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pearl-nouveau · 1 month

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A Woman's Purpose - Cregan Stark x Reader [chapter two]

summary: After your grandsire's death, you fly to Winterfell with Jacaerys and find yourself nervous to treat with Cregan years after your heated moment together.

warnings: none i think

a/n: short chapter, just felt like a good stopping point. anyone want part three,,,?🤗

The actions of Alicent and her eldest son did not shock me, but they deeply wounded a sense of hope that I hadn't realized was still deep within my soul. I would always remember Cregan praising my kind heart, but sometimes it felt like a curse. I had believed at my core that our family could find it within themselves to forgive, to come together, to support my grandsire's wishes and put a woman on the Iron Throne... I had believed that Alicent had a spine, that Aemond had humility, that Aegon had a heart. And Heleana, my poor, dear aunt whom I considered a close friend - it pained me to think of her caught in the center of such a mess. I longed to see her and I longed to see my mother on her throne.

I thought back to the dinner we had before leaving for Dragonstone again. We had been merry, since Jaecerys and Lucerys were newly engaged. I was happy for Jace especially since we had talked so often of hoping for happy marriages, and Baela was a wonderful girl who he already adored. It pleased me that there was a possibility for love between the two of them.

Aegon had drunkenly wandered to my seat and leaned towards my ear.

"Poor niece... Your only purpose to be married off and still yet to be engaged. You'll be running out of options soon."

His amusement sickened me and I continued to pick at my food, trying to ignore him, but he continued.

"If you don't pick you'll end up with some elderly lord with a thumb for a pecker. Best swallow your pride and pick someone to claim you. Can't be your own woman forever, girl." His breath reeked of alcohol.

Jacaerys had noticed his advances and stood to intervene, only for Aegon to direct his attention towards Baela, which began a whole other mess leading to the night quickly unraveling.

It had made you think about marriage, not only as a duty, but as a tool. It had always been an important fixture in politics, but after everything that has happened with the throne, I knew that it would be even more urgent for me to take a husband. I lay in my bed at Dragonstone, resting my eyes, considering the current predicament of betrothal.

When it came down to it, there was no one I wanted to imagine myself marrying except for the Northern man who had captured my heart so many years ago. I feared, however, that it was too late. I had already refused him, in a way, one time. In addition, I had humiliated myself with his advances and then fled. He very well may hate me; find me to be a tease, a whore. I shuddered to think about it.

At that moment, Jacaerys barged into my room.

"Sister," breathlessly he addressed me, "mother has requested us to go to Winterfell and treat with Cregan Stark."

There was a hint of a smile on his face, although we both knew the task was serious. I had no immediate response to him, so he elaborated.

"I suggested that you come. I believe you should see him. Besides, it is the perfect excuse to go."

I turned away, suddenly emotional. I wiped at my face. "Perhaps he has already taken a new wife," I shook my head. "We only need one representative of the crown."

"You're coming," He said finally. I realized it was no longer a request, but an order.

"Does mother know?"

He shook his head. "This is for you to figure out. No interferences." I raised an eyebrow at him. "Except for mine, right now. I would hope that if we are to enter the Hell of war we can find at least some happiness within the chaos."

His words made me want to weep, realizing how much he has grown and how much more he will have to in the coming years. How much all my siblings would grow. I feared for the lives of my loved ones. Instinctively, I reached for my brother and pulled him to me. He hugged me back tightly.

"It'll all be okay, little dragon," his old nickname for me made me chuckle into his shoulder, "tomorrow, we ride for Winterfell."

That night, I dreamt of Cregan. Brief, hazy glimpses of moments we shared in the past. Moments that made me fall in love with him.

I saw him poised in front of Vermithor, no fear in those stormy eyes, his hand outstretched to stroke my beautiful dragon's scaled face. He had respected the authority of my beast, and Vemithor in turn had leaned into the Lord's touch. That moment had brought heat to my stomach and tugged at my insides. The Bronze Fury was not easy to befriend.

I saw him across the altar in the sept where I took him on a tour, his head bent in prayer, dark hair framing his face. He had caught my eye and held it, unblinking, keeping it until I looked away.

I saw in the golden hour in the training yard, his gaze finding me between every attack. He moved like ice against his sparring partners: cold, calculated, hardened. No one bested him. When we walked to dinner together afterward, he walked behind me, and I had suddenly felt a tug at my hair. He gently pulled the ribbon holding my braid together - a braid commanded by my mother - letting my hair fall down my back. I like it down like this, he told me, wild and free, like you.

Morning was unwelcome because it ripped me from the warmth of my dreams with him, but the realization that I was soon to be headed for Winterfell thrilled me. I quickly dressed and packed with my handmaidens before finding Jacaerys in the hallway. He said nothing, grasping my hand and nodding solemnly. We moved to the dragon pit together and prepared Vermax and Vermithor. When we exited the cave, I saw my mother and younger siblings watching on from above.

"We should say our goodbyes," I told Jacaerys, "the Gods only know when the next time we will all be together is."

Jace nodded, and we joined with the rest of our family. I kissed each of the little ones on the forehead, pinched their cheeks, sniffed their baby skin, making every attempt to remember them as they were in case I was struck from the back of my dragon. Lucerys stood tall when I came to him, like the proud little fighter he was, and I gave him a tight hug and a squeeze of luck for his own journey. I worried for him dearly, but Lucerys was perhaps the most smart and capable of us Valeryen children, even at his young age.

"Good luck, raqiarzy," I spoke into his hair. He was nearly as tall as me at that point. "I shall see you soon."

My mother gazed at me with that look she always wore as I moved to stand in front of her. So diplomatic, so very regal. Sometimes I wished she would soften and just be my mother for a moment. But now, finally involved in diplomacy, who was I to her? Still her daughter, or some cancerous growth jeopardizing her claim?

I felt her arms around me. "Be safe," she whispered into my ear, "I love you, my daughter."

Tears filled my eyes and I hugged her back. I thought about all of our fights about my marriage. Who was I truly fighting? We were both shackled by tradition, still, I realized. Her claim had been an abstract future and now it had all come crashing down. She was still fighting the same battles against men that she believed to have won as a girl my own age. None of our past disagreements mattered now. Happiness and freedom were no longer mine to take for myself; they may be ripped from us all at any moment.

My mother and I separated and she placed a kiss to my brow. Her stoic demeanor had faded and I could see wetness in her eyes. Jace offered me his arm and I reluctantly took it, turning away from my family and trying not to think about our uncertain future.

The journey to Winterfell was long and cold, as many journeys on dragonback are, but I was comforted by the presence of Vermax and Jacaerys gliding back and forth below me. Our dragons, very different in size, flew quite differently. Vermax was nimble and slight, disappearing between clouds and darting in and out of sight easily. A formidable stealth opponent. Vermithor, on the other hand, was enormous and flew with simple, powerful strokes of his golden wings. He was fearsome, and I found him to be the most beautiful creature in the world. As terrifying as he was, our bond was strong. He never raised a tone at me; he grumbled and purred in my presence only, and awaited orders with undying loyalty. He had been my dragon since the time I was ten and four, and our relationship only strengthened by the day.

The sky greyed as we flew further North and the air began to chill. I shivered not only from the cold but the impending reunion I was to have with Cregan. I had no idea what to expect. I had considered opening his letter but it was still too frightening to me. It left me even more unprepared for a conversation with him.

When we reached Winterfell, Jacaerys and I circled Vermax and Vermithor a few times to signal our landing. We made no sudden moves towards the castle and its surrounding fortress, and landed in an isolated field. The wind whipped my long hair out from the veil I had tied around my head. It floated around my head like a halo as I squinted in the heatless sunlight.

"Someone rides this way," Jacaerys called from the back of Vermax. He began to disembark and I glanced over to where he looked. A rider on a black horse, eighteen hands tall, came galloping towards our dragons. Vermithor let out a roar of distaste. He didn't like people coming near him - or me. I calmed him with coos in High Valerian and began to slide down his wing. The rider had stopped next to Jace and gotten off the horse.

As I crept closer, I knew it was Cregan. His stature was unmistakable. Tall and dominating against the bleak horizon in his furs. Gods, I had never seen him in his heavy Northern furs. It made me want to crawl within them, to feel the heat of his body around me. Coming closer, I saw him clap Jace on the shoulder with familiarity, and then turn his gaze to me. With no hesitation, he came towards me. I saw behind him Jace getting onto his horse, the ghost of a brotherly smirk on his face, and kicking the horse forward towards Winterfell.

"What-" I began to question as Cregan came within arm's length of me, unable to finish as he pulled me to his chest in a tight hug. The furs were just as warm as they looked, and I melted into his arms. It had been so long since I smelled him. Like sap and smoke and ale and somehow roses. My arms snaked under the cloak and I could feel the hardened muscle of his body through his shirt. And then I realized - he was hugging me, as if he missed me, as if...

"I've missed you, my princess." He spoke into my hair.

"You aren't angry with me?" I breathed into his cloak. He pulled back and took my chin in his calloused fingers, his face laced with confusion.

"How could I ever, my girl? You didn't read my letter?"

I flushed. "I was embarrassed. I thought you would have wanted me to keep quiet after I... lost control like that." He barked out a laugh, which would have made her feel ashamed had he not paired it with a gentle kiss to her cheekbone.

"I'll show you what losing control really is, someday," he kissed her cheek again and hummed. "Darling, I wrote you that letter and apologized for leaving so quickly... had it been up to me I would have stayed until you chose to see me again and asked for your hand right there. I had to get home to my son and my duties here but you have never left my head." Now it was his turn to flush as he recounted the contents of his letter. "I... I had begged you to someday consider me to be your husband if you ever found that marriage was something you wanted. None of my advisors could convince me to take another wife until I knew that there was no chance. I have held out hope for years, I have taken no other lover, and I beg you to end my agony and provide an answer," he dropped to his knee as if his body were giving out on him. "Is there a chance? Someday, that you would allow me to love you as I already do?"

It all became clear to me that my world was soon to fall apart, and standing in front of me was a man who was promising to stand by my side in the worst of times. As my family is torn apart and our power in the realm shattered. A smile crossed my face.

"You mean to tell me that the most eligible Northern Lord has been withholding his services from the ladies of the North, all because a faraway dragon rider was stuck in his dreams?"

My teasing lilt was enough for him to look up at me and grin, standing to his full height towering over me. He grasped at my waist with one hand and cupped my face with the other.

"They've been left wanting, I suppose." My Lord Stark said contemplatively.

"As have ladies in the South." I told him, surprised by my own boldness and pleased by the delivery.

He wasted no more time in capturing my lips, kissing me as if he were starved. He kept taking breaths to stare at me before continuing. His lips moved lovingly across my neck, my jaw, my throat, hungry to taste every inch of skin. After a while, I pressed against his chest and examined his face. It was even more beautiful up close than I remembered. His face an oval with hardened edges. Strong brows and thick pink lips that I was free to kiss. His hair pulled back haphazardly to keep from blowing in the wind. He kissed me one more time, this one softer than baby's breath, and held my head in one of his strong hands before nodding towards Winterfell in the distance.

"I let Jacaerys take my steed so we might walk together." He gestured back to the dragons. "Whatever they eat I will have brought to them."

"They'll eat anything. Even you," I poked his chest.

"You just tell me if Vermithor ever starts feeling jealous. I shall begin to steer clear."

We walked together, slowly, catching up after the last couple of years. I asked of his son and he told me that Rickon was nearly three years old. He stopped me for a moment. "I've already an heir. If we wed, I shall not force you to bear my children. You will never be just the mother of my children. You will be my wife."

I smiled at that, saying nothing. Children hadn't crossed my mind. I supposed I was not ready to think about it. The way he spoke so definitely about our marriage gave me pause.

"Cregan, I-" my words faltered, but I persisted. "I think you ought to know that I didn't come here just to see you."

He chuckled. "I figured as such when you brought your brother and two dragons."

I blushed. "We need you and your army to stand by my mother. My uncle has taken her throne. My grandsire's crown was scarcely off his head before Aegon took it. My mother raises an army to stand against him. I am not a bargaining tool, I will not marry you for an army-"

"-I would never presume to trade you like an animal. The North will see your mother, the rightful queen, on her throne, you have my word. I want to marry you because I fell in love with you in King's Landing those years ago, and I wish for you to be free as you want to be. If marrying me is not how you will find your freedom, I will accept your answer." The concept seemed to pain him.

Would marriage truly shackle me? Being with Cregan felt like being on dragonback for the first time. It felt like gliding over a lake of glass water, your arms outstretched. I had fought and fought for so many years to be free, but free from what? I now saw in front of me a new kind of freedom, away from the clawing hands that surrounded the crown always. I saw a man who chose me and respected my happiness. I looked around at the rolling hills and distant mountains. The cool wind on my face. Bustling people entering and exiting the gates of Winterfell. Perhaps I imagined it, but I heard laughter. Children. I closed my eyes for a moment and felt peace.

I opened them again to see the hopeful face of Cregan Stark awaiting my words. If what he said was true, would he remain here in front of me for the rest of my life, always waiting to grant my next wish?

I smiled. Reached out to him. Snaked my hands around his neck, brought his face close to mine.

"I choose me," I told him quietly. "So, I choose you."

We sealed the betrothal with a kiss.

#cregan stark x reader #cregan stark imagine #cregan stark x you #cregan stark fanfiction #cregan stark fanfic #cregan stark #hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon imagine #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader

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byuntrash101 · 1 year

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boys like you

dom!reader x sub!felix

smut | mdni

2.2k

the first try was a test run but this time you promised to show felix what girls like you really do to boys like him. sequel to girls like me but can be read as a stand alone

nsfw tags under the cut

nerdsub!felix is too cute he just wants to be the goodest boy </3, dom!reader, felix's freckles ♡ (again), pet names (good boy, babyboy), slight degradation, slight humilation, oral (m), rimming, overstim, multiple orgasms (m), unprotected sex (uh naur), creampie, praising, handjob, corruption kink, edging, begging, facial (m)

a/n: i totally did not take months to publish part 2. anyways this is the final part i hope you enjoy <3 dont hesitate to tell me <3

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Felix just couldn’t sleep. After that encounter in the library he kept thinking about you. He kept thinking of how his body reacted to every single touch. And to think after your last class tomorrow you were going to come back to his dorm with him…

He turned on his stomach, trying to ignore the way his hardened cock rubbed on the mattress. He just needed some sleep, that's all.

At first Felix was scared things would be awkward, but they weren’t at all. You just put him at ease and he thought his heart was going to fall out of his chest when you suddenly held his hand while walking from the campus to his dorm.

You briefly greeted his roommates while he offered you something to drink. You chatted lightheartedly with Christopher from your microorganism study class and recognized Seungmin that was hanging out in the library a lot too. But that didn’t last long because to be honest you were just eager to get Felix all alone, all to yourself.

When he took you to his bedroom and closed the door behind himself he turned around and was already blushing.

“Well” his deep voice spoke just above a whisper. “That’s my room” he leaned his back against the door and looked back at you so coyly, the tip of his ears already taking on an adorable pink hue.

You waited for this for so long, you didn’t have it in you to hold back anymore. You walked to him and placed both your hands flat on the door at each side of him. By reflex Felix stiffened his back against the cold door, holding his breath as you caged him in.

“You’re already so flustered and I haven't even laid a single finger on you yet” you whispered against the thin skin of his neck as he tilted his head up, allowing you access to him. You licked along his sharp jaw and felt his throat vibrate as he let out a deep hum of satisfaction.

Your hand firmly wrapped around his waist, making him gasp. You took advantage of this to crash your lips on his. Slipping your tongue past his lips as your other hand wrapped around his neck, your thumb prying his jaw open.

He moaned into your mouth as you pressed your hips against his, your grip on his waist, tightening, bruising his sensitive skin. You felt his already hard and throbbing cock press against your lower stomach and you pushed your thigh between his legs. Felix moaned again, a deep rumble hitting you right in the chest. He couldn’t have been happier, immediately, without even much thinking he welcomed the new found pleasure as he rubbed himself against your thigh. You smirked against his lips. Yearning for more friction, he wanted you so bad. He wanted to feel you, he wanted more, more of you. But you stepped back. He couldn’t help but whine.

“Fuck, you’re already this hard from a simple little kiss” You grabbed onto his balls, lightly squeezing them which made him suck in a deep shaky breath and squint his eyes shut.

“An eager little whore, aren’t we?” you asked, tilting your face in adoration as you observed him peel one eye open and his freckled cheeks flushed red. “Say it” you ordered.

You squeezed harder when he didn’t respond quick enough. His jaw fell open.

“F-fuck” he whispered under his breath. “I-I’m an eager little whore” he finally let out. Already he felt like he could cum just from the sheer humiliation he was feeling, shame and arousal bubbling in his guts and mixing until indiscernible.

You smirked when you noticed his dick twitch, you were still testing the waters here but you were pleased to discover elite student Lee Felix enjoyed a little pain and humiliation.

You let go of his sack to bring your hand over his clothed hard on. Palming it very lightly. It took Felix everything he had not to grind against you again.

“You know I'm not holding back today, right love?” you whispered into his ear. The pet name sent a myriad of butterflies in his stomach.

“Y-yes” he said, holding his breath, as he let his hips jerk one single time unintentionally out of reflex.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anybody else” you growled in his ear.

“Yes, yes please” he answered. “I don’t want anybody else” he said, his deep voice cracking.

“Good boy” you praised applying more pressure as a reward which made him moan. “Strip for me and lay on the bed.”

In a split second Felix was completely nude laid down on the bed for you. His red and swollen cock laying flat on his stomach and leaking precum onto his abs. The sight of him obediently waiting for you made your cunt pulse.

“Spread your legs, babyboy” you ordered as you also slipped out of your clothes, abandoning them without a care on the carpeted floor. You felt your heartbeat stutter as you spotted Felix’s hole.

You found your spot between his legs, wrapping your arms under his thighs and your palms pushing his hips down.

“You’re already so wet for me” you said, swiping your tongue on his slit as he arched his back. The salty taste was absolutely divine. You took him past your lips, your tongue focussing on the sensitive head.

Felix couldn’t believe his eyes. He couldn’t believe your beautiful face was currently taking his cock. His dick disappearing behind your lips, just before reappearing covered in your spit. Fuck he wanted this to never ever end.

“Fuck” he gasped as you sucked him harder hollowing your cheeks and looking up at his flushed face, his freckles almost erased by the tomato red tint spread across his cheeks and nose.

When you felt him dangerously twitch you popped him out of your mouth in a lewd wet sound. He wanted to whimper at the loss of your lips around him but was cut with a gasp when you pulled on his hips, lifting them in the air. Felix found himself in a very precarious situation where his body weight was resting on his upper back and his legs were spread in the air.

You wrapped your arm around his waist and started to pump around his cock. Resting his lower back against your chest and spreading his ass cheeks with your other hand. You found yourself face to face with his blinking eager little hole. You immediately delved in, swirling your tongue around his rim. Felix started to moan, this time it was more high pitched.

You gave him a couple licks as you lazily pumped around his hard cock now dripping precum onto Felix’s chest and neck due to the position.

Then you pushed one finger in. The reaction was everything you had hoped for. The lewdest, most sinful sound you ever heard escaped Felix's lips.

“Like that baby?” you asked as you curled your finger right into the blonde’s prostate.

“Yesss!!! Oh my god” he choked.

It was the very first time he was fingered and he never suspected it could feel this good. He had to cover his mouth with the back of his hand trying to muffle his moans as you started to come and go inside his tight little ass.

“Don’t cover your mouth, baby” you whispered, planting a kiss on his inner thigh. “I want Chris and Seungmin to hear how much of a good little slut you are for me” you sunk your teeth into the soft fleshy muscle as Felix obediently laid back his hand at his side.

You slipped another finger in and Felix couldn’t help but to scream in bliss, sure that this time his roommates had heard him. But he couldn’t help himself at the way you were deliciously spreading him open, loosening his tight little hole while you started pumping around his cock a little faster. Felix was seeing stars.

“Yes fucking scream for me” you said swirling your tongue around your fingers adding yet an other layer of pleasure to Felix.

You kept on harassing his sweet spot and cock head until his legs were trembling.

“C-Can I cum?” he asked, already about to burst.

“Hold it in a little longer for me okay?” you asked, looking down at him. He whined, as his vision turned blurry.

He knew he was already too far gone. He wouldn’t be able to hold on unless you completely stopped.

“I c-can’t” he said through gritted teeth, fisting the sheets beside his face and trying his best not to cum.

He was so cute, chest as flushed as the tip of his cock, eyes glazed over. You could tell he was doing his absolute maximum to be obedient and keep it in but truth is. You wanted him to fail.

You started to pump your fingers in and out faster and held onto his cock tighter, setting him for failure as he came undone.

“I’m sorry” he cried.

You felt his hole flutter open and clenching down on your fingers as he reached his peak. You angled his cock right at his face as large ropes of hot cum came crashing down on his face as he chanted “sorry sorry sorry” squirts after squirts of thick cum splashing on his freckled cheeks and his half open lips, mumbling apologies.

You slowed down the pace allowing him to ride off his high. Squeezing the last drops of cum right out of his tip and licking your fingers clean of the remnants.

You let go of him and his legs fall back in front of him while his red chest heaved up and down.

“You really can’t listen to simple orders can you now?” you grabbed him by the neck, straddling him, the harsh gesture pulled him down from his high.

“I’m s-sorry. I-I really tried” he panted “It just felt too good I couldn’t-”

“Shut up!” you said, squeezing around his neck, Felix’s jaw automatically went lax, his beautiful brown eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Before his dick went limp you grabbed it at the base and aimed it at your entrance. Felix shuddered when he felt his sensitive tip rub against your dripping heat. You sunk down your hips on him, he couldn't help but to mewl so pathetically as he shook under you from overstimulation.

You smirked, knowing the torture had just begun for him.

With all of this teasing you found yourself just as eager for release and since you didn’t have one ounce of mercy left in you you decided to set the killing pace right from the get go.

You moan in bliss at how full you felt, Felix’s pretty cock perfectly fitting inside you. You sighed as the familiar knot tightened in the pit of your stomach, the sounds of skin clashing against skin bouncing off the thin walls of the dorm bedroom.

Felix on the other hand felt like his body was going up in flames, large beads of sweat running down his temples and wetting the pillow he was currently fisting, trying his best not to let his hands fly to your waist to stop their relentless back and forth. He could help but to scream at the overstimulation, the forced pleasure transforming into torture.

“I’m almost there, sweet babyboy” you moaned, smiling fondly at the blonde’s face distorted with pain and pleasure. “You’re gonna be a good boy and let me use you until I cum?” you questioned as you had one hand on his chest, helping you keep your balance as you smashed your hips down just to reel them back up again.

“Yesssss!!!” Felix agreed, nodding his head enthusiastically, his eyebrows meeting on his forehead. “Please please please use me” he begged. Those words were costing him his sanity but he didn’t care. He only wanted to be good to you. Be good for you. To please you. In this moment he felt like it was his only purpose. He was born for this. Born to feel the strangulating clenches of your sweet dripping cunt around his cock, reduced to a mere toy for your pleasure. That’s what he wanted to be for you.

“You’re my toy” you said, seeming to have read his mind, raspy voice lowering.

Felix needed nothing more to cum a second time. This time the climax ripped through his entire body sending his soul ablaze as he delivered his seed inside you. You followed right after continuing your coming and going and fucking his cum deeper into your pulsating pussy. Soon your movements became sloppy, unable to maintain the pace as you also reach your peak, heat overflowing your body and mind as you slipped into a trance.

You crashed next to felix. You turned your face to see him looking completely at peace with himself, his lips parted and taking breaths, the blonde fringe stuck to his sweaty forehead.

You caressed his cheeks with the back of your hand and he immediately pressed his face against you.

“You did so well for me, my baby” you praised. “my pretty babyboy” you said fondly pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Give me 15 minutes and I promise this time I’ll be even better for you”

IF YOU ENJOYED DONT FORGET TO REBLOG 🖤

a/n: im going brrr brrr for sub!lix he's just so cute like i cant! i hope you enjoyed. dont hesitate to tell me if you did. my asks are open always <3

taglist (i tagged everyone that asked for part 2 i hope you dont mind): @imastraykidsfan @skzfelixlove @rizikimkim @ploopy1423 @catirita10 @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @moonyangels @sujurunaway @lilquokka04 @fawnpeaks @ipegchangbin

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anonymityisfunwriter · 6 months

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The GED

Pairing - Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader Summary - There's more than one way to be smart. Or so you've been told. But how on Earth do you go about proving that you're not (the stupid, illiterate Avenger) dumb?

Anon's 1K Celebration | The GED Series List

"Can you please just listen to me?" Sam begs you. "I'm telling you this is a bad idea."

"Or it's an amazing idea and it'll all be for the better!" you counter, plating the last of your freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.

He snatches a cookie from the plate when he thinks you're not watching, "Or you'll make an already strained relationship like ten times worse."

You glare at him, snatching the cookie back and placing it back on the plate, "Or by then end of the day we'll have a new set of friends."

Bucky groans, entering the room just in time to hear your rebuttal to Sam's negativity, "Please, not more friends. I don't like the ones I have as it is."

"See?" Sam wildly gestures to Bucky. "When do we ever agree on anything? It just proves that this is a terrible idea!"

"Hi," Bucky finally greets you, gently pecking your lips. "Missed you. Now, who exactly are we trying to make friends with?"

"The SHIELD agents downstairs," you blithely reply.

Bucky quirks an eyebrow at you, "Why? They hate us."

"That's exactly what I said!" Sam frantically exclaims.

"Have we ever asked ourselves why they hate us?" you muse. "Maybe we need to be a little nicer to them."

"Or maybe it's because they're bitter and jealous that we're better than them," Sam remarks.

"Well, it's definitely not because of Sam's incredible sense of humility," Bucky sarcastically retorts.

"Shut up," Sam snarks. "And we are better. Our stats are better, we get first pick of assignments, our mission times are like a third of theirs, Fury trusts us a hell of a lot more, and we get all the good snacks."

"And that means we can't be friends?" you rhetorically ask. "We work together all the time!"

"Listen, it's not that bad of a deal," Bucky tries to convince you. "They tolerate us. We tolerate them. It's never caused a problem on missions or anything, so who cares? Not everyone in this world is going to like you."

"Who else doesn't like me?" you frantically question, quirking an eyebrow at Bucky.

"Everyone likes you," Bucky assures you.

"Except the people downstairs," Sam teases.

"That's it!" You throw your hands up in frustration. "I'm going down there. I'm just going to bring these cookies down there and talk to them. They're just people, I'm sure they're all really nice!"

"Nice going," Bucky mutters to Sam, elbowing him in the ribs. "Come on, can't we just leave well enough alone? Isn't it enough that the people who actually know you like you? And not to mention, I like you and I don't like anybody."

"Aww.." you coo at Bucky, caressing his cheek. "Nope, too late, I'm committed."

"Why?" Sam groans. "You're never going to get everyone in the world to like you!"

"Oh, yes, I can! I've spend my entire time out in the world cultivating a personality that's impossible not to like just to satisfy my compulsive people pleasing tendencies."

Bucky's eyebrows furrow as a teasing smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, "People really don't see this side of you enough."

Sam nods, "You're a little scary when you think people don't like you."

"Scary or strangely endearing?" you wonder.

"Scary! Definitely scary!"

Bucky sighs to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose, "You're not going to leave this alone, are you?"

You beam at the two of them, scooping up the plate of cookies, "Not even a little bit."

"It's a bad idea!" Sam bellows down the corridor as you walk away from him.

You roll your eyes as you step onto the elevator and tell Friday to take you to the third floor, where the SHIELD agents typically hung out.

It wasn't a bad idea. It was a great idea. What could go wrong with trying to bring people closer together? They were just people. They were people you had to trust with your lives, why not get to know them a little bit more?

As you step off the elevator, you immediately notice that this layout is almost identical to the one upstairs, except without all the extravagant touches of Tony Stark. You amble down the hallway, looking for a sign of anyone. You figure if the layout is the same, their common room will be in the same place as the one upstairs.

You're right, you realize when you start to hear faint voices from where you thought their common room would be. Even all the way down the hall, voices echo off the walls as you make your way closer.

You certainly don't mean to eavesdrop or listen into a conversation that you're not supposed to hear.

No, you definitely don't mean to eavesdrop on your new friends, but the open floor plan does nothing to dampen the sounds of their booming voices.

"Yeah, I leave first thing tomorrow," an unfamiliar voice sighs.

"Who with?" someone else asks.

You don't like the way they spit Bucky's name out in disgust, "Barnes."

"Oh, he's the worst!" the same voice dramatically groans. You silently scoff at the insinuation that Bucky was the worst. "He just sits and stares like he's got nothing better to do."

"Please, I'd take him over his girlfriend any day," a different female scoffs.

You freeze at the mention of yourself. You know you should go. You shouldn't be listening to this. The things they were saying were definitely not nice, but neither was eavesdropping.

"Oh come on, she's not that bad."

You sigh in relief, feeling a little better that someone was defending you. You could go upstairs and tell Sam that he was wrong, not all the SHIELD agents were that bad.

And in the next second, you were proved very, very wrong.

"She's just such an idiot!" Your stomach twists in knots as the same SHIELD agent continues complaining about you. This is what you got for eavesdropping, you tell yourself. They're entitled to their own opinions about you. Better yet, you could change their minds and show them that there was more to you than what meets the eye. You just don't want to believe that people can be this mean, that it's so easy for them to be this casually cruel. They just didn't know you. You were sure that if they did know you all, they wouldn't be saying such awful things. "I don't know what everyone sees in her, but I swear I can see right through that whole Sunshine act."

"I dunno, she acted like that on the last mission I had with her."

"She didn't let up? Not once?"

"Nope! The whole time."

"I'd rather get caught by the bad guys then deal with her for a whole week."

"Who knows, maybe Barnes likes them dumb," the agent giggles. The words feel like a punch to the gut. You want to leave, to turn on your heels and pretend like you never heard a thing, but you're frozen in shock. "Like a Stepford Wife thing."

"If that's true, then they'll be together forever," the same agent, the one going on a mission with Bucky tomorrow, jokes.

"What do you think they even talk about?"

"Who knows?"

"My question is what kind of adult makes it knowing as little as she does?"

"The kind with Fury in their back pocket."

"Exactly! It's the only reason she's even apart of the team. I'd bet anything she's never even picked up a book."

"Can I tell you guys something?" an agent exclaims. "Someone got into a bunch of their files upstairs. And guess what? She can't even read! She's illiterate! An illiterate Avenger!"

Your blood runs cold. Those were private. They held so much intimate information about you and your history and they were using it to make fun of you, make fun of the people that chose to love you.

You weren't sure what was worse, that they were using your past to make fun of you, or that they knew intimate details of your past, they knew the torment you were put through as a child and they still thought it was funny, they still used it as a way to belittle you. As though you had any control over it. As though it was your fault.

It's only then that you realize that tears are staining your cheeks, that you're still standing in the hallway with a plate of cookies as a peace offering for the SHIELD agents making fun of you and your friends.

"Probably doesn't even know what a book is. Maybe her next mission should be a day of kindergarten."

It's mean. It's meaner than they have any right to be, but a lightbulb goes off in your head as you finally regain the ability to leave.

You furiously wiped away your tears, storming down the corridor and back to your side of the Compound. You leave the plate of pastries on the counter for your team mates.

And you made a decision right then and there. You wouldn't cry. You wouldn't try to convince them that you were smart. You would just do better. Be better. You were going to show them that you could be more than the illiterate Avenger.

In that very moment, you decide your very next mission: School.

AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Grumpy Sunshine Series Anon's 1K Celebration

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez@ludicbouquetfromearth@matchat3a@famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff@valoraxx@blue786sworld@buckyandgeraltsupremacy@geminigengar@ansaturn@ecolle@lexhalstead3@ybflkmj@mediocre-daydreams@shanye1112@thegirlnextdoorssister@toomanyfanficsbruh@moonlightreader649@breathtaking-cynthia@mirikusashes@beans-and-toast@niyahcoca@katiechikin@elxvrr@antiheroxsblog@infamouslyclumsy@krissydclayton93@buckysbarne@deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic@whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy

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poohsources · 1 year

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🐝 * ― 𝑨𝑽𝑨𝑻𝑨𝑹: 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑳𝑨𝑺𝑻 𝑨𝑰𝑹𝑩𝑬𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺.

❛ i'm angry at myself! ❜ ❛ it's easy to do nothing, it's hard to forgive. ❜ ❛ you miscalculated. i love them more than i fear you. ❜ ❛ there is nothing wrong with letting the people who love you help you. ❜ ❛ but now you're not letting yourself feel anything. i know sometimes it hurts more to hope and it hurts more to care. but you have to promise me that you won't stop caring. ❜ ❛ my own mother thought i was a monster ... she was right of course, but it still hurt. ❜ ❛ in the darkness, hope is something you give yourself. ❜ ❛ never forget who you are, for surely the world won't. ❜ ❛ why am i so bad at being good? ❜ ❛ it is important to draw wisdom from different places. if you take it from only one place, it becomes rigid and stale. ❜ ❛ sometimes the best way to solve your own problems is to help someone else. ❜ ❛ and now you have come to the crossroads of destiny. it's time for you to choose. ❜ ❛ you may not always see the light at the end of the tunnel, but if you keep moving, you will come to a better place. ❜ ❛ protection and power are overrated. i think you are very wise to choose happiness and love. ❜ ❛ get over here, [ name ]. being part of the group also means being part of group hugs. ❜ ❛ stop! stop it right now! what's wrong with you? we don't have time for fun and games with the war going on. ❜ ❛ i'm too young to die! ❜ ❛ in my country, we exchange a pleasant 'hello' before asking questions. ❜ ❛ i didn't know what or when, but i knew i'd know it when i knew it! ❜ ❛ the past can be a great teacher. ❜ ❛ when we hit our lowest point, we are open to the greatest change. ❜ ❛ there really is no fathoming the depths of my hatred for this place. ❜ ❛ failure is only the opportunity to try again, only more wisely this time. ❜ ❛ i wanted to take out all of my anger on them. but i couldn't. i don't know if it's because i'm too weak ... or if it's because i'm strong enough not to. ❜ ❛ look [ name ], you're going to fail a lot before things work out. even though you will fail over and over again, you have to try every time. you can't quit because you're afraid you might fail. ❜ ❛ while it is always best to believe in oneself, a little help from others can be a great blessing. ❜ ❛ you must never give in to despair. allow yourself to slip down that road, and you surrender to your lowest instincts. ❜ ❛ if we knew each other back then, do you think we could have been friends too? ❜ ❛ you know, [ name ], i don't care what anyone else says about you. you're pretty smart. ❜ ❛ if i try, i fail. if i don't try, i'm never going to get it. ❜ ❛ let your anger out, and then let it go. forgive him. ❜ ❛ pride is not the opposite of shame, but rather its source. true humility is the only antidote to shame. ❜ ❛ life happens wherever you are, whether you make it or not. ❜ ❛ the greatest illusion of this world is the illusion of separation. things you think are separate and different are actually one and the same. ❜ ❛ you stand alone. that has always been your greatest weakness. ❜ ❛ bad skin? normal teenagers worry about bad skin, i don't have that luxury. ❜ ❛ in my dream, we were right in the middle of the invasion, and you stopped to use the bathroom. we die because of your tiny bladder. ❜ ❛ you need to find someone who waits and listens before striking. ❜ ❛ everyone has to be treated like they're worth giving a chance. ❜ ❛ i don't need luck, though. i don't want it. i've always had to struggle and fight, and that's made me strong. it's made me who i am. ❜

#rp meme #rp memes #rp prompts #roleplay meme #sentence starters #tv starters #tv sentence starters #rph #type: meme

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sillyteecup · 2 months

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The Wrong Way

Roman Reigns x black!o.c

Jey Uso x black!o.c

Chapter 3

Warnings:

18+

Strong language

Slut shaming

Taglist: @wrestlingprincess80 @nbanenefrmdao @vebner37 @theninthwonder @tshepisho @lensilver @trentybenty @empressdede @queen-shadow22 @becauseimher @jstarr86

A.N: I would like to apologize to anyone who was expecting Main event Jey Uso. No pookies, this is 2021 Jey, or as I like to call him, "crashout Jey"🤭. Anyway, a delightful bunch our characters are yes? I honestly can't wait to get them to fully interact so we can see where this shit storm is going😭😭. Anyway here's chapter 3 of The Wrong Way. I hope you like it. Enjoy.❤️

The journey to Lori's new pris-home was long and silent. The Wiseman had arranged for her and her maidens to be seated in their own section of the jet with Sami for supervision. He said it was by the order of the Tribal Chief, which was a pleasant surprise to Loreal. However she still wasn't sold on the family.

Her maidens however were elated. Although they had not directly interacted with or even seen the Bloodline outside of Sami and the Wiseman, the closeness in proximity to the family was enough to spike their excitement levels. That paired with the opportunity to fly private with their Mistress. Previously When Lori and her family traveled, Lord Byron would have the Maidens fly commercial and in separate seats. No one understood why, and when Lori would protest he would be dismissive. So naturally, their current arrangement brought them joy.

While the maidens drank cocktails and shared hushed theories of how the palace would look, Lori sat opposite Sami in silence. His jaw often twitched as though he wanted to say something to her, but he never did. While he was slightly more relaxed away from the Tribal Chief, he was still on edge. Fidgeting with his rings and shifting relentlessly in his seat. All of the sudden movement was starting to annoy Lori.

"Sir-" she began, only to be interrupted by Sami.

"Sami. Just, Sami is fine, Miss Loreal," he said nervously with his hand up.

"That doesn't seem very inappropriate," Lori pointed out with an arched eyebrow.

"Well, Sir isn't exactly my title so calling me by name is as appropriate as it gets," Sami explained with a shrug.

Lori tilted her head as a look of confusion washed upon her features. "You are part of the most powerful family in the world, and you do not have a title?" she inquired.

Sami nodded before replying, "Well yes. But also no," he said vaguely.

"I don't follow," Lori said, folding her hands over her lap.

"I am a part of the Bloodline don't get me wrong. But I wasn't born into it, therefore no title. Well, unless you take, 'Honorary Uce' into account, but otherwise no title. Just good ole' Sami," Sami rambled, finishing his explanation with a nervous chuckle.

"Ah, I see. Honorary Uce Sami is quite the mouthful, but so is Miss Loreal. So you will call me Lori," Lori said jokingly to try and ease Sami's nerves.

"Lori," he sounded out slowly, as if testing it on his tongue. "I could work with that. Just not around the Tribal Chief," he added, his anxiety seeming to spike at the thought of Tribal Chief Roman.

"I'm sure he would not mind. At least until after the wedding," Lori shrugged, but Sami shook his head.

"Oh he would. He's very big on the title thing. Says it has to do with showing respect and humility," Sami explained.

"I don't think he'd care too much about showing me respect, I am after all an outsider. On top of that I am damaged. No one respects a damaged woman. They only seek to humble her," Lori said dryly, earning a soft small from Sami.

"I respect you, Lori," Sami said softly.

Lori's eyes softened. "Sami, while I appreciate the sentiment, you do not know me. You have no reason to respect me."

"Actually, I do have a reason. A couple actually," Sami stated, confidence slowly oozing into his tone making Lori smirk playfully.

"And praytell Sami, what are they?" she asked him.

Lori's smile grew at Sami's grin. His posture had slowly started to relax throught their conversation, and judging form his demeanor, he seemed very friendly. A stark difference from the family that took him in.

"Well, you're head strong, you're confident and you're kind. Well, at least kind to me and your maidens," Sami listed, counting his points with his fingers.

In a weird way, Sami reminded Lori of her mother. Although Azalea and her daughter hardly spoke, whenever they did, Lady Azalea always made sure to encourage and reassure Loreal. Lady Azalea would tell her that she was beautiful, intelligent, confident and kind. She would also remind Loreal not to let anyone take advantage of her kindness. Thus, her hot headed nature and occasionally cold demeanor.

"Thank you Sami. It might not mean much, but you have my respect as well," Lori replied softly.

She could've sworn she had just seen a tear roll down her new asset's eye.

➽──────────────❥

Roman exited the jet, followed by his cousins. His hands rubbed at his temples as a headache had begun to set in from Jey's incessant complaining, paired with Jimmy's snarky rebuttals. He already tried his hardest to limit his time with the twins due to the constant bickering, always preferring Solo's quiet company above them. But if there was one thing he loathed, it was traveling with the twins because that meant he had to listen to every grating word.

Alas, however, the trip was over and he could finally get rid of them.

"It just feels so fucking disrespectful, you know? Of all the bitches yall could've picked, it had to be the one that's been around every street across the seas! I'm a prince man! I deserve better!" Jey complained for what was probably the 90th time since they had left the Moore house.

Roman had taken it with silence as he, to some extent understood his cousin's frustration. He knew that Jey felt undermined by the choice for his fiancé, and that he felt like a second-class citizen. However, Roman was not the one who chose Miss Loreal Moore, Rikishi, Jey's father was. And the last thing Roman wanted to do was involve himself in the affairs of a father and his son. Even if it was simply a power move.

Also, aside from her unfortunate status, Miss Loreal Moore was actually a good pick. Lord Byron held quite a lot of political influence across the seas and according to the file Lord Byron had sent to Paul, she was highly intelligent, she had a leadership streak, and she was incredibly ambitious. All of that was enough of a sell as it was, but it was at the meeting where she truly caught Roman's attention. Her defiance, to Roman, was a sign of strength.

Roman liked strong women.

Miss Loreal Moore was not a pushover, and that was a quality that she would need most in being part of and dealing with his family.

However, most of all, she was astoundingly beautiful.

Roman had hardly found himself in positions where he was taken by a woman's appearance. Apart from Nadine, he barely even noticed the women around him, but Loreal was a different story. Her piercing brown eyes, her glossy, plump, two-toned lips, her the stud on the left side of her wide nose and her deep, brown skin that seemed to glimmer in any atmosphere. That, paired with her breathtakingly curvy figure made it a mission for Roman not to stare at Miss Loreal Moore throught the meeting.

Miss Loreal Moore was going to be his cousin's wife in about a month. His thoughts on her looks were then thrown to the back his mind. They did not matter.

"I know you not talking, Mr 'I fuck every bitch that breathes in my direction'," Jimmy commented from his brother's side.

"Man, this is not the fucking time to be joking and shit! This is my fucking life we're talking about and I'm supposed to spend the rest of it with a ho?" Jey hissed, making Roman's temper flare up.

Clearly Jey was struggling to understand that this wasn't about him anymore. That this was a sacrifice he had to make for the family to prosper and maintain their power. Roman only hoped that Jey wouldn't fuck the engagement up, otherwise he would have to punish his cousin, and the last thing he ever wanted to do was hurt the man he considered his right hand man.

Jimmy waved him off before saying, "Man I don't see no difference. You a ho, she a ho-hell yall are perfect for each other if you ask me," Jimmy snickered.

"Well then it's a good thing nobody fucking asked you."

"Enough!" Roman grunted, immediately shutting his cousins up. He could've sworn he saw Solo's lips twitch into a grateful smile. But it was gone as soon as it appeared. Jimmy pressed his lips together in a thin line while Jey downright scowled. Roman sensed that his cousin had long passed the stage of dissatisfaction. He was angry, but he knew not to direct it at the wrong person.

"I understand. I understand that you don't like the fact that you're marrying a damaged woman. But you had your opportunity to choose a good woman for yourself," Roman started as he began to get in Jey's face.

"You had the chance to get you a fresh one, but you fucked up by deciding to fuck around with every whore that smiled at you. So if you wanna complain about the quality of woman your father found you, take that shit up with him, but never forget the chance you had to prevent that shit," Roman stated as he poked Jey in the chest to emphasize his point.

He then leaned in to whisper in his cousin's ear, "It's not about you anymore Uce. Get that through your thick fucking skull! This is about our family! This is about what's best for all of us," his tone was menacing as he reminded his cousin of the situation.

He stepped back to see Jey still scowling, but nodding in understanding. That was good. All Roman needed was for him to understand.

"You can still do your shit on the side, I'm sure she won't give a fuck anyway," Roman suggested. His short encounter with Miss Loreal Moore, although short, showed him that the regard she would show for his cousin was low.

As much as Jey knew about her reputation, Roman theorized she likely did not care in the slightest as she barely wanted to marry him in the first place. The only thing Roman worried about was her willingness to actually be a part of his family. That was a huge factor to take into consideration. One Roman would do everything in his power to sway in his favour.

"Yo Uce, your ho may be a ho, but she a mighty fine ho for sure," Jimmy said with a snicker.

Roman's eyes snapped to the open jet that had just landed. There she was, gracefully making her way down the stairs, wearing what seemed like her usual, disinterested, yet mildly irritated expression. Right behind her were her four servants, or maidens as her father had called them. The young women, each with eager smiles on their faces made their way down with their mistress's luggage and their own. Finally Sami stepped out holding another one of her bags. A gesture she rewarded with a kind smile that shocked Roman.

And angered him.

Roman watched in an unexplainable annoyance as Miss Loreal Moore conversated with Sami as she and her travel party made their way to him and his cousins. While the sight of her laughing at his jokes seemed to piss him off, the sound of her laughter did something to him. Something akin to casting an enchantment. However, it was washed away as soon as it was chanted. This was not the time.

"Miss Loreal Moore, I should hope that your flight was comfortable," Paul said as she approached.

Her happy expression quickly turned neutral, as if she had just remembered her situation all over again.

"It was. Thank you," she said curtly, her now scrutinizing gaze cutting through Roman's family and Paul in one clean swoop.

Paul, as though he had felt the slits of her irises like a blade to his skin, cleared his throat nervously before speaking again. "Well then, I'm sure the long journey has left you and your maidens in need of some rest. Tomorrow will be quite the long day," Paul said with a nervous chuckle.

Miss Loreal Moore's features never wavered from the stony expression she wore. Roman could feel her sizing him and his cousins up. He almost smirked at how shamelessly she glared.

"I agree Wiseman. But I must ask, will my fiancé be accompanying me to the palace?" she questioned, finally shifting her gaze to him. The bitterness in her tone was subtle, but still noticeable to Roman's ear.

Paul looked taken aback, not expecting her question as she seemed to not want any part in their marriage. Then it clicked in Roman's mind, she didn't know that Jey wouldn't be staying at the palace during their engagement. He then shot a glare to Sami who he had told to clue her in on what would happen next. Sami shrunk beneath the sharp glare.

"Oh, Miss Loreal, that's not-traditional we don't-" Paul began to sputter, being cut off by Roman's low tone, but gentle.

"Is that what you want, Miss Loreal?" Roman asked, attempting to gauge her reasoning.

She shrugged in response, saying, "Well we are to be married. It would only make sense for us to acquaint ourselves with one another."

Roman nodded then flashed a charming smile. "Then that's gonna happen," he said.

The moment Paul and the women were out of ear shot, Roman's gaze morphed into a deadly glare. "If you fuck this up, there will be some very dire consequences," he warned in a cold, low tone.

"Wiseman, please lead Miss Loreal Moore and her ladies to the car. Jey will catch up in a second," Roman requested, turning to face an irritated Jey.

Jey nodded silently, prompting Roman to release him. Jey ran to catch up with Paul and the ladies, while Roman turned around and headed to his own car followed by Sami and his remaining cousins. He contemplated having a little 'talk' with Sami, but decided against it.

If Miss Loreal Moore trusted Sami, then Roman would use that to gain her trust as well.

#roman reigns #roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns x black!poc #roman reigns x black oc #roman reigns x female reader #roman reigns imagine #wwe roman reigns #jey uso #jey uso imagine #jey uso fanfic #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso x black reader #jey uso x black oc #jey uso wwe

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ssentimentals · 1 year

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joshua + first morning together

usually it doesn't take long for joshua to fall asleep, most of the times he's in morpheus arms the second his head hits the pillow. but this night is different and even when tiredness succumbs him to sleep, he stays wide awake, alert as he's never been before. your chest rises and falls steadily; you are probably seeing a very nice dream if smile on your lips is anything to go by. joshua selfishly hopes he is there, in your dream. hopes he is the reason of your smile even in your sleep.

this situation is a bit surreal to him. you know when you waited so long for something to happen, longed for it, ached for it with all your heart - that when it does happen you just kind of stay in complete disbelief? this is what joshua feels watching your sleeping form on his bed. he cautiously reaches out to your hand and his heart stops somewhere in his throat, when your fingers immediately wrap around his. even in your sleep you are choosing to hold on to him. even in your sleep you gravitate towards him, your body inclined to his side more - how can he sleep if you are like that? how is he supposed to close his eyes and miss this view? how can he stop thinking of what it means to both of you? he spent whole night lost in his thoughts, in assumptions that when sunlight illuminates your room, joshua only blinks in surprise, shocked by how quickly the time passed. you frown a little at the brightness and his first instinct is to stand up and close the blinds but that would require letting go of your hand and he hesitates, looking at your joined fingers. he doesn't like it, the whole letting go thing. if he could, joshua would have held your hands all the time; until he'd have memorized all the little bumps and tiny scars on your skin, until he'd be able to recoginize your hand from the million others. joshua gently caresses your skin with his thumb and thinks he can write thousands of poems on this feeling, on the tenderness of your skin, on the warmth of your palm, on how your fingers fill the slots between his so perfectly well-

'josh?' you mumble, squinting a little. your voice is hoarse from the sleep and you clear it out, trying again: 'josh?'

'i'm here,' he answers quietly. with his free hand he reaches out and smoothes your hair lovingly. 'it's too early, bub, go back to sleep.'

it seems like you have other plans, cause you turn around and move, making him let go of your hand. joshua thinks it's a bit humilating how he instantly misses the feel of it. is it okay to be so..so into you? doesn't that make him weak? less of a man if he is that whipped? sometimes he starts thinking about it but then you do something - anything at all - like smile at him or kiss him and these thoughts fly out of the window. he'd gladly be considered weak if it means he can have you like that.

'why are you awake?' you grumble, fighting to get your legs out of the blanket. joshua's heart stammers as you move close, closer - until you are practically cuddled up to his side. 'have you even slept?'

'i-' he starts and promptly forgets all the words when you lift your leg and put it on top of his like it's the most natural thing in the world. 'um.'

lack of answer makes you look up and squint at him. you take a good look of his too awake eyes and a growing suspicion starts to form in your head: 'you have slept this night, haven't you? don't tell me that you were awake all this time.' when joshua only looks at you sheepishly, you groan loudly: 'oh my god, josh, why? were you not comfortable? is my mattress too hard? i'm so sorr-'

'no,' he instantly interrupts, gathering you in his arms. usually he's hesitant with his affections towards you, but nothing makes him act bold as you thinking that you did something wrong or the need to calm you down. 'no-no, princess, i just had a lot on my mind. don't be sorry.'

pet name and his cuddles make you smile and you nuzzle your head into his chest, hearing his steady heartbeat underneath. 'a lot on your mind?' you yawn, stubbornly trying to shake off remnants of your dreams. 'what could possibly have you staying up all night?'

with you in his arms, it's easier to be honest, easier to shake off the mask and just be himself. he leans in, places small kiss on top of your head and wraps his arms around you tighter. 'i was thinking of you,' he replies sincerely, having nothing to hide.

he can tell that you're trying to look up but find it hard to do so because of the angle, so he moves you both until you're laying side to side, facing each other. sleep is not gone from your eyes and he coos at the way you try to stay present for him. 'is that what i do to you? make you lose your sleep, hm?'

it's meant to be a joke or at least a teasing, but joshua replies seriously, tucking one hair strand behind your ear: 'you don't know half of the things you do to me.'

at that your eyes fly open, more awake than they've been before. joshua meets your eyes readily, holding eye contact for as long as you need to understand the meaning behind his words. he can tell that you are searching for something and he hopes you find there his desire to wake up like that every day. to have these kind of mornings with you forever. to have the opportunity to hold you like this, to not sleep because he's too busy staring at you and coming with terms that he can now have this. these nights, these mornings - he can now have them al.

'good things, i hope?' you ask, cuddling closer until tips of your noses touch.

joshua huffs, smiling. 'the best things, bub.'

you smile, content. 'now can we go back to sleep? let's wake up at a normal time like normal people do.' joshua nods, reaching out for the blanket to cover you both, when you stop him: 'no, too hot, leave it.'

'oh,' joshua drops the blanket and also starts to extract himself from your arms, thinking that hugging would also make you uncomfortable in this temperature, but you stop him here as well, frowning. 'you said it's too hot-'

'for the blanket, but not for you,' it's clear that you are losing patience with him not getting what you want and you wanting to sleep. 'c'mon, hold me close, hug me.' when he does as instructed you sigh, satisfied. 'that's it. and never let go.'

joshua tighens his hold on you, swallowing hard. if only you knew that given the chance, he'd never let you go. he kisses your forehead and mutters: 'i won't. sleep tight, love. i'll wake you up for the breakfast.'

you don't reply, already dead to the world and he only chuckles affectionately. 'i love you,' he whispers into your hair before finally also closing his eyes and succumbing into the sleep.

a/n: i think i hurt myself with this one, so why not let you all cry with me too :') - nini

check out my other works here and i think my tag list is rather old, so if you want to be added, let me know! <3

#hong jisoo x reader #hong jisoo fluff #seventeen joshua #seventeen joshua hong #seventeen imagine #seventeen fluff #svt joshua #joshua x reader #joshua imagine #seventeen joshua imagine #svt joshua x reader #you know i wrote this and actually cried cause when will i have someone like joshua in my life??

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mypoisonedvine · 2 months

Text

𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑 \ papa emeritus II (secondo) x reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 \ a visit to confession takes a sudden turn when the papa invites you to an immediate, more... hands-on atonement.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 \ 4.6k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 \ SMUT (18+ ONLY PLEASE), semi-public sex, extreme religious themes/blasphemy, oral m receiving, creampie, degradation and praise, no aftercare cause he's a dick

we take a break from our regularly scheduled copia/frater programming to bring you some straight up nastiness about this creepy old zaddy

You slipped past the curtain and took a seat on your side of the confession booth, sighing quietly to yourself. “Bless me, Papa,” you asked softly.

“Of course,” the deep voice responded. “Tell me what you need, child.”

His voice sounded different up close in a small space like this— the polar opposite of hearing him speak in the massive chapels; he was so close, just on the other side of the lattice, but even when you squinted and peeked into it all you could make out was the vague silhouette of him.

“I… I have disobeyed your teachings,” you admitted, “and the will of our great unholy ruler.”

“Mm,” was his only response, a hint of expectance to it.

“I have denied my lust,” you confessed softly. “I ache for someone, but I have done nothing— actually, I just try to ignore it…”

“Why would you ignore something so pure and precious as desire?”

“I’m afraid, Papa,” you whimpered. “Afraid I’m not good enough for him…”

“You know my church is no place for humility,” he scolded, “certainly not shame.”

“I know,” you sighed.

“If the one you desire rejects you, then that is their choice— but you can’t deny your own needs just because you think too little of yourself,” he explained.

“My needs?” you repeated nervously.

“Yes— you need to be pleasured, hm?” he assumed. You nodded shyly, before remembering that he couldn’t actually see you. “You need to be kissed and caressed, touched, filled— fucked.”

Your thighs pressed together tightly and you stifled a gasp. “Y-yes…”

“It’s only natural,” he said casually— like he hadn’t just sent a shock through your whole body with just his words. “Everyone here understands that… if it is someone in my church that you desire, I’m not sure what you have to be afraid of. What reason do you have to think that you would be spurned?”

“It’s just… I’m only a humble worshiper,” you explained as your heart started to race, “and he… he’s so important. He’s… he’s in one of the highest positions in the whole church…”

You swallowed thickly as a short, but heavy, pause filled the confines of the booth. “Is he?” Secondo finally pressed, but the depth of his voice gave away that he already knew.

“Yes, Papa,” you shakily relented, “and I try to listen and learn when he speaks, but I just— all I can think about is how badly I need him.”

“Mm,” he said again, annoyingly cryptic as per usual. “Your carnality is insatiable, my child. Very good.”

You gripped tighter onto the wooden bench beneath you, eyes fluttering shut; it only took a little stern praise from him to drive you wild, apparently.

“The one you desire isn’t so far away, is he?” Secondo teased. “You only need a little courage, and you will be given all you seek.”

The partition between the two halves of the booth slid open, and your eyes widened.

“Come here, pet,” he offered gently— he had that way about him, he could be so intense but so gentle and nurturing at the same time, if he wanted.

The booth wasn’t really designed to allow you to stand up fully, so you had to crouch slightly when you got up and moved to his half. It was quite dark in the booth, but enough light broke through the cracks in the curtain that you could see the shape of him: you could see the familiar dark stare, the sharpness of his painted face, his waiting expression with one eyebrow slightly raised.

And, maybe this was less important, but you could smell him: some kind of musky cologne, presumably, a sweeter scent than you would’ve imagined, but blessed Belial was it addicting.

He shifted his legs further apart, his robes draping between his knees and against the bench beneath him. “I will give you what you desire— but you must prove yourself to me first,” he explained. “Kneel before me.”

You shakily got down on your knees and looked up at him as you blinked quickly; you rarely got to be so close to him, it was making your heart beat faster already. His stare felt heavy and piercing as it ran over you, and all he had to do was slightly motion with his hand— turning it out in that go ahead movement— for you to nod and reach up under his robes carefully.

Honestly, you’d wondered before what the Papas wore under their robes, and in Secondo’s case, it apparently was nothing. You pushed the rich fabric out of the way only to come face to face with his erection growing against his thigh. “You see what your eagerness and desperation has done to me, child?” he scolded. “When I feel that hunger, I feed it, not flee from it— you know better.”

“Y-yes, Papa,” you mumbled weakly, feeling guilty for your misbehavior but knowing you were soon to be absolved.

“Now, earn your forgiveness,” he insisted, moving his hips forward slightly on the bench to make the angle a little easier, and you nodded before leaning in towards his lap with a quick gulp to suppress your nerves.

And by the way, when he sang that he is the one who comes richly endowed? That wasn’t just a lyric thrown in there because it flowed nicely: it was entirely literal and accurate. You swallowed thickly as you wrapped your fingers around it, trying not to be scared of how thick his cock was… fitting it in your mouth was going to be enough of a struggle, let alone anywhere else if he was so generous.

Giving the silky skin of his cock a few gentle strokes, you leaned in and gently ran your tongue along the underside of the head.

You kept looking up at him expectantly, wishing you could catch a reaction on his face— but for the most part, he was irritatingly stoic as he watched you lick and kiss all over his cock. You found yourself getting desperate for a response, trying to be better until he gave you some kind of encouragement: you moaned around him, you ran your tongue everywhere you could reach, you batted your eyes up at him.

The only thing that ever got a response was when the tip of your tongue flicked over his slit; for just a second, his nostrils flared, and you beamed excitedly. “Am I doing well, Papa?” you asked eagerly.

“Keep going,” he ordered firmly, not necessarily answering your question— but it was a good sign. You did it again before wrapping your lips around his fat tip, suckling carefully and humming at how oddly comforting it felt to have him in your mouth. You swirled your tongue around slowly, tasting the slightest saltiness leak from his cock, and you purred happily.

It was the slightest movements at first, hardly giving him much friction and focusing instead on getting used to what you had, but you did begin to drop lower down, if only by centimeters at a time.

It took opening your mouth nearly as wide as it would go to get him any deeper, but you pressed on, never willing to disappoint your Papa. It paid off, since the next bob of your head finally made him groan a little— a small reaction, but it made your body hum with joy. You moved faster to try to make him do it again; instead, you felt one of his hands rest on your shoulder, which honestly was even better.

Your lips probably weren’t even halfway down his length when the tip of him bumped into your throat— and you didn’t let it affect you at first, instead just keeping your movements steady, but at a certain point you couldn’t ignore it anymore: you gagged around him, but managed to keep it quiet.

His grip on your shoulder tightened slightly and you heard him moan in the back of his throat, however softly. Your chest was already burning with pride, and between your legs— well, needless to say you were having a strong reaction there, too. In fact, it was taking quite a bit of willpower to keep yourself from trying to rub against your own leg or something as you knelt; thankfully, pleasing your Papa was your main focus at the moment.

The next time you gagged, it was a little louder and harder, and you had to pull back slightly as your eyes began to water. Thankfully he seemed far from disappointed; he groaned encouragingly once again as you drooled over him and your hand smoothed it out, stroking the (significant) portion of him that your mouth couldn’t reach.

His head tilted back until it rested against the wooden wall of the booth behind him— you loved how he looked in that moment, with his eyes shut and his mouth slightly parted: he looked relaxed, in a way that made you realize he normally carried a lot of tension.

Your eyes shut as well and you really focused on your work, moaning louder even though it was muffled with your mouth full. Again you could feel his cock leaking precum onto your tongue and you gratefully swallowed it down before venturing down to let him reach your throat again. You choked slightly with each bob of your head, but it didn’t slow you down one bit— you were chasing after those little groans he let out when you did it, feeling your inner walls clench almost in time with your throat.

His hand slid up your neck, then ran over your hair and pushed your head slightly as he exhaled sharply through his nose; for a moment, you felt his nails scratch your scalp. He kept you from pulling too far back up off of him, but you weren’t a flight risk— each movement allowed you to take him just a little bit deeper, it seemed, and you loved the feeling of him filling your throat.

You worried you’d done something wrong when he gently pushed you back, but his proud groan as he looked down at you made you less concerned. “You certainly know how to give pleasure, little one,” he praised. “But let me show you how to receive it, hm? Get up and sit in Papa’s lap.”

You hopped up so quickly that you almost hit your head on the top of the confession booth, but thankfully you avoided injury and straddled his legs happily. “Like this?” you asked excitedly.

“Yes, very good,” he nodded, already starting to reach up for your dress. “Help me take this off, we won’t need that.”

You reached back behind yourself to open the dress as he slid the sleeves down your arms— the leather of his gloves tickled over your skin and you squirmed a little. With your dress gone, all that was left was your pair of white panties, which you were almost self-conscious about as he examined them and pinched the waistband between his finger and thumb.

“How cute,” he cooed; that wasn’t really a word you ever expected to hear him say, but it made you bite your lip absent-mindedly. “I think I’ll have to take these.”

Not quite sure what he meant at first, you yelped softly when his gloved hands took a tight grip of them just to rip them open at the seams with a snap; the show of strength already made your heart flutter, but him shoving the torn garment into a pocket inside his robes was even more arousing. Already, your mind was racing with ideas of what he would do with them.

“A little gift for Papa, eh?” he suggested with a half-smile— you’d never seen him smile at all before, and it did absolutely nothing to make him look less menacing.

With you totally exposed for him, he took the opportunity to run his fingers over your pussy, teasing you with just one brief brush of that firm leather over your clit. “O-oh, Papa,” you shuddered, wishing he would do it again, but he moved on quickly.

“What a precious thing you are,” he praised softly, reverently. Gloved hands traced over your frame, briefly teasing your hardened nipples and petting your quivering thighs.

When he grabbed a hold of your ass, you whimpered a little but let him guide you to sit up more, until you were hovering over his hard cock— he wrapped a hand around it and moved it closer to you, sliding his tip through your soaked lips.

“Oh, pet,” he sighed, “you’ve drenched yourself, poor thing… I’m going to make all that frustration go away.”

But you couldn’t help but tense up when he even just barely pushed the head against your hole. “Papa, are you sure…?” you trailed off nervously.

“Do you fear it will hurt you, little one?” he asked, and you nodded. “If it did, that wouldn’t stop you, would it?”

His condescending tone made you clench inside. “N-no, Papa,” you whimpered.

“Go ahead, child— slowly, we have all the time we need.”

Apparently he didn’t mind keeping all the other people in line for confession waiting. Knowing they were all just outside, surely well aware of what was happening in the booth, somehow only egged you on more even if it made your face feel terribly hot.

You sank down slowly, already needing to stop before even the ridge of his head was inside— see, when you were holding yourself up like this, you couldn’t exactly relax your muscles because you were using them. It made him an even tighter fit, and you winced through your teeth as you started to feel him stretch you open. “Good,” he praised darkly, his satisfaction egging you on.

Lowering yourself more, you heard a deep moan jump from your throat. The friction and stretch was always just a little too much right at first, only to fade into perfection after a moment. Your hands held onto his shoulders, and not just for balance— you loved how strong he felt, how solid. His grip on you was bruisingly tight, but it made you feel safe.

He seemed to get even thicker the closer you got to the base of him, and before you'd reached the end it was also too much, too sharp of a sting inside you. You choked on a whimper and he reached up to cradle your head, stroking your temple with his thumb. “Shh, shh,” he soothed, “be gentle, little lamb, you’re a very delicate thing.”

You slowed down a bit, even though your legs were starting to shake, and held tighter onto his shoulders. “P-Papa,” you stammered.

“You're doing very well,” he assured, “I know you can take all of me, I know that you need it. Go on, little one, Papa's got you.”

Shuddering as you slid the rest of the way down, you shut your eyes tight with a wince of anticipation before quickly sinking those last few inches.

You both sighed with relief when your lap settled into his; he was whispering praises to you but the words were lost in your delirious mind— all you heard was the general sentiment that you were doing well for Papa, and that was all you needed.

You rocked your hips, patiently at first, and moaned lowly at the tense friction. When you moved like that, the tip of him rubbed against something so far inside you— a dull yet throbbing feeling that made your eyes roll back.

“Good,” he purred again, “don't you see how right it is? How your body was meant to take mine?”

You were too lost in the feeling to actually answer, just moaning in response instead. As your moans grew louder with each motion, you heard your own noises echo against the booth’s walls and quickly bit your lip to keep quiet.

“Don’t be shy, pet— don’t try to hide how good it feels,” he growled. “Take pride in it, it’s a precious gift. And what do you say when you receive a gift?”

“Thank you,” you panted quickly. “Th-thank you, Papa.”

“Tell me,” he commanded. “Tell me everything.”

“I-I wanted you for so long, Papa,” you whined. “I wanted to please and serve you— I wanted you to touch me a-and whisper to me…”

“About what?” he wondered.

“Fuck, anything!” you yelped. “Your voice does things to me… things I don’t understand, things I’ve never felt before…”

He chuckled deeply, making you feel even more foolish in an addictive sort of way. “You’re no stranger to lust, child,” he purred, “it must be really something, if you can’t explain it. How could I have such an effect on you when you hardly know me at all?”

But he didn’t seem all that surprised— he knew what he had been doing to you, and he clearly reveled in it. “I couldn't help it, I-I just couldn't stop thinking about you,” you whined.

That whine became even more desperate when one of his hands slipped around you to grab a nice greedy handful of your ass, guiding your movements and kneading your delicate skin. “And this is what you wanted?” he taunted. “To ride my cock like a desperate little whore?”

Your throat caught on your words so you just nodded instead, finding a tight grip on the neckline of his robes while you moved.

You stopped rocking your hips and started properly bouncing on his lap, both of you moaning at the more intense feeling. The sound of skin on skin echoed in the enclosed space; you loved how raunchy it sounded, unhinged and unrestrained pleasure after all that time you’d spent trying to suppress yourself. Sometimes it had seemed like you were summoning all your willpower just to keep your hands from going between your legs during Mass— and that was, of course, the first place they ended up once you found a chance to be alone after watching him. But you sort of figured you weren’t the only person in the congregation with that problem.

But how many of them ended up here, with an opportunity like this? Even if he was known to be pretty generous with his cock, this still felt pretty rare, and special— you felt a grin fill your face as you wondered how many people outside the booth were jealous of you right then.

That smile couldn’t last long when you felt that spot inside you getting even more friction; you had to gasp and let your eyes fall shut. One of his hands ran up your side encouragingly, groping at your chest as it bounced with each of your motions. He hummed approvingly, even hissed a little when he pinched your nipple because of the flex inside you that it caused.

“Pretty little pet,” he cooed sweetly. “Your body is so obedient to me already, hm? So responsive to just the slightest touch.”

“J-just for you, Papa,” you whimpered.

“Oh, you aren’t usually so sensitive?”

You shook your head a little, whimpering again when he kneaded at your breast, carefully toying with your nipple between his finger and thumb. He purred approvingly, his other hand grabbing tight onto your hip and pulling you down onto him— making you take his cock a little deeper and a lot more forcefully. You cried out instantly, and he smirked at you condescendingly.

“It’s not too much for you, is it, child?” he teased. “You can take all of me, yes?”

“Yes, Papa, it’s just— y-you’re so deep in me,” you moaned. “I feel so full…”

“You like how it feels, to be filled completely?”

“I love it,” you gasped. “Papa, I love how you feel inside me.”

“Mm,” he purred proudly, “so grateful— you’re learning quickly, little one.”

You bit down on your lip to fight back another needy moan from his praise.

“Let them all hear you, little lamb,” he praised darkly. “You have nothing to hide from them.”

“O-oh, Papa!” you cried, your head falling back as you sped up your riding.

“Yes,” he hissed encouragingly, gloved fingers digging into your hips to guide you.

When he started to buck up into you, pushing his cock just that much deeper each time you crashed together, you nearly screamed; your hands flew off of his shoulders and slammed against either side of the booth around you, just searching for something to keep you steady. “Fuckfuckfuck,” you rushed, “Papa, yes!”

He was baring his teeth as he slammed up into you, and soon you weren't even really riding him anymore, you were just holding on for dear life as he railed you.

Your head tilted back and your moans seemed to get deeper— and they were louder, too, but part of that was just the way they echoed off the wall of the booth right above your face. At this point, it wouldn’t just be those waiting for their turn to confess that could hear you: you felt like everyone in the whole church would know what was happening to you. But you were too far gone to be self-conscious about it, if anything you felt more proud than ever.

“What a good fucking whore,” he growled through his teeth. “You take cock too well to act so shy— I should’ve known what you needed from me, I should’ve known you were desperate to be fucked, you weren’t exactly subtle about it, were you? I felt your eyes on me every Mass.”

One of his hands slid up your thigh, and a leather-covered thumb pressed against your bud just above where his body entered yours. He barely had to touch it, barely had to move his finger at all; he knew just how to play your body like his instrument, and oh the music you made. “Yes, fuck, yes, please— Papa, just like that, please keep touching me,” you begged.

He groaned proudly. “You sound so sweet, little one— you want to cum, yes?”

“Yes!” you all but screamed. “Yes, Papa, please, please…”

“Just keep begging for me, sweet child, I’ll give you what you need,” he promised.

“Papa, Papa,” you chanted thoughtlessly, “i-it’s so good, it feels so good— fuck! I’m going to cum, Papa—”

“Good,” he praised darkly, hissing in a breath through his teeth.

Your moans were like sobs by that point, your body quivering but refusing to slow down as you chased your high. He didn’t slow down either, thank Satan, and you loved how it felt to keep rocking down towards him with each motion— it was more control over this than you’d honestly expected.

“It's almost time, isn't it, pet? Your pretty little cunt is squeezing my cock…”

You nodded quickly, biting on your lip to cope with the overwhelming intensity that was about to crash into you.

“Do it,” he demanded, “come for me. Scream for your Papa.”

You figured you did, but it was hard to tell when your ears were ringing like that. It was that beautiful, blinding black light of ecstasy, and it was so much better than when you brought yourself to the peak in your bed late at night to memories of him. The feeling went so much higher, so much deeper, so much harder; he was right, of course, that you should’ve pursued your desire instead of trying to satiate it alone. Nothing could compare to this— there was no substitution for what he could make you feel.

He kept rapidly thrusting up into you, even when you went almost entirely limp above him, even grabbing hold of one of your shoulders to make sure you took the full length of every thrust. It was a little overstimulating, but you couldn't pretend you didn't love how it felt to be used by him for a few moments.

He stopped suddenly, pulling your hips down and keeping himself completely inside as his head fell back and he grunted roughly.

You smiled— bliss, contentment, a soft sort of pride— as you felt him flexing inside you: his cum inside you was your reward for a job well done, as was his long sigh of relief as he relaxed a bit onto the bench.

His hand moved away from your swollen bud (thank Satan, you wouldn’t have been able to take much more stimulation there) and pet the side of your face in an oddly tender way. “You’ve done well, my little lamb,” he praised, something especially seductive in his voice when it was heavy with exhaustion and ecstasy like that.

Still trying to catch your breath, you slid your hands down from where they’d pressed against the walls of the booth— your arms were quite sore, and you only noticed once you moved them— and rested them gently on his arms as he loosely held your thighs.

“If you should desire me again, you need only find me in my chambers,” he encouraged. “There’s no need to fear or avoid your carnal needs— you trust Papa to take care of you, yes?”

You nodded happily. “Thank you, Papa.”

“Now, redress yourself and go and say your prayers,” he instructed, taking his hands off of you. “Thank our infernal master for his gift of lust.”

You blinked quickly, realizing a part of you had yet to come back to reality until then— you were still in confession, and you couldn’t just stay here and bask in the sticky, heady warmth.

You didn't rush through getting off his lap, you would've hurt yourself if you did; you both hissed a little as you carefully let his cock slip out.

All he had to do was drape his robes back over himself… you had a harder job, trying to turn your dress right side out again and put it back on. He didn't offer any assistance, only that trademark dark stare; how could he look so unaffected after all that, basically the exact same as he had before? The only difference you could spot was that his chest was rising and falling a little bit faster as he caught his breath.

For a second, you hesitated— just in case he said something else— before slipping back out through the curtain and into the grand hall of the church. You heard the partition between the two halves slide shut once again behind you, and you avoided the gazes of everyone waiting to confess as the next person stepped into the booth.

You weren’t exactly limping, but you were walking awkwardly on account of the soreness in your hips and the thick, hot substance oozing down your thighs. You passed the line of waiting worshippers, flushing a little as heads turned to watch you. No one would judge you— in fact, they mostly looked proud and impressed— but it still felt strange knowing they'd heard it all. Some of your bravery, it seemed, had faded once your desire was satisfied.

Already the trail of his seed was running down to almost your knees, and your dress wasn’t long enough to cover it; you figured by the time you made it back to your bed, everyone that you passed by would have some idea how you’d spent your morning.

But still, a smile was filling your face; you couldn’t stop thinking about one of the last things he’d said— to find him in his chambers at night if you wanted him again.

Even though you were still sore and exhausted, still leaking out his load, you knew you’d be taking him up on that offer sooner rather than later.

#papa emeritus ii x reader #papa emeritus ii smut #secondo x reader #ghost bc fic #secondo smut

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constantcrying · 9 months

Text

Anger is a secondary emotion.

m!yandere x gn!reader

TW: obsession, some violence

This'll be my first post! If you have any feedback, I hope you'll share it.

He's trying. Honestly he is. He's putting in the work, biting his tongue and keeping his fists clenched. He'll never pick another jealous fight or cause a scene for the rest of your lives. He'll stop taking souvenirs from your home after every visit. Maybe he'll even go to therapy and unpick the fucked up weave of his childhood to find the origin of his every maladaption. Who knows, he might come out of this rough patch a better human being.

Promises between the two of you are worth something. You always say what you mean, do what you say. That consistency is another thing he loves about you, another one of the countless reasons he couldn't bear to lose you. It was why the look on your face that day had terrified him, as you confessed you were sick of his shit and struggling to be his friend—you meant it when you said you would go no-contact because he was obsessive.

It was bad enough being relegated to a mere friend after two years of adoring you. What was he supposed to do if you left him altogether? As much as he hated sharing your time and attention with the rest of the world, he couldn't bear to lose his humble slice of it. Before he met you, he hadn't cared so deeply about anything or anyone. He hadn't known what to do when he fell for you, except sink his teeth in and never let go.

Just the thought of life without you made him so sick, he fell to his knees on the spot. He fought his shaky voice and managed to utter an apology, begging for a chance to correct himself.

He isn't good with humility or patience or prostration. But he is honest. He does love you. He'll do anything for you, even act right.

You knew him well enough to believe his words. You also (rightly) pitied him. In the end you agreed that if he cleaned up his act, you wouldn't cut him off.

For now, he's on probation, seeing you once every eight days or so. He's not strong enough to go longer than that without being near you. In between those pressure control days, he journals, meditates, and reads self-help books. He'll even exercise more than he ever did before, because studies claim that it helps with emotional regulation. He thinks it's all stupid. He hopes it works and you think better of him. He continues this way for months.

The result? He isn't biting off your male friends' heads anymore. He isn't trying to monopolize your time. He doesn't obsessively check your location and text you like crazy. A touchy friend says hi to you at a cafe, and he doesn't get angry at them for interrupting and hugging you, he just says hi back. It's actually pleasant to hang out together in public again. For you, it's like the friend you made so long ago has actually come back. You don't ever say it, but he thinks you might believe he's actually over you.

He forgives you for that, and for the threat of leaving. He knows your peace is important to you, so you just said what you thought was best. And him...he'll stop with the outbursts, bury all of the feelings he's wrestling with. See? He changes for you. How many of your ex friends and lovers can say the same?

But there's nothing you can do about your missing possessions ex post facto. He still struggles, like anyone with bad habits. There's always an urge to come closer to you, to cradle you to his chest, to kiss you stupid. Just...let him keep the chapstick and the t-shirts, at least. He can tide himself over with the lingering scent of your favorite products.

And, of course, the anger remains simmering under his skin. It comes in waves, he notices, after every doubt and concern. Your casual smile at another person, for a split second, makes his gut churn before the heat of rage washes over him. After he sends a text you don't respond to, his heart sinks, and then it catches fire. He's always scared first. Maybe the journaling isn't so stupid if it can show him these patterns.

The problem is, he can't kill the source of his fear unless he can have you all to himself. That's not happening anytime soon.

So he's still struggling his way through your time together. You hang out like normal people, having dinner at a new restaurant before strolling down the street on a cool summer evening. Almost no one is outside, creating the sense that you two exist in your own little pocket dimension. You decide to go down a little alleyway, a shortcut that never presents any problems.

Somehow, a throw-away comment of his makes you laugh, and he wants to take the sound and inject it into his veins. The glory of your approval is bittersweet. He dreads the way this night will end: with you going to your place instead of coming home with him. It is all he can do, not to break the unspoken barrier between you. He wants to be optimistic. He wants to say that it's enough if you're happy, beside him right now.

As if you couldn't be happy elsewhere. As if he could be.

He can't handle thinking this way anymore, so he looks away. Just for a moment. Just to take some breaths and be something close to functional.

That's his big mistake.

The second you cry out, he turns back. You've been knocked to the ground by some staggering man, who trips over your leg and lands against a trash can. He must have come from the bar down the road because he reeks of bottom-shelf liquor.

"Son of a bitch!" The man growls. "Watch it! Watch where you're fucking going! You think you own the fucking street?"

"Fuck you!" You respond, trying to push yourself up off the ground. You hiss and stop, bringing your hand up to see that the palm is a scraped mess.

The drunk man mumbles some more curses at you and, in a fit of dionysian inspiration, kicks you.

It's not a hard blow. He's hammered, and totally out of shape besides. And maybe he never meant to hurt you at all—maybe he's just being childish and weird, his inhibitions drowned by a night of heavy drinking.

It doesn't matter to your friend.

His body has moved, he realizes, as he stares down at a pulpy mess. It used to be a face. His knuckles are raw, split from overuse. It feels like nothing at all. You're hurt, though, and the perpetrator is still breathing, so he needs to do something about that.

Without a hand gripping his collar, the drunk man splatters on the ground. He doesn't have the wherewithal to protect himself from further attacks, so with no resistance, your friend can just swing his foot into a perfectly vulnerable stomach. He does. He does it again. And again. And in the middle of this, even in his high-running emotions, he finds a sense of clarity that he's rarely afforded. Finally, someone pays the price for touching you. What a relief it is to have something nice and solid absorbing all the rage that he's always stuffing down.

You have apparently been calling his name nonstop. He only notices now as he's being yanked back by the arm. Like a spell is wearing off, he hears your voice. You sound far away, at first, the way you do in dreams. As he becomes aware of his pounding heart and aching knuckles, your muffled voice becomes clear.

"What the hell are you doing? Stop! You'll kill him!"

He's obedient, if you recall, so he stops. He turns to you, panting and shaking out his hand. Strangely, you flinch and back up. Your eyes are wide, your mouth pressed shut.

You've...never looked at him that way. He's irritated and embarrassed you, but nothing he's done has ever scared you.

He should worry about this, but he can't help smiling. You're so cute when you're frightened. You belong in his arms, where he can keep you safe.

He pulls you into him and squeezes you tight. As much as you do tremble, there's not an ounce of resistance from you as he does this. You are having the same epiphany is him right now—that he would never hurt you, that anyone who did would pay sevenfold.

But while he is imagining himself as your knight, you're thinking of all the strangers and friends who may be unkind, however briefly, to you. You're thinking of how sharp this man's memory is and how casually you complained about exes or classmates or coworkers when you thought everything was okay.

"It's okay. You're safe," he whispers into your hair, relishing the close contact.

He's going to stay good for you. It'll be easy now, knowing where to put all the excess energy.

#yandere angst #yandere x reader #yandere #male yandere x gn reader #male yandere x reader

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eldritch-spouse · 1 year

Text

[Part 8 of Gifted. Fem reader.]

Previous poll winner: Give yourself to Krulu (70.1%)

TW: Strong cultish themes; Macro/micro; Mindbreak; Squirting.

⋆✩ You've reached the end of the run ✩⋆

It's not much of a choice, is it?

If you wanted the easy way out, you could have taken it at several instances by now. Picked someone who was likely to bludgeon you, get on everyone's nerves... You're sure you could have gotten killed in many situations. And perhaps even in a less traumatic way- At the hands of a sick monster, rather than the deity dwelling in this rotpit.

But you've lived this far, survived the menaces who got their grimy hands on you. Only to choose death now? No. No, that's hardly admissible.

You're going to buck till your last dying breath here. Or at least try to.

Summoning strength you don't have, unable to meet the god-entity's eyes, it takes far too long before you can croak out a response.

" I... Offer myself to you. "

The finality of your own words hits you like a train. This is definitely not the type of being that'll let you walk back on your decision, so you've laid down the foundations for your brand new future with that statement alone.

Whatever giving yourself to Krulu implies, you have just signed up for it, and now you'll deal with whatever comes forth. It was your choice. It was the fate you wrote, at least some solace will come from that reminder.

The charred giant squints at you, long and hard. You're not sure what he hopes to gleam behind your eyes. They say eyes are the window to the soul, maybe there's some actual merit to that, aside from mere romanticism and poetic frivolity. Does he hope to find a lie? Deceit? You're sure there's nothing to show but fear, resignation, confusion. Defeat.

" A wise answer. "

Is it really? You'd argue dying would be saner. But you've abandoned hopes of staying sane, you are now remaining alive out of spite. A stubborn bull's desire to have its way even as a torero stabs it time and time again. And the crowd cheers, hoping you'll fall.

When all points of contact are severed between you two and an oppressive silence settles easily, there's no clue as to what your next move should be, so you stand like a statue, risking only chaste glances at their figure.

That's... That's it? It can't be.

" It seems I will have to teach you everything. " The entity spits. " Just as I did with my vessel. I expect you to come out of this apt for service. So listen well, for every time I am made to repeat myself, you will suffer. "

Something behind you knocks harshly onto your back, sending you tumbling forward on the altar, hands and knees on enchanted marble. Your entire upper body throbs with pain and you attempt to wheeze some air in and out of your lungs.

The moment an attempt to sit up is made, a rough foot keeps you down. You're well aware he's not putting half of his weight on it.

" Your first lesson is humility. " Krulu begins. " You shall know your place here, profess yourself to me properly. If you fail to do such, I see no reason to spare your ego. "

You're sure he's not talking about your dignity and pride when he says "ego".

How does one "profess themselves" to a god? What does he want you to say? You take a moment to think about Admin's mannerisms. He clearly likes the woman, and she's visibly -Perhaps manically- devoted to him, so whatever she's doing must be adequate. You suppose you ought to copy the purple-clad woman.

A rising rumble from above lets you know time is of the essence. The weight of a clawed foot increases on you, staggeringly powerful as it forces you to curve further the longer you disappoint this entity. Words force themselves out before you can think too hard and risk being compressed into a sheet of paper.

" M- My lord...? I... I belong to you. " That does not sound natural at all. In fact, it's painfully uncomfortable.

A disinterested chuff reaches your ears after a measured pause. " You sound far from appreciative. I am not convinced of your candor. "

A confused, terrified mind runs a mile a second, trying to think of anything more adequate, more appeasing.

" Allow me to help motivate you. "

Within seconds, the strength on your back is so great that it becomes oppressive, hindering your capacity to breathe further. Something creaks within you, awakening a brand new level of desperation as you fight to get the right answer out before he can smash the means to do such with.

" Please! Please my lord- I'll do anything you ask of me, I'm humbled by your mercy- " You choke, trying to get air into your lungs. " I live to serve you! It's my role. I'm yours. Please spare me! "

And, almost mercifully, the weight recedes a good deal. " Better. Albeit sub-par. "

You aim to survive.

Words cannot begin to express the relief you feel at the loss of his strength on your figure, taking a pained, desperate inhale. As if they could decide to steal your breath away at any moment now. Krulu takes several steps back on the altar, and once more, you're not too sure what to do. Is this what it's like for her? Constantly having to guess what to do in order to please this entity? Having no guides or clues, just the whispers of flames and the ticking of an impatient clock counting the seconds to failure... You can't take that. You couldn't take that for an hour, much less a lifetime.

" But that is forgivable. "

He begins, after a long moment leaving you to your thoughts, it seems.

" The most important task your mouth must perform is pleasuring, after all. "

Something bitter curls in your stomach at that declaration. You chose this. It's this or dancing six feet below the ground.

The massive entity squats upon the marbled surface, easily keeping their balance, arms shifting this way and that as they think, eyes poised on you. Although Krulu is an admittedly gnarled creature far from easy on anyone's eyes, you can't help but think that, sometimes, the light bathes his figure in a manner that's almost soothing. An elegance he has no right to hold. His home is in the shadows, you can tell, but somehow, light gravitates towards him too.

What is a being like this doing here? On Earth. Who is he? What is he? How long has he been pacing in this cage of a building, like a hidden mole? Something in you insists he shouldn't be here, and it's not just animal instinct, it's a... Warning, an idea that crawls to the forefront of your mind, as if you've always known it. He wouldn't be here if he didn't have to.

It's not pity that you feel for this immeasurably powerful being, but something like confusion. For a moment, you see a wounded animal limping on the side of the road after trying to hunt something much greater than itself. It's nature, in a way.

He must have caught that image in the reflection of your eyes, because the way his frown deepens into a scalding snarl has you instantly cowering like a leaf in the wind.

" Come. " They begin, causing your heart to leap into your throat. " Your first trial greets you. "

First trial...? Him? Before you have the chance to utter a single thing, Krulu raises a finger.

" Remember this. All you do is only ever permitted. "

Brows furrowing in an attempt to make sense of his riddle-like wording, you ultimately opt not to spend too much time standing around like an idiot and begin awkwardly closing the distance.

On the second step, something unseen and long bats itself onto the floor hard enough to make the ground shake violently. You fall onto your ass with a pained grunt, horrified and further confused.

" Must I open those ears? " He sneers, a pair of long arms crossed over his chest.

" N- No! I'm sorry- " Palms show in what you hope might placate the being. He's not stomping after you at least. That slitted stare is expectant however.

What does he want now? He said for you to approach, so what was so wrong there...?

All you do is only ever permitted.

Ah. Permission.

Doe eyes glance up. " May I walk towards you? " This sounds like a waste of time, frankly. But you have no idea how gods operate. Maybe this is standard etiquette for them.

His glare softens when you guess what to do correctly. " No. "

Uh. Okay.

" You may not. Crawl, like the worm you are. "

Sighing, you swallow the thoughts that second-guess your prior decision and lower to your hands and knees. The trek towards Krulu isn't long, but it manages to feel depressingly unflattering all the same.

You don't feel sexy or confident, just demeaned. This is not a place for confidence. It's hard to tell what his endgame here is.

" Enough. "

Cautious, your hands settle on your knees and you straighten up, awfully close to the large being's groin. Afraid even looking that way can incite their wrath, scared hues cast themselves to the candles again, trying to siphon that warmth.

The scream you let out once something grabs your whole head cuts off into a startled gasp as it's swiveled back to his likeness.

" On this altar, your eyes are to be fixed on me. "

" Y- Yes, lord. "

It seems the sooner you act accordingly, the faster he stops inducing fear on you, grip relenting.

Another standstill unfurls.

The persistent inability to know what to do next causes slight irritation to bud within you, but all he does is wave one hand dismissively, as if to tell you he's getting bored. To get on with it. You really hope that you didn't misinterpret it when he said "trial." You hope and pray you're not going to get ripped in two with these next words.

" May- " The hairs on your back stand and your voice escapes, defying your will, making you sincerely consider running from this creature. Even if it means certain death. " May I service you? " It comes out your mouth murmured, the death rattle of all dignity.

" Yess. "

With a gulp, you chance a glance at what you're working with, thanking the slight amount of illumination currently available. Like many other monsters you know of, at first glance, Krulu's pelvis appears barren of genital attributes. Though, given his size, it would be a bit hard to miss a thin seam of yellow where his slit parts slightly in this squatted position. Or is it just that he's already bothered? By you? No. No, there's no way...

So, a phallus at least. You're hoping. Who knows what the fuck could be in that pouch at this rate. But that's not the only thing you can see from this position. There's... Something moving below. With a confused squint, you tilt your head and note what appears to be two appendages parting ways like petals unfurling. More yellow reveals itself to you, two small and pointed growths curve forward. It takes you a moment to realize that you're looking at his strange, alien vulva.

Two sets. They really weren't kidding when they called this a "trial". Even when you scoot closer, the nervousness must be crawling all over your face, because he makes a comment.

" Explore. I will correct you. "

Far from reassuring. But then again, he must be incapable of such. Or just uncaring, that's more likely. What are you to him, if not the toy you agreed to be?

Well, time to be smart about things.

Time to set aside the mania in your brain telling you that you, a mere human, are going to engage sexually with a being whose oppressive totality you can't even comprehend, and focus on making things easier for you. Chances are that, taking this entity's magnificent size into account, avoiding his slit is a more intelligent choice. You don't need to be a scientist to know whatever's coming out of that will be scarily massive. Unmanageable perhaps. You're not looking forward to being literally impaled in an effort to appease a charred god.

Heading for his lower set is, by far, the safest bet.

Spreading your legs, your stature sinks further, and you can angle yourself to be mostly beneath his foreign pussy. The deity hums at your choice, adjusting their stance slightly, hips canting and arms moving to support his frame as it is ever so slightly presented to you. Behind him, a rough tail sways slowly, like the pendulum of a clock.

Given a much better look now, you realize that his labia are actually prehensile, moving every now and then. His vaginal opening doesn't seem to differ all that much from a human's in structure, at least outwardly, but what catches your attention is what must be his clitori. Two of them! That must make orgasms fun... They're large too, seeming to poke out their hood without difficulty, like thorns on a rose. For a pause, you're just observing him.

" Do you think it wise to test my patience at this moment? " He says in response to your mute awe.

" N-No! Forgive me, lord. " The fear response has kicked in more effectively, though it's not enough to drown your fascination. " ... You're beautiful. "

Krulu genuinely blinks in surprise. Subtle shock is replaced by a frown. A long finger dances under your chin, claw dragging on the fickle flesh, forcing you forward when it hooks upwards. " Pleasure, pet. Not flattery. "

Fair enough. You didn't mean to let that slip so easily.

Unsure how to go about this in a way that will please this being, whose sexual customs are vastly unknown, you figure starting timidly is smarter. Your hands lift, though the sharp glare you're given instantly make them dart to the marbled altar again.

" May-... May I use my hands? " Silence. " Please? "

" You may. "

At least that.

Tracing a slow path on the inside of this thighs, you edge upwards, marveling at the patterns engraved on the left one, scar tissue turned to infinite swirls. By the time you get to the inevitable, you begin by planting a kiss to the bottom of his entrance, trailing sloppy pecks upwards until your nose nudges against those two growths.

He looks down at you with an equally intense glare. Although where once it was filled with genuine irritation, now it's heated in a different way. No less intimidating however. A chuff is heard from above, those clits flex against the air in a motion that you find oddly erotic in spite of never having had contact with his species before.

A timid lap across the length of his opening is all you can manage to delay before focusing on those two. They look sensitive, they must be naturally, you fear too much direct stimulation can overwhelm him like it does some people. But it only takes a few experimental laps and kisses for him to "correct you". A palm drives your head harder against those buds, and he grinds on your face with a flex of long legs.

" I am not made of porcelain, lesser. "

" F- Forgive me- " Pressed against his cunt hard, all you can do is mumble the words onto it, face aflame. He seems to like the vibrations anyway.

" Take them into your mouth. "

Oh. Right, you can probably do that.

Circling one of their clits with a stubby tongue, you slip it into your warmth and, for lack of any guidance, suck on it cautiously. Krulu grunts something you can't interpret out, sighing when you pop it off your mouth to take care of the twin. With enough care, you manage to slip both in, sucking around the appendages, feeling them twitch on your tongue. It doesn't take long before he lets out a moan, this sound that seems to gently grace the walls, both high-pitched and low, as if two had reacted in unison.

It's a little hotter than it should be when he begins rolling against your mouth, almost causing you to bob. They taste of something intense, spreading an odd, nearly numbing tingle on your mouth. Something's popping in your tastebuds, bitter and sweet at different instances. It causes you to salivate excessively, drool trying its best to break down the complex substance you're coming in contact with. It's not an unpleasant flavor, so you find yourself easily suckling at him without a second thought.

The sound of faint dripping eventually breaks your focus.

You might be shamefully getting wet, but that's certainly not you. It takes a slight pause in your motions to incredulously peek down and spot his cunt clenching, empty, dripping slick in generous amounts. You hit the part of you that's drooling with a rolled up newspaper for being so impulsive. Still, when you quickly get back to servicing his clits, a stray hand coats itself in that viscous lubrication and you slip three fingers in without a hint of resistance. Then four. Honestly, you can slide your whole hand in there.

... Maybe you should?

Fuck it.

Your whole hand gets swallowed into Krulu's pussy, and while your eyes are wide in amusement, wondering if you could put your entire forearm in there, you're more focused in trying to find a spot to rub. It can't be that different from your anatomy, can it? You start palping and stroking with a purpose while slurping on him, determined to find that slightly ruggier tissue- Ah! There we are.

The higher arches, grunting, slipping more of your limb into himself with the jarring movement of his hips. It feels obscene, like you're fisting him. " Hhharder-! Harder, you hear me? "

He snarls, and like Hell you're going to risk unintentionally teasing him more. Your whole fucking palm rubs at what you think is his g-spot, feeling warm insides cling to your fingers, pulling you in with the force behind those reflexive pulses. Mesmerizing... This rolling rumble of a noise nearly shakes the walls, so you'll take it as a sign you're doing well. It's not too long before your arm is soaked by sloppy amounts of lubrication and your lips are puffed from sucking fattened clits. Krulu's sour disposition seems to be melting into a more tolerable demeanor, perhaps high on his enjoyment.

Better horny than angry, you guess.

More noises, this time from above, jolt your attention. Sensing movement, your eyes roam up to spot a sight that nearly makes you choke around the god's nubs. One hand coils over a glowing yellowed cock, shaped oddly just like the rest of him, some sections almost looking like rings. It strokes that length avidly, another hand from a different set of arms comes to rub circles around the head. He looks down at you lecherously, appearing to enjoy the show for a couple of heated moments where your gaze is locked on his and the massive being licks at their cruel grin.

When his head starts to tip upwards in the universal language of an approaching peak, Krulu drags you away from him by the neck, holding your pussy drool soaked face while the two of you catch your breath. The tingles on your tongue start to recede. The giant adjusts his position again, and this time, his massive cock faces you with a bob. Without extremities obscuring it, you can truly bask in its design, familiar, but so much better.

Your earlier point still stands however. There's absolutely no way in Heaven or Hell that cock is fitting anywhere inside you. Ever.

" Not as atrocious as I was expecting. But you are far from done, pet. "

Now curved forward, his great stature looms creepily. You don't see the nudge forward coming, nearly falling forth. Krulu makes an amused sort of titter.

" Resume. "

You almost don't want to crawl back towards him, but you know you need to tough through your own choice. He doesn't move a muscle, merely evaluating as you decide to start the same way you did with his cunt, kissing. One peck at the tip of his shaft, slicked by precum, then down the length you'll never take anywhere hopefully. It's admittedly impressive, the weight of it is such so that you require two hands to hold. And even then, you can't encompass his total girth. It's a beast of a cock, excusing the French.

Despite all odds, you try your best to do something that you think might pleasure him, struggling to jerk Krulu off. In fact, the motions are so clumsy that you believe he's purely just getting off on your pathetic attempts. Kitten licks are offered to a sensitive glans you can only suck at partially. The way those burning eyes shut just a bit further tells you he's at least taking enjoyment out of the whole thing.

It's still startling to feel something rough park at your bare pussy however. The rugged texture makes you believe it might be his tail for a second, but with the tapping of what can only be fingertips, you realize he's lowered a hand for you to sate yourself with. It rubs at your folds, spreading your own wetness and pressing knowingly over a bundle of nerves while you sigh around his girth.

" Are you daft? "

His voice isn't soothing at all. It's like... Wood bark in your ears, like branches snapping and scraping asphalt. You can only blink and gulp, befuddled.

" Fuck yourself on my fingers, you witless creature. "

That shouldn't have made your cunt clench the way it did. Though, at this point, you've stopped questioning why you're being aroused by gradually more obscene situations. In fact, enjoying this will make it a lot more bearable.

It's not too easy to multi-task, and given his impressive motor control of so many limbs, he must think your struggles are pitiful. Tentatively, you grind over his fingers, trying to slot them inside your warmth and getting struck by powerful shivers when he curls them helpfully. Thin and long, they slide into your walls with ease and reach places you've never been touched in before. Or maybe it's the way that he touches them. You have no doubt he could lift you by the cunt if he wanted to, and the bizarre thought has a quick moan making it past your lips, starting to roll into the friction with a little more gusto.

Krulu encourages you by hooking his phalange-like fingers, claws kept expertly folded. You feel your legs quaking and flexing in the wake of a god's touch, pleasure dawning upon you at a surprising rate. Although he's far from kind, far from safe, some itch in the back of your mind tells you to give in, to offer this entity your body and mind and all else they may crave of you. Because, somehow, someway, you understand that is your purpose. You understand you're looking at someone you should never defy and always, always seek to please.

He is your real God. And this is your new faith.

This sudden line of thought causes some genuine concern within you, as it's something completely out of left field. Never once have you felt so intensely about something. It must be his doing, it has to be. Ad yet, it feels right. Appropriate. Warming. You're not even aware your mouth is parted in silent bliss until Krulu appears to chuckle at your state.

" You will coat my hand in your effort to please me. And with your release, your role here is forever sealed. "

The hypnotizing finality of his statement is as striking as it is wonderfully arousing to you. Enough so that your heart cartwheels in your ribcage and your pace on his generous hand hastens. Maybe it won't even be so bad, you ponder while slicking his cock like a treat, you'd be protected, you wouldn't have to care about anything anymore. And you could get railed day and night by the monsters who lusted after you tonight, by the rest of them, the ones you can't help but fantasize about.

What would fucking the mimic be like? He deserves it for bringing you inside, for introducing you to your fate properly. And that slime, his kind has always exhibited such strange mating customs, how wild would things get? Oh, wasn't there a robot too? Your poor pussy drools as hard as your mouth does, each throbbing pulse of your walls hypnotically ebbing away your common sense. You're well aware pieces of your sanity have been chipping off like old pottery since the start of your contact with this god, but it doesn't feel as horrific as it should, it doesn't raise alarm or concern in you anymore.

Spiritualism isn't something you're very inclined to, but your mind tells you this is where you should be right now. And with that affirmation, everything seems to calmly slot into place again. Everything is as it should be.

" Y- Yes, my lord. "

Lashes flutter to a close briefly while you do your damndest to try to offer the deity more pleasure, unable to welcome him into your comparatively minuscule mouth. He grows fevered, legs shifting to feed more of himself into your grasp, likely frustrated by his mounting need, or perhaps being rough just for the sake of it. A jut of dark hips has that bright yellow length gliding on the side of your face in a debauched gesture that has you wondering if he could climax by simply grinding on your complexion. Eventually, slick, swift noises reach you, and judging by his moaning pants, you can only guess he's fingering himself to the scene.

Morbid curiosity has you peeking, the rhythmic plunging of equally dark digits into his sopping cunt confirming it. When you look back up, Krulu offers you a salacious rictus before thrusting hard, mean, just to jostle you.

" Lord- Lord Krulu- I'm doing my best, but I... I just can't fit you anywhere. I'm sorry- "

" Is it so? " The giant muses knowingly. " Well lesser, you will have to find a way to make me come somehow. Surprise me. "

Mind racing, you halt your motions on the now static hand between your legs, trying to figure something worth his time. A rotten little image finally surfaces, and you hope your filthy mind won't fail you now, of all times.

" Can... Can you please lower a bit more, Lordship? "

Krulu tilts their head subtly, elegant horns following, though your wish is granted. And so, you quickly scoot to be further beneath him, enough so that his heavy member rests on your front, from abdomen to chest and neck. The weight and warmth of it against your bare skin is a previously unknown sensation that you think you can get accustomed to, hands lifting to try to stimulate him in some manner, even pressing your breasts against him to whatever extent you can.

If he didn't think you were pitiful, he does now- Face flushed and dripping down his fingers, presenting yourself like some inanimate object to rut onto.

" Interesting... " He muses, and you can't be too sure if that's approval or an insult.

For some reason or another, the charred giant plays along, leaning forward to let himself grind against your body, each rock unavoidably powerful and gradually wetting you in his precum, a primitive marking ritual if there ever was one. Each back and forth has your face hotter than a furnace as you try, almost pointlessly, to lick at the end of him whenever it's close enough, oftentimes graced with a sloppy nudge against your cheek and mean-sounding chuckling from above.

Distantly, you wonder if this is what Admin goes through regularly. She's clearly his favorite, maybe this is a daily thing for them. It's easy to understand why her reverence of this being is so genuine and unbreakable. You can't help think that you'd be drawn here anyway, sooner or later.

Nothing matters anymore except doing as you're told, shuddering out moans and trying your best, apparently doing enough to warrant a reward as Krulu begins plunging his digits into you faster and harder than you've ever been fingered before, having tears prick at the corners of your eyes as it feels like he's fucking you himself in spite of being currently held between your breasts and arms. There's no mistaking the growls that dip into snarls low enough to rattle you, felt between every point of contact you have, rippling on your form, only speeding up your own approaching end.

Unable to squirm away from the relentless finger-fucking, it's all too soon before you're taken to the edge and near effortlessly tipped into a raging orgasm. Although it surprises you enough to let out a scream-like cry of ecstasy, you soon realize you're dealing with a god. He could probably kill you from orgasmic bliss alone if he wanted to. And you definitely feel something in your mind short-circuit, vision blurring with each pulse of a throbbing cunt around speedy, thin extremities. You're faintly aware of the fact that you just gushed onto Krulu's hand. Though neither of you are very concerned with that, you only struggle to breathe in the wake of growing overstimulation, arms now limp and body nearly falling back from how tensely it arches.

This feels like more than just an orgasm, if that's even possible.

Your lord detaches himself from your figure entirely, leaving a sweaty, goosebump-covered body to heave and sway, nipples as pert as the still twitching clit between your jelly-like legs. It's increasingly hard to focus on anything but the soft murmuring of the candles and the way light flickers off tapestry, but you register the motion of your head being yanked upwards to face Krulu while he rises to pump himself over you feverishly.

The erotic bucking of his hips into several pairs of lewdly moving hands over his own cock is hypnotizing. You can't help but watch his face keep contorting into different expressions of equally intense pleasure, until, all of a sudden, he makes a sound you can only call a roar. Loud and throaty and self-indulgent, reverberating in the very depths of your soul and rattling your skull with its volume.

The first splatter of cum on your body is jarring, eliciting a startled yelp followed by a heated groan when it's followed by more and more shots, all thick coats of Krulu's enjoyment of you. His approval of a brand new servant. Their seed all but leaves no part of you untouched, wide eyes having to shut themselves so as to not get pelted in the process. You can't help gasping and moaning like an animal at the sensation. Globs cascade down your belly and slide across your entrance. There's little else your boiled mind can do aside from merely pant and remain still like a depraved figurine covered in pearly white wax.

" Welcome to The Clergy's Eye, my present. "

Is the last thing you're able to coherently interpret before your mind starts distorting things again.

In between the following moments, could have been seconds or hours for all you'll ever know, you recall the image of a somewhat concerned and agitated green man with a pumpkin for a head looking you over. He murmured something fogged and unintelligible to your drunken self and seemed to carry you elsewhere in a hurry, much too fast for your muddled thought process and reflexes.

The glow of the elevator hurts your eyes.

The ballerina spins slowly on top of her stage, a soft, cheerful tune ringing across paint-splattered orange walls, the sound of rain softly cascading outside adding a homely element to things.

You sigh, comforted, leaning into Vinnel's gloved motions as he ties pink lace around your neck and forms a ribbon on the back. His gurgled hums fall in tune with the melody and he appears to be genuinely content. He always is when he gets to dress you up, it's become a beloved part of his routine.

" There we are, my pretty poppet! Do a spin for me! " The jester suddenly peels back, twirling in the air.

You stand in the frilled pink and white dress outfit he spent the better part of an hour perfecting, feeling gorgeous, softly painted cheeks rising and creasing the corners of your eyes when you smile for him. Grabbing the hem of your dress, you spin twice and feel warm at his exaggerated reaction.

" Uhuhuhuhu! Showstopping! Brilliant! " Vinnel titters, clapping enthusiastically before landing on the ground of his room to lightly boop you on the nose. " You're ready to head out then, missus. "

" Thank you, Vinnel. " And even though you sound perfectly innocent, when you hug him, one of your hands drifts down to palm at the heart shape on his groin, rewarded with a husky growl.

" Go on now, poppet. It's too early for games, you little slut. " He muses, stepping away to open the main door in his room so the two of you can head out.

Today, Admin requested to have breakfast with you, so you dutifully get on the elevator and head to the restaurant floor, finding the woman already seated in a pristine table, waving you over. Your feet quickly trot you over to her, sitting obediently and greeting your superior.

" Well well, look at our little model today. " She teases.

" Ah, thank you! Vinnel outdid himself. "

" Certainly. This is much more palatable than the bruises he likes to put on you usually. " You have to agree with her here, some spots of your body are still sore where he clawed at days ago.

Grimbly eventually zooms his way to the two of you with a tray containing your breakfast. A variety of pastries deposited on your side while Admin seemed to only want her coffee, always a shade of black so intense that it made it look as if she was drinking a void. The waiter wags his tail and beams at you, placing a sweet kiss to your cheek and cooing at your look before being waved away by the brunette.

" How do you feel about your stay here so far? Correct me if I'm wrong, but you didn't appear to regret your decision. " She sips from the steaming cup.

The answer is almost automatic.

" O-Oh, it's been really nice! Everyone wants me here so much, I... I like all my coworkers, it really feels like home. " You confess, feeling a tad sheepish but standing by your words. " I can't describe how fulfilled I am nowadays. I'm happy when... Everyone's happy. It's hard to explain but I really feel like I've gained- "

" Purpose? "

You pause. Yeah. That's precisely the word. How come she's always so right? " Exactly. "

Admin nods, a tiny smile on small lips. She got whatever response she wanted out of you, it appears.

" I'm glad we see things similarly. " Her eyes unfocus, following the swirl of her bottomless coffee cup as if it calls to her sweetly. " It's... Nice, having a human acquaintance here. " It's said with a hint of shock, as if the revelation surprised even her.

You can't help but preen under the praise, offering the woman one of your palmiers. She declines politely, and it's when you return to staring at your plates that you finally see the little note attached to one of them.

Good morning, love. I'll see you soon, hopefully.

A small series of scribbled hearts circle the message, you know exactly who it's from.

" Santi. "

There's a hum from the brunette in front of you. " Mhm, he paid for those. "

" Aw... That's really sweet of him. " Truly, he's always been a sweetheart, since the very start of all this, however long ago that was. Time is barely a concern for you anymore.

" Sometimes he still gloats about being the first you chose, you know? " She grins for a short second. " I think you inflated his ego forever. "

The knowledge makes you actually burst out laughing for a few hearty second where the sound echoes off the vastly empty restaurant. That's adorable, honestly.

" Oh , he might just become my favorite if he keeps buying me treats like this. " A joke you know, had you said it to the rest of them, an argument would instantly break out.

" Why shouldn't he treat you a little today? " Admin's brow rises, head tilted in that way that almost reminds you of Krulu, when he's more comfortable. Still, she knows something you don't, causing you to blink and sit there like a dumbfounded donkey.

" ... You haven't put it together yet, have you? "

No. No, you haven't.

The chestnut-eyed woman crosses her legs and snickers quietly. A couple of seconds pass where she expects you to make a sudden discovery, but the eureka moment isn't coming any time soon.

Finally, she takes mercy on you with a shake of the head. " It's been a year since you were gifted to us. "

...

A year. Has it been that long already? It felt like a miserable few months, if that much. Everything is just so fast here, it really does feel like yesterday when you were screaming at Hellion and Pebble in the garden.

Has it really been that long since you left everything behind?

Strangely enough, bits and pieces of your life before becoming a part of The Clergy are becoming harder to recall in clear detail, faces blur and places become nameless. You don't know what you used to do for a living, or what your routine is. Where did you even live? It doesn't sound important anymore. It isn't.

You're exactly where you should be.

Suddenly, the seat you're currently on ripples and shifts bizarrely, a vibrating purr-like noise spreading across your legs as the chair appears to grow a discolored grayish set of shackled arms and grasps your stocking-clad thighs with them, something wet and slimy brushes against your ankles. The mimic relishes your startled yelp and only holds onto you harder, tittering at having fooled you efficiently. That goofy bastard.

" Hm, they're going to be all over you today... " She sighs like a disappointed babysitter.

" Get ready. "

#Krulu oc #Vinnel oc #Sybastian oc #terato #monster x reader #monsterfucker #monster smut #terat0philliac #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #Gifted🎀

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oonajaeadira · 1 year

Text

Leave Off Your Wandering pt. 1: Spring

Fandom: The Last of Us (TV)/ Joel Miller

Pairing: eventually Joel Miller x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. Old enough to have been an adult on Outbreak Day. Wyoming born and bred. Sheep farmer, easy-going but confident and self-sufficient. Likes to sing, not a great cook. Childhood friend of Maria. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T for now

Warnings: Mostly just Ellie being a swear mouth. There’s a lamb birthing. Fluff…this fic is sloooooow.

Summary: Joel and Ellie return to Jackson and you introduce them to the sheep.

A/N: Set after season 1 and then diverges. Does not acknowledge the existence of further plot/seasons, although I claim the right to steal ideas and bits of cannon from the second game if I want to for plot reasons later.

Here it is, y’all. Not much happens. It’s just life in Jackson. There’s more Ellie here than Joel, but that’s because I figure Joel wouldn’t even turn his head toward someone if Ellie didn’t love her first. I’m just setting the stage for healing, for giving Ellie and Joel a nice home and good things. Nothing happens. Life is slower and softer here. Welcome to the Roost.

You were there when Tommy Miller was ushered–bloodied and busted–by the patrol through the gates of Jackson. The hard steel of Maria’s eyes through the slit between her hat and kerchief found you in the crowd and told you with a glance, I know what I’m doing. Meet me at home.

“Yeah, he’s one of them,” you’d confirmed to her later that afternoon as one of the Roostlings tended to his split lip and eyebrow in her living room. “I say we leave him to the coyotes.”

You’d trusted them once upon a time, the Fireflies. But your experiences with them were a deep education in morals and humanity. What you’ve come to believe is that everyone has an equal right to life and compassion and protection. And you might not have found that in yourself if the Fireflies hadn’t come through your papa’s ranch touting that sentiment but living up to a totally different set of rules, one where everyone had an equal expendability for the greater good of the survival of the species.

Fuck the species. If humans were meant to die out, then they would. Nothing is permanent. Not civilization or any one species, not even the mountains that surround your town–even the wind and rain would take them someday. All you can do is be good to those here and now, nurture what you have, and mourn what you lose with a little humility and gratefulness that you got to enjoy it in the first place. There’s already enough suffering. Why add to it? Or prolong it? Just let us all wane with kindness and compassion. Spend our days eating good food and caring for sheep, wildflowers swaying in the sunshiney breeze and stars twinkling at night–

“You go somewhere, Meadowlark?” Tommy teases as he passes you a plate of honey-glazed carrots, bean salad, and egg souffle, breaking you out of your reverie. You’ve come to prefer his tamales, but Maria wanted to use up some of last year’s supplies, so this Sunday’s family meal is harvest plate.

“I was just thinking about the day you came to Jackson.”

Leaning back in the wooden dining room chair, dark eyes glinting in the candlelight, his smug little smile is insufferable. “You wanted my hide on a fence.”

“Stretched and tanned. Could have been useful for patching boots at least.”

“What was it changed your mind again? Oh yeah. Weatherproofing the storehouse, building out your Roost, constructing a working loom–”

“It was the cornbread. And maybe the tamales.” Keeping a deadpan glare between you while stabbing a carrot and taking a bite, you point your fork at your best friend. “And you’re good to my girl here.”

Maria chuckles through a mouthful, shaking her head down at her plate like a mother trying not to let two warring siblings know how amusing they are. “I regret everything. And nothing.” The same dark eyes that glinted with reservation on Tommy’s first day hold back none of her big, tough heart as they seek him out now. “But speaking of mending shoes…you reminded me. Tommy’s brother came by while you were at the Roost.”

Your fork, halfway to your mouth, drifts back down to the plate. “Joel? Here? How’d he find you?”

Tommy answers carefully, chewing slowly, thoughtfully. “He didn’t, really. Patrol found him. Him and a teenager. They were looking for the Fireflies because…the girl belongs to them or something. Used my last known location and headed out west.”

“From Boston? On foot? And he survived?”

“All the stories I’ve told you about him and that’s what surprises you?”

Tommy’d been an open book from day one, answering Maria’s questions about his background, the QZs he’d lived in, why he felt the need to leave the Fireflies. As they’d grown closer and he joined in your family dinners, there were stories traded from the beforetimes, about his construction business with his brother, how his niece’s death changed them both, the things they’d done to good people just to survive. He held nothing back and owned up to his mistakes. Although he often blamed Joel for actions he willingly took part in. Still, admitted that he used his army training to teach Joel to shoot and unwittingly turned him into a killing machine.

But even so, he missed him. You could see that. Tommy missed his big brother. Wished it could be different, that he could have changed him, brought Joel back from his numbness before it was too late. Best he could do was run away from his regret, swing the other way and try to even out all his wrongs…but then found out that the Fireflies weren’t the answer to any of it. And despite all Tommy had admitted to doing, it was this ability to forgive, to take some fraction of responsibility, and to shelter his light through the darkness that Maria took a shine to.

You involuntarily glance toward the living room, toward the mantle where there’s a polaroid of a ruggedly handsome thirty-five year old man and a girl in fluffy brown pigtails. “Shit, Tommy. You think he’ll head back here?”

“Said he was counting on it.”

There’s a somber silence at the table as everything comes to a halt. Maria’s not exactly chilly, just… reserved. Ah. They’ve already been talking about it.

“Should I be congratulating you on a family reunion or….?”

The sudden winter of their discontent warms to a spring as your old friend goes back to her plate. “Well, it’s yet to be determined. Of course he’s welcome here, but not if he brings trouble.”

“He’s not going to bring trouble, sweetheart. You should have seen him that night we talked. He’s got demons chasing him, but he’s tired of running. He needs good people. We’re good people.”

“Unless he finds those Fireflies and they take him in first,” you interject. “Seems to me they’re just like everyone else, and a man who’s that good at mindless, morally-gray protection is a valuable asset.”

That sets him laughing, breaking the tension, throwing you unexpectedly off-guard after you’d just darkly insulted his kin. “Joel? Join the Fireflies? Not a chance in heaven, hell, or all the shit between! He’ll be back. He’s an asshole, but he’s my brother and I know him. He’ll be back. You’ll see.”

________

The day after coming back from your next shift at the Roost, you find yourself ass to the mud on the street outside the Jackson stables. Two bodies–yours, and that of a larger child–rounding a corner in colliding trajectories. You’d been fiddling with the buttons on your walkie, not watching where you were going, your boots taking you home the way they’ve done for years.

But she’d been moving fast–not running, but walking with that speed that teenagers are only capable of when they’re stomping off in a probable fit of angry hormones.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” she curses, diving for your wayward walkie and the batteries that spit out all over the ground as you get yourself up and your ass dusted off. “Here,” she says, clumsily dumping a cluster of plastic and tech into your hands. “I hope I didn’t break it. Are you like one of the marshals here or something?”

A quick rummage through the jumble in your hands shows no damage and you start pumping the batteries back in, casting a glance around for the compartment cover. “Not quite.” Seeing what you need a few feet away on the ground, you nod at it. “Would you mind getting that cover, miss…er… You know, I don’t think I’ve seen you around here.”

“Ellie.” She watches with interest as you clip the walkie back together and push the activation switch. “I’ve never seen one that small.”

“It’s actually an old kid’s toy. Meadowlark to Whippoorwill,” you mumble into the walkie, your lips nearly touching the plastic speaker, “just had a butterfingers. Testing the walkie.”

“What’s a butterfingers? Are those like code names?” Ellie asks.

Her eyes–black and sparkling–hold your own, a tense moment for both of you as you both hope for different reasons that the machine still works. “Something like that.”

“Whippoorwill here,” comes the voice through the can. “I hear you. Actually need a favor. Send a change of clothes through patrol tomorrow. The big one finally popped and she was a gusher.”

“Damn! I missed it by one damn day? Shit. One or two?”

“Three!”

“Uuuugh. Well that’s just fuckin’ fantastic. Glad you were there to catch ‘em, Whip. This is gonna be a good year. I think Hank’s on the round over there tomorrow. I’ll go pawing through your closet and send some things along.” Starting off in the direction of your friend’s house, you wave back at your new acquaintance. “See ya, Ellie. Nice to meet you. Take it slow around those corners, ‘hear?”

_____

The run-in wouldn’t have been memorable but for the next night when you show up at Maria and Tommy’s place for family dinner, carrying a warm basket of muffins, happy and singing to yourself as you dance in through the door…and come to a stop when four pairs of dark eyes turn to you from the dining room.

Guests? At family dinner? A man and–“Hey there…Ellie, right? Fancy meeting you here…”

The girl smiles from her seat at the table, waving with a hand covered by the sleeve of her raglan top. “Hi.”

“Oh. You know each other,” Maria says, lifting the basket out of your hands. “Then you must have met–”

No. You haven’t met him. But he stands up from the table, wiping a hand on his jeans and extending it to receive yours. Manners. Polite. That’s unexpected knowing the little that you know. His hair is gray now and he’s a bit softer around the middle, more gravity in the cheeks. His ample shoulders have taken weight over the years–literal and emotional.

No, you haven’t met him. But you know him. You’d know those eyes anywhere; studied them in an old polaroid on the mantle just over there. Soft but strong. A good person from another lifetime who was scarred deeply by this one. Someone who cut his soul right down to the quick in order to keep others alive. Those eyes may be a bit more haunted now, but they’re still just as keen.

You never stopped to think that you might someday meet them in person.

“Hi. You must be Joel.” _____

It’s the girls at the table that notice your interest. If left unchecked, your eyes wander across and start to examine the gorilla grip on the fork, the protective hunch over the plate, the beard that’s been newly trimmed and hair recently shaped up (by Maria, no doubt), the scars across the knuckles…temple…nose…

The man’s been through hell and back since the polaroid.

Ellie though…is unscathed, unmarred.

Protected.

And observant. She finally smirks the third time she catches you staring.

Maria’s knee bumps yours to reign you in. He’s not a threat, her eyes say.

This isn’t the time to correct her assumptions, so you put all your focus on your plate or whomever is speaking, whatever isn’t Joel Miller.

“Tomorrow’s work is barrier wall on zone two,” Tommy chews both his words and his venison at the same time. “Once we’ve got that fortified, internal barrier can come down and we can incorporate it as a new section, start safely upgrading the housing there. It’s got a school facility. Be nice to restore that for its intended use instead of using the old record store.”

“Sounds good, count me in,” Joel grunts once he’s politely swallowed his mouthful. “Just put a hammer in my hand and point me at a wall.”

“Just like the good days, eh, brother?”

“Sure.”

“I could swing a hammer” Ellie pipes up.

“You can go to school.”

She scowls darkly at Joel. “Your face can go to school.”

“Ellie–”

“Whippoorwill to Meadowlark.” The walkie on your hip crackles to life and you swallow quickly as all forks stop and all eyes swing to you.

“Meadowlark here. I hear you.”

“Wanted to let you know that all three lambs are hale and made it through the night. Mom’s a little restless, but they’re all safe in the enclosure and I’m doing a sit-in.”

“Thanks for the update. Good to know. You’re in the lead.”

“I know, but Chickadee comes in next week and I bet she takes it. Anyway. Thanks for the clothes and the book, I knew I forgot something. I’ll leave you be unless there’s any change.”

“I’m giving the walkie to Chickadee tomorrow, so you’ll have to egg her on.”

“You know I will. Whippoorwill out.”

Once the radio goes silent, there’s a mix of reactions around the table; pleasant surprise from Maria and Tommy, Joel on guard, his eyes flicking between you and the others waiting to know what it all means, and Ellie’s head twisting around, trying to catch up.

“Three?” Maria trills. “You didn’t tell me there were three new lambs!”

“Yeah. Just missed them. Whip got to do the honors–”

“The big one popped! She was a gusher!” Ellie smiles as the table turns to her. “You were talking about sheep pooping out babies?”

“Ellie, manners. People are eating.” Her guardian glares at her before checking in sheepishly with Maria.

“It’s fine,” you make her excuse. “Ellie head us over the walkies yesterday and–”

“So what’s with the code names?”

The girl is practically vibrating out of her chair with curiosity.

This time it’s your turn to be scrutinized by the newcomers; two pairs of brown eyes hungry for answers.

So you explain while you pick at your dinner.

“There’s a wide acreage outside the settlement walls, on the west patrol loop. We have a good herd of sheep out there. Can’t raise ‘em all in town, there’s not enough room or grazing, although if the winter’s bad, we’ll bring ‘em in to some barns over at the old ranch house.

“But there’s four of us shepherds, each one taking a week at a time out there. Doesn’t require much. Sheep do the hard work of eating and sleeping and rearing their lambs. We do the shearing and milking, send back daily gallons with the patrols–that’ll be the cheese on your salad there. But mostly just make sure they’re healthy and taken care of. Scare off wolves and coyotes if they come sniffing.”

“You go out there alone?” She asks, wide-eyed.

“Sure. It’s pretty secure and the patrols check the fences every day. The Roost is added security for us, since it’s elevated.”

“What’s the Roost?”

“Ah, it’s kind of a fancy treehouse?”

“Thanks to me, I’ll add,” Tommy pipes up. “When I got here, it was nothing more than a shack on a platform. This one here had a target on my back until the day she had four stout walls and a pretty little porch. Won her over pretty quick.”

“Stick built?” Joel asks, shoving a fingerling potato in his mouth.

“Yeah. Reinforced. A-frame. Even pulled windows out of a lodge.”

“Smart.”

Ellie obviously has no time for Construction Corner with the Millers. “You don’t get scared?”

There’s something about her eager wonder that grabs your attention, pulls you in tight, makes you want to answer whatever question she’s got. “There’s nothing to be scared of. I mean, not for us anyway. All of us Roostlings grew up around here. We know the sounds of the animals at night, know they’re more scared of us than we are of them. We’ve seen infected out in the wilds, sure, know what to listen for, but we also know how to defend ourselves if the barriers don’t hold…and they always hold.

“But mostly, it’s relaxing. Quiet. Slow. Time to think. There’s nothing better than a night suspended in the treetops, with the sheep below and the moon and the stars above….”

Joel has stopped chewing, a wistfulness showing from underneath his gruff mask. There’s something thrilling about catching his attention.

A goofy smile cracks Ellie’s face and she giggles, reaches out to punch him on the arm. “Did you hear that? Sheep and stars. It’s everything you dreamed of, buddy!”

“I didn’t mean…” he winces at her brute force and shoots a guarded look at you. “I think I’ll leave the sheep to the shepherds. You said you grew up here?”

It’s the first thing he’s really said to you unprompted and now that you have an excuse to look him in the eye, it’s actually hard to do. “Ah, yeah. Family sheep ranch down in…well, down-river. Not far. Maria too.”

“Spent a lot of time at that ranch growing up,” she smiles. “You and your sister were bad influences.”

“Is that why you up and left us for the big city?”

Maria laughs. “Had to get out before I spent my whole life here. Whoops.”

Joel reins the conversation back. “So you haven’t spent any time in the QZs?”

“No. Holed up at the ranch with…with some folks,” you say as Maria looks away. “Then Jackson was starting up and it was safer here, so I brought in my flock.”

“Hmm,” he grunts, reading your expression, catching the slight omission in your speech. Recognizing survivor’s talk.

You hold his gaze for a few seconds, wondering what your answer is worth to him. You’ve heard of the quarantine zones, knew how rough and miserable they could be. Tommy and Maria both had their stories and you count yourself lucky for never having been unfortunate enough to have to scrabble for existence in one of them. Would have languished and suffocated. Wouldn’t have been able to breathe without the big sky, or sleep without the mountains keeping watch…

Does he think you naive? Or that–wrongly–you’ve had it easy? Does your answer tip the scales in his opinion for the worse?

And what about him? Has the QZ made him dangerous? Hard? Dishonest? Tommy always said he was an asshole…

“Can I see it?” Ellie interjects. “The Roost. Can I go out there with you?”

The question is surprising in more ways than one; most noticeably in its boldness and by your shock in a kid getting so excited about sheep. “Uh, yeah, sure. I mean, that’s why there’s a bunk bed. We bring folks out there all the time. But you have to be willing to work while you’re out there.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Joel grumbles with a tight jaw, stabbing a potato with his fork.

Maria had explained to you the circumstances of Joel carting the girl across the country. To get her that far unscathed? To get her to the Fireflies… He must not have found them or he would have come back alone. Maybe they were dead.

Not that that would be a bad thing.

The girl is smart. Better off here.

But it seems no amount of time can take the father out of the man and he’s fallen into the role for her pretty hard, his jaw twitching as he balances between politeness and worry.

“It’s completely safe, brother. Walled in. Patrolled. In communication, as you’ve witnessed. And the Roostlings are all pretty skilled with a shotgun. She’ll be fine. Might do her some good.”

“Come on, Joooooooel. It’s sheeeeeeeep. In a treehouuuuuu-suh.”

He takes his time chewing. Keeps his eyes on his plate.

“We’ll see.”

“Well,” you smile, winking at the girl across from you, “I just got off my shift, so you’ve got three weeks to warm up to the idea before I go back.”

“Do I get a codename?” She wiggles in her seat, grinning hard at Joel, goading him.

“Sure. I don’t know. You’re pretty spikey. How about Thistle?”

“What?” This dismays her and gets a choke–and then a chuckle–out of Joel. “Why can’t I have a bird name?”

“Because you’re not a Roostling. You have to earn your wings.”

This sets her jaw in a challenge. “Oh. I’ll earn it. I’ll earn it so hard you don’t even know. Bring it on. Take me to the fluffy bastards.”

“Ellie, dammit!”

_____

“So, he’s, uh….” you hand a dish to Maria so she can dry.

“Less than personable?” She finishes, keeping her voice down so as not to be heard by the brothers chatting on the back porch.

“Got some adjusting to do if he’s gonna fit in here, I was going to say.”

“He makes you nervous though. I can tell.”

“No. Not…like that…I just…” It’s best to avoid her keen eye, but catch her surprise out of the corner of yours. “It’s just–”

“My oldest friend in this god-forsaken world,” she declares, throwing the dishtowel on the counter and settling hands on hips. “You are telling me that? That is the man that is turning your head?”

“No. That’s not…He’s…” a growl of frustration follows, trying to scare your thoughts into cohesive order as you scrub glaze out of a pan. “It doesn’t happen that often, you know? Someone from the past showing up and there’s all this…change. I mean, he’s not really from our history, but you’ve had that picture of him and his daughter sitting out and there’s this face from the past just…looming. Like, there was this man who lived and worked construction and then the worst day happened and his child was killed and the person he was just got…replaced with that guy. It’s…I’m just morbidly fascinated by what twenty years in a post-hell society can do to someone. I mean…that smile in the polaroid…he was so warm and healthy…”

It isn’t until this moment that you realize what Maria begins to surmise. The pan and washcloth are abandoned.

“So you’ve had a crush on a man from the past all this time, making your castles in the sand. And you’re disappointed that he showed up and was that.”

She generously and lovingly gives you the time to think.

“Maybe. I don’t know. He’s still good looking, so you have to give me a little slack there. But I don’t know him. Didn’t know him. It’s just an interesting thing, you know? A little fantasy of the beforetimes? One that didn’t really line up way I imagined it?”

Maria begins to laugh kindly and quietly. Then a little less kindly and a lot less quietly. “Oh shit, that man came here for sanctuary and didn’t know he walked into a full-on trap.”

“Hey!”

“No. No. That’s not fair and I’m sorry,” she concedes, taming her laughter somewhat unsuccessfully. “Just go easy on him, okay? He’s Tommy’s brother.”

“Well, then that’s as good a reason as any for me to stay on my side of the creek bed. And, to be fair, those other guys? They came after me first. I have no interest in men that have no interest in me. So it looks like he’s safe.”

“For now,” she smirks. “But. If Tommy keeps me up at night complaining that you’ve busted a bottle over his brother’s head–”

“That was one time! And that guy was a fucking jerk!”--now you’re both laughing–”Which, I guess, yeah, if Joel’s as much an asshole as Tommy says, then maybe I should play it safe and apologize to y’all in advance!”

Thank goodness you have each other to lean on, or you’d both be rolling on the floor in a cackling mess. _____

It only takes a fistful of days and as many shy nods in passing around town for a knock to come at your door one evening.

“Well…hey there….Mr. Miller. What can I do for you this evening?”

The generated streetlights don’t come all the way down your block, and he blinks in the candlelight coming from your open door, his jaw gaping slightly before sealing shut, blocking any words that want to come.

Stepping back, you let the door open wider for him. “I was just putting a snack together. You wanna come in?”

“No, I..don’t…”

You’ve seen this look before from folks new to Jackson. From folks who’ve had to keep what they have to survive. Folks who lived among others who would never offer up anything for free without the expectation of payback and therefore have forgotten–or perhaps never experienced–the simple joy of receiving hospitality.

“You don’t want to come in? Or you don’t want to eat my cooking? Because I’d be offended by either.”

Walking away from the open door has the desired effect and he finds his way to the front room sofa in view of the kitchen on his own.

It allows you to watch him check off the boxes as you put together a tray. Telltale sign of the long-hauler as he scans the rooms for exits and places where a threat could be hiding. Check. Then the sign of the QZoner as he studies his surroundings, taking in a home that’s lived in but not damaged by twenty years of decay or depression. Check.

That finally leaves him open to be vulnerable, and you watch to see if he’ll allow himself to be at ease.

The way his fingers curl and uncurl on his knees, how he looks away when you catch his eye.

You wonder if he’ll ever really sink in. Having family here will help.

“You drink, Joel Miller?”

“Depends,” he answers vaguely, but nods with certainty.

Your offering is simple, rye crackers on a plate, a disk of sheep’s milk cheese with a knife in it, two tumblers, and a bottle of sunshine.

“You all are sure generous with your whiskey around here,” he comments as you pour him a full glass.

“Not whiskey. Cider.”

He frowns. “Cider? You make this?”

“I’m not that talented,” you wave your hand over the cheese and crackers. “As you can see, this is what I consider cooking. Like most things here, I traded for it. There’s an orchard a ride out. Gone wild. It gets harvested once a year and there’s a cider press in town. Couple of ladies spend a good month canning and bottling.”

“Seems like the women run the show around here,” he says, impressed, taking a sip and then staring hard at the glass. “Holy shit.” You’re not sure at first if that’s a good or bad expression until he goes in for another drink.

“That make you nervous? Ladies brewing up the good stuff?” You only laugh at his impression of a deer in the headlights. “I suppose if you’ve spent enough time around Maria, it’s easy to think that. It’s just a very empowered place for everyone. Everyone’s got something to contribute that gives them some pride and gets them some respect. And I guess, in that way, you don’t have to worry about Ellie here. I can tell she’s gonna find her place and do just fine.”

“That’s actually what I came by for,” he says, distracted by the cider. “You know how long it’s been since I’ve had a drink of something that doesn’t burn?”

“It’s sweet, yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s been a minute since I had anything sweet.”

You let that hang, watch him examine the amber liquid…or, rather, a memory swirling in its depths.

Twenty years of a broken heart can’t be good for a person.

“You came to talk about Ellie?”

It takes him a second to realize you’re addressing him, but he only nods, and finishes the glass. When you pick up the bottle to pour him another, he quietly stops you with a gesture and the tiniest shake of the head. No. “You ever have raiders come by your Roost?”

“We’ve seen raiders in the area. They’ve attacked the town border before. Always small groups. Hungry. They don’t have the numbers or the ammo round these parts.”

“But what about out there in the open?”

Crossing your arms and leaning back in your seat, you let him know he’s being assessed, let it sink in that he might be over-protective and has the right to be scared but doesn’t need to be. Realize he may never grow out of his defensive conditioning.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Joel Miller. There’s always a chance. But I don’t know if there are any words I can say that would magically put you at ease. There’s one thing I can see though, you care a lot about that girl. I reckon you’re here tonight because she’s bugged you about going out there. And you hate disappointing her, so here you are. But you’re also afraid of letting her out of your sight.”

He doesn’t look at you. Just rolls his glass between his wide palms.

Ducking forward, you do your best to get your smile in his eyeline. “Since I can’t convince you with words, I’ll do it with evidence. Ride out there with me tomorrow and see for yourself.”

“I don’t…that’s not what…”

“Hey. Good parents want their kids to be safe. I know the type.” It was meant to put him at ease, but you realize a bit too late that your words were poorly chosen. It’s difficult to read his emotion; there may be a few going on at once.

Most of them break your heart.

An apology would only make it worse. “Tomorrow morning. Stables. Dawn.”

________

He doesn’t like to talk much, Joel Miller. Knows his way around a horse like a true Texan should, completely at ease with a shotgun strapped to his back, but doesn’t seem to want to spoil the silence. Or perhaps he’s just always on guard. That’s okay. You like the sounds of the morning. The crunch of the woodland floor, the sweep of the wind in the leaves. The birds have been up for hours already, their voices warmed up and singing clear. It’s still chilly at daybreak this time of year and steam rises from the horses’ noses, mixing with the fog of the dew evaporating in the rising sun.

After a good half-hour ride through dappled forest light at a leisurely pace, you take up the walkie that you’ve borrowed from Chickadee.

“Meadowlark to Whippoorwill.”

Seconds and trees roll by as you wait for your answer. No hurry.

“Whippoorwill here. You taking another shift? You’re a day early.”

“Nope. Just giving a new resident a tour and letting you know we’re coming in at the north passage. Put some clothes on and don’t shoot us.”

“I make no promises.”

“Don’t ever change, Whip.”

As you come to a ravine and dismount, Joel finally pipes up. “Put some clothes on?”

“Yeah,” you explain, leading the horse down the steep incline, “Whip’s a nudist. Don’t ever show up at her house unannounced if you aren’t ready for a lot of skin.” When he doesn’t know what to say, you smile over your shoulder. “Just fucking with you. Although, there is a stream to the south we all like to skinny dip in come summer.” Another baffled look from him, and another sly smile from you.

He’s distracted by this to the point that he actually flinches when the barrier appears before him. “The hell?” he exclaims, examining a hedge of vines growing up over a twelve-foot tall wall of stone. “You don’t even notice this from the top.”

“Nope. That’s the point. Doesn’t look like a wall from up there, just looks like a hedge from down here. Most people don’t want to make the effort to climb down but if they do, they just assume they have to find another way.”

“This is the meadow perimeter?”

“Well, this gate anyway. A lot of it is woven steel gage and cliffs that only goats can manage. Most of it is natural barrier or camouflage like this so you wouldn’t even know there’s anything being protected.”

“Huh. Clever.”

“Welcome to Jackson Meadow, home of the Roost.”

After displacing and replacing some facing shrubs, you’re able to coax the horses through a narrow tunnel and up a gentle rise that eventually opens out into a sweeping field in a valley under the face of the butte.

It’s still early enough that the wildflowers are just slivers of purples and yellows behind their bud casings, but they spread far and wide across the green expanse, broken only by the random white-gray lumps of grazing sheep. The sun is just beginning to break over the surrounding mountains to the east, but once it spills over, it will only make the spring colors of the valley more vivid than any surviving photograph, more picturesque than any oil on canvas…probably. It’s been decades since you’ve seen a landscape painting, so what the hell do you know.

Able to ride side by side now, you make another study of your companion. And there’s a war going on inside him. You can tell he’s taken by the raw beauty of the meadow, but twenty years of looking over his shoulder makes him nervous in wide open spaces and his eyes won’t stop moving between the grasses and the treeline, constantly appreciating, constantly scanning.

“Relax, Mr. Miller. Enjoy the view. You’re in good hands. See that patch of trees up there?” You nod to a wooded area near the center of the expanse. “Roost is in there. I guarantee you Whip has eyes on us and everything in this valley right now.” Raising a hand over your head with three fingers raised, you use the other hand to point to them.

The walkie smacks on and Whippoorwill’s steady drawl comes out. “Three.”

You wave. Smile at Joel. “See?”

He relaxes in the saddle and a quiet, ponderous minute goes by before he works up the bother to ask whatever’s tumbling around in that head of his. “Why do you keep calling me that?”

“What.”

“Mr. Miller. I’m no mister. It’s just Joel.”

Things are slow in Jackson, people take their time. As you do with your answer. “Maybe it’s my way of keeping a distance, Joel Miller. You seem like the kind of man that likes people to keep their distance so he can get a good read and make sure it’s safe to approach.”

Twisting with a frown, he scans you as if he’s never really looked before, maybe a little annoyed that you have his number.

You dismount your chestnut mare some distance before reaching the trees, leave the reins to the saddle and let her be, walking over to the nearest duo of sheep–a mother and baby. The ewe bleats at you out of habit, but knows you’re no real harm. She watches her lamb though, chewing when she remembers to.

This lamb is still very young and you’re not sure if it will remember. There’s a bounce to the left, and then two to the right, and then each leg steps carefully as he haltingly makes his way forward. You’re able to scoop him up and turn him over in your arms like a baby, instantly quelling him, and his legs hilariously splay.

“What’d you do to it?” Joel, having followed suit and let his horse graze, walks up and there’s the tiniest smile as he gazes down at the creature in your arms.

“Nothing, that’s just what they do when you turn ‘em over. Here.” You don’t even tell him to put his arms out or ask if he wants to hold the lamb, you simply get close enough and the man’s instincts kick in. All you have to do is hand him off.

Joel’s surprised at first, flinches a bit when the lamb wiggles in his arms–the tiniest protest to being transferred to an unfamiliar nanny. But then both of them calm and you have to stifle a laugh as the two of them just…stare at each other. The lamb in his lamby wonder, and Joel like a new, star-struck dad.

Going about your business, you begin checking the creature’s general health, pushing at the belly, checking the mouth. “This one was born on my last watch, so he’s only about ten days old.”

“Really,” Joel sighs, totally enchanted, not even realizing that he’s instinctually bouncing the lamb a bit. The father in him showing its face again.

“Yep. And,” you indicate the mother, now watching a bit more closely since there’s an unfamiliar human involved, “I birthed that one too. And probably most of her whole line for the last twenty years or more. All of them were as little as this one, and all of them survived. And if the Roost can raise flocks and flocks of dumb little sheep, we can certainly take care of one smart little girl.”

When he scans you this time, it’s clear you’ve given him reasoning that resonates.

He allows you to lift the lamb from his arms, watching thoughtfully as the little thing springs away past its mother and tumbles into some lupines head first. After it recovers and bounces a little more, you bring Joel’s attention to the trees a few hundred meters to the south.

“You can just catch the Roost there, see? The A-frame sticks up above the treetops. And that’ll be Willa at the porch railing.”

He squints. “How do you get up?”

“Retractable ladder. Tommy rigged it for us. You gotta be in it to win it. You’re either up it or fuck it. Ergo, if the ladder’s up, you don’t get in.”

“Huh. How do you get supplies up? Pulley?”

“Yup.”

“Huh.”

It’s a quiet ride back to Jackson, and you do your best not to look over your shoulder to gauge his reaction, like Orpheus leading Euridice out of Hades trying not to lose a tenuous chance for Ellie to spread her wings. It’s not every day a young person wants to learn the shepherding gig. Most of them want to stay in town near their friends, or are too afraid of the world to venture out. Ellie though, she’s been in the world. Observant. Eager to learn. Fearless.

The sheep could use someone like her.

You could too.

It’s when he’s busy unsaddling his horse in the stables that he clears his throat, and you let the curry brush lighter over your horse’s coat so you can hear him think out loud.

“Yeah that works,” he mumbles. “Think it might be good for her.”

Poking your face over your mare’s shoulder and waiting to catch his eye, you release the hounds of smiletown. “You’re right. And probably good for you too, Joel Miller.”

____

“Whoa, coooooool!!!” Ellie says for the fourth time on the ride from Jackson as she spies the Roost through the trees.

Over the past few family dinners, Ellie asked a million questions about this week–how to stay warm, where to bathe, if the sheep bite–anything and everything, even if it was common sense.

And with every answer she’d listen, enrapt, her eyes flicking to Joel now and then. It became obvious to you–although maybe not to the others–that she was asking not so much for her own good, but to calm Joel, signal that she was thinking ahead and covering all the bases, that even if she already knew the answers it might calm him to hear them too.

A little overkill. But the concern they showed for each other while trying not to be sappy about it was endearing you to both of them.

And perhaps Joel was calmed; maybe not so much by the answers you gave, but the way you gave them--calmly, indulgently, and with just a little bit of sass to show you could keep up with Ellie’s tongue and put her in a figurative headlock when she got too cocky. You caught Joel smiling down into his plate a few times. And at you a few more.

He’s got a good smile. It comes out more often now.

A duffel bag lands on the ground at the base of the Roost’s tree and your horses jump a little. Then there’s a cheerful trill from above, “I’ll be right down! Just packing up the wool!”

“No rush, Goldie! We’ll go water the horses while we wait.”

Ellie follows your lead you as you dismount to pull the packs off the horses–bulky with a week’s weight of food, water, and clothes–before climbing back into the saddle and heading off to the south.

“There’s a creek up here flows right down from the Tetons. Purest, cleanest water you’ll ever see.”

“Can you drink it?”

“Absolutely. You, me, the sheep, it’s for all of us. We humans boil it first, of course.”

Ellie’s nose wrinkles. “Seems a waste. I mean, if it’s coming down from the mountains it’s really cold right? We hardly ever had cold water in the QZ. It’s so good when it’s cold.”

“You’ll be singing a different tune when you have to bathe in it.” Her face falls and you can’t help but laugh, hauling yourself out of the saddle and guiding the beast through the pebbled creekbed. “Believe me, come summer, you’ll be plenty happy with how cold it is.”

Once the horses are watered it’s a leisurely stroll back to the Roost, handing the reins over to a tall, veritable Viking of a woman, stong-boned and willowy all at the same time, the long golden braid spilling down her back and curls springing out from the sides of her face giving her the appearance that she’s wearing a lazy albino scorpion on her head. Her blue flannel matches her eyes and clashes with her sunburned cheeks.

“Ellie, this is Goldfinch, our junior Roostling.”

The woman takes Ellie’s small hand in her long, sturdy fingers. “Maybe not so junior if you pull yourself up on board.”

“Goldie started with us about ten years back when she was around your age.”

“Ten years ago?” Ellie asks. “There hasn’t been any new shepherds since then?”

The Rootling shares a concerned look with you before you answer, “Well, there have been, but not all of them stuck.” And you put the question to rest by helping Goldie pack up your horse. “Shit, this is a lot of wool. How many did you do?”

“About twelve?” She answers. “I’m only taking ten worth. Left the rest for you.”

“Damn, you must have been bored. Ellie, can you hand me that duffel? Thanks.”

As Ellie brings the bag to you, she’s also scanning the thatch of forest where the Roost stands. “So she’s taking the horses? She doesn’t have her own?”

“Horses are a sign of civilization,” Goldie offers. “Especially if they’re on a picket line. And we like to keep it not so obvious that we’re out here. We’d have to keep them on picket or they’d just wander off back toward the gate an s hang out there wanting to go home and give away that location.”

“Besides,” you explain, “won’t need ‘em until we go back to Jackson. Safest place to be in the whole pasture is the Roost with the ladder up and a loaded shotgun nearby, not trying to saddle up to ride off. If there’s trouble, we can hold out the time it takes for a posse to come down from town.”

“Is there ever trouble?” Ellie wonders, just slightly concerned.

“Never yet,” you wink.

Finally there’s the ceremonial clink of the walkies, acknowledging that the leaving Roostling is taking hers home and the new occupant has one with a completely restored battery. “Patrol, this is Meadowlark taking over for Goldfinch.”

A few quiet seconds. A pinecone drops nearby.

Then a man’s voice from the speaker. “Meadowlark, this is patrol, we read you. We’ll be hitting east gate around noon today. Anything you need?”

“Nope, we just landed. By ‘we’ I mean me and a learner. New girl, Ellie Williams. Callsign Thistle.”

“Copy. Welcome to the Roost, Thistle.”

Ellie beams, then blinks as you hold the walkie to her face, and you nod her a nod of encouragement.

“Thanks…patrol. Uh…Thistle over and out.”

“Good job, kid,” Goldie says, hoisting a leg over the horse and taking the reins of Ellie’s mare from you. “Have a good week, you two. May your days be filled with storms.”

Once she’s out of earshot, Ellie turns to you. “Storms?”

You strap a pack over each shoulder and start climbing the ladder. “We’re in friendly competition with each other to have the most lambs born on our watch and shear the most sheep. If it rains it can be miserable work at best and impossible at worst and we’re less likely to make good numbers. So it’s an affectionate curse.”

“Oh. Seems cruel to the sheep.”

“What do you mean?”

Shouldering a smaller pack, Ellie starts climbing behind you. “Wishing for storms when they have to be out in it.”

“Eh, they’re happy as clams when it rains. They’ve got wool sweaters already.”

“I’ve never worn a wool sweater.”

Reaching the top, you wait for her to crest so you can see the look on her face when she does. “Then you’re in for a treat. It takes a lot to waterlog wool. Rolls right off. You’ll see. You’ll love it. And that’s not even mentioning the socks!”

“What does happy as a clam mean–” she begins, but stops abruptly as her face comes to the top of the ladder, her mouth opening in awe, rounding in concert with her eyes. “Whoa! Holy shit!!!”

The Roost as a whole isn’t all that large and can be crossed in half a dozen steps. Roughly a seven meter square platform, it holds a one-room cabin with a balcony running along the north and east sides. The windowed, A-frame peak looks out to the north pasture and the roof slopes just out and above the east balcony to shade it in a cascade of knotty pine. Windows wrap all but the west side, the interior wall of which has a simple built-in double cabinet bed with a single bunk running across its head above.

It’s this cabinet bed that draws Ellie inside, and you watch her slowly take in the rest of the cabin, with its rustic table and chairs–Goldie left a couple Indian Painbrush in a mug of water in the sun–the windowed corner with the soft, plush, patchwork pillow chair and a basket full of wool roving, the opposite corner with its woodstove upon a harlequin tilework patch of floor and the spare array of cooking tools on spiraled iron hooks in the knotted wood walls.

The honey dark timber stretches overhead to a peak, from which hangs dried strands of vegetables and herbs, higher up a set of snowshoes, a number of straps and ropes–a butcher’s hook among them, the one arguably ominous tool, meant to make dragging a bloated carcass easier…although it is rarely needed anymore.

Even though the Roost has become your home away from home, the fresh smell off the boards and the dust motes dancing in the sun make you pause and smile every time.

It’s just comfortable enough for two people, a generous hideaway for one, and your favorite place in the whole world. There’d been more than one occasion where you thought about asking Tommy to build you its replica in Jackson, but it would be a shame to ruin its uniqueness…and, of course, there were higher priorities in town.

“Is that where you sleep?” Ellie points at the cabinet bed.

“Yep. Or you, if you want. There’s a bunk. I’ll take whichever you don’t want.”

Bouncing over to the side of the cabinet with the recessed ladder, she climbs, pats the mattress, and frowns. “Why’s it all lumpy?”

“It’s filled with fleece. Same down here. It doesn’t feel lumpy when you sleep on it. Feels like a cloud hugging you. How’s the view up there?”

Ellie pets the bunk mattress another second or two, considering it, before turning out with a smile, “It’s–” but the smile fades when she sees beyond the four meter peak of the cabin and out through the windows for the first time.

Turning to face outward--to see though her eyes–-the sun is breaking fully over the butte, filling the valley like a warm, golden bath, serving up a green to the eye that exists nowhere else in the world. It never gets old and is beautiful from every angle, especially this view from the treetops, birds-eye.

Wordlessly she descends the bunk ladder behind you and wanders out to the balcony, resting her forearms against it, staring out at the vista, and you let her have it while you unpack the bags, situate the supplies, assess the woodpile, toss a set of fresh sheets on each bed.

Once finished with the settle in, you join Ellie where she’s drifted to the other side of the balcony, looking out at the north pasture where the sheep like it best.

After a moment she asks quietly, “What was this place before?”

“This land?” you specify, and she nods. “It was just this. A valley meadow. Native land.”

“It’s hardly touched out here. No broken buildings. No bomb craters.”

“Nope. This place was never really that urban. Even with all those people, some wild places remained. Some were actually sanctioned by the government as untouchable natural places, just to let the animals live and the trees grow. It was for everyone to enjoy.”

“National parks.”

“Yeah, that’s right. This was part of a park like that. But Jackson wasn’t densely populated. Didn’t spread as fast out here. We were low priority. No bombs. So many of us lived on our own land that when the governments came to round any of us up, we’d take up arms and hold our ground. It’s what my sister and I did when they came at our ranch. I think after a while military just left the area thinking if we all got infected it could only spread so far before it just finished off the population and had nowhere left to go.”

“Did it?”

“Oh it came, but it didn’t take everyone. It wandered in later, like everything does out here. Cordyceps are like a fashion. It spread in the urban areas first and made its way out here eons later. But there were fewer people in a lot larger space…and a lot more guns. It was easy to stamp out.”

Ellie’s not like most of the other kids in town who nod at your ancient stories of the olden times. To them, this is the world as it is and how it will be and stories of how it used to be are less than monumental, just a passing curiosity for aimless evenings around a fire. But Ellie’s attention reaches beyond the meadow, beyond the mountains, beyond what she can see. It stretches out in time and tries to divine the past and what might have been; she tries to calculate what exactly was lost and in what ways it’s actually better. A life she could have had versus the one that’s brought her here to this balcony in the morning sun.

A far off bleat becomes a signal for the reverie to break, and you bump your shoulder against hers.

“C’mon. I’ll show you how we do the rounds.”

_____

After a few days, Ellie is doing the morning rounds on her own, reporting in when she notices an ewe in a lay, keeping an eye out for cast sheep–“You see a sheep on its back, do whatever you can to right it, you’ve got about twenty-four hours until they die there of bloat and stupidity,”--and generally letting them all get to know her.

“You’ll need to take your time. Let the lambs come to you or the mammas get emotional about it. Treat ‘em light and gentle for a while. If the ewe sees no need to watch you anymore that means she trusts you and you can pet and pick up the little ones if they let you. But they start cryin’, best to put ‘em down and let ‘em run. Never chase them. You chase them and never let them come to you, they’ll run when you need to get to them most. Take ‘em some apple or carrot and they’ll be your friend forever. Squash and pumpkin are good too. Sometimes I’ll bring out a pocketful of oats. Don’t tell the stablemasters in town; they’d have my ass.”

By mid-week if you couldn’t find Ellie, all you’d need to do was climb up to the Roost and survey the green meadow for the contrast of her red tshirt and you’d spy her sprawled out in the grasses surrounded by a clutch of lambs and ewes. The girl was a sucker for animals.

Shearing went by faster with someone there to hold hooves and legs or just keep the lambs within sight so any ewe under the shear wasn’t kicking to check on her baby. It might have been Ellie’s least favorite part except for the evening time task of carding wool (“Boring”) and drop spinning (“Impossible”).

“Motherfucker,” she whispers, singing a song of hatred at the breaking threads on her spindle, throwing her hands out and taking a dramatic fall backward onto the wool rug she’s sitting on.

“Patience, young grasshopper. It’s not a fast skill; it can take years to learn to spin consistently,” you laugh in the warm glow of the lantern, your spindle wizzing as your yarn pulls at an even gauge, “and all you have out here is time. You’ll get it.”

“Grasshopper? Have I graduated from Thistle?”

“Nope, sorry. Old joke, before your time.”

Abandoning her work and rolling over to her belly, Ellie kicks her stockinged feet lazily in the air and pulls at the fibers in the rug. “There’s only one more day left and there haven’t been any new lambs.”

“Season’s slowing down some. They’ll be fewer and further between.”

“Don’t you wanna win?”

“Win at numbers? Not if it means the health of the sheep. They’ll birth when they birth. Besides, nobody’s beating Willa this year. Those triplets made that a certainty.”

“Whippoorwill’s name is Willa. Chickadee’s name is Addie.”

“Yup.”

“So everyone turned their name into the closest sounding bird except you.”

“Nah. We’re just not real clever with the names is all. Goldie’s name is Pam. We just call her Goldfinch because she’s a blond. Probably wouldn’t even have callsigns but that it makes it easier to hear over the walkie.”

“So what about yours then? Why Meadowlark?”

You smile. “Larks are songbirds. I like to sing when I’m out here. I’ve been caught at it so many times, I don’t even hide it anymore.” You belt a made-up melody loudly out through the open window into the night, “Isn’t tha-a-at ri-ight you wooly ba-a-a-asta-a-a-ards!”

A sleepy sheep calls back in irritation.

“You’re a weird lady.”

Ellie laughs begrudgingly, sits up with a grunt and starts picking at her thread again, squinching her mouth at the lumps. “So if I become a Roostling, I don’t get to pick my own bird?”

“I’m sure we could make an exception. Why? You got one in mind? Because left to us you’d probably be a red-bELLIEd something-or-other.”

“Ha ha. Fine. I don’t know much about birds. Mostly just pigeons in Boston.”

“Well fuck if I’m gonna call you Pigeon.”

The night’s starting to chill down a little and she hugs her knees into her chest, setting her chin on them in thought. It’s about time to close up the window and put a few logs in the stove, but Ellie’s attention wanders up and out among the stars.

You have so many questions. Were all the kids in Boston as stubborn and wild and foul-mouthed as her? Where were her parents? Dead, most likely, but how did she survive them? How did she meet Joel? Did she smuggle run with him? She’s a fair shot with a shotgun, but not practiced. Did he get her here all by himself? That takes a lot of luck and skill. He must care about her a lot to bring her with him all this way, to keep her safe….

“So it was just you and Joel out there for a long time, huh.”

“Yeah.”

“I bet you’re happy to finally have somewhere warm to sleep. Traveling during the winter would have been rough. Good thing it was a milder one this time around.”

She gives a pathetic shrug. “I dunno. I liked it. Just us under the stars. We looked out for each other.”

“Well, you have a lot of folks who will look out for the both of you now. And if you need someone to look after, well, these sheep could really use you.”

Unexpectedly, she laughs, something you’ve said keeps her in the giggles for a while. “One night we were camping and I asked Joel where he wanted to go most in the world and he said he wanted to settle down and farm sheep. This is kind of his dream. But then he said that he wanted to be a musician. Maybe he should be the one out here with you to watch sheep and sing.”

“Maybe. Does he have a tolerable voice? The sheep are picky, as you’ve heard.”

“I don’t know, he wouldn’t sing for me,” she squishes her cheek into her knee, giving you a shit-eating grin and a teasing sing song. “But I bet he’d sing for you if you asked him.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you smile and wink, trying to hide your chagrin under a swirling cape of nonchalance. “I can be very persuasive. But...I don’t think Tess would like that so much.”

“How do you know about Tess?”

“Tommy has his tales. They were quite a little family unit for a while. I’m actually surprised she didn’t show up here with you two.”

This sobers her, turns her attention back out to the stars, halting her response. “She would have…. but she didn’t make it.”

A chilly breeze sweeps through the window, and you’re not quite sure if it’s the drop in the air or your heart that makes you shiver.

Tess didn’t make it. In the world as it is, that means one thing. You wonder what happened. How. If it was horrific–of course it was, you can see it in Ellie’s hardened eyes that it was–and how much it affects her or doesn’t. It’s so difficult to tell with kids these days. In the end though, it hardly matters how. In all the myriad of ways it could have happened, it would have ended the same.

You wonder if Tommy knows.

You suddenly feel ashamed of that selfish little spark of hope it sparks in you.

But while what you know about Joel Miller could fill a book, what you don’t know about him could fill a library.

And you’ve had enough time pass through you to know that a lot of patience and a little observation can go a long way towards preventing disaster.

Thoughts for another time.

“What about you, kid, hmm? What was your answer? In all the world, where would you go?”

But you’d already guessed, seen the longing in her face every night this week and see it now as she looks out the window at the silent silver satellite in the sky.

_____

“Ow, dammit! Just keep a good hold on her back legs so she stops kicking me!”

The lamb is breach and you’re halfway up to your elbow in sheep, trying to push at the little one’s one back haunch to clear the way for the other leg. Ellie, wide-eyed and trembling with excitement keeps letting the ewe’s leg slip and you’d be laughing if the hooves didn’t pack such a punch.

You must have seen a thousand sheep born and assisted in a high percentage of those in your lifetime, but this one manages to give you a new rush. It’s the morning you’ll be heading back to Jackson and you were afraid you’d go all week without Ellie getting to experience a birth. Here it is, and she’s just as thrilled as you’d hoped and all you have to do is make sure both the lamb and the ewe make it through.

It doesn’t take much–a little push, a little twist, a little pull, a little gasp from Ellie–you’re able to get both back hooves in your hand and the little one comes sliding out in a gloopy mess onto the grass. Your favorite flannel is caked with blood and you’ll have to go straight to the launders with it on arrival back in town…

…but it’s all worth it when the baby bleats the tiniest baa and Ellie giggles and clutches her cheeks.

“Holy shit! That was awesome! It’s so tiny! Can I name it? Like Snowball or something?”

The footfalls making their way through the meadow proceed Willa’s answer, “You don’t have to do that. The earth and the sky and the wind will name her themselves.”

Leaning back to acknowledge not only your friend and her arrival, but also a broad form following her clad in denim and gristle.

“Brought you a friend,” Willa smirks for the girl’s benefit, tilting her head in Joel’s direction.

“Joel!!! Look!!!” Ellie’s grin is so full she can’t even close her jaw, gaping like a kid who just saw her first Christmas tree.

Another tiny bleat escapes the lamb as its mother begins to lick it clean and Joel’s eyes nearly disappear behind cheeks and crinkles. “Hey there, babygirl. You have a good time?”

“Fuck YES.”

Willa extends a hand to help Ellie up and Joel does the same for you, taking care to keep your dripping forearm at a good distance.

“She did real good out here; you’d be proud,” you praise the girl, squelching her grin with a big, wet, slap on the back. “I’d love to have her again.”

“Aw, maaaaaaan!” Ellie reels in disgust as you dig your palm into her shoulder, really getting the juices in there.

“You just earned your keep, kid.”

This snaps her head around. “Really? Do I get a bird name now?”

“Yup. And I think I know what’ll suit you just fine.” In a short second of mountain time, the wind picks up just a little, lifting the brown curls around her face and the sun comes up behind her over the bluff, kissing her pink cheeks as you lean down and look her straight in the eye.

“Welcome to the Roostlings, Starling.”

____

You let them ride ahead of you, allow the father-daughter team to catch each other up on the week’s news, watch adoringly as Ellie chatters on about the lambs and how they tumble and bounce and how cold the water is and how the Roost creaks and sways a bit when it’s windy, which sheep were her favorite and how much she hates spinning wool.

Next time you’ll have to teach her how to knit, you think. She’ll probably take to that a little better.

And when he’s not giving her his glowing attention, Joel’s only report is that he started work in the new section of town, nothing exciting except the house was blessedly quiet for a whole week thank god.

She still has stories to tell Maria and Tommy at family dinner, repeating again some of the highlights you overheard her tell Joel, and new ones she just remembered. Your friends smile and listen, bewitched, time enough to give her an ear and delighted with the novelty of an excited young person at their table.

“Looks like you have yourself a new recruit,” Maria laughs. “What did you settle on for a callsign?”

Ellie tips her head back, answering through a mouthful of potatoes, “Starling!” and slaps a hand over her mouth when a chunk goes flying.

“Ellie, dammit, talk OR chew, not AND.”

Maria ignores Joel’s curse at her dinner table to ask you, “What prompted that?”

You chew and swallow, pointedly showing off the patience that the girl couldn’t muster, a blatant tease. “Seemed a good choice. Kid’s a sucker for the stars.” You match Ellie’s smile before you sweetly add, “And, y’know. Because starlings are loud and annoying as hell.”

That earns you a bird of another kind.

_____

Tommy cuts a good silhouette against the coming twilight as he lines himself up to the peg and explains for his adopted niece how to score a ringer in an after-dinner game of horseshoes. He demonstrates the looseness of the grip, the swing of the iron, and Ellie soaks it up like a sponge, eager to learn.

He’s a good teacher. He taught Maria…who is currently beating his ass. But Maria is good at whatever she does regardless, always has been.

You concluded long ago that it’s not your game. Branded it a Texas thing and took up your spot on the back porch swing with a bottle of cider, kicking off your boots and putting your woolen-socked feet up on the railing to enjoy the setting sun reflecting off the mountain face.

There’s a cheer as Ellie tosses and the shoe lands with a loud clang.

The porch door opens when Joel returns with a bottle for himself. But instead of rejoining the game, he wanders over to sit next to you on the swing, upsetting it enough to pull your feet from their perch.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Pull up a seat, Joel Miller.”

Several lazy minutes pass, a sweet, comfortable silence filled with the occasional sip from a bottle and an exchanged smile as you push at the porch a little, encouraging the swing to do its thing. And he lets his knees go soft, keeps his feet on the ground but aids in a little gentle rocking.

“Thank you,” he says, finally, tipping his head toward his ward as she scores yet again, “for taking her out there. She hasn’t shut up about it since.”

“Yeah? What’d she have to say?”

“Went on about the lambs, complained about how cold the water was. Said she was tired because she liked getting up early in the morning to see the sunrise but liked being in the trees at night and wanted to stay up to listen to the night birds. Said you liked to sing when you work and the fact that she didn’t complain about it–and from what I heard the night we met you–makes me think you’re not too bad at it. Not too fond of your cooking, though.”

That earns a snort from you. “Well I don’t blame her there; I warned y’all. I wouldn’t say she’s the most obedient kid, but she sure is smart, and really capable and brave. That girl eats the world with the spoon she’s so hungry to know all the things all the time. And strong–she swings an axe better than me. Got a mouth on her–”

“Sorry about that–”

“--and is beautifully, brutally honest, and pretty fucking hilarious. She’s really special.”

“Yeah. Yeah she is.” Something like pride melts his shoulders as he watches Ellie joke around with Tommy, and then slowly evolves into gratitude as he turns to you, to someone who can see her like he does. “Funny, that’s what she said about you.”

There’s a pull to share in that pride and gratitude, to lean in and let yourself bask in the glow of the compliment.

But a wall goes up when you reveal, as kindly as you can, “She told me Tess didn’t make it.” As his eyes grow stony and deny you the pleasure of their focus, you chase after his attention by turning your body toward him on the swing, bringing a knee up and placing a hand on his forearm, gently urging him to stay here with you. “Hey. She didn’t tell me what happened and I don’t need to know and you don’t have to talk about it. But I do need to ask you one thing. That man out there might be your brother, but he’s my friend. And Tess might have been your lady, but she was still family to him. She was important to him. And he’s important to me. And I need to ask you if he knows.”

The arm under your finger tenses as his fingers grip the cider bottle and you move to let go–to let him know you’re not forcing him–but a hand claps down over yours. It’s now his turn to urge you to stay, to give him a minute, to let him bust through whatever is starting to well up in him so he can swallow and tell you, “He knows.” Another quiet minute as he stares out at his family on the back lawn, his jaw working to bring the air in and keep the tension out. “He knows. Thank you…thank you for… taking care of him too.”

His fingers flutter a little, scarred knuckles contracting and loosening like he’s fighting the instinctual urge to hang onto something. So you set your bottle on the porch railing and gently lift his away too, slip out of this awkward hold and instead shift his hand between both of yours, giving it warmth, giving it permission to hold onto you like it wants to.

“They’re my family, which means you are now too. As long as you plan to leave off your wandering and let us keep you safe and cared for, that’s thanks enough, Joel Miller.”

“Quit that,” he grumbles, clasping your hand in case you interpret his words as an ask for release, needing a stolen moment of secret comfort in the deepening twilight. “Joel’s enough. You sound like my mother.”

“Okay,” you compromise, trying to tame your eager heart, silently explain to it that there’s nothing here but the time to do things right. “Okay, Joel.” You smile. “Joel Joel Cinnamon Roll.”

“Shit,” he cringes, shakes his head slowly, stifling a laugh. “Now you really sound like my mother. That’s what she used to call me, how did you-- Tommy.”

“Yup.”

“I hate you both.”

“No you don’t.”

Ellie scores another ringer and Joel smiles. “No, I don’t.”

________

NEXT: SUMMER

MASTERLIST

SERIES MASTERLIST

#tlou fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f! reader #joel miller x meadowlark #ellie williams #leave off your wandering

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