same. He'd had the impulse so many times. Just pack up and leave. But he's not that bold he thinks. A part of him is scared he won't mean anything to anyone if he steps foot off of Figure Eight.

"Seems nice. You on your Rumspringa or something?"

The woman standing across from him laughed loudly, caught off guard by his jest. Her cheeks flushed and glowing in the dingy lighting of the bar. They really needed to change the bulbs on the overheads.

"Something like that."

He's laughing at his own joke, relishing in the fact that he's made her smile. He's not sure why, but her laugh latches onto him, like the warm sun that bakes his shoulders on a hot and sunny afternoon. He likes it.

"It's really not all that bad at the end of the day," the man says in earnest, "Aside from the...societal tensions, for lack of a better word. It's a really beautiful island."

She's staring at him now. Initially, and shamefully, she'd assumed he was a prick. His kind had stumbled into this bar on occasion and they usually weren't very nice or talkative. They'd run up a tab, speak loudly and vulgarly about a business partner or a girl for hours before stumbling out of the door without tipping. But he seemed different. Like he'd been longing for a conversation that wasn't about closing a deal or for someone to genuinely just ask him how he was. There was something so human behind the eyes of someone you'd expect to be anything but.

"It is," she agreed, smiling at him sweetly, "You need another?"

He hadn't even realized his drink was empty.

Just before he could answer yes, the chime of a cell phone pierced the walls of the bar.

"Sorry," the man huffed, pulling the sleek, black phone from the pocket of his jacket that hung on the back of his stool.

His eyes grew heavy and he sighed when processed the contents of the message, hands moving to run across the lower half of his face in frustration.

"I actually gotta head out," he seemed disappointed when he spoke, now reaching for his wallet that was tucked away in the same pocket. "Is it always this dead in here?"

"More or less," she answered, "It's nice having the place to myself sometimes."

He grinned as she took his card from him. As she walked to the register, she glanced quickly at the name embossed on the plastic. Rafe Cameron.

"I bet," Rafe agreed. "Hard to find that around here these days. Guess I'll add it to my list of hiding spots."

The woman smiled coyly as she slid the clipboard towards him, card, pen, and receipt attached to the hinges.

"You know," she started, "We usually close the patio at 7, but if you ever need some quiet I won't tell anyone."

His eyes locked with hers for a brief second before moving to the receipt, signing his name with an unrecognizable scribble before standing up to redress himself with his coat. He smirked down at his feet, a hint of bewilderment taking over. Why was she being so nice to him? he thought.

He pressed his lips together, pretending to lock them with an imaginary key and patting his chest. Her "secret" was safe with him.

"Have a good rest of your night, Rafe Cameron," she said with a grin.

She's met with a similar smile, a slight dimple forming on the left side of his cheek.

"You too..," Rafe's eyebrow turning up in question.

"Y/N."

He nodded, feet trailing towards the dry rotted front door that inched towards collapse each time it swung on its hinges.

"Have a good night, Y/N," he stated before ducking out of the bar and back into the cool drizzle of the rain.

She went on about her night, grabbing Rafe's glass and placing it in a carton to be hauled off to the dishwasher in the back. Assuming that the rain had scared off any future customers, she decided to close up early and head home to her furry friend that was probably begging for some cuddles and neck scratches.

As she was balancing the drawer in her register, she looked at Rafe's receipt. He'd tipped her triple the cost of the whiskey. Chuckling silently to herself, she wondered if she'd ever see him again. Someone by law of the land she should probably be weary of, Y/N thought she wouldn't mind having someone like Rafe Cameron around.

#rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron one shot #rafe cameron x fem!reader #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks one shot #mine #rafe cameron #obx rafe cameron #outerbanks rafe

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doomhands-jr · 3 months ago

Text

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 12

Pairing: Delinquent!Noah Sebastian X Pastor's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Nothing but fluff, baby.

Masterlist

Thanks to @flowerynerds for the banner!

Thanks to @throughwoodsanddirt for the beta!

___________

The New England winters tended to hone its inhabitants like an axe against a grindstone, sloughing off the weaker bits until you were left with only the hardest, sharpest edges of the soul.

The anticipated nor’easter was due to hit sometime in the next few days. Local newscasters said it was likely to be severe. Currently, it was the calm before the storm. The weather was still, like all the substance had been sucked out of the air so the storm could dump it out again once it hit.

On the ground, gray-stained slush clung to sidewalks and frozen lawns, still leftover from last week’s snowfall. The bitter December air stung at your nostrils and turned the tip of your nose red, and Noah Davis’s hot breath drifted out of his open mouth in billowing clouds as he looked down at you from where he stood in his door frame.

It was early morning—three days after you’d spoken with Nick. The western edge of town had all but cleared out, having been comprised mostly of students, who had all gone home for the month-long winter break.

Noah sniffed, blinking down at you and you cleared your throat.

“I, um…I have your stuff.”

You held out the clothes he’d let you borrow, freshly washed and folded, stacked neatly in a pile on top of your mittens.

Noah stepped to the side and gestured for you to enter, which you did, apprehensively. Something about being in his space felt off-limits to you, yet he welcomed you in without hesitation.

Briefly, you surveyed the space before you. A worn sofa and two overstuffed armchairs surrounded a stained coffee table littered with empty beer cans, paper plates, and ashtrays with the spent butts of cigarettes and, you suspected, joints.

The mess was contained to the coffee table, however. The rest of the living room was fairly clean. A large-screen TV sat atop a dark glass stand. An array of gaming consoles and controllers decorated the shelves below it. It was off, and you could see a shadow of your reflection in the black glass of the screen.

Noah cleared his throat and you spun around to look at him. He regarded you with intention, surveying you up and down, but his face didn’t betray whatever information he gathered from the act.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked.

“I’m good,” you said, and immediately regretted it because it wasn’t until after you spoke that you realized how dry your throat had become. “Water, actually.”

He let out a breath somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle, moving to the open-concept kitchen space to fetch a glass out of the cupboard. “Have a seat,” he called over to you without looking.

You took a seat on the brown tweed couch, shrugging off your coat and removing your mittens, and bundled them into a neat pile on your lap.

The acrid smell of stale cigarettes stung the inside of your nose and you discreetly nudged the ash tray across the coffee table.

Noah appeared at the other side of the table, a glass of water clasped in his outstretched arm and you took it gratefully, working hard not to look at him too much.

Though this wasn’t the first time you’d seen him since your one and only sexual experience, it was still a shock to your system. Noah stood in front of you, looking regrettably Jesus-like with his long hair cascading down his shoulders. His clothes were unassuming—gray hoodie and black jeans, but they fit him effortlessly well.

He took his seat on the armchair to your left, legs about six inches too long to fit comfortably between the chair and the end of the coffee table. He rubbed his shins, friction offering more warmth than the sputtering vents and the furnace that whined in protest. Even your ancient dorm with its concrete brick walls could stay warmer than the drafty rental Noah and the band called home.

You noticed a distinct absence of sound or movement in the house.

“Just you today?” you asked.

“Folio and Ruffilo went home for the holidays,” he said, settling back into his chair and sipping from a mug of black coffee.

You didn’t need to ask why he wasn’t doing the same—with all the baggage he carried from his family, you’d be surprised if they even exchanged Christmas cards.

You bounced your knee, knowing there was a conversation to be had, but not wanting to approach it.

“I’m surprised you’re still in town,” he remarked.

This time you chanced a look at him. The coffee mug obscured part of his face, but his eyes still held the same intensity they always had.

“My parents are on a missions trip in Africa,” you said.

He quirked his head to the side, forehead wrinkling in confusion, and something about the crease between his eyebrows had you looking away again, too overstimulated by your own attraction to him. This was going to be harder than you thought.

“What’s a mission trip?” he asked.

“Missions trip,” you corrected. “It’s where groups of people go and build schools and stuff in small towns that don’t have enough resources.” You said this into your glass of water, thankful for something you could anchor your focus on.

“That’s pretty sick, actually.”

“Yeah,” you said, taking a sip to quell the tightness in your throat. “Yeah, I mean, it’s all sort of religiously-motivated though. The real reason is to spread Christianity.”

You almost felt his face twist with displeasure. Glancing over at him confirmed it. He didn’t say anything though. He didn’t need to. You understood what that look was about and you felt the same.

A few awkward moments passed while you tried to think of anything you could say that wasn’t the one thing you came here to say.

“How were your finals?” Noah asked, coming to your rescue.

“Good,” you answered too quickly in a rush of air. You cleared your throat and forced your next words to come out at a more conversational pace. “They were good. I think I passed all of them.”

If Noah noticed anything off about your energy, he didn’t let on. Instead, he smiled. “I’m not surprised.”

You gave him a questioning look.

“You’re really smart,” he explained, setting his coffee on the table in front of him, sans coaster, “and you seem like the type of person to study hard.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair while he said it, resting his chin on the palm of his other hand.

You smiled back because he’d clocked you. “Does that make me boring?” you asked, finally relaxing into the usual back-and-forth of your conversations with Noah.

His smile grew wider, and you were stuck by just how sharp the corners of his mouth were. “I don’t think it does. I mean, if that was all there was to you, it might, but you have more layers than that.”

“Like an ogre,” you said.

His face fell and he blinked, waiting for you to explain.

“From Shrek.”

“Get out.”

Your composure cracked, and through the fissure erupted a fit of giggles, surface tension finally breaking into something warm and homey. Noah snickered and at last, the shields were down—both of you disarmed and ready for what lay ahead.

It took several moments for the energy in the room to settle where it needed to be. When it finally did, you regarded Noah with your full attention for the first time since arriving.

He looked tired. The light bags that usually hung around just under his eyes had deepened into something sadder. Patchy stubble dotted his chin and upper lip, and his hair looked stringy and unwashed.

“So,” he began, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair.

“So,” you parroted.

In the span of a few seconds, the air around you folded in on itself and grew twice as thick—dense with unspoken sentiments and the possibilities for what could come out of this conversation.

He fixed you with a serious look, assessing your demeanor before speaking again. You’d been on the other end of that look before, but every time it happened, it struck you just how large and intimidating Noah’s presence was.

“Should we talk about it?” he asked.

You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning back in your seat. When you opened them again, you were staring at the ceiling. “No….”

You heard Noah huff a laugh through his nostrils. That was good. At least he was amused by your discomfort. Without lowering your head, you shifted your eyes over in his direction. He smiled at you, and it took the edge off.

“I promise I won’t make this any harder than it has to be.” You appreciated the gentle tone he took—a nurse soothing his patient before administering a shot.

You said nothing, but no longer protested. He took it as his cue to go on.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

You exhaled deep. “I know,” you replied, unable to look anywhere but your hands. His apology didn’t make you feel any better about what happened. It was more for him.

“I know you know,” he said. “But I want to explain why.”

It was already too much. You squeezed your eyes shut and blinked them back open. You hated everything about this situation. “Why you ghosted?”

“Why I’m sorry,” he said.

You looked at him with trepidation. He had your attention, but you were still wary and unsure if you wanted to hear what he was about to say. You almost hated yourself for being stupid enough to give him the chance to apologize.

If he got it wrong it would feel like reopening a wound.

He took a deep breath. Somewhere behind his eyes, an unnamed heaviness settled in and you had to look away. The last thing you wanted to do was empathize with the man who hurt you.

“I’m not the best communicator,” he began slowly.

“Ya’ think?” You couldn’t stop the sarcasm from slipping out. His face went from soft and patient to something more frustrated.

“Sorry,” you muttered.

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat before he resumed. “Things like honesty and vulnerability? They were weaknesses in my book for a long time. I could go into detail about why, but that’s not really important.

“What’s important now is that you know that I’m trying. I understand that I fucked up. I hate that I did it. I wish I wasn’t that person, but it’s a shortcoming that I’m learning to deal with.”

“I also hate that you fucked up,” you said, matter-of-factly. You didn’t say it to hurt him, but it was true, and it was important to you that you no longer filtered your thoughts to protect his feelings.

Noah, being Noah, saw the humor in your statement and huffed. “Your honesty is refreshing. If not a little cold,” he said. A half-smile painted his face and God, if you didn’t want to slap it off him so that you’d no longer have to look at it.

Letting his face fall neutral again, he continued. “You’re not the first important person that I’ve hurt because of this,” he said. “But hurting you did force me to pay attention to how that feels, and I don’t like it. I’m tired of being an asshole, and I think, moving forward, I want to be more honest. Not just with you, but with myself. I think I’ve been fooling myself for a long time about what’s important to me, and I’m starting to realize those things don’t make me happy.”

You resisted the urge to ask him what things he was talking about. You wanted to break out of the habit of giving him more attention than he’d earned. That had always been a problem for you with men, and you suspected it was what got you into this mess in the first place.

You could see on his face that he almost expected you to ask him more, and when you didn’t, he faltered for a moment. “Good,” you said with a nod.

He deflated, but ultimately melted into a smile. “Thanks,” he said. You could tell he meant it, and holy bricks, did that have you softening more for him against your will.

A warmth blossomed between the two of you, slowly at first, but it grew with each passing moment. You could feel it in your bones, and despite your best intentions, you caught yourself smiling.

You didn’t want Noah to have this pull over you. You couldn’t tell if you were relieved that he’d done a good job with his apology, or resentful because it would have been so much easier to write him off had he failed.

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” you asked, ready to be done with the conversation for the time being and beyond grateful it hadn’t stemmed into more intimate territory—you didn’t think you could handle that.

“How are you?” he asked. “I feel like so much has happened since we last talked.”

“Ha!” you said. “You could say that again.”

Noah leaned back in his chair, shifting his weight to make himself more comfortable. “Tell me about it. Do you want to get some food? I’d love to catch up.”

“Maybe another time,” you said, with only the slightest twinge of regret. It was for the best. “I’ve got laundry to do.”

It was a lie. You had nothing to do, but as much as you wanted to spend more time with him, your intuition was telling you to go, and you’d promised yourself you’d start listening more. Something inside of you wasn’t ready to be alone with him for much longer.

“I understand,” he said, voice dipping in enthusiasm, but clearly respectful of your boundaries. “What about tomorrow?”

You didn’t have an excuse ready—the knee-jerk denial didn’t kick in at the idea. Perhaps that was a sign?

“I…I can’t commit for sure, but I’ll think about it.”

He seemed satisfied with your answer, offering a smile that was a little too sincere for you to handle and you had to get out of the room before you lost all sense of self.

“Okay. See you around,” you said quickly, shuffling to grab your backpack and swing it around onto your shoulder while nearly tripping over the coffee table on your way to the door.

Noah didn’t chase you—you knew he was going to give you whatever space you needed in order to be ready for him.

And that might have been what scared you most.

------------

The tip of Noah’s nose almost touched the mirror with how close he was leaning over the bathroom sink. He’d been dealing with a very stubborn ingrown hair in a painful spot right under his nostrils. It was angry and red, but it hadn’t quite come to a head yet.

Perfect. Just what he needed.

He leaned back to get a better macro view of himself. The spot was definitely visible, but he was more than likely fixating on the small flaw. He couldn’t help it though—he was nervous.

Letting his gaze drift over the rest of his face, he noticed he’d missed a spot while shaving. Fetching his razor from the shelf in his bathroom cabinet, he ran it under water and brought it to his face, moving it slowly around his jaw.

Fuck!

He nicked the skin.

At first there was nothing, but then red began to seep out from the tiny cut and Noah had to grab a tissue and dab at the small drop of blood that had gathered around the wound.

Steadying himself with a deep breath, he grasped at the porcelain sink with both hands before facing the mirror once again.

This was stupid. He was stupid. You were just someone he liked. There was no reason for him to be so on edge. This wasn’t even a real date, you were just meeting up for coffee.

Exhaling slowly through his nostrils, he brought the razor to his face once again, this time successfully removing the hair he missed. He finished up with moisturizer, giving one last menacing look at the angry red zit above his upper lip and recognized that it was a lost cause. There was nothing he could do about it now.

He reached for the bottle of spiced oil he usually wore and then thought better of it. This was a special occasion. He had a small sample bottle of designer cologne tucked away in the back of his sock drawer. Normally he wasn’t the type to reach for expensive brand names, but he was nineteen at the time and he liked the way it smelled, so he shoplifted it from an outlet mall that wasn’t smart enough to keep their shit in locked displays.

Noah smiled bitterly at the memory. He’d done a lot of stupid shit in his youth. He supposed he was still in his youth, because hardly four months had passed since his last petty crime—the one that had led him to meet you.

He understood why he did it all. But lately the desire to act out wasn’t there, and he didn’t know why.

Perhaps these days, there was a greater incentive to earn his joy. He no longer needed to steal it.

Dabbing a small amount of the cologne on his pulse points, he stuffed it back in the drawer and shut it away. He could reflect on his shifting morality later. Right now, he needed to figure out what he was going to wear.

________

Noah exhaled into his palms, warm breath serving to heat up the red, frozen extremities. It was a short walk to your dorm, but the air was bitingly cold and the snow was already ankle-deep. The storm was due to hit sometime within the next 24 hours, but he still had some time before the sidewalks grew too treacherous to walk. He wore the nicest outerwear he owned—a black pea coat and pair of black leather boots, but they were no match for the harsh December cold.

He raised his hand and rapped three times on your dorm.

He heard momentary shuffling on the other side before you opened the door in a flurry. The first thing he noticed was the light dusting of pink across your cheeks and the way your chest heaved with labored breathing. Try as he did to keep his eyes focused on your face, he let them drop for only a moment to take in the sight of you in your plain white top and faded denim jeans.

You looked clean, comfortable, and unassuming, and for some unknown reason, it did things to Noah.

“Hi,” you breathed and all at once, the moisture in Noah’s mouth evaporated, leaving a dry, scaly desert in its place. One hundred percent of his brain power was devoted to taking in the sight of you until it was satisfied that it had catalogued every inch of your presence.

“Hi,” he said once his speech returned. His voice came out softer than intended.

“You ready?” you asked, grabbing your coat from the back of the door. He tried to peek inside your dorm room—wanted badly to glean any additional knowledge of who you were when you weren’t with him, but you didn’t afford him the chance, stepping out and shutting the door behind you in one swift motion.

“Yeah,” he replied, and then he didn’t say anything else because he’d apparently never had a single conversation in his life and had no idea how to begin one.

You and Noah walked in silence, boots leaving two pairs of footprints in the snow. You wrapped your arms around you as you walked, and Noah noticed you wore mittens instead of gloves. He liked it. He liked that you wore mittens instead of gloves and it stuck out to him because he couldn’t remember ever liking any article of clothing worn by a woman that wasn’t about what wasn’t covered.

You observed the surroundings while Noah observed you, every once in a while commenting on a specific tree or building you liked, pointing to it with a mittened hand and Noah briefly wondered if there was a limit to how much time he could observe you being yourself before he got bored. He hoped he’d never reach it.

“What’s up with you today?” you asked as the two of you rounded the corner that led to the coffee shop. “You’re quiet.”

“Sorry,” he said casually. “Would you like me to talk more?”

It wasn’t sarcastic, but a genuine question, asked in the way a server would if they found out their customer didn’t enjoy the meal. Did you want him to bring something more appetizing to the table?

“No,” you said, looking down at your boots. “I just…want to know what’s on your mind.”

The only thing on his mind was how physically aware of you he was. To ease the tension that had been pulling on his bones, he took a step closer to you. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch you in some way—grab your hand or throw his arm around you or something—but he refrained. “Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “Just vibing.”

You rolled your eyes, sighing as the two of you reached the entrance to the coffee shop and you pulled on the large brass door handle, gesturing for him to enter first. “Well, I take back what I said earlier then,” you said. “I do want you to talk more. I’m doing all the heavy lifting.”

Noah smiled, tickled by how unapologetically honest you were. He liked this version of you. Not that he didn’t like every version of you he’s had the privilege of knowing, but something was different. You were less eager to please him. Almost like you wielded the sharper parts of your personality as a weapon, testing to see if its sting would scare him away.

It wouldn’t.

“What do you want to do after you graduate?” he asked as the two of you made your way to the counter.

“Just jumping right in, then? No warmup?” you asked. Noah shrugged. “Grande cinnamon vanilla latte, please.” you said to the barista.

“Medium black coffee,” said Noah.

Noah was reminded of the first time the two of you went to this café together. You were wearing the same rubber boots and Noah was doing his best to flirt with you. He smiled to himself and pulled out his card to pay. You let him without protesting. Good. You knew you deserved it.

“I’m not sure anymore, to be honest,” you said as the two of you slid over to the pickup window. “I used to think I would work at the church my dad owned. Be office personnel or something.”

“That doesn’t seem like you,” Noah observed.

You shrugged. “It was the obvious choice at the time. My parents both believe I belong in the ministry in some regard.”

“Would you be a pastor one day?” Noah asked.

You let out a loud, bitter laugh. “I don’t think our church would ever be ready for female leadership. It’s so old-school.”

Noah frowned. He didn’t like hearing that. In his opinion, you’d make a much better pastor than any other religious person he’s met. You actually practiced what you preached.

“So what do you think you’ll do instead?” he asked, trying to shift the subject away from religion. He got the feeling that those wounds were still fresh for you.

You shrugged. “To be honest, I haven’t put much thought into it. I know I should, but so much has changed in the last few weeks—I’m still kind of wrapping my head around it.”

“I get it,” he said, reaching to pick up the drink orders that had arrived. You led the way over to a small two-person table in corner of the otherwise empty café. Noah followed dutifully, trying his best to express with every single movement how completely present he was here with you. He was sure you didn’t notice, but that wasn’t the point. For him, it was about the intention.

“You do?” you asked, sitting down. Noah sat across from you and indulged in a moment of unapologetic eye contact.

“Mhmm,” he nodded. “I mean, not that I’m experiencing it or anything, but I know that when it comes to big decisions like that, I need a clear head. If there’s too much stuff going on in my life at one time, I don’t have the headspace to think about it.”

Some of the tension in your shoulders slackened—not by much, but he was so hyper-aware of you by that point that he couldn’t miss it. He wanted to think it was because of him.

Rather than responding, you sipped at your latte, closing your eyes and savoring it. He took another indulgent moment—this time, to observe how your face responded to the small moment of pleasure. It was almost sexual, he noticed, the way you tucked your lips between your teeth and smiled. He appreciated that this moment was clearly for you, but that you allowed him to witness it.

His mind drifted, picturing himself drawing that same response from you with his touch. A hot coil tugged just behind his navel. Saliva pooled on his tongue and his thumb twitched with the urge to reach out and tug your bottom lip away from where it sat tucked under your teeth—until he caught himself. Lusting after you felt forbidden in a way he hadn’t allowed lust to feel since middle school.

Noah sipped at his coffee, eyes trained on you until you were finished squeezing all the serotonin out of the taste. It was bitter, but in a good way—like he needed a palate cleanser to shock his system after the sickening sweetness of the last few moments.

“What about you?” you asked eventually. “Are you planning to stay at your job?”

“No,” he said. “The job is there to pay the bills while I try to find something else.”

It had become apparent that he’d have to find something else sooner rather than later. As much as the piece work gave him time to think, all of the repetitive motion was taking its toll on his body. He came home at the end of every shift with back pain on his left side and he’d been having to spend more and more time in the gym evening it out.

“What would something else be?” you asked, eyes trained on him and his neck grew warm under the intense observation.

“I want my music to take off, if possible,” he said. “I’ve been working on a lot of new stuff. Actually, I’d love to show you sometime if you want.”

“What kind of stuff?” you asked before taking another slow sip.

“Different from what I usually write. More experimental. I like it, but I haven’t shown the band, so I’m not sure what they’ll think.”

You nodded slowly, mulling something over in your head and Noah waited patiently while you found your words.

“I think…,” you began. “I think I’d be okay with hearing it. If you wanted to share, that is.”

Noah blinked a few times. “I mean, yeah. I’d love to share it with you, but why the hesitation?”

You smiled bashfully, full lips still wrapped around the edge of your cup. “It’s hard to explain. And it sounds mean.”

“Please humor me,” said Noah in earnest. He liked when you were mean. You deserved to be mean. He had a sneaking suspicion that you’d only ever been overly nice in the past and the more you dropped the façade and stopped worrying about being polite, the more he enjoyed your company.

You licked your lips, staring down into your mug and smiled to yourself again. “I’m trying to be careful with how much attention I’m giving to men these days.”

“Oh.” The word escaped in a breath from Noah’s parted lips. His eyebrows lifted up towards his hairline and he had to take a minute to digest this bit of information.

Something that felt a lot like jealousy flared up in his stomach and he had to examine it. He didn’t like it, whatever it was. It felt hot, slimy, and thick, and it sat just below his ribs.

“Other men too?” He couldn’t help but ask for clarification. Perhaps he was showing his cards by bringing it up, but he didn’t care.

The way the corner of your mouth lifted in response to his question let him know that you caught on to the implications of his question. “If there were other men, yes.”

“So there are no other men,” he stated, feeling a flicker of hope rise up in his chest.

“They’ve all gone home for Christmas break.” The teasing smile never left your lips as you said it.

Fine. You could play your cards close to the chest if you wanted. He was fine with that. Whatever.

He liked it though. Underneath the frustration, he liked this version of you: empowered, a little bitchy, tongue like a whip, lashing him in penance for his sins. The sick, masochistic side of him wanted more. Needed more. [4]

He took a deep breath to help him refocus. “So why the newfound caution? Not that I’m against it, it’s probably a good idea. But why?”

You raised an eyebrow, wordlessly asking if he really wanted to get into it, and he did, so he held your gaze until you decided to grace him with the truth.

“I think I’ve given men a lot of unearned attention. It’s come back to bite me many times over. I’m trying to learn my lesson this time.”

Noah nodded. He knew he was one of the reasons. He was prepared to hear that. But then…

“What other times have you done that?”

You tilted your chin down, narrowing your eyes in skepticism. “You mean aside from you?” you asked.

He couldn’t help but smile, appreciating how resistant he was growing to the sting of your candor. You weren’t afraid to let him know just how much he’d messed up.

He nodded.

Your eyes flicked up to the ceiling while you thought. You sucked on your teeth while your gaze drifted across the room, picturing invisible figures from your past and the moments they’ve wronged you.

“My dad, for one.”

He was hoping you’d say that one.

“How?” Noah scooted forward in his chair, elbows resting on the table between the two of you. Part of him was eager to know how his fuckup had fared in comparison to other men in your life.

“Even just listening to him preach every single Sunday. Sometimes the sermons would be worthwhile, but a lot of them were just him spouting his opinions on how people should behave. I don’t like that he has the platform he has. He doesn’t deserve it.”

Your face had morphed into a scowl as you talked. Noah could see the resentment you held for your father and he wished there was something he could do—some word of comfort he could offer, but he knew it wasn’t his place, considering.

“Isaac, too,” you said, and Noah rejoiced internally. He’d been hoping you’d say that even more.

“What did he do?” Noah asked, training his face and voice to appear calm and unbiased.

“Oh my god,” you said, setting your cup down in front of you and clasping your hands together with a newfound focus. “I forgot you don’t even know!”

“Know what?”

“Isaac donated the proceeds of the showcase to a pro-life organization.”

Noah had to force himself to swallow the sip of coffee he’d just taken. “What?!”

You launched into the story, telling him all about how you’d been lured into participating because he’d said he wanted to donate the proceeds to charity, and how he’d been respectful the entire time, despite knowing how you felt about the subject. How he didn’t tell you about it beforehand because he knew you’d protest, so he went and did it behind your back, and how you didn’t find out until right before you were supposed to go on stage and sing.

“Which I rocked, by the way, and you totally should have been there to see it,” you said, crossing your arm and fixing him with a scowl.

“Something came up. I’ll have to make it up to you somehow,” he said. He didn’t have the heart to tell you he’d gone, but was too much of a coward to go inside the sanctuary.

“Yeah, I know. That Something apparently lives in my dorm and had a lot to say.”

Noah’s eyebrows pulled together. “What?”

Apparently he’d struck a nerve. Within the span of a second, you were back to being closed off from him, arms folded across your chest and chin jutting out while you stared out the window. He probably deserved that.

“I forget her name. Madison or whatever,” you said.

Internally, his body hissed at him. He forgot he’d been trying to use Madison as a distraction. He hated that he’d done it, but at the time it felt necessary. He wasn’t sure how he could explain that to you, though.

“So yeah,” you said. “I’m done with men for a while,” you said, still staring out the window and bouncing the leg that was crossed over the other.

“For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry,” he said. “I should have been there. It was…not my best hour.”

He could tell you wanted more of an explanation, but weren’t about to beg for one. He’d tell you what really happened eventually…just not yet.

“What can I do to earn your favor?” he asked.

“Be worth my time.” You said it without missing a beat and Noah had to hold back a snort. He was not expecting such a no-holds-barred answer from you and it hit him like a bucket of…not exactly ice water, but something warmer. Kinder. You were giving him the information he needed, unafraid of whether or not it would hurt his feelings. God, there was something about that he couldn’t get enough of.

“Noted,” he said. “Still, I can’t believe Isaac did that.”

“Yeah, well…,” you trailed off, mouth still pulled down into a frown. A few beats passed where neither of you said anything, and in the silence, Noah realized what he had to do.

He drained the rest of his coffee, then stood up and collected his things.

“I should get you home then,” he said.

Your face morphed into one of surprise. “What?” Noah wished he could take a photo of how you looked right then. Lips parted in bewilderment. Eyebrows pulled together in confusion. It was cute.

“Your time is precious,” he said. “I don’t want to take up more than I’m worth.”

“That’s not…are you serious?” you asked, turning to face him. He was already setting his empty mug in the dirty dish bin at the end of the counter. He turned back to face you and nodded to the door, gesturing for you to follow.

You dumped the remainder of your latte into your mouth and stood, shoving your arms into your coat and hurrying to catch up. “What’s the rush?” you asked.

“Trying to respect your time,” he said, smiling to himself as you struggled to match his pace.

“Noah,” you said firmly, grabbing his arm and turning him around to face you. You didn’t say anything else but studied him with your jaw set firm.

He stared back, face calm, but unyielding. The wind picked up, blowing a few strands of hair across your face. The skin at the back of his neck stood on end in the cold. His nose began to run, and he sniffed it back.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked. In the back of his mind, he registered your hand still wrapped around his arm.

“I just got back into your good graces,” he admitted. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.” “Overstay? Noah, we’ve only been hanging out for an hour.”

“I know,” he said, resisting the urge to pull you in closer. “It was an hour I wasn’t sure I’d get. I’m grateful for that.”

“Okay,” you said, looking off to the side when the eye contact grew too intense. “So, what’s the problem?”

Noah searched for the right words, trying to describe what until now had only been a vague emotion that hadn’t quite surfaced.

“The problem is that I will always want more than I’ve earned,” he said, softly, like he was only just now admitting this to himself. “An hour is already more than I deserve. Any more, and I’d get spoiled. But I would love the opportunity to earn your company again soon.”

You processed what he said for a few beats and then rolled your eyes, lips stretching into a begrudging smile and if Noah had the ability to freeze time, he’d use it right then and there to study every inch of your face.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” you said, sighing and hooking your arm through his. You allowed him to walk you back to your dorm.

“Maybe,” he said, enjoying the pressure of your elbow against his. “Hopefully a harmless one.”

“Is this love bombing?” you asked, short legs still struggling to keep up with his long ones. “Are you love bombing me?”

“I hope not,” he said. “That would be really fucked up if that were the case.”

“It would make you a terrible person,” you agreed. “You better not be love bombing me.”

“I’ll watch out for that,” he said, smiling to himself. “What counts as love bombing in your book?”

You grinned, as if this was a special interest of yours and you’d been waiting for someone to ask you that exact question.

“Showering me with compliments, for one,” you began.

“Noted. You look terrible today.”

“Ha!” you said, nearly skipping with energy and warmth bloomed in Noah’s body at the thought he’d made you happy.

“To be honest, I don’t exactly know,” you said. “I think people who love bomb have this skill about them–where they can pay close attention to a person, pick up on what they want or need, and then give it to them. But it doesn’t come from a good place, and they can’t sustain that energy. They do it until they get what they want, and then they leave.”

Noah’s stomach twisted, the warmth that had previously inhabited it sucked away in a vacuum, leaving only tightness.

He’d done that before. Many times. Fuck.

As the two of you walked back to your dorm, Noah’s conscious weighed heavy on him. You continued talking about red flags, but Noah’s ability to actively listen was compromised with the weight of his guilt.

He had a habit of justifying his past actions to himself–if women were naive enough to fall for simple flattery, they deserved it, he told himself.

His stomach rocked again and he felt like he was going to be sick.

He couldn’t change his past. He was well-aware he’d done things he wasn’t proud of, but he could change how he was going to act moving forward.

This time, he was determined to get it right.

“I guess this is where I leave you,” he said, unhooking his arm from yours.

You stared at the door longingly, and Noah hoped that meant that you weren’t ready to leave.

“You want to do this again sometime?” you asked, turning to him.

Noah nodded, swallowing the sinking feeling in his chest for now. He could process everything when he got back to his apartment. “This or whatever else. Whatever works best for you.”

“It can’t all be about me, you know,” you said. Your hand rested on the door knob, keys dangling uselessly from your fingers.

“I know,” he said.

Your face grew serious as you studied Noah, looking like you were still trying to figure out if he was for real.

“Why are you doing all this?” you asked.

Noah didn’t have an answer at the ready for you, so he simply shrugged. “Feel like it.”

You continued to regard him. He couldn’t help when his eyes dropped to your lips—full and flushed with pink from the cold. He had a feeling he was letting his cards show, but he didn’t have much incentive to keep them hidden from you anyway.

He brought his eyes back up to meet yours and caught the second your eyes flicked back up from his own lips. When you realized you were caught, you averted your gaze to your shoes. Noah did the same.

“I, uh. I should get going,” he said, reaching to rub at a spot on the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” you said, side-stepping away to break some of the tension that had been building for the last thirty seconds. You fiddled with your keys, finding the right one and using it to unlock your door, but made no move to enter.

This was the hardest part. He didn’t want to leave. From what he could pick up, you didn’t want him to. But it was important that he did. He knew it. He wasn’t going to fuck this up by being impatient again.

Just when he was about to say his final goodbye, you beat him to it.

“See ya,” you said. And then in one swift motion, you grabbed the lapel of his coat, pulled him down, stood up on your toes and gave him a peck on the cheek.

Before he even registered what had happened, you’d unlocked your door and disappeared behind it.

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cinnamongorll · 11 months ago

Text

a fragile line - chapter 28

read on ao3! (125k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Series tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Series synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 7.5k

Chapter 28:

Juliet's POV:

3 weeks later...

Juliet’s bathroom mirror had a crack in it.

The edges were jagged, creating a black slash across her face whenever she peered into it. Juliet ran her finger along the gap, allowing the razor edges to glide across her skin, as she examined the way her features split in half.

The steam from the shower had begun to dull the mirror’s clarity, surrounding Juliet’s body in a strange fog. One thing the mirror had yet to dilute, however, was the burning red outline of her father’s possession.

E.M. reflected back at her with precise clarity.

Juliet didn’t flinch anymore when she saw it in the mirror; the reminder of her father and his burning hot poker had faded to a constant screaming in the back of her mind.

The scar appeared to her now like a stain to be removed, one which she itched to run her hand over and erase.

A sense of hollowness began to invade her bones as the shower’s steam gradually coated the glass, turning it opaque. Her father’s brand began to fade into a dull red glow and Juliet released a slow breath.

She turned and stepped under the stream of blazing water, which instantly scorched her skin and another sigh of relief eased from her parted lips. Recently, the burning of the water was the only thing Juliet truly allowed herself to feel.

She tipped her head back under the water and ran her fingers through the soaked strands of her hair, tugging gently as she loosened some knots. For a moment, her own hands were replaced by rough fingers and a tight grip and she let go immediately.

He lingered everywhere: in her hair, on her cheek, her lips, her thighs…

Joel was a stain she could never wash off, no matter how hard she tried.

It had been three weeks of hiding her tears behind closed doors and gasping awake in the middle of the night reaching desperately for him and finding nothing but an empty mattress.

On the darkest of those nights, Juliet imagined herself leaving her house, walking to Joel’s door and taking up the offer of his meaningless touch. Juliet imagined that just the feeling of his hands on her might ease the ache a little… but she knew it wouldn’t fix the fractures he’d left.

Joel had split her open and all that was left was a scarred girl with no one to pull her back together.

She turned the shower off and stepped onto the bathmat. Juliet’s body began to shiver as the warmth of the water left her, and she quickly changed into her clothes and braided her wet hair down her back.

Juliet hesitated when she pulled her shirt down over the brand. Today was her final check up before she could be cleared for Jackson’s patrol and Juliet prayed that Charlotte deemed her whole enough.

When Juliet first arrived in Jackson, she couldn’t imagine ever wanting to step foot outside the fence again… but claustrophobia sets in fast when you’re trapped in a town with a man who has seen the entire rotten mess of your soul and wants absolutely nothing to do with it.

Above all, Juliet wanted to earn her keep. She’d been on medical rest since she came to the town and the weight of her debt to the townspeople was crushing her. Juliet knew how to shoot, she knew how to ride a horse, and she knew how to fight. Patrol was the best fit for her.

She just had to prove that she wasn’t completely falling apart.

Her footsteps were heavy on the stairs as rushed down them, desperate to avoid being late for her appointment.

“You ready?” Ethan called from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Juliet shouted back as she pulled on her boots.

She’d invited Ethan to come with her and get to know the clinic a bit more. He’d been the medical prodigy of her father’s town and Juliet knew that he was itching to get back to practising medicine, he just needed a push.

Juliet straightened as Ethan rounded the corner into the hall. She only had a second to plaster a somewhat convincing smile on her face before he was in front of her, scanning her up and down.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a frown.

Ethan asked that a lot in the past couple weeks.

“I’m fine,” she assured him as she tilted her chin up, “just want to get this over with.”

Ethan nodded with a weak smile, and his eyes lingered on her face for another moment before he turned to grab his jacket from the hooks beside the front door.

As Ethan shrugged his jacket on, Juliet squeezed past and reached for the khaki coloured canvas jacket.

It still smelled like him.

The reminder of Joel was imprinted in the material and Juliet was forced to breathe in the memory of his presence every time she pushed her arms through the sleeves.

She could have found a new jacket, if she’d tried. Juliet could have traded something and added to her ever-growing debt, it wouldn’t have been too difficult. But how could she? When this was all she had left of him.

Juliet should be angry, she should be furious and disgusted, but she wasn’t. Juliet just felt hollow, like all the emotions she should feel towards Joel had been gutted out and all that was left was an empty pit where her heart used to be.

She pulled the jacket off the hook a little too forcefully and the entire structure shook. Ethan’s head swung towards her but Juliet kept her eyes to the ground and held her breath as Joel’s jacket engulfed her body.

………………………..

The walk to the clinic started out rough, as it always did.

Juliet tried not to look towards his house.

She’d gone through multiple methods to stop her eyes from straying towards it: First, Juliet attempted to cut through the back garden of another house, but she got stuck between a very large tree and a very high fence. Next, on a particularly rough day, she walked past with her eyes squeezed shut, but didn’t get very far before she tripped. Juliet had quickly dusted herself off and darted away, praying no one had seen her. She didn’t even turn back when she thought she’d heard the sound of his door open and footsteps rushing out onto the porch…

Juliet had decided it was just the wind.

This time, Juliet threw herself into a conversation with Ethan as they strolled past. She watched his eyes brighten as he talked about the meal they shared the night before. Juliet smiled back, but it wasn’t real.

She would pretend, though, for Ethan.

For Ethan, Juliet would fake a smile and pretend that she wasn’t entirely numb to the kindness of life in Jackson.

Joel had stripped her of that luxury… but how could she truly blame him?

His only crime was not loving her, and the more she thought about it the more she understood why he could not: she’d bribed him, lied to him, and forced him into a situation where he had to save her life.

Juliet had thought there was something there, glimmering beneath his furrowed brow, clenched jaw and rough commands. Juliet had thought he felt something for her.

She blinked away the threat of tears and tuned back into Ethan’s chatter. Things had been better between them; Juliet remembered how comfortable it had been, with him by her side. He was still the same man after all this time and, as the trauma of the last few weeks started to chip away, Juliet remembered why she had fought so hard to save him.

They walked down Jackson’s mainstreet at a quick pace, smiling at the residents who passed by.

“No one ever smiled back home, did you ever notice that?” Ethan observed in a wistfully sad voice.

“Yeah,” she answered as her head turned towards him, “there wasn’t much to smile about.”

Ethan let out a cold laugh as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Guess that’s true,” he replied, “people here have something to live for, I suppose.”

Juliet caught herself before she flinched, but her skin still pebbled beneath her thick jacket as Ethan unknowingly repeated the words Joel had whispered to her in that dark forest.

“You just gotta find somethin’ to live for,” he’d said in a voice so low and lips so close that his breath had brushed over her forehead.

How could she? Juliet wanted to scream at him now… how could she, when he’d left her standing alone in the cold?

……………………….

“Charlotte!” Juliet called when she opened the door to the clinic. The heat from the fireplace hit her immediately and a flush began to build on her cheeks. She stripped her jacket off immediately and hung it on one of the hooks by the door. Behind her, Ethan did the same as his eyes roamed the room.

“In the back!” Charlotte called back.

Juliet turned to Ethan and raised her eyebrows before they followed the sound of Charlotte’s muffled voice into one of the back rooms.

“Hey,” Juliet said carefully as she stood in the doorway. She was conscious of frightening her new friend as she sat hunched over precariously balanced bottles of some strange liquid.

Charlotte’s head swung towards them and her face lit up. “Hey! Give me two seconds, I’m just finishing up,” she said in her permanently cheerful tone. Juliet nodded and turned to Ethan, ready to gesture that they would go wait in the hall … but Ethan’s eyes were glued on Charlotte.

Juliet watched as Ethan followed the movement of Charlotte’s hands. She must have noticed too, because she called over her shoulder: “Are you interested in medicine?”

Ethan straightened in surprise. “Yeah,” he said, then cleared his throat, “used to practise but it’s been… a while.”

Juliet didn’t miss the way his voice quietened at the reminder of the last few years.

“I take it you were the one to dress Juliet’s wound before y’all arrived?” Charlotte asked over her shoulder as she continued to fiddle with her equipment.

Ethan looked to Juliet before responding, his eyes had taken on a haunted look as they dipped to her stomach then back over to where Charlotte sat at her desk. “Uh, yeah, that was me,” he confirmed in a rough voice.

Charlotte finally looked away from her work and stripped off the gloves in her hands, then carefully dropped them into the bin on the floor. Her eyes lifted to Ethan’s as she reached up to tighten her long blonde ponytail.

“You did a good job,” she said earnestly, then paused and tilted her head slightly to the side, “we’re always looking for help around here, if you’re interested…”

Charlotte trailed off as Ethan began to nod enthusiastically, then she smiled and clapped her hands together. “Fantastic! We’ll talk,” she answered with a wink.

Juliet watched with a hidden smirk as a flush rose on Ethan’s neck.

“But first, Juliet, shall we?” Charlotte said, nodding towards the examination table in the corner of the room.

It was metal with a thin mattress over it, and Juliet had found herself lying on it more times than she could count over the last couple weeks. It turned out that her injuries were more severe than she had realised. Having grown up with bruises as a permanent feature on her skin, Juliet never took her pain seriously. Even in the QZ, her hands were littered with burns that went untreated.

When her father told her every day that the marks he left on her didn’t actually exist, Juliet began to adopt her pain as second nature and question if her tears were worth anything at all.

Charlotte had treated the bullet wound on her shoulder, the bruises and burns on her wrists and ankles, the slash from her father’s bible on the side of her face, and his white hot initials on her stomach… along with various other aches and pains from untreated wounds over the years.

After Charlotte sent Ethan into the hall, she read out the list of treatments Juliet had accumulated over the past few weeks… and it wasn’t surprising she was banned from patrol.

“Okay, so, let’s see if you’re ready to get on a horse,” Charlotte said softly as she rolled up Juliet’s top.

Charlotte’s fingers were icy and goosebumps travelled across Juliet’s skin. She bit her lip and kept her gaze levelled on the ceiling as Charlotte peeled off her bandage. It was terrifying, the thought that she might still be too weak to step outside the town and do something with the abundance of time now on her hands.

In the QZ, the days were long and brutal, and Juliet would stumble back to her dingy apartment with smoke covered hands and blackened lungs before passing out on her moth-eaten couch, preparing for another gruelling shift the following day.

In Jackson, life was much slower. Everyone worked and contributed to the community and there were no enforcers, no men with guns and bats tasked with keeping people in line. People worked in Jackson because they wanted to; the residents were fueled by their gratitude to the town and their willingness to work together.

Juliet wanted, so desperately, to be a part of that. She wanted to find something to get her up in the morning after long nights spent haunted by the memory of rough hands and cold eyes.

“You’re healing nicely, I’m going to recommend to Tommy that you’re cleared for patrol,” Charlotte declared as her hands left Juliet’s torso.

“What?” Juliet coughed out and she used her elbows to lift herself up on the table, just enough to see Charlotte look down at her with her eyebrows raised.

“I said you’re good,” she repeated slowly, “I mean, you’re still healing but I don’t see any risks of infection.” Charlotte clasped her hands together and tilted her head to the side as her eyes softened.

“I know you’ve had a rough time of it the last few weeks… with Joel” Charlotte said in a quiet voice.

She was frighteningly perceptive.

Juliet’s eyes left Charlotte’s as she sat up and swung her legs off the table, cringing slightly at the pull on her stomach.

When she turned to her again, Juliet shook her head and feigned confusion. “It wasn’t like that,” she assured Charlotte with as much conviction as she could muster.

Charlotte scanned her face for a moment, then stepped backwards with a knowing smile. “Just don’t do anything reckless, it won’t make you feel any better,” she warned as her chin tilted downwards. “I’ve spent weeks trying to patch you up, don’t spoil my good work,” she continued, her voice friendly and teasing but with a soft undercurrent of concern.

Juliet feigned an exacerbated eye-roll and let out a long breath. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied and Charlotte shot her another quiet smile.

Juliet thanked Charlotte and left the room. Her heart raced and her body had stiffened slightly as Charlotte’s words sunk in…

Was patrol just another one of her distractions?

Self-destructive behaviour was not new to Juliet, but patrol had nothing to do with Joel, surely. She just wanted to prove herself, right?

Her mind felt clouded as she walked into the waiting room, ready to join Ethan by the fire for a moment, but her steps halted when she entered the room.

The front door swung open and Tommy entered, rubbing his hands together as the heat hit him. “There you are,” he said warmly as his eyes focused on her, standing stiffly next to Ethan’s chair.

Juliet blinked. “Hey”

“How’d it go?” Tommy asked as he walked closer, running a hand through his long wavy hair, “you cleared for patrol?”

Juliet straightened and a sudden feeling of dread began to burn in her gut. “Yeah,” she said quietly, “Charlotte said I’m good to go.”

A relieved smile took over Tommy’s mouth. “Thank god, a couple guys had to leave patrol when their wives had their kids, so we’re needin’ some fresh recruits,” he explained enthusiastically.

Juliet didn’t reply, she just nodded awkwardly and crossed her arms over her chest.

Tommy’s stare cut suddenly to Ethan, who sat quietly in the armchair by the fire watching their conversation with his usual curious look.

“What bout you?” Tommy directed towards Ethan. “Heard you can shoot too, you interested in patrol?”

Ethan’s eyebrows shot up and he shifted in his seat.

“Tommy Miller, are you tryin to steal my new trainee?” Charlotte exclaimed in mock surprise as she squeezed into the room behind Juliet with a gentle touch on her shoulder.

Juliet’s mouth twitched as Tommy’s eyes shot to the ceiling.

“New trainee?” he asked, looking between Charlotte and Ethan.

“Yeah,” she shrugged, “with doc doin’ so many house visits, I need all the help around here I can get.”

Tommy looked contemplative as Charlotte’s head turned to Ethan. “Plus, I think he’s already had some medical training. Is that right?” she asked, tilting her chin down at Ethan, sitting in his armchair.

Ethan stiffened as all the eyes in the room swung on him at once. “That’s right,” he confirmed roughly as his gaze found Charlotte’s.

Tommy raised his hands. “Fine,” he said, admitting defeat, then he caught Juliet’s eye and nodded. “Let’s head over to the stables, I’ll introduce you to your patrol partner.”

Juliet didn’t say anything for a moment. The weight of her decision grew heavy on her shoulders, but there was also a glimmer of excitement within her. She imagined herself getting on a horse, armed with every weapon she needed to protect the town.

It would be good to protect a place like this, a place that actually deserved it.

Her eyes caught Charlotte’s and the weight eased as Juliet returned her warm, encouraging smile.

She turned back to Tommy, who watched her with a curious look. Juliet might have thought there was guilt swimming in his gaze if she didn’t know any better.

Eventually, Juliet nodded sharp and quick. “Let’s go.”

………………………..

Juliet hadn’t stepped foot in the stables since that first day, when burning relief was her most prominent emotion.

Now, Juliet wasn’t sure what to feel.

Tommy showed her around, pointing out all the things he hadn’t needed to on that first day. Juliet listened intently, wishing she had brought a notebook with her. It was the first job she’d ever cared about and she didn’t want to fuck it up.

Juliet was very conscious of the fact that she had no ties to Jackson or Tommy, and that she and Ethan were allowed to stay purely because of the kindness of the residents.

Once the tour had ended, Tommy and Juliet circled back to the entrance of the stables, where they waited for her new patrol partner to arrive. Tommy assured her that she wouldn’t start until the following day, but he wanted to make sure that she met her partner before then.

They chatted quietly about Jackson’s weather, and the snow which was very possibly arriving the following week, when the barn doors opened with a long sharp whine of the hinges.

Juliet’s head swung in the direction and her stomach dropped to her feet.

She would have prepared herself if she thought it would have been him. She would have donned some armour, strengthening her defences and at least attempted to plug the gaping hole in her chest.

But Juliet hadn’t expected to see him, so the sight of Joel Miller struck her like the most painful blow.

When her eyes finally focused, the first thing she noticed was his new jacket.

It shouldn’t have caused her stomach to drop even further, but it did.

It was a dark brown leather, with the collar slightly turned up over his throat and Joel tugged against it as he entered the chilled barn.

Juliet swallowed rough and shifted on her feet as she forced her eyes to focus on Tommy, but she knew the exact moment Joel’s stare found her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched his stride suddenly stop and his body physically stiffen.

“Joel,” Tommy said, greeting his brother with a tight smile.

Juliet kept her stare pointed on Tommy’s face but goosebumps grew across her skin as she felt Joel move closer.

“Ready to head out?” Joel asked his brother, his voice low and stilted.

Tommy nodded and crossed his arms over his chest as his eyes darted to Juliet.

“Yeah, soon, just waiting to introduce Juliet to Matt,” Tommy explained, as he tilted his head down to check his watch.

“Why?” Joel demanded in a voice so devastatingly dark. She felt his hot gaze find the side of her head and Juliet knew she had to turn around and face him, but his uncaring stare still stained the inside of her eyelids when she tried to sleep at night and Juliet worried that she might see that coldness in his eyes again.

Tommy looked taken aback as his head turned between them both. “Juliet want -”

“I’m starting patrol,” Juliet said, cutting Tommy off as she finally faced Joel.

Joel’s eyes were like the heaviest anchor, dragging her down into the depths of her sadness. Juliet had once thought he was the weight that kept her afloat, but she was wrong; she was merely a passenger in his life before he pushed her off the edge, back into the dark murky waters.

“You’re what?” he growled. Joel looked down at her with a face like cracked stone, where his rage simmered out of each jagged edge.

Inside, Juliet’s heart was hammering against her chest, but on the outside, she forced her spine to straighten and she wiped her face clean of any shock or surprise.

“I’m starting patrol,” she repeated, slower this time with a harsher edge to her voice.

“No, you’re not,” Joel argued gruffly, but his voice didn’t invite a response, it was a command.

Juliet blinked and looked to Tommy for assistance. “Charlotte just cleared me?” she replied, confusion evident in the crease between her eyebrows.

“Joel, you said it yourself, Juliet is highly skilled and we need that on patrol,” Tommy interjected, shifting on his feet.

Joel said that?

Juliet reached up to rub the back of her neck as her irritation grew. Joel was cruel that day outside her house, she hadn’t imagined that… but was she now imagining the way his eyes shone with concern?

“You’re not ready, it’s too dangerous, you’ll hurt yourself,” Joel challenged. His words spilled from his mouth in a distressed ramble which made the confusion in Juliet’s chest twist painfully.

Juliet shook her head and tilted her chin up to meet his flared pupils.

Her mind flashed back to the Joel she knew three weeks ago, who had looked so guarded and frigid, and then she focused on the Joel standing in front of her with a turbulent combination of fear and anger darkening his eyes.

Juliet should be outraged at his insistence that she couldn’t take care of herself, but she couldn’t help the part of her who clung to him on dark nights, and looked up at him like her protector, from viewing Joel’s words with optimism, with some sick hope that maybe he really did care after all.

He must have seen it in her eyes; Joel must have watched her gaze shift into something softer, something kinder. And so, just as he had three weeks ago, Joel crushed any hope still living within her.

Joel’s eyes narrowed as he turned to Tommy, ignoring Juliet altogether. “She’s not ready, she can’t protect the town.”

It was like her heart was shattering all over again.

Juliet’s eyes turned glossy despite her best efforts to push down the ache in her chest. Joel just had this keen way of finding the part of her which hurt the most and driving the knife in deeper.

Tommy stepped back from his brother, rage now rippling across his face.

“Go sort the horses Joel, we’ll leave once I’m done here,” Tommy seethed, and Joel’s eyes widened.

“You can’t be serious,” Joel ground out when he turned on Juliet, “after everythin’ we went through to get here, you’re just gonna go back out there?”

Juliet winced. “You’re on patrol, why can’t I?” she bit back, standing her ground.

Joel’s jaw clenched with teeth cracking intensity as his dark eyes roamed her face. What he was searching for in her expression, Juliet didn’t know, but she wasn’t planning on relenting anytime soon. In fact, Joel’s presence just made her more determined to find time beyond the fence.

Everything about being around him hurt. It hurt to look in his eyes, knowing the way he used to look at her. It hurt watching his mouth curl into a cruel snarl, knowing the way he used to reluctantly laugh when she least expected it. But most of all, it hurt to hear the bitter words from his mouth as she remembered how warm they had once sounded against her skin.

“That’s different,” he argued as he sharply turned his head back to Tommy in a desperate attempt to find some agreement in his eyes. But his brother said nothing, he was the one to approach Juliet with the offer of patrol and he wasn’t budging.

“Joel, just go,” Tommy interrupted with a hand on Joel’s chest, holding him back from god knows what. Juliet hadn’t realised until Tommy broke the spell that Joel had moved closer, towering over her as he almost growled his words.

He took one last look at Juliet, scanning her face with such intensity before he pushed past his brother and headed further into the stables with his shoulders tight and his fists clenched by his side.

Juliet blinked and felt her race redden.

“I’m sorry bout him,” Tommy sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“It’s fine,” she replied quickly. It wasn’t though. She just couldn’t understand it. Joel and Juliet fought their way across the country together; he knew she could shoot, and protect herself, so why would he be so against her joining the patrol?

Maybe what her father had done to her changed the way Joel saw her… maybe he saw her as weak, maybe that’s why he wanted nothing to do with her…

Juliet swallowed roughly and coughed away the lump in her throat. She couldn’t afford to think like that. If she started to imagine why Joel had backed away, Juliet would spend the entire day ripping herself apart.

“Hey!” a new voice called from the entrance to the barn.

A smile approached Tommy’s mouth as a man Juliet hadn’t seen before stepped into the stables and headed over towards them.

“Matt, I’d like you to meet Juliet - your new patrol partner,” Tommy said, gesturing towards Juliet.

Juliet’s eyes finally focused on him and she stood up a bit straighter. He was handsome, with messy brown hair and a friendly smile which prevented any tendrils of fear from growing in her chest.

But it was his eyes which helped ease Juliet the most. They were kind eyes, the sort of eyes which echoed every smile on his face.

“Juliet,” he echoed, now staring down at her, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Juliet wasn’t sure how to reply. Her mind was still caught up in the mystery of Joel, so she opted for a quiet smile and raised eyebrows.

“Heard you’re a good shot, will be good havin’ someone like you watchin’ my back out there,” Matt said with a friendly wink.

How did everyone know so much about her? Only Joel truly knew the extent of her survival skills but she couldn’t imagine him singing her praises around town, he could barely look her in the eye without scowling.

“When do we start?” she asked, pointedly ignoring Matt’s comment out of mild embarrassment.

Matt crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Tommy. “We’re on the schedule for tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, bright and early,” Tommy confirmed.

Juliet nodded and looked between the two men. “Perfect.”

…………………………

Two days later, Juliet had regrets. Not enough that she would swear off patrol forever, but she definitely had her doubts.

She walked into the stables for her second shift just before dawn with her hood up and her sleeves pulled down over her fingers. The barn was empty and she could hear the soft thuds of her footsteps hit the straw covered ground as she made her way over to her horse.

With everything in her, Juliet tried not to think about the day before or the fresh, thick ring of bruises around her wrist… if she did, she might start to think that maybe Joel was right, maybe patrol wasn’t for her.

But she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

Matt went first through Jackson’s gates, leading his horse with an air of confidence about him while Juliet tugged on the reins of her own horse and followed behind with sweaty palms and a racing heart.

The first hour or so was fine, boring even, as Juliet and Matt travelled towards a nearby abandoned town they’d been asked to clear. Juliet had her gun loaded and her knife ready. She wasn’t frightened of the infected, it was always the people to look out for.

She eyed Matt on the horse next to her. He seemed nice, making an effort to keep the conversation up even if Juliet only responded with vague answers and quiet pauses. His smile never faltered, it was inspiring actually. But Juliet hadn't seen him fight yet and she worried that his skills might not match his confidence.

When they reached the array of houses, they stopped and slid off their horses in silence; only communicating through hand signals and exaggerated looks. Within minutes, Juliet and Matt had their guns positioned in front of them as they approached the first house.

Their backs were pressed against the rotted wood, listening for any infected groans or hushed whispers. Juliet breathed a sigh of relief when they heard nothing, but the rigidness of her shoulders didn’t ease; they still had to clear the houses, which meant actually going in them.

Juliet swallowed and closed her eyes, she allowed the weight of her task to fall down on her tense shoulders and then waited for herself to get used to the feeling. Juliet was beyond the fence and she had neither Joel nor Blake standing by her side to protect her. Despite Matt’s gentle presence, Juliet felt like she was facing this alone, and with that thought came a feeling of pride. She could do this, she was doing this. Juliet pushed Joel’s harsh words to the back of her mind and strengthened her grip on her gun.

When she opened her eyes, Matt turned her way and he signalled to split up and enter the house through different doors. Juliet’s eyebrows furrowed a little at the mention of splitting up, but, despite hardly knowing him, she trusted that Matt knew the ways of patrol and decided to follow his lead. She nodded back fast and sharp.

The thud of hard footsteps startled Juliet from her memory and her head darted towards the source of the sound.

As soon as her eyes brushed over the muddy leather jacket she froze and squeezed her eyes shut. Shit.

That was not Matt.

Juliet swallowed down her panic and shrunk behind the wall near the back of the stables, where the shelving was kept. Maybe if she stayed here, Joel would get what he needed and leave. He wasn’t scheduled for patrol this morning.

She heard him head over to his horse and Juliet allowed her head to fall back against the wall in relief.

The front door made no sound as she turned the handle, not even the signature shriek of over twenty year old hinges. The initial stabbing of fear in her chest lessened as a small bit of relief flowed through her.

Juliet walked into the house with the softest footsteps she could manage, barely even putting weight on the wooden floor as she made her way through the hall and into the living room.

The house was a massive, practically a mansion, it was bigger than any house Joel and Juliet had come across on the road and there was a lot of ground to cover. Matt had entered from the back door and Juliet watched as he silently headed up the stairs before she rounded the corner into the living area.

The room was a time capsule. With the layers and layers of dust on everything Juliet assumed that nothing had been touched since the world changed. It was strange to come across a house that hadn’t been pillaged but Juliet assumed being positioned deep in Wyoming would deter any visitors.

The realisation allowed Juliet’s muscles to ease even further but she continued to hold her gun tight in her hand with her finger hovering over the trigger, just like Ethan had taught her. It was her first time on patrol and she wasn’t taking any chances.

There was a door across the room so Juliet headed there next, still making sure to keep her steps light and fast. She kept listening for anything amiss upstairs but heard nothing, Matt must have been fine, just silently sweeping the untouched rooms.

Juliet was struck by how cold the handle was as her hand curved around it. She should have taken it as an omen, but the thought hadn’t even entered her head as she angled her wrist and turned the handle.

“The hell you doin’ back here?” a gruff, startled voice demanded.

Juliet’s eyes shot open and her head turned to Joel, now standing beside the wall she leaned against. She straightened instantly as her heart started to speed in her chest. Juliet could tell herself that he had startled her, but her body reacted this way every time she met his dark brown eyes.

“Just waiting for Matt,” Juliet answered as she continued to shake herself from her memories.

“Behind a wall?” Joel asked, amused.

His mouth didn’t have the same sharp edges to it, but Juliet knew not to be fooled.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, her face reddening slightly, “was just uh resting my eyes for a second.”

“Sure,” Joel replied slowly, with raised eyebrows.

Juliet shifted, suddenly feeling unsteady. She hadn’t spoken to Joel since the day before last, when he had very publicly questioned her survival abilities.

She wrapped her arms around her middle, making sure her hurt didn’t spill out from the hole he left in her chest.

“Why are you here?” Juliet snapped, “you’re not on the schedule.”

Joel blinked and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked down at her with eyes that didn’t match the memory of his apathy that day outside her house and Juliet struggled to keep her defences secured.

He cleared his throat and his jaw shifted. “Just grabbin’ some ammo,” he answered, nodding at the shelving behind her.

“Oh,” Juliet breathed. She realised that she was standing in his way and a horribly enticing image of him brushing against her as he squeezed past flashed into her mind. Juliet swallowed and decided to avoid any more close proximity, lest her defences fail entirely and she fall for the hint of decency he was showing her in that moment.

“I’ll grab it for you,” she said quietly and turned. The shelf of ammo was quite high up so she had to stand on her tiptoes and stretch her right arm up to grip the small box.

Behind her, Juliet heard Joel’s sharp intake of breath as her sleeve fell.

The handle turned with ease, it wasn’t even stiff. Somehow, Juliet had been fooled by the silence of the house and its lack of immediate threats. That’s why, when the door inched open and the infected’s peeling face filled her view, Juliet froze as her shock choked her. Her hand paused on the handle, she didn’t dare make a single movement.

It was strange, looking back on it, that the infected hadn’t made a single sound to announce its presence. Not a click or a grunt or a screech.

Peering into the windowless room, Juliet hadn’t known it was lurking in the dark until its decayed fingers were wrapped around her wrist, as her hand continued to grip the freezing cold handle.

With the first touch of its wet, torn flesh on her skin, terror struck Juliet, wrapping around her throat with the same vice-like grip of the infected on her wrist. She might have screamed, she wasn’t sure, because the infected had finally decided to make its presence known, shrieking violently into Juliet’s ear.

The infected gripped her wrist so forcefully that she couldn’t pull herself from the door handle, so she did the next best thing: Juliet tightened her hold on the door and pulled with all her strength to slam it closed on the infected.

It worked. Kind of.

The infected was jammed in between the door and its frame, with its hand still squeezing down harder and harder against Juliet’s wrist and its head pushing through the gap.

Juliet was definitely screaming as the infected’s teeth snapped against her arm. Joel’s jacket wouldn’t protect her from the force of the infected’s bite. Panic flooded her bloodstream. Juliet couldn’t think, she couldn’t strategise, because what if the infected’s teeth had already pierced her skin?

What if this was it?

If she was bit, Matt would shoot her in the head and Juliet would never see Joel again.

Even in what might have been her final moments, as she struggled against the infected, Juliet still thought of him.

She would die, and never get to tell him how she really felt.

Juliet knew he wouldn’t care, that some confession from her would only be met by emotionless eyes and cutting words, but she couldn’t let go… she couldn’t forget how she felt, and how he had once made her feel.

Thankfully, her sanity returned as the milliseconds ticked by and Juliet started shooting the infected’s arm, desperately attempting to force it to release her wrist.

She heard Matt rush up behind her, shouting her name, but she just kept shooting until a bullet finally landed itself in the infected’s head.

Matt caught her as she fell backwards, still kicking her feet and continuing to scream even as she watched the infected fall to the floor, mostly behind the door with only its arm and leaking head in sight.

“It’s okay,” Matt repeated over and over as Juliet struggled against him.

“No, get away” she gasped as terror poured from her, “I might be infected.”

Matt didn’t let go, even as Juliet began to punch his arms. It had to have hurt but he didn’t budge.

“Calm down, we’ll check, okay?” he said breathlessly as Juliet’s punches grew weaker. “Please, just let me have a look.”

Juliet slumped against him, breathing heavy. She couldn’t bring herself to glance at her wrist.

Matt held tight against her until for another moment before he cautiously reached towards her arm. Juliet could feel the rapid beating of his heart against her back.

Her eyes were squeezed shut when she felt his fingertips on her wrist, her skin was almost numb from the force of the infected’s grip, but she still felt Matt slowly trace her skin, searching for her death sentence.

Tears leaked from the corner of her scrunched eyelids when he pulled her sleeve down further and Juliet wondered how long the infection would take to set in. Was she starting to feel it now? Or was the shaking of her body just the remnants from her adrenaline rush?

The seconds stretched beyond all understanding of space and time as Juliet waited for Matt to confirm her fate.

“You’re clean,” he whispered softly as his fingers left her aching skin.

“Juliet,” he said, raising his voice a little to grab her attention. “You’re clean, it didn’t get you, I swear.”

Juliet felt his voice rumble against her back as she continued to slump against him and she waited for his words to register. When they did, she sat up and, with a spinning head, examined every inch of her skin.

“I’m clean,” she confirmed under her breath as her wide eyes trained on the rapidly developing bruise on her skin.

The following day, the bruise had only grown worse. It was almost black and wrapped around the entirety of her wrist in the shape of the infected’s rotten fingers.

Juliet’s entire body stiffened as she felt the sleeve of her jacket brush her raw skin and reveal the evidence of her stupidity, her inability to protect the town.

She’d got herself caught by an infected, she could have got Matt killed.

Quickly she gripped the worn cardboard of the ammo box and dropped her arms, swallowing rough before she turned around.

She knew how Joel would react. He would tell her that he was right, that she wasn’t ready to go on patrol -

“Who did this to you?” Joel seethed in a voice so viciously menacing that Juliet couldn't help but flinch. He stalked towards her and grabbed the ammo from her hand, throwing it on the low shelf behind her, before he lifted her wrist with surprising gentleness as his fingers slowly pushed back the sleeve of her jacket, revealing the extent of the bruising.

His eyes left her arm momentarily to meet her wide eyed stare.

“Who did this to you?” he demanded again, slower this time, like every word choked him.

Juliet’s lips parted as her eyes darted between Joel’s intense stare and his fingers softly brushing over her wrist.

His mouth was bloodthirsty but his eyes were pained, like the sight of the dark ring of purple around her wrist bruised him too.

“Nobody, It was -”

“Don’t lie to me,” he nearly growled. “Was it Matt?”

Juliet’s stomach dropped. Joel said Matt’s name as though her were some mass murderer.

“No!” Juliet said nervously, “It was -”

“If he fuckin’ touched you,” Joel raged, shaking his head ever so slightly.

“It wasn’t him!” Juliet breathlessly revealed. “It was an infected.”

Juliet expected Joel’s rage to burn out when he realised Matt had no part in her injury, but for some reason it looked as though the muscles in his body grew even tighter.

“An infected did this?” he breathed, hovering his thumb over the dark purple.

Juliet nodded slowly, not trusting her words.

Joel was touching her and she could think of nothing else other than the calloused edge of his fingertips brushing so delicately against her injured skin.

“You weren’t bit?” Joel asked softly, already knowing the answer or Juliet wouldn’t have been standing in front of him.

“No,” she whispered hoarsely.

“You could’ve been killed,” he ground out as a muscle jumped in his very tight jaw. Joel was so close to her now, his breath touched her forehead as she looked up at him.

She was pressed against the shelving, with nowhere to escape him.

His other hand reached up and cradled her cheek as his eyes scanned over her face, watching as her lip trembled.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked in a hushed voice.

Juliet had been drawn in, caught in the spell of Joel’s close proximity; exposed to the intoxication of his smell and the magnetism of his eyes.

But his words struck her in that deep, dark hole in her chest, and she was thrown from his orbit.

Why didn’t she tell him?

Her eyes darkened.

“Why the hell would I tell you?” Juliet almost snarled.

Joel drew back as if he’d been slapped.

For a brief moment, Juliet imagined she saw hurt blazing in his eyes, before they hardened.

“We haven’t spoken in weeks, and you all but told me you couldn’t care less about me,” she bit out, pouring every bit of her anger, shock and sadness into each word.

“Why would I tell you anything?” she continued, her voice cracking.

A million emotions flashed across Joel’s face, and Juliet couldn’t seem to grasp at any.

She was breathing heavy.

His hands released her slowly as though he had to force himself to pull away.

Joel took a deep breath and Juliet held her’s as she waited for him to take back every cruel word he threw at her and rescind the way he made her feel.

But his eyes scanned her face and the breath slowly left his mouth, with nothing to ease the ache in Juliet’s chest.

“It’s a miracle you’re alive,” he said quietly after a moment, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

Juliet said nothing, all the fight in her was gone.

She’d expected Joel to argue back, to fight her accusation of his indifference towards her.

But, instead, she watched as all the shutters in his mind slammed closed once again.

With one last lingering look, Joel turned and stormed around the corner without his ammo.

Juliet closed her eyes and felt tears leak down her cheeks, cleansing her skin of the memory of Joel’s heated touch as she heard his hard footsteps march out of the barn.

_________________________________________

@amyispxnk @http-paprika @shotgun-shelby @weeping-werewolf

(I'll proofread this properly tomorrow, sorry if there's any random formatting or grammatical errors lol)

thanks for reading ❤️

#joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x reader #joel miller x original character #joel miller x oc #joel miller fic #ao3 fanfic #joel miller hbo #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal #tlou #joel tlou #the last of us #tlou hbo #Spotify

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indigosunsetao3 · 6 months ago

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NSFW | 18+ | Religious theming/tones/symbolism, brief mention of blood, church sex

Female reader perspective.

The symbolism in this story is going off the assumption Johnny was/is Catholic.

I haven't been in any sort of religious space since I was about five despite being raised in two households with three different religions. It’s safe to assume things aren’t exactly right/accurate in this story. I researched what I thought I needed and expanded on things I already happened to know.

I should be working on the million other WIPs I have but this feral thing literally woke me up last night.

Soap hadn't been to church properly in years. His mam would be ashamed to know he didn't bother to pass the threshold when he walked past one, even on their holiest of days. That he didn't cross himself with prayer, that he only made the gesture sarcastically to get a laugh out of his friends. And the rosary he received as a lad was long lost in his many moves, he never fussed about getting another.

The issue was, with everything Soap had seen in his years in the military he had a hard time believing in a God. Had a hard time thinking that there was some benevolent being out there pulling all the strings and letting these things happen. He also figured that when his time came, if there was a heaven, his hands were so stained with blood he wasn't getting into their pearly gates. So why bother confessing his sins, why bother with the self punishment and judgements when in the end none of it mattered anyway.

So when you drag him into a derelict shell of a church with only one thing in mind he doesn't balk at the sight of dusty pews. Doesn't flinch at the idea of desecrating holy ground. And doesn't pause in the removal of his vest as he follows you up the aisle with a grin on his face as his heavy footfalls echo around the cavernous ceiling. Discarded and forgotten bibles remain in their seatbacks, and old hymn sheets flutter about in the wind from your passing bodies.

The stained glass windows at the back of the sanctuary were smashed in places long ago. Pieces of glittering colored glass litter the floor and crunch under your shoes as you both reach the lectern. Vines are growing through the holes in the windows and the tapestries are so badly water damaged it's hard to even tell what they were anymore.

The large cross that hung from the ceiling before is half broken and leaning against the wall. You peer at where the occupant of that symbol used to be but is no longer as if someone had tried to save something of this place. Or violate it more by removing its idol.

Soap's hands find your hips from behind as your fingers grip at the lectern. He doesn't care to look around, he's washed his hands of all of this so long ago it's just another building; another victim of war. So as you take in your surroundings with curiosity Soap untucks your shirt to slide his hands slowly up your ribs as his lips find your neck. The soft sigh you give him at his ministrations is all he needs to push him along.

His hands make quick work of your shirt and bra, raising your arms above your head before he guides your hands back to hold onto the lectern again. How many times in his youth did he watch and listen to sermons from a place just like this? Listening to tales of damnation or salvation, depending on the story and the time. He's fairly certain that this would be a tale of eternal hell if the priests could see him now, if they could hear the thoughts he's having as he smooths his palms down your back. You arch to the touch and let out a small sigh of his cold hands on your hot skin.

He steps away from you for a second, shucking off his own shirt and depositing it with yours on the faded red carpet. He doesn't return to you right away though, just looks at the dark silhouette of your body as you stare up at the high ceilings, waiting on him. It would have been a pious pose in any other situation but God had left this place long ago.

Soap captures you in his grip again, his bare chest pressed against your back. You can feel the chain and ID tags digging between your shoulder blades as he presses his hands against your breasts, cupping them for a second before squeezing. He can feel you push back against him, using the leverage of the lectern to keep your balance.

Your fingers snare in the tattered silk that still adorns the worn wood of the furniture before you. Soap has you effectively pinned between him and it and you ball the delicate material in your fingers as he bites your pulse. You lean back into him, resting your head on his shoulder as you stare down at his hands groping you. He teases and taunts the soft flesh, toying with your hardened nipples for only a moment before he slips his hands down toward your pants fingers first.

He's taking his time with your button and zipper. Savoring the way you push up against him and whine in your throat as his fingers just barely break the waistband. When you move your hands to help him he grabs the back of them gently and puts them once again on the lectern, curling your fingers for you to hold it tightly.

Satisfied that you know what to do he glides his hands back up your arms, over your shoulders then back down your back. His ministrations are slow, watching how the goosebumps follow his touches before he finds your pants again. Running his hands over your behind and down your thighs as far as he can go before he kisses the back of your neck.

You hear him adjust then, feel him shift, and dare a glance over your shoulder. You see him behind you knelt on the ground, knees slightly splayed and hands rested on his powerful thighs as he watches you. The perfect position of the submissive solider, the disciplined disciple, looking up at his deity before him.

Soap leans forward and ever so gently grabs one of your legs to slip your boot off, pulling each lace loose unhurriedly before tossing it away into the dark. He takes care of the other one in the same manner before finally pushing up on his knees fully to hook his fingers into the waist of your pants and pulls them down along with your underwear. He can see you shiver as he tugs and pulls, taking his time as he works the material down.

The church is silent around you save for the whisper of cloth as he undresses you, the creaking of the wood as you shift your weight left then right to get the pants off, and then the soft sigh you let out as he kisses your lower back. It's not lost on you that he has you at the front of the church, that you're positioned where any and all eyes could see you if they happened to walk in. That you were the center of this place of devotion.

He grabs your hips then, gently tugging them back so you are forced to shift your feet back some and bend forward. He doesn't stop until you are pushed up on your tiptoes and are bent so far forward that your head hangs between your arms still holding the pulpit as he had quietly instructed you to do. He wants you to watch as he worships you and as his hands grab your ass to spread you, you bite your lip in anticipation.

You are on full display for Soap in this position and he uses his thumbs to open you even more, to see how badly you need him. He doesn't dare let his thumbs brush you where you want it most, wanting his tongue to be the first thing that touches you tonight. He flexes his hands, squeezing the heated flesh, before leaning forward and licking a long stripe up your center. He fights back his own groan at the filthy moan you let out. The sound echoes around the room, breaking the hushed silence that suffocates the place.

He doesn't stop. He holds you tight in place as he feasts upon you, not letting you squirm away as he works you over. He's urging you on, humming against your folds as you whine and clench your jaw in pleasure. He knows you're holding back, doing your best to fight the sounds coming from you because you don't want to draw attention. You don't want your moans and pleads to bounce around the room that was built with those acoustics on purpose. But Soap wants it. He wants you to cry out for God. For him.

Your body is trembling from the exertion of this position, from the onslaught of Soap's tongue and his fingers as they literally slip into you. You aren't even sure if it's two or three at this point as he coaxes you on, his teeth biting down on the sensitive flesh of your thigh as he pumps into you. You can feel the arousal sliding down your legs mixed with his spit and when he begins a harsh pace with his fingers that you are sure is going to knock you off your feet you finally cry out unrestrainedly.

The pleasure races from your stomach and down your legs as you finally let go and climax. The tattered silk on the podium can't fight your grip and it tears into two jagged pieces, the sound drowned out by your pants and moans. He doesn't stop though, he forces you to ride it out and fight the twitching of the overstimulation. Doesn't let you breathe as he reaches up to rest his forearm on your lower back making you arch that much more to him. It's almost painful how he has you held but that feeling goes away as you feel him lap away the mess you had just made with his tongue.

Soap leans back after a few soft kisses against your sensitive center, doing his best to not smirk at how swollen and ready it was for him. His fingers massage the back of your legs as you groan and push up, letting the purple obliterated silk fall to the floor. Turning around to face him you push your hair back off your forehead where pieces had stuck to the sweat there and smile at him as he gazes up at you reverently.

His chest is heaving as he watches you, breath catching as you kneel down to him and reach for his pants and yank them. You aren't as soft and patient with him as he was undressing you. Your hands shake as you get the belt and button loose. Not from fear but from anticipation. You can feel how painfully hard he is as he shifts to get the clothes off and he nearly growls as your hand wraps around him to give him a few precursory pumps. He doesn't need it, he's already leaking for you but you taunt him anyway, running your thumb over the tip.

He bucks up into your hand as you kiss him, your teeth and lips clashing harshly. You can taste yourself on him as he sweeps his tongue in and you sigh in satisfaction as his hands come up to cup your face. Greedily you climb into his lap as if he hadn't just worshiped you to oblivion a few moments before. You need more, you need him in you, to consume him.

Soap obliges you, wrapping his arms around you and shifting to sit on the few steps that lead up to the podium. Where parishioners would kneel to pray up to the cross, to their leader. He plants his feet on the ground and leans back on his elbows to watch you as you push back from the kiss. He stares as you rise up over him with one hand braced on his chest as the other holds him to guide him to you.

Once he's aligned at your entrance you snap your eyes up to his and watch his face in the faint street light coming in from the windows behind you as you sit down on him. It's an easy motion, your body already so slick and ready for him and you can feel him twitch at the sudden warmth around him. He groans, his hands slipping a bit on the carpeted steps before hissing and drawing them back.

Turning his right hand up Soap sees that his hand has run right over a hidden piece of stained glass in the carpet. The thin line of blood that wells up on his palm is instantaneous. He supposes this is penance, for his lack of faith, and lack of respect, for this place. Or perhaps his payment for you, payment in blood to show his devotion to the only thing he would ever get on his knees for again.

You hesitate at the painful hiss but Soap grabs your hip with his other hand and moves you over him. The temporary pain forgotten as you begin to ride on him, the movements slow as you slide all the way up him before back down. Your hand on his chest balls into a fist to hold his ID tags there, curling your fingers tight around the chain and tugging a bit to keep him locked on you.

He doesn't need the bite of the chain in the back of his neck to keep his eyes on you though. The streetlights behind you sets your face in shadow, the light glowing around your body as you ride him; use him. He groans as you move faster, your other hand grabbing his bloody one and lacing your fingers together. You hold his hand tight as you bend down over him and kiss him, rolling your hips in a harsh snap down on him.

Soap begins to meet your moves thrust for thrust, the sound of your slick body's slapping against one another filling up the chamber. It's rhythmic, a music in its own making that's more powerful than any other hymn that had been sung there before. As the song reaches its peak Soap finds his climax, yelling out as you push him hard into the floor and fuck him as if it were the end of days.

You're chasing your own release as you grind down on him, not giving him a chance to recover just like he had done to you. He's huffing and you can see the pleasurable anguish on his face as you finally reach that apex. Your cries lilt and your movements become more frantic as you feel yourself come apart and you sit up on him, grabbing his waist for support as you bounce on him.

In that moment, as Soap watches your face and feels you clamp around him, he becomes a believer again. Not in God, he had abandoned him long ago. In you. You were his center, his home, his goddamn reason for being, for breathing. You knew how to tear him apart and put him back together again and he was going to worship you until you brought him into heaven or dragged him down to hell.

#call of duty #call of duty fanfic #cod #fanfiction #my fic #fanfic #cod fanfic #soap #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap x you #soap x reader #soap smut #cod smut #religious imagery #religious themes #good thing I'm not religious cause I'm sure I'd be smited...smote..smitten?

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l0sercat · 11 months ago

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Omg I am I'm love with this gif 😍 As much as the movies are hated on I thought they were good and I fell in love with him the moment I saw him 💕 Am I back on my Wesker bullshit, lol?

MDNI with this for your safety and mine 🫶🏻

CW: NSFW, blow jobs, some praise and some degradation;)

Wesker x reader

You were on your knees before your boss, Albert Wesker. He called you into his office 10 minutes ago you thought he would reprimand you for heaven knows what. But instead he admitted that you had caught his attention. He proposed you a deal that you couldn't refuse. So here you were before him about to take his aching cock in your mouth.

How it twitched and ached to be touched. The angry red tip practically begging for you to put your mouth around it. You licked your lips and then slowly dragged your tongue up the base and to the tip. You gave it a light kiss and the another before fully taking it in. Wesker groaned and let out a shakey sigh, his right arm was propped up and his fist clenched while his head rested on it. With other arm was laying on the arm rest and his fist gripped the chair.

You looked up at him and blushed at the scene before you. He still had those glasses on but you could see something glowing red behind them. You wondered what it was but focused on how he was breathing slowly through his mouth. You suckled on the tip a bit more before going down to take more of him.

He was bigger than at you ever had so taking him proved to be difficult. You were only half way down and your eyes started to water. Wesker reveled in this and a sadistic grin formed on his face. Your pace was slow as you slowly took him but as you got farther and his cock hit deeper in your mouth you gagged. It hit the back of your throat and you had to relax your mouth before finally setting a pace.

You bobbed your head up and down his length and your tongue traced his veins. He groaned out your name "That's a good girl, your doing so well taking my cock like that. Almost seems like you've done this before hm? Heh-" he sucked in a breathe when you released him from your mouth and the cool air hit him.

You smirked up at him and your hand pumped him cock at a fast pace. He moaned and his face flushed at the sound he made. "You such a filthy slut, hah~" he grinned "Do you enjoy taking your bosses cock?" His free hand landed on the back your head and forced you back down on him. Your eyes widened and you gagged hard. Salvia dribbled around your mouth. You moaned at the sudden intrusion and your hand fell to your side into your lap. You glared up and him and his chest puffed up in amusement.

You let him fuck your face even though you had a hard time breathing. His pace was fast but never sloppy. His trusts were timed and always hit that certain spot in your throat to have you gagging. Your saliva coated him and soon he was a groaning mess. He slipped up and moaned you name. His cheeks flushed and he adjusted himself.

He gripped your head tighter and his pace got faster. Your eyes widened and he shut his eyes "Just like that slut mm taking me so well!-" he clenched his teeth before letting out a inhumane groan and shooting his load right into your mouth. His cum spilled down your throat and he didn't release his grip until your swallowed ever drop.

He removed his hand from your head and placed on his thigh. He smiled and looked at you "tsk tsk such a mess you made why don't you clean it up" you blinked up at him and smiled "Of course sir~" you practically purred. You licked up his length and around making sure cum or salvia was left. You gave it a little kiss before tucking him back into his pants. "Good girl~" He laughed "You may return back to whatever you were doing" you stood up and bowed "Yes sir" you walked out of his office flushed and a mysterious stain on your cost.

#x reader #gender neutral #gender not specified #gender neutral reader #albert wesker x you #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker imagine #albert whiskers #albert wesker #Albert Wesker live action #albert wesker resident evil #movie Albert Wesker #resident evil movies #resident evil #resident evil wesker #resident evil albert wesker #blow jobs are my favorite<3

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yeahspider · 1 year ago

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LIGHT SHOWER 🫀

Ve’s note - this is part two in a three( maybe four) part series . mdni this is smut . you don’t have to read both parts but i recommend. y’all i’m sorry this gets a lil out there . so i’m gonna split this off into another part . part one is available here . slightly proofread okay ? enjoy <3

now usually you didn’t do this . you deemed sleeping with customers a bit below you . but with the way this man was looking at you . eyes holding your own , it was hard to say no .

taking ahold of the wrist holding yours you smiled at him .

“how much ? how much do you think a night with me is worth ?” you asked him as he led you back to the chair in the room . chris gestured to one of his men , whose presence you forgot , following the man’s actions you watched as he placed ten bands in the space between you and him.

“will this suffice as a start ?” . you were willing your jaw not to drop . you could really use that much money at the moment ��.and he was promising more .

“is that enough ? here .” and then another ten bands were in his lap . chris grabbed a twenty and placed it in the waist band of your bottoms . grabbing your chin with one hand and rubbing the dollar into you hip bone with the other .

“be mine for the night yeah ?” earning a nod from you . which wasn’t confirmation enough for his liking . bringing his lips over yours but not quite giving in .

“words pretty” earning another nod and a breathless yes from you .

“good girl” he’s said before crushing his lips on yours . chris kissed like you were the only glass of water left in the world and he was parched . fully commanding the kiss . gently biting on your bottom lip when he wanted you to open . trying to maintain a semblance of control yoh deny him . which just earns a smack to your ass . his tongue explores every inch of your mouth . once he’s satisfied he starts to kiss down your neck . kissing wasn’t necessarily the right word for it though . he was marking you . you could feel the bruises forming in your skin cooling the sting with the flat of his tongue .

“i want you to do something for me .” he whispered over on particular mark on your collarbone . he grabbed one of the rolls of money and parted your legs more , placing it on top of his very visible boner .

“ride it .” at first you were confused until he gently gripped your hip and guided them to grind on the money . eliciting a moan out of both of you due to the friction . once he deemed you had to hang of it he let you pick the speed and rhythm as he got to work on your chest . removing your boobs from your top and pinching them slightly . causing you to whimper .

“so sensitive.” he murmured to himself as he kissed around your left nipple before nipping at it . rolling it around between his lips as his right hand groped your other boob . giving equal attention to both as he switched back and forth .

“you’re doing so well pretty just keep going yeah ? maybe yourself cum . let me see how pretty you look when you cum all over your money . keep earning it . good girls work hard for what they want .” chris chanted to you like a prayer . all the praise making your brain swim as his hand made it way to your throat and lightly squeezing . with your air flow cut off he laid a smack to your clothed pussy and you came with a scream . body slumping onto him as you rode out your high . once you came down . you watched as chris removed the roll from under you and licked . your cum staining the bill and now his tongue .

“you taste divine. i’m gonna need another serving. ” he said with a smile . promising more orgasms as the night continued .

“now strip and lay down let’s see how many times i can make you cum .”

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids reactions #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #stray kids headcanons #stray kids fluff #stray kids smut #yeahspider #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x you #bang chan drabbles #bang chan angst #bang chan imagines #bang chan fanfic #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #bang chan fluff

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rubyroboticalt · 7 months ago

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Minecrafters grab your pickaxes, and catch up on the QBLR QUARTERLY!

What's up guys, update just dropped! It sure is something to try and decipher, huh. We've got pages of new stuff to go over, so let me learn you a thing about all the events and mishaps that happened on the server this week!

Did I get you last week? Server's not closed, it was just down for maintenance! Residents rejoice when the server reopens, celebrating with volleyball, dungeon looting, and the Nether open? That's right, QBLR has opened the Nether! Complete with modded biomes and mods, residents get to exploring right away!

With the Nether opening, a few problematic mods will be removed soon, like Fantasy's Furniture. Some residents opt for that male living space vibe, while others begin redecorating without the upcoming furniture mods added.

A new creature is found! From the depths of the visceral heap to a loving family, this egg's name is Grimm. Grimm is a nether native.

Bigger dungeons are found, including this massive cathedral dungeon. This is actually two separate cathedrals. Who on earth.

With the Nether opened, wither fights can begin! They are less intimidating than they seem with how powerful the residents are, and now residents can access beacons. Seriously, even the creatures are in full dark metal armor. It's hard to get more powerful than that.

And where would we be without our autistic minecraft behaviors?

It's June, and the server gets to celebrating Pride with some lovely stained glass! The cathedral dungeons, long since conquered, have beautiful stained glass windows. And Levlies has some beautiful rainbow glass as a helmet! What a nice celebration.

Some creatures get a little too excited to celebrate. How much alcohol can a baby drink, again?

Speaking of creatures, it sure would suck if something Bad happened to one! Really would be awful. Wouldn't that. . . uh. . . oh dear. Mozzarella, dear? You did win the creature contest, are you alright?

It seems that many folks are getting the message that something isn't quite right in the Nether. And it's not the aliens or the armor hoarding. No, there's some unidentified Thang in the Nether. And it has a house.

At least residents can loot overpowered dungeons for comfort. Or, uh, oh, that's another dead egg. Oh dear. Hivi, was it? You good hon? And, ah, it seems Sunny has passed as well. Is there something in the water? That's three deaths this week.

Let's all take a moment to breathe and laugh at the worldgen for this specific argilite well.

And now, a paid advertisement! There's an Eligible Bachelorette! Elli is seeking a betrothed! Preferred timezone of EST, playtime between 6pm and 12pm. Opposite timezones are welcome but awkward… you don't want to be awake and online at the same time as your betrothed? Elli is a proud parent of Clementine! Bachelors and bachelorettes with a distaste for creatures are discouraged from contacting. Interested parties can contact Elli through the post office or in person. Please mention the ad when approaching.

And that just about wraps this week up! Good luck, Elli!

#qblrsmp #qblr quarterly #ruby tv #the video will be Extremely late due to i am busy today all afternoon

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christopher-bangnaldoskzz · 2 years ago

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Soft Dom Bangchan x Female Reader Sub!

Genre: 🌶️🌶️🌶️

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: No warnings yet, however, I am going to say this is strictly 18+ MDNI fan fiction.

Summary: A sub needs a dom, a dom wants a sub but what happens when feelings overlap with contracts and love creeps in? Will a contract remain only a contract? Or are emotions like love too hard to keep in check?

A/N: would also like to dedicate this story to @daceydeath, thank you for always putting up with my deluluness, also thank you for putting up with my drama fill life honestly. I wouldn’t be still writing if it wasn’t for you encouraging me. Also thank you so much for writing my summary xx

"Don't be stupid, Grace," you say to your friend. Surely she is joking. She wasn't serious, right?

"Yes, I'm serious." She was your only friend in the BDSM world, and she was a dom as well.

"What!….noooo, king, please, I'm not looking for one at the moment" that was a lie. You did want a dom however, what you didn't like was finding a random dom on the internet. Grace knows your past experiences with doms. Unfortunately, the last don you were with was a pit too rough for your taste.

"I have found a guy I think you will like...he classifies himself as a soft Dom," she said, pulling out her phone to show you a picture of the guy on the screen.

You look closely at the profile photos. He definitely takes your fancy. "Grace, please tell me you haven't messaged him?" You watch her mouth move into a shit-eating grin.

"He's here right now." She was such an asshole for doing this to you. "Okay, behave," she says through her teeth, and the young man walks over to the table.

"Umm, hi," he said with his hand behind his neck. You glance up, and there in front of you stands a 5ft7 man with brown hair and the most striking brown eyes you have ever seen. Your heart flutters as he awkwardly chuckles and sits down.

He smiled, setting up his chair as he introduced himself to you. "Hi, I'm Chan ... It's nice to meet you". As he did, the glass of red wine your friend ordered fell onto his black suit.

"Oh shit," he said, lifting the glass up in a hurry. The waiter rushed over to help with the cleanup.

"I'm so sorry, sir…we will get you another glass," the waiter said, signing for the bartender to come over.

"No, no, it's okay, all my fault. I don't need another glass, thanks…but maybe miss-"He looked at you for confirmation of your last name.

"Y/L/N", you smiled. "But no, thank you, I don't drink," you said before the waiter turned the bartender away.

You could hear a soft "good girl" as Chan wiped the wine off his jacket.

"Wait, don't rub, dab….please allow me," you said, leaning over. He lifted his eyes to look at you, your cleavage in his line of sight.

He slowly hands you the jacket. "Thank you, but you don't have to" by the time he had finished, you were already dabbing his coat with the napkin and water in your glass.

He gazed at you. "It stops the mark from spreading."

"Well, this is off to a swimming start…I shall be heading out," Grace said, closing her handbag and starting to walk out of the restaurant.

"I'm sorry she made you come all the way here to meet me," you said, tucking your hair behind your ears, so they stopped blocking your view.

"I'm not," he mumbled.

You look up, and he just stares at you wide-eyed. "Here… you'll have to put some stain remover on it when you get home. Let it sit for 20 minutes, then soak it" you pass the jacket back to him.

"Stain remover…then soak, got it, thanks", he smiled, placing the jacket behind him.

"So, have you been here before?" He asked, itching his shoulder blades.

"I'm going to cut to the chase," you said, leaning in. "I know Grace told you I'm looking for a dom…but honestly, I don't think we are suited."

Chan scoffs, "Oh really?…what makes you think that?" The sudden change in his confidence was such a turn-on.

"Well, for one, you can barely keep it together", you giggled.

"Well…. You might just have to keep it together for both of us," he smiled, looking down at his menu. "Should we start over?" you asked the man. He doesn't back down easily.

"Sure….. I'm Y/N" you suck your hand out for him to shake.

"Chan…or you can call me Chris for now" he made eye contact with you as he squeezed your hand. "So tell me, Y/N…..what do you like to eat… it's on me, obviously", he smiled, feeling proud of himself.

"Hmmm, your paying?….. I think I might get the lobster," you grin. He chuckled as he ignored you and kept looking at the menu.

"Are you ready to order?" The same waiter as before announced

"I'll grab the eye fillet, please….medium rare", Chan said, smiling and looking up and over towards you.

"And Y/N will have the lobster, right?" The fact that he was actually willing to pay for your $100 lobster meal was exciting.

"Oh yes, please" you smile sweetly at the waiter, who nods and writes down the meal.

"You honestly didn't have to order me lobster…I could have picked something else," you said, leaning in.

"The truth is… I'm secretly hoping you don't eat it all so I can have some," he too, leaning in, whispering like it was a secret. You like the way he has settled in now. It's not so awkward.

"Maybe Grace was right about you," you say, taking a sip of your water.

"Oh, you think so... hmmm, interesting….why did you leave your last partner?" He said, sitting back in the chair with his fingers locked together.

“He uhhhh…..he was a sadist….I left him because he burnt me pretty bad" it was such a long time again, yet it felt like yesterday.

"How severe?" He sounded a little too intrigued.

"Like I have terrible scars on my back."

"So fire is a definite limit for you, then?" He was, of course, trying to get your limits out without triggering you.

"Yes, absolutely", you smile as you begin to warm up to the idea of having Chris as your master.

"Noted," he said, folding his arms, "had he ever spoken to you about being into sadism?"

"No, not at all. I would have never agreed to play…he started off sweet. Still, the more we continued our relationship, the more he became obsessed with sadism play."

"I'm sorry he did that to you," Chris said, reaching for your hand. "But if you choose to be with me…I will never put you in that position." He looked deeply into your eyes.

"But it's your turn…why did you leave your last partner?"

"She left me...there were just certain things I could not overcome what she wanted from me...so we thought it would be best if she left" this worried you a bit, so you dug deeper. "Basically….I wasn't firm enough for her" he became nervous again, pulling his hand away from yours, and right as he did, the food was being served.

"Excuse me, sir…do you think you could just place both meals in the middle" again, you smile sweetly at him while he agrees, setting the stake and lobster into the middle of the table.

"Thank you so much. I appreciate it" he gave you a smile as he turned around and walked the opposite way.

"Here, allow me," you say, taking a lobster tail off the plate and placing it on the side of the stake. You cut the stake in half, the other half moving to the lobster plate. Then, put lobster tails on the half stake and pour your lobster sauce on top. Once you have completed the meal, you serve the dish to Chris, who is mesmerised by your actions.

As Chris snaps out of his daze, you chuckle, "I believe they call it surf and turf."

"Thank you. I'm going, to be honest with you right now….I would really like to offer you a contract."

CHAN POV

"Chan, come on, you have to get over Vanessa," Changbin said as he flopped down on the studio couch.

"I am over her", I scoffed.

"Well, what's the big deal about going on this date?" Changbinin shuffled to the side of the couch.

"I'm nervous, bro… what if she doesn't like me…she doesn't even know it's a date," he said, packing up his headphones.

Changbin was looking at me with a confused look on his face.

"It's someone Grace set me up with," I said, not wanting to get too deep into it.

"Oh, your hot friend Grace," he said with a smile. If only he knew what she looked like, she would eat him alive. "When are you planning to hook me up with her?" he continued.

"I'm not… you're not her type" I mean, I wasn't lying. She liked women.

"You just want her all to yourself," he said, looking down.

"Anyway," I replied, looking at him, "what should I wear? It's a really fancy restaurant."

"Your black suit is stylish."

……

This leads me to "I would really like to offer you a contract" shit, Chan, why are you like this? She just met you, and you are already making a fool of yourself. I couldn't avoid the advice about the stained shirt because she shared her food with me. If I don't take this opportunity now, I'll never meet another sub like her again.

"I'm flattered…but don't you think you should get to know me a bit better first?" again, tucking her loose hair behind her ear.

"I'll be right back." I knew Vanessa always kept hair ties in my car. After a short walk to my car, I found them in the glove compartment. "Perfect," I say, locking my door and returning to the restaurant.

"Here, please….take this hair tie." I could see her eyes light up.

"Oh wow, thank you…I umm forgot to bring mine," she smiled awkwardly.

"My ummm… my ex used to keep them in the car. I forgot they were there until you started struggling with your hair." I smiled, cutting into the stake.

"Well, thank you", she said, doing the same.

She ties up her hair. God, she looks so beautiful with her hair in a ponytail. "I like you with your hair up." I started to blush as she smiled at my compliment.

……

I looked down at my watch and realised it was getting late.

"Well, Chris….I should get going" she reached over and grabbed my hand.

"I'll walk you to the car" I paid for the bill on the way out, walking beside her as I escorted her to her car parked around the corner from the restaurant.

"Thank you for tonight….I assume Grace gave you my number" she laughed as she knew Grace well.

"Yeah, she...textted it to me at dinner", I laughed.

“Well…call me please… I'd love to discuss your proposal" did I hear that correctly, or did she just say she wanted to discuss a contract with me?

I wanted to show her what it would be like to be with me. I tried to kiss her so desperately. However, I was mindful that it might scare her off.

"You can kiss me, Chris", she smiled, placing her hand on my chest. I lift her chin so her eyes meet mine. I move my lips in, now hovering over hers "I will when you sign that contract missy"

Y/N POV

You couldn't believe it, but Grace was right. He was indeed a suitable fit for you. You smile to yourself as he walks off to his car.

Ting Ting

Unknown number

"Meet me at my office on Monday at 9am (address included)....we will discuss the contract terms then - Master."

Y/N

"Yes, sir, I look forward to it."

………

Sunday morning

You wake up to someone banging on your door. "Jesus Christ", you say as you get up and open the door.

"Oh good, you are up," Grace said, walking in. "How did the date turn out with Chris? Isn't he delicious?"

"He is nice", you smile at her as she lets herself into your apartment ", but he's an absolute mess" you continue walking over to take a seat on the couch.

"Look, I know Chan....he was nervous….he is a very sought-after dom in the community….he doesn't look for many submissives.... if he's offering you a contract, I'd be taking it," she said, plonking herself down on the couch.

"What makes him so special?"

"Excuse me….he is the perfect dom…as far as soft pleasure doms go, he's one of the best."

Suddenly, you ask yourself, "Wait, he's a pleasure dom?". It is difficult to come by pleasure doms in the community these days. It is no wonder that he is in such high demand.

"Oh, big time…he hasn't had a sub for over eight months…. I've never seen him so nervous about meeting someone….he must really like you…. When does he want you to discuss the details?"

"Tomorrow," you said, turning towards her. Suddenly you feel nervous. What if you can't please him like he wants.

"Shit, he's working quickly," she said, shocked. "Look, no one knows Chan like me…he wouldn't just ask a girl he met to sign a contract."

"Well? What should I do, Grace?"

"Listen to me….hear him out, okay…do you trust me?" She said, lifting your chin up.

"Yes," you reply, staring into her eyes.

"Good girl," she said seductively.

………

Monday

"Why am I so nervous?" you asked, looking at yourself in the mirror while you curled your hair.

"Okay, Y/N…. You've done this before…just strike out what you're not comfortable with," you talk to yourself as you grab your handbag, ready to exit your apartment.

I walked out of the building, and in front of a black Range Rover was Chris. "Oh good….I was afraid you wouldn't show up", you chuckled.

"So you came to pick me up?" You said, walking over to him.

Chris stepped to the side and opened the car door "after you." What the hell did this man do? He had his own driver.

Sitting in the car with Chris was awkward until he reached over and grabbed your hand, locking his fingers with yours. "You don't have to be a nervous baby girl."

"I can't help it," you said, shaking your legs.

"Spot that," he said sternly, looking directly forward.

As soon as you see Chris, you sit still, looking forward, not speaking for the rest of the drive to his office. "Jyp entertainment," you said, looking surprised.

He chuckled as he opened the door, hopping out.

"Here, allow me to help," he said, extending his hand out to help you.

He locks his fingers with yours and leads you into the building. "I've booked a meeting room for us," he smiled. On the other hand, he had a briefcase. "This way," he smiled, leading you to the elevator.

The doors open, and you step in with him, his hand sliding along your lower back. God, his touch feels so comforting.

You both go up to the 10th floor, and he walks you to the meeting room. You sit as he pours you a cup of water. "Sit....have some water", he commands.

"You're not my dom yet, Chris…..I don't have to listen to you," you say cheekily.

He leans in so he's inches away from your face. "Do you want to repeat that?" He whispered in your ear.

You take a sip of water to appease him. "That's my good girl," he says, placing a soft kiss below your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Okay…now shall we get started?" he said, sitting down next to you and opening his briefcase.

He pulled out two contracts. "Let's start with the limits." He says, handing one to you and flicking it open in front of him. "I took the liberty of striking out fire."

"Okay, also animal and age play…strike that out," you say as he glances up at you. "Also put in here…I will not refer to you as anything other than Chan, Chris, Master or Sir."

"Okay yeah, that works for me", he smiles. "Sooooo noooo", and he raises an eyebrow at you.

"No use of the word Daddy", you frown.

"Okay, okay, that's fine with me," he says, putting both hands up.

"What is this down here….am I meant to move in with you?" You say, leaning closer to the paper.

"Oh, uhhhh only if you want to," he says, going to strike it out before he can. You grab his hand a squeeze.

"How about we start with just weekends, okay….besides, I have to work," you grin. Chris looked happy with you making the decision.

……

As time passed and you read deeper into the contract, you became more at ease. Chris read had thought of everything. "How long have you been a master?" You say, trying to spark up a conversation.

"5 years now", he smiles over at you "before that, I was a sub", he looks back down.

"Oh, okay what made you change?"

"My dom….she made me want to become just like her…she was smart, beautiful but had a wicked temper", he chuckled.

"Is that what I can expect out of you?" You pressed your legs together tightly as you got excited about his answer.

"I try my best to be fair….but I will warn you to know…I only give one chance for things before I punish….and I don't take chat back lightly," he smiles. He can tell from your behaviour that you have a bratty side.

"Oh really?….hmmmmm….have you ever tamed a brat before," you say seductively.

"I have…. don't think just because I'm a soft dom, I'll let your attitude slide," he says, still flicking through the contract.

"I wouldn't dream of it, sir" Chris pauses at your use of the word Sir. "I would love to view your house before I sign the contract."

"Of course…do you have time right now?" He said, gripping the paper.

"I actually need to go to work", you smiled. Very convenient timing.

"Perfect, I'll drop you off" this shocked you because, well, you worked at a sex shop and didn't really want him to find out this way.

He escorts you down to the car, opening it and letting you get in first. You give the driver the address, and Chris's eyes widen. "You mean the sex shop on the corner?"

"Yeah, is that a problem?" You giggle at his response.

"Nope….not at all" you could tell he was trying to play it cool.

Your work is about 20 minutes away. You pull up outside the shop, and Chris undies his seatbelt. "What are you doing?" You say, panicking.

"I'm coming in….I want to see….might get some stuff for later when I pick you up."

"Don't you dare" Chris shoots you a look, and you sit back quietly in your seat.

"Let's go," he says, getting out and offering you his hand.

"Fine," you say, rolling your eyes as you hop out of the car.

CHAN POV

"Did she just roll her eyes at me?" I thought to myself. "Careful, Channie.... she's not yours just yet", I repeat as I walk with her to the shop. I would love nothing more than to punish her for how disrespectful she is now, but that will have to wait.

As she walks towards the store, I grab her hand, locking my fingers with hers. She stops for a moment, and then she starts to lead me inside the store. "Good morning, Noah," she says as she enters the store. I glance over at Noah, who is a rather attractive young man. He has long blond hair and bright blue eyes.

"Morning Y/N…. Who's this?" He says, extending his hand to me.

I share it making sure I grip a bit tighter than I usually would.

"This is my friend Chris" she smiles up at me.

Is that all she sees me as a friend? I would love nothing more than to show her what kind of "friend" I am. Y/N walks behind the counter and places her bag under the counter.

She walks back to me "okay, you can leave now" using my index finger, I pull her chin up, "ill pick you up at 5" I lean in and kiss her soft, plump lips. I smile as I pull back. I glance over at Noah, who is in shock.

I walk out of the store and back to the car, "that will show him….. she's all mine," I say to myself as I sit back in the car. "Okay, could we go back to the company," I say, opening my phone.

A/N : thank you all soo much for reading😁 any like reblog or comment is muchly appreciated

Taglist: @9900z @armystay89 @nightrayseishina @jisungiexx

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