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pennjammin · 1 month ago

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↳˗ˏˋexhaust pipeˊˎ˗ suguru geto.

╰┈➤ a pretty thing like you all alone with a stalled car in a foreign city is the recipe for disaster, but a kind motorcyclist stops to offer help and - now you’re staring at your own fucked-out reflection in his helmet.

word count.ᐟ 9.7k

content.ᐟMASK KINK. FOOD PLAY. IMPACT PLAY. PROTECTED AND UNPROTECTED. STRANGERS TO LOVERS. ALT!GETO. CUNNILINGUS. EDGING. SLIGHT SPIT KINK. DEGRADATION/DEGRADING NICKNAMES. AFTERCARE. AFAB!READER.

a/n: so this will switch POVs to give my masc/amab!readers out there a chance to step into the story. i hope you guys enjoy suguru’s pining over reader :)

➗

You can’t make this shit up.

The roar of cars speeding by is not helping the anchor in your stomach at the thought of being trapped on a foreign interstate in the middle of the night.

You’d just left a concert, it’s about three hours from your hometown, and you hadn’t bothered with a hotel because you knew you could make the drive. You had not accounted for your car deciding to stall on the highway, though.

And now it’s late at night. The moon winks at you knowingly, as if trying to tell you it’s going to be alright, but dread has already poisoned your nerves. You’re alone and vulnerable, and you don’t know where to go or who to call.

You find yourself crying in your passenger seat, phone battery nearly drained, the cold of the dark seeping through your clothes. You’re in the typical skimpy outfit that one wears to concerts and you’re cussing out the you who’d chosen something so non-weather friendly.

You nearly fold and call your parent, when an engine popping gets your attention. You look up and see a motorcyclist pointing to his right, signaling that he is merging across the lanes. Cars slow to allow him over until his revving engine gets louder to indicate his speed. You think he’s heading for the exit as he approaches the last lane but then - to your complete surprise he slows at the last minute and pulls onto the shoulder, feet walking along the asphalt as his motorcycle comes to a stop.

He pulls right behind your car and your stomach tightens with worry.

The man has thick forearms snaked in ink-black artwork, and black cargo pants that cause him to blend into the night like a thief. His boots are thick-soled and all you can imagine is him overpowering you and kicking in your skull.

He props out his kickstand, and your body tingles with fear as the stranger throws himself off of the bike and walks towards you, a backpack bouncing between his shoulders.

“Hey,” he shouts underneath his helmet, which is a black void that does not show a glimpse of his face underneath. “Everything okay?”

“No,” you sob, wiping your eyes before putting your hand on your pepper spray. “What do you want?”

“Relax,” the stranger puts his gloved hands in the air, “I just want to help you. Your car not working?”

You sniffle, keeping your hand on the pepper spray but softening the tension in your shoulders at his calm demeanor. “No, it stalled and won’t turn back on.”

The stranger does not make any noise for a second, but you see his chest rising and falling underneath his tight black shirt.

“Alright, um,” he glances at the heavyweight watch on his wrist, clearly noting how late it is. “There aren’t going to be any towing companies open this late. But I’m a mechanic, I can give you a ride home and then we can come back in the morning with my tools to give it a look.”

You shake your head, “I live three hours from here.”

“What? You aren’t staying somewhere close for the night?” he questions, voice full of surprise.

“No,” you shake your head, “I appreciate your offer, but I am going to sleep in my car until you return.”

He stands frozen for a second before leaning one hand against your car and ducking his masked head towards you. Though you can’t see his eyes, you can feel them.

“Absolutely not, you can crash with me,” he says softly. “I’ll let you sleep in my room, door locked. I know you’re probably going to say no, but…”

At this point, you have to weigh your options: stay in your car and risk someone breaking or crashing into it while you sleep, or take the gamble of getting kidnapped and murdered by the way-too-polite stranger whose face you haven’t even seen.

“Take off your helmet,” you hear yourself saying suddenly, fearing you’ve already made your decision, and it’s definitely an irrational one.

He doesn’t speak another word before his gloved hands come up and he pries the helmet off of his head, majestically shaking his black locks free and then staring down at you. His eyes are dreamy, twinkling at you as he raises his eyebrows, one of which has a silver bar pierced through it. His bottom lip has two similar hoops on it. He’s devastatingly beautiful.

With an all too-knowing smirk, he leans towards you again. “Do I look scary or something?”

Your voice is hoarse when you speak again. “Quite the opposite,” you say. “You don’t look like you’ll kill me…” you pause to take a deep breath. “So I accept your offer.”

“Great,” he smiles charmingly, propping his helmet on his hip before offering a hand to help you up out of your car. “You like Indian food? We can get takeout on the way home. Or… whatever you’d like. You’ve been through enough without me telling you what you’re going to eat, I mean…” he tapers off after his nervous babble, and you can’t help the little thump that awakens in your chest.

“No, Indian is perfect,” you say, engaging a smile, dropping your pepper spray before taking his hand and allowing yourself to be lifted with one swift pull.

He waits patiently for you to collect your things, and then puts them in his backpack, which he hands to you.

“You’ll be my replacement backpack for now,” he says, before grabbing your hand again.

You shouldn’t feel the way you do, all tingly and exhilarated. You should be on guard, with your hands free to defend yourself. Yet there’s something about those deep, lavender eyes that make you want to bounce up and down jump in and drown.

Cars continue to fly by without regard for the two of you being vulnerable pedestrians. Some don’t even bother to merge over. Wind blows your skirt and you flatten it down with a free hand, grateful the man’s attention is on trying to get you safely to his bike.

As he leads you to the motorcycle, you realize you’ll need to wear a helmet in the same moment that he’s passing one to you. It’s huge, and you’re sure you’re not the first girl to put it on. You don’t know why you let that thought, borderline jealousy, slip into your mind.

“I’m Suguru, by the way,” he says, slipping his own helmet back onto his head and slinging one long leg over the vehicle. “What do they call you?”

“Oh, uh,” you’re taken aback, finding yourself staring dumbfoundedly. You tell him your name and he nods, repeating it to make sure he’s saying it right.

“Nice,” he starts up the bike and it immediately begins gutting out noises from the tiny engine. “So, you getting on?”

“On what?” you say idiotically, before you gasp and walk to join him. “I mean- sorry, tired.”

“Quite alright,” he says, but there’s a smile in his voice. “Just hop on, and hold onto me as tight as you can.”

You obey his instructions, gently sliding down on the leather seat and leaning forward, pressing your small chest to his back. It’s solid and tense through his shirt, and you slowly wrap your arms around his stomach, feeling like your heart is going to pound right through his spinal cord.

You’d never ridden on one of these before, and to be honest you aren’t sure you’re past the “sleeping at a stranger’s house” thing, but it’s too late to go back now.

He puts the bike in reverse to allow himself some room to take off. You link your fingers over his lap, palms pressing against his abdomen. The whole ordeal feels so intimate; you’re grateful that he cannot see your, no doubt, reddened face.

And then it’s like a flash, you’re on the interstate, lights passing by and wind prickling every inch of your skin.

Suguru wastes no time zooming across the lanes, but you can tell he’s being cautious, not going as fast as he could. It’s probably because of you, you think, and you’re grateful because of the way your stomach is in knots.

Although, your body against his, the revving of his bike, the feeling of people’s eyes on you both as you tread through traffic has your cunt thumping - absolutely wrecked and desperate to be relieved. You’re glad your anxiety is dissipating, but you hadn’t expected it to morph into lust.

Suguru finally makes the stop, as promised, to grab takeout. The food and the two of you manage to make it to his flat in one piece. He resides in a small brownstone with big windows, which seems a little out of character for what you know about him so far.

He parks his motorcycle out front, locking it up securely, before taking off his helmet and instructing you to do the same.

“My hair probably looks insane,” you say as the helmet slides off, knowing it has a tendency to be flattened when you wear hats.

“Looks better, in my opinion,” Suguru nods, reaching out to take the backpack from you as well as the takeout bag. “Let’s go before the monkeys around here try to snatch our food.”

“Monkeys…?” you repeat softly, inquiring silently about his choice of insult but not pressing him on it.

Inside, you’re in awe at the sheer organization and cleanliness for it to be a man’s home. The open concept is welcoming, a beautiful arch separating the kitchen from the living room. You take in his massive kitchen space and your fingers suddenly ache to bake something, a small and secret hobby of yours.

“It’s nice in here,” you say softly, glancing around and hugging your arms.

“What’d you expect? A cold, dusty basement?” He laughs and sits the takeout containers on the coffee table, before shrugging his backpack to the floor and hanging his helmet on a peg on the wall.

While he takes your helmet from your hands, you nod at him. “Yes, actually. I’m still not entirely convinced you aren’t going to kill me.”

He sighs and checks himself in the circular mirror that hangs behind his couch. You can tell he takes pride in his appearance, adjusting his hair and allowing a single strand to fall over his forehead.

“At least your last meal will be good,” he jokes, glancing at you in the mirror.

When you freeze and don’t reply, he turns and puts his hands up.

“All jokes,” he assures. “C’mon. Let’s eat.”

And so it goes. You sit side by side on the couch, Suguru keeping a respectful distance. You face one another and you have one leg tucked under you as you poke your fork into your goat curry, careful not to let it drop onto his suede couch.

“So, what brought you into town?” Suguru questions, dipping his naan into his tikka masala, also making a clear effort not to spill.

“Concert,” you admit between bites, covering your mouth. “I planned to drive here and back home on the same day, that’s why I didn’t think I’d need to make arrangements. Stupid shitbox.”

Suguru laughs. “Well, the shitbox brought us two lonely souls together, if only for the night, so perhaps there’s some beauty in it.”

“How poetic,” you joke. “Do you have any hobbies besides… cars?”

Suguru considers for a moment, “I like to kick kittens and slaughter entire villages.”

“Ah, I definitely sensed that,” you nod sarcastically. “Me, on the other hand, I like to do lame shit like bake and crochet.”

“You like to bake, hm?” he inquires, just as a piece of masala paste drips onto his chin.

“Yeah,” you say, not bothering to break into the sob story of how it’s like therapy for you - how you’d discovered you were good at it and now, every chance you get you’re kneading dough and playing in flour.

Suguru hums. “You’ll have to bake me something when you’re in town again.”

Your hand suddenly comes up and you find your thumb swiping the masala paste off of his face. “Will do,” you say quietly.

Suguru freezes under your touch and side-eyes your hand, before turning to you as you quickly pull it away.

“Sorry, I’m a messy eater,” he says, grinning slyly, eyes darkened.

You swallow thickly and clean your thumb on a napkin. “All good. Just uh, didn’t want to embarrass you.”

He smiles a bit. “Aren’t you a sweet thing?”

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t think that means I can’t still fight.”

“We still on this kidnapping kick?” He sighs. “After I shared my sacred Indian restaurant with you and everything.”

“Sacred?” you scoff. “Do you always share your favorite restaurant with girls you meet on the side of the road?”

“Well, you’re the first girl I’ve met on the side of the road,” he corrects. “So, yes, I guess I do. I’ll have to switch it up next time.”

You roll your eyes at his arrogance, and then decide you’re satisfied with your meal. “Alright, well I think it’s about time to turn in.”

“Right,” he nods. “You gonna sleep in that?” His long finger extends and points to your skirt, and you stare at the digit like a brat in heat, before shaking your head.

“I don’t have a change of clothes,” you say. “Obviously.”

“I know that, monkey.” Suguru narrows his eyes at you. “I have clothes for you.”

“Right,” you grit, “and don’t call me that.”

He doesn’t answer and instead rises from the couch, gathering all of your trash and taking it to the kitchen to throw it away. He quickly washes his hands and then gestures for you to follow him down the hall.

“Your home is lovely,” you say as you walk after him, examining his hallway that bares no pictures of anyone except himself and a boy with white hair.

“Thank you,” he says blankly, pushing open his bedroom door and saying - “Alexa, turn the light on.”

You giggle at the fact that he owns an Alexa, but don’t comment on it.

Once inside of his bedroom, he begins to paw through his dresser. The room reflects him: gold and black, skateboards and a golden helmet mounted to the wall. His bed is a dark abyss of black blankets and a tall headboard with warm white lighting behind it. It smells of eucalyptus and lotion.

“So like I said,” he clears his throat, “you can sleep in here. I’ll be on the couch.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to put you out of your own bed,” you object.

“Well, I’m certainly not putting you on the couch,” he argues. “But if you wanna sleep with me, just say that.”

You nearly feel your body explode into tiny pieces. The heat that had been present in your chest the first time he’d taken his helmet off has returned, but you have to shake it off.

“I’ll take the bed, alone. Thank you,” you hold a hand up and roll your eyes. “Dickhead.”

Suguru doesn’t say another word, but his face has stretched into a small, devious smile as he tosses a white shirt at you, plus a pair of pink shorts with candy hearts on them.

“Why the hell do you own these?” you ask in complete surprise, noting how they still have the tag on them.

“My best friend made me buy and wear them as a dare,” he says. “But they couldn’t fit all of my curves, go figure. I’ve been saving them for a rainy day.”

“Right,” you say, not believing such a story, but you don’t want to consider the true possibility that they belong to someone else. Not, you might add, that it should matter.

“My bed is nice and clean, ready to go. Charger is on the nightstand. Towels are in the bathroom.” He walks towards you and glances down at the clothes in your hands. “And feel free to ransack my kitchen, or bake or whatever, if you get hungry. I’ll be on the couch if you need anything.”

You look up at him. At this proximity, you can see the details in his irises, smell his musk, feel the heat on his body. You realize just how cold his bed is going to be, how strange it’s going to feel sleeping alone in an unfamiliar bedroom.

“Thanks,” you say softly, pulling your eyes away from him - but you know he’s already caught you staring.

“Goodnight,” he says, and you bid him the same before going to leave the room.

However, your foot gets caught on the plush black rug on the floor and you miss a beat - falling into him. His hand comes out immediately to stabilize you both and your body responds to his thick palm spreading out over your hip.

“Gotta be more careful, baby,” he murmurs, sliding his hand over the jean material of your skirt, allowing it to linger before separating himself from you.

You can’t even speak out of embarrassment. You aren’t sure he intended for you to hear the pet name, so it’s best you don’t comment on it. You spin on your heel and bolt out of the room, heading to the bathroom to shower.

When you return, smelling like fresh dove soap, Suguru has vanished. You see that the living room lights are off; he must already be sleeping.

When you settle into his bed, it’s a little cold, but the smell of a man and shampoo lingering all over the satin material of the sheets manages to comfort you. You don’t lock the door, you don’t even close it. You feel like you can trust him. Maybe you’re naive for it, but you don’t have much time to recant your decision before you drift off to sleep.

S. GETO

Suguru awakes later that night to faint rustling.

His eyes pry open reluctantly, blinking away sleep as he sits up straight, his guard up. He sees the glow from the kitchen, though, and realizes it’s probably just you. He rubs his eyes to fully wake himself before glancing over at the bright digital clock on the wall. 2:20AM.

He frowns. Why would you be in the kitchen at such an ungodly hour? He doesn’t mind, he'd told you to make yourself at home, but seeing how late it is concerns him.

He sneaks his way to the archway of the kitchen, preparing himself to accidentally startle you, but when he sees instead makes his arteries clench.

Pretty little you stands in front of the open fridge, back arched as you browse inside. The boyshorts he’d given you hug your body deliciously, accentuating the shape of your ass, and outlining your ever-so-juicy lips.

Suguru thinks back to when he’d first seen you sitting helplessly in your car. He’d of course thought you were sexy, but above that, beautiful. Your features fit you perfectly. His appreciation for your looks make his blood pump faster; this time, the blood is just pumping to the wrong place.

He continues to lean against the arch to the kitchen, cloaked in the shadows of the frame like a creep. You retreat from the fridge holding a stick of butter and navigate your way to the island - which is covered in dough and flour.

Are you really baking at 2 in the morning?

He likes seeing you so focused, carefully dropping the stick into a bowl, mashing it with a spoon.

Then, you perk up a bit. Suguru suspects you’ve sensed his gaze when your face flushes immediately, your body freezing. Then, you glance over at him, your seductive eyes locking into him in a way that makes his chest feel you’ve just taken a grip on his heart.

He holds his breath, unsure what kind of reaction you are going to have.

"Oh, did I wake you?" you ask finally, tone slightly nervous, eyes unable to stay in one spot.

"No," he lies, shaking his head. "I woke up to use the bathroom, but I saw the light on and wanted to..." Make sure you were okay. "Make sure I wasn't getting robbed."

You laugh. A soft melody that makes him feel obsessed and pathetic.

"You're half right," you say with an apologetic shrug. "You're definitely going to need more eggs when I'm finished."

Suguru chuckles and peels himself from the doorway, walking towards the island where you stand with the butter wrapper in your hand. He watches your demeanor shift as you sit the wrapper on the floury surface.

"So, should I call in report of an egg thief?" Suguru teases, stopping next to you.

Your eyes take a moment to meet his. Your gaze had been lingering on his bare chest; of which he’d forgotten about. He always sleeps shirtless, but he would have put on a shirt out of respect for you, had he known you’d be up together like this. He watches your pouty lips part, and he grows desperate to read your mind.

When you finally look at his eyes, Suguru has to swallow down his primal instincts. Something about the way you look - peaked nipples poking through the thin material of his shirt, areolas slightly visible, dumbfounded expression from you not realizing how close you are to being pinned to the damn island.

"I'll buy you another carton after my car is fixed," you murmur timidly. "I have night terrors and baking always calms me down after having them. I should have asked before just using your kitchen.”

Suguru just stares when your ramble comes to a conclusion. "Sounds like you're apologizing, but there's no need for that." He leans forward, putting a hand on the island, realizing just how awfully, deliciously he towers over your frame. How easily he could overpower you. “I told you that I didn’t mind. What was your dream about?”

You seem to shut down at his question though, timidness entering your features as you turn your head from him. “It was nothing,” you answer bluntly.

Suguru knows you’re lying, but he doesn’t think it’s his place to press you more.

After a moment of awkward silence, he asks “Alright, what are you baking?”

You seem delighted that he’d asked. You reach towards the oven and pull open the door, revealing a rising pastry on the center rack.

"I made something up with what you had," you shrug. "It's a sort of berry and honey cobbler."

Suguru’s stomach is rumbling already, combined with the pressure in his groin from the cock that threatens to slither out on its own accord. "It looks delicious, how long until it's done?"

You glance up at the clock. "About ten minutes."

"Ah, so I caught you ransacking what was left of my groceries at the perfect time," he teases.

You grin and turn back towards the island, pulling a bowl towards you both that is filled with a red compote. To Suguru’s utter surprise you dip your finger into it, the consistency appearing to be sticky and thick.

"This is the glaze I made for it," you announce softly. "Wanna try some?"

Suguru feels his eyelids drop. He leans forward and strands of his hair fall over his shoulders, shadowing his face to hide the way he feels himself drinking in the sight of you. He doesn’t trust himself to say more than a simple, “Sure.”

"Wait, it's kind of sticky,” you begin. “I'll grab a spoon.”

You turn to search for his drawer of silverware, but Suguru is quicker. He grabs your hand with the drizzled finger and watches as your neck snaps towards him in surprise. Your little doe eyes widen in realization, and there go your plump lips parting again - making it so incredibly easy if Suguru wanted to lean down and sink his teeth into them.

He thinks he might have made a mistake until he sees the mirrored longing in your eyes that he senses has been in his the entire time he’s been in here with you. So it feels like the only right decision now is to course your finger to his lips.

You watch as he parts them and then slowly slides the tip of your finger into his mouth. Whether you realize it or not, you gasp, so needily, and even more so when Suguru gently sucks the honey mixture from your finger - holding eye contact all the while, silently daring you to look away.

He swirls his tongue, knowing full well he’s already finished cleaning it of the sticky mess, just to make his point extra clear. He slides it back out with a pop.

He sees your eyes darken, in the most innocent, yet unknowingly sensual way. His mind begins to swirl with scenarios - him laying you down gently, and ghosting his lips over your naked torso to discover the kind of noises you make or contrarily; tossing you down and taking a handful of that beautiful hair, before delivering a series of the longest, hardest, sloppiest strokes you can possibly take.

"Is it... good?" you ask, your dry voice breaking his thoughts away from the blood rushing towards his pancreas.

"Delicious," Suguru breathes out, barely recognizing his own faraway voice, "have you tried it?"

You shake your head slightly, as if sensing his trap. “Not yet…”

"Hmm," he says aloud, dropping your hand and taking his fingers under your chin. "You’re so good at this.”

“A-Am I? I’ll have to try it before the cobbler is done,” you ramble nervously, clearly shying away from his touch, but he maintains his hold on your chin.

He doesn’t know what it is about you that has him so whipped in this short time. He feels so lost in his uncontrollable desire for you.

“I can give you a taste,” he finds himself whispering, faces just a few centimeters apart. Your body is mindlessly molding against his and he knows he’s got you.

You gasp into the small space between the two of you, and at the same perfect moment, he folds and crashes his desperate lips onto yours.

The kiss is hard and unsure at first, but it quickly softens as you surrender to his mouth. You melt into each other so easily, your breasts immediately glazing his torso and awakening chills all along his skin. He takes the closeness as a sign that it’s okay to put his hands on your sides, resting them idly atop the shorts.

Suguru can’t help but to let out a wanton grunt at the feeling of your body under his palms as he uses the pressure of his hands to rotate your positions. Now, your obedient little body is pressed between the island and his cock.

His hands slip under your thighs, which elicits a gasp from you. You break away from the kiss momentarily to stare at him as he effortlessly lifts you into the air and then plants your bottom on the island.

You both gasp as a cloud appears, but Suguru finds himself unable to care that he’s just plopped you down into a pile of flour. He doesn’t waste any time kissing you again, but he only remains on your lips for a short time before he connects wet, sloppy kisses down your jaw - and your hands slide desperately into the roots of his hair.

You spread your legs, inviting him to stand between, and Suguru feels his body jerk when you lock your calves into his sides. He moves his mouth back to yours and licks your lower lip, before sliding his tongue into your mouth and taking yours around it.

You clamp your teeth down on the muscle and suck on it like a little deviant - and it makes Suguru’s eyebrows furrow in sexual frustration. He needs you horribly, awfully.

He tastes the honey on your breath, sweet and dangerous, and his mind begins to cook up a disgusting idea. His fingers entangle in the shirt you wear, and the hem begins to rise over your stomach as he tugs it upwards.

“Suguru?” you mumble into his mouth, prompting him to reluctantly break the kiss.

“Mmh, do you want this?” he murmurs into your ear, loosening his grip on your shirt to prepare for the possibility that you’re going to say no.

Instead, you mutter ‘yes’ shamelessly quick, and in a white flash the shirt is poof - disregarded.

Suguru tries not to allow his eyes to bug out like a teenage boy who’s never seen breasts, but he feels himself failing miserably - even worse when his hands slither up to cup them, angling your nipples towards his face.

Your little body writhes, air escaping from your throat in the form of an encouraging gasp. Suguru grins and waits a moment before releasing them. The memories of his hands on your body appear in the form of powdery handprints, the both of you utterly covered in flour without a single care.

“Hmph,” you pout, and Suguru resists the urge to smack his hand across your nipple to put you in check - but there’s no telling if you’d enjoy that as much as he would.

“Hold still f’me,” he mutters, reaching behind you for the bowl of syrupy compote.

He feels your gaze burning into the side of his face as he pulls the bowl closer to your hips and dips his thumbs into the mixture. You can’t see this in real time as he does it, so your eyes look dumb and shocked when he brings his hands back towards your chest.

“I like causing pain,” Suguru blurts suddenly, holding his thumbs out and aligning them with your nipples. “Can I be a little mean to you, angel?”

You swallow, nearly gulping, but with reluctance you’re nodding in agreement.

“Words,” Suguru quips, pressing his body hard into yours to drive the message home.

“Y-Yeah,” you say and to his surprise, you add: “I also… like that kind of thing.”

“Mmm,” Suguru groans out. “Knew you were too good to be true.”

And with that, his thumbs are smearing your sweet little mix onto the buds of your chest - keeping them painfully erect as more syrup covers the areolas entirely.

You’re moaning just from his touch; he’s so impatient to hear the foul cries you’ll make when he’s clamping his teeth onto your sensitive nipples.

He sucks the remaining syrup off of each thumb, and then before you can question him, he latches his mouth onto your right nipple with desperation.

He can feel the bumps rise on your skin from the intimacy, your perfect body arching against him as he swirls his tongue hungrily. His lips purse as he uses his tongue to suck the skin raw and clean.

Your mouth is so dangerously close to his face, soft pants falling directly into his ear canal. He takes this as encouragement as his teeth sink into your nipple and his left hand strikes a heavy palm against your other.

The way you jerk in response is so pathetic, Suguru nearly laughs at you. Earlier, you were so helpless and scared - you’d been pretending to be tough, and now he has you so needy and submissive that it’s comical.

“Mmh,” you mumble into his ear, “again, please.”

Your little cunt must be so wet for him now. He wants to dip his fingers into your juice and force you to eat it, but he knows these things come one step at a time. He’s just so ready, so impatient. And he can tell you’re equally as ready.

He obeys you, just this once, smacking your breast again, his hand getting covered in the sticky compote. He breaks away from your right breast, deciding it’s time to clean off the other.

“That feel good?” he questions, though he knows based on your furrowed eyebrows and toes subconsciously clinging to the back of his legs that it does.

“Y-yes,” you grit, tugging his hair, causing him to growl. “Why’d you stop?”

“Patience is a virtue,” Suguru mutters, blowing cool air over your sticky nipple, flicking it slightly with his tongue and smacking his lips to taste the syrup.

“N-No,” you shake your head desperately, pleading. “Keep going.”

Suguru ponders on it, but ultimately he gives you what you want, though not without smacking your thigh harshly - making you yelp. He can’t speak with his tongue caressing the ring of your nipple so he communicates his threats for you to remember your place in the form of impactful hits. He cracks one on your abandoned right breast, and he knows it stings more because of his saliva that remains all over it. You whine in his ear and it only encourages him.

“Harder, you say?” he questions, detaching his mouth.

Now, his hands are coming down in rapid-fire. Crack, crack, crack. Your knees are bound to leave bruises on his hips with the way they’re digging into his skin. He’s growling now, unable to help himself. Your nipples feel so good on his tongue, and he can still taste the delicious honey mix. He wants to drizzle it all over you, make you into a writhing, sticky mess as he sucks it off.

YOUR POV.

Your cunt is pounding so badly, you can nearly feel the heat radiating off of it and landing directly on Suguru’s stomach as he sits up straight and looks down at you. His lips are wet and sticky, his hair stuck to his forehead. He looks so fucked, so hopeless. You’re equally as entranced, so caught up in his beauty, in the way his tongue feels, needing more.

You open your mouth to speak, but Suguru catches your lips with his own, and then his arms wrap around your body. He kisses you ferociously, berry and honey hot on his breath, before he takes his hand underneath your ass and lifts you effortlessly into the air. You’re forced to gasp into his mouth and he catches your sound with his tongue, encapsulating yours in it, lathering it up in his spit.

Just as Suguru begins to haul you away, the oven beeps. You groan into each other’s mouth as your heads break apart, and you lean onto his shoulder.

“Fuck, I forgot all about the cobbler,” you whisper against him.

He makes a noise of frustration before releasing you from his grip, your legs sliding down his body. He catches you by your hips, oversized hands holding you like a fragile piece of art. You bite your lip as you hesitantly part from him, and he watches you with patience for a moment before he heads to the fridge.

As you rip open the oven door, grab an oven mitt, and pull the pastry out with frustration, Suguru equips a cup of ice. You don’t think too much of it as you sling the pan onto the stove top before turning off the oven and nearly bolting back to Suguru, who instead of lifting you up, guides you by his free hand to the living room.

“Do you still want to do this?” Suguru questions, pulling you in front of him, until you find yourself standing in the dark with your back to the sectional.

There’s a small red light emitting from the corner of the room, illuminating his skin and making him look so terrifyingly beautiful. As you stand below him, you’ve decided you’d let him rip your guts apart if that’s what he requested.

“So much,” you say softly. Without any more instruction, you find yourself sinking onto the couch. “I hope you don’t think—”

“Think what?” Suguru interrupts, crouching in front of you, the ice in his cup shaking as he goes to place it down. “I have nothing negative to say about you. Besides, we’re having fun, aren’t we, pretty girl?”

Your cunt throbs at the pet name again. Your hands fly out, a little to your own surprise and land on his shoulders.

“Suguru, I…” the confession is shy on your lips for a moment, but you must let it be known. “I need you.”

“Mmm,” Suguru purrs, taking the cup of ice back into his hand, “How bad?”

“So bad,” you beg. “Please, no teasing.”

Suguru laughs at you and the noise sends another rush of adrenaline to your hole, now the material of his shorts is coated with your juices.

“It’s a shame we don’t have more time to learn about each other,” he coos. “You would know that I’m incapable of not teasing, especially when you sound so cute asking me for what you want, and I know that I can deny you.”

“Hngh, no,” you whine. “Don’t torture me like that.”

Suguru just laughs again, and you notice now that he has removed a piece of ice from the cup. He holds it in one hand, while his free hand comes up to your bare chest, applying a small amount of pressure to push you flush against the back of the couch.

You gasp as you find yourself leaning back, then Suguru is grabbing your hips, dragging them to the edge of the couch.

“Hm, you’re a little hot,” he observes, hand sliding up your leg and resting underneath the hem of the shorts. “I’ve gotta cool you down.”

“O-Oh?” you stutter, keeping your feet on the ground even though you fully suspect that Suguru is about to instruct you to do the opposite.

Instead, he sits up on his knees, still managing to tower over you because of how insanely long-legged he is. Your eyes watch lustfully as he pops the ice between his perfect lips and then clamps onto it with his teeth. He’s forcing you to keep your eyes on him with his own purple stare, then, his mouth reattaches to yours.

He drags the ice over your bottom lip, head moving slowly from side to side, and you shiver like a white in heat. The cold, cold ice leaves a wet trail behind as he pulls it down the side of your face, over a sensitive vein on your neck, then the outline of your collarbone.

Your back arches off of the couch, and you’re clawing desperately at his skin. He’s pretending not to notice as he’s continuing his trip down the map of your body, seeming to know it like the back of his hand even though he hardly knows you.

The ice slides over the peak of your breast agonizingly slow. Your nipples, still painfully erect, are sore from the events that had taken place moments ago - but Suguru doesn’t care.

He swirls that ice over them, even as you writhe and shake your head no, nails breaking open the skin on his trap muscles. His hair brushes your sternum, creating goosebumps, eliciting more purrs and gasps from your throat. Every part of you is responding to him, from your pulsing cunt, to your heart, to your collagen.

“Holy shit,” you whisper from above, and he grunts a little response before the ice finds your other abused nipple, teasing it softly before he applies full pressure with the melting ice, leaving your nipples sore and soaked.

You’re shivering uncontrollably now, breaths only able to come out in the form of short, quickened pants. Suguru’s showing no mercy. He’s approaching your belly button with the ice.

The ice is nearly gone, but now Suguru’s hands are sliding up underneath your squishy thighs, fingertips pressing into the flesh as he folds them up towards your face.

You gasp as his head has quickly jumped from your stomach to the heat between your legs. He dips forward and plants an extremely fat, cold kiss to the cloth of his shorts.

“S-Suguru,” you whimper out, but he’s too busy swirling what's left of the ice over the material, nearly eating you out through the garment.

You can’t take the torture. Your hands have fallen from his shoulders but now they’re dug into his hair like the reins on a horse, attempting to snatch him back up, but he’s so lost in his own pleasure he doesn’t budge.

“Shut up,” he grunts, the movement of his mouth making you squirm.

The second your body arches off of the couch, Suguru has his hands slid under the shorts and is dragging them down your legs. Without a change of underwear, you’d chosen to go commando, so the minute the shorts are off - your cunt winks him in the eye.

You fight the urge to shy away. Even as your legs begin to close, Suguru stops you immediately, hands coming up the inside of your thighs and applying pressure to your knees.

“Be good, slut, if you want to be able to cum,” he murmurs, turning back momentarily to grab his ice again.

You’re already shivering at the thought of the cold contact. Suguru pops a piece into his mouth and stares up at you as he moves it between his cheeks, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue to show you the ice inside with a smirk.

You stare down at him in awe and surprise, until he completely distracts you when the coldness of his wet mouth makes contact with your clit. Just a small brush of his lips, but it’s enough to have you begging him for more.

“Please, more,” you cry, and Suguru laughs against your cunt.

He drags the tip of the ice between your folds, the metal of his lip rings simultaneously sliding on the inside of your lips. It feels incredible, every inch of the nerves at your core being tainted and overwhelmed.

Your heels are planted flat on his shoulders, and he’s grunting like some kind of wild animal ripping apart the flesh of its prey while the squelches of your cunt respond to him whorishly.

Suguru pops the ice back in his mouth and is now flicking your clit with his icy tongue, keeping the ice in his cheek while he works ecstasy through your bundle of nerves.

And just when you start rolling your hips in time with his tongue, he pulls away. He sucks on the ice while looking you in the eye and then, smack! His palm lands on your unsuspecting cunt and you scream.

It stings. Your clit is so sensitive from the ice already, but Suguru knows that. You know he does. Once the sting dissolves, your body begins to feel the pleasure that comes with pain.

“Hah - Suguru, fuck,” you mumble out. You’re slowly starting to have enough of the foreplay.

“Hm? What?” he questions, cocking his head like he’s got no clue what he’s doing.

“Please,” you say, not directly asking for what you want, letting the end of your sentence hang in the air.

Suguru fakes a yawn, “Sorry, I don’t know how to understand dumb little angels who can’t use their words.”

You frown and attempt to kick him, but he catches your foot, and at the same moment you see him swallow what was left of the ice in his mouth.

“Tsk tsk,” he says, clicking his tongue. “Bad kitty.”

You don’t have time to squirm away before he’s sitting up, taking your body into the air, and then slamming you back down onto the couch. You lay long ways now, head resting on the corner of the sectional, and Suguru creeps over you like a panther.

His bare chest rubs your own and he dips his head into your neck, lips still freezing and glazed over with spit. He drags his mouth over your pulse, pinning your arms above your head as you try to slither from below him.

“Say what’s on your mind,” he murmurs against your ear canal, “don’t keep secrets from me, monkey.”

“Hngh - don’t fucking call me that,” you grit, attempting to knee him in the stomach but he’s using all of his body weight to keep you down.

You lay completely naked and helpless below him, attempting to grind your sulking cunt over the clear bulge in his pajama pants. He keeps kissing your neck, grunting softly in your ear to make you feel worse about the fact that you are restrained - and denied his cock.

“What do you want?” he purrs, ghosting the tips of his top teeth over your jaw. “Speak up.”

You’re a muddled, moaning mess and he knows it - but you manage to mumble out a pathetic, “Your cock, Suguru.”

“Already? We just met,” he coos, tracing the shape of your cheek with his fingertip.

“Shut up,” you growl at him, wishing you could grip him by his bulge to show him what it’s like to be repeatedly teased and denied.

As if reading your mind, he releases one of your hands and quickly smacks the side of your thigh, then sinks his nails into the stinging skin to keep you from making another snotty threat.

“Watch your tone,” he directs, and then lifts your leg so that it rests against the back of the couch. “Be a good girl and wait right here, and keep your legs open.”

He lifts himself off of you, but not before he dips his head and spits a thick glob of glistening saliva on your cunt, walking away while the fluid slides through your folds.

You lay there in fear of punishment, unmoving, taking the time to catch your breath.

And then, when he returns moments later, you lay there still obediently sprawled out. He’s ripping a condom wrapper open with his teeth, and his cock is sliding through his hand.

You gasp. Despite it being mostly dark in the living room, you can see that his dick stretches nearly the length of your own forearm, all while glistening with his spit. Suguru catches your appalled face and smirks in the dark.

“Didn’t your mommy ever teach you that it’s rude to stare?” he questions, leaning over you as he rolls the condom onto his cock.

Your eyes are having a hard time prying themselves away, but you succeed when he leans down and presses a deep kiss to your lips, practically eating your mouth off of your face. He bites down on your bottom lip and grunts heavy breaths into your mouth as he finishes adjusting himself.

You lick his lip rings like a desperate slut. Your hands remain above your head as if he’s still holding them down; you’re disgusted at just how obedient he’s made you out to be in a short time.

Now he’s crawling over you again. But before you give him time to get settled, your mouth blurts a request.

“Put the helmet on,” you say meekly, watching as Suguru’s pierced eyebrows knit together in surprise.

“My motorcycle helmet?” he questions, and you nod. “Wow, trying to say I’m too ugly to stare at?”

You groan and roll your eyes. “N-No, I just, um… nevermind.” You don’t want to admit how the idea of him in his helmet makes you even wetter.

Luckily though, Suguru read your mind.

“You’re a nasty little thing, aren’t you?” he questions, and you notice how his hand slithers up to the wall, and acutely plucks the helmet off of its peg.

“Hmph,” you shake your head. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

You tilt your chin up defiantly and watch as he slides it over his face, adjusting the strap and closing the glass visor. Now, it’s just you and your reflection staring at one another, and you can see your poor body all marked up from Suguru’s impactful slaps.

It makes your cunt throb so unbelievably fast, and you think you’ll wither away if you have to go another minute without Suguru pumping inside of you.

“This was a great idea,” he says, voice raspier and deeper from the other side of the mask. “Now, it’s time to stretch you out, baby.”

You gulp. You aren’t sure you’ll be able to survive his cock. But you want to try. All that rumbles through your mind is getting it inside of you, of feeling the burn as it threatens to break through to your stomach.

“Please,” you whine, “I don’t think I can take much more.”

“Hmm, I guess you’ve been good enough,” he ponders aloud, and now his two thick arms are on either side of your head.

He’s letting your hands stay free, to your surprise, and you take advantage of it by dragging your nails down his torso. He momentarily falters, but then he’s pressing the tip of his cock to your folds - sliding it down, lathering it in your slick. Your toes curl, your knees find themselves on his hips. You stop and sink your nails into his pecs to threaten him, but he’s unmoved.

“Didn’t I tell you to be patient?” he questions, shoving his hips forward so that you feel a faint amount of pressure on your clit, and then it disappears as he pulls away.

“Ngh, how can I be patient?” you cry. “Quit being afraid to fuck me.”

“Afraid?” Suguru laughs and then his hand comes up, palm on your windpipe, fingers pressing pressure into either side of your neck. “You’re the one with fear in your eyes, little monkey. Don’t think you can handle my cock, do you?”

You frown and gasp, attempting to snap back at him, but your voice is cut off as well as your air flow. Suguru gives you no chance to fight before his hips press into you for good this time - and without even using his hands, the crown of his cock is pushing through the threshold of your cunt.

The two of you make mirrored fucked-out noises of desire. You whine as your walls try to stretch around him, but the friction is causing it to burn. You can only attempt a gasp underneath Suguru’s death grip on your throat.

“Mmh, so tense baby,” Suguru purrs, “relax. You can take it.”

You shake your head, or attempt to. Your hand rests on Suguru’s wrist, your fingers digging in to the bone as you attempt to let your body get used to Suguru filling you up. You stare at yourself pathetically, hopelessly in his visor. You can feel his eyes watching you take him, watching your lips part as you attempt to breathe despite him restricting your airflow.

Your elastic walls finally start to contract, allowing Suguru to bottom out. He rests like that for just a moment, barely giving you time to swallow him up before he’s pulling his hips back and entering again.

You moan in time with his long strokes, and he keeps his pace slow until you’ve got him completely slicked up. Now he’s moving in and out of your hole like butter, and you’re crying below him.

“Oh, so fucking good,” he grits, dipping his head closer to you, so you’re forced to keep staring at yourself.

His abdomen glistens as he begins to sweat. Your eyes don’t know where to look; they’re traveling over his sculpted muscles like a pervert in heat. He notices and drums his hips harder into you to throw you off - and your eyes squeeze shut as you’re overrun with pleasure.

You secretly wish you could see the way Suguru’s face is twisted up under his helmet, but somehow, the gift of suspicion is much more thrilling. Feeling like you have no idea who’s fucking your guts up makes you even wetter. Suguru can tell, and he’s using all of your juices to his advantage. You’re dripping all over his expensive couch while neither of you find time to care.

“Agh - Suguru, please!” you shriek, knees falling closer to your chest.

Suguru takes his hand off of your throat before tucking each hand underneath your thighs, pinning them to your chest, cockhead hitting a new and deeper angle this way.

“Fuck, ‘m so deep,” he mumbles, hips losing their synchrony, strokes becoming sloppier and needier. “God, y’sure you have to go home tomorrow?”

“Mm-mm,” you hum, brain jumbled as he nearly begins to tap your uterus. “Gonna stay here and get fucked forever.”

“So good for me,” Suguru coos, smacking the underside of your thigh and hastening his pace. “So fucking good.”

“Hah - so deep,” you comment, attempting to use your hands to press on his chest, but it means nothing when Suguru is overpowering you with his hold on your legs.

Your arms fall limp, and you accept defeat as your cervix gets rammed over and over and over - nasty, wet noises engulfing the air as you squeeze yourself around Suguru for his pleasure.

“Feel you pulsing,” Suguru grits, “don’t do that…”

You pretend not to hear him and keep flexing your muscles, and the veins in his cock tap against your spongey walls in response.

“Suguru,” you pant, “Suguru, Suguru. Let me ride you.”

He hums and keeps pumping, “You want to get on top, naughty girl? Wanna make me feel good?”

“Y-Yes, please,” you beg, opening your eyes and staring in the direction of what you assume are his eyes on the other side of the helmet visor.

“Hm, I suppose I’ll allow it,” he tuts, and before you know it, he’s sliding out of you and you’re cold and empty inside. You need him back deep inside of you, so you waste no time sitting up the minute he lets go of you.

Suguru laughs, a piercing noise that disrupts the silence in the room. “You’re dripping all over my suede, pretty girl. Gonna be able to smell your mark, even when you’re gone.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t deny the heat in your cheeks as you slither into a standing position, switching with Suguru as he sits back on the couch and opens his arms for you.

Your stomach lurches with butterflies at the simple, intimate gesture. You crawl onto his lap, straddling him, and his arms engulf you in a bear hug. You lean forward to align yourself with his cock, and then, you’re reaching for his length and peeling the condom right off.

Suguru’s back arches off of the couch at the overstimulating feeling - and he gasps underneath his helmet. “Mm, you want it raw?”

“Wanna feel the real thing,” you say desperately, tossing the wet condom onto the floor with your lustful brain disregarding the dangers of it.

“A person who takes what she wants,” Suguru taps the chin of his helmet thoughtfully. “I like it.”

You don’t answer him because you’re too busy aligning your hole with his now dry cock and slicking it back up in a mix of your juices and his precum.

Now it’s your turn to make him writhe, and he does, his thigh muscles flexing under you - his hands breaking open the skin in your back.

Then you’re shoving him back inside of you, and it takes you no time to slide down the complete length. You lean forward, hands on his chest, moaning as you readjust to him for a second time.

“Oh, Y/N,” Suguru chirps, “you fit me so well, don’t you?” And then he’s hitting you on your sensitive nipple again, before taking it between his index and thumb, pinching and applying painful pressure.

“So well,” you repeat mindlessly, pussy swallowing him up to his balls, before raising your hips again in the same motion that feels pleasurable to you.

Suguru helps you by sliding his hands to your hips, showering you in dirty praises like so tight, nasty slut, perfect for me.

S. GETO

You feel so good, snugly wrapped around him, dripping all down his cock like a needy mess. Your face is so beautiful when it’s fucked out, as you focus on trying to take all of him.

You’d done so good, taking all his hits and teasing, the least he can do is let you use his cock for your pleasure. And it’s his pleasure, indeed, to do so.

He hums as he watches you from the other side of his visor, your breasts bouncing in his face, your lip snapped under your teeth. It’s everything he can do to prevent himself from filling you up with cum so soon - but you’re making it so hard.

He’d have never guessed you’d end up like this when he’d rescued you. He’d honestly just been trying to be a polite samaritan, but he isn’t going to knock the situation the two of you have found yourselves in.

He notices that you’ve started panting harder, your hips have gotten slower. You’re wearing down, but based on your pulsing cunt around him, you’re close.

Well, that just won’t do.

He takes his hands and goes in for your hips, trying to bite down his primal instincts when you whine pathetically in response. He takes you and lifts you up off of him, and you nearly shriek as his cock plops out of you and lands erect against his stomach.

You stare down at him in horror, “Suguru, I was so close!”

“I know, I’m not an amateur,” he teases, before he shoves you back down onto his cock and uses his grip on your hips to slide you up and down on it like you’re just a fucktoy.

Your eyes roll to the whites, and you start moaning again, unable to argue with him - until he repeats the process and rips you up off of his cock again.

“Stop!” you cry out, hands flying up to his shoulders and clawing at them, as if that’ll make a difference.

Suguru smirks under his disguise and plops you back down, not even half way before he’s taking you off again.

By now, you’re catching on, but he still recognizes how close you must be to cumming.

You barely let out soft moans now, all of your noises coming out harsh and frustrated. He thinks it’s cute when you try to threaten him, or cuss at him.

“You wanna cum?” Suguru asks you, eyebrow raised, though he knows you can’t see it.

“God, please,” you beg, staring at him as hard as you can, and he knows you’re trying hard to find his eyes.

He decides to help you out when he takes the helmet off, shaking his hair free. Now he looks up at you, taking in your face without his visor in the way. You’re so desperate to be back down on his cock but he holds you at tip length, just kissing the inside of your cunt.

He takes one of his hands to your throat, but this time he’s gentle. He applies enough pressure to bring your face towards him, but not enough to cut off your air like last time. He presses a soft kiss to your lips, distracting you, making you melt and whimper.

Dumb little brat.

The minute your body softens and you’re leaning your chest against him, purring in his ear, he starts drilling his hips up harshly against your thighs. His cocktip kisses the end of your pussy and each time he hits the squishy barrier, you bite down on his earlobe.

You’re so good for him, he thinks. He has to convince you not to leave - but he knows that’s selfish. He doesn’t care, because he needs your cunt all to himself, whenever he wants it.

“You got it, pretty girl,” Suguru coos, fucking into you as mean as he can.

His arms wrap around you and you hold onto each other like you’re free falling from the sky - whining and moaning and hissing and cussing until finally, your pretty cunt pulses rapidly around him and then quenches as you begin to cum.

Suguru feels his own orgasm overcoming him and he starts to pull you off of him - but you fight back.

“I-It’s okay, you can cum inside,” you moan deviously into his earlobe, nearly unable to speak as you cum all over his cock.

Suguru shakes his head violently, though he wants to so bad - he rather glaze your skin with his nut.

“Mmh,” he hums and then overpowers you, flipping you back onto your back before he pulls his cock out of your pussy and strokes his length until it spurts his hot cum all over your belly.

You writhe and roll your hips as it lands on your skin, and Suguru pants heavily as he milks himself for all he’s got. You look so delicious underneath him again, this time slicked up with his semen.

And as if to seal an already perfect experience, you slide your finger through it and then shove it into your mouth, where you slurp it clean.

“Mm, delicious,” you mutter, “have you tried it?”

Suguru chuckles at you before leaning down to kiss you again. “So beautiful covered in my cum, you know that?”

You nod shyly and entangle your hands in his hair. “I admit, you look hot in the helmet, but your hair is too pullable to be hidden away like that.”

Suguru feels his face heat a bit but he plays it off by dipping his head downwards so that you can’t see. “You’re too sweet, gorgeous.”

You pant as a response before saying, “Why’d we do that?”

Suguru freezes. “A-are you regretting it?”

“No,” you answer quickly. “I’ve just never… hooked up with someone before.”

Suguru chuckles. “Well, pretty girl, we don’t have to call this a hookup.”

You smile up at him and then he’s tucking his arms under your back and lifting you up for what feels like the hundredth time.

It isn’t long before Suguru is carrying you to the bedroom and cleaning you off with a cool towel, applying ointment to the raw spots on your skin and serving you a cup of ice water.

He’s trying not to think about you leaving the following morning. Every time he does, his stomach begins to hurt and his chest throbs.

But for now, he has his little rider entangled in his arms like the two of you have known each other for an eternity - and he’s grateful you’ve forgotten about the cobbler you baked, because he can’t bear for you to get out of bed right now.

“How are you feeling?” he questions, noticing your breathing has slowed and you are close to sleep.

“Exhausted,” you mumble sleepily. “Pipe does that to you.”

It’s all he can do to stifle an unearthly laugh at your joke, before he pets your hair until you join each other in sleep.

—

Yall im so sorry this is probably so shitty!

This one was the most requested that’s why it’s going first - I hope it meets your expectations. :]

~ pennjammin

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk smut #suguru geto smut #jujutsu geto #geto smut #geto x reader #jjk geto #geto x you #geto suguru

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nsharks · 1 year ago

Text

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twelve —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: *hint at sexual assault. please be cautious!* death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Dense mud packs onto the soles of your boots. You shift the near-empty backpack on your shoulder and slip back a few sweat-laced strands of hair from your face. Never before were you a morning person. In fact, you used to purposely sign up for all the afternoon lectures in uni. But now, time and sunlight are precious. You set out to search for the camp this morning with only a sliver of sunrise as your companion.

You hope Ghost was right.

He suspected that their camp would be situated in a location with easy access to the military base, river, and nearby village so they could draw resources from all three. So that's the direction you're headed in, squinting at nearby landmarks and interstate signs to help guide you. It's quite the hike: grueling, hilly terrain and moist air that you can't distinguish from your own sweat. You've stepped over some interesting sights along the way. An old forest station with CAMP FEES and LEAVE NO TRACE posters still outside. A small skeleton tucked in a bush with only child-sized rainboots left on it. For a moment, you saw Joseph. Toddling around in the puddles outside your sister’s house. You had to force yourself not to look at it for too long; you wiped your eyes, gritted your teeth, and prayed it had been painless for them.

You come to a narrow creek, crossing over a stone bridge that spits you out among dense evergreens. Finally, a faint column of smoke comes into view just above the forest's canopy.

That must be it.

It's certainly a sign, so you suck in a shaky breath, ignore the rush of blood in your veins, and do what Ghost suggested: climb a tree to get a better look.

There was a time not long ago when climbing trees was your only means of survival. This time, it feels so much easier to hoist yourself up and grip the bark as your muscles flex to steady yourself on a high branch. Luckily, there wasn't much to bring in the backpack Ghost gave you. For now, there's nothing in it other than your lighter, a roll of gauze, that romance book, and a small piece of dry wood.

Squinting your gaze, you make out the silhouette of triangular, orange tents and uneven fencing. Definitely a camp. The fence doesn't appear barbed from here, but it's at least a meter higher than the one that surrounds Ghost's place. You're close enough to see a few blue crates in the center that look like those ones from the military medical site. Is that what they're keeping the supplies in? It seems like the only obvious place based on the layout.

What you really want to know is how many people. Soundlessly, you shift your boots to get a different angle and finally spot movement coming out of one of the tents— a sizeable male wearing a leather jacket.

One.

Is that it?

Your eyes stay locked on the stranger for a minute, tracking his movement as he cooks something over the fire. He gives out a long whistle, the high-pitched sound audible even from where you stand nestled in the treetop. Panic seizes your breath: did he somehow see you and is alerting someone else? But no— you're much too far, and his eyes never shifted in your direction.

Instead, there's more movement, the faint shuffling of paws on the ground, and then a large dog appears at the man's side. He tosses something in front of it, what must be a slab of meat, because the dog is quick to start chowing down with the enthusiasm of a mindless Grey.

"Fuck me," you whisper to yourself, fingertips splintering against the bark. "Couldn't prepare me for that, huh, Ghost?"

The plan he instructed you with is fairly simple and straightforward— you'll just have to stick to it and be mindful of the additional obstacle. You've survived much worse even just a few days ago, so with that in mind, you slip down the column of the tree and purposefully backtrack your steps, gaining a bit more distance between you and the camp.

You need a ruse, something to draw the man out for enough time for you to grab the ammo. Ghost told you to bring the book to help get a fire started since the twigs and leaves here are damp after the storm, so you find a good spot and start ripping out the pages, crumpling them up. You arrange the piece of wood and paper in such a way that you have a minute or two before the smoke really gets going. You pull out your lighter from the pocket of your jeans, start it, and then head back towards the camp, this time going around so you can approach it from the side.

You keep your footsteps as light as possible while moving quickly. Once the man notices the smoke and leaves to scout it out, your timer starts. There's another whistle followed by a gravelly bark from the dog. You sneak close to the side of the fence, pausing behind a tree, just when you catch a glance of the stranger shucking a rifle over his shoulder and exiting out the gate. He shuts it behind him with a series of padlocks.

It won't take him long to find the source of the smoke and realize it's nothing, so you muster all your strength and begin climbing the fence, rusty links digging into your palms. You try to do it without making much noise, but the moment you jump down with a thud, the dog's head snaps in your direction. It begins to growl, flashing thick canines under its bloodied muzzle. You break out into a sprint toward the blue crates, but it crosses the span of the camp in mere seconds, clamping down on your forearm before you can even begin to look for the ammo.

The pain is white hot. You silently cry out as the dog shakes its head, tearing through the fabric of your coat and the tissue of your muscle.

"Fuck."

You tug at your arm, but it doesn't let go. Remembering the piece of squirrel meat you brought as a snack, you dig it from your pocket and wag it in front of the dog's face.

"Come on, let go— please."

It's enough to catch his attention, the bite on your arm loosening once you toss the meat a few meters away and he follows it. You clutch your arm with a ragged breath, ignoring the blood and pain that radiates from it.

The squirrel can only distract him for so long, so you urgently flip open the lid of the first crate. Staring back at you is a mix of what appears to be severed limbs and various animal parts. The pungent smell floods up your nose. You instantly clamp the lid back down, fighting the urge to vomit, and move on to the next one.

Ammo.

Plenty of it.

Without a second to waste, you sling off the backpack and begin stuffing it with the cardboard packs of cartridges, hoping it's the kind Ghost needs. When you tug the zipper closed, a decision pops into your brain: to keep looking through the other crates for medicine, or to get the fuck out of there. You take a millisecond too long to think about it because suddenly, you notice the dog from the corner of your eye, done with the meat and moving towards you with another throaty growl.

You tug the heavy backpack on and make a beeline for the closest side of the fence. In the panic, you fail to notice the creak of the gate opening until you are stumbling into a hard chest. A strong hand wraps around your bicep.

Fuck.

He's back.

This is it, then.

"Rocky— sit."

The growling behind you ceases. A whole new fear washes over you as you blink up at a rugged face. The stranger uses his other hand to take hold of your jaw, hard enough that your teeth are forced to grind together. In a heart-pounding silence, he inspects you, bluntly looking you up and down. Then, he takes out a knife and presses it to your neck. Your throat bobs against the icy metal.

"Fucking bitch," he mutters. "Start a fire to try and steal from me?"

"N-no!" Your brain reels for a lie. "No— I don't know what you're talking about. I-I came here looking for help."

"Try a better lie, sweetheart."

"I mean it," you stammer, holding onto the fact that he hasn't slit your throat yet. Raw desperation speaks for you. "My… my friends are gone. Someone attacked us a few days ago and killed them. I've been alone ever since and then I found your camp, hoping someone would be here to help me."

This seems to grab his attention. Dark eyes narrow. It's now you realize he's quite young, maybe in his thirties.

"Someone attacked you, huh? Who?"

"Um, some guy. I don't know. I didn't get a good look at him because he was… he was wearing a mask."

"So some guy killed all your friends by himself?" When you slowly nod, cringing at your terrible story, his jaw flexes. "I've lost my friends, too. They went out on a hunting trip three days ago and haven't come back."

"Oh. I'm sorry," you lie, swallowing. "So you… so you believe me?"

"I believe your friends are dead. I don't believe you didn't start that fire to distract me."

His words make your heart race. Again, his eyes trail down, and the knife follows, lowering to the floral fabric of your blouse and popping open one of the buttons.

"Take it off," he suddenly orders.

"W-what?"

"The shirt. Take it off. Let me decide if I should kill you or keep you."

You put on a brave face and do as he says, not given much room to protest despite the sick feeling that twists your gut. You drop the backpack, half-inclined to swing it at him, but then what? There is no way you can take him in a fight, especially since he's armed with a knife and gun, and there is no Grey this time to help you out.

The coat falls to the ground at your feet before you shakily undo the buttons of your blouse, wincing from the movement of your bitten arm. Crisp air greets your bare skin. Your nipples tighten uncomfortably and his gaze darts right to them, intensifying the churn in your stomach.

He gives a low whistle. "Lucky me."

Your nails jab crescents into the palms of your hands. "Am I… am I worth keeping, then?"

He bears a sick, toothy smile. "Pretty for a thief," he confirms. "Haven't seen someone so pretty in a few years now." His eyes flash to your arm and he reaches to grab it, making you choke. "Hell, Rocky. You gave her an ugly bite, though. Might get in the way of what I have in mind for you."

Half-naked, you are dragged by the arm to one of the blue crates. He slips the knife into his pocket in order to search through it. You notice pills, liquids, and a single glass bottle of what appears to be clear alcohol, which he pulls out along with a cloth.

"Tell me your name," he says, forcing you to sit down on a folding chair. "Before I enjoy you.”

You tell him quietly.

With an eery gentleness, he sits across from you and dabs the bite with some alcohol. The sting is immeasurable, but you roll your eyes to the sky and silence yourself. The feel of his cold, calloused fingers makes you imagine how they would feel touching other parts of your body. You need to think of something quick before he gets the chance to. He still has the gun on him, and the only knife you brought is in the jacket on the ground. Your eyes flicker to the bottle, which he set down by the leg of his chair.

"What's your name?" you ask, looking back at him.

"Leo."

"So, um, Leo— how did you end up here?"

"I was a new recruit in the military when shit started five years ago," he explains idly, fixated on your arm. "Stationed at the base nearby."

"I saw medical tents there," you mutter, clearing your throat. "Did you help with that?"

He chuckles. "For all of a day until some buddies and I decided to take what we could and leave. There was no point in trying to help people. We figured that out pretty quick."

"Oh. Were those the buddies who haven't come back?"

He nods. "I'm sure they're dead by now. But, one good thing is," he reaches for the gauze, sniggering lowly, "—that means I don't have to share you."

As he begins to unwrap the gauze, you decide he’s distracted enough. It happens in one, urgent motion. You clasp the alcohol bottle by the neck, arch it above his head, and thrust it down. The glass shatters, drenching him with alcohol and blood as a piece slices open his forehead. He immediately drops the gauze and hisses in pain.

"Bitch," he snarls. "I'm going to fucking kill you!"

He leaps to his feet and pulls the knife out again. As he does, you dig the lighter out of your pocket and ignite a flame, bringing it to his soaked shoulder. Instantly, fire flashes up his neck and face in hues of orange and blue, even catching your wet fingertips. It renders him blind as he howls and tries to swing at you, but you immediately run away, rubbing your burned hand against your jeans.

You grab your discarded clothes and backpack before flinging open the crate with medicine in it. You begin stuffing as many bottles into the side pockets of the backpack as you can, breathing frantically.

"I'm going to kill you," he seethes again, and the firing of a bullet somewhere behind you means he must have grabbed his rifle.

But he still can't see, his eyes blistered by the flames that continue to lick his face. Each shot bites the ground as you heave the backpack on your shoulders and take off toward the fence.

The dog barks, louder and louder as he runs after you. You don't look back. You wad your clothes up in a ball and toss them over the fence to free up your hands. Then, you quickly climb up, the muscles in your face tightly clenched as the full backpack weighs you down.

You're too slow.

Teeth grab hold of your boot.

You're pulled back down, hands spreading out to break the fall.

In the mud, you wrestle beneath a snarling jaw, dirtying up your hair and exposed skin. This time, you don't hesitate to hurt the animal. You grab your lighter again and thrust the flame into the dog's eye, making it leap back with a pained squeal.

Freed, you scramble back up the fence.

You leap down. Grab your clothes

You can still hear him shouting as you run away, weaving through the thicket of trees. Only when the sound fades do you stop to catch your breath, sinking down against a tree and putting your clothes back on.

"Here."

A moan of relief escapes your lips the moment you shrug off the backpack and drop it at Ghost's feet. He crouches down, swearing under his breath when he unzips it and the ammo practically spills out. He grabs a few boxes, opening and inspecting them under the violet light of sunset. The walk back took you hours longer. You were almost tempted to sleep in a tree for the night, but the threat of Greys or any more strangers kept you going.

"Good. This is good, Twix." There's a hint of disbelief in his voice before he clears it away, zipping the backpack up. He stands and offers a lengthy look from your head to your boots. "How many were there?"

"Just one."

"Just one," he repeats, brow lifting. "And you look this roughed up. What happened?"

"There was a dog," you say dully, lifting your arm up to show him the bitemark in your sleeve. Beneath it, you already bandaged the wound, not wanting to draw attention to its scent. “Just a dog and a cannibal rapist guy."

"What?"

You shake your head. "Nothing. I'm going to sleep."

Before you can take a step past him, warm fingers latch onto your wrist. So warm. You inhale a breath, a burn of moisture lining your eyes.

“Please don’t touch me," you request in a harsher whisper than you intend.

You can no longer see the details of him with how bleary your eyes are, but you feel his touch disappear.

"What happened?" he asks again, voice lowering.

"Nothing. I got your ammo and I handled it. When can we leave?"

There is a pause before he responds as if he is debating whether or not to drop the subject. For now, he does.

"Tomorrow, hopefully."

"Good." The back of your hand smooths over your eyes. "Don't— don't forget our deal, Ghost. Promise me."

A firm nod. "I don't back out on my word."

As if to prove it, he shucks off the jacket and hands it over.

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #fanfiction #cod

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astroyongie · 6 months ago

Text

My Opinion On The Mercury Signs and Placements

Note: this is just my opinion! hope you guys find it intersting <3 I might do a Venus and mars version as well and perhaps a moon hihi

Aries Mercury: They are actually super funny and they have such low pitched yet they speak loudly! like one can hear them from a mile away. They are loud and super sociable. Not the smartness but they can put up a fight. They can be quite arrogant tho, some aries have a thing for being dicks and super aggressive when they are upset.

Taurus Mercury: They talk slowly, almost like they are just tired of life in general. This placement has a beautiful voice but they are too lazy to put it into practice. People with this placement are sensual when they talk without even noticing. but they are also so stubborn that having arguments with them is impossible. also they seem to be smart but they lack common sense.

Gemini Mercury: Everyone knows that they are loud, they are sociable, they are freaking smart because they have so many interests in life that you can speak with them about pretty much anything. also they pull the most smart stuff out of nowhere. they have some issues with lying though, they often attempt to lie and they twist stuff a lot. Also they can be so noisy that it rubs people the wrong way.

Cancer Mercury: They are the kings of manipulation, but like without lying? because they suck at lying, they always leave out clues when they lie so unless you are not very smart, you can't get it straight. cancer’s are also super sensitive and people with this placement are always exaggerating and pessimist. some people might get annoyed by them. but they are the best to seek comfort

Leo Mercury: the kings of the party, people with these placement have a way to talk that always gets everyone’s attention. They are eloquent and they are so dramatic that listening to them is like listening to story times on tiktok. they can be quite narcissistic tho and the conversation often revolves around them

Virgo Mercury: they are smart as hell, and they are so conscious of their environment and of the people they are with. they always take everything into consideration before they open their mouth. quite anxious as well. but virgos tend to be super judgemental over the smallest things.

Libra Mercury: They are so flirty and they don't even notice it. like the way they talk, they laugh, they are just so seductive? Maybe their brain doesn't have much in it, but they sure know how to keep someone interested. can’t make decisions so dont ask them stuff also don't trust them with big secrets since they are quite self serving

Scorpio Mercury: people melt when they open their mouth, their low voice is so sensual and people get attracted to them so easily. yet some people can be intimidated by them because their communication is so eye rolling or deep smiling like. Some people are scared. They keep secrets the best tho and they make you feel like you can trust them. they will ruin your reputation tho

Sagittarius Mercury: they never shut up and they can be so annoying because why do they need to always find arguments on everything and anything? They also want to be right 28904% of the time. but they are also the most friendly people ever and they can make everyone feel comfortable around them.

Capricorn Mercury: They aren’t talkative, people usually see them as being timid and shy or quiet reserved. but the truth is when you learn about them, they are so smart and they are able to teach you things. they have that timber that makes them look like they are snobby but they are nice in the deep.

Aquarius Mercury: I honestly can’t understand them, because they are the most random people. like they are so damn smart but sometimes they seem so damn stupid? they are unpredictable, the type that goes from talking to screaming in less than one second. the one that explains to you the theory of gravity and then asks if the chickens lay eggs. They can’t keep secrets.

Pisces Mercury: this placement is so funny because they lie so easily and the worst is that they believe their own lies, their own creations so everyone will believe it as well. you never know with them, you can never tell when they are serious or when they aren't. despite that escapism they have, they are also super empathetic and the best to have deep non judgemental conversions with.

Mercury in the 1st House: They can have the bad habit of always talking about themselves or like i often noticed that they bring themes and conversations back to themselves and their self interests. However they don't do it on purpose, they are just built like that. Also no one talks about the fact that they are incredibly smart.

Mercury in the 2nd House: The way their brains work is super effective. They are the type of people to always put their values first and they have such strong morals as well. This placement also favors the interactions when they need something. They know how to use their talking skills to get what they want. They have a fancy way of talking as well, very eloquent.

Mercury in the 3rd House: probably the best placement to have your mercury on since it's on its ruler house. Also people with this are another type of smart, they can outrange people and often that puts so much pressure on them that they start to doubt themselves.

Mercury in the 4th House: They have quite some trauma. This placement is neither good or bad, people with this mercury are often not listened to, often not taken seriously and often forgotten when they are in a group. That is because they are more of the observant type of people than the one that makes decisions. some people might think they are dumb

Mercury in the 5th House: the placement of the clowns because they are effortlessly funny, they are so damn creative, their voice is like honey dripping into one’s ears and everyone is obsessed with having them as friends for some reason. They are super fun, and they have got some rizz on them as well. They can flirt and they will do it so well.

Mercury in the 6th House: Some people can find them annoying because they are very upright, in my opinion they also lack funny. like they aren't especially hilarious, but they are such the right person when you need someone to lean on and to talk to. because they understand and they provide critical constructivism. They are super smart as well, like really smart.

Mercury in the 7th House: They can be a little annoying because they are the type to always talk about their crushes, about their family and their love life in general. They are people who seek comfort and attention in others due to their lower self esteem. Yet they give so much good advice and they have such a talent and emotional intelligence when it comes to children and the underdog.

Mercury in the 8th House: They have a perception of the world that is just so different from ours. They are able to go deep. like they have a brian of someone who smoked weed all their life and traveled through miles away. They are so flirty without even noticing, like the way they talk can make anyone get on their knees for them. They have the art of manipulation and gaslighting

Mercury in the 9th House: Many people with this placement can easily learn languages and they can easily speak several tongues and even understand some without speaking those. They are smart, they are always searching for more as their brain is always active and always seeking for more to be fed on. They have such a philosophy, the type of people you can talk with about everything and never get bored.

Mercury in the 10th House: They are super careful with the way they speak (they are quite fancy and eloquent, their vocabulary is very high in my opinion). they are the type of person that values their reputation and because of that they aren't comfortable with words or with talking with people outside their work or outside their goals. they probably feel very lonely as well.

Mercury in the 11th House: They are unbearable because THEY NEVER SHUT UP! They are super sociable, they are always talking and they are always pulling things out of their butt. Also they have quite a dark humor to them, but they aren't ashamed of it. People with this placement are also super skilled in figuring out lies and people just by looking at them

Mercury in the 12th House: They are very reserved, they don't speak much, they are the type to be very shy and quiet. I also noticed that this placement are people who are just so deep and emotional, like they often can say things that will shake your core. They believe in the spiritual world and they always try to prove it through A and B. Also they are quite some fantastic liars.

#astrology #astrology readings #astrology facts #astro observations #astrology transits #astrology observations #astrology community #mercury

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witchywithwhiskey · 7 months ago

Note

🌝 booping trucker!ari while cockwarming

Chi, you wonderful menace, you have no idea what you've done to me!! this was going to be a short little scene and then it turned into THIS i'm sorry

bored on the road

pairing: dark trucker!ari levinson x female reader

summary: you're bored on the road and it gets you into trouble.

warnings: 18+ content (minors do not interact!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, cock warming, object insertion, sadism/masochism, slight bratting/brat taming, choking, breathplay, painplay, face slapping, come play/come eating, exhibitionism, dirty talk, daddy kink, heavy degradation, some praise, brief objectification, pet names (sweetheart, baby, kiddo), possessive sex, tiny bit of aftercare, possessive behavior, controlling behavior, a mean hot man

word count: 4.7k

a/n: i know we're like almost a week past the tumblr boop fest but work was rough this week so apologies that this is a little late!!! also uh, this got way filthier than i was expecting so please enjoy i guess?? 😅

trucker king masterlist

Your head lay on Ari’s shoulder, the warm afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window of his truck and landing on your face, making you sleepy. But, though you were comfortable with your legs straddling Ari’s lap and your chest pressed so close to his that you could feel his heart beating against your sternum, sleep didn’t come.

You sat on your trucker’s lap, your bodies joined in the most intimate way while he navigated his rig through the frustratingly dull traffic on a dusty highway somewhere in the midwest. Both of you were quiet—Ari because he shut down all your attempts at conversation and you because you’d grown tired of trying to get him to talk.

Though he wouldn’t talk, Ari wanted you on his lap, your tight, soft hole keeping him warm while he drove. You’d acquiesced as always, happy to follow his command, to be useful and connected to your trucker.

Still, you were bored.

You’d turned your head to look out the window, but with traffic creeping along so slowly and nothing but the endless, barren desert stretching out beyond the road, there wasn’t much to look at. You could feel a restlessness thrumming beneath your skin, urging you to move, to do something, even as you tried to push it down.

Ari had made it clear he didn’t want to talk, and you knew well enough he wanted you to be a quiet, well-behaved little cockwarmer. You wanted to be that for him, you wanted to be content with cockwarming him like you so often were, but that restlessness clawed through your body until you finally succumbed to its siren’s song.

Sitting up straight, you wiggled your hips, watching your trucker’s face for a reaction as his cock shifted deep in your cunt. Though you knew it felt good for him, Ari merely grunted at the sensation, flicking a warning glare at you. Pouting, you squeezed him with your inner walls, clenching down hard enough to wring a huffed sound of exasperation out of him.

“Sit still,” he scolded in a low, rumbling growl, his words barely discernible in his gruff grumble. One of his hands shifted from the steering wheel to your lower back, pressing you down on his cock so the tip of him ground against a spot inside you that made your lashes flutter with pleasure.

Instead of settling you, his words and his hand on your back only made the frustrating restlessness worse. So you stared at your trucker in quiet contemplation for a moment.

Ari’s handsome face was hardened into a severe expression as he stared out at the unrelenting traffic clogging the interstate. His blue eyes were dulled with boredom and frustration of his own, the edges of his mouth pulled down in a frown framed perfectly but his dark beard. His brown hair hung down on either side of his face, calling attention to his handsomeness—and his unhappiness.

An idea came to you suddenly. A terrible idea. A wonderfully terrible idea.

Before you could think better of it, you booped Ari on the nose.

“Boop,” you chirped, pulling your finger away quickly. You knew the probability of retaliation from your trucker was high, though you weren’t certain what form it would take.

However, instead of growling or yelling at you to get back to being a quiet little cockwarmer, Ari simply cut his eyes to yours briefly. He raised an eyebrow, managing to look condescending even as he asked a silent question. He didn’t wait for a response, though, before he looked away from you and back out at the dusty road.

You huffed a little annoyed sigh at being essentially ignored by your trucker, your lips pursing in an even deeper pout. Though it was clear Ari didn’t like being booped, you refused to be deterred.

Tapping Ari’s nose again with your finger, you trilled, “Boop!” even louder than before.

Still, your trucker gave you nothing in the way of a compelling response. You should’ve seen the trap for what it was, but then, you were the one who got into Ari’s rig in the first place.

Determined to get a reaction out of your trucker, you pressed your finger to the tip of Ari’s nose like you were holding down a button and droned, “Booooop!”

Quicker than you would’ve thought possible, Ari tipped his head back and caught your finger between his teeth. He nipped at your skin hard enough to scold, but not break skin. It was so sudden, it shocked you.

“Ah!” you squealed at the sting of his teeth, the surprised sound dissolving into a giggle. You tried to pull your finger free, but Ari bit down a little harder.

His eyes cut to yours, a mirthful reprimand in his sparkling blue eyes. They practically shone in the warm afternoon light filtering into the truck cab.

“Daddy,” you whined, squirming your hips, the slight pain of his teeth digging into your skin going straight to your core. A soft moan slipped from your lips when you felt your trucker’s hard length twitch within your cunt, making you grind down on him as subtly as you could, trying to eke out the delicious friction of his cock rubbing inside of you. “I’m sorry for booping you,” you mumbled, pouting at your trucker. “I’m just bored.”

With one last nip to the pad of your finger, Ari let you go. However, he clearly wasn’t done with you because a moment later, his hand circled the front of your throat and he held you still, pinning you with his ruthless gaze.

A shiver of anticipation raced down your spine and you tried desperately not to show how much you enjoyed finally having your trucker’s attention.

“Aw baby, why didn’t you tell me you were bored,” Ari cooed in a mockingly sweet tone. It was the one he used just before he got really mean. Your heart beat faster with excitement.

His fingertips digging into your neck were a second warning, Ari’s hand squeezing your throat so tight, an involuntary whimper slipped past your lips. Instead of fear, though, there was only heady arousal dripping through your body, pooling in your core and leaking out around Ari’s stiff cock.

“Since warming daddy’s cock is so boring,” Ari began, his voice lowering into a deep, seething growl as he squeezed your throat even tighter, choking off your air supply. “Let’s see how you like it when daddy makes you ride something else, huh, fucktoy?”

You barely had time to grin at the malicious glimmer in Ari’s eye before he was forcing you off his lap and down onto the floor between the driver’s and passenger seats. The sting of pain in your knees as they collided with the hard floor scarcely registered when you were too curious about what your trucker had planned for you.

Ari shifted his grip to your chin and pushed your face against the gearshift sitting in front of you, the thick, leather-wrapped knob at eye-level from where you knelt.

The realization of what Ari expected you to do struck you like a freight train, stealing the breath from your lungs as your eyes widened. Even as your mind went blank with surprise, something dark and filthy deep inside your body twitched with interest, coming alive at the thought of sinking your pussy down on the gearshift of Ari’s truck.

“Lick daddy’s gearshift, sweetheart,” Ari ordered, mocking condescension dripping from his tone. Then your heart nearly stopped when he confirmed he wanted you to do exactly what you’d suspected. “You’re gonna wanna make it nice and slick if you don’t want it to hurt when you fuck yourself on it.”

Your eyes went heavy-lidded as you let Ari’s words wash over you, your pussy throbbing with desire and your lips dropping open in a silent moan. However, your trucker wasn’t an especially patient man, so he pushed your mouth against the gearshift, urging you to follow his command.

You knew well enough to follow any order Ari gave you, so you wrapped your hands around the shaft of the gearshift and pulled yourself closer. Pressing your lips to the leather and plastic of the shifter, you kissed all over it, making sure to leave plenty of drool behind.

“That’s it, cock slut,” Ari rumbled, his tone pleased. You could see out of the corner of your eye that he was flicking his gaze between you and the road, depraved delight sparkling in his eyes. “Show daddy’s gear stick some love.” His big hand settled heavily on the crown of your head, pushing your lips harder against the leather handle.

You redoubled your efforts, licking and kissing the gearshift until your lips and chin were covered in your own saliva. It was sloppy and messy, but you could tell from Ari’s warm chuckle that he enjoyed the sight of you making out with his truck’s shifter.

“You’re drooling all over that knob like you wish it was your new boyfriend, cock whore,” Ari teased, a wickedness in his tone that made your pussy throb and clench desperately around nothing. A soft whine caught in the back of your throat, but Ari heard the pathetic sound, laughing harder at you. “Is that it, gross girl?” he asked mockingly. “Ya wanna make daddy’s gearshift your new boyfriend?”

Using his grip on your head, he made you nod, rubbing your mouth lewdly against the slick leather knob. You whimpered, clutching the long shaft of the lever so you weren’t tempted to shove you hand between your thighs and impale yourself on your fingers. You were dripping down your thighs and you wanted something to shove deep in your aching, throbbing pussy.

“Well get him nice and wet, baby,” Ari said, the laughter in his tone stealing some of the edge from his command. “Cause he’s going in that tight cunt of yours—we’re gonna see how much we can stretch and ruin that needy little hole of yours.”

Ari’s hand left the back of your head, giving you room to lick and kiss and drool over the gearshift to your heart’s content. Distantly, you felt the drift of the truck as it slowly merged into another lane, but you were too preoccupied with your task to care much about the traffic Ari was navigating.

When your trucker was satisfied with your work, he grabbed the back of your neck and yanked you away from the gearshift. A protesting whine fell from your lips, which made Ari laugh loudly, the sound cold and mean as it filled the truck and made you hotter with desire.

“Time to fuck your new boyfriend, sweetheart,” Ari mocked, looking pointedly at the slick gearshift then back at you. “Let’s see if you’re still bored when you’re stretching your tight cunt on daddy’s gear stick.” His eyes danced with wicked mirth as he stared down at you from the driver’s seat, squeezing your neck when you didn’t immediately move to follow his command.

On trembling legs, you stood, bending at the waist to fit within the confines of the truck cab and turned around. If your bare ass was on display for any cars or trucks around Ari’s rig, neither of you cared. Thankfully, the oversized t-shirt your wore covered most of you.

As quickly as you could manage, you positioned yourself above the flat top of the gearshift and reached between your thighs to hold the shaft steady. You lowered yourself down onto the knob, the slick leather pushing against your dripping pussy.

However, though you were soaking wet with arousal and the gearshift was covered in your drool, the broad leather handle met resistence from your cunt, which refused to give and allow the thick object inside your small hole. No matter how you shifted or pushed down on the gearshift, it wouldn’t sink into your sopping pussy. A whine worked its way up your throat, leaking from your lips and filling the truck cab with your frustration.

“It’s too big, daddy,” you whimpered as you struggled, your thighs beginning to shake from the awkward way you hovered above the gearshift.

“Aw, baby,” Ari cooed before his voice turned cold and mean, “Do you think I fucking care?” He wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing the sides until your eyes flicked to his. His blue gaze danced in the afternoon sunlight with depraved intent. “I was perfectly content with you sitting in my lap, your cunt keeping my cock warm,” he growled, sounding furious as his gaze flicked between you and the road. “But you were bored—so you’re gonna fuck daddy’s gear stick or I’m gonna find something bigger to shove in that needy cunt of yours.”

Ari’s ruthless words had your pussy throbbing in response, more arousal dripping from your slit and onto the knob between your thighs. It was all you could do to whimper with desperation and rock against the leather shifter, your cunt aching to be filled.

The gearshift rubbed between your folds, teasing your little hole with its broadness. With renewed determination, you pushed down on the lever, pressing against it until your pussy’s resistence gave way and you finally—finally—felt the thick knob slip past the tight rim of your cunt’s entrance.

A loud, pornographic groan fell from your lips as your jaw dropped and your eyes rolled back in your head at the feeling of Ari’s gearshift sinking into your pussy. There was the burning sting of the thick, unyielding lever inside your stretched cunt, but the sensation softened into waves of pleasure that threatened to carry you away to a sea of ecstasy.

You craved more of that deliciously aching pleasure, so you pushed down on the gearshift, taking the leather knob deep inside your cunt. It felt like your pussy was greedy for more with how easy it was to lower yourself further on the shifter, until the top hit the end of you and you couldn’t take any more.

For a long moment, you hung suspended in the feeling of the fullness in your cunt, the leather knob so deep inside you, you were convinced that if you pressed down on your lower tummy, you’d be able to feel it. Your eyes were closed, mouth hanging open in pleasure-drunk bliss as you reveled in the sensation of having the strange object inside you.

However, your trucker clearly wasn’t happy that you’d forgotten you were putting on a depraved show for him, and he dragged your attention back to him in the meanest way possible.

Ari slapped you across the face, the cracking sound reaching your ears before you registered the sting. When the pain hit you, your pussy clenched tight around the gearshift inside you, and you moaned, blinking dazed eyes until your trucker came into focus. His blue gaze was dancing with amusement and cruel delight.

“Look at me while you ride your new boyfriend, cock whore,” Ari sneered meanly, his hand returning to your throat. He squeezed your neck lightly, a warning not to look away from him again. “Go on and degrade yourself for me, baby,” he rumbled, a grin slowly spreading across his handsome face. “Fuck yourself on my rig’s gear stick—show daddy what a disgusting little slut ya are.”

You stared into Ari’s eyes and moaned, your mouth parting and your gaze going heavy-lidded with pleasure at the depravity of his words. Your reaction only made Ari’s grin deepen, his eyes shimmering in the golden afternoon light filtering into the truck cab.

He kept looking back at the road, one hand on the wheel to steer the truck, the other around your neck. His attention was split because it had to be, but you had the compulsion to put on a show for him that was so distracting, he’d have trouble remembering to look away from you.

With that thought crystalizing in your mind, you lifted yourself up on the gearshift until only the top was lodged in your pussy, the knob stretching your tight hole to its limit, before sliding back down on the shaft. The lever was so stiff and unrelenting inside your body, the object so foreign, that a wicked shiver raced down your spine.

Your body knew it was taking something unnatural, something that was never meant to be shoved inside your slick hole. But you were riding it anyway, your pussy taking Ari’s gearshift like it was a cock and it turned you on more. Eagerly, you fucked Ari’s truck like it was him, bouncing on it happily, the knowledge that you were using something as perverse as a gearshift to get yourself off only making you gush even more with arousal.

“Daddy,” you whimpered on a moan, staring into Ari’s handsome face while you rode his gear stick. Pleasure and pain twisted your expression, your thighs trembling violently from holding you up, even as you kept fucking yourself on the leather knob.

“Ya still bored, cock whore?” Ari taunted, his hand around your throat pulling your upper body closer to him. Your nose brushed against the coarse hair of his beard and you moaned when you inhaled the familiar musky scent of your trucker.

The new position allowed you to brace your hands on Ari’s chest, and you nearly sobbed in relief as it took some of your weight off your shaking legs. The reprieve was so overwhelming, it took you a moment to gather your wits and answer Ari’s question.

“No, daddy, ‘m not bored at all,” you purred, using the new angle of your body to bounce your hips on the gearshift. The wet schlick sounds of your cunt fucking the knob filled the truck cab, and you let loose a low moan, the sound nearly muffled in Ari’s beard.

“Good girl,” he rasped, his hand squeezing your throat and moving you so he could see the pleasure dancing across your features. His gaze trailed down your body to where your ass was bouncing on his gear stick, his throat bobbing in front of your eyes as he swallowed thickly. “Good fucking girl.”

The look in his eye was nearly entranced and you couldn’t help but smirk a little to yourself. It had been a few seconds since he’d glanced at the road, and though you knew you were playing a dangerous game, you didn’t really think you’d cause Ari to crash his truck.

Probably.

“Fuck, daddy,” you whimpered, pouting your lips at your trucker and dragging his attention away from your ass. His darkening eyes fell to your lips, exactly like you wanted. “It’s so big inside me, my little pussy’s so full, daddy.” You batted your lashes at Ari, pleased to see his pupils dilate even more, until only a thin ring of blue remained.

“Christ, baby, you’re making me jealous of my fucking rig,” Ari groaned like he was in pain. His fingers dug into the sides of your neck while the hand that had been on the steering wheel moved to his cock. Your trucker used his knee to steer while he stroked himself in his fist. “Ya like your new boyfriend better than me?” Ari asked, something dangerous in his tone.

You almost giggled at the idea that you could like his truck’s gearshift better than his cock, but you bit the sound back knowing he was asking a serious question. Holding Ari’s gaze, you shook your head solemnly.

“No,” you said honestly. “Nothing’s better than your fat cock, daddy.” You trailed your fingers down Ari’s chest before wrapping them around the tip of his cock, both of you using your hands to stroke his hard length. “You fill me up so good, daddy, I love feeling you pump me full of your come.” You pressed a sweet kiss to his bearded cheek, the gesture so at odds with the filthiness of what you were both doing that it made it hotter.

“Fuck,” Ari ground out through clenched teeth. Then, something in him seemed to snap right before your eyes.

Suddenly, Ari’s hand was gone from around his cock. He gripped the wheel and swerved the truck to the side to pull onto the shoulder of the highway. The truck went half off the road, the bumpiness making you ride Ari’s gearshift harder, wringing a depraved moan from you that made his eyes flare with more wildness.

A thick cloud of dust swirled around the cab, but neither of you gave any thought to the fact that it would shield what you were about to do from everyone else on the road.

“In the back, baby,” your trucker growled, throwing on his hazards and reaching for his gearshift to put the rig in park.

For a second, Ari seemed stumped about what to do. Since the shifter was still buried in your pussy, he couldn’t grab it like he normally would. Instead, he opted to grab your hips in both hands and use your body to shift the truck into park.

A delicious shiver at the perverse obscenity of the action raced down your spine and you moaned loudly. There was something about Ari using your body as an extension of his truck that was so fucking hot, your mind went completely blank for a moment.

Then his hands released you and the need to be fucked rushed back into your body. Without thinking, you were tumbling forward, pulling yourself off the shifter with a whimper and crawling eagerly onto the cot in the back of the rig.

“Hope your new boyfriend loosened you up, fucktoy,” Ari growled as he followed you into the back, pushing you down onto your hands and knees at the edge of the bed. “Because I’m gonna use your cunt like it’s my own personal fleshlight.” He slapped your ass hard enough to make you jump and yelp before you relaxed back into position.

You were perched on the edge of the cot, your knees spread and back curved in an arch, head resting on your arms so your ass was up and on display for your trucker. Without any more warning, Ari slid his stiff, leaking cock into your slick, warm cunt.

Your trucker groaned loudly, the pleasured rumble warming your heart with pride as he buried his thick cock in your snug little pussy. A soft smile tugged at the edges of your mouth as Ari curled around you, covering your back with his chest, his hands reaching around to grope your tits through your cotton t-shirt.

“Christ, ya feel so fucking good, baby,” Ari growled, rolling his hips in tight circles, fucking you hard and fast.

The sound of your bodies clapping against each other drifted to your ears, adding to the pleasure gathering in a tight coil in your core. Your trucker’s face was pressed into the back of your neck, his breath hot and harsh against your skin, raising goosebumps all over your body.

“You’re still so fucking tight, cock slut,” Ari rasped, nipping at the underside of your jaw and making you clench down on his cock from even that brief bite of pain. “You were made to take my cock, weren’t ya, sweetheart—my cock and anything else I want, huh, kiddo?”

Ari’s husky chuckle and his degrading words ghosted over your cheek and you could do nothing else besides moan your response. You’d fuck anything he told you to fuck, riding his gearshift whenever he wanted, as long as he fucked you exactly like he was afterward. Ari’s cock filled you perfectly, like your body truly was made for him, the tip of him grinding against your cervix and making you see stars.

It seemed Ari didn’t need you to answer his question, because he went on speaking filth in your ear, one of his hands wrapping around your throat and choking you while the other groped your tits and plucked at your nipples.

“Ya gonna come on daddy’s dick, sweetheart?” he taunted, his tone mean and cruel and so cold it made your desire flare hotter. “Gonna cream all over your filthy trucker’s fat cock even after I made you fuck my gear stick, baby?”

Your lips moved, forming words before you could force them off your tongue. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, daddy,” you whispered, riding the edge of your release. Ari’s cock pummeled your cunt, pounding so deep you could feel him in your throat, and it was almost enough. “Please, daddy,” you cried, needing just a bit more stimulation to push you over.

Ari grunted in your ear, “Alright, kiddo,” before reaching between your thighs and finding your clit, slippery with your wetness. His thick fingers rubbed the aching nub and it was exactly what you needed.

With a piercing cry, you tumbled headfirst into an ocean of pleasure, your body going tight and taut as the coil in your core snapped, warm bliss flooding through you. Your cunt gripped Ari’s cock, choking his thick dick in a vise that made him groan viciously.

Your trucker rutted into you furiously, finding his release moments later. He buried his cock deep inside you and came, grunting his pleasure as he emptied his balls in your cunt. You moaned softly at the feeling of his hard length twitching inside you. His low groan as your cunt wrung every drop of seed from his dick filled you with satisfaction.

For a long moment, you and Ari savored the pleasure of your bodies together, but it couldn’t last. Your trucker didn’t linger—he couldn’t, not with his truck idling on the side of the highway.

Once he’d caught his breath, Ari pressed a rough kiss to your cheek before pulling out of you and shuffling up to the front. He collapsed into the driver’s seat while you fell onto your side, your eyes watching as he grabbed the gearshift and put the truck back in drive to pull back onto the highway.

Your eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, but you kept them open long enough to catch Ari licking your juices from his palm. An unmistakeable groan rumbled deep in your trucker’s chest when he tasted you and your pussy gave a week throb in response. Too tired to move, you smiled and sank into the waiting arms of the sleep that called to you.

However, Ari’s snapping fingers dragged you back into the world of the waking.

“Get up here and clean up your mess, kiddo,” Ari ordered, his voice gruff and stern.

There was a warmth to his tone that you recognized as the satisfaction you’d given him by making him come, and you couldn’t help smiling at your own pleased pride. But his words were a command all the same, and you knew what you had to do.

Gathering your strength, you hauled yourself up from the cot and shifted onto your knees between the two seats. You leaned into the gearshift and began licking your slick from the leather, turning your head enough to catch Ari’s eye. He wore a satisfied smirk, reaching down to pet your head as you did what he’d told you.

Humming happily, you smiled and cleaned up the gearshift like the good girl you wanted to be for your trucker. By the time you were done, the sun was low in the sky. The golden light in the truck had darkened into a fiery glow, and you felt the tug of sleep more insistently.

Ari chuckled when he noticed you were half-asleep and still licking his gearshift. He helped you into his lap, guiding you down onto his cock to keep him warm while he continued driving.

You fell asleep against your trucker’s chest, happy and satisfied, the restlessness that had plagued you earlier in the afternoon having been finally subdued by Ari.

Still, you’d discovered what Ari would do if you booped his nose, and you tucked that knowledge away, saving it for a rainy day when you were inevitably bored again. He was a truck driver after all, there were bound to be more boring days on the road. But you knew your trucker would make sure you were entertained—by making you entertain him.

trucker king masterlist

#ari levinson #ari levinson smut #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #trucker ari levinson #trucker au #ari levinson imagine #ari levinson fanfic #ari levinson fic #ari levinson au #dark ari levinson #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans smut #chris evans #chris evans characters #witchywithwhiskeywork

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gigabyte-flare · 1 year ago

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Insatiable (Part 3) [FINALE]

Part 1 Part 2

Summary: The hunt is on. How far can you run?

Word Count: 2.7k

Pairing: yandere plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Extreme violence and gore, biting, dubcon, forced breeding, gross las plagas-y things, death, mentions of un-aliving. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

A/N: I present the thrilling conclusion to this greatly anticipated part! I want to thank everyone for their support: for reading, liking and reblogging! I never expected this series to blow up at all. While, yes, this is the conclusion, I absolutely plan on revisiting yandere plagas!Leon, he was so much fun to write. I hope this part meets everyone's expectations! I also want to take a moment to showcase another one of @chanif-art's Yandere Plagas!Leon pieces, I love the way they portray him!

"Baby, I'm preying on you tonight, hunt you down, eat you alive. Just like animals, animals, like animals, —mals. Maybe you think that you can hide, I can smell your scent from miles. Just like animals, animals, like animals, —mals."

You run as fast as your legs allow you into the parking garage, opting for the stairs instead of the elevator. You take two steps at a time to get yourself up to where you parked your car faster. You don’t dare look back, you know Leon is hot on your trail. You can hear gunfire, screaming and the sounds of death from whence you came.

Getting onto the third floor of the parking garage, you spot your car on the far side and you sprint, practically throwing yourself at your car once you get there. You rip open the driver’s side door and climb inside, immediately locking the doors when you get in. Fishing your keys out of your pocket, you accidentally drop them onto the floor.

“Fuck!”

You bend down at an awkward angle to pick them up, hooking your finger around the keyring and sitting back up where you are met with Leon staring at you, his clawed hands pressed against the glass of your driver’s side window. You suck in a breath, your eyes locked onto his blood red eyes.

“Found you!” he says, a sadistic grin forming on his face.

You see his sharpened canine teeth once he fully grins; he opens his mouth and you watch as a set of mandibles come out from inside his mouth, a low guttural growling sound coming out of him. This is nothing like the nightmare you had.

This is a thousand times worse.

You let out a blood curdling scream before you turn your attention back to starting your car, shoving your key into the ignition and turning the car over. The car roars to life, you immediately throw it in drive and slam your foot on the gas, launching forward as you turn the wheel to the left, drifting around the bend to go down the ramp to get out of the parking garage.

You get to the bottom, busting through the barrier to get onto the street. You swerve through traffic, trying to get onto the interstate as quickly as possible. However, the gridlock traffic on the on ramp makes that impossible, so you continue to swerve through traffic in the heart of the city. You look in your rear view mirror, your stomach sinking at the sight of Leon keeping up with you, jumping on and over cars as he chases after you.

You make a split second decision to turn left down an alleyway and you gun it, the tires squealing on the pavement. However, you slam on the breaks when you see that Leon stands in your way. Your hands white knuckling on the steering wheel as the two of you stare at each other. You furrow your brows and scream in rage as you slam your foot onto the gas pedal, hoping you can take him out with your car.

Oh, sweetheart, that is a big mistake.

He grins, holding his hands out in front of him to catch your car. His clawed hands leave indents in the front of your car as he plants his feet into the ground as your wheels spin and spin and spin until one of them finally bursts into pieces. Your vehicle now severely crippled, he walks over to the driver’s side, ripping the door clean off the car. He watches as you try to cower to the passenger’s side.

It’s futile. He reaches in, grabbing you and pulling you out of the car. He wraps his arms around you as if you were a long lost lover, one of his hands gripping the back of your head as he embeds his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply like you were a drug. You smell absolutely divine.

“Leon Kennedy!” he hears a man shout from one of the ends of the alleyway.

Leon turns his head, seeing a large group of men with guns pointed at him. Leon turns his head the other way, seeing they’ve completely blocked him in the alley.

“Let the girl go, Leon!”

Leon looks back over at the man, his tail whipping back and forth as a low growl emanates from his throat.

“No,” Leon says, narrowing his eyes, “she’s mine.”

“Don’t do this Leon! Let her go and we can end this peacefully!”

He feels you trembling in his embrace, too stunned to fight back or even scream. Grinning at the man threatening him, he bares his fangs, a low growl coming from the back of his throat. Then he looks down at you, your terrified gaze looking back up at him. Grabbing your face, he forces your mouth open. You start screaming when his mandibles come out of his mouth again. His mouth latches onto yours, his mandibles clawed into the sides of your face, preventing you from pulling away. His eyes roll into the back of his head as his body convulses before a Plagas egg slips inside of your mouth, causing you to gag. Releasing his mouth from yours, his mandibles retracting back into his mouth, he leans back as you cough profusely.

“Swallow. It.” he growls at you.

You have no choice but to swallow, otherwise you would have likely choked. The stress from this whole ordeal must have been too much because you faint in Leon’s arms afterwards. Leon throws you over his shoulder and jumps straight up into the air. A flurry of bullets shoot around him as he lands on the roof of the building, running across it at a terrifying speed. He leaps from rooftop to rooftop with the grace and agility of a jaguar; his pursuers found it impossible to keep up with him.

There’s an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city, a perfect place for Leon to settle down and enjoy his mate. Landing nimbly onto the ground in front of the factory, he struts inside with his prize still unconscious over his shoulder.

Your eyes snap open and you sit up; your whole body trembling as you start violently coughing into your hands. You look down, your eyes widening when you see that your hands are covered in your blood; you feel it trickle down your bottom lip and chin. Suddenly, it came back to you, Leon had infected you. You start hyperventilating, your eyes wide, darting around to your surroundings. You deduce that you’re in some kind of large abandoned building, the rays of the sun at dusk fracturing through the decaying structure.

You turn around, sucking in a breath when you see Leon sitting nonchalantly about an arm’s length away from you with a smirk on his lips and a look on his eyes that could only be described as lustful.

“How are you feeling, love?” Leon asks before he emits a low, almost purr like sound from his throat.

“Where the fuck did you bring me?”

He furrows his eyebrows at you, “somewhere safe until I can find us a place for you to safely give birth to our offspring.”

“Excuse me?!” You say with a gasp, pushing yourself away from him.

“Calm down,” he growls, “I haven’t done anything to you, yet. It’s not fun to copulate when my mate is unconscious.”

“I am not your mate!”

He begins to chuckle, shaking his head before locking his red eyes onto yours, “I wouldn’t be so sure, I should bet money on how long it’ll take for me to make you scream my name.”

“Oh hell no!” you say as you scramble to your feet and start to run.

You don’t get very far, however, as you feel something coil around your leg and pull you back onto the ground. Within moments, Leon pounces on top of you, pressing himself into your back, pinning you to the ground. You realize it was his tail that had coiled around your leg. His clawed hands pin your arms to the ground.

“Don’t you dare run,” he purrs, bringing his lips up to your ear, “I don’t like to chase.”

You feel his hardening member pressing up against your bottom as he grinds his hips into you. He buries his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply before trailing kisses from your head to your shoulder before sinking his sharp teeth into your skin. You scream, your body tensing up against the excruciating pain in your shoulder.

He unlatches himself from your shoulder, letting out a lust filled growl before climbing off you. You try to crawl away, but he grabs you by the hips, flipping you over onto your back. He sits up on his haunches, breathing heavily as he looks down at you, his eyes filled with desire. You watch his tail move back and forth and his back claws flex, ready to strike at you if you try to run again.

You watch as he grabs his shirt with both hands, ripping it apart to expose his chest. Even his chest is covered in those dark veins; you suspect his whole body is. Still staring down at you, he undoes his belt before he stands up to discard his pants and underwear. You can’t help but stare up at him in awe, feeling your skin crawl as you stare.

“Feel that?” he says, climbing back on top of you, slipping his hands under your shirt to pull it off over your head, “do you feel the pull between us? We were made for each other, love.”

There’s a sudden ear piercing ringing in your ears, causing you to wince and whimper as you grasp the sides of your head.

Give in to me.

Your eyes widen when you hear Leon speak inside your mind. This has to be a side effect of the Plagas, you had read reports of its mind controlling abilities; you never thought in a million years you’d experience it first hand.

I will make you love me.

The ringing finally stops; you hesitantly lower your hands away from your face, his face hovering just above yours. He presses his lips against yours, kissing you aggressively as his hands work to remove your pants. Once he gets your pants off, he sits back up on his haunches before spreading your legs apart. He licks his lips upon seeing the dark wet spot on your underwear.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he says, a purring sound emanating from him before he continues, “so nice and wet for me.”

He leans forward, grabbing the hem of your underwear with his teeth and dragging them slowly off your body. Once your underwear is off, he practically launches himself between your legs, his face buried in your folds as he inhales deeply before running his tongue over your slit. He props your legs over his shoulders as he starts to fuck you with his tongue, which almost seems longer than a normal tongue would be as his nose rubs into your clit.

You let out a moan as you throw your head back, your fingers digging into the ground as your legs squeeze against his shoulders. You cry out when you start to hear the painful ringing again.

That's it, cum for me. Cum on my tongue.

Leon growls, the vibration shooting through your entire body. You are driven so close to the edge, causing tears to flow from your eyes.

“Oh… oh god… oh fuck… L-Leon!” you scream, “I’m… I’m gonna cum…!”

You feel Leon smile into your folds, his tongue still buried in your cunt.

What a good girl you are! Didn’t I tell you I’d have you screaming my name?

He lets out another growl, this time it’s enough to make you fall apart on his tongue. He moans, lapping up your juices as they flow out of you. He pulls his tongue out of your leaking hole, his mouth soaked in your orgasm. He licks his lips clean before he climbs back on top of you, his throbbing cock pressing against your slit.

“It’s time to breed this beautiful pussy.” he says with a sinister smile.

Leon looks directly into your eyes as he pushes himself into your body, watching as you squirm beneath him as he fills you. When his hips and yours meet, he stays still for a moment admiring the sight of your two bodies together as one. He cages your body with his arms and back claws, thrusting in you at a steady but powerful pace. His eyes trail down your body, taking in the sight of your breasts bouncing in your bra with each thrust. He reaches with one hand, grasping your bra and ripping it clean off. He sits up and grasps your thighs, pushing you back into a mating press and quickening his thrusts inside you, eliciting loud, desperate moans out of you.

“That’s it,” he says, his voice breathy as he fucks you ruthlessly, “such a good girl for me.”

“Oh god… shi-- L-Leon!” you moan, running your fingers through your own hair as you throw your head back, already on the edge of another orgasm.

His pupils dilate as he stares at you and to his pleasure, watches as black veins start appearing on your body; you are transforming quickly. He attributed that to being in your presence, since he is your mate. He can feel himself getting close; he leans down, latching his mouth onto one of your breasts, making a purring sound as he sucks on you hard. He reaches down to your clit, rubbing it with the pad of his thumb as his other hand grabs your other breast, squeezing hard.

The sounds of your screams, whimpers and moans is music to Leon’s ears as he marks your breasts with bruises and bite marks. He feels you tug on his hair gently and he looks up at you, only to find you staring at him, your eyes gazed over in lust, your pupils now touched with red like his own. Seeing you like this sends him over the edge.

“You’re so beautiful,” Leon growls, moving back up to you to kiss you deeply.

He feels your pussy clench around his cock, sending him over the edge as he pushes impossibly deep into you, shooting his load into you as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into an embrace as you moan his name over and over.

At that moment, a set of doors bursts open on the other side of the room, and Leon watches as a flood of men with guns rushes in, taking aim at him. Leon holds you against him with one arm, the other propping him up as he glares at the men, a low, menacing growl coming out of him. Your arms and legs instinctively wrap around him as he starts to stand up, his member still twitching inside of you.

“Put her down, Leon,” says the man that originally threatened him in the alley; Leon concluded that he is probably the squad leader.

“You’re too late,” Leon says with a grin, “her transformation is nearly complete and I’ve claimed her with my seed.”

He pulls himself out of you and holds you bridal style. He can feel you trembling, but you’re trembling from your orgasm, your breaths slow and heavy as you nuzzle in his embrace.

“You bastard!” the squad leader shouts, firing his gun at Leon.

Leon is too fast, however, he sidesteps the gunfire and rushes at the group of men, his tail thrusting forward, impaling the squad leader before whipping around, decapitating several men in a single swing. The rest of them stand there stunned for a moment before opening fire. Leon, while still holding you in his arms, moves gracefully in the midst of the bullets, impaling a few more of the men easily with his tail. What’s left of the men quickly lose morale, dropping their guns and rushing out of the abandoned factory.

Leon watches the men flee, a look of content on his face as he looks down at you. Leon turns, approaching a forest that lies beyond the abandoned factory. With a single, graceful jump, he lands in the trees, disappearing into the night.

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #yandere!leon kennedy x reader #yandere!leon kennedy #plagas!leon kennedy #plagas!leon kennedy x reader #gigabyte writes #insatiable

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skeltnwrites · 4 months ago

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S'mores - Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie takes you camping

Word Count: 3.6k

TW: bad driving, maybe a bit of angst

A/N: This might have something to do with that box of money from my last fic (kudos to those who guessed correctly), also writing this had me giggling and kicking my feet so good luck if you thought the last one was fluffy

Silver-clad fingers tap against the steering wheel, more in tune with the van’s blinker than the Ace of Spades cassette blaring through the speakers. Eddie glances over his shoulder before veering into the next lane, throwing up an apology wave to the sedan he just cut off. You peek up from the map, sights darting to your side mirror, then to your boyfriend. He’s inches from scratching the sticker-loaded bumper ahead of you, gassing and breaking repeatedly.

You’re well aware that Eddie’s never been a good driver. Frequently snagging curbs and pushing speed limits, once having picked a note from the windshield about his poor parking job. It’s a miracle that he’s only been in a couple of fender benders over the years. You once nabbed his driver’s license, swatting away his hands so you could see the grainy photo of teenage Eddie. But every now and then when his foot slams against the pedal and you lurch forward in your seat only to be caught by the belt, you wonder whether it was a fake. Today, somehow, he’s in even more of a rush than usual.

The tape ends, leaving you in silence apart from a distant honk and the familiar chug of the air conditioning. “You know the campsite isn’t going anywhere right?”

He hums dismissively, hands gripping ten and two as his gaze darts between the road and his rearview.

You throw a palm over his thigh, squeezing. “Eddie.”

He’s locked in, swerving in failed attempts to get back over. “One second, sweetheart,” he manages when you retract your hand. There’s a risky opening and he takes it, the car behind instantly laying on the horn. Your eye twitches.

He rolls to a stop, with nowhere to go between the bumper-to-bumper traffic as far ahead as you can see and highway patrol parked in the median. “Seems everyone and their mother had the same idea, huh?” He turns to you with a dopey half-smile.

“What’s the rush?”

He shrugs, picking at the rip in his jeans, “Just wanna get set up before dark.”

“We’ve got flashlights.”

“No– well, yeah. It’s not that. I just don’t wanna have to worry about it later.”

You tilt your head, “No biggie if we set up late.”

He nods, knowing you’re right.

When you’d got home from work Eddie didn’t give you a chance to kiss him hello before he urged you into the bedroom to pack for a surprise weekend camping trip. Rented camping gear and a bag of gas station snacks were thrown into the back of the van and within the hour, you were on the road. As he pulled onto the interstate he’d abruptly toggled off the radio as the host discussed details of the pending meteor shower, the part of the trip he intended to keep secret. You pretended not to hear when he asked, despite having read about it in the paper the afternoon before.

The sun sinks out of sight as you reach the exit ramp. A light pitter-patter against the windshield has you preemptively cranking up your window. Your feet cross each other over the dash as you trace the approaching circle on your map with your finger.

“You said Bronson?” Eddie asks.

“Mhmm. Left on Bronson Road.”

“Ya sure? Cause it’s definitely blocked off.”

You whip your head up at the construction signs and equipment lining the street, or lack of street rather.

“Damn it.” You rub the bridge between your nose.

“I could just try to drive through it? I mean those big trucks can–”

“Eddie,” you raise an eyebrow.

“What!” He slaps the dashboard, “This girl's gotten us through a lot of adventures, right? One more won’t kill her.” He’s dead serious; Zero problem with driving past a sign that says ‘Closed’ and ‘Do Not Enter’.

“I’ll find another route, keep driving.”

“Come on,” he groans, sagging into his seat.

“Do you want to pop a tire and be out here all night waiting for help?”

He scoffs like you’ve insulted him, “I know how to change a tire.”

“Do you have a spare?”

His mouth opens in rebuttal and quickly shuts.

“Drive,” you roll your eyes, hiding your smirk behind the map.

You try another road that connects, or so you thought until you pull up to a dead-end sign. It’s pouring now and pitch black out, road signs are hard to see, street lights are sparse, and you’re both cranky from being trapped in a car with each other. It’s your fourth attempt at rerouting when Eddie declares you are officially lost.

He holds his hands up in defense, “Look I don’t wanna say it but–”

You send him a glare before he can finish. “We’re not lost.”

“Look, it’s okay if–”

“But we aren’t. Look, right here,” you flick a pen against the paper. “I’m telling you this is the one.”

He falters at your serious stare, biting a nail, and sighs, “Okay. Fifth times the charm, right?”

“That’s what they say,” you smile.

To both of your surprise, the fifth time is the charm and you’re able to get back on track with your navigation skills. You’re on a long stretch of dirt road, miles since the last light or building or car for that matter. Still, you swear you know where you are and Eddie believes you. He drives shockingly slow, bobbing his leg and squinting at the windshield. The wipers squeal against the glass, working overtime.

You push your palm against his knee. He continues to drum against the floor mat.

He feels your gaze and anticipatorily answers, “Have to piss.”

“You did on the side of the road like half an hour ago, dude.”

“Think it’s the rain. Rainiest fucking day in Indiana history. Thought it would’ve stopped by now.” His voice trails off in this dejected sort of way that you rarely hear from Eddie.

You’re lips form a tight line and you bring your fingers up to his nape to scratch under a thick mop of curls. “It’ll let up bub.”

He nods, eyes trained ahead.

You literally scream when the headlights glare against a campsite sign. Eddie smiles so hard you’d bet his cheeks hurt. An unimpressed teenager mans the check-in booth which you pull up to. She slides the window open to abruptly tell you they closed ten minutes ago, not allowing you to reply before it slams shut. Eddie raps on the glass, pointing to a crisp twenty-dollar bill which she accepts, offering a parking pass and spot number in return.

The van is parked and you jump out, delighted that the rain has let up some. It’s sprinkling and clouds block any hint of stars, but you couldn’t care less. Eddie grabs the tent first, recruiting you to help stomp the stakes into the ground. He fumbles with the flaps, scratching his neck trying to understand where the door is supposed to be when the rain picks up again. You scramble to finish setting up, throwing bags, food, a radio, and whatever else easily accessible into the tent. It isn’t until you’re both inside, soaked to the bone, that you realize how cramped it is.

“This is definitely not a two-person tent,” Eddie chuckles, hunched over like a wilting flower, knees digging into yours. His curls are slick and shiny in the lantern glow.

You flick a mosquito off his arm and grin, “It’s cozy for sure.”

He flops on the twin-sized inflatable mattress you’d previously used as an umbrella. You wriggle up beside him, clothes drenched and clinging to every curve.

“I mean think about it, this size would go for, what, a grand in New York? They’d call it an urban studio apartment with bright ceilings and textured floors,” you say magically.

His laugh bleeds into a dramatic groan as he slings an arm over his face. You leave a wake of kisses from his elbow over to his wrist until he’s peeling it away to hold you. Your cheeks are warm against his palms as he says, “I’m sorry we didn’t get to see the meteor shower.”

You lift an eyebrow, “What meteor shower?”

He covers your face, snorting, “Shut up, you knew. You aren’t a good liar.”

You crack a smile, peeling his fingers away one by one until you can see him again.

“But really,” he says, seriously. “We are soaked and cold and we didn’t even get to make s'mores!”

You drop your head to his chest, “You’re right. I don’t think I’ll survive without s'mores.”

His hand finds your crown, his lips too. “I’m serious!”

“So am I,” you mumble into his tee.

You are content to lay there in each other’s warmth for a while despite the chills worming up your spine but Eddie breaks the stillness, “Come on. Get up. We need to change.”

You lift your head, “Wait!” You poke at his chest, “I need to tell you something.”

He hums, brown eyes heavy as they search yours.

“I love you,” you say earnestly.

“Sap!” He pushes you off, crawling over to his JanSport to fish for dry clothes. He chucks you a pair and you waste no time stripping off the sticky fabric. Before long, the lantern is off and you're wrapped in the single dry blanket, shuffling back into him for more warmth. He pecks your shoulder and mutters, “I love you too,” before you drift off.

You aren’t sure what time it is when you wake but Eddie is breathing hot air onto your neck, curls itching you in a way that makes you pull away. His arm slinks under the covers as you sit up. No light leaks through the tent so it must not be time to get up, you decide. You feel far from sleep, however. It’s cold and somehow sticky. The pant leg pinched up your calf gets tugged down, only to realize the fabric is damp.

Eddie must feel you shuffling because he starts mumbling and groping around your pillow. His hand claws at your sleeve in an attempt to suck you back in. He whines sleepily when you don’t budge.

“Eddie,” you whisper, sliding a hand up the tent’s coarse walls.

“What,” his voice catches, soft against his pillow and hoarse with sleep.

“I think,” you swipe at the floor until your fingertips graze a freezing puddle. “There’s a hole in the tent or something.” You blink rapidly trying to see the damage.

He cranes up with a hum, elbowing you as he scratches his face.

“The floor is wet.”

“Where?”

You wrap your fingers around his in the darkness, guiding them past your body to skim the floor.

“Shit,” he sighs.

You prod around, shoving away non-lantern-shaped or textured items.

“Here,” Eddie clicks his lighter. It sparks a few times before lighting, casting skewed shadows against the walls. He yawns, gesturing at the lantern with closed lids. You click it on, dangling it over the gap beside the mattress—golden light glimmers against the water. Eddie climbs over you to view it, hair swaying as he shifts. Your heavy eyes travel up in tandem to catch the steady drip from the roof. A small, fraying line splits the fabric. He pushes a thumb against the next forming bead. His tongue slips back in his mouth to clear his throat, “I’ve got duct tape in the van but I don’t think it’ll stick to this.” He scratches the canvas, “‘specially not in the rain.”

You nod, observing as his brain churns. His gaze flicks to his wrist watch and then he’s folding over his legs in a cat-like stretch. Hunched over, he says, “It’s too early for this. Let’s just go sleep in the van.” He hums as if to ask, “How does that sound?”

You trace the curve of his spine as he stretches, “‘kay.” Neither of you move. Rain pelts the tarp rhythmically.

“Come on,” he sighs deeply before pushing up to unzip the tent. Stray raindrops blow inside, a couple catching your hand where it bunches clothes together. You sweep whatever is near into his bag, passing Eddie his sneakers. You don’t bother lacing yours.

He throws his denim jacket over your shoulders before you race out, shoes squelching against the mud. Your heel dips into a puddle as you plant your hands against the slick sliding door. Eddie jams the keys in the lock with rehearsed practice, climbing in and pressing buttons until the rest of the locks click. You rapidly pull the metal handle, nearly eating shit as your foot slides.

Eddie jumps back out. “Piece of shit door,” he grumbles and bumps your hip, pushing with you until the door lurches open. When he clears it, you slam it behind him. The backpack and his jacket are discarded onto the floor before you climb over the center console after him. He starts the car, cranking the temperature knobs until warm air blows from the vents.

As soon as your eyes meet, you crumble into giggles. Any bit of sleepiness left has vanished. His hair is flattened with moisture and his cheeks rosy from the cold. You curl your nail under a black strand stuck to his chin.

“Needed a shower anyway,” Eddie shakes his hair out like a dog, spraying you in the face.

You yell and shield yourself with your sleeves.

He licks a stray droplet off his lip then leans over the seats searching. Eddie gets up and squirms between them, kicking the water bottle in the cup holder. You slip your shoes off, pushing them under the seat to avoid tracking any more mud.

Your palms hover flat against the heat for a while. It’s quiet per Eddie standards so you glance behind your seat. In the dim car light, your boyfriend shuffles through his backpack. He’s chewing on his lip as he tips it over to dump the contents out, mostly clothes. His eyes widen when he finds you staring.

“Find me something to wear?” You ask.

He nods after a moment, still watching you like a child with their hand in the cookie jar. You turn back around hesitantly.

You busy yourself with reading the campsite pamphlet you’d been given at the entrance. But the grinding of the slider door has you whipping your head back around. Eddie’s halfway outside, shouting, “One sec’!” The door shuts abruptly leaving you alone in the van. You climb into the back, cupping your hands against the foggy glass. Your boyfriend has his jacket slung across his back as he crouches into the tent. A couple of minutes pass and he’s running back. You pull the door open for him and he thanks you as he hops in.

“What?” You question.

He flashes a tight-lipped smile, “Forgot this.” He holds out his lighter in one hand, placing his jacket on the floor neatly with the other.

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’ve got like three in the glovebox, Eddie.”

“This one’s my favorite.” The lighter is lime green, adorned with a fading smiley face drawn in sharpie, thanks to you. He scratches his neck sheepishly. You don’t know whether to believe him since he’s never shown a preference for lighters before now but he seems genuinely embarrassed that you’ve found out.

“Oh,” you settle with, choosing to let it go, lest you embarrass the poor boy further.

You dissolve into separate chores in the back of the van. He smears the puddle by the door with his already wet t-shirt and you hunt for another pair of his pajama pants for yourself. Dry clothes are dwindling, having soaked two pairs each already. But you manage to find new bottoms and a fresh shirt for Eddie. He’s slipping it over his head, crisscrossed on the floor in only his boxers. You circle the small space, plucking any soggy clothes off the floor to hang dry on a camping chair that had been left in the van. As you scoop up Eddie’s jacket something rolls out onto the floor. You kneel to pick up a small, black box with your free hand. You scratch curiously at the velvet, wavering to hand it off to Eddie. Gears turn in your head as you glance up at your boyfriend who stares at you from the floor a few feet away. Your expression mirrors his, mouth agape, eyebrows raised.

“I—”

“Is this?“ You say simultaneously.

Your limbs are locked in place, mouth dry as you try to string together a coherent question. Suddenly the heat pouring from the vents is too hot. You might as well catch fire with how your cheeks burn.

He deflates in front of you, shoulders sagging and chin drooping in one motion.

You shove the box into his hands as if that will fix it.

He furrows his brows and looks away, “Shit.”

You are about to offer to pretend you haven’t seen it when he continues.

“This whole trip has really gone to shit, huh?” He shakes his head, throwing a hand out defeatedly, “I mean– I had this whole perfect plan and I was trying so hard not to fuck it up. The shower and the fucking rain. Hell, Steve, even Wayne warned me to do it right and I– I just.” He scoffs, head tipping back against the door. “I almost lost it.”

It’s then that it dawns on you that Eddie Munson, your boyfriend, intended to propose to you on this trip. That he plans to marry and spend the rest of his life with you.

“–want you to think that I don’t care enough—“

“Eddie,” you whisper.

“–and I wanted you to know how seri—“

“Eddie!” Your on the dirty floor of his van, knees digging into his as you push the box further into his chest, “Fucking ask me already.”

He melts under your stare, breath shuddering hesitantly despite your growing smile. “I– Will you—“

You're already nodding at the first word. “Yes, you idiot.” You’ve lunged into his chest, smiling uncontrollably into his neck.

He chuckles nervously into your temple, slowly wrapping an arm around you. But he pulls back, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately.

His eyes dance around your face, lingering on the spot below your ear he likes to kiss. He presses his nose there instead, giggling like a little kid. “I can’t believe you said yes,” he whispers breathily, more to himself than you.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You squeeze him, eyebrows furrowed.

“I dunno, I just thought,” he trails off.

“Eddie,” you peel him off your skin, waiting until he looks at you. “This is perfect.” You knead your nose and eyes before anything escapes. “I don’t care if it rained or if we didn’t see the meteors or about fucking s’mores for Christ’s sake!” You smack him lightly in the chest, smiling hard.

His eyes are glassy and he swallows hard. “You haven’t even seen the ring yet,” his voice shakes when he says it.

“There could be a paper ring in there for all I care.”

He grins, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Should’ve told me that before I bought something.”

You laugh wetly and he brings the box up to your hands to open together. Rings are not something you and Eddie had discussed much if at all and yet somehow he managed to find just what you envisioned.

The tears finally fall as you say, “It’s gorgeous, Eds.”

He chases them away with kisses, cupping your cheek to pull you closer.

When you're momentarily done studying the jewelry you press your lips to his. He’s reluctant to pull away, diving in for a second, then a third, like you’ll change your mind if he lets you go.

“Here,” his hands are shaking as he plucks the ring from its cushion and cradles your hand. The ring slips on easily, a tad too big, but “Wayne knows someone who can tighten it.”

You nod, grinning wildly at your hand. He’s watching you with a similar wobbly expression when you glance up. You remain a tangled pile of soppy limbs on the metal floor until your back aches. He’s pulling you up and clicking off the lights before crawling up front.

“I don’t know how you expect me to fall asleep now,” you whisper giddily, cheek pressed to the reclined passenger seat.

From across you, he says, “I don’t think I can either.” He watches you fondly as you twist the ring around your finger. He’s thinking about how stupid he was to worry so much about what Wayne and Steve fucking Harrington of all people warned him about. That he knows he’s never felt so strongly about someone before and that he’d be crazy to let you slip away.

Your gasp breaks his stream of consciousness. You’ve sat up, pointing through the windshield. “Look!”

“What?” he’s ducking his head, flipping up the sun visor, and glancing from you to the glass, trying to track your line of sight. Then he finds it, a long arc of light breaking through the clouds. It’s faint, fading in and out of the darkness as it streams from one end of the sky to the other. It passes, and you both observe for more, wide-eyed and stiff like dolls.

“Look at that,” you blink deliriously, slumping back into the seat.

“Did you get the universe in on this or something when I wasn’t looking?” He’s baffled, chuckling to himself.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” you smirk.

He nods, leaning over to peck the corner of your lip. “Didn’t need one. Knew you were it from day one.” He slinks back into his seat, leaving you a blushing ball of flames.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #stranger things fic

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coff33andb00ks · 4 months ago

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where i come from - LS

pairing: logan sargeant x fem!reader (lilli. it's lilli) summary: hitch a ride to the end of the highway where the neons turn to wood word count: 1.2k a.n.: the first of three small fics for my beloved Lilli @maxlarens Happy birthday my darling!! I hope you enjoy this little love letter to you (and to american road trips). inspo: all the road trip songs my family blasted during my childhood, compiled here warnings: it's not a waffle house it's a waffle home, author is in love with american south almost as much as Lilli's in love with Logan

"Logan, you can't be serious."

He laughs, parking the car next to a slightly bent light pole. "What? You want to see America, right?"

You press your lips together, staring at the small, flat building that looks as though it's been in that spot since the 1960s and hasn't been refurbished once. "This is America?"

"One of the best parts," he promises, climbing out. The balmy air of Florida immediately makes the car's cold air disappear and you sigh, unbuckling your seatbelt as he walks around to open the door for you.

"A Waffle House is America?"

"Trust me," he says. "You'll understand."

You do trust him, so you let him take your hand, sweat beading before you've taken two steps across the parking lot. There's a crowd of people near the door and you feel their eyes on you and Logan as you approach, the air thick with humidity and weed and tobacco smoke.

The interior is worse than the exterior. Your sandals slide with each step on the ancient tile floor and you can feel the grease in the restaurant. A bored server is leaning against a booth and hands you and Logan menus as you walk by, telling you to sit wherever. You want to turn around and go sit in the car, but…

Logan looks so fucking happy.

So you sit in a booth with him, ignoring the sticky spot on the bench that catches the material of your shorts. You ignore the faint aroma of tobacco smoke that lingers in the dining area. You ignore the yelling from the kitchen staff and the argument starting up between a couple at the counter.

The food is pure American stereotype. Sweet, greasy, and the portions enormous. But your first bite of the burger has you smiling. Because—

"Oh my god," you practically moan.

Across from you, Logan's grinning.

The server is pure southern charm as soon as she hears your accent, and you relax as you enjoy a meal big enough to last you an entire day. It's not great but it's good, and the atmosphere seems to shift.

He buys you a mug, telling you under his breath about a time his brother stole one because apparently everyone does that. Once outside in the sweltering heat, he pulls you in and kisses the top of your head. "Welcome to America."

The road trip was his idea. It's the best way to see this land he loves so much and because you love him so much you agreed, and after a week with his family you're driving out of the Florida panhandle, the windows down and the music blasting, both of you singing Sweet Home Alabama at the top of your lungs.

He takes an exit off the interstate and you're already lost but he's content, speeding along unmarked country roads, past lush forests and rolling fields. He has to slow to a crawl for tractors, and every time a car passes he waves like the other person is an old friend.

Left or right? at every stop sign. No map, no GPS, just a whim.

A tiny shop – gas station, babe, not a shop – in the middle of nowhere is selling fresh peaches and the woman is so sweet and talkative you want to stay and talk all day. Her great aunt makes those crochet blankets you're admiring and before you know it you've got three draped over your arms.

"Where y'all headed?" she's asking as Logan pays.

He shrugs, smiling that bashful smile that made you fall in love with him. "Nowhere, really."

She gives the vaguest yet most detailed directions to a motel – you're gonna wanna drive thataway til you see the old rusted school bus? Then take a left and keep driving til you pass the turnoff for the highway. It's down on the right. If you get to the stoplight you done went too far – and Logan gives you a look as you bite into a fresh Georgia peach.

You smile.

More rolling fields and woods. Farms and family homes and kids on swings. He gets to the stoplight and you both laugh all the way back to the motel.

It's tiny and has almost zero amenities but it's clean and the window overlooks a small field of wildflowers. You take a shower and when you come out there's a jar with a bunch of wildflowers in it and you smile at him. You've been smiling so much the past couple days that your cheeks ache.

He finds a place to get dinner and you feast on what he says is pretty okay bbq but you think is the best you've ever tasted.

The next day you're better prepared, and you fully enjoy the rambling tour of the countryside, relaxing with each passing mile. Feet on the dash, singing along to Fleetwood Mac and Tom Petty and Creedence Clearwater Revival. Songs that are familiar and songs that he knows every word to and you are still learning.

Lunch is a picnic, thrown together with gas station sandwiches and bags of chips, sitting on one of the blankets you bought yesterday by a river. You want to enjoy the scenery, because it is as beautiful as he always told you it was, but all you can focus on is him.

He looks so happy. You've seen him happy, of course, but lately he's been downtrodden. Anxious. And you sit there, watching him as he talks about maybe making it up into North Carolina by sundown, seeing how relaxed he is.

And you fall a little in love with this spot of the world that heals him.

"You love it here," you say softly after a bit of silence.

Logan nods, looking out to the river where it disappears into the trees. "I do."

"I'm—"

"I love sharing it with you more."

Oh. Oh. Your eyes are burning and it's not fair that he can drop the sweetest lines when you least expect them even though by now you should expect them because he always does and—

"Lilli?"

You blink and he's moved to sit right in front of you. "Logan?"

Why does he look worried? Your mind scrambles, thinking something must be wrong. He feels ill, or he just spotted some venomous snake slithering nearby or—

He shifts and you glance down, seeing the ring sparkling in his hand.

Later you'll remember every word he says. How his hand shakes and his voice wavers while he tells you how much he loves you and how happy you make him. But for now all you hear is the river splashing over rocks and birds twittering and the breeze ruffling the leaves of the oak tree. And all you can see his eyes, shining and bright and beautiful.

There's hot sauce on his fingers and yours are gritty with salt. His lips taste of salt and vinegar and there's an ant crawling on your leg, and he's apologizing for not giving you some grand proposal, but you don't care. You're glad he asked you here.

"I love you," he whispers, forehead resting against yours and you feel the sigh that exhales his worries.

He worried that you'd say no. As if yes wasn't on your lips before he said the words.

"I love you, Logie."

#f1 #logan sargeant #f1 imagine #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 imagine #logan sargeant x reader #my writings > ls

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total-dxmure · 1 year ago

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✦ MARLEY AND ME →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER TWO

pairing: modern!ellie williams x single mom!reader

summary: you’re a single mom just doing the best that she can to make ends meet. ellie can’t help but think that you're the kindest, most beautiful girl that she’s ever met. compared to taking care a little girl that's in her terrible twos, coming to terms with the fact that you’re a lesbian is a walk in the park. awkward first encounters, ellie’s broken gay-dar, and her overwhelming urge to take care of the care-giver. . . the road to domesticity is a long one, but it’s well worth the pining that it takes to get there.

warnings: hella SMUT! in future chapters, eventual substance use, no use of y/n (you have nicknames/petnames), the reader is marley’s biological mother, talk of coming to terms with ones sexuality, mention of a shitty baby daddy ( though there is no co-parenting between them), ellie is a total girl mom, lots and lots of fluff, ellie is an anxious dork in this fic, reader is broke but happy, ellie takes pride in being a provider, this is going to be a multi-part fic, ellie is an absolute simp for the reader since chapter one and will remain her #1 fan.

⬶ previous chapter | next chapter ⤅

There were a thousand different ways to tell someone that you loved them.

For you, it could be found in the way that your hands shook with exhaustion after a long night at work as you reached up for the off-brand box of mac n’ cheese. You had your calculator pulled up on your phone, trying to make sure that you had just enough in your bank account for a week's worth of groceries.

Or, it could be found in the simple way that you prepared your daughter’s breakfast in the mornings. Half dead from working eight hours at the little diner, located right off of the interstate. After what felt like a never ending shift dealing with drunk patrons, the first thing you did after getting just four hours of sleep was make your daughter a bowl of oatmeal. You fixed hers the way she liked it- with fresh bananas and strawberries. Fresh fruit was expensive though. A luxury. It was something that you didn’t see yourself worthy of, not when your precious daughter loved it so much. So you stuck to a dash of milk and a few sprinkles of brown sugar, wolfing it down after going without dinner.

You were a single parent, and while your mom and step dad loved watching her while you were at work, you felt incredibly guilty that you didn’t have the extra funds to pay them back for their hard work. You had rent, power, and water to worry about. Plus your insurance bill was incredibly high because of your age, even despite the fact that you drove a car that was nearly as old as you were.

You said “I love you” every time you fed your daughter before you fed yourself. You couldn’t remember the last time you had eaten a meal while it was still hot off of the stove.

You said “I love you” when you didn’t complain. You refused to be defeated or beaten down solely because you were a young single mother. You didn’t want Marley to remember her childhood that way. So you bought her cheap toys to keep her happy. You let her wipe sticky little hands all over the few articles of clothing that you owned. You let her lay in the bed with you when she couldn’t go to sleep, despite the fact that you barely got any shut eye yourself. You carried the weight of her on your shoulders and never complained.

And above all else, you didn’t regret her for a second.

Not when her father abandoned you to do god knows what. Not when you gave birth with just your mother in the room. Not when your lights got cut off. Not when you lost most of your friends, because what young adult wants to hang out with a two year old all the time?

Marley was your pride and joy despite all of it.

So you tossed the box of mac n’ cheese into the cart when she started to reach for it and added the cost of it onto your calculator.

You looked down at your phone as you pushed the buggy aimlessly forward, not sure what else you needed to pick up. You stuck your hand into the front pocket of your overalls, leafing around for your shopping list.

“Uh. . . long time no see.”

Your head snapped up as you heard the familiar raspy voice in front of you. Your stomach did a few flips as you took in her tight fitting boot cut jeans and gray tank top. Her nose wasn’t the only thing that was splattered with freckles, but her revealed shoulders as well. Ellie had looked good in her work clothes, but there was something extra attractive about the way that she dressed in her free time. It was all about comfort and mobility. She didn’t need loads of jewelry, or even makeup for that matter, to be beautiful. You suddenly felt underdressed for the grocery store, hyper aware of the fact that you had only slapped on some mascara before running out of the house.

Your eyes flickered down to the basket she was holding, and you couldn’t help but smile at the fact that the only thing in it was a case of beer and a few microwavable meals. Her dirty, paint covered hand tightened on the handle, and she shuffled her feet before clearing her throat.

“I know I look like hammered shi-” She caught herself, her eyes widening as she noted that Marley was with you. “Poop. Hammered poop.” She corrected, motioning over her outfit.

You brushed her off with a wave of your wrist, making a small noise of denial. If she thought that she looked bad, you didn’t want to even think about how you must look in her eyes. You’d barely had time to run a brush through your wild hair before jogging out the door.

“Do you have the day off?” You asked her, putting some of your weight onto the buggy. Your daughter started to get antsy, so you reached down into the buggy and handed her the rabbit plushie she had insisted on bringing with her, only to toss it behind her the second that the two of you started shopping.

You noticed Ellie’s eyes soften as she watched your daughter hug the small stuffed creature.

“Yeah,” She looked back over at you, her eyes just as soft as they had been a second ago. Your heart began doing that funny thing. The weird pounding ache that made you feel like you were dying. “I scheduled some time off so that I could help Joel repaint the outside of his house.”

Her boots were splattered with white, and now that you were really staring at her, so was her pants. A few baby hairs were still stuck to the sides of her neck and forehead, probably from sweating in the summer sun.

“That was nice of you.” You said simply, chewing on the inside of your lip as you tried to find something else to say.

You didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, but it had been almost a week since you had last seen her, and she never had texted. You despised how sensitive you were, but you couldn’t help but see it as some sort of rejection. Maybe she had asked for your phone number instead of just giving you hers because she never planned on reaching back out at all.

“Nah, not really. He had an old Gibson lying around, so he gave it to me. That’s enough payment, I’d say.” She kicked an imaginary rock on the worn linoleum floor, trying to find a way to tell you that she hadn’t texted you because she’d been afraid without coming off as a complete pussy.

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, and you spoke before you could even think the question through. “Gibson? Is that like. . . food or something?”

Ellie stood there for a second, lips parting as she stared at the confused look on your face. The longer she stared, the more embarrassed you felt.

‘Oh god, that’s totally not what she was talking about.’ You thought to yourself, damn near close to slapping yourself upside the head.

She had to place the basket down so that she could brace her hands onto her knees as she laughed. You had made her chuckle a few times the other day, but nothing like this. Her smile was so beautiful, her laugh so hearty, that you forgot the reason why you were embarrassed in the first place. Her laugh was as raspy as her voice was- if not more so. It was also loud. You were sure that people could hear it all throughout the grocery store, despite the loud 80’s throwback that was blasting over the speakers. You didn’t mind if people could hear her, so long as they knew that you were the one to inspire this sort of reaction. You’d happily continue to ask the dumbest questions on the planet if it meant that you got to hear her laugh like this again.

She straightened up, shaking her head a few times as she tried to take steadying breaths.

“I-I’m sorry. . . I’m not laughing at you. That was just- that was a really cute question.” You felt the need to look away from her green eyes. “A Gibson. Like the guitar? Ever heard of one?”

You did slap yourself upside the head, then promptly covered your face with both of your hands. “Oh my god. Of course. . . Holy shit, that’s embarrassing.” You whined.

“Hey,” Ellie smiled at you again. It looked like she was really starting to come out of her shell. All it took was you embarrassing the absolute hell out of yourself. You would have done it sooner if you’d known. “No ‘S’ bombs in front of Marley.” She playfully scolded.

“Right, right. Wouldn’t want a mini sailor as a roommate.” You looked over at the child in question, rolling your eyes as you noticed the poor rabbit’s ear practically halfway down her throat. “She has an odd fascination with trying to eat things that shouldn’t be eaten.” You explained, knowing that you’d have to toss her beloved stuffie straight into the wash the second that you got home.

“I mean. . .who hasn’t eaten something that they shouldn’t have? If bubblegum wasn’t supposed to be swallowed, then why do they make it taste so good?” She stuck one of her hands into the front pocket of her jeans.

“Don’t give her any ideas. I’m sure she’s going to be one hell of a gum eater.”

The two of you took a second to just stare at each other, unsure if the lack of contact should be mentioned or not. You were the first person to break and mention it.

“So. . . I never got a text from you. Was it the caffeine addiction or the two year old that scared you away?” You said it lightheartedly, letting her know that it wasn’t meant to be taken as a jab or a judgment of her character.

Ellie swallowed hard, looking down at her shoes so that she could come up with a way to gracefully answer the question. She decided that there wasn’t a smooth way to answer.

“Neither. I was. . . uh- I was sort of scared that you wouldn’t answer me if I texted you first. I was hoping that I would run into you again.” It sounded stupid now that she was saying it outloud.

It also made it sound like she had romantic intentions. Granted. . . she had hope, but she’d be happy just to call you a friend. If that was really the case though, she shouldn’t have felt so nervous to reach out to you in the first place.

It was nice being around you. It felt effortless, and you didn’t take her ‘rough around the edges’ personality the wrong way, like most people. She would like to blame Joel for her crass attitude, but she’d been like this far before she was adopted. The two of them just happened to be more alike than she cared to admit.

“How about this: you give me your number right now, and I’ll text you when I get home.” You felt ten times better knowing that you really had just been overthinking.

You handed over your phone, and smiled as she reached out for it, starting to type her number in. She paused for a second though, realizing that she was so frazzled over seeing you again that she had forgotten the phone number that she’d had since freshman year of high school. She wondered if it would be too cheesy to put some sort of emoji after her name, and decided against it. Her contact was saved under “Ellie Williams”.

It was right to the point. No nonsense. It was so her that all you could do was smile fondly down at your phone before shoving it back into the pocket of your overalls.

You were also guilty of reading her a bit wrong. She was far more shy and anxious than you gave her credit for. It was sweet, actually. Being forward wasn’t exactly something that you were very good at these days though. Your ex had. . . ruined you, for lack of a better phrase. You hadn’t dated in years, and while most would blame the fact that you had a child, you knew it wasn’t quite that. There were nice people that didn’t care about that sort of thing. Yes, they were few and far in between, but they were out there. The second that someone showed you even a bit of kindness that crossed the boundary of friendship, you often pulled back. Or away completely.

You’d always known that you were into women. It wasn’t a discussion that you had to have with anyone in your life though, because you and your ex had dated all the way back in high school. Queer kids often have some sort of “coming out” story, but you never felt the need to. After the messy breakup you hadn’t felt the need for romance. Were you lonely? Incredibly so, but you’d rather be alone than allow your daughter to get attached to someone only for them to leave.

Now that you were older, you started to realize that maybe you had settled with a man because that was what you thought you should do. Getting married and having children was just the thing to do around here. Living in a place like Jackson, there wasn’t a ton of representation. Now that you were more experienced in the ‘life’ category, it was safe to say that you couldn’t imagine yourself settling down with a man. It wasn’t because of the trauma that Marley’s father had put you through either, it was something that had always been there. A part of you felt guilty that it had taken you so many years to gain the courage to be yourself, but you were far too young for it to be too late.

Or so you told yourself when the anxiety started to weigh down on your heart.

“Do you eat a lot of microwavable meals?” You asked her, pointing to the basket that she had picked back up after her fit of laughter.

She flushed. Like actually turned pink. You smiled as she let out a small groan, wiping a paint stained hand over her face.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t see those,” You didn’t feel as bad for pointing them out as you should have. Not when it gave you a solid reason to see her again. “I’m super busy with work, and after a long day of being around food, I really don’t feel like cooking for just myself.”

Bingo. She’s single.

The old fluorescent light above the aisle that the two of you were currently chattering away in flickered. The both of you looked up at it simultaneously.

“Well, if you ever want a home cooked meal. . . you could always come over to my place? As long as you don’t mind watching a two year old try to use a spoon. It looks like a murder scene.” You said, eyes still locked on the light. You were really putting yourself out there, and felt too scared to see her reaction to the question.

She forgot how to breathe for a second. Was she just being pathetically optimistic, or were you asking her on a . . . very casual date?

“I would really like that.” She breathed, nodding her head to emphasize the fact that she was more than happy to come over. Toddler and all.

Most people her age would be a bit put off by the fact that you had a child, but it was a nonfactor for Ellie. She’d had almost an entire week to fantasize about you. During her routine daydreams, she recognized that she wasn’t bothered by Marley. If anything. . . it made her like you more. You were capable, and she’d like to think that you were incredibly mature. Ellie needed that in her life. She would never vocalize it, but she wanted stability. She wanted happiness. She wanted you.

You made her feel like she was in high school again, which was good. The constant stomach flops and heart palpitations didn’t feel good, but she hadn’t felt this giddy about someone since. . . well, probably forever.

“Great,” You beamed at her, and once again she felt like she might double over. Was her hands shaking? Yeah. . . they totally were. “When is your next day off?”

“Sunday.” She answered a little too eagerly and nearly winced.

“Ah, that’s great! Same here. Well, how does five thirty sound? I’ll text you my address.” You, on the other hand, didn’t care how eager you sounded.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“-and then I just. . . jogged off.” Ellie recalled, taking another drag off of the spliff before handing it over to Jesse.

She gave him a small shove when she noticed his slack jaw and narrowed eyes. He fell back against the couch, shaking his head wildly.

“No you didn’t.” He denied, hoping that his friend wasn’t that awkward.

“No, I totally did. The keys on my belt were jingling with how fast I was moving to get out of there. I forgot like. . . half of the things on my list.” She was mortified. She wanted to shrink down into a small ball and die. She was hoping that Jesse would give her some sound advice, but she should have known that he would give her major shit before going all Confucius on her.

“Oh my go-”Jesse’s barking laugh turned into a fit of coughs. Ellie wanted to think that it was the drug usage and not her retelling of the horrific events from earlier on in the day that was making him laugh so hard. He wiped at an invisible tear on his cheek, followed by a drawn out round of repeated “oooh that was good”’s.

“Help. Me.” Ellie said through clenched teeth, zipping her gray hoodie all the way up to her neck.

“Bring her flowers.” He said with a shrug, taking another long drag.

“I can’t bring her flowers, Jes! What if. . . I don’t know- what if she’s straight and I totally weird her out?” It would be a nightmare to show up with a gift like that, only to have read the situation completely wrong.

“. . . Can’t you tell if she’s gay or not? It’s not uncommon for people to realize they’re a lesbian after having kids.” Jesse’s brows furrowed as he blew off the ash from the eye of the spliff, handing it back over to her.

She took another long drag for courage before letting out a sigh, the smoke curling out from her mouth.

“I can’t. . . I can’t tell when it comes to that sort of thing.” She said lamely.

Jesse’s jaw dropped for a second time that night. Ellie sunk back into her overly-comfortable couch, pulling her hood up and over her head so that she could disappear.

“I just thought you had a thing for straight chicks this entire time,” He gasped, reaching out so that he could roughly shake her by her shoulders. “But you’re telling me that you’re a flaming homosexual and don’t have a gaydar?” He’d known her since high school, and he was just finding out? Damn. . . this entire time he thought that she must be some sort of masochist or something.

“Yes. Are you happy now? I don’t have a gaydar, and I have no clue if she’s sending me friendly signals, so I’m asking for your help.” She needed someone to spell it out to her. He’d seen you at the restaurant, afterall.

“. . . Did you happen to see her nails?”

“It’s almost like you want to get punched in the mouth.”

✦ message me about being put on the taglist!

@viswifetotallyreal @lillysbigwilly @overtrred28 @corpsebridenightamare @gimalo135 @erikaar

why not to buy tlou2 remastered (please read).

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ladykailitha · 26 days ago

Text

Amnesia AU

This is the story from this post! No monster AU

It’s Eddie’s senior year. His last year of high school (he hopes) and it’s been pretty shit. He’s lost two of the members of his band, his bassist and his drummer. The former because his parents had the big brained idea to move in his senior year. The other because she got a boyfriend.

It’s a cold, rainy, and dark as pitch night and Wayne’s off on the swing shift. He’s trying to decide which wall to put his head through from boredom when there is a knock on his door.

Eddie frowns and gets up. He didn’t hear a car, but with the rain beating on the metal roof, it’s possible he just didn’t hear it.

He opens it to an absolutely soaked to the skin Steve Harrington. He looks like a kicked puppy. Eddie peers into the gloom but doesn’t see any of the other boy’s cronies so he says, “Not selling today, Harrington.”

Steve shakes his head. “No, that’s not why I’m here. I’m–” thunder drowns out the rest of his words.

“Jesus fuck!” Eddie curses. “You should come in before you drown out there.”

But Steve shakes his head. “I just want to say that I have a crush on you and I really, really like you.”

Eddie stares at him for a moment and what he says next will haunt him for a very long time. “Thanks, I guess. But I really don’t swing that way.”

*narrator voice: he did in fact swing that way, he just didn’t know it yet*

Steve already sad face falls further. “I should leave.”

“You don’t want to come in, man,” Eddie huffs, “at least stay in your car until this blows over. It’s not safe out there.”

Steve raises his head. “Oh I didn’t bring my car.”

Eddie blue screens. “Loch Nora ain’t anywhere near Forest Hills.”

“It is if you don’t use the roads.”

And with that very enigmatic sentence Steve turns on his heel and slinks off into the dark.

Eddie tries calling out to him, but by the time he jams his feet into his boots and hauls on his jacket, Steve is long gone.

When Wayne comes home, Eddie asks if he saw someone walking on the side of the road, but Wayne says no.

As soon as the weather slackens they both go out in search of Steve, but they can’t find him. So they go to the police and Eddie is broken up by the whole thing. He should have pressed Steve or even lied about liking him just to get him out of the rain.

It becomes a nine day wonder in Hawkins but other than a couple of news reports by a local station, it never gains much attention.

Something Eddie really should have seen as a red flag. The other red flag was how much the Harringtons and cops pushed the story of Eddie doing something to Steve. Despite all the evidence saying it couldn’t have been him.

Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months and Eddie graduates by the skin of his teeth. He goes up to Indy for the music scene and while he’s under age, the bars let him play because he keeps the customers happy.

Those months turn into two years. Two years since Steve Harrington walked into the gloomy of a rainy Indiana night and never returned.

Eddie gets a gig at a new bar.

The bartender is nice, hazel eyes, honey colored hair, and two moles on the left side of his neck.

The name tag reads Aaron. Says he’s recently turned twenty-one and recently got this job.

So Eddie leaves it alone. If “Aaron” is hiding out for some reason, he doesn’t want to spook the guy.

But the more he talks to Aaron the more Eddie realizes he doesn’t remember. Anything. Well anything before he woke up in hospital with no wallet, no keys, and no memories. The trucker who found him on the side of the road just out of Hawkins decided if this kid was so desperate to get out of town that he would walk the interstate at night in the pouring rain, then he deserved to get out of town.

He picked the name Aaron himself and the McDonald from his first meal.

Eddie knows who this is now. There is no doubt this is Steve Harrington. And he is not twenty-one. So he calls up Hopper. The only cop in Hawkins that never believed Eddie had anything to do with Steve’s disappearance.

Tells him to start digging into the Harringtons because something really stinks. He doesn’t bring up Aaron, but tells him that he met someone who saw Steve walking the interstate that night.

Hopper tries to tell him he’s retired now. But he doesn’t mean it. This is the case that made him realize the job wasn’t about helping people but kowtowing to the rich. He always suspected the Harringtons had more to do with that boy’s disappearance then Eddie did.

Meanwhile, Aaron and Eddie start falling in love, Eddie having realized he was gay the year before. Aaron tells him of these dreams where he is trying to escape a large empty building from a man wielding a shotgun and screaming at him that if he’s caught, he’s dead.

Then Aaron starts getting really bad headaches. Like tens on the pain scale headaches. So they go and see his doctor. They run scans but can’t find anything wrong.

But after a bad attack, Aaron sinks a difficult basketball shot. Something he’s never been able to do before, but Steve Harrington could.

Then more stuff that’s Steve starts coming through. Being a little more sassy. A little more bitchy. He starts remembering people and places from Hawkins.

Then he remembers Eddie.

Not the night in question, though Eddie is upfront about that and why he didn’t bring it up.

Aaron is a little upset, but understands that if Eddie had said something sooner he wouldn’t have believed him.

Then Eddie gets the call. Hopper has the Harrington dead to rights. But if he could find a body or even Steve it would make the case air tight.

That’s when Eddie decides for the three of them to meet.

Eddie and Hopper meet up at the diner and as they’re talking, Hopper facing the bathroom, with Eddie on the other side.

It’s so he can see Hopper’s face when Steve Aaron Harrington walks out of the bathroom with the biggest fucking grin on his face.

Steve explains everything, the amnesia, the living in Indy, meeting Eddie.

Hopper is over the moon.

The Harringtons go to jail for assault of a minor, child endangerment, and child abandonment.

Steve and Eddie move in together and Eddie helps him get his GED and sort out his life.

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #no monsters au

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archangeldyke-all · 5 months ago

Note

ran + sev walking in on reader masturbating

ORRR

reader masturbating in plug sevs car while in heavy traffic (sev ofc can’t take her eyes off 🤭)

i love BOTH these, but since i just did a ranvika ask, i'll do the plug sev one!!

men and minors dni

traffic isn't so bad when you're a plug's passenger princess.

it's rush hour, and you told sevika not to get on the interstate-- that it would be packed-- but she refused to listen.

so now, you're at a stand still, bumper to bumper. sevika put the car in park five minutes ago, and you haven't moved since.

but, really, you're not bothered. sevika keeps your glove compartment stocked with snacks, you've got your favorite beverage in the cupholder beside you, and you've got an endless supply of weed.

sevika's not even in a bad mood-- which is rare for her when it comes to traffic. but, you've got nowhere to be-- headed home after a few home-deliveries-- and you're sitting beside her, so... she's got nothing to complain about.

sevika giggles as she watches you cough out a lungful of smoke, and you flip her off as you catch your breath.

"you okay?" she asks.

you sigh, leaning back in your reclined seat. "mmm. yeah." you giggle.

sevika snorts. "you're so cute." she chuckles.

you smile. sevika's eyes study your face for a second, sweet and loving, and then they dart down for just a moment to check out your tits, something a little darker flashing behind them.

an evil plan starts to form in your head, and you giggle mischeviously. sevika quirks an eyebrow at you.

"what?" she asks.

you shake your head. "nothing." you say.

she eyes you for a minute, then drops it. "whaddya want for dinner tonight?" she asks.

you hum, pretending to turn in your chair toward her, but really just using it as an excuse to widen your legs a bit. your miniskirt pulls up your thighs. sevika's eyes drop down to the movement immediately.

you grin. "what strain is this?" you ask, gesturing to the little pipe you've been smoking out of. sevika shrugs.

"not sure, why?"

"mmm..." you hum, pushing your tits out just a bit. "jus' wondering. 's makin' me horny." you sigh. sevika's eyes go dark in a split second, and you have to bite your cheek to keep from smiling. "your windows are completely blacked out, right?" you ask.

sevika gulps. "y-yeah why?" she asks.

you hum and trail your hands up your legs, hooking your thumbs under the waistband of your underwear and quickly pulling it down your legs.

you toss your panties at sevika's shocked face, then pull your skirt all the way up your hips so she can watch you start to rub your cunt.

"baby." sevika gasps.

you giggle, rubbing your clit and sighing as you lean back in the chair. "fuck." you sigh. "mmm. i'm wet." you can hear sevika gulp beside you. "wanna taste?"

"yes." sevika whines. you smile and reach out, letting sevika suck your fingers into her mouth. she moans at the taste of you, her tongue swiping between your fingers, trying to lick every drop of you up.

your clit pulses, and you pull your fingers out of her mouth, bringing them back down onto your cunt. "shit, sevika." you whine.

"baby, fuck, you're so fuckin' hot." she groans.

you pull your top up so she can ogle your tits. sevika whines, unbuckles her seatbelt, and shoots across the center console, sucking one of your breasts into her mouth.

"sev!" you giggle. she hums against your tits, and you pull her away from your chest by her ponytail. "baby, you gotta watch the road for me." you moan.

sevika looks seriously conflicted. her eyes keep flickering between the still cars surrounding you and your fingers circling your clit. "you're trying to kill me." she decides aloud. you burst into giggles, and sevika groans, leaning forward and bashing her head against the steering wheel. you snort while you watch your girlfriend lament her situation, and she glares at you. "you're gonna fuckin' regret this when we get home."

you grin. "oh, i'm so scared." you giggle. sevika reaches out and pinches your nipple, and you squeak, smacking her wrist. "sev!"

"fuck, if you're gonna tease me at least be good and get that pussy ready for me." she growls, not letting go of her grip on your tit.

the sudden dominance in her voice makes you shiver, and you nod rapidly, rubbing your cunt faster. "shit--" you gasp.

"shit, i can smell you, baby." sevika groans. "fuck-- you poor thing. can't fuck yourself properly with those nails. betcha wish i was inside you, don't you?"

fuck her for turning the tables on you and making you flustered.

still, you can't deny her words. you feel empty and needy, and the thought of waiting until you get home for sevika to fill you up makes you whimper.

"shit, baby, look at your pretty cunt." sevika whines, her grip on the steering wheel white-knuckled.

"sev, i'm--"

"gonna cum already?" she asks. "you're so easy babe. so fuckin' needy, touchin' yourself in the middle of traffic, and all it takes to get you to cum is some dirty talk." you whine, reaching out to smack her shoulder at her teases. sevika chuckles and takes mercy on you, grabbing the hand you swatted her with and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "cum for me baby." sevika whispers.

you cum with a gasp, shaking in the passenger's seat. sevika peppers your knuckles with kisses as you fall apart beside her.

you vaguely register the sound of sevika shifting the gear back into drive and the car inching forward. when you finally blink your eyes open, you realize that the traffic's starting to lighten up.

you're still twenty minutes from home, and the thought of having to wait until you get home to have your girlfriend is already making you antsy.

but then, sevika flicks her blinker on, and slowly navigates the car toward the nearest exit.

"where're we goin?" you ask.

"fuck if i know. the nearest empty parking lot." sevika laughs.

you grin, and then lean across the center console to kiss her cheek.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @vikasub @glass-apothecary @m0numents @macaroni676 @vixel352 @artinvain

#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika #sevika smut

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griefabyss69 · 8 months ago

Text

Rituals

Written for @steddiemicrofic!

[ AO3 ] [ Tips post ]

‘PIN’ wc: 388 | rated: M | cw: They're fiiighttiiinnng~ (it gets gay don't worry)

My take on a classic!!!

Steve's knee is between Eddie's thighs but it's not like that.

His hands engulf Eddie's, pin them above his head—not in that way.

Their faces are close, breath mingling, panting as they try to catch it, but, again—it's not what it looks like.

Even though Eddie's shirt has been scraped up to his armpits, even though Steve's lips are wet with spit, even though Eddie can feel his heartbeat in his dick.

"Say it again, I dare you," Steve threatens, softened by the way he's still breathless.

Eddie would, he'd spit it right back in his face, but he can't remember what he’d said, all he can think about is his hope that Steve doesn't look down or press in harder or read his mind and figure out what this is all doing to him.

Visually it reads like a fantasy he'd have while in class back when they were in school. In reality, he thinks he'd maybe get his face punched in if Steve caught wind of anything going on inside of him right now.

Still, he can't keep his mouth shut, that'd be letting him win.

"Make me," he says in the snottiest voice he’s got, grinning at him.

Steve stops for a moment, confused, though his fingers tighten between Eddie's instead of loosen.

"Why would I make you say something I don't want you to?" He asks, and Eddie sighs, rolls his eyes at him.

"So we can keep fighting, dumbass, obviously you're really into it," he says, bluffing his way between danger and trouble like a motorcycle speeding down the interstate during heavy traffic.

Steve's mouth drops open with the intent to speak, he’s clearly offended, but he's got nothing to say to that. It makes Eddie lift one of his thighs just to see, curious.

"Hey! Watch it!" He yells, and at first Eddie only finds disappointment, until Steve goes to shift away and it makes Eddie's leg brush against the inside of his thigh.

Oh shit. Bingo.

"What, you want me to watch your dick, Harrington? All you had to do was ask," he says, wrinkling his nose at him. "Didn't have to pin me all hot and heavy like this."

"Fuck," Steve hisses, and shoves into him with his whole fucking body. "Shut up."

Eddie laughs, licks his teeth.

"Make me."

#steddiemicroficmarch #griefabyss69 writing #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic

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pearlessance · 4 months ago

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Her Love Endures - Idle Threats [vi]

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

Chapter Summary — Joel steals a morning with an angel he doesn't deserve. She confesses all.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI, brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, added backstory to progress the plot, loss, canon typical violence

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

The first two days go smoothly, though you’re uncharacteristically quiet. You follow the map southeast, sticking to the forest and away from the interstate as much as possible. You only stumble across a handful of infected—most of which you take down silently with your bow, leaving Joel impressed with your unshakeable aim. Once, when you notice a stalker long before it notices you, Joel raises his rifle as you dismount and creep up behind it. He trains his scope on its head, ready to pull the trigger the moment he thinks you may be in danger.

But he never has to. And he watches, filled to the brim with reverence, as you scramble silently through the brush, take the stalker by the throat, and sink your serrated sawback knife deep into its skull.

As you return to your horse, threat averted, Joel feels something warm stir inside him. Because your shoulders are pulled back, and there’s a cruel and death-like shimmer in your eyes and blood splattered across your cheek, making you look like some sort of divine creature of slaughter…but then you look up at him. And your eyes soften, and your smile lights up your face as you say, “There’s a piece of your hair sticking out by your ear. Like, straight out. How’s it doing that? Defying gravity.”

It’s the innocence in your voice that does it to him, he thinks. You may be the best runner Jackson has, may have a sniper’s eye and a knife-sharp tongue, but beneath it all you’re just a little girl. Amused by the smallest, most childish of things. Untainted but deadly, lethal but pure. And he wants you to hold onto that softness for as long you can. He can see it’s been diminished, parts of it snuffed out by loss and grief and disappointment, but Joel vows to protect the parts he can for as long as he’s able. He hopes he never has to miss the sound of your laughter.

He doesn’t even try to fix his hair.

The winter snow has become nothing but slush and mud, and you’ve used your jacket more as a pillow at night than for warmth. The two of you take watch in rotation. The first night Joel insisted you sleep first, but then you’d fixed him with a dark stare and reminded him of your agreement; your run, your rules.

He complies, but he doesn’t sleep much. It’s far more fascinating to him to watch you on the other side of the fire, bow in hand, arrow half-knocked. The moonlight reflects in your hair, and Joel wants so badly to hold you but knows to keep his distance. Knows that you still harbor some of that anger you have towards him for not respecting your wishes of solitude, knows to give you space, to wait until you approach him.

You don’t sleep much, either. Half of the night you’re writing in that leatherbound journal while he keeps watch. Sometimes you don’t write at all and read over old entries instead. His curiosity gets the better of him once, and Joel asks, “You writin’ about the clickers we killed today?”

Without even looking up from the journal propped against your knees, you say, “Nope. I’m writing hardcore sex scenes.” It makes him chuckle. “Nothing funny about it, Joel. You’re the star of the show.”

And for a second he wonders if you might be telling the truth, until you burst into a fit of girlish laughter at the look on his face. Joel thinks it’s his favorite sound, those giggles of yours. Still, he shakes his head with a smile on his face and says, “Brat.”

He doesn’t press for more after that. He’s given you the chance to talk about it, and you evaded him completely, so he decides he can live with the mystery for now.

On the fourth night it rains. It’s dark by the time you find shelter, and it comes in the form of a barn out in the middle of nowhere. Joel hasn’t seen an old vehicle or a stoplight in miles, and part of him knows a watch rotation is a little unnecessary but you insist anyway. He tries to find comfort in the stale and brittle hay that blankets the cold floor but fails to. He spends most of the night thinking of you, thinking of God. Joel can’t shake the feeling of filth that covers him, a grime that has nothing to do with the lack of soap he’s had access to since leaving Jackson, and everything to do with his morals.

Because even now, several days later, Joel is so angry with Maria that he could kill her. She should never have sent you out here. The thought shouldn’t have ever crossed her mind. Putting you in the watchtowers, on the walls, hell—even on patrol…that’s one thing. Sending you this far out, though? And alone? Joel would die before he ever let Ellie out here alone. But even though Maria is good at putting on a concerned front…Joel sees right fucking through her. Knows it was a planned conversation she had with you. He knows, too, without ever being there that Maria told you all about Miley and her operable tumor before she ever broached the subject of this run.

It’s calculated. Cold. Cruel.

Maria might not think of it that way. You might not think of it that way. But Joel sees it for what it is. Sees that she ‘loves you like you’re her own’ not for who you are but instead for what you’re capable of. Maria recognizes your potential and your selflessness and uses it to her own advantage.

Joel only wishes you could see it, too. And he thinks maybe you did at one point when you stormed into the dining hall and screamed in her face. But it must’ve been for only a moment, because here you are again…doing whatever Maria needs you to. No questions asked.

A part of him hates her, but how truly different are the two? Maybe Joel sees Maria for what she is because they’re both doing the same things to you. He might not be sending you on suicide missions for pregnancy cravings or medical supplies…but he does take advantage of you.

And the worst part, the part he hates to admit…is that he enjoys it. Never in all his life has Joel found pleasure in anything the way he has in you. In your soft skin, your soft sounds…it does something to him spiritually. The way you fight him so hard only to give in and do as he says inevitably…it makes him weak in the knees just to think about it. The way you trust him so wholly, trust him to keep you safe, to make you feel good, to take care of you …it fills him with this deep, dark desire.

He’s long since given up trying to resist you, forbidden fruit tasted and swallowed and consumed. There’s no going back from that. And he knew it at the first bite. What he didn’t expect, though, was to be offered seconds, thirds, a fucking feast of you…if only he’d convince himself to sit at the table.

But doing so will damn him, he knows. And though Joel’s got little faith in God left in him, he worries that the moment he ravaged you was the moment he became undeserving of you.

For the first time, you fall asleep moments after Joel takes watch. Maybe it’s the sound of the rain or maybe it’s just exhaustion. You use his coat as a blanket and yours as a pillow, and he watches in awe and admiration as you finally rest. Your hands are beneath your head, and a piece of your hair has fallen into your face, and you’re so fucking beautiful it makes him ache.

As if he ever deserved you in the first place, Joel thinks.

It stops raining an hour before sunrise. And he notices there’s a glass pane in the ceiling that he hadn’t seen in the dark. The sun’s rays leak through it, highlighting the dust particles in the air, illuminating the space on the ground where you lay on your side.

He doesn’t believe in God, Joel tells himself.

And if he did, he would scream and shout and try to strike him down for punishing you like this. For surrounding you with people who are supposed to love you who don’t know how to love you, for embodying Judas in the form of a bratty twenty year old little girl, for making your greatest sin the sin of disobedience. For cursing you with his presence, for cursing you with this looming, haunted old man who you will never be rid of. For giving Joel this perfect gift he’ll never deserve but now can never surrender.

He doesn’t believe in God, and if he did he knows he should be crawling to the altar and begging on his knees for forgiveness for all he’s done. Begging mercy not for his sake but for yours. Pleading to give you peace, solace, safety. To give you warmth like sunlight and love like absolution and to give you someone who feels like home. To give you everything you’ve given him.

But Joel doesn’t believe in God. He sets his rifle down and crawls to you instead.

Space. He knows you need space. But he needs you and he’s such a selfish man. Joel swipes the hair from your face, watches you stir in your sleep, sighs in tandem with you when he presses a kiss to your forehead. He inhales deeply, lying on his side, letting his thumb stroke your cheekbone languidly.

Your eyes open slowly, blinking once, twice. And he half expects you to make some snarky remark about how bad a job he’s doing keeping watch, but all you do is rest your hand on top of his and scoot closer, pressing your body to his.

Joel kisses your cheek, the arch of your brow, the tip of your nose. By the time he makes it to your lips, they’re pulled up into a sleepy smile, and he can’t resist the urge to drink you in. Your mouth is warm and soft and fits perfectly against his. His hand on the side of your face slips to the back of your neck, thumb caressing your pulse. You feel more alive right now than Joel has ever felt himself, and he has the sudden, striking thought that belief in God has nothing to do with what he’s been taught and everything to do with the sanctity he holds in his hands in this very moment.

His fingertips wander down your back, between your shoulder blades, over each disc of your spine, the divot in the small of your back, over the denim of your jeans, down between your legs. Joel lifts you slightly, crushes your center hard against his, and feels himself unravel at your closeness.

You start to rut against him, hips canting over his erection, the friction of your jeans on his the only sound apart from the breaths you breathe into his mouth, breathing life, sweet, golden life, into his aching bones. Your tongue is slow in its pursuit of memorization, lazy and perfect but still so unbearably needy.

Joel won’t make you suffer. Not today. He wedges his hand between your bodies, unbuttons your jeans with a single, swift movement of his thumb, and reaches beneath the fabric. He finds home in a second, movements rehearsed and ritualistic. Your clit throbs beneath the pads of his fingers as he circles it slowly, pointedly.

The smallest noise, like a moan at the back of your throat, invades his mouth. Joel smiles to himself, knowing that if he reached just a little lower he’d find that telling wetness, knowing that you’ve needed this but just too stubborn to ask for it.

So stuck in your own head, your own ways. Never letting anyone else take care of you, because you know they can’t.

Until now. Until Joel.

He pulls his mouth away from yours long enough to catch his breath, to admire the art of your face as he strums faster between your legs. You say his name a little like a prayer, and it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, his name in your mouth. He thinks he’ll never grow tired of it for as long as he lives. He presses a wet kiss just beneath your ear, delighting in the rush of goosebumps left in the wake of his lips.

He finally shifts his fingers down through your slit and pushes his middle finger in deep. You let out a pretty sounding gasp, and Joel runs the tip of his nose up your throat with a quiet laugh.

“Shh,” he says. “S’alright, little girl. I’ve got you.” Joel pushes you onto your back, allowing him easier access. He adds another, his ring finger this time, and even though your jeans constrict movement and dig into the back of his wrist, the sounds you make as he begins to pump them slowly in and out of you are worth it.

Pretty, sweet sounding moans that he wants to swallow up. So he does—kisses you deep, licks into your mouth, bites your bottom lip between his teeth. The heel of his palm puts pressure on your swollen clit, and he can feel you squeezing around his fingers already, legs trembling with each slow, punishing thrust of his hand.

“Joel,” you whimper. “I..I’m—”

“I know, baby,” he whispers against your lips. “S’okay, go ahead.” All it takes is one more deep press against that sweet spot inside you before you’re gripping his flannel, knuckles blanched. It’s fast and needy and desperate but somehow one of the softest most gentle moments he’s had with you. And Joel knows he’ll always hold this close, knows just how remarkable and holy this time with you is.

Your chest rises and falls in quick succession as you come down, trying to catch your breath. And when you look up at him, he recognizes the longing in your eyes, knows that this religious moment has only scratched the surface of your desire, knows just how hungry you are because he is, too.

And so Joel crawls between your legs. He unlaces your boots and sets them aside, peels the too-tight denim down, takes the pretty lilac panties with them, and gets rid of those, too. He sits there on his knees for you, calloused fingers stroking lazy patterns up and down your bare thighs. You watch him in silence as he admires you. “You’re so pretty, baby,” he says.

Your breathing picks up a little as he shifts backward, just enough so he can lean over and kiss your clit. You taste heady and sweet and delicious, and he thinks he could live off of just the essence of you and be satisfied for all eternity.

His tongue moves intentionally, savoringly, because this is a selfish act. Joel supposes everything he does with you is selfish in one way or another, but this is purely for him. His cock throbs painfully behind the metal of his zipper as he palms the inside of your thighs and spreads your legs wide. He licks up your wet slit, smearing the taste of you over his lips, down his chin.

A cracked, sleep-addled moan leaves you as you arch your back, pressing yourself against his mouth. Your hands find their way to his hair, holding him in place right where you want him. And Joel lets you without protest, lets you lose yourself in this moment in the same way he has.

Joel slides two fingers back into you easily, encountering no resistance thanks to the mixture of your slick and his spit. He twists and curls them up, pumping hard against that spot again, sucking your throbbing clit between his lips and circling it with a pointed tongue.

“Ohh, fuck, fuck— Joel.”

A little faster, a little harder. You’re squeezing tight around his fingers, needy little girl sucking him in deep, and Joel shows no signs of stopping even as you start to shake. He wants it, wants to taste you in his mouth, wants to push you over the edge so you can be here, here, with him, where you have cast him forever. Wants you to know what it is to want, to hunger, to be ravenous with a singular source of relief.

You’re about to come, and he knows it, but he pulls away. You let out a soft whimper at the loss of contact but then he’s unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down his hips just enough to pull his cock out. He squeezes it once in his fist and a blinding wave of pleasure shoots through him. Joel lines himself up between your legs and pushes in with a long, contented sigh.

Here, inside you, is the only place he’s ever felt adored, cherished, loved, divine.

Because your eyes are wide and sleepy and beautiful. You look at him like he’s the greatest thing to ever happen to you and not some God-given curse. And it’s this he craves, the intimacy you share at this exact moment, where he knows he could ask anything of you—anything—and you’d give it willingly, freely. And fuck he just wants to keep you safe but maybe that means from him, too.

The thought is awful and comes to him unbidden. Your brows furrow as he rocks into you, cock reaching depths you’d never known existed. You place your hand on his jaw, lean up, and press your lips to his. You breathe his name and say, “I’m sorry I was mad. I forgive you. I’m yours.”

His. His, his, his, his. All his. His table, his fruit, his fault.

But his all the same.

He fucks into you deep, hips grinding against yours, his dark pubic hair rubbing against your sensitive clit. Joel takes your face in his hand, cradling your chin, thumb tracing the outline of your lips. His breath is labored and sweat beads at the back of his neck. He’s not going to last long. Not when you look at him like that, not when you look at him like you love him.

He reaches between your bodies with his free hand and circles your clit. Sinks his thumb into your sweet mouth when you let out a salacious moan. He can feel your pussy flutter around him, knows you’re nearly there, knows he’s destined to follow you. “Come with me, baby, come with me,” he says softly.

Your breathing stills for a moment, and then you’re trembling, shaking in his hands, sucking his thumb deeper into your mouth.

His own release trickles in slowly at first, building in his spine, and then it slams into him with no remorse as he fills you up, cock pulsing inside you. “Oh, fuck, yeahhh—that’s it. That’s it, little girl—mmm—you feel so fuckin’ good, baby. Such a good girl for me, huh? Pretty little baby…there we go.”

He fucks you through it, thrusting into you real slow even when you’re breathing has slowed and he’s spilled every drop he has to offer. His thumb is coated in your saliva when he pulls it out of your mouth to kiss you, leaving a wet smear on your cheek. And when he leans back, wincing as he pulls out of you, you look up at him with straw tangled in your hair and say with a pretty smile, “Good morning to you, too.”

It is, he thinks. Joel can feel the good day ahead, can feel the weight of your irritation lift from his shoulders at the sight of your grin. “C’mon,” he says. He holds a hand out for you, pulling you up with him.

While you dress and stretch and run your fingers through your hair, Joel feeds the horses and gathers your things. He picks up your bow and your backpack and brings it to you, and in ten minutes you’re both saddled and on your way.

The storm has passed and the sun is shining brightly, and Joel forces his mare to trot just a little slower than yours so he can appreciate the view. He thinks you’re beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with your age; elegant, graceful, timeless. Even before the world ended he would have noticed you, would have felt that same magnetic pull.

You glance briefly over your shoulder at him and ask, “What do you think could be in there?”

He has no idea. Can’t even wrap his head around the thought, really. “Hard to say. Twenty-five years is a long time for something to go untouched.”

“I’ve never been inside of a hospital,” you say. “I’ve seen pictures in those medical books in the library back in Jackson, but this will be the first I’ll ever actually see in person. What’s it like?”

“Confusing,” Joel answers. “They’re usually pretty big. Lots of floors and rooms, all set up differently.”

“Tommy told me they had special rooms for surgeries and stuff.”

“Operating rooms,” he explains. “They were away from everything else so they could be kept sterile. Doctors had to wash their hands in a specific way before doing a surgery, used all new tools every time, left them unopened until it was time to use them.”

“That seems excessive.”

He chuckles at that. “Was a different time back then,” he says. “We were more afraid of germs than fungus.”

You remain silent for several seconds, and Joel wonders if he’s somehow said something to upset you. But then you ask, “Do you think things would be different if they were afraid of fungus back then? Maybe they would’ve found a cure before it got too bad or something.”

There’s something like longing in your voice, and it makes Joel’s chest constrict. He wishes you would’ve been able to experience the world before it went bad, wishes you’d gotten a single day to not live in fear. “I don’t know,” he tells you. “Maybe.”

“If you could go back to before the outbreak, what’s the first thing you’d do?”

Joel sighs as he contemplates his answer. It doesn’t come to him very easily—because all he’d want is to find Sarah and be with her. Doesn’t matter where, doesn’t matter what they’d do. He would just want to be together, to hear her laugh one more time, to see her smile or roll her eyes or blink.

It’s still foreign to speak about it, still painful, but it’s you and so Joel decides to tell the truth.

“I, uhm…I had a daughter,” he says slowly, testing the waters. He half expects you to turn and look at him, sporting some kind of surprise on your face. But he’s thankful when you don’t because it makes the words flow a little easier. “She loved soccer,” Joel continues. “Played in a little league team at her school, called themselves the Defenders. Her jersey number was fourteen, and she was the best player they had—and I’m not just sayin’ that. She loved it.”

Pressure builds behind his eyes. Joel swallows hard.

“One day, Tommy and I were shopping for her birthday at Scheels —you don’t…uhm, it was this big sports store up by Dallas. Had all kinds of stuff. Anyway, I couldn’t afford much at the time. Tommy and I were gonna go half and half on a new skateboard for her—she liked doin’ that too. We were heading up to check out and saw this set of soccer goals that’d been marked down all because the box had been open. Never been used, never put together, nothin’ at all wrong with ‘em. We were able to get the goals and the skateboard, and Tommy an’ I spent all afternoon setting them up in the backyard while she was at school.”

It’s a fond memory. One he sometimes dreams about. They’d bought a case of beer on the way home, played music through the speakers of Tommy’s truck, and sung along to every song that played and laughed at the stupidest things. It was just a few short months before the outbreak. The last birthday Sarah would ever have.

“She loved them,” he tells you. “I knew she would. We spent all day in the backyard, the three of us. Played with that goddamn soccer ball until it was so dark out you couldn’t see a foot in front of your face. Even grilled out for dinner, so we didn’t have to go inside. It’s all she wanted to do for the rest of the summer. She was out there for so long I had to…to make her start wearing sunscreen every day,” he says with a low chuckle. “And when school started up again I had to limit it to soccer practice on weekends only.”

Joel knows he has yet to answer your question, but it’s so nice to talk about her that it just pours out of him unchecked. You don’t seem to mind. There’s a small smile on your face and a misty look in your eye as if he’s painting a mental picture for you.

“Anyway,” he says. “I guess…I guess if I could go back to before, I’d just want to go back there. To hear her laugh and see her smile, to cook burgers for everyone and eat them on the deck. I’d go back and relive that day so I can appreciate it a little more.”

“It sounds nice,” you say. “I bet I would’ve liked her.”

He thinks you would’ve, too. Thinks Sarah would’ve loved you, would’ve picked up on that bratty tone of voice you sometimes have, and adopted it into her vernacular. The two of you have the same sarcastic tendencies, and Joel wonders why it’s taken this long to recognize it. “Yeah. You would’ve,” he says quietly.

“What happened to her mom?”

The question is phrased so bluntly that it gives him pause. But it’s not malicious in any capacity, and so Joel doesn’t mind answering this one, either. “Just…saw things a little differently, I guess,” he says. “We became parents real young. Not everyone is cut out for it.”

You nod slowly in contemplation. “You had Tommy though, right? You two seem really close.”

“Yeah, we are. I mean, he’s my brother. Family. Been through everything together.” He watches your jaw feather. He wonders what he said to make you clench your teeth. Joel gives you a moment of silence to say something, to spill your guts even half as much as he has today. But you say nothing, and so Joel asks, “Are you and Maria close?”

It makes you roll your eyes, a sound of irritation slipping past your lips. There’s something cruel on the tip of your tongue. He can see it as you fight the urge to let it free. Joel wishes you would if for nothing else than to give him a clue as to what’s going on inside that pretty head of yours. Instead, you say, “We’ve known each other a long time. A lot of history.”

He nods at the open expanse of land before you. “Ain’t got nothin’ but time to fill, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks flush, and Joel thinks it’s even prettier than the sight of you bathed in sunlight. “I met Maria before Jackson was like it is today,” you explain. “It was just a handful of people and a couple of abandoned houses back then. But she saw it for what it could be, ya know? Saw how much potential there was. Maria’s real good at that…seeing things that aren’t there.”

Joel wonders what that means. Wonders if you’re talking about Maria seeing things in you that aren’t there. But before he has the chance to formulate the question in his mind, you’ve moved past it.

“Me and my…group—we were in bad shape. I was born in the Detroit QZ, but things started getting really bad between Fedra and the Fireflies when I was twelve. We left when the bombings started.”

It makes his chest ache. Twelve. Younger than Ellie.

“We didn’t really have anywhere to go, we were just sort of… wandering, I guess. She, uhm…one of my group members…she got hurt pretty bad. Wasn’t anyone’s fault, she just tripped and fell and ended up with a pretty nasty gash across her face. The wound wasn’t the problem but the infection…”

Joel watches you shake your head, clearing memories best left behind.

“It was a good thing we stumbled across Maria when we did. She helped us. Gave us food and water, a place to stay. But it was the medicine that made the difference. I owed her my life with no way to repay her. Maria didn’t ask for anything but I was old enough by then to know nothing comes for free. She suggested we stay a while, help them fortify the town, help build the greenhouse they were working on. Said we could leave whenever I felt we’d earned it. So, we stayed for a few more days. And when it was time to leave, my…group and I didn’t see eye to eye.”

He can hear the lie in your words, can sense there’s something you’re not telling him. It’s hard for him to imagine a twelve year old girl at the head of a group at the end of the world. But if anyone could do it, he supposed it would be you. And, really—it doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, you’ll tell him when you’re ready. “Some of them wanted to stay?”

You nod in answer. “We came to a compromise. Said we’d just stay a couple more days. But then days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and before I knew it, I’d become Maria’s go-to runner. And my group, they’d made a home in Jackson. They saw what Maria did, knew it had the potential to be…well, to be what it is now, I guess. I don’t know. Things just…evolved from there. I started picking up things I didn’t need on my runs. Decorations, books. Started getting to know people, to remember their names. To grab stuff I knew they’d like. And the runs became more and more frequent, too—once we opened the bakery, the grocers, the bar. Eventually my runs became less about essentials and more about comfort as Jackson became more and more self-sufficient.”

“And Maria?”

“I…I trust her,” you say. “She’s looked after me a long time. She lost a son a year or two before she found us and one of my group members…I think she used them to—to fill that hole. Someone she and I were both really close to.”

It’s not lost on him that he’s done something similar with Ellie. It’s also not lost on him that you used the word were. He hates that he can read between the lines. Hates even more that you know loss as intimately as he does.

But none of it hurts Joel half as much as when you say, “I think Maria tries to do the same with me sometimes, but I’m not as easy to love.”

Silence fills the air between you and there’s so much Joel wants to say but he’s never been good with words.

Up ahead, there’s a wilting billboard advertising a church. It reads, ‘God speaks through angels. Will you speak to an angel today? Left at exit 34,’ and Joel thinks God might be laughing at him.

It doesn’t make sense to him. He’s spent all his time grappling with his morality because Joel shouldn’t want you as bad as he does but he just can’t help himself. You’re too tempting, too irresistible. And all the while you’ve spent your time believing you’re hard to love? His stomach turns.

Will you speak to an angel today?

“I…” Joel pauses, tries to formulate his thoughts. To his relief, you give him as much time as he needs. “You’re not…that ain’t true.” He doesn’t know how to explain it.

Doesn’t know how to explain that you are, undoubtedly, the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Doesn’t know how to explain that the best thing in his life is something he would’ve killed a man for, were you his daughter. Even before the outbreak, he would’ve seen red, would’ve spilled blood if a man his age ever looked twice at Sarah. And even though this isn’t that, even though he knows it’s different…old habits die hard.

But he tries his best and doesn’t think too much about how it comes out stumbling and wrong. “I used to own a construction company,” he says. “Had a coupla’ guys on my crew I worked with all the time. Tommy had a friend in need of a job, and I didn’t know much about him but I trusted Tommy and so I hired him.”

You slow your horse just enough that the two of you are side by side. You’re listening intently, though your eyes are turned straight ahead.

Joel swallows hard and continues. “Name was Mike or Michael or something. Anyway, We had had a pretty hard day and Tommy and I had decided to split the check and buy everyone on our crew a beer after work. Mike said he couldn’t go cause his girlfriend was waiting for him outside to give him a ride home. And he seemed like a good guy, always showin’ up on time, never complained about anything, just did the job. So we told him to have her meet us at the bar so we could all get to know each other. But, uh...problem was his girlfriend wasn’t old enough to drink. Which should’ve been the first warning, considering Mike was a couple of years older than me at the time and an age difference like that wasn’t normal…’specially back then.”

It makes the corners of your mouth turn up. And Joel knows you’re holding back your laughter, can almost hear the smart remark you’d make. But to your credit, you remain silent.

“But I gave him the benefit of the doubt, told him to bring her along anyway. Offered to buy her some bar food instead. ‘Cause they used to let you in the bar if you were under twenty one, they just wouldn’t serve you—” He waves a hand in front of him. “It doesn’t matter. Mike, he…he had to dumb it down for me. Had to explain it like I was a toddler because I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. He told me…he told me she couldn’t come because she was sixteen.”

A crease forms between your brows.

“Tommy didn’t know. No one knew. But I told him…told him he’d have to find a new job. Told him he couldn’t work for me, because all I could see at the time was my own daughter, ten years into the future, just got a driver's license and going to pick a grown fuckin’ man up from work because he’d manipulated her into…” He swallows, shakes his head to clear the image his words produce.

“This isn’t the same,” you say quietly.

“No,” he answers. “It’s not. But, look, I didn’t even know that sixteen year old girl and I had only known Mike for a week. But I wanted to kill him. Because he knew better. He knew what he was doing was wrong and he did it anyway.”

“Joel…”

“Just—just listen to me for a minute, okay? Kids born after the outbreak, I know it’s different for you. I know you have no concept of…of what’s acceptable when it comes to stuff like this. But I do. I know it’s wrong, and it makes me no better than he was.”

You shake your head. “Stop it,” you say, voice stern. “Don’t do that to yourself. I’m not a kid, Joel. And you’re not a bad man.”

There’s so much certainty in your words, and Joel begins to wonder just how well you know him. Better than anyone else in Jackson aside from Tommy and Ellie, but you still don’t know. You don’t know about the raids he was a part of, the dealings and the killings he did in the Boston QZ, or about the way he left Tess in that Capitol Building, you don’t know about his blatant eradication of the fireflies, or the selfish decision he made that put an end to all hope of ever finding a cure when he pulled that trigger.

But that isn’t the point he’s trying to get across.

So, he shakes off the tenderness in your voice and the way it makes his heart beat a little faster in his chest and says, “What I’m tryin’ to say is this: I know it’s wrong and I know this will be the thing that condemns me but I can’t stop. None of it matters when I’m with you. An’ I’ve tried to keep my distance, believe me. But, uh…here I am. So…don’t give me any of that shit about how you’re hard to love. I’m the last person who’d ever believe it. ”

He can feel your eyes on the side of his face, can feel the strain his near confession has created, but Joel can’t bring himself to look at you. Because he knows, he knows the moment he does and is smothered in that warmth you bring, the words will come spilling out and then there really won’t be any going back from this. There will be nothing left uncomplicated, nothing to unspool or untangle.

You ride in silence for several miles. It’s not an uncomfortable thing. As long as he can see you, as long as you’re within arms reach, he doesn’t panic. There’s no reason to, Joel thinks.

An hour before sunset you come upon the Casper city limits. The hospital is less than a mile away when you steer your horse down a residential street and say, “We’ll rest for the night. Hole up in one of these houses. We’ll find a way inside in the morning.”

It’s a good plan, a solid one. One Joel would make himself. The two of you work together to ensure the abandoned house you chose is safe enough, and even though the night air has a bitter chill to it, you decide against a fire.

You feed the horses while Joel prepares food for the two of you, and by now you’ve got a routine so he prepares a makeshift bed while he waits for you to finish up.

The two of you eat together, and you’re nibbling on a piece of the apple he cut into chunks for you when you say, “I lied to you. Earlier, I mean.”

“Yeah,” he says slowly. And then again, “Yeah, I know.”

You narrow your eyes. “What do you mean you know?”

Joel shrugs casually. “Not gonna force you to talk about anything you’re not ready to talk about.”

It seems to give you pause. You stare intently at the ripped spot in your tight jeans, right over your knee, and take a slow, contemplative bite of your apple.

And then you tell the truth.

“It wasn’t a group,” you say quietly. “It was just me and my little sister.”

It makes his heart clench. Because he doesn’t need to ask why he’s never met her. The words linger for a moment, and Joel lets them. Questions form behind his teeth that he doesn’t allow himself to ask.

“She used to…uhm—she used to carry this book around. Had all kinds of stuff about flora and fauna. Mostly, though, it was stuff about bugs and moss. She loved stuff like that. Could tell the difference between butterflies at a glance, could tell you all about the migrating cycles of moths and where they would be at any given time of the year, knew what kinda moss you could eat and what would just taste like dirt.”

A small, sad smile pulls at your mouth, and Joel wonders if you’ve talked about her with anyone else. With the affectionate tone that flows from you, he doubts it.

“The book, it was this massive thing. Like that big encyclopedia we have back in Jackson, you know the one?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, I know it.”

“Well, sometimes she’d find a bug she didn’t recognize. Maybe a type of beetle or caterpillar or something or other. And she couldn’t just…she couldn’t wait. So a lot of times she’d be walking and reading at the same time.” Your face falls just slightly. “That’s how she tripped.”

“She was the one with the infection?”

You nod. “We used to laugh about it. You know, after we got to Jackson and had access to antibiotics. It was no one’s fault just…an accident. Still, she was my little sister, and I…I think I blamed myself for a while. Sounds silly now, but I don’t know. I was young.”

“Was?”

It makes you laugh, that carefree demeanor peaking through the gloom. He savors it. “You know what I mean.”

He does. Joel knows all too well what it’s like to be an older sibling. Knows that no matter how old he gets, he’ll always feel a sort of responsibility for his little brother.

“Anyway, she loved Jackson. Loved Maria, too. She was so personable. Sweet and kind and just… good. Ellie reminds me of her. And Jackson was so new back then it was just a handful of people, all curious to meet the newcomers. And they all took a liking to her right away. Not like…not like me. I was weary which made them weary. I didn’t want to stay.”

Joel’s glad you did. Glad he was able to meet you, to experience this.

“She talked me into it, though,” you say with a sigh. “But we spent a lot of time on runs. Especially in the beginning. I think I missed it being just the two of us sometimes and even though she wanted to stay and help the town she never complained. It’s like she just knew what I needed without me ever having to ask.”

The look on your face grows somber. Your eyes lose focus. And Joel knows what’s coming next before you even say it.

“We were out on a run for copper. Trying to get the dam fixed up. I dont…I—uhm. I don’t know. I didn’t look. I just…”

Your voice breaks, and Joel abandons his post near the door. Abandons his rifle, too, to hold you instead. Your hands are trembling, something he didn’t notice before. But he sits beside you, places his warm hand on the small of your back, and waits for you to muster up the courage to speak again.

“There was a stalker. In the brush. She was talking to me about this bug called a death's-head hawkmoth. And it felt like…it felt how it used to be. I was distracted, you know? Just listening to her ramble on and on about this fucking moth and then…and then she was screaming.” You wipe furiously at your cheeks. “I killed it quick but she was bitten either way and I had to…after. I had to…”

He pulls you close. Wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you into his lap. You’re cold and small and nothing like damnation in his hands. It’s okay, baby. It’s okay, he wants to say. But he knows it’s not okay and it never will be. So instead, Joel just kisses your face and your hair and your knuckles and he promises to never let anything else hurt you.

You’re still in his lap, head against his shoulder, when you find enough of yourself within your cloud of grief to speak again. “That’s why I don’t go on runs with other people,” you say. “I don’t want to be the reason for anyone else dying.”

Joel takes your chin in his hand and tilts your head up so you’ll look at him. The sun has set and it’s dark but he can still see you, thinks that perhaps he’s always been able to. Even before knowing your something. “Hey,” he says. “No. Look at me. That ain’t true.”

“But I should’ve seen it,” you say. “I should’ve been paying attention. I should’ve—!”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” he says. And Joel knows it’s hypocritical, knows he’s telling you not to do what he’s done every day for the last twenty years. But he doesn’t want that for you, doesn’t want you to suffer if he can help it. So he tells you what no one’s ever told him. What he’s always wanted to hear but never had the courage to ask for. “It wasn’t your fault, sweetheart. You did everything you could—I know you did. It wasn’t your fault.”

“You can’t go with me,” you say with a sniffle. “Tomorrow. Joel, you can’t. I can’t lose anyone else. I can’t lose you.”

Pride swells inside his chest because even though he hadn’t had the guts to admit his need for you to Tommy, you have the guts to admit it to Joel. You set the truth right out in the open for all eyes to see. And even though it’s just the two of you, the horses, and the moon—Joel Miller thinks you might be the bravest person he’s ever met.

He loves that about you.

Wants to say it. Doesn’t have the guts to. He’s not the one with an abundance of bravery.

“You don’t get to do things alone anymore,” he says instead. “It’s too dangerous. I’m going.”

There’s no room for argument in his voice but you find yourself doing it anyway. “Joel, just listen to me, okay? When I had to tell everyone at Jackson what had happened to her I couldn’t stand the way they looked at me. Because I could fucking see what everyone was thinking. It should’ve been me.”

He shakes his head, feels panic climbing up his throat at the very idea. “No. No, you—”

“They knew it, I knew it—God, Maria never lets me forget it. It should’ve been me, Joel. And I can’t fucking do that shit again, do you hear me? I cannot face them. Maria, Tommy, fuck— Ellie. If I have to look them in the eye and explain how I made it and you didn’t?” You scoff. “Joel, I’d rather die. I can’t do that again. I won’t survive it.”

He holds your face in his hands. “Look at me, baby. Stop. Nothing is going to happen to me.”

“But you don’t know—!”

“I do know,” he says. Because I’m cursed to live forever, to endure my sins, he doesn’t. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, little girl. Alright? I swear.”

And he means it. He really, truly means it.

You press your mouth to his, fingers tangled in the roots of his hair, and though you don’t say it Joel can taste the desperation, the love, on your tongue.

It was never supposed to go this far. Was never supposed to turn into this. All he’d wanted was to teach you a lesson, to scratch the itch of discipline your bratty ways bring out in him.

Yet he finds himself eternally grateful to have been born in a time where you exist. For the first time, he doesn’t think he was born thirty years too early and he doesn’t think you were born thirty years too late. For the first time, he accepts what is and what isn’t. For the first time, Joel Miller holds divinity in his hands and doesn’t think about how undeserving of it he is, he just pulls it closer.

He thinks about how precious this is instead. About how extraordinary you are. About how he may never get to experience heaven but what is heaven compared to the way you look at him? What’s heaven compared to the way you feel?

What’s heaven compared to home?

You drift off in his lap, and even in your sleep you cling to him like he’s something holy.

Joel loves you, he knows.

And if the two of you survive tomorrow, he just might tell you so.

[part five] [part seven]

#joel miller #ao3 fanfic #joel miller smut #ao3 writer #idle threats #pearlessance #joel miller fanfic #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #age difference #brat taming #the last of us #tlou

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gildedkrone · 10 months ago

Text

John Price

Recommended listening: John Wayne (Lady Gaga)

The Harley rumbles and bellows when the man gives several twists of the throttle. Several other men roll up in their bikes and Martha yells your name.

The man on the Harley sets his cigar down. Siren wails come from the distant south and it’s then you notice the duffel bags hooked to their bikes.

“You coming, sweetheart?”

“Oooh, check that man out,” Martha whispers and licks cream from her lips. “The one in that booth over there, in that leather jacket and my, almost good enough to eat.”

She’s looking at a booth in the diner where a man is sat. Certainly older with a roguish charm, the leather jacket on the seat next to him is well worn and its your cue to take his order when he looks around.

“What can I get for you?”

“Bourbon. On the rocks.” His accent is distinctly British and his companion across the booth orders bourbon, without ice.

The bourbon is served quickly. You sneak a couple of glances at them when fixing the jukebox; the diner on the roadside of the interstate rarely saw foreigners. Much less with how good the man looked in his leathers.

“And what’s a British man doing this deep in God’s country?”

“Afraid we’ll take what we are owed?”

You glance at the other patrons in the diner—several burly coal miners and an army soldier in faded uniform.

“Don’t let the others hear you. Might have to cut your trip short if that happens.”

When you cleaned the table, you unfolded the tip and turns out, the gentleman is a big tipper, tipping fifty on a twenty order.

What a man.

“Twenty and you put on a classic.”

He’s back again, alone in the same booth as last time. You pluck the twenty out of his hand and he leans fully back with a roll of his hips as he made himself comfortable in the booth.

“What kind of classic?”

“The Beatles. If you have any,” he savours the whisky again.

It takes you a moment but eventually, you do find it and the jukebox plays the dusty record. As the melancholic notes plays, you are more than happy to keep him company. After all, you are a waiter and no one does hospitality quite like the South.

“So, what’s an Englishman doing here?”

“What’s a sight for sore eyes doing here?”

Mike is absolutely going to yell at you for using strawberries in your drink but Mike can go eat shit for all you cared.

“Just working. Paying off my debts to the local gangs.”

He eyes the scar on your arm. “’s how you got that scar?”

“Absolutely is. Pig fucker wasn’t happy that my payment was a day late.” You lean against the table encroaching into his side. “My turn now. What are you doing here?”

“Can’t say.”

“Not even to me?”

“Not to anyone.”

The red entrance door slams open and a pig of man pushes Martha away. Shit, it was collection day and when he sees you, he stomps to the table. The drink floods the ebony table and the man pulls you close by the collar.

“The money?”

You grimace when grabbing the stack of cash and he yanks it forcefully. You stumble back onto the seats and pig man starts counting. Sorry, you mouth to the British man across the table.

No worries, as he finishes his bourbon.

“Don’t be late again, buddy. Jackson hates it when you fuck with his money.”

“No thanks to you, Lincoln.”

When he leaves, you straightened your collar and Martha picks up the broom. Thank fuck there weren’t other patrons in the diner to watch you get picked apart.

“Lincoln?”

“Bastard’s the one who gave me the scar.”

“Debt? How much?”

Fifty thousand.

“Suppose you are disgusted now, hm?”

He hums. Pig fucker certainly has an inbred face and you guffaw while clearing the table. Martha shoots you an unimpressed glare and you give her the finger; bitch is still bitter he’s not paying her any attention. You walk him out the diner and whistle when he swings a leg across the black Harley.

“Nice bike.”

He who dares scribbled on the bike and it rumbles.

“Don’t get yourself killed, sweetheart.” And he’s kicking up a dust storm with a flourish of tire screech and peeling off onto the highway.

Funny, chivalrous and a chiselled face by the gods’ favour. How unfair, you can’t have him.

Lincoln returns at dinner service with the man you dreaded seeing, Jackson. The other patrons are affected by the presence of the head gang member. Chatter, normally boisterous, is otherwise muted and Jackson curls his finger.

Resigned, you grab a tray and stop beside his table with the menus. He snatches the menu, looks over it and throws it back at you. A while later, you return with a steak for the man and fried chicken for his lackey.

You don’t think much of his food until he marches up to you. You were midway taking an order for a family of four when he slaps you, hard. Without time to defend yourself, your head snaps to the side and gasps come from the table. Dragging you to his table by the ear, he grabbed a piece of steak from the half-finished plate.

“How do I like my steak?” The harder you struggled against his grip, the more punishing it became.

“How. Do. I. Like. It?”

“Well done! Y-you like it grey!” You barely hand a chance to breathe when he takes the plate and smashes it to the floor.

“You fuckin’ thing, dare to serve me raw food. Are you trying to kill me!”

Martha giggled to herself and you curse yourself—how could you be this blind to fall into one of her traps? He reaches for the whip and Lincoln imprisons your arms before you can run.

The whip uncurls onto the floor and you look around for help. They either looked away or pretended not to see and Jackson gives two experimental strikes using the whip. Lashes of the whip will leave marks against your skin and Jackson owned the local doctor too.

It’s how he has kept everyone indebted to him.

“This is what happens when you try to fuck with me. You get the whip.”

“Hold him.” Lincoln slams your chest down against the table.

The sounds of bikes outside the diner.

“Do you have anything you want to say, sugar?”

You had nothing to say to the likes of him.

The whip is raised high into the sky and you shut your eyes as the diner crowd gasps when the whips strikes something. You wait for anything, pain but nothing comes. When you open you eyes, there was an arm across your back.

It’s him. How? How is he not screaming in pain?

“Take your boys and leave.” He drowns the cigar in the glass of juice on the table.

“Hey, hey, I don’t know who the fuck you are but who are you to tell me what to do!”

He’s unimpressed as Jackson waved him the fuck on. You stagger to your feet and he tells you to stand behind him.

“I’ll kill you if you don’t leave.”

Jackson swings the whip and Brit catches it easily in a grip and rips the whip away. He grabs a beer bottle and Jackson screams in pain when he brings it down hard. The diners are screaming and yelling as Jackson suffers blow after blow from the angry Brit. You catch glimpses of his bloodied face as Jackson yells for help.

He’s violence in motion and Jackson throws every dirty trick he knows and he catches them all in time.

Lincoln pushes a kid off a chair and throws it at the man. The chair clatters to fall and he looks at Lincoln. He’s fuming, with his eyes set into blazing fury and he grabs Jackson off the ground and something snaps when he knees the downed gang leader in the chest.

“Tell your men to fuck off, or you’ll get it.”

“L-Lincoln … T-tell the boys t-t-to … go.”

“What about you!” Lincoln cries out as he looks to the entrance.

The man throws him down onto the floor and Jackson crawls weakly when he drives a boot down hard on the man.

“Apologize.”

“S-sorry! I—I won’t ever!”

“Not to me. To him.”

Jackson pleads for mercy and you nod when he begs for his life. Leaving the now humiliated gang leader on the floor, he crosses to you. His knuckles are bloodied, not with his, and you wipe them off with a napkin.

“You coming, sweetheart?”

What did you have to lose from leaving this crappy town? Nothing. You certainly won’t miss the tiny room you rent as home and the dreary job in a diner in the bumfuck nowhere in god’s country.

Martha bursts through the door and you shout at her very nicely to go fuck herself. She catches your cap and the man smiles when you climb on board his bike in your waiter uniform.

“Hold on tight, sweetheart. This one’s gonna be fast.”

You grasp onto him as he twists the throttle and leaves Martha in dust.

“You never told me what you were in town for.”

He instructs you to open the bag and you gasp. Hundred dollar bills are stashed neatly in rows.

“We came here to rob a bank, darling.”

“Outlaw, huh? Gonna give my mother a heart attack?”

“If she doesn’t die of old age first.”

“You are a bad, bad man, you know?”

The rushing wind forces you to raise your voice and he adds a burst of speed to the bike to join the highway.

“You never told me your name!”

He speaks with the sounds of freedom.

“Name’s Price. John Price.”

Do not edit, reupload or translate my works without prior consent || masterlist

#fanfic #cod mw2 #captain john price #john price #john price x male reader #john price x reader #male reader #x male reader #x reader #price fanfiction #cod x male reader #Spotify

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myownwholewildworld · 3 months ago

Text

wherever you go (a joel miller’s ff) - chapter 8

chapter 7 | series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 9

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader. (it's actually 2004 now)

summary: when death comes knocking, you can only answer the door.

a/n: eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeek where do i even start 🥺 i’m just gonna say i’m sorry in advance and leave it at that, but if you read between lines you’ll understand. i do appreciate any comments, reblogs and/or likes you may want to leave! they do keep me motivated. as always, THANK YOU for reading. see you on the other side! x

warnings: 18+, mdni. a LOT of angst and drama incoming. cutesy fluff. established relationship (my babies 😭). no smut in this one, don’t hate me! mentions of alcoholism and drugs as coping mechanisms. pet names (darlin’, sweetheart). clickers steal the show 😖. death everywhere so be warned. swear words. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 37. no use of y/n. joel’s and reader’s pov.

w/c: ~5k.

tags aka the drama wagon (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!): @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981

@fancyyoouu @smolbeanzzz @guelyury @bishtrouille

The patrolling shifts had increased around Chicago River and Interstate 90. The Rioters had allocated more resources to survey the borders of the area their people inhabited. In the following days to your disastrous incursion, clickers’ activity had peaked. They were coming closer, so it was decided to dispatch them as they neared.

You were all tired, but there was no rest for the wicked. They kept on moving eastwards, as if something was calling them. No one had been able to figure out why, but the answer to that question didn’t really matter. You suspected that something happened that night at the hospital ― maybe Sasha and her team did something they shouldn’t have.

You would never know, so you tried to stir your thoughts away from what would remain a mystery.

You rolled on bed, the early morning light shining a ray on your face. You grunted in discomfort. Your whole body ached ― those patrols were physically intense, but also mentally exhausting. After all, the infected had been people. A father, an auntie, a brother-in-law, a loving child… All those stories were lost to the wind, and you just hoped there still were people who remembered them as they had been before succumbing to the fungus.

You pouted ― That wasn’t how you wanted to start your day.

Still sleepy, your hand dabbed the bedsheets on your right, unconsciously looking for him.

Joel wasn’t by your side. You frowned in confusion and sat up on the bed, rubbing your eyes. As you got up and walked towards the en-suite, you heard Joel and Tommy talking on the other side of the door, where the living room was.

It was a heated argument ― an everyday occurrence lately. Since you three arrived at Chicago almost five months ago, the brothers appeared to headbutt very often. It didn’t take you long to realise that Tommy’s attitude had gradually changed over time, the alcohol being the main culprit. The bubbly, kind Tommy you had come to meet was buried somewhere underneath that ethanolic stench.

You missed his jests, his nonchalance, his light-heartedness. Buy you did understand him too ― he needed an escape from reality. You all did, really. It was just sad that was his choice of inflicting himself with absent-mindedness.

“You spent the night in the fucking cell, really?”, you heard Joel whisper angrily.

Tommy replied, but his speech was so slurred you couldn’t make out his answer.

“I don’t fucking care for your excuses anymore, Tommy, you need to get your shit together. I need you sober, for fuck’s sake ― the situation is getting dire here, we’ll need to leave soon. In this state, you can barely walk”, you knew Joel was getting frustrated attempting to reason with the younger Miller.

You contained a fatigued sigh ― Joel had tried his best these past months to help Tommy straighten out his path. But you couldn’t help someone who didn’t want to be helped. You just wished Joel understood that. But you knew he wouldn’t give up on his brother so easily. His only living relative.

You sauntered towards the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. You were in the middle of doing so when you heard Joel enter the room. His reflection appeared in the mirror in front of you and you smiled at him, your mouth full of toothpaste. The corner of his mouth lifted just slightly as he placed a heavy hand on the small of your back, his lips brushing your right temple. You closed your eyes at the soothing touch. You quickly bent over to spit the toothpaste and rinse your mouth.

“He’ll come around”, you said as his hand draped around your waist, yours stroking his forearm instinctively.

Joel humphed. “I hope so”, he muttered, his mouth pressed against your crown. “It’s not safe here anymore, darlin’, I think we should head somewhere else”.

“I hear Canada is lovely this time of the year”, you joked, hoping to lighten the mood. His expression didn’t flinch ― worry distorting his rugged, gorgeous face. “I know, I know… Could we wait a few days at least? Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve”, you blinked at him.

He considered it for a few seconds before giving in. “Alright, we’ll leave on the twenty sixth”.

You clapped your hands together, a smile widening your features. Joel cocked an inquiring brow.

“Well, Joyce is throwing a party on Christmas Day at hers and, uhmm, I kinda told her we were coming?”. His brow furrowed even more. “Pretty please?”, you begged, your fingers laced in a prayer.

You knew Joel didn’t like socialising nor big gatherings, but it was just one teeny tiny ask. You flashed your eyelashes at him.

“Okay, it won’t hurt, I guess”, he conceded reluctantly.

With an excited squeal, you turned around in his embrace, circling his neck with your arms. You stood on your tiptoes as Joel leaned forward to kiss you.

The day went by slowly. You had been assigned to the evening patrol ― your hunting duties put on hold until further notice. With all this clickers’ activity, it wasn’t safe to venture out. To your dislike, Joel had been in the afternoon one, so you kissed him goodbye when you took over. At least Tommy was with you.

You were stationed in the bridge on West Madison Street, the Lyric Opera of Chicago to your right. There was a total of ten people in your group, each one of you covering different positions. When clickers approached, you shot them through the rifle scope. It had become a mindless game, like the one you used to play in the arcade when you were younger ― Wolfenstein 3D.

Hours had gone by, and you had been standing up for so long that your feet hurt. You eyed the red, thick metal railing to your left and, with a little jump, you sat on top ― your legs dangling in front of you, facing southwards and the rifle conveniently placed on your lap. Tommy joined you a few minutes later.

He remained silent and so did you. Although he was somewhat sober, you could smell the alcohol on him. It was bad enough that he drank himself to oblivion in his free time, but it was not great he came to patrol with dulled senses.

You took a deep breath.

“Your brother needs you, y’know?”, you said with resignation. His eyes were fixed somewhere in the distance, but you could see the pain in them. “We’ll be leaving in three days, Tommy, and we both need you. This reckless path of yours could have dreadful consequences, not only for us, but for yourself… We are both here to help you out, but you’re shutting us out ― Joel is worried sick and, to be honest, so am I. And I get it, this world sucks… but you’ve got us. The people you are meeting up with… They aren’t good for you.”

He didn’t say a word for a long minute. It was probably not fair of you to pester him with your not-so-uplifting speech, but he needed to hear it. As much as you liked Tommy, what troubled you the most was that it would destroy Joel if he lost Tommy too. It had taken him a long time to open up, to start living again, and Tommy was undoing all that hard work Joel had put in.

He sighed heavily, turning to look at you.

“Do I? And please don’t get me wrong ― I’m happy for both of you. But you’ve got Joel and Joel’s got you. Again, nothing wrong with that, but it sometimes feels lonely, y’know? That’s what drove me to Laney and her group, they get me. Yeah, sure, the alcohol, the drugs ― it ain’t great, but it helps. But I know I need to get my shit together, believe me, I do, it’s just… hard”, he shrugged.

Your eyes softened, downcast expression. You knew you were just brushing the surface; it wasn’t just that he felt left out. This new world was devastating, it toyed with your mind, making you believe things that were never really there ― a figment of your imagination, of your worst fears.

You palmed his forearm to cheer him up.

“As hard as it is, I’m sure you’ll still come out the other end just fine”, you smiled, but he was evading your eyes. “You only need to reach out, Tommy. We’re here for whatever you need of us.”

You got home past midnight. You were so worn out, you just whispered goodbye to Tommy and headed towards your shared bedroom with Joel. The handle made a screeching noise, then the door creaked when you pushed it. You scrunched your face in frustration ― you didn’t want to wake Joel up if he had fallen asleep. He had trouble in doing so, his nightmares still haunted him.

You quietly closed the door behind you. The room was dark, the silence only broken by his faint snoring. You grinned ― he did snore, as much as it pained him to admit it. Tiptoeing towards your end of the bed, you scattered your clothes on the floor. Only wearing your panties, you sneaked under the bedsheets. There was no heating, but Joel’s body radiated enough warmth to keep you both cozy for the whole night ― so you curled up against his back, nipples grazing his bare skin, your left arm around his waist and your hand gently pressed against his chest. You could feel his ribcage raising with every breath he took.

He lulled you to sleep, your mind slowly drifting away. He really was your safe haven.

You smiled absentmindedly, a snug sentiment weighing in your belly. You kissed him where his shoulder blades met and whispered, “I love you.”

Maybe he dreamt it. He was not sure.

Maybe his unconsciousness made it up. He was not sure.

However it came to be, that “I love you” had been haunting his mind the whole day. His chest felt tight, a longing ache lodged in his core. Joel had not been able to get rid of that feeling ― being honest, he didn’t want it to disappear. As much as it was painful, it was also hopeful.

His heart fluttered with yearning at the memory, only coming back to reality when you elbowed his side. He had not heard what you said, but your features had lit up with your laugh. The biggest muscle in his chest skipped a beat at such beautiful melody.

“I bet you were the taciturn type as a kid, right, Joel?”, Joyce asked him, question marks dancing in her pupils.

“I was a normal, boring kid. Played a bit of baseball and went on a few fishing trips with our old man, but that’s about it. So yeah, I guess taciturn covers it”, he replied, spooning the stew into his mouth.

Tommy huffed taking a sip of the moonshine in his cup, but didn’t say anything.

The three of you ―Joel, Tommy and yourself― were in the canteen in the Art Institute of Chicago. Joyce, her granddaughter Ava, Walter and a few others were sat around the table, everyone sharing funny snippets of their childhood. Tomorrow was Christmas Day, which seemed to have lightened the mood a bit, some people had even sang some Christmas carols.

“What about you, sweet pea?”, Joyce turned her attention to you.

“I was a weird kid”, you admitted with a laugh. “Used to love bugs, and I really mean love bugs. I had a huge terrarium, a beautiful ant’s nest. I used to go out and picked some of them off the anthill in our backyard to bring them to my colony. Not gonna lie, it was fascinating seeing how the ants would work together to build their little glass community”, you shared while devouring Joyce’s stew. “Then one day, quite a few ants bit me as I was trying to relocate them to a different part of the terrarium, and they fucked me up real bad. Got a terrible infection, was in hospital for two weeks. When I came back, the whole colony was dead, my parents didn’t even let me have a look at it. It was heartbreaking. After that, I steered clear of any type of bugs. I cared for them, even named every one of them, and that’s how they paid me in return? Little bastards”, you cackled, shaking your head.

“You were indeed weird, sweetheart”, Joel muttered so low, you thought you were the only one who heard it.

You patted his hand with a chuckle, unconsciously leaning towards him, your shoulders touching. You always gravitated towards Joel, you just couldn’t control it. Your eyes met and you giggled ― his smirk widened.

“Guilty”, you whispered, his hand enveloping yours under the table.

You had forgotten Joyce was sat across you until she cleared her throat.

“So, you two lovebirds are a couple yet, or what?”, her not-so-innocent question caught you completely off guard.

Shit, shit, you thought, almost choking on your food. You had not talked to Joel about what you two really were. You loved him wholeheartedly, but you didn’t need to put a label to your relationship. At least not yet. You didn’t want to pressure him ― you knew Joel would come around when he was ready.

“Uh, well, we…”, you stammered, your heart racing so fast you thought you were going to throw it up in your bowl.

Joel’s hand gripped yours tighter.

“Yeah, we are”, he replied, matter-of-factly.

Your soul literally left your body. You scrutinised his face in awe ― your lips dissevered, sparkly eyes, speechless. A wave of relief washed over you. He did love you; you just knew it in your heart. The immense love you suddenly felt almost throttled you. If your brain was a functioning organ, you would have hugged and reciprocated him ― but your mind was still short-circuiting.

Joel’s hazel eyes held yours prisoner. He wasn’t a man of many words, but he didn’t need to be ― his orbs spoke for him. They were soft, tender, loving. You heard Joyce’s snicker, but your eyes could not leave Joel’s. There were so many things you wanted to say but couldn’t ― your heart was drowning in oxytocin.

“Why do you look so surprised, sweet pea?”, said the older woman, hardly containing a guffaw.

Before you could find any words to answer Joyce, a shrieking cry disrupted the festive atmosphere. People got up a few tables away from you, screaming so loud you couldn’t make out their words.

A few seconds later, another commotion took place but from the other end of the room.

“Infected! They are infected!”, someone shouted.

Panic spread quickly. People started running, cramming around the two exits. Pushing their way out, elbowing anyone in their way with no regards to children or the elderly. Then you saw a young girl in the middle of a circle, people trying to keep their distance from her. You recognised her from the patrols but couldn’t remember her name.

Then she propelled forward, tackling a man to the ground. He screeched loudly, trying to free himself.

“No, get away from me! Aaaarghhh!”, then silence.

You had gotten up. More cries came from the opposite direction, but you didn’t dare to look. Joel’s hand on your shoulder forced you out of your trance, and you turned to look at him.

His expression was a reflection of yours for a fraction of a second. The fear, but then the resolution.

“Move, move, we gotta go. Tommy?!”, his hands were on your back, pushing you to walk in front of him.

The younger Miller went in front of you, gun on hand, to find the way out. Then you remembered the firearm in your belt and swiftly gripped it. You were about to run behind Tommy when you realised. Suddenly stopping in your tracks, you turned around to face Joel. You looked at him intently, then to Joyce and her granddaughter.

You couldn’t leave them behind. Joyce was the best person you had known in a while. She was like family to you. And you had already lost all of your blood relatives. Joel had one look at you and understood you were not going to accept no for an answer.

“Joyce! Ava! C’mon!”, he shouted while approaching them. Joel picked up little Ava in his arms while Joyce ran towards you, thick tears blurring her vision.

You held Joyce’s trembling hand as Tommy guided you out of the building onto South Michigan Avenue. You looked back a few times, ensuring Joel was right behind you. Ava was sobbing loudly, her tiny face against the curve of Joel’s neck, wetting his t-shirt. The fearful look in his eyes told you a sad story ― you knew exactly who he was thinking of. A gut-wrenching feeling sat in the pit of your stomach.

The streets were crammed with people, everyone screaming names at the top of their lungs. You recognised a few faces: Walter, Eric and his mother, Troy, Kelsey…

“They’re coming through the bridge on West Adams Street!”, someone wailed.

All of you looked in that direction and saw a massive herd of clickers galloping towards you.

“RUN!”, you shouted at your group, pulling Joyce’s hand.

You all ran northwards, across Millenium Park. You could feel your lungs burning, your brain entering fight-or-flight mode, your heart racing so fast you were on the verge of having a cardiac arrest. But none of that mattered ― you were focused on getting out of there, all of you. Tommy, Joel, Joyce, Ava, yourself. You were going to make it out.

“Go to William Fahey bridge, it’s closer!”, Tommy yelled once on East Wacker Drive.

More clickers were coming towards you from the west ― you heard someone around you say that all the bridges on North Wacker Drive were packed with infected.

“They’re here! THEY’RE COMING!”, Joyce wept.

The whole moment was so hectic, with no time to process what was happening. You all sprinted to the only bridge in the hands of the government ― you had no other option. You were almost halfway through the bridge, just a few yards more and you would be on the other side.

As you were racing, you heard a gunshot behind you. You came to a sudden stop to check, letting go of Joyce’s hand ― Joel had just dispatched a clicker which had come too close.

“Joel! Come on!”, you begged, getting closer to grab him by his free forearm.

Then you saw them. Waves of clickers coming towards you, people falling to their demises. Your eyes widened, terror pumping through your veins. You shot a few of them, your aim perfect. But there were too many to fight, fleeing was your only real option.

“Don’t stop! Let’s fucking go!”, Tommy howled, waving at you.

Then chaos unfolded. Gunshots swirled around you. You all ducked behind a car to avoid the trajectory of the bullets ― the government soldiers were shooting to whoever attempted to cross the bridge, clickers and humans alike.

“Help!”, a cry to your left made you turned around in a panic.

Joyce was flat on her back, fighting off an infected. You couldn’t think, so you just reacted ― you leaped forwards, tackling the clicker. Knelt on top of it, its disgusting teeth snapped close to your hand. You felt a brief pang on your wrist as you lodged a bullet in its forehead.

With tears darkening your vision, you came off it and crawled to Joyce. Her eyes, devoid of life, stared at the cloudy, dusking sky. Her lifeless expression was filled with terror, tears still running down her cheeks. Blood was surging from her neck ― unconsciously, you covered the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

“No, Joyce, come on, wake up”, you whispered, grief tugging at your lungs.

She could not be gone just like that. But she was. Joyce was dead.

“Up! Lift the bridge!”, a man’s voice was carried by the wind.

Suddenly, the ground underneath you started moving up, the bridge parting exactly where you were. With no time to think, Joyce’s body rolled off the edge into the river as you tried to hold on to something to avoid the same destiny.

That something was Joel’s firm grip on your arm. His eyes wild with dread, he pulled you up and back into his arms. His trembling breath caressed your temple as he hugged you tightly. You knew he was as scared as you were, albeit for different reasons.

But there was no time for the shock to wear off. Off the corner of your eye, you saw little Ava running towards the edge, kneeling on the border, her tiny hand reaching into the abyss underneath. “Nana! Come back, nana!”, her wailing tone gave you goosebumps.

“No!”, you and Joel shouted at the same time, both lunging forward towards her.

And then she was gone too. The rotten hand of a clicker wrapped around her tiny wrist, and she fell off the bridge. Her piercing shriek was still ringing in your ears.

Joel and you remained flat against the asphalt, disheartened and broken.

“I had to let go of her for one second, you were falling, I―”, his voice faltered, his eyes broadened with remorse, transfixed on the exact spot Ava had disappeared from.

He was reliving his worst nightmare again. Your heart bled for him. For Joyce, for Ava. For yourself.

“Joel, don’t―”, you couldn’t finish. Don’t do this to yourself, you wanted to say.

“Get up! MOVE!”, Tommy shouted.

He had fended off the clickers who made it across the bridge before it was lifted. You hadn’t realised his efforts until you swept your surroundings and saw the bodies littered around you. Joel shook his head to clear his mind, casting off all emotions, and got up to his feet, helping you up in the process.

Then the three of you started running towards East Illinois Street while the government soldiers kept the clickers at bay as some of them tried to jump from one side of the bridge to the other ― this time, at least, they were aiming better than they did before.

You were still in living hell, with no chance to digest what had happened yet. It was like walking blindly through the darkness, unable to find the switch to turn on the lights. Your emotions had deserted you, at least for the time being. You needed to find shelter before you could shatter.

You raced for what felt like hours but was only minutes. You turned the corner on Erie Street, near Northwestern Hospital. The streets were filled with soldiers and uniformed police, shouting directions at the unhinged mass of people who were trying to find cover.

You stopped running, feeling like fire was consuming your lungs. Joel and Tommy stopped too to catch a breath. You bent over, hands on your knees, to aid your uncontrolled breathing ― Joel’s hand rubbed your back.

“Laney, wait up”, you heard Tommy say, and supposed that Laney and her group had made it out too.

You frowned when you saw blood dripping from your inner wrist on to your jeans. You turned your hand around to check the wound out.

Your breath didn’t reach your lungs. Teeth marks were imprinted on your skin, a grotesque sight. Your heart came to a halt, and then it pounded so hard your ears rang.

I’ve been bit, you thought, realisation dawning on you. Fuck, I’m bit.

Even though you were internally panicking like you had never before, you straightened your back and looked at Joel blankly. It felt like it wasn’t you who was talking, as if you were seeing yourself from outside your own body.

“Joel, I’ve been bit”. Your voice didn’t feel yours ― calm, ethereal.

He was watching his brother walk away, and then his eyes darted to yours in less than a second. His pupils were dilated, his nostrils flared, his lips pursed. A vein twitched in his jaw, his anxiety peaking to the highest level possible. You saw his hand shaking when he grabbed your wrist to inspect it himself.

Joel didn’t say a word. He didn’t have time to do so. You hadn’t realised that Tommy had stopped walking towards Laney and had drawn his gun as he was retracing his steps back to where you were.

“Joel, move”, the barrel was pointing at you, his hand steady.

Panic set in. Was he really going to shoot you? Just like that? Like your life didn’t matter at all? Like he wasn’t your esteemed friend? In front of Joel? Was this how you were going to die after all?

Questions flooded your mind, death knocking at your door.

Joel positioned his body in between you and Tommy ― one hand reaching back to keep you behind him, the other one in front of him at waist level, palm down, to keep Tommy away.

“Tommy, please―”, he implored in a hush.

You couldn’t see his face, but you knew his features were torn. His defeated tone ate at your conscience.

“She’s been bit, Joel. She ain’t coming with us, she can’t”, as much as Tommy wanted to convey a reassuring tone, he couldn’t.

Why was he talking like you were not there, like if you were already gone?

“Tommy, don’t do this. I lov―”, your heart sank to your stomach.

“Don’t say it, she’s dead”, Tommy cut him off before Joel could finish his appeal. “If you stay, you’re going to die. Come with me please, we’ll go with Laney and her group, we’ll survive this. You will survive this”, he nodded in your direction.

You were “this”. He was telling Joel he would get over you once you were dead. And you wanted him to listen. You were doomed, there was no coming back from this. You had seen people turn ― you had a couple of days tops before you would get lost to the fungus. Some people only lasted hours. If he stayed by your side to see you wither away… it would break him. For good.

“Joel, listen―”, you whispered, wrapping your fingers around his wrist ― a silent plea dying in your lips.

“No, don’t say a word”, he barely looked over his shoulder, unable to face you yet. “Tommy, I can’t. I just can’t”, he said under his breath.

“Choose then. Either you’re coming with me or you’re staying with her. But I won’t stay by your side to see you destroy yourself.”

An anxious knot formed in your throat. Was Tommy really going to make Joel choose between you and him? That was so fucking cruel you couldn’t believe your ears. You gaped, trying to say something, but Joel took a step back which forced you to do the same.

“Tommy, are you fucking serious?”, Joel asked, a shift in his tone from incredulity to betrayal.

“There’s your answer, I guess”, the younger Miller replied angrily.

Tommy simply walked off, not looking back, not even once.

Both Joel and you froze in place for a long minute, trying to wrap your heads around what just happened.

Your eyes drifted back down to the wound. Pus and blood oozed out. Your chest heaved, reality setting in. You were going to die. This was not what you had in mind for Christmas. How could this happen? Why you? Even with your mind racing with trepidation, you didn’t regret killing that clicker. What you lamented was that it had been for naught ― Joyce and Ava were dead.

“Hey, look at me”, Joel’s voice brought you back. His hands cradled your face, his thumbs sweeping away tears you were not aware of. “Look at me”, he repeated.

You looked up at him through damp eyelashes, memorising his face. His beautiful brown eyes were swirling with shock, with pain, with darkness, with guilt, with loss. His jaw was so clenched his lips were just a fine line. You momentarily shut your eyes, nestling your cheek into his hand before kissing his palm and taking a step back.

You could not look at him directly. The pain was too grave, too profound ― so insatiable it was consuming you. “You gotta go, Joel. Tommy is right. I’m… I’m dead. It’s just a matter of days, maybe hours. You can’t stay. You can’t follow me where I’m going.” The words escaped your mouth in shortened bursts, unable to keep a steady tone.

He took a step forward and cupped your chin, forcing your head up. His sad eyes captivated you, pulling you into their orbits, as if you were a tiny meteor dancing around too close to the black hole of his irises.

“Wherever you go, I’ll follow you. Even to the fucking edge of the atlas”, he muttered breathlessly. “I love you, so don’t ask me to leave you behind. I’m staying, till the bitter fucking end”, your heart dropped to your stomach at his confession.

This was not how you had expected things to be. You were supposed to have time with each other, all the time in the fucking world. And that time had just been snatched from you mercilessly.

Life was so fucking unjust.

You couldn’t stop the tears any longer ― they overflowed your waterlines, your vision so smeared you couldn’t see his face anymore. Your head tilted forward, until your face was buried in his chest.

Joel hugged you tightly, feeling like he was starring in a twisted horror movie. A dark void had replaced his heart, which had been completely ripped off his chest. He was barren inside. His breaths were shallow, they didn’t even reach his lungs.

Had he forgotten how to breathe?

“We need to get off the streets”, he managed to mumble, holding your hand and taking you away.

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